#the scale actually belongs to her and it was just put in his bathroom when i moved here bc they didnt want it to trigger a relapse which it

[tinylittlebab]

HEYYYYY i have a scale and i didnt even have to buy it!!

[draw-eat-repeat]

Kinda part 2 for previous post about mer!Jigen AU

(i wanna give this au a name but just mermaid au doesn’t ring so anybody have ideas?)

Part1

     Jigen was currently freaking the fuck out - not that he was surprised that sacred mermaid lake was actually magic - they fought vampires and zombies in past, so something like that was not that unbelivable - but he didn't think that his guess about him being an ancestor of that fish-people linage was right.

     The moment the goons of gang that was trying to steal artifact for themselves was gone, he bolted out of the water. His legs and clothes was back - as if he hallucinated whole thing.

    He took one last glace at artifact - 'Lazure flower of abyss' - beautiful flower-like gem sparkling with all colours of the sea and it's depth, on a little platform made of gold with curvy tangeled lines on its sides. This treasure was just enough size to be held in hand - and in the back of his mind Jigen didn't want to let go of it.      He still wasn't sure about ... whole mermaid-thing, so he tensely put his hand in the water again.

No sparks. No scales. No any magic.

    That brings him a little relief, and as soon as he sighed and relaxed that he did imagined everything what happened in water, he felt a warm tingling in his palm. Dark scales, with just a little bit of light reflection to see that they were deep blue colour, sharp clawes on fingers and a membrane between each of them.

    As if burned he took his hand out of water, and watched in awe as all that ones again disapeared into his skin.

---

   Surprisingly enough, when Lupin tried to gift Lazure flower of the abyss to Fujiko, he couldn't find it, she also couldn't, and they searched long.

   But as soon as Jigen started to help looking - as if appearing out of thin air or out of whatever void where it was hiding - it was found this very second, and the moment he handed it to Lupin it slipped and was nowhere to be seen.

   As Jigen once again took it in his hands, Goemon said that there were a saying in the notes of previous research on this treasure that 'it chooses to whom it belongs'. And Fujiko huffed as she said that she couldn't believe that it choose gunman instead of her.

   They spent the rest of evening experimenting on why and how gem chooses to disappear: when Jigen placed it somewhere it stayed and was seen, but as soon as someone tried to take it vanished into thin air. As if alive - this thing felt when someone wanted to steal it out of gunman's hands, but if there were no ill thoughts treasure let itself be held - it layed calmly in Goemons hands, and that's how Lupin could finnaly watch it it all it glory. Fujiko still needed a couple of tries, before she truly gave up on taking mythical gem to herself, but in the end she finnaly managed and got a chance to touch this lazure stone petals.

---

  This night Daisuke saw strange dream. He was in pitch black water yet unseen abyss didn't scare him. Multiple little bubbles, swarmed like little pearls as they took shape of figure. 

  Rather big feminine silhouette made out of sea foam, with a familiar helmet of lazure coral. He didn't see her eyes behind it, but felt her gaze on him. He felt seen, inspected - waited and wanted, as she put her perlmutter scaled hands before her. 

  On one of them appeared a little disk of gold, the other crystal flower. Before her floated a paper-like piece. There were something draw on it - a map - paper piece started to fold itself until it was only a little thing as she moved little disk under it and flower upon it. Two piece combined into know to him treasure.

  She let go of it and it sinks to the dark bottom.

  The it clinks on hundreds upon thousands of gold coins and he catches his breath in reality as he hears a whisper.

'To you it belongs'

  He goes to bathroom to wash his face so he could properly wake up and think about all of this.

.....Since when his eyes were such piercing blue?

[nautilus1954]

What's something interesting to you personally about Vincent's life as a human? Or is there not too much lore behind his past?

Oh where do I begin >=]

He was born in a rather wealthy family. Not rich rich, but richer than most. His father worked in stocks as well as mines, and got a few good scores in the markets. He eventually decided to move his family to the states where most of his mining operations were.

Vincent (who was 5 at this point) wasn't necessarily scared of the ocean, mainly because he was to busy being sea sick ALL the time. He has a low tolerance for sea sickness so those 9 days where torcher for him. Half way through the trip, his father was able to bring him down to the holds of the ship in hopes of him losing his sea sickness. When they got to the engine room, Vincent's sea sickness vanished completely from the sight of that giant iron monster snorting in chorus. If any of you seen a reciprocating marine engine, then you realize the absolute astonishment Vincent had with the thing. This would impact his life by him having a curiosity with anything mechanical.

After they had gotten to the states, Vincent's father had a large house built in an open field, and had Vincent enroll in school. He had a good taste of what bullying was like being that... ya know... he's "different" apparently... yeah the kids in school where a bunch of dicks.

To try and fit in more he tried sounding more American and dropped all words that where British, almost that is. He wouldn't say "Where's the loo" or ask for "crisps" (for all you single minded Americans, loo is "bathroom" and crisps "chips") He could never go full american accent but he settled for a mix of two. He still uses his mixed voice to this day and can go full UK if he wanted, but he's just used to the mixed voice a this point.

From there to 1903 is pretty uneventful. He learned to play Violin at the age of ten and was actually quite good at. Got into art, and began to help build things with his father. He also got an interest for reading those classic novel like "Jules Verne" and "H.G Wells". His favorites being "Around the World in 80 Days", "Master of the World", "The Time Machine", and "War of the Worlds". [You though I was gonna put "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" didn't you. Sike >=]]

1904 his father was going on a business trip back to England. He had done these trips before, and ecationaly he would bring his family with him. This time however, he went alone to New York and left for England. All was smoth sailing and got to England on schedule. Did his work. Then set of back to America on board the S.S Norge... The ship was lost near Rockwall and lost 700 out of 800 passengers and crew.

Both Vincent as well as his mother where both devastated by the news, and this is where Vincents fear of natrual bodies of water peaked. His mother was absolutely heartbroken by the news, but they still had money. When someone dies and there money is in the bank, then that bank is now entitled to that money being that it belongs to no one now. Finders keepers. But Vincent's father never trusted banks, so he kept all the savings in checks and put them in a safe. This meant that now Vincent's mother had to be entitled to the business, and so she did. At the time, men found it odd and in somecases, offensive that a women could operate a full scale business, and Vincent had a few fist fights about the subject, most of which he won, but she ran it, and did a damn good job until 1921.

Vincent would make it an ecation to visit his father's tombstone once a month. A tradition he still keeps up to this day.

Vincent's mother didn't like the idea of living alone for the rest of her life, and that's somthing that stems out to Vincnet later in life quite dramatically. She remarried an industrialist by the name of Jonathan in early 1905 and had a child by the name of Morgan, who was Vincent's little sister. I'm gonna keep Jonathan anonymous for now.

As Vincent got older, he found that kids in school started trying to be his freind, but he was keen in what they were trying to do "Freinds give eachother things right? So what do I of all people have to give but money" he would say. His same attitude was towards the women who would flirt with him and where even wishing to Ummm... "give him somthing he wouldn't regret" if he paid them. This somewhat scard him for eternity, and forever had the notion that someone was always out to get somthing from someone.

When he turned 14, he began working for a small branch of the "Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing Company". New factories means new jobs, and engineering jobs for that matter. He quite quickly rose up the ranks as being an electrician for the electric dynamos. He wouldn't call himself a young genius when it came to the stuff, he just learned quickly and had a nack for electric energy. He was fascinated by its mysterious force and power, and sometimes experiment with it as well. He got electrocuted many times, but still came back for more. He wasn't obsessed with it, he was just fascinated by it.

From there to 1909 I want to keep anonymous as well just to be secretive X]

So yeah... I just looked at your question again could of wrote you what should of been a simple sentence. But no, I give you a hole damn passage. Hope you don't mind <=]

[noritoshiikamo]

Headcanons for the cursed womb siblings when they ship you and choso please 🌝 but choso is like a “job first, love later” kind of guy. He is responsible👏 He wants to support his siblings first👏 But they want nothing more than for their brother to have a lover.

modern au! office worker choso x reader no warning, just fluff. death painting brothers are normal humans, choso is just oblivious, reader is in love anywaysssss okay, i know it said headcanon but i went overboard and i cant help it anymore, choso brainrot tagging: @booksweet , @fushigurocockslut, @lazy10ieiri, @sassyeahhhh, @cotton-curse, @thevoidwriting, @dukinaxael

- job first, love later

you were the first girl choso ever brought home.

except it was by accident. your car had broken down in front of the office and you being typically you, had no idea what had happened to your shit car. “stupid, stupid!” you cursed, opening the front of your car, watching as puff of smoke escaped. you panicked, you never had anyone told you what to do with your car and such.

you were the only child in your family, your mother passed away when you were just a child and your father disappeared. you were sent away to a distance relative, the gojo where you grew up with satoru and his adoptive brother, megumi. but they are useless as a lump of coal. “y/n, are you okay?” you whipped up your head, wiping the dripping sweat off your worried head as you were greeting by a familiar face.

“oh, choso, thank god, do you know anything about car? i cant figure out why wont it start,” you cried clutching on his white sleeve before shrieking. you watched at your fingers left black smudges on his shirt, panicked overwhelmed you as you realised you just ruined the chance for help by ruining your savior’s shirt. but choso only laughed, brushing your panicked look aside and handed you his briefcase. “how long has it been like this?” he asked as he rolled his sleeves, you shrugged. “10 minutes? i think.”

“do you have any cloth i can use to check the coolant?” he asked. you nodded and headed to back, throwing the briefcase in the backseat. coming back with an old rag, you were surprise when choso grabbed your wrists. your face warmed up as he twisted and turned your hand, “did the steam hit your hand?” he asked, glancing up to your face. you shook your head and handed him the cloth. you watched as he did his thing, in 5 minutes he had the engine running and the temperature meter down.

“please, cho, let me sent you home. as a thank you!”

he smiled, “you don’t have too, i can take the subway.”

“i insisted!” you exclaimed, “plus i have your briefcase! aha, you need it so if you want it you have to let me drive you home. please?” you insisted, throwing a puppy face as you clutched both hands to your chest. he exhale heavily, before holding out his hand. your brow shot up in confusion, you placed your hand on his larger palm. you looked up to the older man, a small smile on his face. he was holding his laugh. “your car keys, y/n. lemme me drive you home at least,” he clarified, causing you to mentally slap yourself. the keys exchanged hands and you get in the passenger’s seat. he's a careful driver, he used the blinker and didn’t speed, you felt instantly safe under his care.

“do you live alone, choso?” you asked your coworker. he shook his head, “i live with my younger brothers, eso and chizu. our parents died a long time ago.”

“oh, same. my parents died a long time ago. i’m their only child. my uncle took me in, he’s like a brother to me,” you explained, reminded of your childhood growing up with satoru. he might not be an ideal father figure but he loves you like his own sister. the car slowed down in front of block A of some apartment. “you live here?” you asked glancing around. his apartment is definitely on the lower class scale, the building looks like it could be hundred years old with the chipped paint.

“yeah, i’ve been raising my brothers alone. money’s a bit tight, they are still studying,” he explained grabbing his case from the back. “thank you for helping me with my car,” you stopped him, placing your hand on his, “please let me replace your shirt. just tell me the brand and i’ll buy a new one, i’m so sorry.”

choso offered her a smile, waving his hand dismissively. “it’s okay, i can get the grease off easily. i should thank you for the ride instead. i owe you for that.���

“in that case, can i see your home?”

choso looked at you in amusement, his hand reached forward to ruffled your head, “you’re weird, y/n. but okay. a cup of tea won’t hurt.” he was sure that none of his siblings are home, parked the car and let you trailed him as you both entered the lift up to the 5th floor. you didn’t seemed to be bothered by the surrounding, the stray cats and the random pile of garbage, eyes only trained on his back as you trailed him. his house were around the corner of the stairs, further from the elevator with number 532 on the blue door. he pulled out his keys but the door was already opened.

“chizu won’t throw out the trash,” a shirtless guy with a mohawk greeted them, he was instead more surprised to see you hiding behind the man, “oh, who is this?”

“my coworker. she drove me home, i offered her some tea. i thought you two aren't home, clearly i was mistaken,” he mumbled, annoyed that his brothers were actually home. he turned to you who was looking away, he could see speckle of warmth on your face. "y/n, this is eso. eso, go be a decent human being and put on some shirt," choso ushered the man away before calling you in. you could see panic in his face when eso instead announced that choso was bring his girlfriend home to the other brother.

you couldn't help but to laugh.

-

you stood in front of door 532 ringing the door bell.

you could hear some yelling. someone was telling to get the door, someone yelled that they were busy in the bathroom and someone was angry in the kitchen. you felt conscious, maybe this was a bad time. you placed the paper bag on the floor and prayed you can make it to the stair but door opened. a voice greeted you.

"y/n?"

your steps halted. you turned around, flustered that you got caught. choso stood by the door, apron covering half of his bare body with a spatula in the other. "uh hi, i was just here to drop you something," you pointed to the bag on the floor, absolutely refusing to look up, why is he being so attractive in that stupid apron for, you cussed, "i'm sorry for disturbing your sunday, i'll go."

"is that y/n?" a voice in the background called.

choso looked back and nodding, "yup, it is her." you could see the desperate look on his face before another head popped out from the door. it was his younger brother chizu. he took a bite of the pancake, a wide smile on his face, "what's up, big sis?" the boy with the blue hair greeted her. you shrugged, pointing to the bag that's now in choso's hand. "i was just dropping something, i don't want to disturb your sunday," you shook your head but chizu insisted that you stay for breakfast.

"come on big sis, choso rarely bring any girl over, it actually is exciting to finally talk to someone who isn't as annoying as eso," chizu laced his arm around yours and dragged you through the door. you look at choso for help, the man could only shoot you a sympathetic smile before shutting the door. he followed you, leaning against the door frame of the kitchen as he watched you sat by the table. eso started filling your plate with fresh batch of pancakes while chizu started talking about this band he started to listen. you listened to it attentively, thanking eso for the syrup before he took a seat beside you.

choso took a peak of the paper bag, a small smile on his face when he realised there's a brand-new shirt in it with a sticky note on top of it. i'm sorry, hope this one fits you- the note said. he looked up to back to the table, you started to look like you belong there. the house has always been empty, it was just him and his brothers. you're just like a bouquet of fresh flowers sitting in a vase in the middle of the table; breath of fresh air to the kusozu family.

"pancakes, choso?"

your voice disturbed his thoughts. "tchh, choso, why you're looking at y/n-chan like that?" eso threw a spoon playfully at the older sibling as he walked to the table, "say, y/n, choso didn't do anything sexual to you or anything right? as your brother i'm worried," your eyes widened as you choked on your drink. chaos ensued in the house as choso threatened to murder the middle child, chizu could only sit back and enjoyed as you tried to calm him down while eso's obnoxious laugh echoed the small apartment.

"you better apologize, you broomhead or i'll murder you!"

eso stuck out his tongue, dodging the flying cup, "never!"

-

"i got something for chizu. would you mind giving it to him?"

you peaked your head in his office, waving another paperbag in hand. choso took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, "you don't have to spoil my brothers, y/n. they are already a brat without you." you rolled your eyes and placed the bag on his pile of paperworks. "my younger brother, gumi- he knew the band's drummer, y'know the band he's been talking about and got a signed album for me. i'm not a fan so i figured chizu would've enjoyed it better than me." he peaked through the paper bag, a small smile on his face as he thanked you. you both sat in silence, you felt like you were disturbing the man so you excused yourself.

"y/n," your hand froze on the handle, "how can i pay up for everything nice you've done to us? i feel like it's unfair that you're doing all this nice things and i don't want to owe you anything." your turn and watched as the man walked close to you. choso looks handsome as usual, the blue tie matched his eyes while his slightly longer hair is slicked back. you recognized the shirt he's wearing, you bought it for him and it was nice of him to wear it to work.

"would like to go for a coffee with me?" you asked boldly.

"it's a date."

-

"it's not a date," choso sighed, combing his hair back.

"it is," eso crossed his arms on his chest, "she asked for a coffee and you said it's a date. bro, it is a date." the younger brother shook his head, motioned for him to part his hair. "slicked back make you look like you're going to office, yuck. if we wanna impressed big sis, you gotta look better than this."

"it's still not a date," choso protested, "it's just a coffee meet up."

the doorbell rang.

"yeah, it's not a date when you spend an hour worrying over your hair, cho," chizu ran to the front door, waiting at the door was you. you didn't have to go up and fetch him at the door, but you actually enjoyed meeting his brothers you didn't mind the hassle anymore. "damn, y/n, you dress better when you're not going to office," chizu complemented you. you could only shake your head, pocketing your hands in the plaid skirt that fell just at your knees, "i only dress up to important stuff, job sucks ass, i ain't spending my good outfits going to work," you kicked off your boots and walked in.

"you listen to that cho, at least she knew that this that is important!"

your eyes widened at his word and the younger brother dodged your fist easily. choso peaked through the door, a smile grew on his face when his eyes caught yours, "huh, i didn't realise we are going to colour coordinate," he said, stepping out. you realised that you both had accidentally matched each other's outfit, speckles of warmth spread all over your face when you noticed how it looks like. chizu, being the loose lip took the words right out of your head, "you both look like you're dating."

"we are not dating!" both of you exclaimed immediately only for eso and chizu to share a look.

"stop that," choso warned, disappearing into the kitchen, "tea, y/n?" you yelled a yes before following him. "don't mind them, they are being an idiot." you watched as he poured sugar in a cup with teabag, before putting the kettle on. "i don't mind," you shrugged it off, fidgeting nervously with the corner of your blouse. the comforting silence that engulfed both of you were short lived.

"oh, choso, i actually want to tell you that i like you!"

chizu's soft voice easily imitated your voice, something you took offended off. you turned around to see the two brothers perched on the kitchen hatch. "i do not sound like that!" you gasped. it was eso's turn, coming through with his rendition of choso.

"oh, y/n! i like you too, but i'm just dumbass and refuse to admit my feeling!"

"i will not hesitate to sent you back to mom and dad," choso warned.

"i also think that eso is way good looking that i am, but i'm scared that he will swoop you away from me," eso continued, at this point even you couldn't hold your laughter as you pressed your palm over your mouth. "what you laughing for, y/n?" choso's eyes narrowed as he glanced at you, huffing in annoyance. "hey! don't be mad at me for laughing, he did it well." you could see his own cheeks growing redder and redder with every mocking.

"go away, boys," you shushed them, walking to choso's side as he poured the hot water in the cup. resting against the counter, you thanked him when the cup exchanged hands, looking down on the swirling liquid that you didn't realise choso's fingers hooking under your chin, tilting your face up. all you realised was his soft lips against yours.

you are kissing your coworker in his kitchen.

"cho-" you whispered between the kiss but he hushed you, his hand now resting against your waist pulling your closer, deepening his kiss, "don't mind them." you tasted like your chapstick, his kiss was soft but it was enough to leave you breathless in his arms. you look in each other's eyes, a new realization to what had just happened had you both flustered.

"god, if our shit imitation would've finally made you both realise that you two dumbass like each other, we would've done this months ago," eso snickered. the two brothers had moved from the hatch to the table, heads resting on hands watching the new lovebird. "would you mind waiting for 5 minutes while i murder my brother? i promise it won't take long, then we'll continue with our date," choso asked quietly, brushing a stray hair off your cheek as you brought the mug to your lips, hiding the small smile behind the cup as you nodded. you watched amusingly, sipping on your tea as the two brothers ran around the small apartment, yelling profanities while chizu hugged you.

"welcome to the family, big sis."

you ruffled his blue hair, your cheeks hurt but you just couldn't stop smiling, "if it wasn't to you, i don't think i wouldn't even dare to speak my feelings. so, thank you. the voice acting was shit tho."

"you thank us, you hate us, geez, big sis, make up your mind," chizu teased you, winking as he brushed it off as a joke, "you help us a lot, i never seen choso so happy before. he worries a lot. about us, money. it was good sometimes to see him put himself first," chizu shrugged, cheek resting on your shoulder, "we survived before, we'll survive now. choso has nothing to worry about. you too, we are alright, okay?"

you nodded, resting your cheek on his head, heart overwhelmed with love for you newly found family, you felt belonged here.

[t-o-m-hollands]

T H E

P A R I S

C H R O N I C L E S

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut in the other chapters. This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up).

Summary: Newly divorced you decide to travel to the Riviera and spend the summer in the house you and Timothée have inherited. After a very successful art exhibition he comes down to join you. Things should be easy, but they aren't.

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

R E A D

P A R T

O N E

A N D

T W O

H E R E

***

Menton - July, 1953

Menton, the most easterly town of the Côte d'Azur, belonging to the Arrondissement of Nice. It is located practically on the French-Italian border, the influences of both countries clear in multi-coloured houses, the decorated windows and in the sixteenth century bell tower.

The beaches are rocky but wide, and in the summer season packed with vacationists looking for an escape from the city; to lay their bodies down and soak up some sun, breath in some fresh air and occasionally to dip their bodies into the ocean in an attempt to escape the heat and cool down.

There’s a village square, in the middle of which a fountain; made in a century in which people still believed in dragons. From Bentwood chairs you can sit back and enjoy a meal, or a simple cappuccino, al fresco; as you watch the occasional hopeful tourist throw a coin into the fountain, making wishes with sanguine smiles. Or perhaps play a game of chess with a stranger.

On a cobbled-stone street nearby a market is set up each morning in a belle-epoque building, inside of which cheese, fish and meat are sold, and outside vendors are selling fruits and vegetables on wooden tables covered by green cloths.

Away from the pastell-coloured village and the expensive resorts and hotels by the beach there are steep hills, where most of the Menton locals reside. Some houses small and quaint; others almost obscene in their obvious wealth.

One of these houses is called Villa Marguerite

***

From the villa you can see the ocean spread out in front of you, almost recklessly big and bold and blue. Behind the house; acres upon acres of lemon trees, the bright yellow and green hues creating sharp contrasts to all the surrounding blue. There’s a garden too, emerald green grass and cedar trees that with rain will spread its heady scent all over the property; some mornings it is the first thing you smell.

The morning sun shines upon the terrace and you lean back in your wicker chair and sip on your morning coffee. Music is coming from the kitchen radio, only a few meters away.

The day lay planned and untraveled in front of you with all its horrifying possibilities. In a few hours Timothée’s train will arrive at the station and the upcoming reunion fills you with equal parts anticipation and terror. You had offered to meet him there, as his train arrives. You can picture it in front of you, standing on the dusty station under the scorching sun, eyes on the railroad track before you, awaiting the first sign of the train. You’d wear something nice for him, a white sundress perhaps; to show him that you are still the young sweet girl he fell for in Paris – that the colossal weight of a wedding ring on your left ring finger has not left you changed. You can picture what he’ll show up in, paint-stained jeans and white t-shirt. It will be awkward at first, it must be after all these months apart. But you’d conquer your fear and you’d hug him, pull him tight against you and breath him in; the familiar scent of him, the irresistible and unplaceable mixture of turpentine and smokey whiskey and of Paris.

There have been nights you’ve woken up gasping for air, where your hands have searched in vain around you in bed, panic-stricken, looking for the familiar frame of a lost lover. Every time, upon realizing that he’s not there, you would fall back against the mattress, and with deep breaths force your lungs to accept air. You’d close your eyes tightly shut and perhaps it was a trick your brain played on you, some devilish scheme – but in those moments, when you needed him the most you could almost concoct his scent out of thin air, could almost smell him, almost feel him lay beside you. There were times you would have sworn on anything holy you could feel the warmth of his body beside yours.

You had suggested to meet him at the station, but he had turned your offer down so firmly it had bordered on rudeness.

In the passing months since his department from London you had shared two brief, silence-filled phone calls.

One of them early one morning in May, just as the lilac bush burst out in bloom outside your window, the scent of them heady and intoxicating, and the missing weight of a diamond ring on your left hand still a strange sensation. Still you lift the phone; asking the operator for a number in France. You had called up his studio to inform him that you had moved out of your soon-to-be former husband’s house and were now taking house in Mayfair, in case he needed to reach you. Timothée´s voice had been tense and hoarse, as if he had just woken up and was not happy about it. In the background a woman had laughed.

The second time he had called you, in the late hours of the evening mid-June, just as the magnolias had set in bloom. You had informed him that you were planning to go down to Menton the following week, to start with the process of going through your aunt’s possessions. He in turn had informed you that his exhibition was to finish up on the 15th of July, after which he planned to travel to Nice by train and thus arrive the following morning. You had then offered to meet him at the station, to show him the way to the house at his arrival, which he had turned down. The tone of had been curt and the conversation short.

And that had been your only contact since that day in London. Before coming to Menton you had gone to Paris, to sign some papers and go through a few objects in your aunts’ apartment. You had not informed Timothée of this nor had you visited him.

Now here you are, weeks later, awaiting his arrival; foot tapping nervously against the floor, eyes fixed without seeing, mind recklessly wandering. Soon he’ll arrive at the station and you try not to connect that fact with the terrible sense of doom that’s been growing stronger in your stomach these last few days. But it seems undeniably connected.

Doom, like things have already been set in motion, the faiths decided; beyond your control or demand.

You feel ungrounded, restless and unbound; like the light morning breeze can sweep you away at sea. Trying to get a hold of yourself you focus your eyes only to see the endless blue sky above you or endless blue sea in front.

The sense of temporariness, of insignificance, of irrelevance in the grand scale of things washes over you and nausea settles in the pit of your stomach. Sitting up straight in your chair, force your foot to stop stomping the ground, you close your eyes and inhale slowly.

From the open window kitchen, you can still hear Louise, your aunt's maid, playing the radio. The French pop tune playing is unknown to you plays but she signs along over the sound of cluttering plates and running water. Upon your aunt’s death had ended up unemployed and in search of a job. She had written to you in London, asking for a position, and you had taken her on.

A sea gull screams somewhere above and from your neighbour’s house you hear children playing.

The sun is warm on your skin; the stone floor warm beneath your feet.

Feeling calmer, you open your eyes.

but still all you see is blue.

***

Timothée travels to Nice by train with a third-class ticket.

The compartment is unbearably hot. He tries to lay as still as possible on the hard bunk bed, afraid that any movement will make him warmer. Trying to ignore the sweat forming on his brow he focuses on the rhythmic pace of the train moving underneath him, wishing it would lull him to sleep but all it does is leave him with a vague feeling of nausea. His fellow passenger in the bunk bed below is in the bathroom next door, violently vomiting and the retching sound is coming through the thin walls . The light above his bed keeps flicking, every other second leaving the already dim room, with its dark oak panels, in complete darkness.

And dying for a cigarette.

He’s hot and sweaty and he thanks his lucky star he turned down your offer to meet him at the station. The thought of seeing you again after all these months, no doubt radiant in the sunlight, like an angel in waiting for him; and then him, wearing sweat-soaked rags that’ll no doubt smell of bile and dust and liquor.

He’s glad he turned your offer down; wants to make a good impression on you, to show you that he has changed, that he’s no longer the penniless painter; that he has made a success out of himself. The exhibition had been an incomparable success, Le Monde had put him on the front page and Le Journal du Dimanche had written an entire feature on his use of the colour blue – which they had been dubbed “as revolutionary as Picasso’s blue period, making the viewer see the colour in a new light, almost as if for the first time. Never before have I’ve seen blue look so isolated and lonely”.

He wondered if you had seen it. He wants you to have seen it, to be proud of it; of him. To know, because you had to know, that it was all for you.

But lately fear had crept up on him. Like mold it had grown from a single thought; slowly and steadily until it covered everything, until it was a certainty he knew as well as his own name; a fact poisoning his every breath.

What if you didn’t love him anymore? What if, after all this time and suffering you found out that, actually, without all the hinders standing in your way you didn’t actually find him all that interesting.

He would be forced to go on his way, certain in the knowledge that you no longer loved him; instead of the current status quo of endless possibilities of the untraveled road, where anything can still happen. Where there is still hope. It had crossed his mind, the thought of just not going. To stay in Paris and paint and dream; safe in the knowledge that at one point the most beautiful woman in the world had loved him. Never having the possibility of that changing.

But it would be a cowardly thing to do, and whatever else he was he was no coward. But he also knew that there was no use pretending, he was not the same as he was when he met you. How could he be? He had been a planet, knocked out of its orbit, forced to find a gravity anew. And he had, it had taken time and pain and more self-discipline than he knew he had in him. He had dusted himself of and gone on with life. But when you left Paris the first time had felt safe in the knowledge that you loved him.

If you were to reject him now, it would only be because you found him lacking; disappointing.

The stranger retches in the bathroom again and behind closed eyelids Timothée can still see the flicking light. He pretends it’s a blinking star.

Lately he’s been reading less Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Dostoevsky; switched them for Nietzsche, Sartre and Aristotle. This new world of science and philosophy opening up a whole new world for him. It had set his mind to ponder about love and religion and of the whole galaxy too; about his place and role in all of these things.

Every day, several times over, he had wanted to call you. To tell you about his discoveries, read you abstracts from his books and ask your thoughts on it. He wanted to know what you made out of all these subjects, to hear where your opinions differed from his. He wanted to argue with you about them.

Yet every time he picked up the phone to call you, he had put it down again. He had felt silly, calling you about such mundane things. Didn’t want to bother you in your grief. He knew, had bought each new glossy copy of the Tatler with a shameful face, that you were going through a difficult divorce.

He didn’t want to complicate your life any further.

The stranger comes into the compartment again, groans loudly and shuts the door with a bang behind him before throwing himself down on the lower bunkbed.

“Fucking hate trains” he states.

“You don’t say” Timothée answers dryly. It’s stifling hot in the compartment and the other man has brought in the strong scent of bile back with him to mix with the stench of sweat.

The train takes a sudden turn and the man below groans loudly again. Timothée hears how he fiddles with something and then the click of a lighter. He asks the man for a cigarette and the he kind-heartedly hands him his entire package of Lucky Strikes. Perhaps as an apology for the smell.

The rest of journey is spent chain-smoking cigarettes until the late hour, the compartment a fog of smoke, until he finally falls into slumber somewhere after Lyon.

The next morning his travel companion, looking rather worse for wear but relieved that the train has stopped at last, helps him with his luggage as they depart the train.

A strange feeling of having been reborn settles over him as he blinks up at the sun, his eyes adjusted from the previous dark dimness of his coupé. The station is dusty and oven-hot but he strives forward through it, bag with his belongings slung over his shoulder. Just as he expected he’s arrived sweaty, with ruffled dirty clothes and a stench of bile and sweat lingers on him. It had most definitely been the right decision to turn down your offer to meet him at the station. And so, instead of looking for a taxi to take him to the great big house on the hills he makes his way down the cobbled streets in quite the other direction.

*

There’s nothing like the ocean to wash away the sense of filth. With a gasp he breaks through the water surface and forces large gulps of fresh air down his throat. The water is cyan in shade and the surface glitter under the sun. He wades his way through the water and back to the beach, sending a silent prayer that the posh hotel he’s snuck into won’t notice that he is in fact not a guest paying hundreds of Francs a night for the luxury of a private beach, complete with white sunbeds and linen-clad waiters ready to service your every whim, but in fact just a common free-loader.

The small rocks are scalding hot and under his bare feet but he makes his way through the white parasols and sunbeds, careful as to not disturb the suntanning guests, his shabby bag slung over his shoulder.

“I’ll be damned!” An American voice roars out and Timothée stops dead in his tracks, heart beating painfully in his chest; as if he was an animal, knowing he was about to be caught in the hunt. “If it isn’t my favorite painter!”

Slowly he turns around.

Underneath a white parasol, sprawled out on a sunchair; broad-shouldered, blond and suntanned, lay William.

Fuck.

William stands up and moves closer to him. “It is you! Man, what a surprise!” he bursts out in his thick American accent and claps him on his shoulder. Timothée just stands there, still with the feeling of being caught; trapped. William just smiles at him. “I was just going to grab an early lunch, care to join me?”

The hotel restaurant is situated on a terrace, making the most of the ocean view, azure blue sea glittering under the sun. The beach is full to the brim with suntanned bodies, sipping drinks under big white parasols. They’ve both changed out of their swimming trunks, William into a nice white day suit, freshly pressed of course. Walking behind him onto the terrace Timothée feels especially shabby in his worn linen trousers, albeit he’s currently wearing his only items of clothing not covered in paint splatters.

They are seated by the railings, a small white clothed table. They order margarita pizzas and beers. They small talk, filling up the blanks since they last saw each other.

Timothée tells him of his work, the successful exhibition, his newfound love of Nietzsche. About his reason for coming to Nice. William in turn tells him of how he changed his mind about returning to America, how he’s fallen in love with the Mediterranean, how life here has inspired him so much he’s taken up writing. In fact, he has already written most of his first book, and it is set to publish at the end of summer. He is now looking for a house, some permanency for the first time in his life. He will settle down here, he tells Timothée in a solemn tone.

Timothée well recognizes the signs of a man trying to escape from himself. He doubts very much if William is the type to ever settle, has no doubts in fact that next time they’ll speak William will have taken up an instrument set to join a band, or learn a new language ready to move country yet again. Timothée knows a drifter when he sees one.

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to warn the other man about the uselessness of attempting to outrun oneself, doesn’t advise him to instead make peace with the past and himself; knows that there is no use, that he'll find this out for himself soon enough. So instead he smiles, lights the last of his Lucky Strike´s and orders them some more beers.

They drink and talk, dream really, far into the afternoon as the sky changes from bright blue to nuances of powder pink and lavender. They dream up scenarios for William’s future; a summer spent in sunny Nice soaking up the sun, before setting to Capri in the autumn to work on a new book. They decide he should take a break in the winter to go skiing in Saint Moritz before returning to Nice in the spring, to finish up his book.

More beers are ordered, and subjects discussed, but when a longer silence takes place William leans back in his chair, a shy look on his face that makes him look more boy than man.

“So” he begins, and Timothée’s interests are piqued. The terrace is full of people by now, taking a late lunch or simply enjoying an afternoon drink, waiting for the sun to set and the real party to begin.

“So?” he offers, pressing the other man to continue.

William clears his throat, cheeks flushed, and not purely from the day spent in the sun. “So, you’re going to see her now?”

Timothée is not surprised by his question, had expected it since he told him why he was here, had expected the subject of you to arise. It felt inevitable. The subject of you too big to ignore.

“Yes” he says, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. They’d bought new ones from the waiter many beers ago, the crystal cut ashtray between them filled to the brim with stumped out cigarettes.

“Yeah should get going soon really, she was expecting me this morning.”

Silence for a heartbeat, as the sky turns red, the sun almost setting.

“And it is true, what they’ve written in the society pages? She’s getting divorced?”

Timothée, not knowing what to do with his hands, lights yet another cigarette; even though his throat feels too dry; too tight. “Yeah” he manages to get out.

Silence again. William is keeping his eyes on the setting sun, seemingly lost in thought.

“Mind if I tag back with you to the house?” he says eventually. The words come out almost superiorly. Yet Timothée senses the fragile vulnerability under the arrogance. “I’d just like to say hi to her” he then adds in a softer tone. “Our last goodbye…” he trails off for a second and something like regret flashes in his clear blue eyes, “Look, I treated her abhorrently and I’d like to put things right, it’s the least I can do”.

And who is Timothée to deny either one of you that?

*

The ground is slightly unsteady under his feet as they stand outside the hotel, waiting for the taxi the porter had ordered. He had, perhaps, had one too many to drink. He sways from one foot to the other. It is just past midnight and he should have gone home hours ago.

And maybe he shouldn’t arrive at your first meeting in months, the first meeting post-divorce, absolutely wasted. A knot ties somewhere in his stomach.

And, he thinks as he slides into the backseat of the taxi, maybe he oughtn't to bring your ex-fiancé with him to said meeting. An ex-fiancé who had broken up your engagement days before the wedding, left you pretty much at the altar to marry someone else instead. Your first love.

The knot tightens harder.

He watches the city, now dark and full of people, pass by outside the window. As the taxi goes up the hills he tries to focus on the ocean outside; now the darkest shade of blue. The moon is yet to make an appearance to light up the evening. They drive up a final curve and finally Timothée can see it. The white house atop the hill is large and neo-classical in style, with painted mint-green shutters, currently open wide to let in some evening air, and up the white walls magenta colored bougainvillea climbs.

The lights are on and Timothée feels light-headed. He blames it on the drinks. He blames it on the day spent under the beaming sun. He blames it on the long journey there and the fact he slept so badly on the train.

He blames it on anything other than the fact that he’s starting to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t have come here tonight. If perhaps he should have stayed at the hotel, sobered up and after a good night sleep come here; bunches of casa blanca lilies in hand and a forged reason for his lateness on his lips.

And he definitely shouldn’t bring William with him.

Something twists painfully inside him and he feels a bit sick. Because he knows William is your first love; but what if he’s your greatest one as well. What if the two of you after reuniting again, found that there were still love there. You both had divorces in your past now, you both had money, and freedom. What if William wasn’t just your first love, but your greatest one?

He definitely shouldn’t have brought him here.

He watches with regret settled deep in his bones as the taxi drives away, and William is walking up the pebbled path to the front door. So Timothée takes a deep breath, throws his duffel bag over his shoulder, and forces his feet forward.

They ring the door and surprise hits him for the second time that day, when the door opens and Aunt Marguerite’s maid Louise stands there, wearing the usual look of disapproval as she takes in the state of him.

She sniffs with disgust. “You are late” she tells him with a stern tone, before stepping aside to let him enter. “Madam is on the terrace”. He drops his bag on the floor as she leads the way through the house, William at his heel. His feet feel like cement, but he keeps forcing them forward.

The first thing he sees as he steps out onto the terrace is the moon, now high in the sky, casting its reflection on the water below. Then, on a sunbed with your face towards the ancient blue spreading out in front of you; not directed to him. He sees you in the moonlight, curled up underneath a blanket, a glass of red wine beside you. The only light on the terrace the moon and candles, lit up around you.

Without turning to look at him you say, in a voice painfully familiar, “was beginning to give up on you. Thought you’d missed the train”.

“Sorry” he says, and it surprises him how calm he sounds; because he’s pretty sure something is exploding inside his chest. “Got a bit distracted.”

You turn to him then, a half-smile on your face that freezes immediately upon seeing who is standing behind him. Painful silence falls between you, heavy like a wet blanket, while the ocean roars beneath, its waves crashing against the rocks.

“Wills?” Your voice sounds so vulnerable it makes him want to weep, to go hide; to ask something holy for forgiveness.

“Hi baby” William answers and Timothée nearly whimpers, wants to look away but can’t seem to turn his eyes from the scene in front of him.

Your eyes are big and glossy in the moonlight as William moves closer. Nausea rises in Timothée’s stomach as he watches William sit down on the sunbed beside you; hands clasped before him like a schoolboy in church.

“I’m sorry” he begins, “this must come as a surprise to you but…”

“Excuse me” you interrupt him, voice cold but your vulnerability clear as it. “I think I will retire to bed. You can stay over if you wish, Louise will prepare you a room. We’ll lunch tomorrow.”

And all either Timothée can do is watch as you stand up, spine all straight and head held high as you walk past him, not casting him a single look as he hangs his head in shame.

*

Timothée blinks slowly into the bright light; confused as to where he is for a moment. He blinks a few more times, his lasting impression; white. White sheets, white walls, white lilies on his bedside table, white wooden floors and white curtains moving in the breeze from the open balcony door; outside of which azure blue sky. Then,

Menton.

You.

He groans, burying his face in the pillow. The pain in your eyes as you walked past him the night before; eyes brimming with carefully held back tears. Why, why, why on earth had he brought William with him? Why hadn’t he just told him no? Surely it wouldn’t have been unreasonable to turn down his request to force his way back into his ex-fiancé’s life?

But he wanted you back. And Timothée had handed you to him.

“Fuck” he groans.

Despite his protesting, heavy limbs and sore head he stands up and moves through the room, to the gilded mirror by the antique dresser. Slowly he blinks back to his miserable reflection. A skinny man, with unruly, dark curls and anxious, wide eyes, dark circles like bruises underneath them. He thinks of William; tall and golden and broad shouldered enough to carry the weight of the world on them. And rich enough to own it.

He wants to hurl.

Instead, with the determination of the already damned, he moves through the room, knowing there is nothing left to do but face the day; and the consequences of last night. Finding a pair of clean linen trousers and white shirt he pulls them on with fumbling hands. Rooming through the pockets of the trousers he wore last night, carelessly thrown over a wicker chair, he finds the package of Gauloises he bought at the hotel the previous night. He puts them in his pocket, he is going to need them. Feeling like a man walking up to the gallows he steps out of his room.

Louise, who’s in the kitchen preparing breakfast, huffs in displeasure when she sees him.

“Yeah, yeah” he mutters, “I know”.

She pulls up her blonde hair and ties it in a knot in her back, seemingly doing her utmost to ignore him, but he’s pretty sure she’s just doing it for the opportunity to sneakily give him the finger.

Out on the terrace you sit by the table, reading. Wearing a white silky thing, your hair wet from a bath, pearls of water falling to the ground as you move to flip a page in your book. You are bathing in the morning light, covered by it; and maybe it’s just to Timothée’s eyes but everything else seems to fall into shadow.

Walking more assuredly than he feels, somewhat comforted in the fact that William is not yet up, he takes a seat beside you at the table. You flip a page in your book, and you don’t look at him. A seagull screeches in the sky, but otherwise the world remains quiet.

“What are you reading?” he asks, though feeling it is a trivial question in the midst of everything. He feels foolish, trying to ease into conversation with you, when all he really want to do is apologise; to take your hands and tell you that he’s sorry.

“The Odyssey”

“You like it?”

Your eyes don’t move over the page, but you don’t look at him either; instead fixated on the page in front of you.

“Yes” you say eventually. “But I find the prose hard to get used to”.

“Well” he says fishing in his pockets for his Gauloises, “personally I prefer The Iliad. There’s a feeling of doom in it that stays with you, like their fates are already set out for them and they can’t escape it. They’re left to just live their stories out”. He brings a cigarette to his lips but soon discovers he’s forgotten a lighter. He swears under his breath, the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Then something silver reflects in the sun, right before his eyes. You’re reaching out your hand to him, and in the palm of your hand lay a cigarette lighter. Gratefully he takes it and lights up.

“Thanks” he says, trying to hand it back to you, but you shake your head.

“No, it’s yours. Apparently, my aunt had it ordered for you before she passed. I was going to give it to you yesterday.”

Timothée feels as if he’s been punched in the stomach. He lays down the cigarette and looks down at the silver lighter. It’s beautifully crafted, old fashioned in a good way and thoroughly stylish. Marguerite through and through. He turns it in his hand and sunlight reflects from its perfect surface. Only then does he notice the engraved text, in cursive writing; “Fuck Picasso”.

He breaks out in laughter but feels a simultaneous need to cry. To lay down on the floor and weep. He misses her, would do anything to hear her scold him for his behavior again. To have her tell him that he is being defeatist and to keep trying; keep fighting for what he wants.

He looks at you, and he can see the same conflicting feelings reflected in your glossy eyes.

“Le petit dejeuner, madam” Louise says, putting down the tray with coffee, bread, brie and fresh fruit on the table between you. She sends Timothée a scorching look as she does so.

Once you’re both sipping on cups of coffee you clear your throat. “She did leave you the Picasso painting as well, you know”.

Timothée nearly drops his cup of scorching hot coffee in his lap. “Sorry?”

Reluctantly the corners of your mouth twist into a smile. “You never read the full version of the will, did you? She gave the Picasso to you. Said you were the only one who could possibly appreciate it”.

He snorts with laughter again, and again it comes with a sting of grief.

“You sure you don’t want it?” he asks, because a Picasso is no ordinary gift and he feels as if he’s stealing it from you; you who actually were related to the woman.

But you just shake your head, a small but sincere smile on your lips. “I got the Monet”.

“Bloody landscape artist” Timothée teases and you laugh. This is an old joke, an inside joke, one that has made you laugh before. Your laughter feels familiar and warm and he wants to pull you closer to him, feel your skin; warm from the sun, against his.

“You are just jealous” you tease back, and your eyes; the same colour as your aunts, sparkle in the sunshine. “You have never been able to paint a landscape”.

“No” he says, reaching for a stem or green grapes, “I’ve never found a landscape more interesting than a face” he adds, pulling the sweet fruit from its stem and placing it between his teeth; slowly biting down, relishing the taste.

He wants to say, ‘there’s nothing I’d rather paint than your face’, but swallows the words along with the fruit. He watches your face as you look at the sea; hair still wet against your now slightly rosy cheeks.

“Good morning” says a cheerful, though somewhat raspy, American accent.

Timothée turns and sees William walking towards you. He’s all tousled blonde hair, white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top; showing seamlessly endless amounts of suntanned golden skin. Styled with a Rolex watch and bare feet he’s all Hamptons; all American.

Timothée looks at him and thinks Paul Newman would be proud.

He picks up and finally lights his cigarette, using his new treasure.

William sits down by the table, leans back and sighs. “Gonna be a beautiful day” he announces to them, as if the weather was his to rule. Timothée watches him in the morning light, all golden and decisive. He thinks of Zeus, of power and of glory.

You gesture for Timothée’s cigarette package and he picks one out and hands it to you. Leaning closer, closer and closer still; your face so near that he can count each of your eyelashes if he so wishes, your arms nearly touching his. He lights you up. All the time he can feel William’s watchful eyes as he observes the two of you.

Louise comes out with another cup of coffee and places it in front of William before heading back to the kitchen. In the silence between them they can hear how she puts on the record player, the tunes of Chopin floating out on the terrace. Timothée meets your eyes and you both smile.

Flashes of memories from another life, you and him in Paris in his old studio. Dancing in the evening, hips pressed together as you’d swayed gently from side to side, your chest pressed to his, feeling so close it was as if you were sharing breaths. Or you posing on the carpet, naked in the afternoon light as he attempts the impossible; trying to recreate the loveliness and complexities of you. A Herculean task. All the while Chopin played in the background.

“So what are we all doing today?” inquires William and Timothée breaks eye contact with you. Maybe he is imagining it, but he thinks there’s a harshness behind Williams' forceful cheerfulness.

You enter into conversation with William, all small talk and politeness, as Timothée smokes his cigarette and looks the other way.

*

“Can I talk with you?” William asks, his hand around your wrist, holding you in place. “Alone, I mean.”

Your plates have been cleared, the coffee cups stand empty and William has reached over the table to take a hold of you. Timothée, who’d spent most of the breakfast in silence, his face towards the sea, playing with silver lighter in his lap, now stands up. “I’m off to explore the village” he says with a tone of indifference. But there is something strained about the way he’s holding himself, a tenseness in his shoulder, a frozen look on his face. It is in the way he refuses to look at either you or William as he walks away.

You watch him leave before gently pulling your hand away from William’s. “I must say, it is a surprise to see you here, Wills”.

William doesn’t hang his head in shame or embarrassment but keeps his clear blue eyes on yours.

“I didn’t know that you were here in Menton, that’s not why I came here. But I did go looking for you, in Paris”. His voice never shakes, neither does his hands. He is as steadfast as you remember him from school. Ha had been taller than everybody else, towering over them all. He could easily have been awkward, already standing out with his American accent. But he wasn’t. William had been born with a sense of self-assurance most could only dream of. Dubbed arrogant by some you had felt admiration.

Your school had been set up in two buildings, one for the boys and one for the girls, and separated by a field. Most classes were taken separately, the only times the genders had mixed was during meals and announcements, or on special sports days.

You can still remember it so clearly, when you fourteenth year old set your eyes on sixteen year old William for the first time. It had been on the football pitch during a friendly start of the term game. He was new to the school, a head taller than the other boys and no one seemed to be able to take their eyes off him. It was clear that he was unused to the game, having grown up mostly playing American football, but he soon got his head around the rules. You see it so clearly in front of you, how he had made his way through the defence, his long legs carrying him through in quick strides, before scoring his first goal; the whole crowd going wild. He was a natural talent, as soon you would learn, he was in most things. He took on the world with a natural ease, assured in his belief that everything would go his way.

At the end of the match he had stood there, arm slung around the shoulders of his fellow comrades, all grinning from ear to ear. They were the victors of the game; the heroes of the school. William in the middle, head slung back in laughter, almost radiant in the late September sun. He was and always had been golden, had always seemed more than human to you, almost godlike in being. The other boys had certainly found him so, the only exception being Freddie Fairfax and his friends, who never had a kind word to say about their fellow student. However the rest of the boys had soon made William their unelected leader. The king of god on mount Olympus. His eyes had met yours in the crowd of admirers and just like that - you were done for.

When he had asked you to the school dance, mouthed crooked in a smile and hands unstirred; so unlike the nervously trembling boys, you had said yes. The other girls had envied you and when you walked into the great hall with him he had taken your arm in his and kissed you on your forehead; told you he thought you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. You had felt chosen; blessed even.

And when he had asked you to marry him, down on one knee like a gentleman and with a hand that didn’t shake with nerves, you had said yes. Had thought that had settled everything. That you would marry the man you loved in front of all your friends and family, securing a financially stable future for your parents. You’d go on a honeymoon, a world tour perhaps, and later; children. After having found the perfect family home in Kensington, among all your friends.

Alas, that was not to be. No wedding, nor children or home had come along. Instead, heartbreak.

And you had fled, humiliated, to Paris.

“Yes” you say, feeling unable to look away from his blue gaze. “Yes, Timothée mentioned that. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you, I had already left for London by then”.

“Yeah” he says, corners of his lips turned up in a smile, but his eyes filled with something more like pity. “To marry Freddie Farifax”. And then he’s on his feet, moving around the table and before you know it, in Timothée’s chair. He leans forward and grasps your hands in his. They feel warm and steady, whereas yours are cold and shaking.

“Babe” his voice is like a gentle breeze. “Babe, look at me”.

You look up from your clasped hands and back into his blue eyes, at the moment more serious than you’ve ever seen them.

“I should never have left you” he continues, voice sweet and tender and barely louder than the breeze. “I was bewitched. I know, I know it sounds stupid but I just lost my head about Linda. I was a fool, a goddamn fool. I realized as soon as we left for New York that who I really wanted was you. It was like waking up from a dream. She was just such a lovely thing, so carefree and - no please, listen” You had tried to remove your hands from his but he kept a firm grip around them. Slowly he moves one of his hands from yours, up to your face to cup your cheek. It’s tender, and it feels like it had always felt when Wiliam touched you - the same feeling you got when you lay sunbathing; kissed by the sun. A mild breeze through the trees and the scent of him, citrus and cedar, hits you like an embrace from the past.

At fifteen, a few months after you first set eyes on him, he kissed you. Calmly, with a hand cupping your face; just like now, he had kissed you until you felt tender and starry eyed. It had been in the library, in the row furthest down, a copy of Anna Karenina sticking into your back as he pressed you against the bookcase.

He had smelled the same then, as you stood on your tip-toes to reach him his arms surrounded you.

He had smelled the same in baronessa Digby’s guestroom during her annual ball. After hours spent dancing, pressed up against one another he had snuck you both in there and on the bed showed all there was to know about love in its physical form. Flashes of memories come back to you of his body above yours, muscles defined and body almost golden in the candlelight, pressing you down onto crisp white sheets. The scent of lemon and cedar everywhere.

He had been gentle and patient, moving in and out of you with steady, slow thrusts at first, deliberate and calm in all his movements. His hands were steady the whole way through but you were shaking all over.

“I should never have left you” he repeats, and you can feel the shame coming off him in waves, see the regret in his eyes and in the furrow of his brow. “You never should have had to marry fucking Freddie, the piece of shit”. Something thunders in his blue eyes.

“I’m not angry with you William. I felt hurt and humiliated when you left but it’s all in the past now, so if it is my forgiveness you’ve come here for you can have it”.

“It’s not,” William says, almost before you’ve finished speaking. “I mean, I’ll gladly take it but what I want is you.” All you can do in response is stare at him and he laughs, almost bitterly, before continuing “to think, that had I not made such a massive ass of myself we would have been married now. We would be happy. I can still make you happy, baby”. He makes the last word sound like a prayer. He strokes your cheek.

“Make me carefree?” you ask, and you swear, you can feel the ocean move in protest in your lungs.

“Yes, just give me a chance and I’ll make you the happiest being on earth”.

You look into his pleading eyes. Part of you wants to say yes, because part of you still loves him. Part of you is still that fourteen year old girl, enamoured by the school hero. But you know now, have come to realize with time, that William never has, and never will understand you. Not you as you as you really are How could he understand someone so different from himself? A godlike creature whose hands never tremble, who has thunder in his eyes and whose love burns bright; but also quick. Would you choose a life with him there would be other Linda’s. Other infatuations, there was bound to be, even if he would always make his way back to you.

But though Wiliiam’s hands never tremble they know nothing of steady.

“William” you say, finally untangling your hands from his, “Will I’m sorry but it’s too late. I have already moved on”.

William leans back in his chair, a deep sigh escaping him. “Yes, yes I was afraid of that. The painter boy seems to have stolen your heart quite thoroughly, hasn’t he?” You don’t answer and William digs in his pockets for cigarettes.

“I see” he mouths out round a cigarette, brows furrowed in concentration. He brings his own silver lighter to his mouth to light up and it reflects in the sun, like bolts of lightning. “Still” he adds with a voice smooth as honey, leaned back in his chair; breathing out smoke between you, “well, he might get to keep the real you but I won the painting. Quite the consultation prize”.

***

When Timothée steps back into the house, several hours later the clouds are dark and heavy with unshed rain. The world feels charged with energy, as is the way right before thunder. Louise greets him with her usual disapproval at the door before simply nodding upward, uttering the single instruction, “upstairs”.

He makes his way through the house, dark and quiet in the late hour, up the stairs and drawing room. It is a large room, with wallpapers of navy dyed silk on which several paintings in the modern style are set up. Heavy oak furniture outlines the room, decanters of whiskey and cognac and any other liquor that could be wished for on one of the tables and in the middle of the room two elegant white sofas facing each other.

On one of them you sit, a martini at the table in front of you, next to an enormous vase of casa blanca lilies. The whole room smells of them.

Not knowing what to say, where to start he walks past you, across the room, to make himself a drink. Pouring himself a generous measure of Laphroaig, which he drowns immediately, before pouring himself a new one. Dutch courage.

“William gone then?” he asks, staring down at the amber liquid in his glas, hating how casual he sounds.

“Yes, he went back to his hotel”

So the supposed love of your life was only temporarily missing then. Timothée squeezes his eyes shut, clutching his hands around the table, as if to stop himself from whimpering. He feels pathetic and weak. Opening his eyes again, the room dark around him he walks to the sofa and sits down opposite of you.

Outside he hears the first few drops of rain.

“So you two patched things up then?” There’s a forged cheeriness to his voice and he hates how disingenuous he sounds.

For a few long seconds he is met by a silence so intense it makes the hair on his arms stand up. Then it really starts to fall outside, the sky opening up with rain, the clapping sound of it as it hits the roof like thunderous applause.

“I’ve decided to let the past be the past”. You’re so calm and collected; so cool and unfaced. Yet he can sense that you are holding onto yourself with an iron grip, not letting go an inch of your own feelings or reactions. It reminds him of the way children clutch their hands around objects they know they shouldn’t possess, determined not to show what they are hiding.

He takes a sip from the whiskey, the smokey smell of it mixing with the heady scent of lilies. So this was it then. He had ruined his own chance of happiness by bringing William back to you. Timothée had not been to compete with Freddie Fairfax and his money and title, but he had always known that you had not married that man out of love, and that had made the blow on his feelings less hard than if you had simply preferred Freddie; chosen him. But with William it was a different matter. You did not need to be with him out of any necessity. If you had chosen him; then it was because you loved him.

“Well, good on you” he says, drowning the rest of his glas. “Sweet of you to forgive him, you know, after basically leaving you at the altar and humiliating you infront of everyone you know. Really, it’s big of you”.

“Yes, me and William had a lovely chat this morning” your voice is cold as ice. You’re on the sofa, spine straight and shoulders tense, taking a large sip from your martini. “He told me about a poker game the two of you had in Paris. How you paid your debts with a nude portrait of me".

Lightning strikes outside and for a brief second the whole world goes white, like the flash of a camera, before once again leaving you both in shadow.

Timothée is dumbstruck; can’t get out a single word. He wants to protest, to deny it, but there’s no use. He’s never been a liar.

“How fucking could you?” The venom in your voice feels lethal, as if he’s injected it like poison and it’s making its way through his system.

And here comes the thunder.

“I trusted you with that painting and you let him fucking have it! My ex-fiance has a naked portrait of me because of you. I knew I couldn’t trust you, I knew it! It was all too good to be true. You just wanted me because you knew you couldn’t have me, because you knew it wouldn’t last. I was just a conquest you would get a few nice paintings out of!” You’re shouting now; unbound and full of rage. Unable to stand still you’ve gotten up, pacing the room.

“You knew it wouldn’t last?” he answers with a sarcastic laugh, anger shouting through him as well now. “You made sure it you mean? You used me as some sort of escape fantasy because you felt lost and trapped! The princess and the penniless painter. Those were just roles we played. You just wanted to feel desired again and no one has ever desired you as much as i have, but as soon as Freddie fucking Fairfax came along you dropped me, and guess what? I could have lived with that. I understood it even. But you made your way back into me, gave me hope, and now you’re fucking leaving again with fucking William!" He’s on his feet as well now, standing just feet from you. "So yeah, I’m sorry I gambled away the painting, that was wrong of me but don’t make out as if I’m the reason this can’t last when you have always been the first to leave. You have always been the first to leave!”

Lightning like a flash, capturing the hurt look on your face, burning it onto his retinas forever.

“You can say that all you want but you've had one foot out the door for a while, haven’t you? You never called or wrote after you left London. And when I called you early that morning there was some girl fucking giggling in the background! I had to go back to Paris this spring to sort out some of aunt's things and I didn’t go to visit you because I knew there was gonna be someone else there!”

And here comes the thunder again, louder than before.

“Oh that’s it sweetheart, jealous are we?” his tone is low and mocking and your eyes are burning into his. They seem to sparkle in the dark and though adrenaline is shooting through his body he can’t help but he can’t help thinking; that this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen you; unbound and unleashed. Despite his anger he’d like nothing more than to lean in and kiss you.

But he is angry, and so he continues in the same, low tone, “and you accuse me of having one foot out the door? Ye get jealous of some model coming in to have a painting done - who I’ve never even touched - but I have to watch your husband parade you on his arm at the opera? And be a spectator as you and fucking Wills reunite?”

“You’re the one who brought him here!”

“I know!” he shouts. Both your chests are heaving with anger, the air loaded with thunder. He takes a step back from you, runs a hand through his hair in frustration and sighs. “I know” he repeats, defeated now. Walking away from you he crosses the room and throws himself down on the sofa, his head in his hands.

Outside it keeps raining.

You sit down on your old spot on the sofa again, hands in your lap, cool and collected once more. “I have not gotten back together with William. I’m sorry I made you believe that. I’ve simply decided to forgive him and let the past be the past. That’s all”.

Timothée lifts his head up, something like hope blooming in his chest among all the despair. “Yeah? Well I’m sorry about the painting, I really am. In my defence, I didn’t know he was your William until after”.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now. I asked him to get rid of it”.

“Nevertheless, I am sorry” he looks you straight in the eye as he says this, wanting you to know the sincerity in his apology. “Do you want me to leave? I can go back to Paris tomorrow”.

Silence, then thunder once again, though this time further away.

“No” you say in the end, still in that cold voice, but you sound genuine when you continue, “no please stay. It is your house just as much as mine. Stay as long as you want”.

*

“Please, let me paint you again?”

Rain in July is a rare thing in Menton. Nevertheless, a storm had raged the night before. You had often heard the expression the calm before the storm, however you had always found the aftermath of storms all the more fascinating.

“No” you answer him, flipping the page in your book; Anna Karenina this morning.

Timothée is standing by the barristrade under the golden mimosa tree, trying to capture the landscape beneath him. He wears a frustrated, nearly pained look on his face as he stares at the canvas. You can hear his groans of ill contempt.

“Fucking hate landscapes”.

“That is your vanity speaking. You know you aren’t very good at it and so you hate it. Like all men you hate the things that make you look less than average". On the page in front of you Vronsky has decided to pursue Anna, despite knowing that she is a married woman.

“I’m not vain” Timothée mutters, like a petulant child. “I don’t like landscapes because they are ever-changing, just when you’ve managed to get the precise shade of the sky it has already changed into something else entirely.”

“But faces change all the time too. I’d say there’s as much variety in a face as it is in a landscape” you argue. Looking up from your book you observe Timothée. The mimosa branches hanging down, it’s golden flowers framing his head like a halo, the impression strengthened by the morning sun shining through.

The sweet, succulent scent from the tree, reinforced a thousand times with last night's heavy rain, hangs around them like an invisible cloud.

“You’re just defending landscapes because your precious Monet couldn’t have enough of them”.

“He painted people too”.

“Yeah, but he wasn't as good at is. Maybe he too was vain”.

”Monet never used black, did you know that?” You say, apropo of nothing. “And for a while Picasso only used blue. Do you think this is how they’ll define you one day? In a textbook, a picture of a portrait of me - and underneath it written in black on white: Portrait of a girl unknown. For this period in the artist's life he refused yellow. Is that how they will define you?”

“I don’t refuse yellow anymore.” He’s stopped painting now, but faces away from you, looking out at the ocean. You see his fingers twitch for a cigarette.

“Maybe not, but you don’t see blue in the same way. Neither does anyone else if Le Journal du Dimanche, I saw what they wrote about your exhibition, congratulations by the way.” His back is very still and you keep going. “What was it they wrote? ‘As revolutionary as Picasso’s blue period, making the viewer see the colour in a new light, almost as if for the first time. Never before have I’ve seen blue look so isolated and lonely’?”

You can’t explain even to yourself why you are doing it, why you are antagonising him. It is petty and it should be beneath you but like a child you try to goad a reaction out of him.

“You made me look at all colours in a different light.” It is a quiet confession, sincere in its simplicity. His hands are clasped around the brim of his chair, like he’s trying to hold himself very still. “You made me listen differently as well, I could never hear the beauty of Chopin until you played it for me. And the scent of lilies will always remind me of you. You made me feel different too, different from anybody else. Like I had been reborn into a new body, with new feelings. A new purpose. Even the air in my lungs felt different; cleaner somehow.”

You don’t know how to respond to that; feeling as though all malice has been sucked out of you like poison from a snake. Perhaps there’s nothing to say.

“Let me paint you one more time”

“No. Why don’t you just hire a model instead?”

“I don’t want another model, I just want to paint you”

“Well William’s still at the hotel if you’re planning to gamble it away after”.

Maybe all bitterness hasn’t escaped her yet. Timothée takes up his brush and goes back to his canvas. For a few long moments everything is silent.

Then, in a quiet voice he speaks. “Why didn’t you go back to William? I saw how much you loved him, when you first came to Paris. I remember. But if you’ve decided to forgive him, and if there’s still feelings there, then why not?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you to be happy”.

You throw the book on the table, close your eyes and lean back in your chair. “I’ve always figured that the world can be split into two; that people are either like birds, or like trees.”

You can hear Timothée dropping his paintbrush again and had you had your eyes open you would see his curious eyes as he watches you with open adoration.

“You see,” you continue “some people are drifters, and other settlers. Some people grow roots where they stand, trying to reach as far down into the earth as possible in order to feel secure. They are steady and they grow but they never change and they never change their outlook on things. And when they have to move, they have to be ripped out by the roots and it hurts. Others, well others are like birds. They fly from branch to branch and sure, sometimes they build nests but they never stay for long. They need air beneath their wings, they need freedom.”

“And William is a bird?”

“Yes, William is a bird. A drifter. He will always move from branch to branch. In his lifetime he will have a thousand infatuations and sure, if we were to marry I think he would always come back to me but I cannot live like that. I would be a tree, trying to force my roots through concrete”.

“And that is the reason you don’t choose him?” His voice breaks slightly at the end and you can’t help but love his fragility, his vulnerability in this moment.

“That yes” you say, opening your eyes and feeling blinded by the sun. “That and the fact that I’m not actually in love with him anymore”.

Silence again, because maybe there is nothing more to say now. Timothée picks up his brush and you take up your book and continue to read your book; ‘There can be no peace for us, only misery, and the greatest happiness.’

An hour or so later Timothée swears under his breath and abandons the landscape by walking out. Further away you hear the heavy front door close and you know he’s left for the village. You stand up and walk over to the painting, inspecting his work. He has painted the scenery in front of him, but despite the golden mimosa tree there is no yellow to be seen on the canvas; only various nuances of blue.

****

August, 1953

A routine settles at Villa Marguerite.

Each morning Timothée wakes before you and makes enough coffee for two. He takes his cup and his brushes out to the terrace and he tries to paint the ocean. Some time later the radio in the kitchen is turned on as Louise begins to prepare breakfast. Later still he hears your footsteps as you come out to join him on the terrace, wearing the same white dressing-gown each morning.

“There’s coffee if you want some”.

These words are his timid confession, his quiet ‘I think of you each morning as I wake’. A kind of ceasefire has settled between you. You don’t argue with each other but then again, you hardly speak.

When you come back out on the terrace, coffee cup in hand, you sit down under the golden mimosa tree and Timothée wants to sigh but he doesn’t. He wants to sigh, because you are beautiful. Because in the morning light, dressed in a white dressing-gown, you look more angel than person; the golden mimosa flowers like a halo atop your head.

Each morning he wants to capture the moment, just like you this, on his canvas. Not because of the etherealness of the setting; but the domesticity of it. You, morning hair and a cup of coffee that he has brewed for you; bare feet and nightgown.

You’re both silent as you drink. It is peaceful. In the village church bells ring. He feels no need for church. Heaven, he thinks, are mornings with you. Anything else can wait.

The rest of his days are spent painting, trying to catch the colours and moods of the ever-changing ocean and sky in front of him. By lunchtime he’s grown tired of trying, and so he walks down to the village where he strikes up a conversation with whomever is available. Nice is in high season and the streets are full of tourists. During midday however, when the sun is high in the sky, most people are hiding in whatever cool space they can find or lay their bodies on the beach. But Timothée finds he doesn’t mind the heat,

He’s made some friends during his time in Nice, foremost a fellow Parisian his age named Nathaniel, and an elderly French-speaking Italian named Marco. If Marco, who owns a bistro in the square, is available they play chess and argue about politics. Marco always wins. When Nathaniel, who works down by the docks, goes on his lunch break he comes to join them, and they eat together, whatever Marco’s bistro has to offer for the day. They share glasses of wine and discuss jazz, the two younger men unsuccessfully trying to convince Marco to arrange a jazz night at his bistro.

When the other men go back to their work Timothée strolls. Sometimes he walks down to the beach, where sometimes he runs into William. They chat, and it’s not exactly comfortable but neither is it awkward. They both get through it.

Some days he spends strolling the village, watching the pastel-coloured houses, dreaming about the inhabitants' lives. Other days he goes to the ancient little library in town, where he spends his afternoon strolling through the book shelves. He picks up books, reads a few chapters of them; though never starting at the beginning, before putting them down. Like this he goes from book to book, never being able to commit to a single story.

In the end he re-reads The Odyssey - the first page to the last. He doesn’t know what to think about it; except maybe that if The Iliad left him with a distinct feeling of doom, the feeling that sticks with him after The Odyssey is a distinct sense of homesickness. Of nostalgia.

He returns the book at the desk, asking the librarian for more books on Greek mythology. She hands him one and with the book safely pressed against his side he strolls down to the docks and there, on a bench overlooking the ocean, he reads. He reads until the heat fades and seagulls stop screeching and the sky turns pink and until all the fishing boats return to the docks.

He walks back to the village, pays for a box of pralines and a bottle of fine red wine to share with you on the terrace after dinner, and moves his feet towards home. All the time he thinks of Helen of Troy, of Persephone, of Aphrodite.

You eat dinner together and talk. You discuss The Odyssey at length. Debate about what is worse, to feel homesickness to a place you cannot return, or doom for the future. You tell him of a new play you’ve gotten your hands on, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. You talk about the play in a way that has him enamored. He asks to borrow it from you and you lend it to him.

You share the wine and the pralines as the sky grows darker and the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks louder. You drink and eat and talk until your eyelids grow heavy and it’s time for bed and Timothée thinks to himself that even if you are not his to kiss good night he can still have this. He counts it as a blessing.

Your bedrooms are located right next to each other and as he lay in bed reading your copy of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in the dim night lamp light he can’t help but feel close to you, knowing that just on the other side of the room you lay sleeping. Like in all your books the pages are full of underlined lines scribbles, the corners of the pages dog eared and the spine cracked.

He turns the page and sees that you have underlined a sentence. ‘I’m not living with you, we occupy the same cage’.

He continues reading until the sun starts to rise outside, then he goes back in the story and underlines a sentence of his own. ‘One thing I don’t have is the charm of the defeated’.

*

Notes:

The last part will up up sunday/monday

also, please, if you've managed to get through this beast of a story please leave some feedback. I've been working on this for a very long time and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

So this was like… a year in the making? Honestly never thought it would be this difficult but here we are. Also, I don’t hate Picasso as much as it seems I do. Also, is the quote “There can be no peace for us, only misery, and the greatest happiness” in the book? Or is it just in the Joe Wright movie? My ex kept my copy of Anna Karenina and I can’t remember

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina (I will defend the Joe Wright adaptation until death even though I know it’s no good, alright?), Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Still Clean

CW: Referenced noncon and incredibly fucky attitudes/beliefs around spice and his own body from an abuse and assault survivor still very much normalizing it, minor attempting to initiate spice with adult due to trauma (adult reacts with a Big No), trauma response

 TIMELINE: Chris’s first few days in the shelter, before he picks his name. I would say this is actually shortly after the first time he speaks to Jake.

The first shower is… different. 

Baldur has taken showers before, of course. At Sir's, although mostly he had baths, soaking in the big old claw foot rub with Sir's fingers gently circling his scalp to lather up shampoo he'd ordered to bring Baldur's hair to a high shine, make it soft to touch.

H had showers in the big room at training, frantically scrubbing cheap soap into his scalp and skin, hoping if he moved fast enough he wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye. He's showered with other trainees who kept their gaze down, just like him, or handlers who would stare.

If you were lucky, all they did was stare.

223499 was pretty, they all said so. Too pretty. He knew what that meant. So he got clean as fast as he could, and it didn’t really matter, because nobody ever stays clean in training.

This, though, this is different.

For the first time in his whole memory, he’s going to take a shower alone.

The boy makes his careful way out from underneath the bed while everyone else is downstairs. He listens, at the doorway to the room he is in, head tilted. The sound of silverware scraping on plates, people talking over each other but not angrily, just… talking. Someone laughs, and then everyone laughs. 

The boy swallows against a sharpness, like a bit of glass has lodged just over his heart. He would have liked to do that, he thinks. He would have liked to belong to someone who laughs, not at him, like Sir, but because something is funny without hurting anyone.

His neck is itching - they cut his collar off, and he feels naked without it, even in the big shirt they've given him to wear over the tight, soft black pants the woman who found him helped him put on in her car, in the rain. He hasn't taken them off yet. They feel like his trainee shorts. They feel like home.

While they are downstairs, he tiptoes out into the hall, wincing at the slightest little creaks of old wood beneath bare feet. His stomach gnaws on itself, empty and aching for something, but he won't leave the safety of the space behind the bed, not yet. Have to wait. 

Wait for what?

He doesn't know.

Still, he knows that he smells - like sweat, a pungent sharp odor that he is sure must bother the other one who sleeps in the room, although the other one never says it. He knows.

He's only been dirty like this once, in memories he is almost too terrified to hold onto. Locked in the white room alone - alone and alone and alone- until he was screaming for someone to come in and help him, talk to him, touch him, do whatever they wanted if he could just stop being alone-

The boy's fingers slip up under the hem of his shirt as he creeps along, finding the warmth of his abdomen, twisting his fingers and tapping them. The soft soothe of controlled sensation calms the way his heart wants to race.

No more white rooms. The woman said that, to him - no more white rooms.

His eyes dart back and forth. The pills have worn off, and it's been so long since he could see with all his thoughts that he sees everything now, in a rush of detail he can't quite grasp onto.

He can see the pattern of the woodgrain in the floor and the way the old walls are painted with a heavy matte paint and photos hung there of the woman and the younger man and some people the boy hasn't seen. He is aware of a room that he passes and all the detail of the two beds inside - where the two girls sleep, the ones who he has only seen once in a brief glimpse. He knows their voices, though. They're laughing downstairs. 

Another room, where the man, the one who might own him now, sleeps at night. Messy, a room that looks comfortable. It smells like the cologne the man wears. Baldur likes his cologne, a little too strong but it smells, to him, like something good. He sees the little hook to pull down a ladder to where the owner of everyone here sleeps in the attic and he sees the bathroom door has peeling paint over older, darker paint and he sees the towels are worn but fluffy hanging inside and-

And he is in the bathroom. 

In training there were no baths, only showers. At Sir's, the shower was on one side of the bathroom and the old clawfoot tub on the other. Here, the bathtub and shower are the same, set into a notch in the wall. The shower curtain has dinosaurs on it and the boy hums, letting his fingertips reach out to slowly run down the silky plastic. 

Tyrannosaurus rex. Stegosaurus. Triceratops…

He knows which is which, the knowledge dances around inside him, but he doesn't know why he knows it. He had a favorite dinosaur, once. He thinks.

He can almost see bookshelves full of dinosaur things, little plastic figurines that he could run his fingers over and feel the rough texture of their scales and skin built into the plastic. Tiny white-pain teeth there felt sharp if he pushed his little fingers into them, pretended the dinosaur would bite him.

Line them up by height, from tall long-necked to tiny little runners.

Dinosaurs are birds, now. But crocodiles… crocodiles and alligators haven't changed in millions of years, because they're already perfect, a voice murmurs, somewhere inside. Flush with excitement. A man's voice, maybe. Do you see? They didn't evolve more because they're absolutely perfect. We just don't get them, so we think they’re ugly, but we don’t know what ugly is, do we?

He winces, at the headache that rocks through him on the heels of the man's voice. It slips beneath the surface and the buzz of other thoughts takes over. 

The boy doesn’t remember bookshelves anymore - or anything at all.

False memories are a common result of proprietary training procedures and should be ignored. That voice he knows, and there isn't any headache with that thought. Handler Petrus can live in his head without it hurting - it is the other voices that hurt. 

The boy carefully closes the door to the bathroom, and with a thrill of fear at doing something so absolutely not allowed… he locks the door.

Baldur, darlin', are you allowed to-

No more locked doors, the woman said that, too, but she didn't say he couldn't lock them himself. 

He pulls the shirt off over his head, steps out of the pants, peeling them away from his legs. He looks at the hamper, then puts the pants into the trash can instead.

The knobs are old and look like glass but feel like plastic, and water thunders from the faucet in a tremendous rush, ice cold when he puts his fingers underneath to feel it. He shivers in the chilly bathroom, and stares at it, listening and listening. It sounds like something. He can't remember what. 

He's humming again, low throaty noises, settling his nerves. Not an allowed sound. His hands twitch in a memory of the black baton used to teach him to stop, and he goes silent.

Silence is better than stammering. Easy, just repeat, again and again, until the other thoughts are gone. But with the medicine gone from his system there are so many other thoughts, his mind running on so many tracks, that he can't drown it all out. 

The water starts, slowly, to warm to the touch. The boy rocks, just a little - just the teeniest bit, no one is watching him, no one will know - as he enjoys the way it grows from cold to cool to warm to hot.

Then he turns the big knob in the center, and the shower kicks on, sending a cascade of hot water with a soft sssssssssssss to the tub. 

The boy's hair hangs in greasy hanks over his forehead, and as he steps in, his eyes scan immediately for shampoo. 

He finds something - he can't read the bottle but it is short and squat, a clear lime green. The liquid inside smells like mint and something else he can't name, and he breathes it in, eyes closing, before he rubs his palms together to lather and then moves his hands to his hair. 

The air smells so good, around him, and when he catches himself humming again, he tries to keep it soft, rather than stop. 

No one is in here. It’s just him, all by himself, and he smiles into the water, letting the shower beat directly onto his face, the water pressure gentle and low, falling like warm rain. 

Days of oil and dust from under the bed wash out of his hair and down his skin, and he scrubs and scrubs the last remaining hints of Sir's hands and mouth with the bar of white soap that sits in a little dish attached to the tiled wall. There is a small matte green bottle, too, and it smells like the shampoo but it is thick and heavy and he thinks this must be the conditioner - so he uses that, too. 

The smell-

He wants-... 

On impulse, he rubs the conditioner over his entire body, all at once, determined to make every inch of himself clean. His back, right at the small of it, his stomach below his navel, his collarbone and neck, ears, even dipping between his legs with a thrill of the forbidden things he isn’t allowed to do right down his spine…

He would be in so much trouble in training, if they saw. And worse with Sir - there would be a game, to teach him never ever to break a rule again. 

He isn't going to get in trouble, here - no one is in this room but him.

He isn’t trying to do things he’s not allowed to do, exactly. He just wants it all - all of him, every inch of him - to smell like the mint, chase away the memory of the things he is made for and doesn’t want, to wipe away all the remaining sense he has of the places his Sir liked to touch him most.

No Sir, here. Just him. Just himself, and the things on his hands that can make him feel almost… almost clean. 

He is in there so long that the water turns back to lukewarm and finally to cold, and the boy is shivering as he steps back out onto a shaggy bath mat, which he realizes matches the curtain - it has a T. Rex on it, and he grins at that, rocking side to side, water running in rivulets down his body. Flash of teeth - oh he should brush his teeth, they’re fuzzy and gross like, like back in training when he would be locked in his room for days and days and days-

Baldur pads silently up to the sink, frowning, tapping on the porcelain before he pulls open a drawer, finds an unopened toothbrush, and forces it open.

Sir used toothpaste that tasted like cinnamon, and Baldur hates cinnamon but it didn’t matter what he hates, not to Sir.

But this… this toothpaste just tastes like mint and mint alone. He closes his eyes, rinsing his mouth, running his tongue over his teeth again and again as he feels them - solid, strong, and smoothly clean now.

He looks, he thinks, like a whole different person. Baldur stares in the mirror, blinking, at his own green eyes, the narrow chin and high cheekbones, eyebrows so light they seem to fade into the paleness of his skin. Smattering of freckles, he presses at those with his fingertips, hesitantly, gently. Clean, wet hair right now the color of an old penny and when dry, the same as a brand new one, flopped over his forehead, curling just a little under his ears. 

Clean.

Clean, with no hands on him, no mouth. Just clean.

For now.

He will have to be good for the man, or the woman, whenever they get tired of his hiding. He knows that. There will be a new collar, sooner or later. But for this moment in the bathroom, he feels clean. 

Like a real kid, like the ones he saw coming on field trips, who laughed and shoved each other and shouted and walked with awkwardness but with an understanding that their bodies didn’t come with a price tag.

Then he realizes he doesn't have any clean clothes to change into. Breath hisses out of him as he towel dries his hair and then wraps a fresh towel around his waist, but it's fine. There are clothes for him on the bed. 

He just.

Just has to get back to his bedroom, and then hide under the bed. Right back where it's safe, where it's dark. 

He twists open the door - the knob is a little slippery under his fingers, he hears the soft click of it automatically unlocking - and as the door swings open, he comes face to face with the man who might own him now. 

Or rather, face to collarbone. He has to raise his chin to look the man in the eyes. 

"Oh. Uh. Hi," The man says, in a deep voice. "Hey. I didn't know-... I figured you'd already-"

Baldur shivers, the chilly winter air in the house suddenly cooling every bit of damp still on his skin. 

It had been nice, to be clean, for a few minutes anyway.

He looks up at the man - blond hair and nice jaw and soft blue eyes, this won’t be so bad, he doesn’t look mean like a handler or cruel like Sir - and Baldur lowers his hand down to where his towel is tucked over itself just above his hips, lips parted slightly. Into training, he knows this, it's what he's made for. It’s easy.

Tilt the head just so much, to let his hair fall over his eyes the right way, give a slight little smile-

The man’s eyebrows raise, and he puts up both hands, and the boy wonders what part of him the man will want to touch first. "Oh, uh, no, you don't-"

Bite his bottom lip, just a slight press of teeth into soft skin-

The man steps forward, and the boy’s breath hitches in. He can do this. He can, he’s trained for this, and if he screams inside his head and not out loud no one will ever know to punish him. H

is fingers hesitate, pressed into the soft cotton towel. He tells himself to let it all slide away, to slip beneath the white light and let his training take over. If he just goes away inside his head, it will be over, soon enough.

"Hey, little man, we definitely don't need-"

The boy drops the towel to the floor, wondering how long it will take to not smell like mint anymore, and says in a low, husky voice - his shoulders are tense, it had taken days to get his voice just right, days and days of saying it over and over again until he never stopped screaming in pain, “I want this. I want you.”

There’s a breath of silence, the man staring at him - at his face, the boy realizes, and no one’s ever just looked at his face before. Then he says, in a strangled voice, “Absolutely not.”

The boy swallows. Is he-... is he supposed to-

“Sir?”

“I’m not sir. And absolutely the fuck not could you possibly want-... no. No.” The man steps back, and back again. The blood rises in the boy’s face, he feels the heat there burning with something like embarrassment, or shame, except he’s not supposed to have shame anymore.

But he does.

“I-I want-”

“No you don’t. No, you-... you don’t. No. We’re not going to do that, here. You will never-... Jesus Christ, I just-. Shit. What worked with Kauri? I just-”

The boy stares, slowly comprehending that he has… he’s done it wrong, somehow, and the man doesn’t want him to. He doesn’t want to. The boy breathes in, and out, and it’s with worry and relief. “I-I, I don’t… know… how to, to clean,” He says slowly, worriedly. “Or to do-... anything. I-I’m only, only good for-”

“No, you’re not, you’re just-”

But they said-

The boy’s breaths are coming faster, close to panting, now, his heart pounding against his chest. His face still burns red, and his eyes flicker away, away from the look on the man’s face that he can’t read. He has to be, to be still, and be good, but he doesn’t want him to be good…

He can see the door to the room they put him in.

The boy’s eyes flicker back to the man’s, then to the door of his room. He moves, carefully, to crouch back down and pick the towel back up. The man doesn’t stop him, only watches as the boy wraps the towel back around his waist with shaking hands. He’s going to be in trouble. Somehow he messed this up, and he’s not sure how, and… and…

“I, I, I-I like your sh, shower curtain,” The boy blurts out, and then flees down the hall back to the room, throwing himself inside and slamming the door shut, scrambling across to the bed and grabbing a pair of pajama pants that were there on the blankets. He drops to his knees and crawls underneath to the little nest he’s made along the wall of blankets and pillows, curling up naked but for the towel, under a blanket, shivering, staring from under the bed at the door.

He hears, dimly, the man say, how the fuck do I keep screwing this up? and then the sound of stomping feet down the stairs. The boy rocks, under the bed, rocks and rocks where he is safe to rock and no one will stop him or hurt him, tapping on his own skin, just to feel a little calmer. 

At some point, he falls asleep.

He’s good at falling asleep whenever and wherever, now. Nothing could be worse than trying to sleep curled up on the cold tile floor with the bright white light. Here in a warm soft circle of blankets, it’s almost impossible for him to be awake for long.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s night - the other man here, the soft quiet one, is already asleep, breathing deeply in the other bed across the room. There’s a small night light plugged into a wall, throwing a dim, warm, gentle yellow glow in a small circle around itself.

Folded and laid carefully just on the floor, an arm’s length away from the boy, is a t-shirt. He has to squint to see it, but his eyes widen as he realizes the front of it has the outline of a T. Rex holding a mug of coffee. There are words, but the boy carefully doesn’t see them as he grabs at the fabric - soft, ancient and washed a hundred times, it feels almost like skin - and pulls it to himself.

He pulls it on over his head, and then pulls the pajama pants on up over his legs. Soft, soft, soft. He runs his fingers back and forth over the slight change in texture from the design, just a little rougher than the soft cotton around it. Pulls the neckline of the shirt up over his nose, breathes in. It smells a little like the man’s cologne, mixed with laundry soap.

Is it his shirt? Did he give the boy his shirt, even after he wasn’t good the right way?

He pulls it back down and some of his hair falls over his eyes.

He smells mint.

Still clean. 

---

Tagging: @burtlederp​, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump​, @whumpfigure​, @slaintetowhump​, @astrobly​, @newandfiguringitout​, @doveotions​, @pretty-face-breaker​, @boxboysandotherwhump​, @oops-its-whump​ @moose-teeth, @cubeswhump

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch34: Paper

Summary: Following the events in Siberia, Katie, Steve Wanda and Sam all struggle to adapt to a life on the run. The Roger’s first wedding anniversary isn’t spent the way Steve would have hoped, but as Fall arrives, he finallly gets the call he’d been waiting for from Wakanda.

Warnings: Bad language, Smut! (NSFW, Under 18s) Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: Wonderful edit again from @angrybirdcr​ and a new part means a new banner!!!! Here we go, into the Nomad/IW years...

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 33

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

August 2016

Following advice from Coulson, the group of Outlaws decided to lay low for a few months until interest died down, although Katie and Sam were pretty amused to find out that there had been widespread protests across the US after Captain America had been declared and Enemy of the State, especially when someone (no names were mentioned, but Katie was laying odds on it being Murdock to help Clint and Scott’s very publicised hearings) had leaked to the press details of exactly what had taken place in Siberia, and how they had been treated by the Government. To Katie’s further delight, Ross was facing a public enquiry as well with regards to their unlawful arrests. 

All in all, that part of it had worked out pretty well. And whilst she knew Ross would get away with it, the thought of him being pissed off and inconvenienced filled her with a very smug sense of satisfaction.

The place they were living was called the Isle of Lewis, approximately twelve miles away from Stornoway in the northern part of the inter-connected Islands in the Hebrides. Coulson wasn’t lying when he’d told Katie it was isolated, in fact the only connection to mainland Scotland was either a two hour ferry or a half hour flight, so with that respect it was absolutely perfect. 

The old farm house was secluded, the land surrounding it sprawling for miles, shielded by a large thicket of trees on three sides and a cliff edge which dropped down to a small beach on the other. There was no reason for anyone to visit or pass their house, bar the odd dog walker they saw treading the cliff footpath. They were always careful when seeing people to greet them politely so they didn’t attract attention by being suspiciously aloof. 

The first rule of going on the run? Don’t run.

At first they strayed into town for supply runs only. Katie was surprised just how well she adapted to living with two additional people. At first she had been worried, Steve and her having had their own space for such a long time. Even in the tower and compound their living quarters had been spacious and private, meaning they could hide away from everyone if they wanted to. But in their safe house they didn’t have that luxury. Nevertheless, it was adequate enough meaning they all had their own rooms, even if they were on the small side. And whilst there was only one full bathroom upstairs, so far there had been no squabbles about who used it when. 

The large sitting area had been kitted out with a state of the art entertainment system, they had a decent sized farmhouse style Kitchen-Diner, and a smaller sitting room off the back of the kitchen with a smaller TV and a  a piano much to Katie’s delight. Practical things like bills etc were coming out of an account belonging to Mr and Mrs O’Rourke, one of Katie and Steve’s covers- the name being Steve’s Ma’s maiden name. Coulson had advised them it was the least suspicious thing to do and would attract less attention than trying to pay cash at a bank. They’d also acquired a ten year old 4x4, bought for cash of course, and it was subtle enough to blend in as a lot of the locals seemed to drive them too due to the terrain and climate of the Island.

But whilst everything seemed to go according to plan and was, when all was said and done, fairly easy, Steve was struggling. He was antsy from the lack of action, and from a purely carnal point of view was missing the fact he could slam his wife up against any surface he wanted to and not worry about them being caught. He hated the fact their room was right next to Sam’s, concerned with the amount of noise they might make after Bucky’s jibe about the hotel rooms, and it wasn’t long before Katie noticed a dramatic shift in his attitude towards her. He was snappy, short tempered and Katie was often the one that bore the brunt of his temper. They bickered, on a much larger scale than she could really ever remember them doing before, over really stupid things as well like the fact one evening Steve couldn’t find where she’d put his favourite cookies in the kitchen. He became less tactile, less handsy and their love life dwindled dramatically, but she tried not to let it get to her, which was easier said than done especially when she was so used to the fact that he basically worshipped the ground she walked on.

The morning of their first wedding anniversary, Katie woke alone, her husband nowhere to be found. After laying simply staring at his empty side of the bed for a moment, remembering he blinked back tears of frustration and headed for a before she wandered downstairs into the kitchen to be greeted by Sam and Wanda both sat at the table.

“Steve gone for a run?” She asked, after greeting them both good morning.

“Yeah, I offered to go but he wanted to go on his own.” Sam said, shrugging “Didn’t want me slowing him down.”

“He actually said that?” Katie frowned.

Sam nodded.

“I’m sorry Sam, don’t take it personally.” Katie poured herself a coffee and sat down, taking a deep breath. “Is everything okay?” Wanda asked, looking at Katie “You’ve both been a little tetchy recently. Granted you haven’t been as bad as him, but…” “Yeah, you guys not err…getting enough?” Sam quipped, earning himself a slap round the back of the head from Wanda, the younger woman giving him a glare.

“Fuck off Wilson.” Katie rolled her eyes.

“I’m just saying.”

“Well don’t.” She snapped, taking a sip of her coffee then swiping a piece of toast off his plate. “He’s just not coping well with being cooped up, it’ll settled down. I hope.” She added, biting her toast.

“Look, we know it’s your anniversary today.” Wanda looked at her. “You got anything planned?” “Not really possible.” Katie shrugged. “Thought I might try and convince him to take a walk later, just the two of us but…”

“Well,” Sam looked at Wanda then over to Katie. “We thought we might head into town for the evening, hit a few bars. Give you two a bit of space.” Wanda nodded, eagerly. “You have to do something, even if it’s just cooking a meal and having a bit of you time.” Katie pondered this for a moment and found herself smiling “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I can go to the store later.” Her spirits raised a little as she started planning a menu out in her head. She was jerked from her thoughts when the security system clicked and Steve walked through the door of the kitchen that led to the grounds, the door shutting behind him, the keypad beeping as he typed in the code to lock everything down. His T-shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his torso, the pair of dark sweats fitting snugly to his hips.

“Hey.” She looked up at him. His face was tired but nevertheless she was relieved to see him smile as he walked over and dropped a soft kiss to her head, their argument from the previous night forgotten.

“Happy Anniversary.” He whispered, and she smiled up at him, understanding his gesture to also be an apology of sorts.

“Back at ya, Soldier.” She swallowed back her tears, “You want breakfast?” “I’ll shower first.” He nodded to Sam and Wanda before pausing, and with a playful smile he stole the last piece of toast off Sam’s plate.

“Not cool man!” Sam groaned.  “That was the last of the bread.” Steve simply shrugged at Sam’s protest, before he headed down the hallway to go and freshen up. Katie watched him go before she turned to Wanda.

“Fancy coming with me to the store?”

She nodded “Sure.”

***** When Steve came back to the kitchen half an hour or so later he was surprised to find the girls gone.

“Supplies.” Sam answered his unasked question as he was flicking through the television in the lounge, settling on a British Chat Show called ‘This Morning’, easy daytime TV that didn’t require thinking about. Steve made himself a coffee before he sat down next to his friend with a sigh.

“So, first anniversary.” Sam spoke, not looking at him. “Be this isn’t what you thought you’d be doing?” “You can say that again.” Steve mumbled. Just twelve months ago at that exact time he’d been bustling about his apartment on the compound in a fluster getting ready. It had, without a doubt, been the happiest day of his life.  But this was not how he wanted their first wedding anniversary to go down. He’d always planned spoiling Katie a little, maybe a nice getaway, somewhere warm, but that wasn’t an option.

“Me and Wanda are clearing out later.” Sam’s eyes remained on the TV. “Give you two a bit of alone time.” “You don’t have to-“ Steve started but Sam cut him off with a snort.

“Man, you need to make some lovin’ on your girl.” He turned to the soldier who felt a flush rise up his neck. “Because we know you ain’t been getting enough, you’ve been a bad tempered bastard for weeks.”

“I have not.” Steve shot back indignantly, causing Sam to raise his eyebrows. Steve let out a sigh, knowing he was well and truly busted.

“Look, if you two ever need some space, all ya gotta do is ask.” Sam said sincerely, looking at Steve. “Couples need that time. This is bound to be stressful for you both.”

“I doubt it’s easy on you two either.” Steve looked at him and Sam shrugged, before he smirked.

“Difference is if I wanna get laid I’ll just head into town. There’ll be some sap out there that likes George Fletcher the Geologist from Georgia.”

“You’re terrible you know that?” Steve smirked at him over his coffee mug.

Sam simply smiled back. “You get her anything?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded “We agreed months ago on something paper themed, you know, on account of the anniversary being paper. I had planned to get the lyrics to our wedding song printed and do a sketch of one of our photos to hang up in our apartment but that kinda went out of the window.” “So what did you get?” “A book.” Steve let out a breath “I spotted it in the second hand shop in town last time we did a flyer. It’s a leather-bound complete works of Shakespeare but it was published the year she was born and has all these handwritten notes in it from someone. Just the kind of thing she’ll like. And a couple of albums of sheet music, I know she’s missing hers back home and she hasn’t been playing the piano as much as I thought she would.”

“She’ll love it.” Sam smiled encouragingly “I hope so Sam.” he sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions, scratching at his chin “I hope so.” *****

True to their word, Sam and Wanda headed out just after five, leaving Katie and Steve alone. As Katie bustled around in the kitchen, Steve couldn’t help but watch his wife as she cooked, a small smile playing on his face. And then, realising they were truly alone for the first time in months he placed his beer down on the side and crossed the small room, wrapping his arms around her from behind and dropping his chin to her shoulder, nuzzling at her neck. She smiled at his display of affection, something she’d been aching for, and as the scruff of his almost-beard scratched at her skin she gave a soft sigh.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He said, before he shook his head “No. Not really. Doll, I’m sorry for being so distant. You don’t deserve this.” He sighed. “After the accords, when the dust settled we were supposed to have a normal life, a simple life. I can’t even give you that.”

“It’s a good thing you’re cute because at times you’re incredibly stupid,” She smiled making him breathe a laugh. “Steve we’re here, together after everything. I made that vow, until death do us part and I mean it. I love you.” She finished simply, shrugging. “So stop wasting time worrying about it. You’re stuck with me, Captain Dumbass.“

Steve looked back at her, before he gave her a small smile.

"Now I know this probably isn’t what either of us had in mind, but we’re on our own, I’ve got a pretty large batch of Mac and Cheese, and an apple pie in the oven, a steak ready to grill so let’s just try and enjoy it.”

“You made mac and cheese?” Steve’s face creased into a boyish smile “And apple pie? What happened to not baking pies unless it’s Autumn?” “Well its September tomorrow.” She shrugged. “And I thought it might cheer you up.”

"Sorry.” He half grimaced, half smiled apologetically back at her. “I know I haven’t been the easiest to be around lately ─”

“Stop apologizing.” She interrupted him again.

He studied her for a second before he leaned down to give her a soft kiss. “I love you.” “I know.” Her hands slid down to his chest and she gave him a quick pat before playfully shoving him away “Now scoot, unless you want me to burn dinner. Go set the table.” Knowing better than to refuse, he did as he was told and it wasn’t long before they were settled down and eating. They talked about everything and anything, drank wine, and to the pair of them they could almost have been sat in their dining room at the compound. They laughed, they joked, they poked fun at one another. It felt normal. Once they had finished eating they cleared their dishes, Steve grabbed another bottle of wine and they headed to the couch to find something to watch on TV.

“I got you something.” Katie smiled when Steve dropped the wine onto the coffee table and she gestured to the small gift bag resting on the table.

“Oh, me too. Hang on.” He bounded up the stairs to retrieve his gift. As he returned, Katie eyed the two wrapped items with playful suspicion as he handed them to her. One was really heavy. She passed the gift bag containing his to him and he peeked inside, and they shared a childish grin with one another before they set about opening their presents.

“Oh, Steve.” She breathed out as she gently ran her hands over the leather of the anthology he had bought her. Flicking through, she smiled as she spotted all the notes that someone had written in the margins. They consisted of opinions on the plays, themes, characterisation plots, all the type of thing she had studied at University and she found it fascinating to read other people’s interpretations.

“I thought you might like it.” He watched her as she looked at him, her eyes bright, before she then let out another sigh of happiness when she opened the two sheet music books as they would give her something else to play other than the stuff she knew from memory.

And her gift to Steve was equally as thoughtful. He positively beamed when he opened the new blank sketch books, pencils, wax crayons and charcoals. All of his art supplies had been left behind and he’d been dying to get some more.

“Well, the sketchbook is paper.” Katie explained softly. “And I know it relaxes you to draw.” “Doll, its perfect” He assured her, dropping a kiss to her lips. “Thank you.”

“So, what film do you wanna watch?” She asked, moving for the remote but Steve had no intention of watching a film. Not now. He gently grabbed her wrist and she looked at him.

“Right now, Mrs Rogers, I’d really like to carry you upstairs and take you to bed.”

Katie grinned. “Well that can be arranged, but there’s something I wanna do first.”

He looked at her, puzzled for a moment but when she tapped on her phone and the opening sounds of ‘Only One in Colour’ sounded over the speakers he laughed and stood up, offering her his hand.

“May I have this dance?” He quipped, arching an eyebrow at her.

“Always.” She smiled, allowing him to pull her up.

They moved to the back of the couch where there was more room and he took her in a hold and they simply stayed close, swaying to the music, both of them thinking back to their first dance as a married couple twelve months ago. Katie pressed her cheek to Steve’s chest and he in turn rest his chin on the top of her head, revelling in her closeness. He heard her let out a soft sigh, but this one was contentment, and he gently moved to look down at her. For a moment Katie felt her breath catch, he was looking at her with nothing but unadulterated desire and love, the same way he had on their wedding day, and before the song had even finished, he’d captured her lips in a soft kiss, his hands moving to cradle her face. Hers fisted in his white T-shirt and it wasn’t long before the kiss had deepened causing a moan to catch in Steve’s throat. Without a word he pulled back and scooped her up in his arms, bridal style, causing her to giggle, a sound he would never tire of, and quick as a flash he carried her up the stairs and into the bedroom.

He set her on her feet but before he had time to do anything she’d shoved him backwards, catching him off guard slightly causing him to sit down harshly on the bed and he let out a smirk as she straddled him before she kissed him again and he was happy to reciprocate exactly how he knew she liked, firm and gentle, passionate and caring all at once. Katie gently bit his lower lip drawing another groan from his throat as he rest his head against hers, his hands gently gipping her hip.

“You know,” She drew back slightly to cup his face in her fingertips. “I really do like kissing you with this.” she traced her hand across the short beard on his face. She also liked looking at him with it too because, coupled with the fact his hair was also getting slightly longer, it gave him a rugged, harder, rougher look taking him farther and farther away from the Blue-Eyed all American boy day by day.

“I’m getting used to it.” He murmured pressing a soft kiss to her mouth before his head dropped, small kisses trailing up the length of her neck, that precious stubble creating an amazing contrast to the softness of his mouth.

“Yeah, me too.” She gave a soft moan, her eyes closed as she rolled her head back, giving him access to more of her neck. Steve smiled slightly, happy to oblige and just take his god damned time loving his wife. Eventually, his lips made their way up her jaw and then she sat up slightly, grasping at the hem of his T-shirt. He moved to allow her to take it off and then his fingers made short work of the sleeveless button down she had been wearing, shrugging it down over her shoulders before he peppered more kisses across her collar bone and down her sternum as he reached round to undo her bra. Gently, he lay her flat down on the bed, taking a nipple in his mouth, this time drawling a loud groan from her as her hips bucked involuntarily upwards at the sensations spiking through her body.

God it really had been far too long since he’d lavished attention on her like this and Steve made a mental note to tell Sam and Wanda to ‘take a walk’ a lot more often. It was almost two months now since they had last been intimate and, his body was aching for her, desperate to feel her, and from the noises she was making she felt the same. His lips made their way down, nose and beard skimming along the waistband of her jeans before he undid them, sliding them down with her underwear as he shed his own too before he crawled back over her.

Katie pushed on his shoulders slightly so she could roll him over and placed herself on top of him, brushing her lips across the hairs on his face tracing a path across from one side of his jawline to the other drawing a gentle moan from his lips, hands flexing on her hips as she shifted slightly to start taking him in. Her mouth dropped into a small ‘o’ as they both groaned as she slid down him, her hands falling to his chest and once he was fully sheathed inside of her, she began to work him gently. His hands slid up into her hair, as she leaned forward to kiss him and he raised his hips slightly and she whimpered, pushing down harder against him as his hands gently kneaded at her breasts. Her pace was slow, torturously so, but it wasn’t long before she began to move faster, working him harder as she chased her relief. The roughness of his pubic hair was grinding against her spot, the friction feeling amazing as she pushed down. With every push she made, his eyes grew darker, and darker, his hands digging into her hips as he pulled her down, grinding further and deeper.

He sat up suddenly, so they were face to face, the change of angle making her cry out, as he slid his hands round her back, pulling her closer to him as he bent to kiss her neck, biting at that spot whilst he held her still for a moment, gently thrusting upwards, deeply, slowly, savouring the moment. Katie rolled her head back, a louder cry this time tumbling from her lips and he felt her tighten around him, and he let out a groan of his own.

“Good?” He panted, smiling as she managed a broken noise of affirmation, as he pulled her to him harder, hands back on her hips as his rutting picked up speed.

“Stevie…” She mumbled, her eyes locking onto his as her hands slid up his back and fisted into his hair. A few more pushes later and they were both done for, her name escaping from his lips as her walls collapsed completely, and she let out a soft cry as she fell forward burying her face in his neck. He was close behind, letting out a gentle moan, his beard rustling against her ear as he jerked underneath her, clinging onto her as if he never wanted to let her go. And at that moment he didn’t.

After a minute or so he leaned back, his breathing deep as he brushed her hair back off her face before sliding his nose against hers. “Happy Anniversary, Kitten.” *******

Steve thought the fall in New York was gorgeous but that was nothing compared to what it was like where they were. He was feeling a lot more positive about things as well, as post their anniversary, he and Katie had made a pact that they would do  something alone together at least once a week, be it a walk along the cliff the beach, or straying into town to one of the local restaurants. His hair and beard now rendered him pretty much unrecognisable and they never got a second glance at all. 

Steve’s favourite ‘date’, if you could them that, was the walk they took in the pitch black to see the Northern Lights late one evening. Katie had been utterly captivated by the beauty of the Aurora Borealis and Steve had to admit, it was spectacular. Committing it to memory was easy, and a few days later Katie wasn’t surprised to find a perfect replica of them his sketch book.

Being on the run shouldn’t have been this easy, and they were constantly on edge, waiting for the time they had to split and run, but whilst they could, they made the most of it. 

Thanksgiving came, then Christmas, the four friends making it as festive as possible. They got a tree, shared gifts, enjoyed a Christmas Meal, and after several drinks each, Steve wheeled the piano into the living room where Sam and Katie gave a rousing rendition of ‘Fairy Tale of New York’ along with a few other Christmas songs. It was different, but that didn’t make it any less enjoyable.

And then, in March 2017, they had a call from T’Challa. They were ready to bring Bucky out of cryo. Katie and Steve instantly set about making the arrangements to go to Wakanda, but it turns out they weren’t the only ones planning on taking a little trip…

“There’s something I wanted to discuss with you all.” Wanda said, the morning they were due to depart. “Please don’t freak out, but I talked to Vision last night.”

“What?” Katie’s voice was quiet as she merely looked back at the younger woman, her face passive.

Meanwhile, both Steve and Sam’s eyebrows shot up in their foreheads.

“Hold on, what do you mean you talked to Vision?” Steve asked. “How? Where?”

“This is going to sound really weird, but I saw him in my dreams,” Wanda carried on with her explanation.

“How do you know that wasn’t just a dream?” Sam asked.

“Because it wasn’t,” Wanda shrugged “I don’t know how to explain it, but I know it was him and I know it was real. I think we are connected somehow, because of the Mind Stone and because I was thinking about him before I went to sleep, it made some kind of telepathy possible.”

Steve pondered it for a second, thinking to himself how ridiculous that sounded until he realised they were talking about an enhanced human who had gained certain telepathic and telekinetic powers due to experimentation with the Mind Stone and an android that now carried within his synthetic, vibranium-mesh body said gem. 

When you put it like that it seemed fairly logical.

"What did you talk about?” Katie asked after a moment.

“Just stuff, how I was, how much we, you know, miss one another” Wanda bit her lip. “We talked about actually meeting in person in a few days.”

“Okay, hold on,” Sam held one of his hands up, his brow furrowed. “How do we know this is not a trap? Like, I don’t know, Tony getting Vision to talk to you to get us back into the Raft?”

As soon as Sam said it Katie shook her head. Tony could sometimes be a jackass and he may have been hurt and mad at her and Steve, but she knew despite his stinging barb in Siberia, he wouldn’t want them all thrown in jail.

“He wouldn’t do that,” She looked at Sam.

“How do you know?” Sam pressed.

“Because Tony has way better tech than us, and there’s no accounting for what Vision can do with that Mind Stone.” Steve backed his wife up. This was something he had been pondering on for a while now too. “If anyone can find us, it’s them, yet we’re almost ten months down the line now since Leipzig and so far, there’s no sign of any one, so Tony’s either no longer working with Ross, or if he is, he’s dragging his feet deliberately.”

“Exactly,” Wanda nodded emphatically. “And Vision would never do anything to hurt me, not intentionally. I trust him with my life, but it’s more than that.”

Taking a deep breath, his mind made up, Steve turned to Wanda “You’re not a prisoner here Wanda. If you want to go then we can’t and we won’t stop you.”

“Do you want to go?” Katie looked at the younger woman who was wringing her hands together.

“I do but, well, I kinda feel like I’m fraternizing with the enemy.”

“He’s not the enemy. None of them are. Not Vision or Rhodey, Not Tony, none of them.” Steve ran his hand through his hair, sweeping the long strands back off his face. “We all wanted the same thing, to do good in this world but we disagreed on how best to make it happen. Doesn’t make us enemies.”

“But we’re on the run because…”

“This was always going to happen.” Katie cut her off, shaking her head “Ever since SHIELD collapsed and Fury stepped away there was a power vacuum. It was only a matter of time before the Government tried to step in to oversee us.”

“And let’s face it, I was always going to be considered a rogue threat the moment I refused to comply” Steve said, a wry smile on his face. “We all were.”

“Just be careful.” Katie looked at Wanda. “And whilst we’re away just make sure you check in once in a while? And the first sign of trouble, well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Well if Wanda’s being granted shore leave so to speak, I might take a bit of time too.” Sam chipped in as the idea came to him. “There’s an old RAF pal of mine, based near Liverpool that I aint seen in a while. He’s cool,” he anticipated the next question, “I saved his life on a mission so he won’t sell me out.” Steve took a deep breath and then shrugged “You know the risks, Sam. If any of us get caught then…” “Back to the Pokey.” Sam shrugged “Yeah, I got it. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t rat your location out.”

“Me neither.” Wanda added. 

“I don’t for a second believe you would.” Steve shook his head.

“I suppose, to be fair,” Katie bit her lip, “we’ve been here for a long time now. It won’t harm us to disappear for a while, regroup in a few weeks. And we’ll draw even less attention apart as they won’t be expecting it.” And so, for the first time in ten months, the four went their separate ways. ****** True to his word, Steve was there when they woke Bucky up. Once he had come round the two greeted one another with the same love and affection they always did. Suri’s scans showed that the programming was no longer present in Bucky’s brain, but there was one last thing they had to do to make sure.

Say the trigger words.

Which was why Katie, Steve, a one armed Bucky and T’Challa were now heading to the underground fort of the palace. Katie clutching a rifle, Steve was unarmed bar his super strength, whilst T’Challa was in his black panther garb, the party flanked by two members of his Kings Guard.

As they were about to enter the underground cell, Bucky grabbed Katie’s arm and pulled her to one side.

“What the hell Bucky?” She almost yelped, and he let go of her arm and held his finger to his lips.

“Listen, Doll Face, I got a favour to ask. If this hasn’t worked…” He took a deep breath. “I want you to end it.”

“End what?”  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Me.” He replied simply “Steve said you’re a good shot. I want you to put a bullet in my head.” Katie blinked, and then burst out laughing. “Whatever.” “I’m being deadly serious.” Bucky looked at her. “I can’t and I don’t want to live like that anymore.” He shook his head sadly. “I’d rather die that know that what they’ve done is still in there.” “Bucky,” Katie frowned, “you’d be safe here, you know that, no one would trigger you.” “No, we don’t know that.” He shook his head. “Please Katie, I’m begging you. You owe me.” “So you save my life and you want me to take yours?” “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“You’re an asshole, James Buchanan Barnes” She hissed, glaring at him before shooting a glance over his shoulder at where Steve was stood, talking to T’Challa. She shook her head sadly. “I can’t. It’d kill Steve and it’s wrong, you don’t…”

“Listen, I’m asking you because I trust you to do it.” Bucky cut her off, looking over his shoulder to where she had been watching Steve. He was now stood observing the pair of them and they both smiled at him. Katie took a deep breath, looking into Bucky’s steel blue eyes and gave a sigh. She knew how hard this was on him and she could fully understand where he was coming from but still, asking her to do it, especially when she knew Steve would be besides himself made her feel sick.

“I’ve written him a letter.” Bucky said quickly, as the Super Soldier was now making his way over. “It explains what I’ve asked you to do. So please, give me your word.”

She looked at him, swallowing, and gave him a small nod before her eyes flicked to Steve as he approached, a frown on his face.

“You two alright?”

“Yeah, Katie was just asking me how I was really feeling.” Bucky looked at his friend.

Katie shrugged and smiled at Steve in what she hoped as a convincing way “Wanted to make sure he was alright, that’s all.”

Steve studied her for a moment, and she smiled again before he turned to Bucky. “It’s gonna be ok.” Steve assured his friend, clapping him on his shoulder, shooting another glance at his wife who was nervously chewing her lip. He frowned again, but pushed the suspicion to the back of his mind and then nodded. “Come on.” “Yeah, let’s get this over with.” Bucky mumbled.

Steve and T’Challa stepped into the room which was sealed whilst Katie took up her position on the other side of the one way glass with Suri who pressed the microphone to talk into the room.

““I don’t know why you are all worrying, brother, it is like you do not trust me…” the young woman scoffed. “Take no chances Sister.” T’Challa shot back. “You know this”.

Suri made a noise in her throat and then spoke again “Ok, I’m ready when you are.” She held the red book in her hand that they had recovered from Zumo. T’Challa engaged his helmet whilst Steve stood stoic as ever, throwing a glance over his shoulder to the glass he knew his wife was stood at the other side of.

“Ready Buck?” he asked turning back. His friend nodded, taking a deep breath.

T’Challa signalled to Suri who, after a little hesitation, began to read, each word punctuated by a pause.

“Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace…”

Katie watched intently and saw Bucky was clenching his teeth and suddenly she started to get a little bit nervous. She wasn’t the only one that had spotted it either. Steve moved slightly, adopting a little more of a battle stance than he had been as he clocked his friends reaction.

“Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One, Freight Car”

The last words hit Steve like a truck. It was depraved that Hydra would use those words. Bucky had plunged from a train car to his supposed death. There was no randomness to that at all, unlike the seemingly obscure nature of the rest of the words, nor was it any accident it was the last trigger they would use. There were the final words because they signified the death of Bucky and the birth of the killer Winter Soldier.

Sick bastards.

Bucky’s chest was heaving, his fist was clenching, and for a split second Steve feared the worse. But when his friend looked up, he saw the blue eyes of Bucky Barnes looking back at him, and not the icy glare of the Winter Soldier.

“Buck?” He asked gently, his voice cracking slightly. Bucky looked at him, a single tear falling down his cheek.

“Nothing.” He croaked, and Katie let out a soft sigh of relief, her hands sliding down her face to cover her mouth. “Nothing.”

T’Challa threw a party of sorts that night which consisted of a bar crawl through the city. Katie and Bucky dubbed it a ‘Fuck HYDRA’ party much to Steve’s chagrin. But he couldn’t bring himself to care that much, as at the end of the day, if anyone had as much right to stick their middle fingers up to HYDRA it was them. There was still something troubling him though, so when T’Challa left the bar they were sat at for a few moments, he turned to Bucky and asked him outright what had been going on with him and Katie outside the cell before. Bucky hesitated before he hung his head slightly and peered up at Steve from where he was sat next to him, a tumbler of some kind of Wakandan alcohol in his hand.

“I asked her to kill me.” Bucky admitted, swilling the liquid round in the glass “If it hadn’t worked I asked her to put a bullet in my head. She didn’t want to but I told her she owed me.” Steve felt himself blanche. “You did what?” “You don’t know what it’s like.” Bucky shook his head. “Living with the fact that at any time someone could mutter a string of words and…” He shot back the alcohol and slid his empty glass back to the Bar Tender to top up. “I didn’t want to live like that.”

”You put that on her?” Steve’s eyes flashed with anger, “Damnit Buck, you should have asked me!”

“Would you have done it?” Bucky countered. Steve took a big sigh, knowing he was caught “Exactly.” Bucky scoffed. “And besides, you’re the one that said she was a dead shot.”

Bucky eyed his friend for a while before he slid his empty glass to the man behind the bar, gesturing for another top up. “Anyway, it’s irrelevant now because here I am.”

“That was still a shitty thing to do.” Steve frowned before he reached over for his glass, giving a little shrug. “But yeah, here you are.” T’Challa chose that point to come back and he settled at the bar next to Steve.

“So, Sergeant Barnes, we’ll have to see about getting you some permanent lodgings.” The King smiled “Maybe a private hut. There is a quiet tribe, not far from the river, unless you would prefer a post in my Kings Guard.” “I’m done fighting.” Bucky shook his head as he took another drink from his glass. “A hut sounds mighty fine. Maybe I can get some goats.” “Goats?” Steve looked at him.

“I like Goats.” Bucky shrugged “Do you remember the one in the petting zoo near School?” “Yeah, it set my asthma off.” Steve snorted before the pair of them descended into laughter.

Across the bar, Katie was stood with Suri and one of T’Challa’s personal guards, Okoye. She instantly warmed to Okoye, the woman reminding her a lot of Natasha. They stood chatting for a while before a loud roll of laughter caught their attention and they turned to see T’Challa, Bucky and Steve howling at something, as T’Challa gestured for the bar tender to top up their glasses whilst Okoye excused herself to head over to speak to her husband. 

“Oh dear, they’ve broken out the Wakandan Spice.” Suri muttered, eyeing up the men.

“What’s that?” Katie asked.

“The only thing that gets my brother drunk!” Suri snorted “That stuff could knock out a rhino.”

“So it should have an effect on Super Soldiers?” Katie grinned.

“Let’s go find out!” Suri nodded, a cheeky grin on her face. They made their way over and Katie could see instantly the woman was right. Steve had a glazed look in his eyes and Bucky was leaning back in his chair, a pink tinge to his cheeks.

“Hey, Beautiful” Steve smiled up at Katie, pulling her into his lap, his hand trailed up and down her spine, lazily. “Where you been all evening?”

“About ten meters away over there.” She smirked, pointing. Suri was reaching over to steal a bit of the liquor from Bucky’s glass and T’Challa slapped her hand. “You are not even old enough to drink.” He glared at her.

“Tssk hush brother. Just because you are now well into your thirties. You always seem to be so bitter about me being much younger than you.” At that Bucky barked out a laugh.

“Don’t know what you’re snorting at old man.” Katie glanced at him and he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Not exactly a comment I’d expect from someone who’s married to a hundred-year-old man.”

“Ninety-eight.” Steve corrected.

Katie leaned back in her husband’s lap to peer at him, her right hand running through his hair. "Doesn’t look a day over twenty five.” She grinned.

“Hey brother, why doesn’t your power stop your ageing?”  Suri quipped.

“Shut up.” T’Challa glared at her. “Before I carry you back to the palace”

As the two siblings began to quibble, Katie glanced at Steve. “Been talking about the good old days?” “In a fashion.” Steve smirked.

“Anymore good tales of your misspent youth to tell me?” Bucky shook his head. “Sure Steve’s told you enough already.”

“I never told her about the time you set up a double date for us and then forgot to show up.” Steve looked at him, his arms tightening around his wife.

“That never happened.” Bucky shook his head.

“It absolutely happened. Caroline O’Hara and Deborah Smith”  

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, yeah. Brunette and a red head. A curly red head.” He grinned.

“Yup. Double date to the theatre, only you never showed up.” Steve looked at him, accusingly “And little old me was left to explain to Debbie why you had stood her up.”

Bucky smirked into his glass.

"I thought she was gonna kill me.” Steve mused, turning to look at Katie. “She kept hitting me with her purse. And then Caroline started, asking where the hell he was and why he thought it fit to stand up her best friend and try to fix her up with some kind of joke.”

Katie frowned, narrowing her eyes. “You weren’t a joke.”

“Thanks, Honey.” He grinned before he turned to fix Bucky with a glare. “And do you remember why you didn’t show up?” Bucky was now shaking with mirth, as he looked at Steve, his eyes bright with tears of laughter. “Go on, tell her Buck.”

“I was with Maggie Dougherty.” Bucky smirked

“Yeah, you were.” Steve pointed at him. “That was the night you got caught sneaking out of her room and down her fire escape by her dad who beat the crap out of you.”

“Worth it though.” Bucky snorted. “She was hot. Strawberry blonde waves, pretty face, nice ass.” “Yeah.” Steve nodded and Katie slapped the back of his head.

“Oww!” He looked at her as she glared at him. Grinning he reached up to give her a soft kiss “Not a patch on you though, Darlin’”

After another hour or so, Katie left them to it, heading back to the palace with Suri. She’d had enough, the alcohol she had drunk had lulled her into that happy place here she felt warm and fuzzy inside, and ready for bed.

Steve woke her up when he came crashing into the room a few hours later.

“Shit.” He mumbled, as he banged into the chair by the dresser. “Shhhh”

He staggered over to the bed before face planting straight down. Katie grinned as he peeked up at her.

“I’m drunk.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” She giggled and scrambled out of the duvet. “Come on, get in bed.” “Promises, promises.”

“Yeah, not a chance pal. I doubt very much you’d be of any use in this state.”

“Hey.” He pouted rolling over so he was on his back, turning to look at her as she moved to climb out of bed. “That’s my shirt.”

“I know.” She dropped to the floor to take off his suede boots.

“I like you in my shirts. I like you better out of them.” Steve grinned, grabbing hold of her as she stood up.

“How much have you had?” She laughed as he pulled her onto his lap, nuzzling into her neck.

“Enuff.” he spoke back, voice muffled. “You know you’re the prettiest gal in the whole world?” He peeked up at her and she had to laugh as she ruffled his hair. 

“Arms up.”

“I like it when you undress me.” He grinned and Katie gave a chuckle, shaking her head.  Eventually she managed to tug off his shirt and his jeans whilst he made some other reference to sex, before he pulled her back down onto the bed next to him, giggling like a school kid.

“Bucky told me.” He slurred.

“Told you what?”

“That he asked you to shoot him.” Steve hiccupped “But I’m glad you didn’t have to.”

Katie chuckled to herself “Me too.” “And now he’s all better.” Steve sighed. “Good, isn’t it?” “It’s awesome.” Shhe smiled, reaching up to bush his hair off his face. “You’re gonna be so hungover tomorrow.” He responded with shrug. “But I do love you. So much.”

“I know and I love you too. Now you gonna get into bed?”

He pushed himself up before beginning a monumental fight with the duvet to get underneath it, the whole thing a great source of amusement to Katie. She’d seen him tipsy from the Asgardian stuff Thor gave him before, but not flat out shit faced like this.

“Are you gonna puke?” She asked, stroking his head as he sighed, nuzzling into her chest. 

“No.” He assured her, then paused, before he hiccupped slightly. “But I think I need water.” “Alright, wait there.” Katie climbed out of bed. She grabbed him a bottle from the mini fridge near the door but by the time she had turned back, Steve had his face buried into his pillow and made nothing more than a noise when she offered it to him, not looking up. Deciding she couldn’t be bothered to argue with him, she gently placed the bottle on the night stand next to him, and ran her hand through his hair one more time before she crossed to her side of the bed and settled down with him.

“Night, Soldier.” She smiled softly, kissing his cheek.

“Night, Princess.” He slurred into his pillow.

**** Chapter 35

**Original Posting**

[gtdanganronpa]

  Sizeshifter Shuichi x Kiyo

  Shuichi had seemingly grown since he's been yelling at the male. However, after he has finished his lecture it seemed that he'd gone back to his normal height. It was almost definitely interesting. Sometimes it seemed the male was shorter than before. One time he was standing next to Himiko, and seemed only a few inches taller than her. How had anyone not noticed?

  Regardless, Kiyo realized that his crush, Shuichi, seemed to shift size. Most likely depending on emotions. And most likely, he couldn't control them.

  So Kiyo, being the curious cat that he is, decided it wouldn't hurt to do a bit of... experimenting.

  It started off plain and simple. He would personally provoke emotions inside the smaller boy, then record them. Of course, he'd do this away from others. He was not so cruel as to divulge his secret. He simply wanted to study this strange ability.

  One day after class, he hung around with his friend group. Nothing too out of the ordinary. When the boy laughed, it seemed that his hat ended up falling over his head, like it was too big. Kiyo didn't personally have to do anything, and it seemed his secret was still safe. Good.

  Of course there were feelings Kiyo had to rely on other things for. He couldn't think of a way to provoke sadness in him. But... he could scare him.

  Shuichi was in the bathroom. Kiyo had... admittedly stalked him there. Once the door opened, Shuichi walked out and Kiyo quickly stepped right out from behind the door. Seemingly out of nowhere, causing the smaller boy to yelp. Well... he was smaller. For only a split second it seemed the male grew to almost the same height as Kiyo. Not enough for someone to think he had an ability. One would probably just think they mis-saw something. Shuichi quickly went back to normal size. Ah...

  "My apologies. I did not mean to startle you." Kiyo said, giving a slight bow as a sorry before disappearing into the bathroom.

  Very interesting. He wondered how the male would react to severe amounts of stress. Well... that was rather easy to figure out. He knew his reaction to it would probably divulge his secret if anyone around. That's why Kiyo distracted him his entire week he had to study for a test. That's why on the day of the test, when Shuichi rushed out of the room to the bathroom, Kiyo followed him.

  The male had locked himself in the bigger stall, and Kiyo, of course, wasn't going to intrude. But, he did knock on it. Just to spike some more stress. Nice. "O-Occupied!!"

  The voice definitely belonged to the detective. But it was a lot louder than he felt it should've been. There was a loud thud. "..." Kiyo simply walked out. No need to cause any damage to the actual room. The male seemed to grow a good amount when under stress.

  For maybe a month these experiments continued. He was able to examine his behaviors and record them. However, one last emotion. But judging from what he'd seen, he'd also judge it wasn't too difficult to cause it.

  Constantly, while Kiyo had been studying him, he found Shuichi looking at him. Sometimes Kiyo could see him staring when he thought he wasn't looking, and Shuichis hat would get bigger again. It fascinated him. Of course, after some digging he was able to get out of his more eccentric friend, Kaede, that the male did have feelings for him.

  Oh, how wonderful!

  It was time for the last emotion he needed to record. After extra curricular activities, he stopped outside of Shuichi's club room. Everyone exited, and that left Shuichi in there, alone. He entered.

  Shuichi tilted his head and looked back to see who came in. It seemed the smaller boy was getting ready to leave. Normal size. "Oh... hey, Kiyo. Did you need something...?"

  He asked, with a curious tilt to the head.

  "As a matter of fact... yes. I'd like to talk to you about something. Maybe ask you a question or such." He hummed in thought, walking directly up to the boy. Probably too close for comfort.

  And he got a little bit smaller. He took a few steps away. "Oh... am I... did I do something...?" He blinked a few times, seeming a little nervous.

  And Kiyo continued taking steps forward. "Oh no, you needn't worry. It's nothing... wrong." He shook his head. The more steps he took, the more Shuichi took back. He seemed to be getting a little shorter. Kiyo ended up hovering over him, Shuichis back against the wall.

  He leaned down so that they were eye level, putting a hand on the wall behind him and leaning forward a little bit. "..." Shuichi's eyes were wide. There was a red tint in his cheeks. It seemed he was processing what was happening. "What, exactly, are your feelings for me, dear Shuichi?" Kiyo's voice was low, and soft. His face was close to the others.

  Finally, it seemed the past few events caught up with the detective. His face began a flustered color. "I-I..." oh jeez. Shuichi had no idea what he was supposed to do. He covered his face with his hands, attempting to try and calm himself down. And then he was engulfed in darkness.

  Kiyo blinked a few times. He did... not expect that. He knelt down onto the ground, carefully sliding two bandages fingers under the bill of the hat, lifting it. Wow... 

  Shuichi Saihara had shrunk down to the size of a freakin paper clip. Kiyo's eyes were wide. He didn't know his size could fluctuate this much. How beautiful!

  Shuichis hands were still over his face. Kiyo very carefully poked the boy's side with his finger, wanting to get his attention. Shuichi slowly lowered his hands as he felt the boy poke his side, though it felt more than a small poke. His eyes widened. Oh. O h. Shuichi was panicking now. He couldn't get smaller than this, so he didn't have to worry about that at least. But- he'd shrunk. Right in front of Kiyo.

“O..oh...” was all the smaller male could manage to say. Just ‘oh’.

“I was not... expecting you to become this small.” Kiyo murmured under his breath. He carefully took the top back of the boy’s shirt with two of his fingers, lifting him off the ground. Shuichi squeaked as he felt himself get plopped into the bandaged hand of the normal sized male.

“H-huh...” Shuichi couldn’t focus enough to try and calm down and turn back. He felt smaller than ever, so he was gonna stay small. Whether he liked it or not.

“...it truly is a fascinating thing, fluctuating size...” Kiyo murmured, bringing the boy close to his face to examine him. Shuichi stared at him wide eyed, trying not to get scared or flustered.

“...h-huh-... so you...”

“Knew? Yes, I’ve been knowing. Though I must admit, seeing you at such a smaller scale... you really are quite adorable.” He hummed. Shuichi seemed paralyzed, unknowing what to do. Why would he ever even be prepared for this? Why would he ever think hed be in this situation?

“...a-adorable..?”

Kiyo didn’t respond. He just held him there in his hand, staring at him. “...I suppose it would be best if I were to bring you to your home. It doesn’t seem you’ll be going many places this size, and I don’t believe you’ll grow while I’m near. But I cannot simply leave you, since we’ve no idea when you’d grow back in general.”

“...w...was that what that was?” Shuichi frowned softly.

Kiyo blinked, tilting his head. “Was that what what was?” He noticed Shuichi had gotten maybe an inch bigger.

“...p...pinning me against the wall like that. Getting close... asking that question...” another inch bigger. Shuichi still felt relatively small, so of course he’d stay that way. But, he was slightly... well, he didn’t know. But it made him grow a little bit. “J...Just so you could see the outcome...?” His voice sounded bitter.

The anthropologist blinked a few times. “...” Was that the only reason? The answer was no. Kiyo did wanna see what would happen. But also... he wanted confirmation. He needed confirmation about the boys’ feelings towards him. “No.”

“...” Shuichi looked up at him, waiting for him to tell him why else he got that close, said those things, spoke that way, etc. but Kiyo simply picked up Shuichi’s things. Everyone in their class knew everyone’s address since they had weekly hang outs, so he easily knew where he lived.

Shuichi didn’t speak at all the whole time, but remained small. Eventually shrinking back a few inches to when he first originally shrunk. Tiny one inch detective. Once Kiyo pulled up to his door, he searched Shuichi’s bag for a key and unlocked it. He placed his bags down inside and left the key on the counter. He looked at the boy in his hand one more time.

“...thanks... thank you.” Shuichi murmured. He was glad that... even though someone found out, at least it was Kiyo.

“...” The male pulled down his mask, and softly placed a kiss on the boy, though got lipstick over his clothes and such. He was tinier, so the male’s soft lips kissed the entire male. He quickly pulled up his mask after, setting the boy on the counter without explanation or saying and quickly left.

Shuichi just stared. He kissed him? Like- kissed him? Kissed him- like lips? Like lips kiss? Hsjdjfjrjgjfd. The male curled up in a flustered ball, but then felt himself seem to fall off the counter. “!!!” Ah. He was back to normal size, so no harm done as he hit the ground. He blinked. How come he was back to normal?

Ahhh. Shuichi curled up again, smiling slightly to himself.

Yay. Ok. Uhm. The end. Uhm. Yes.

[btsslowburnfic]

Sonata Third Movement

z

The dear @omgalyssag17​ asked: hi i saw you have your requests open and was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a story where Yoongi moves into a haunted apartment/house (human!yoongi x ghost!reader pairing). i like giving authors lots of room for creativity so let your imagination flow. 

Summary: Yoongi is vacationing at a haunted lake house. [Y/N] has been masquerading as her “sister.” Our [Y/N] will be discovered to be a ghost. 7k words. Fluffy and Angst. 

 AN: Thanks for everyone’s patience with this piece. I really like the way it turned out <3 

First Movement 

Second Movement

------------------- ”Please Yoongi the dock,” You said, feeling like parts of you were slowly being taken off. It was like you were a fish having their scales removed.

Yoongi barely had words for what he was seeing. Where Elise had been sitting, it looked as though someone had taken a transparency and placed it in the middle of the boat. Where her face had been, it looked like a painting that someone had walked up and smeared. What the hell was going on? He could hear a voice coming from the other side of the boat, and it sounded like Elise’s but covered in static. He shook his head, as though this was a dream or a vision he could simply end. “Please, dock, Yoongi.” he could make out. Ok. Stay calm, he thought. He was in the lake. He needed to get to the dock. Maybe he was having a stroke or something. Stay calm. 

He took his shaky hands and grabbed the oars, slowly rowing the boat back to the dock. He steadied his breathing and looked away from the unsettling sight across from him. As he got closer, he could hear you again more clearly.

“That hurts so bad, please Yoongi.”

His heart clenched at the amount of pain it sounded like you were in. “We’re almost back to the dock,” He forced himself to say calmly.

He looked back over. You looked normal once again. He slowly reached down for his phone which was still in picture taking mode. He held it up and looked at you through the screen. Nothing was there. He moved his phone aside and saw you. He repeated this a few times, his eyes growing wider each time.

You were starting to feel better physically. You looked over at Yoongi and saw what he was doing. Shit. Shit. He looked terrified. You felt your eyes start to tear up once again. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, mostly to himself. He shook his head and pushed more buttons on his phone.

“It’s not your phone, Yoongi. It’s me.” You cried. 

Yoongi sat there with his mouth open, staring. He felt bad that you were crying but he was also very confused. 

“I’m a ghost. I’m [Y/N].” You sobbed. 

The boat arrived at the dock. You quickly got out of the boat, not caring about how, and you flung off your life jacket, running toward the house.

Yoongi sat there for a long time, processing what had just happened. A ghost? 

You ran into the house crying and went into the guest bedroom. Stupid stupid ghost. Stupid cancer. This wasn’t fair. You were so angry and upset. All you wanted to do was spend one nice day with the first person who had been nice to you in a decade. You had been a good person, what had you done to deserve this?

Yoongi slowly tied up the boat and placed the lifejackets back where they belonged. He walked up and sat on the back deck, thinking about what to do next. He puffed out his cheeks. Were you actually a ghost? Was he having a medical emergency? He felt fine, other than the fact that he had seen some weird shit a few minutes ago.  He looked back through the pictures on his phone. There were pictures of the lake, dock, and house that he had taken for Jin. And then there was the photo of the empty rowboat. But you were real to him. You had played the piano. Worn a lifejacket. Talked to him. Shared food with him. You had even put a blanket on him when he was sleeping. There was no one else out here that could have done that.

He shook his hair out of his face and opened the sliding glass door. “[Y/N]?” he called out tentatively into the house. He moved closer to the guest bedroom and heard you softly crying. He knocked on the door. “[Y/N]?”

You froze, was Yoongi actually talking to you? You got up and walked over to the door. You opened it up ever so slightly.

“How can you be a ghost when I can see you?” He asked. Like this was normal.

You laughed, a sad snotty sound. “I don’t know. I don’t know how ghost rules work. You couldn’t see me the first day.”

Yoongi thought back. “You moved my bag outside.” 

“Sorry.” You looked down at your feet.

“But you also made me coffee?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Being a ghost is confusing. I thought you would be another rude person, but you turned out to be nice.” You replied.

Yoongi laughed, slightly incredulously. “So I couldn’t see you at first. But now I can. Can most people see you?”

He was interested and not scared? This was strange, you thought. “No. You’re the first person in ten years who I’ve been able to talk to or see.”

“And you can’t leave here?” He rubbed his chin with his hand. 

“No. If I could I would. I don’t know where I’d go. I guess I’d travel as a ghost, or go to heaven or hell or whatever is supposed to be next. I’ve wondered a few times if this is hell. But it doesn’t feel bad enough to be hell. Maybe it’s just heck. I’m stuck in heck for some reason.”

“You seem like a very sweet person. I doubt you’d go to hell or even heck if those places exist.” Yoongi leaned against the doorway. You couldn’t believe you two were having this conversation.

“Well, I’m stuck here and have been for ten years. Watching my dog die, my parents sob uncontrollably, and people come and desecrate my beautiful home and piano, so this isn’t exactly what I would consider a nice existence.” 

Yoongi moved his lips to the side, pursed in thought. “Yeah. That does sound pretty awful. Maybe you have unfinished business? You know in ghost movies there’s always something like that.”

“I never really watched ghost movies,” you responded.

“Me neither, too scary. But I’ve read a few webtoons. Let’s see. You weren’t murdered. Do you have a crazy ex-boyfriend? Unrequited love?”

“No. No. None of those things. Is that really a thing?”

“I don’t know, up until about 20 minutes ago I didn’t think ghosts were real, so what do I know? I’m just trying to come up with ideas.” He said, fluffing his black hair.

At the same time the two of you reached the same conclusion. “The music.” 

“Alright. So we can finish the composition and then maybe you can get out of Lakehouse heck.” Yoongi theorized. “And if you can’t, I’m buying the Lakehouse anyway so at least maybe it would be light heck.”

You started to smile. “Really?”

“Yep. It’s the perfect place for a getaway. Jin and I can come fishing. My friend Namjoon could go hiking. It’s great.”

“That’s so amazing. I don’t even know what to say. To know that people’s kids won’t be putting their nasty sticky hands all over my things….Thank you so much Yoongi, I really appreciate it.” You gave him a shy smile. You couldn’t believe he was still talking to you even though he knew you were a ghost. 

“You’re welcome. Now let’s go work on that music.” He turned back down the hallway and into the living room humming to himself.

The rest of the afternoon wore on easily, with you each trying different chords and progressions to see what would fit. Unfortunately it still didn’t sound right, but you did enjoy spending time with Yoongi especially now that you didn’t feel like a liar.

It was starting to get dark out. Yoongi stood up and stretched his arms overhead.

“Don’t you need to eat, alive person?” You asked, turning around on the bench to face him.

“I guess I should. Wait a minute. You’ve been eating and stuff as well. How does that work? Do you normally eat?” He got a very confused look on his face (y’all know the one I’m talking about).

You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t understand ghost science. I haven’t been eating or drinking the last 10 years. You have magic ghost powers or something. I still don’t feel hungry or thirsty...or need to use the bathroom. But I can interact with food.”

“Huh. Weird. Alright Ghosty, just in case these are your last few days eating food before you pass on from Lake House heck, what do you want to eat?”

You laughed, he had given you a nickname, so cute. STOP IT, you admonished yourself. “Hmm...Kimchi fried rice?” You asked.

“You got it,” He walked over to the kitchen and started taking groceries out. You turned back to the piano and looked back over the music once again. The piece was very sad and slow tempoed. It sounded great, but then at what would be the halfway point it got lost. You played the last few bars again and again. 

“Walk away for a while,” You heard Yoongi yell from the kitchen. 

“It’s so frustrating.” You replied as you followed his advice and got up, joining him at the kitchen island. You took some scissors and began cutting the kimchi.

“I know. I hate it when I get stuck on something. I have music living on my computer for years. Sometimes we end up using it. It didn’t sound right at the time, but after a while it does.” He said as he put rice into the pan.

“Well it’s been ten years and It’s still just sitting there,” you pouted.

“Yeah but if you’re not having new experiences it’s also hard to write. Being in here and doing the same thing can’t be good for our creative process.”

“That’s true. Well. Thank goodness these few days have been different, maybe they’ll jumpstart my creativity.” You smiled while moving the cutting board next to the pan for him.

“So, I know you are not your own sister. Was everything else true?” He asked, tentatively. He didn’t want to upset you but he was curious.

“Yep. Piano composer. Cancer. Dead dog. Sad parents. Ghost. That’s me.” You sighed and got some plates out.

“I’m sure there’s more to you than that. What did you do when you were alive and felt well?” He asked.

You thought about it for a minute. You could hardly remember. You hadn’t thought about that part of being alive in a long time.

“Are you ok? If it’s a problem don’t worry about answering.” Yoongi said as he stirred the food.

“No, sorry. I just. I haven’t thought about it in so long I’m having trouble remembering. I think I liked reading. I still do actually. But I’ve read every book in here 50 times and people rarely ever forget their books.”

“We need to get you an e-reader.”

“What’s that?” You wrinkled your forehead.

“Do you know what tablets are?”

“Like big phones?”

“Yes. So you can get books on your tablet and then you can just swap them out or whatever.”

“With what, my ghost money?” You teased. You knew he was trying to be nice.

“Well the next time I come back up here I can bring you some books, Ghosty. No worries.”

Your tiny ghost heart was pounding inside your chest. Maybe being stuck here wasn’t so bad.

 Yoongi finished cooking and the two of you ate in relative silence as you enjoyed the food. You noticed him yawning several times throughout the meal.

“Go sleep, I’ll clean up.” You encouraged as he got up to wash his plate.

“You don’t need to do that.” 

“You made a ghost dinner. The least I can do is clean the dishes.” You joined him by the sink. 

He involuntarily yawned again. “Yeah, ok. I should probably sleep before I get awake again. Thanks.”

You finished up the dishes and looked over at the keyboard. Nah. It wasn’t going to happen tonight.

Day 5

You woke up to the smell of coffee and walked out into the main area. Yoongi was sitting at his computer with headphones on so you headed over to pour yourself some coffee.

You let the hot liquid fill your body, enjoying the way it tasted. The first cup always hit the best. 

Yoongi was in the zone so you quietly let yourself out onto the back porch. Another foggy day. Oh well. You knew better than to try going out to the lake again, you shuddered, remembering the sensation of slowly having your body peeled apart. You tried to once again remember what you enjoyed doing when you were alive. You remembered books, coffee, and your dog. And the piano. Were there other things and you forgot them? Did you have friends? You probably did, right? Thinking about it hurt your head. 

You heard the door open. “Hey, I didn’t hear you get up.” Yoongi said, plopping down on the bench across from you.

“You were in the zone so I just snuck out. Thanks for the coffee.” You took a sip from the mug.

“No problem,” he swiped his tongue across his lips. “So you’re still a ghost right? That wasn’t some weird fever dream from yesterday. Right? 

You laughed. “Still a ghost.”

“What do you want to do today?” He asked.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you here to work?”

“I did some work, but now I want to help you get out of heck. You need to do some stuff other than re-read the same books.”

“Like what? I can’t leave here. And the reception sucks so there’s not even anything on tv.” You shrugged.

“Come on, I downloaded some shows onto my laptop. We can watch something.”

“Ok.” You said surprised, you hadn’t planned on really spending the day with Yoongi. You followed him into the house and watched him grab his laptop and sit it on the coffee table. He walked over and took your mug, taking it into the kitchen for a refill.

He returned to the couch, sitting your coffee on a coaster next to the laptop. “You coming Ghosty?” 

“Yeah, sorry.” You snapped back into it. You had been so taken back by him being so nice to you. 

The two of you settled in watching some show about basketball. It wasn’t the most interesting thing to you but it was a nice change of pace and it was a good opportunity for you to get some creepy stares int. 

“I used to play basketball,” Yoongi said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Oh? Cool. I don’t think I played any sports. Piano recitals and rehearsal were all I had time for.” You responded while still watching the movie.

Yoongi was half watching the movie. He had seen it so many times before, he didn’t really need to pay attention. He had spent a lot of time last night thinking about how weird this whole thing was but he had decided to just go with it. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe you were a ghost. Either way, he was going to stay the rest of the week here and try to make them the best days you had had for a while. He didn’t know why it was so important to him. He could have packed up and left yesterday after the boat incident, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He wanted to fix the music. He wanted to fix you if he could.

He looked over at you. What had happened wasn’t fair. He found himself getting irritated at the unfairness of life again. You seemed so nice so why had this happened to you? He looked back at the screen. And why was he relating so much to a ghost? He had asked himself all of these questions last night and still hadn’t settled on an answer. The show ended. Yoongi leaned forward and closed the laptop.

“Hey. Could you play some of your other music for me?” He asked, turning to face you. 

You were surprised. It had been a while, but surely you could remember some of it. You stood up, stretching after you had been sitting for so long.

“Sure. Happy or sad?” You asked, sitting down at the piano. 

“Sad first, then happy.” Yoongi replied from the couch.

“Ok.” You stretched your fingers along the keyboard, warming them up a bit at first. You played one of your early compositions. It was low and slow and sad. A feeling of emptiness and cold was captured in the movements.

“That was really good.” Yoongi said, standing up and moving over to the computer chair next to the bench. “Now, something happy.”

You moved your hands much quicker this time, playing a lively number inspired by Carnivale. If this song was a color it would be pink, yellow, red, and orange. You finished to Yoongi’s polite applause. “Thank you, thank you,” you smiled and gave a fake bow. “Alright. Your turn.”

“Me?” He gestured to himself.

“Yep. You said you play as well. I’ve heard you play my piece, now play one of yours.” 

“Alright,” he got up and sat down next to you before you had a chance to get up. You tried to not focus on how your thighs were pressed together or how he leaned across your body when he played the lower notes. It's a good thing you didn’t need to breathe to stay alive because you wouldn’t have been able to. He was very good and played his work with so much passion.

He played the final chord and looked over to see you staring at him in awe.  “Sorry, you’re just really good.”

He looked away, touching his ear and becoming shy. “Thanks. You should try to play it.”

“I haven’t played new music in forever. And that is sooo not my style.” You laughed.

“It’s good to try different styles of music. Come on, I’ll teach you.” He picked up your hand and placed it on the keyboard. Well, you couldn’t say ‘no’ to that. 

The two of you slowly worked through the song.  Yoongi thought it was cute to watch you try to learn. You stuck out your tongue slightly when you were concentrating. “Ughh I keep messing this part up.” You took your hands off the keys and shook them out.

His deep voice reverberated in a laugh next to you. “You’re doing great. Start this part over.” He played it once more.

You sighed, annoyed with yourself. “I haven’t learned new music in ten years, I forgot how hard it was.” You start to copy his finger movements, this time getting it right. 

“There you go. Now you’ll have a new song for your performance repertoire.” Yoongi smiled, looking over at you. 

You turned and looked at him as well. “Yeah I guess. I do like the song but I’d rather listen to you play it.” The sky had grown darker throughout the day. You looked away from Yoongi and out the back windows. “I wonder if it will storm again today.”

“Why? Are you going to lock me out in the rain again?” he teased. You spun back around.

“That was an accident.” 

He laughed, “No, I think it was a plan to get me to enter a wet t-shirt contest.”

You would have blushed if you could. “Hey, don’t flatter yourself mister. You shouldn’t mess with a thirsty ghost.”

He chuckled, “Please the first thing you said to me was that I looked good soaking wet.”

“Stooooopppp you weren’t supposed to be able to see me!” You pouted. “I was a good ghost. I didn’t stare at you sleeping or watch you in the shower or anything creepy like that.”

Yoongi thought this was hilarious. “You thought about it though, right?”

“Ahhh I need to go.” You started to scoot over. You were shocked when he grabbed your hand gently.

“I’m just teasing you. If it’s actually making you uncomfortable I’ll stop.”

“You’re making me feel like a pervert. And I am trying really hard not to be because you are very very hot.” You let it fall out of your mouth.

“Oh?” Yoongi asked, half-feigning surprise. He knew you thought he looked good, he was just trying to get a rise out of you.

You scowled. “You know that. Don’t even.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said, batting his eyelashes. 

“You’re flirting with me!” You scoffed. “Flirting with a ghost.”

It was Yoongi’s turn to act bothered. “What? No. I am joking around with my incorporeal friend.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Huh.”

He shook his hair out of his face. “I’m going to go make food.”

“He can dish it out, but he can’t take it.” You teased as he got up and headed to the kitchen. You had noticed his blushing.

“Quiet ghost woman. I’m off to the kitchen. It’s ramyeon tonight.”

You laughed and turned back around to the piano, playing a few notes. That sounded pretty good, you thought. You added them on to the composition and they blended so well.

“Hey, that sounded great,” Yoongi encouraged from the kitchen. You smiled having finally made some real progress.

“Thanks!” You played it through again. It blended together really well. Satisfied you walked away and joined Yoongi in the kitchen. “That smells so good.”

“Thanks.” He stirred the noodles in more thoroughly. “It’s almost ready.”

You took down some bowls and laid out the utensils. Yoongi served the food. The kitchen was quiet save for the sounds of slurping for several minutes,

“This is so good. Thank you for making it.” You said as you were finishing up.

“No problem. I’m glad you like it.” Yoongi smiled his adorable gummy smile at you, causing your ghost heart to skip a beat. 

You got up and gathered the dishes. When you were finished, you saw Yoongi standing in the middle of the living room messing with the tv. 

He looked up at you, “Alright. You mentioned Karaoke the other day. Let’s do it.” Yoongi smiled.

You were intrigued but confused. “How? We don’t have any equipment.”

“I have an app downloaded on my phone. My friends love to sing and they make us do karaoke for work sometimes so I have a ton of songs downloaded. Here….” He got his phone out. “The lyrics should show up on the screen, you sing into the speaker and then it will score you. But...I am not a good singer so don’t expect anything.”

You laughed, “Oh wow. I can’t remember the last time I went out for karaoke. Ok. I am also not a good singer. But let’s try it. Wait. I won’t know any songs though!” You whined. You were excited though.

“I have a ton of classics downloaded, I’m sure you will know some of these songs.” Yoongi handed you his phone. “Here, find something. I’ll be right back.”

You scrolled through his phone and he was right, he did have a lot of songs that you did know. You picked one and it started to play. “I’m only doing this because I can’t die of embarrassment, given the situation,” You joked.

He returned with two glasses of red wine. He handed you a glass as the music started. “Thanks. Cheers. I dedicate this song to………..” you paused for effect,” Yoongi! Please don’t let the score reflect my levels of gratitude.” You joked. You took a gulp of wine. Oops. And started to sing. It wasn’t good, but you had fun. Yoongi drank wine and opened some of the back windows, allowing the air from the lake to blow in through the living room. 

You finished. “Your score is….68 points.” The computer voice read off. 

You cackled. “I told you! Ok. Please. Please. Do better than that.” You handed Yoongi the phone and went to sit on the couch. You sipped the wine. 

“No promises.” He said as he scrolled through some songs. Deciding on his song, he began to sing. It started out really good, but soon the notes became too high and it turned into shrieking.  You covered your ears jokingly. He finished the song.

“Your score is...58 points.” The system stated. 

“See? I told you,” He was laughing, his gummy smile gleaming in the dimly lit living room.

“Wow. So we are both terrible? Great. Ok.Let’s really make it mad. Pick a duet.” You suggested, standing up to join him in the middle of the room.

“Ok, so our score should be around 61.” He laughed.

“Averaging out how terrible we are?” You asked as he scrolled through his phone.

“Absolutely. Ok, do you know this one?” He asked, showing you the song title.

“Of course I do.” You took another sip of the wine and sat it down on the coffee table.

The music started with the female part first, you sang near the phone that was in Yoongi’s hand. It was so not good and he was trying not to laugh at you. His part came up and it was also a train wreck. He blushed at how terrible he sounded and then grabbed your hand, sitting the phone down on the coffee table. You looked confused.

“We’re going to score like 30.” He put his hand on your waist and started swaying to the beat starting to dance. It was a medium tempo song that the two of you rocked and forth to.

“You’re right. This is a much better use of the song.” You laughed as he spun you around ever so slightly. You couldn’t remember the last time you had this much fun.

The song ended much too quickly. Yoongi tried to make sure it wasn’t awkward by asking if you wanted to sing some more or dance. 

“I’m terrible at both, but I’d rather dance.” You said, blushing slightly.

“Alright then.” Yoongi queued up a playlist and sat his phone down. 

He offered you his hand once more and the two of you gently swayed to the song. “You do have a lot of older music.” 

“Yeah. I like to sample all sorts of genres and decades for when I create music. I feel like it helps my work have a more organic feel to it.” 

“That makes sense.” The two of you danced for a few more songs, gently swaying in the dimly lit living room. The lake breeze blowing through your hair added an extra element to the scene of the two of you dancing. It felt like you were at a prom or wedding, but it was actually somewhere you wanted to be. You gently sighed into Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“You ok?” He asked.

“Just happy.” You responded without a lot of thought.

“Good.” 

The playlist ended. You pulled away smiling. “Thanks. That was fun.” 

“My pleasure. I’ve never danced with a ghost before.” Yoongi smiled at you shyly.

“That you know of.” You teased.

“Oh. A good point.” He laughed as he sat back down on the couch, drinking some more of the wine. “Come here.” 

You walked over and sat next to him. He picked up his phone. “Will you take a picture with me?”

You smirked. “Are you drunk? Remember? I don’t show up in pictures.”

He looked at you suddenly very seriously and said softly, “No. But I’ll know you were there.”

  You felt your face warm up and you scooted over as he held up the phone and took a selfie. Just as predicted, it looked like Yoongi was sitting with a person-sized space next to him. “Perfect. You look great.”

You laugh. “Thanks. Thanks for today.” You folded your legs underneath you. 

Yoongi sat the phone down on the table and then leaned back on the couch. He stretched his arms up overhead and then gently placed one around your shoulders. He tentatively asked, “Is this ok?”

You were in complete shock so it took you a minute to gather the words. “...yes. Yes.” You leaned into it.

Yoongi gently ran his fingers through your hair. You sat there in utter disbelief that any of this was happening. You were a combination of elated but sad. You were so happy it was happening, but so sad you couldn’t have met him when you were alive.

“Yoongi.” You turned to look at him. “This is probably a bad idea.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Sorry. Do you want me to stop?” He asked, lifting his hand away from you.

“No. I don’t. I’m really happy. I just. I’m a ghost. This whole whatever….won’t end well.”

Yoongi looked down at first and then at you. “I thought about this last night. If you’re trying to protect my feelings, don’t worry about it. I like you. I get that you’re a ghost. I get that a relationship isn’t feasible. But I also like you and I would like for you to be happy.”

“Oh. Ok.” You turned back and looked into the middle of the room, Yoongi resumed running his fingers through your hair. Before long, you felt his hands slow down and tiny snores coming out of his lips. You smiled and gently pulled away. You grabbed a blanket and covered him before you returned to your room for the evening. You felt the happiest you had ever felt in your whole life.

Day 6

You woke up to a gentle knocking on your door. Seeing as you didn’t actually need sleep, it was easy enough for you to wake up and reply, “Yes?”

“Can I come in?” You heard Yoongi ask.

“Of course.” You sat up all the way.

Yoongi opened the door, holding a cup of coffee in his hands. “Good morning. “

“Hey,” you smiled.  He walked over and handed you the cup. “For me?”

Yoongi nodded and sat on the side of the bed. “Alright. So. If you could redo your last day. Knowing it was your last. What would you do?”

“Oh wow. Well...I haven’t thought about it before. But this,” you gestured to the coffee in your hands, “is a great start.”

“Well, that’s what I want to do today. Whatever you want.”

You take a minute to process this. You had never asked yourself this question before.

“Ok. I want to go out on the Lake, but not too far. I want to drink lots of coffee. I want to read part of a new book. I want to play a board game. And I want to finish the song.” You said, satisfied with your list. 

“Alright. Well, that sounds like a full day, so get up.” Yoongi hit the bed with his hand. “I’ll get the boat ready.”

You drank the rest of the coffee and looked out the windows. You saw Yoongi down at the dock getting the life jackets out. He was really such a great guy. You felt your heart simultaneously flutter and ache. You walked over to the piano and started to play. It sounded good. Happy and sad. You added it to the score. You chugged one more cup of coffee, grateful for your ghost bladder and headed out to join Yoongi.

Yoongi left the boat gently tethered to the dock this time, allowing you to enjoy the views without fear of drifting off. He shared some really funny stories about his 6 friends. You probably could have stayed out there all day listening to him, if not for his growling stomach.

“I guess that’s our cue.” You said. You looked over and saw that Yoongi had taken a picture of you. “More pretend photos?” You teased.

“Nope. Pictures of you.” He said, putting his phone back in his pocket and pulling the boat back to the dock.

When you got back up Yoongi handed you his phone. “Here, this is the kindle app. You can get samples of different books. Pick one.” He headed into the kitchen to cook. You scanned a few titles and downloaded one of them.

You started reading, opting to skip food so you could continue through the chapters. When Yoongi was done, he joined you on the couch. “Find a good one?”

“Yep. It’s a mystery.” You handed him his phone back. “Thanks. You’ll have to let me know how it ends.” You smiled and stretched, walking over to the piano. “I added some more ot it. Would you like to hear?”

“Of course.” He replied.

You sat down and played the entire piece. “Doesn’t that sound good?” You asked him, proud of the progress you had made.

“It really does.” He smiled and got up, taking a seat next to you. “How about this for the next chord transition?” He played and it worked beautifully. 

“Ahhh that sounds so good,” You picked up the pen and added it to the arrangement. “Perfect.” 

“Where are the board games?” He asked, standing up.

“Hall closet. I won’t play risk or monopoly, but any of the others are fine.”

“I have PTSD from Uno so that one is also out.” He yelled from the hallway. “Life seems too ironic.”

You laughed. You looked over at the desk and grabbed a blank sheet of paper. “Just pick whatever, I don’t care.”

He came back with a few options. You ended up playing aggravation. Which lived up to its name. You had expected him to go easy on a poor dead girl, but he kept sending your ass back home at every chance he could. “You’re competitive!” You whined, trying desperately to roll a 1 or a 6.

“I have one real brother and 6 almost brothers, what do you expect?” He laughed. No surprise, Yoongi won. 

You rolled your eyes. “Booo!!!”

“We can play again or play something else if you want?” He asked, putting the pieces away.

“No, that’s ok. I need to do something and then we can just watch a show or something.” 

“Ok,” Yoongi stretched. “I’ll grab a shower. I smell like sunshine”

“What does that even mean?” You laughed.

“You know, when your skin starts to tan it gets that weird smell like it’s burning but not?”

“No. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You responded, getting up off the floor and walking over to the desk. “But whatever. You know I won’t complain about you walking around here wet.”

You heard him laughing down the hallway and you smiled. You took out a pen and started to write. You looked over your letter; a sad smile occupying your face. You gently tucked it in with the music and you sat down to play what you knew would be the final bars of the music. Satisfied,you added the notes to the composition. “There. It’s done.” You didn’t dare to play it all the way through though. You got up and stood over by the window. The sun was setting. 

Yoongi came out a few minutes later, his hair still wet. “That sounded good.” He must have heard some of the music in the shower. 

“Thanks,” you turned around. “Pick a show.”

“You don’t care?” He asked, walking over to the couch.

“Nope. I haven’t seen nearly as much stuff as you I'm sure.”

“Ok.” He scrolled through some titles as you went over and joined him. The two of you resumed your position from the previous night. You happily tucked into Yoongi’s side with his arm around your shoulder. He picked a long-ass Avengers movie and you had to try really hard to keep track of the characters. 

“Sorry. I guess if you haven’t seen any of them, it would be hard to keep track.”

“No, it’s fine. I liked it.” You said. It had been confusing, but overall it was a good movie. You got up and stretched, with Yoongi following suit.

“The day’s almost over.” You commented sadly as you looked out at the moon hanging over the lake.

“It is.” Yoongi walked up behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder. “What else is on the list?”

You looked down, embarrassed. “I don’t know. It’s dumb.”

“Hey,” he turned you around so the two of you were facing each other. “It’s not dumb. What is it?”

“Could we...sleep together? Not in like a sex way. Just like. Together. Next to each other in bed.” You looked everywhere except for Yoongi’s face, embarrassed by your request.

Yoongi wrapped his arms around you for a hug. “Yes. We can do that.” 

You smiled and took a deep breath of his scent, trying to hold on to the memory.

He pulled back, “Alright, let’s go.”

You followed him down the hallway to the master bedroom. You both had only worn pajamas all day anyway so you didn’t need to change or anything.

The two of you laid down in bed. You felt Yoongi reach for your hand and you scooted closer. He rolled over so the two of you were facing each other. The moonlight provided enough light for you to be able to see the tiny freckles on his face, and the sadness hidden in his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked, gently moving your hand to cup his face.

“Nothing.” He replied, leaning into your touch. “Other than the fact that you know...ghost.”

You laughed. “Yeah. It’s weird.”

A small smile played across his lips. “I like weird.” He looked at you for several seconds, studying your face. “Can I kiss you?”

It took everything for you to not sound overly-excited. You tried to play it cool, “Yes.” You moved your face closer to his and he ever-so-gently placed a kiss upon your lips. If you could die again, you would have. The first kiss was short, the second kiss was firmer and much more needy, and the rest of them were delightfully passionate. The two of you continued to make out for several minutes before pulling away.

“Wow.” You said.

“Good wow? I’m guessing.” Yoongi said, smiling at you.

You laughed, “Yeah. You know how to make a girl feel alive.” It was meant to be a joke, but it left you feeling sad. Yoongi must have noticed because he pulled you closer, up against his chest.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“I know. Thank you.” You murmured into his chest. You felt him kiss the top of your head. Neither of you dared to move it seemed. Before you knew it, your eyes were getting heavy. You were so happy. When you woke up, it was bright and warm. 

Yoongi woke up, stretching his whole body. The sky was grey and he heard rain beating against the windows. His hands reached over to the other side of the bed, but there was nothing there. “[Y/N?]” He asked quietly? Getting no response, he slowly got up and wandered out to the living room. “[Y/N]?” He asked again. He continued this around the house for several minutes becoming louder and more frantic.

Frustrated, he sat down at the piano and noticed the score sitting out. It was complete. Yoongi felt his throat burning slightly and held back his tears as he put his hands on the keys. He played the song. It was beautiful. The melody told a story of sadness, tentative hope, and finally, happiness. When he finished playing, he was crying. He gently moved the sheet music over to the desk and noticed another piece of paper was stuck to the back of the sheet music.

Yoongi,

I think your plan might work. And in case it does, I want you to know that this week was the best week of my life. You are so kind and thoughtful. Thank you for helping me. Helping me finish the song and have fun. Do what you want with this song. It’s yours; I couldn’t have written it without you.  If I do end up out of heck, I hope I end up going somewhere where I will see you again someday. Keep living a wonderful life for me, ok? 

Love always,

[Y/N]

And that broke him. Yoongi sobbed into his hands and walked back into the bedroom. He curled up, hugging the pillow. Your warmth was long gone from the bed, but he just wanted to stay there the rest of the day. As his crying slowly subsided, he reminded himself that he knew this could happen. When he laid in bed the first night he discovered you were a ghost, he knew this might happen. And he still let himself fall. He knew he should be happy for you. And eventually, he would be.  

Epilogue

Yoongi double checked the address once more. It would be super awkward if he walked up to the wrong house. He had closed on the Lakehouse the week before and had put together a small box of items that he thought your parents might want to have. He walked up the path, stopping at a small stone memorial: “Our beloved [Y/N], gone but not forgotten.” Next to it was a cement stone with paw prints in it and the name “Barley.” Yep. This was definitely the right place. Yoongi almost started to cry right there but he knew he had to keep it together for your parents. He knocked on the door. 

An older woman answered, clearly your mom judging by the same eyes and face shape. “Yes, can I help you young man?” She eyed the box suspiciously. “There's no solicitation allowed in this neighborhood.” 

Yoongi smiled, “Of course not ma’am. I’m Min Yoongi. I bought your daughter’s Lakehouse and I have some of her stuff. I thought it was only right to return them to you.”

Your mom’s hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh of course. Of course. Please come in.” She  led the way to the living room and yelled for her husband to join them. “This is the man who bought the house. He brought us some of [Y/N]s things.” She explained as your dad walked into the living room. 

“Thank you. It was too painful for us to go back.” Your mom said quietly.

Yoongi nodded, slowly starting to look around the house. It was covered in pictures of you at various ages and piano competition ribbons and trophies.

Yoongi touched the back of his neck lightly and cleared his throat. "I'm also a composer and music producer. I found some music [Y/N] was working on shortly before she passed. I went ahead and completed it and recorded it. Would you like to listen?”

Your parents sat there for a moment taking it all in. They exchanged a look with one another as though having a silent conversation with each other.

“I understand if you don’t want a stranger intruding on this. Here is the flashdrive with the song on it.” He took it out of his pocket and sat it down on the coffee table. Yoongi suddenly felt as though he was violating a very intimate moment and turned to leave.

“Could you play it for us?” Your mom asked.

Yoongi’s breath felt trapped in his throat. Could he play through it without being a crying wreck? He didn’t know. He cried while recording it. And listening to it. But it didn’t seem right to cry in front of your parents, they had lost their daughter. He had only known you for a few days. And yet, how could he refuse them? He turned back around. “Of course.”

Your mom squeezed your dad’s hand tightly. “This way,” she led Yoongi through a set of double doors and into a room with a baby grand piano sitting in the middle. “We still have it tuned. I don’t know why. Neither of us play.” She said, pushing her glasses back up.

“It’s like we think she’ll show back up one day and we want to be ready for her.” Your dad added, putting his arm around his wife and squeezing.

Yoongi walked over to the piano bench and sat down. He could do this.  He pressed his hands to the keys and began to play. Slowly at first, through the morose beginning of the song. As he entered the middle it gradually became warmer and moderately paced, and finally by the end it was an eerie blend of the two. Bittersweet and full of hope and regret at the same time. By the time Yoongi played the last note he could feel the tears streaming down his face. He didn’t want to turn and look to face your parents, he didn’t feel like he could take it. He heard soft claps behind him and turned. Your parents were both applauding while crying.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Your mom said, taking a tissue from a box on the table, then offering one to Yoongi. He gently dabbed at his face. 

He stayed for a while longer, allowing them to talk a bit more about your life and show him pictures and talk about your many achievements.

“Thank you so much for stopping by. You are a lovely young man. I only wish [Y/N] could have known you when she was alive.” Your mom said as they escorted him to the front door.

Yoongi smiled wistfully, “I feel like I did get to know her through her music. Thank you. She was very talented. Do you mind if I add this song to my next mixtape? You don’t have to answer now, and she will be credited on the song. Just let me know.” He handed them his business card before leaving to head back to Seoul. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

---------------------

Your parents had given their blessing to having your song included on the next album. This mixtape in general had a softer feel to it than his previous albums, but people gushed the most about the softness and vulnerability of the last track: a piano composition he had dedicated to [Y/N]. “May you live on forever through your music.  I'll see you again someday.”

Yoongi was both happy and sad that he never saw you in the lake house again; hoping that wherever you were now, it was peaceful. Over the years Yoongi and the other members created many memories at the Lakehouse, fishing and playing games. Some of them eventually even brought their families along. They were all welcome as long as they followed Uncle Yoongi’s rules: no messing around with the piano. 

[starring-movies]

Killing Eve: Episode Analysis

*SPOILERS*

Season 2, Episode 7 - Wide Awake

The episode begins with Eve visiting Villanelle’s apartment, to get an update from her on the Aaron Peel operation. Just before Eve sits down on Villanelle’s bed, she looks at herself in the three mirrors behind the bed; just like in S1E8, when Villanelle looks in the three mirrors at her dressing table before sitting on the bed.

The last time this happened (S1E8), Villanelle was contemplating what she wanted in life and was looking more into her future, and perhaps even considering a future with Eve. However, this time Eve is the one contemplating her life. Eve is trying to come to terms with her feelings and future surrounding Villanelle, as well as the existence of her darkness and her increasing struggles in hiding that darkness.

The two girls, from the kebab shop the night before, leave Villanelle’s apartment and Villanelle tells Eve “don’t be jealous”. This contrasts with when Eve told Niko in S1E1, that he should “always be jealous”. Regarding Eve and Niko, Eve tells Niko that he should “always be jealous” to keep him on his toes and maintain the excitement in their relationship (that is starting to become stale and boring).

Whereas with Villanelle and Eve’s dynamic, although Villanelle is sleeping with other people and she isn’t in a ‘relationship’ with Eve, like Eve and Niko are; Villanelle still reassures Eve that she shouldn’t be jealous of the other women, because she tells her that “I’m not with them, when I’m with them”.

Villanelle telling Eve that “I’m not with them, when I’m with them”, is also a veiled way of her reminding Eve of her interest of her. Villanelle’s saying in a roundabout way that although she might be with these other people in a physical sense, she’s not with them mentally because she’s thinking about Eve when she’s with them.

A small little thing to notice is that after Villanelle has had her meeting with Aaron Peel, she checks her phone when she gets back to her apartment. The screen of her phone shows us that she received 9 missed calls and 3 voicemails from Eve, 9 + 3 = 12.

As they’re all preparing for the Rome trip, Carolyn tells Eve and Konstantin tells Villanelle that the safe word that’s been chosen is “gentleman”. Villanelle says she doesn’t know how she would get the word “gentleman” in a sentence, but she actually uses it in S2E2 when she says to Julian, “you’re such a gentleman”.

When Carolyn is speaking to Eve in preparation for the trip, she asks her if Villanelle has had “any escalation, increased attention-seeking, recklessness”. Carolyn also asks the exact same question regarding Eve herself.

The fact that Carolyn poses the same question for both Villanelle and Eve herself, indicates that she also sees what Villanelle sees - that they’re the same as each other. This is also highlighted again in S2E8 when Carolyn asks Eve “did you kill him?”, meaning that Carolyn thought that Eve was capable of killing.

Before leaving for Rome, Villanelle visits Niko’s storage container to speak to Gemma and Niko. She picks up a snow globe of Alaska and asks if she can keep it, and Niko tells her that she can. The snow globe is of a wood cabin in Alaska and it’s where Villanelle gets the suggestion, at the end of S2E8, saying to Eve that “I was thinking we should go to Alaska... we could get a cabin”.

While visiting Niko, Villanelle also tells him “I want the recipe to your Shepard’s Pie” because “Eve likes it, so”. However, we know from S1E1, when Eve does a lunch swap with Bill for his sushi, that she doesn’t really like the Shepard’s Pie at all. Villanelle only wants the recipe because Niko makes it for her and she thinks that Eve likes it; and so if she can do all the things Niko can do, like make the recipe he makes for her, then she thinks she’ll be one step closer to being able to replace him in Eve’s life.

The snow globe which she gets the suggestion to go to Alaska from, is in Niko’s storage container and amongst all of his belongings; so we also know that the snow globe was most likely his and not Eve’s - in the same way as the Shepard’s Pie, Villanelle thinks she knows Eve and thinks she understands what she wants but she doesn’s really. Villanelle also thinks she loves Eve, but it isn’t until she shows that she is willing to let Eve go in Season 3, that we see she has figured out how to truly show Eve that she loves her.

When Eve goes to speak to Martin, the psychologist, he asks her “are you two in a relationship?”, and Eve tells Martin to “define relationship”, which Martin clarifies for her by asking “are you two having sex?”.

Eve’s request for Martin to “define relationship” means that she considers that she is in a relationship of sorts with Villanelle, and she probably would have said ‘yes’ to him if his definition of a relationship was non-sexual.

After arriving at Rome, and finding out that Villanelle doesn’t have the microphone on her, Eve tells Hugo to get the backup microphone so that she can deliver it to Villanelle by hand. As Eve leaves the room to go see Villanelle, she quickly looks in the mirror to check her appearance, a small action that shows us that she cares about her appearance when seeing Villanelle (just like how Eve was concerned over the photo Hugo sent for Villanelle in S2E5).

When Villanelle puts on the backup microphone from Eve, she starts to sing the song ‘One Way Or Another’ by Blondie. The lyrics that she sings are:

“One way or another,

I’m gonna find ya,

I’m gonna get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya,

One way or another,

I’m gonna win ya,

I’m gonna get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya”

When Villanelle is singing she knows that Eve will be listening, so she’s singing the song for Eve to hear her. The lyrics mirror Villanelle’s own determination that “one way or another” she will find a way to “win” Eve from Niko, and eventually ‘get” her for herself.

When Villanelle and Aaron are talking after having dinner with Ivan, one of the potential buyers, she asks Aaron “do you ever get lonely?... You don’t want to talk to them, touch them, sleep with them?”. Villanelle also asks the same thing as this to Tony (the hotel worker from S2E5), she asks him “are you lonely?”. This not only demonstrates to us that Villanelle is lonely herself, but also highlights the difference between her and Aaron.

Villanelle and Aaron might both be psychopaths, but Villanelle isn't as far towards the ‘psychopath’ end of the ‘scale’ as Aaron; as unlike Aaron, she has a strong desire for human connection and to be with people, to touch them and sleep with them.

And this small exchange also starts to set up the character development that we see Villanelle go through throughout Season 3, when she has much more humanity and seems to be feeling more and/or deeper emotions.

You can read my previous Killing Eve posts here:-

First Introduction to Villanelle

First Introduction to Eve

S1, E1 - Nice Face

S1, E2 - I’ll Deal With Him Later

S1, E3 - Don’t I Know You?

S1, E4 - Sorry Baby

S1, E5 - I Have a Thing about Bathrooms

S1, E6 - Take Me to the Hole!

S1, E7 - I Don’t Want to Be Free

S1, E8 - God, I’m Tired

S2, E1 - Do You Know How to Dispose of a Body?

S2, E2 - Nice and Neat

S2, E3 - The Hungry Caterpillar

S2, E4 - Desperate Times

S2, E5 - Smell Ya Later

S2, E6 - I Hope You Like Missionary!

S2, E7 - Wide Awake

S2, E8 - You’re Mine

S3, E1 - Slowly Slowly Catchy Monkey

S3, E2 - Management Sucks

S3, E3 - Meetings Have Biscuits

S3, E4 - Still Got It

S3, E5 - Are You From Pinner? [Part 1]

S3, E5 - Are You From Pinner? [Part 2]

S3, E6 - End of Game

S3, E7 - Beautiful Monster

S3, E8 - Are You Leading or Am I? [Part 1]

——————————————————————————

[carefreejules]

Chapter 2: Let the Battle Begin

In the middle of the void of darkness, a lone figure stands under a single spotlight. Except that she’s not alone. A hand reaches out and grabs her wrist, startling the girl from her lonely thoughts. The hand belonged to a boy, around her age. His uninhibited toothy grin and cheery golden eyes that he showed just for her, made her smile just as brightly back.

Warm.

Friend.

The darkness suddenly lit up with an ocean of stars, filling her heart with awe, wonder, and wishes that she hoped the stars could grant for her. The boy suddenly broke out into a run, tugging her wrist and bringing her along with him.

She stumbled a bit, but pulled herself back up to catch up to him. He let go of her wrist, seeing her keep up with him as they ran side by side.

They didn’t know where they were running to, or where they were going, but the endless path of stars that lit up both of their worlds was the only guide they needed.

--

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Warm. Her body felt...warm. Warmer than usual. Even through the blaring and deafening sound of her alarm, she wanted to sink further into the comfort of her duvet covers. That dream was...very different from the usual.

A pleasant difference.

She didn’t feel confined or chained down by loneliness. The sea of stars of her dream opened up her world of possibilities, showering her heart with carefree wishes. The boy in her dreams...Did she see a similar sight with him before? Were their wishes and dreams the same, making the stars align so they could run together?

If only she could remember what his dreams were-

RING RING RING RING

Juliet, for once, wanted to dwell on her dreams longer, but it seemed like the world was pulling her back to reality. She blindly reached for her Rotom phone that she hid under her pillow and sleepily spoke in the receiver.

“Hello-”

“Jules!!! Where are you?! The train is going to leave in 15 minutes!!”

Train? 15 minutes?

Oh shit.

Juliet sprang up from her bed in a frenzy, darting to her bathroom to get ready as quickly as she could. She made a good call by packing up her things the night before, but even so, it wasn’t like her to be late for anything. Once she was sufficiently ready, she scooped up Pistachio from his bed, grabbed her suitcase and ran out the door in five minutes flat.

Somehow, she made it to Wyndon Station with two minutes to spare, her heart pounding in her ears that she didn’t notice her team calling out to her.

“Sorry, sorry! But, I’m here now, right?” Juliet huffed while taking generous gulps of air. Arceus, perhaps she should squeeze in a bit of cardio if a sprint took this much out of her.

“You’ve never been late to anything, though. You’re usually the first one to arrive before the scheduled time. Are you feeling OK?” Mary asked, eyes filled with concern. Their leader waved her hand in defence.

“I’m feeling great, actually! Minus the running part.”

“Still, don’t push yourself. The Opening Ceremony for the Gym Challenge is today and it wouldn’t do well if our leader wasn’t feeling up to it.”

The day had finally come. The annual Gym Challenge would finally be underway and then the Champion Cup right after. First day of the job, and the Raid Team had to be in Motostoke for rehearsals before the real thing kicked off in the evening. The thrill wouldn’t quite hit them until they stepped foot inside of the stadium for the very first time. They eagerly boarded the train headed to Motostoke, feeling the anticipation fill up in their chests as they watched the train pull out of the station until Wyndon was far off into the distance.

It was strange. As they watched the scenery pass by and change from the windows, they all felt like they were travelling to a brand new place like they’ve done during their travels together. The places they were going to visit over the course of the Gym Challenge were far from new, but it felt like they were a part of something bigger.

Something significant.

That feeling only seemed to grow when the steam coming from the cogs of Motostoke finally came into view, and the group marvelled at the banners and streamers that decorated the train station and all over the town.

It felt like the whole city came to life when they stepped out of the train station. People were crowded all over the streets, lined up in front of stalls selling official Gym Challenge merchandise. Some children were even dressed up as their favourite gym leaders. It hadn’t even started but the festive spirit was already in high gear.

“So this is what Galar is like during the Gym Challenge…” Tessu marveled in awe.

“Want me to ask one of those kids where they got their Raihan hoodie from so we can get one in your size?” Juliet nudged her elbow teasingly at Mary. Mary pouted with embarrassment and nudged back.

“What about you? I bet you want Leon’s cape.”

“That gaudy thing? No thanks.”

“Alright, ladies. Let’s try to navigate through this crowd so we can get to the stadium.” Vanquil suggested, already squeezing through the waves of people that walked through the congested streets.

The line up to the stadium was unsurprisingly long. Luckily one of the staff members of the stadium recognized them immediately and ushered them to the back entrance, away from the prying eyes of attendees who recognized them.

“Did you hear people whispering about us in the line?” Tessu alerted.

“Yeah. We did sort of hint to them of a big announcement on Pokegram. They must have put two and two together from seeing us here.” Vanquil replied back.

“I’m getting a bit nervous now…” Mary muttered.

“Well, you better put on a brave face because we’re about to see how many seats there are in the stadium.”

From concrete to astroturf, that field of the stadium stretched out wide in front of them, a preview of the sheer scale of the event and battles that would take place. Without the seats filled to the brim with roaring fans, they couldn’t help but feel small in such a wide open space.

Juliet couldn’t help but wander over to the centre of the field; the centre of the action. What was it like to stand on this field, with thousands of eyes fixated on your every move and command? Gyms in other regions didn’t have the same glamour or spectacle for the League as Galar did. Would it be more challenging because of that? Or would the cheers of support push challengers to their limit, to the point where they feel strong enough that they can take on the world?

Perhaps that was why challengers needed to be endorsed before they could take on the League – to acknowledge the determination and will to be the best.

“Jules!! We’re going to go over rehearsals now!!” Tessu shouted across the field.

“Coming!”

--

“And, that’s basically the gist of the Opening Ceremonies. Don’t worry about having to memorize anything since the cameras aren’t on us very often. Any questions?”

“I do. Why is the Dark Gym Leader, Piers, absent from the script?” Vanquil asked. The main host, Phil, crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat contemplatively.

“Ahh, he won’t make it today. He’s also a bit of a hard nut to crack. His Gym is the only one where you can’t Dynamax Pokemon. Every year Chairman Rose asks him if he wants to build a gym closer to a Power Spot, but the guy always turns down the offer.”

“Now that you mention it, we haven’t really visited Spikemuth before, right?”

“I passed by it once and it looks kind of...sketchy.” Juliet added while flipping through the script again for the 20th time. The town didn’t look very welcoming, for lack of a better word. Dark alleys, neon signs and lighting everywhere – it was the textbook definition of a place that people should avoid at all costs. But, it did have a certain aesthetic to it that lent itself well to being the location of the Dark-type Gym. And the fact that the Gym leader himself didn’t seem interested in Dynamax, it made the whole place exude a rebellious spirit.

Still, she wouldn’t want to visit there alone.

“But, you have to admit – there’s something kind of admirable about a Gym Leader who chooses to battle normally.” Tessu thought out loud.

“That’s true. He’s clearly a Gym Leader for a reason so he’s probably tough.” Phil agreed before getting up from his chair. “Even though Piers isn’t here, why don’t we go say hi to the other Gym Leaders before rehearsal starts?”

“They’re here?!” Mary squeaked.

“Of course! Follow me!”

Following Phil down the hall, they were already greeted by the Grass-type Gym Leader, Milo, who was chatting with Nessa outside in the hall. The farmer greeted the approaching group with a gentle smile and waved at them.

“Phil! It’s good to see you again. And who do you have there with you?”

“Likewise, Milo. These are my co-hosts! With each Gym Challenge getting bigger and popular as the years go on, I’m going to need some help so Chairman Rose hired these four to help me.”

“Is that so? It’s nice to meet you four. I’m Milo, the first Gym Leader and I specialize in Grass-type Pokemon.” Milo gestured to Nessa, who turned to face the group and smiled kindly at them.

“This is Nessa. The second Gym Leader who specializes in Water-type Pokemon.”

“It’s a pleasure. Don’t hesitate to ask us any questions if you have any, OK?” Nessa assured.

Milo and Nessa. The first two hurdles of the Gym Challenge. The farmer was exactly how everyone described him as. Gentle, laid-back, and had a refreshing aura that made you feel relaxed in his presence. Nessa, on the other hand, had a confident air around her that was a compliment to her beauty. Juliet had heard rumours of their rivalry, but Milo didn’t strike her as someone who responded to competitiveness as Nessa would. But for two Gym Leaders who looked and acted almost like polar opposites, they seemed to have a common ground.

“We will! Thank you, Nessa, Milo.” Juliet replied back.

“What’s going on over here?” A sharp voice interrupted. They all turned their heads to see the (tall) Dragon-type Gym Leader make his way over to him with his Rotom phone floating around him, as if ready to take a photo at any opportune time. His relaxed cyan eyes regarded them casually until his eyebrows raised in recognition at the Raid Team.

“Hey, I recognize you four! You’re the talk of the town when it comes to Max Raid Battles, right? What was your team called...Raid Prism, I think?”

As expected from the Gym Leader with the biggest online, and even real life presence. Literally and figuratively. He had a massive following on both Pokegram and Chatoter, where he often posts photos of his Pokemon or of himself. Especially himself. One might think he has an ego the size of a Wailord, but based on the tone of how he addressed their team, Raihan sounded humble and honest.

“That’s right! Wow, to be recognized by the great Raihan himself...” Vanquil chuckled bashfully.

“I’m no stranger to what’s trending online. I’ve seen a few of your recorded battles and I think anyone would be impressed by the things your team pulls off!” Raihan commanded his Rotom phone to float a little higher so he and Raid Prism were all in frame for the camera. “Let’s commemorate this first meeting with a selfie, yeah?”

“Mary, step out from behind me. You’re not in frame.” Tessu giggled, gently pushing the brunette aside so she wasn’t just timidly poking her head for the camera. Raihan looked at Mary from the camera screen and shot her a lazy smile.

“No need to be camera shy. I don’t bite.”

“Those teeth of yours beg to differ.” Juliet joked.

“Very funny. On the count of 3, say ‘Goomy’. 1, 2, 3, Goomy!”

“Goomy!”. 

--

“And last but certainly not least, those who overcome all of these acclaimed Gym Leaders will have the honour of partaking in the Champion’s Cup – the final hurdle to see who will be the one to challenge Leon, the Undefeated Champion!” Rose rehearsed into the empty stadium.

“Annnnnnd, he’s not even here.” Tessu snickered away from her mic. Phil snorted and leaned into his microphone to offer a bit of humorous ad lib.

“The person you’re trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Some of the Gym Leaders out on the field doubled over in laughter as Rose rolled his eyes in amusement.

“That concludes the Opening Ceremony of the Gym Challenge. I wish all the challengers the best of luck on their journey and I hope to see you all again at the Champion Cup in Wyndon Stadium!”

“Wooooooooooooooo!” Raid Prism cheered into their mics while clapping their hands for makeshift applause. Once Rose and the Gym Leaders walked off of the field, they turned off their mics and let out a collective sigh of relief. It was a pretty straight-forward job and they were reading off of a script, but knowing that they would be talking over a stadium filled with thousands of people made their stomachs sink in anxiety. Especially knowing their fans would be watching them too.

“And, that’s the end of our rehearsal run. Good work, guys!” Phil complimented with a cheery grin, until he noticed the lack of response and tense expressions on their faces. “Whoa, are you guys OK?”

“Y-Yeah, I think the nervousness for the real thing is setting in.” Vanquil noted shakily.

“Don’t be nervous! Remember, everyone in those seats is here to have a good time. They’re not going to care how ‘professional’ you are – have fun with it and the audience will feel it too.”

“You’re right...Thanks, Phil.” Juliet thanked him. It wouldn’t do good for them to feed on each others’ anxiety, prompting her to relax in her seat to meditate and reflect as Phil went over some tweaks and adjustments to their performance. Mary needs to speak with confidence, Vanquil doesn’t need to project into the mic, Tessu needs to slow down, and she needs to talk a bit less – a reasonable fix, she thought, and something that she really needed to take to heart outside of work.

Suddenly the door to the broadcast room swung wide open, revealing an out-of-breath Leon, who was clutching on the door knob with his upper body hunched over. The poor guy looked like he just sprinted a mile.

“Easy there, Champion. Good to see you’ve finally made it.” Phil joked before tossing him a water bottle. The Champion stood upright in time to catch it, uncapping it and chugging the whole thing down in one go.

And then he realized which room he barged into.

“O-Oh, I thought this was the break room.” Leon stammered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Well, we’re about to head there now. Pizza should be here by now.” Upon hearing that, Juliet’s stomach began to growl, making her flush and look away from the heads that turned into her direction.

“...I didn’t eat breakfast, OK?” She briskly walked out of the door, almost missing the amused smirk that Leon wore on his face as she walked past him. He chuckled, catching up to her pace until he was walking beside her.

“Looks like I’m not the only one with a habit that hasn’t changed.” The Champion mentioned casually. Juliet blinked and looked at him questionably, until something within her triggered a familiar feeling that reminded her of what he was talking about. He had one hell of a memory. 

She envied him. 

“That was the only time I fainted. I’m surprised you even remembered.”

“Well, I was the one who caught you before you hit the ground.”

“You did? I think I remember my aunt scolding me for not taking better care of myself..Though, I can see her feeling bad for making a guest look out for me.” Thinking back, she faintly recall there being a stuck up family staying at the inn who were constantly demanding room service, or massages, or amenities. But, everything that happened after felt foggy in her mind.

Why?

But, the feeling of familiarity was there.

“I’d like to think I was more than just a ‘guest’ at that point.” Leon added with a chuckle.

“I suppose, but you have to admit, that whole thing of not telling each other our names was strange.” Even if she was the one who started it. She had her reasons and she was going to tell him one day. She owed him that much, even if it stung just thinking about it.

“It was a little strange, but I played along anyway. I figured you had your reasons and you don’t have to tell me why. If anything, I...kind of benefited from the alias too.” He revealed, a nostalgic yet far-off look in his golden eyes. Hearing that made her perk up, cobalt blue eyes meeting his gold with interest.

Guess she wasn’t the only one with a mountain of secrets. And even though she couldn’t unearth what was hiding in his eyes, she felt that they would tell each other in due time. But they had their respective jobs to do and if there’s a trait that they both shared, it was to keep private matters away from work.

--

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Rose began, his voice booming through the filled stadium of ecstatic fans, hot spot lights, and colourful fireworks that lit up the stadium like a grand stage.

"I am Rose, chairman of the Pokémon League! I know that everyone gathered here...” He pointed to the various Rotom drones that were whizzing around him. "And everyone watching from home, have all been waiting for this big moment! It is my pleasure to announce that finally— the Galar region Gym Challenge will now begin!"

The collective screams and cheers were deafening, and it felt like the stadium shook from excitement.

“We’ve made some exciting changes to this year’s Gym Challenge and we’ve even invited some very special guests that will surely make this challenge the most exciting one year yet! Allow me to introduce one of the top Max Raid teams of the Galar Region, Raid Prism!” The Chairman raised his arms towards the jumbotron screen behind him, unveiling Raid Prism’s four pointed star logo before the screen turned over to reveal the four of them in the broadcast room, waving to the camera with wide smiles on their faces.

“Good evening, Galar!!” Juliet greeted into the microphone. “It’s an honour to be here co-hosting for this year’s Gym Challenge. To all of our fans who are in the stands or at home watching, thank you for being here! And for those who don’t know us, my name is Juliet,”

 “I’m Mary!”

“I’m Tessu!”

“And I’m Vanquil!”

“And we’re...” They connected their peace signs together to recreate their logo according to their respective colours. “Raid Prism!”

They weren’t expecting the chorus of cheers from the stands, or even those who switched their light sticks to their colours. It made them feel equally flattered, but perhaps even a bit embarrassed too. It’s not like they were well known enough by every day people to be recognized on the streets – so it was unknown to them how they would be approached. This moment dashed most of the worries that they had.

“Now, some of you are probably wondering, ‘who?’, and to that I say, fair enough.” Juliet joked. She was so relieved that a good amount of people in the audience had laughed at her ad lib. “Max Raids are becoming a popular pastime, and even sport, here in the Galar region, and I suggest you either follow us and all the other teams on Pokegram, to see what all the rage is about. But enough about us – let’s kick things off by introducing the acclaimed Gym Leaders of Galar!”

The main lights of the stadium turned off, only leaving a single bright spot light on to shine down on each Gym Leader, along with the endless stretch of light sticks that decorated the stadium like stars.

“Let’s welcome the first gym leader - the fighting farmer! Here’s the Grass-type expert, Milo!” Phil announced. Green fireworks shot through the air as Milo walked onto the stadium, waving to the sea of green glow sticks that were on just for him. One by one, the Gym Leaders made their grand entrance onto the field, all of them standing in a line which resulted in a flurry of colourful fireworks exploding over their heads.

“Unfortunately, we’re missing one, but...These are the Gym Leaders that we in the Galar region are proud to call our own!" Rose proclaimed proudly. “You may have noticed something different this year though, as instead of one Gym Leader per Gym, we’ve included both Gym Leaders for their respective Gyms. To make things more challenging and to push our challengers to the absolute limit, you’ll have to face Bea and Allister in the fourth Gym, and Gordie and Melony in the sixth Gym! Consider it preparation for when you’ll face off Raihan, the master of double battles and the final hurdle of the Gym Challenge.”

“And once trainers have conquered all eight gyms and collected all eight badges,” Juliet began.

“They will have to put their skills to the test for the greatest challenge of them all,” Tessu followed.

“The Champion Cup is where the true battle begins,” Mary added.

“Only the most worthy will have the honour of challenging the greatest Champion in history!” Vanquil ended, giving a signalling nod to Phil and the tech crew.

“He who holds the honour of Champion for the 13th year in a row, please welcome your Champion, the King of Kings, Leon!!” Phil announced with a flourish. The centre of the stadium sparked with confetti and smoke, revealing Leon in all of his majestic glory once the smoke cleared. The crowd went absolutely wild, men and women alike screaming at the top of their lungs for their Champion, and children waving their light sticks wildly as they jumped out of their seats. He flashed his cape around before striking his signature pose towards the night sky, sending a final grand explosive firework into the heavens.

“A few words for our challengers, Leon?” Rose asked. Leon turned to the challengers that stood on the opposite side of the field from him and the Gym Leaders. His eyes wandered over to each of them, scoping out the young trainers who aimed to knock the crown off of his head. He shot a quick smile to Hop, who waved eagerly at him when their eyes met. And then there was his best friend, a short haired brunette girl who nodded confidently when his eyes fell on her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all, face to face, in this setting, but keep in mind that only one of you will get to face me on the battlefield. That being said, I expect great things from all of you and your Pokemon. Strengthen your bonds with your Pokemon, believe in them so they will believe in you, and each of you can soar to greater heights! I look forward to seeing which one of you will stand on the other side of the field at Wyndon Stadium for the Champion Cup!”

“That concludes the Opening Ceremony of the Gym Challenge. I wish all the challengers the best of luck on their journey and I hope to see you all again at the Champion Cup!” Rose concluded, followed by a few more bursts of fireworks.

And thus, the Gym Challenge finally begins...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3: The First Step

“Great job, you guys! That was even better than rehearsals!” Phil praised as he delivered hi-fives to each of them. The four slumped in their seats, feeling the adrenaline as a result from the spectacle simmering down in their systems. The event was nothing short of magical thanks to all the pizazz and fireworks, but it was certainly draining for their first day.

“Haha, I’m not surprised that you guys are tired. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” Phil gathered up their scripts, straightened them out, before pulling out a new outline with a green cover. “With the Opening Ceremony out of the way, the challengers will be making their way through the first three gyms, which usually takes up about a month at most. But, I’ll save the details for later when it matters. For now, we’ll need to meet up at Turffield on the 7th, which is a day or two before we should expect challengers.”

“And is there a cut off date for challengers?” Juliet asked.

“We try to give challengers as much time as they can since every trainer is different, but the main organizers are in charge of monitoring the progress of each challenger and will give them warnings if they’re falling behind. We don’t want to rush them, but there’s still a general schedule we need to follow.” Phil’s smile widened as he looked over the outline. “I think you guys will like the sound of this. Since the League has been working hard on trying to expand its audience to other regions, they’re implementing a segment where we get to ‘participate’ in the gyms to see how they function. So, for Milo’s Gym, we’ll be going up against each other to see who can herd the Wooloo the fastest and it will be recorded and televised.”

“That sounds like fun!” Tessu exclaimed.

“I feel like Mary has an edge in this though.” Vanquil snickered. Mary laughed nervously and fiddled with her brown curls. Just as Juliet worked at the Battle Cafe on the side, Mary worked at the Daycare Centre on Route 5 so working with all kinds of Pokemon, baby or not, was second nature to her. Sometimes Pokemon were naturally drawn to her like she was their mom and more often than not, whenever they were looking for Raids in the Wild Area, many wild Pokemon would end up following them. It was definitely an easy way to catch Pokemon, but not so much if the Pokemon belonged to a family already since that could turn into a violent encounter. 

They don’t speak of the run-in with the very angry mother Bewear. 

“Sure, but I’m not exactly athletic.” Mary countered.

“Yeah, but I think the Wooloo will come to you, instead of you going to the Wooloo.” Juliet retorted playfully. “But that sounds like a great idea! I think it’ll also give viewers a chance to get to know the Gym Leaders outside of Pokemon battles.” Herding Wooloo...Now that was something she didn’t know she needed on her bucket list. She couldn’t help but giggle from just imagining a bunch of Wooloo rolling around and knocking into everything in sight. Was Wooloo Bowling a thing? That could make for an interesting new sport all together.

After briefing over some final details of the outline, Phil dismissed them, only to be invited for drinks by Raihan and some of the other Gym Leaders. Mary and Juliet weren’t one for drinking so Tessu and Vanquil accepted the invitation while they headed to Budew Inn to stay for the night. On their way there, Juliet was not expecting to be tackled and hugged from behind by a very excited Hop. She barely caught herself before she could fall face flat into the ground. 

“Juliet! Long time no see!!” He cheered. Juliet laughed and turned around to hug the boy properly, only to be surprised at how much he had grown. He was at her height now! Ignoring the disappointing reminder of her height, she casually ruffled a hand through his hair like she had done all those years ago.

“Hey Hop! Look at how tall you’ve gotten. I’m a little jealous.”

“Heh, I’ve been training hard so I can be as tall as Lee!”

“Looks like you’ll have no problem getting there at this rate. This is my best friend, Mary.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Hop! Good luck with the Gym Challenge!” Mary encouraged with a gentle smile.

“Thanks! I hope you two will root for me!”

“Hop!! No fair!” The short haired brunette from the Opening Ceremony, panted as she caught up with him. Hop snickered and puffed out his chest, standing proudly in front of his heaving best friend as if he had just won a marathon.

“You’ll have to train harder to catch up to me, Glo!”

“Hmph. I still beat you the other day in a battle.” She pouted.

“Beginner’s luck.” Hop shrugged off. “This is my best friend and rival, Gloria!”

“Nice to meet you, Juliet and Mary. Hop has actually mentioned you, Juliet, a few times before in the past.” Gloria mentioned casually, making Hop turn away bashfully. Juliet couldn’t help but smile at that. Hop was probably around 8 years old when he and his brother came to Hoenn, and how he followed them everywhere and would throw a fit if he wasn’t included whenever she and Leon hung out. The details were still hazy to her, but it felt right. She could faintly recall the cheerfulness she felt during those times and that’s what she relied on. 

She wondered if Hop looked up to her like an older sister? 

Juliet raised an eyebrow with interest. “Oho, did he now? Aww, I’m flattered you missed me, lil bro.”

“I mean, me and Lee had a lot of fun in Hoenn thanks to you! Heck, when we came home, Lee spent days writing a letter to you.”

Letter...? What letter? Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so surprised since she didn’t have a cellphone or a computer that she could have used to keep in touch with him so letters were the next best thing even if it lacked convenience. But, she didn’t recall receiving anything from him and if she did, her aunt would have definitely told her? She honestly felt a little guilty now, knowing that he wrote something for her to keep in touch but didn’t get a response back because it got lost in the mail or something. 

“Ahh, there you guys are! You’re both faster than you look.” Leon called out as he ran up to them. Juliet made a mental note to ask about the letter in detail later and maybe even apologize for not doing more to keep in touch. He tipped his hat at Juliet and Mary. “Good evening, ladies. Awesome job on your first day!”

“Thanks, Champ. You’re not going to get hammered like the others?”

“I have a couple of meetings in the morning so that wouldn’t be a good idea.” He laughed. “Besides, I want to make sure these two get some sleep before they set off on their journey.”

“Whaaaat? It’s still so early though!” Hop complained.

“Hopscotch, trust me, you’ll thank me later.” Just to make sure his brother did listen to him, he picked him up and threw him over his shoulder, chuckling as Hop protested to put him down. Gloria giggled at the sight and ignored Hop’s pleas for help until he eventually accepted his fate with his arms crossed over his brother’s shoulder. There was something warmly nostalgic about watching the brothers fool around with each other.

“Some things never change...” Gloria sighed.

“...I agree.” Juliet smiled nostalgically. 

--

She’s running, the once starlit sky fading back into black, the boy who was running right next to her nowhere to be found. He was right there! Right next to her! Where did he go? Her frantic footsteps rang hollowly in her ears as she desperately tried to reach for someone – anyone. Calling out for the boy only to be answered with nothing but her own heavy breathing.

She trips, stumbling onto the ground, wincing from the cold, hard ground that dug into her knees. She feebly tries to get up, praying that someone would be there with their hand out if she lifted her head.

But there was no one.

She curls up, hugging her knees to her chest.

Why was she always left behind?

--

Rather than being woken up by the blaring sound of an alarm clock, she felt someone shaking her awake. The gesture becoming stronger as she slowly regains consciousness. Opening her tear filled eyes, she could barely make out the worried faces of her friends hovering over her. Blinking away the tears, she pulled herself up from her bed, despite how heavy her heart felt in her chest.

“I’m fine, guys. Just another bad dream.”

“You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. Are you sure you’re OK?” Mary asked with concerned eyes. Juliet breathed shakily and pressed her fingers against her temple. No, she wouldn’t say she was OK if she was being honest. But, at the same time, her recurring nightmares were part of her everyday life so perhaps it was just a normal thing for her – she wasn’t a dream expert so what did she know. Besides, every so often she would have a happier dream. A glimmer of light in the midst of darkness.

“Dreams are just dreams. Lately mine haven’t been so...cheery but I try not to think about them.” Juliet forced a carefree smile and hoped that the tell tale twitch in the corner of her lips wasn’t a dead give-away of her facade.

“If you say so...We won’t force you to say things you don’t feel comfortable sharing, but you know you can count on us, right?” Tessu reassured, offering her a steaming cup of her favourite tea. Juliet nodded and gratefully took the offered drink and sipped it slowly.

She would tell them soon. She had to.

“Anyway, we have a big day today! We’re going to be heading to Turffield to shoot the first challenge for the variety show so let’s try to have fun today!”

--

Turffield was lush with rolling hills and tilled fields – a stark contrast to the dome shaped stadium that stood in the centre of the idyllic town. Besides the stadium bringing in tourists from all over, the hill that stood on the west side of town was an attraction that held mysterious origins of what was depicted.

But, sightseeing could wait.

Arriving at the Grass Stadium, Raid Prism and Phil were instructed to don specially made outfits specifically for the show that consisted of a t-shirt in their respective colours, navy blue overalls and white gloves. The attire was simple and comfortable, but Juliet couldn’t help but feel a little sheepish considering her impression of farmers often consisted of them wearing their hair in braids, as she does every day.

Though, that didn’t really matter since she thought it was a nice change from her usual casual attire.

“Welcome to my gym, everyone!” Milo greeted with a gentle smile. The gym itself was rather linear initial glance. The floor was completely covered in grass with bales of hale scattered throughout as either obstacles or decorations, on top of electric sign boards that displayed a counter. And of course, there were herds of Wooloo that were milling about and doing their own thing as the trainers of the gym were setting things up with the camera crew.

“Thank you for having us!” They replied in unison.

“Of course. To be honest, this is the first time I’ve ever been put on camera for something like this so I’m feeling a little flustered right now.” Milo admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I think we’re all pretty new to this.” Phil chuckled and turned to Raid Prism. “What about you guys? I imagine this is pretty different from live streaming.”

“We definitely don’t have this kind of budget or staff and we don’t really have any scripted content since Max Raid battles are very much real and unpredictable.” Tessu started.

“But, since this is a variety program and it's about us getting to know the Gym Leaders and experiencing the gyms, I think the important thing is to just act natural.” Juliet ended. It was reassuring knowing that they didn’t have to act with any sort of script unlike many ‘reality’ programs out there that are actually scripted to stir up drama or drive the narrative into a specific direction. Still, knowing that they were going to be viewed by people outside of their fanbase was nerve-wracking because who knows if they were entertaining enough for televised programs like this.

Juliet lost count of how many times she subconsciously touched her hair when she stepped out of the dressing room just to make sure nothing was sticking out that would make her appear sloppy. 

“Alright! Listen up everyone!” The director ordered. Everyone in the gym dropped what they were doing and perked their heads up attentively to the director. He held a rolled up magazine in his hand and smacked it against an open palm before pointing it at Milo. The farmer tensed up despite the director shooting him a wide toothy grin.

“Relax, mate. I may be the director, but I don’t want any one of you to be tense, alright? We’re going to open up the program with you, Milo, and you’re going to introduce your gym as if you were greeting a challenger. Feel free to throw in some facts about yourself like how long you’ve been a Gym Leader, your goals, etc.” The director then directed his rolled up magazine at Raid Prism and Phil.

“You’ll then welcome Raid Prism and Phil, explain the rules of your gym and the challenge will start. Any questions?”

“Is there a prize for the winner?” Vanquil asked cheekily. 

The director snorted at the question and shrugged casually. “Bragging rights.”

--

“Take 12, And...action!”

“Welcome to Turffield Stadium! I’m Milo, the Grass-type Gym Leader. Here at my gym, challengers will have to make it through this course by herding Wooloo to each check point, until they reach the end to battle me. As you can see from the course, there’s obstacles and trainers scattered throughout that will break the Wooloos formation so make sure all Wooloo are accounted for at each checkpoint! But, for this special program, our challengers for today don’t need to battle any of the trainers. These Wooloo are a bit unruly to deal with but they’re friendly all the same!” Milo turned to Raid Prism and Phil.

“I have some special guests here today to experience what my gym is all about in a friendly competition. Phil, Raid Prism, thank you for coming!”

“Thank you for letting us get a first hand experience of what your gym is all about. I have to ask though, as a seasoned farmer as yourself, what advice would you give us for herding Wooloo?” Phil questioned. Milo hummed and tapped his cheek thoughtfully at the question.

“That’s a good question! I think keeping a cool head is important. Wooloo are generally obedient, but if you freak out, they’ll freak out too.”

“Juliet, you’re pretty chill and relaxed so I think you have the advantage.” Vanquil noted, nudging his elbow into her side.

Juliet rolled her eyes and shooed his elbow away. Being laid back only got her so far and for an activity such as herding Wooloo, pure adrenaline alone could stress her out. Not to mention she had poor stamina and endurance so she’ll probably end up feeling extremely sore tomorrow. She silently cursed herself for not working out a bit more for today’s shoot.

“My stamina is not very good though. Like we talked about before, I think Mary has the upper hand because Pokemon are naturally drawn to her.”

“I don’t know if kindness is enough to win, though...” Mary retorted hesitantly, averting her eyes away from the camera.

“You do you, Mary! Think back to the classic story of the Buneary and the Turtwig. Turtwig won the race by doing its own thing.” Tessu added optimistically. 

“Haha, I like the way you think! Every challenger I battle brings something different to the table so I look forward to seeing how you’ll herd Wooloo in your own ways. Who wants to go first?” Milo asked. Juliet looked at her team, who all looked at her expectantly. She then turned to Phil, who shrugged as if to say ‘You or I could go first’.

Luckily it didn’t matter who went first since no one could see what the person was doing, therefore no one got the advantage of working around the other person’s mistakes. Juliet stepped forward and raised her hand. “I guess I’ll go first!”

“Great! To keep things even and fair, everyone else will be wearing blindfolds and headphones in a different room so no one will know what the other person did until the big reveal at the end!” Milo explained as the others were ushered off camera and Juliet stood in position. She took a few deep breaths to clear her head and carefully watched the herd of Wooloo waiting for her on the other side of the gate.

“Are you ready, Juliet?”

“Ready!”

“3, 2, 1...GO!”

Juliet burst through the gates, almost startling the Wooloo, but obediently rolled along her path through the first course and to the first checkpoint. There were no obstacles which offered no trouble to the 20 Wooloo that had to be herded so it was a decent enough of a tutorial for what’s to come. Trainers were omitted from their challenge but that meant there would be more obstacles to hinder their progress. Once the counter registered 20 Wooloo, they all collectively smashed into the barrels of hay, revealing the next area of the course.

“It really is like Wooloo bowling!” Juliet remarked. She could hear Milo laugh at her comment on the sidelines, along with the camera crew that were running alongside her, capturing her every move. A Yamper suddenly jumped out from the left, causing the Wooloo to roll out of formation away from the electric puppy.

“Uh oh.” She muttered to herself, looking around for any sort of stick or object to distract the Yamper with. She then looked at her hand and yanked off one of her gloves and threw it in the opposite direction for the Yamper to chase after. Luckily, it took the bait and scampered to retrieve the glove while she cooed the Wooloo back into positions so they could reach the next checkpoint.

“Things will get a bit trickier from here but good luck!” Milo called out. Looking ahead, she got an idea of what he meant. The path split into three, with two Yampers occupying two of the paths. It wasn’t a simple solution of herding through the empty path when both Yampers came running towards her, barking and breaking through the Wooloo in two different groups. She clicked her tongue in annoyance. She only had one glove left so she would only be able to distract one of the Yampers, and there was still another section after to get through.

She opted to herd half of the Wooloo since she was already wasting time pondering over tactics. She looked back to see the two Yampers chasing the other half of the Wooloo in circles which gave her an idea. Once the half of the herd were at the checkpoint, she brought her ungloved hand to her lips and a loud whistle rang out, making the Yampers perk up from the sound and stop chasing the remaining Wooloo.

“Come here, boys!” She whistled again and patted her knees to get their attention. Their tails waggled excitedly, running towards her and herding the other half of the Wooloo to the checkpoint. She sighed in relief at the unorthodox idea and readied herself to complete the final stretch, but not before being jumped by both Yampers.

“H-Hey! Not now! I’ll play with you guys later!!” The Yampers offered a few more face licks before crawling off of her and scurrying back to their original positions. Juliet groaned, wiping the slobber off of her face with her sleeve and choosing to ignore the chuckles that came from the crew.

“You’re almost at the end! Keep it up!” Milo encouraged.

The Wooloo broke through the hay barrier, and Juliet swore under her breath from the final course. There were now three Yampers and rather than there being linear paths, it was broken up unevenly by different barriers.

“Is this herding Wooloo or playing tag with Yampers?!” She breathed out exasperatedly.

“That’s what herding with Wooloo is like! Sometimes you have to herd them away from train tracks, wild Pokemon, and other hazards!”

“You got your work cut out for you, I’ll give you that, Milo!” Despite her pounding heart and heaving chest, she pushed forward and despite the Yampers breaking up the Wooloo into smaller groups, she traversed through the winding path with the few Wooloo that stuck with her. Ordering the small group to stay at the checkpoint, she tried her previous strategy of whistling to the Yampers.

They didn’t listen and continued to chase the Wooloo throughout the course. If the Yampers weren’t going to come to her, she would have to go to them.

“If they want to play tag, let’s play tag!” Taking a moment to catch her breath, Juliet sprinted towards the Yampers with her arms outstretched as if she was going to scoop them up in her arms. They scurried away from her, nearly crashing into each other as they ran towards the checkpoint with the remaining Wooloo rolling away in front of them.

Hey, if there wasn’t a rule against Yampers helping her herd, she was going to take advantage of that instead of working against the rowdy puppies. The Wooloo crashed into the final barriers of hay and rolled into their respective pens at the finish line, signalling the end of the challenge with an air horn that blared across the course. Juliet slumped to her knees in exhaustion, grimacing at the sweat that rolled down her forehead and back.

That was...a lot more tiring than she expected. She did not envy Milo’s job at all, even if he gained those strong arms and legs in the process.

She’ll stick to doing light jogs and archery.

Juliet barely acknowledged his presence when he wrapped a clean towel around her neck and offered her a water bottle. “Great job out there! You definitely know how to think quickly under pressure.”

“Aha...Thanks, Milo. But, I think your patience is second to none if you can do this kind of work daily.”

The farmer chuckled and sheepishly scratched his cheek. “You’re giving me a bit too much credit. It takes a lot of training to build up the stamina for this kind of work, but with discipline and training, you can get to where I am as well.”

“Good point, but I think I’ll leave the farmer's life to you.”

“And cut! Great work, you two!”

--

“And the winner of the Grass Gym Challenge...With a time of 6 minutes and 45 seconds...Congratulations, Mary!”

“Huh?! I did that well?!”

“See, we knew you could do it!” Tessu exclaimed. Vanquil and Juliet looked over at Phil, who was slumped over from having the longest time, putting him in last place. They offered him a reassuring pat on the back in solidarity. 

“Even though there isn’t a grand prize for winning, please accept my Rare League Card for your victory!” Milo reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny holographic card that depicted him cuddling with a Wooloo. Mary timidly accepted the card, still looking a bit dumbfounded by the results.

“Let’s replay Mary’s footage for the other challengers!”

As expected, upon stepping out of the gates, Mary gently cooed and coaxed the Wooloo to her and lightly jogged them to the checkpoints. When it came to the Yampers, their rowdiness were almost non-existent in her presence, choosing to either follow her or steer clear of the Wooloo.

It was a pure and wholesome display of how slow and steady wins the race.

Or perhaps, kindness and patience wins the race?

“Pokemon Whisperer.” The group, beside Mary, uttered in unison.

“You guys!”

--

“Well, that was something.” Juliet sighed tiredly. By the end of the shoot, the sun dipped into the horizon, casting the entire farming town into a gentle orange glow. Phil had excused himself for the rest of the evening, leaving Raid Prism on their own to explore the town if they wanted before they would have to rest up for the upcoming days of commentating for the Grass Gym. They decided to check out the giant geoglyph on the west side of town before it got dark. It was like a massive piece of art, with the hill being used as a canvas to depict a historical scene that was said to be about the Dynamax Phenomenon.

“Oh! I didn’t expect to see you guys here.” Sonia called out. The group turned their heads to see the Professor assistant with her faithful Yamper by her side, along with Gloria and Hop. Her Yamper scampered over to the team, receiving greeting pats from each of them before going back to Sonia’s side.

“Hey Sonia! Out researching?” Vanquil greeted. Sonia put a hand on her hip and twirled a finger through her hair thoughtfully.

“That’s right. I came to check out the geoglyph here and thought I’d give these two a bit of a history lesson on what’s known about it.”

“Mind if we listen in? We aren’t from Galar so we don’t know too much either.” Tessu asked.

“I don’t mind!” Sonia cleared her throat. The Raid team stepped aside to allow the assistant to stand in front of the railing, front and center of the imposing geoglyph that was etched into the grassy hill.

“The geoglyph is said to represent Dynamax and ‘The Darkest Day’. A long time ago...a great black storm covered the Galar region. Giant Pokémon ran rampant... But what was that black storm they called ‘the Darkest Day’? What connection does it have to Dynamax? Especially considering Pokemon can still Dynamax even though the storm has been gone for about 3000 thousand years. Except we can control it for the most part thanks to the Wishing Stars embedded in Dynamax bands.” Sonia’s eyebrows furrowed in mild frustration from the theories that brought about more questions than answers. “What do you all think?”

Juliet hummed, deep in thought. “If I got this right, Dynamax came about from the Darkest Day?”

“That’s what we think, yes.”

“So, I guess the big question to the big picture is what caused the Darkest Day to happen and how.”

“Maybe we can try to catch a Celebi and ask it to take you back 3000 years. It’d be a huge research breakthrough.” Vanquil joked.

“I wish. Trying to find a Celebi would just add to my workload.” Sonia giggled, waving off the sarcastic offer.

“The longer I look at it, doesn’t the Pokemon look like a Toxtricity?” Gloria chimed in.

Huh. Looking at it closely, the figure did have the characteristics of a Toxtricity. But there was something slightly different about it. Squinting, at the tail of the Pokemon specifically, it reminded Juliet a lot of a Gigantamax Toxtricity, except it was standing on upright rather than on all fours. Evolutionary changes, perhaps?

“The tail specifically makes it look like a Gigantamax Toxtricity. But, it’s not standing on all fours like the ones we’ve found in the Wild Area.” Juliet added. Sonia’s eyes lit up from the observations and quickly pulled out a notepad to jot down notes.

“Interesting! That doesn’t exactly answer any questions to the origins of the Darkest Day, but now it makes me curious on why Toxtricity was chosen to be depicted, and in this form. Whether there’s a deeper meaning behind that, I’ll have to look into as well but I definitely feel motivated to do more research in the other towns! Thanks for the input, everyone.” She turned to Hop and Gloria. “And good luck with the Gym challenge, you two!”

“Good luck with your research, Sonia!” Juliet waved to the assistant. Sonia shot her a thankful grin before following her loyal Yamper down the hill. 

Watching Sonia descend down the hill, the team turned to the young Gym Challengers with tired smiles on their faces. Knowing what the Gym Challengers would have to go through on their first gym, they couldn’t help but feel a little nervous for them. Maybe they would have an easier time because of their youthful vigor? Then again, they had the trainers and Milo to worry about as well.

“So, how are you two feeling? Ready to take on the very first gym?” Vanquil asked. Hop perked up excitedly from the switch in topic to the Gym Challenge. Probably not much of a history fan or he had trouble wrapping his head around what Sonia was talking about. It was a lot to take in so they couldn’t blame the trainer especially when the highly anticipated Gym Challenge was now underway.

“I’m more than ready! I’m finally taking the first steps into following my brother!”

“We’ll see about that.” Gloria challenged. Something shone in Hop’s eyes at that, making him pull out a Pokeball and thrusting it towards his childhood friend. Gloria answered his challenge with a Pokeball of her own. The air suddenly grew tense, and Raid Prism were prepared to deliver impromptu commentary to the battle between young rivals-

Until the sound of gurgling came from Hop and Gloria’s stomachs.

--

Lying in bed at the inn, Juliet lay on her bed, fully awake with her mind swimming in thoughts about the Darkest Day and Dynamax. Despite the physical workout from herding Wooloo, the image of the geoglyph kept her mind distracted from drifting off.

It seemed the world didn’t want her to sleep, her phone vibrating from receiving a text. Turning over in her bed, she blindly reached for her Rotom phone she hid under her pillow. After letting her eyes adjust to the bright screen, she opened up the messenger window to see a text from Leon.

Raising an eyebrow out of curiosity as to why he was still up, she started texting him back.

Leon: Hey Juliet. thanks for taking care

of my brother and Gloria in Turffield.

he didn't cause you guys any trouble did he?

Juliet: Np, and no he didn’t. he’s really

excited about the first gym

Leon: I know lol he's been texting me

non-stop about it

Leon: I hope he's going to be ok

Juliet: oh? big bro doubting his little bro?

Leon: Doubt isn't the word I’d use but

Leon: I just don’t want him to push

himself too hard you know?

Leon: Sorry I just realized that I'm probably

keeping you up

Juliet: It’s fine. I’m having trouble sleeping

anyway.

Juliet: If it makes you feel any better,

I’ll keep an eye on him since our

team is commentating the gym

challenge anyway

Juliet: So I can see his progress and how

he’s battling

Leon: Thanks. I appreciate it. I’m going

to try to make it to his battles but it’s hard

with my schedule

Juliet: it's the thought that counts

but I'd remind him every now and

again that you’re always supporting him

Juliet: That's what I would do

Leon: Yeah. It's the least that I could do

Leon: Sometimes I wish I had more time to

spend with my family and friends

Juliet: The champion life sounds hard

but It's ok to have those days

Leon: You think so?

Juliet: Of course. you’re only human

Leon. You’re allowed to be stressed.

It doesn’t matter how much you love

your job – sometimes it’ll feel like work

Leon: ...thank you

Leon: Hearing that makes me feel a lot

better

Juliet: Any time champ. Cut yourself

some slack. You’re worried about

Hop pushing himself too hard but I think

you're pushing yourself too hard

Leon: Well there's not much I can do

about that with my workload

Leon: But I'll try

Juliet: Good

Juliet: Now go to sleep. Can’t give

your fans a champion time with bags

under your eyes

Leon: Ha ha

Juliet: Actually, one more thing

Leon: Yeah?

Juliet: Hop mentioned something

about you writing a letter to me

when you came back from vacation

from Hoenn. What’s that about?

For some reason, he took awhile to type out his response even though his response was rather curt and short. Maybe he had trouble remembering it himself?

Leon: Oh

Leon: That

Leon: Don’t worry about it

Juliet: ??? Well now I can’t with

a suspicious response like

that. Spill

Leon: It was nothing!! It was so long

ago that I don’t really remember

Juliet: Liar

Leon: I mean it! OK good night

Juliet snorted. Did she make him flustered? That was a first. Whatever the illusive letter was about, it probably made him cringe thinking about it. She shoved her phone back under her pillow and sighed into the darkness of her suite. No time for family and friends. Feeling like you aren’t allowed to be stressed because of the privileges of being Champion...

“I wonder...if there are people who have said bad things about him, does he know? And how does he deal with it...” She buried her face into a spare pillow, but not being able to shake off the blurry image of the Leon she knew from back then. How long had she kept the memories of that time locked away? And why did it take seeing him again trigger pieces of that memory to come back?

It was almost like...She was forgetting something important. Significant. Whatever it was, she couldn’t for the life of her remember why it was important either. But, it felt like something was mixing up what she knew from her past.

Maybe she was going crazy.

Groaning in defeat, she turned over on her stomach and forced her mind to shut up so she could finally drift into the unconscious.

And hope a pleasant dream was waiting for her.

[munstarr]

The Guardian: part 2

Hello everyone! Welcome to part two in a sloow burn series I am working on! I am very excited to finally put this idea into words, this is so fun! I hope you like it, please don’t be shy with any feedback or criticism I would really appreciate it! please DM me anytime!! Also I have a wattpad its @ LilMunstarr ! Thanks for reading! 

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A few weeks had passed and after sending documents back and forth, prepping to move Azura was finally all packed. She officially accepted the position and later that week they sent helpers to aid her in packing. They were certain to let her know what was essential and what wasn’t. She hadn’t expected to be throwing most of her things away but was happy she was able to keep most of her decorative pieces so she could feel at home. She had quickly learned that some Nuks were very thorough.  She had been escorted to the nuks' earth base on many occasions to set up her identification cards for her new life on the planet; they had even picked up some of her things and taken them ahead of time. She had insisted she could do these errands herself but they would hear nothing of it, saying how pleased they were to help. Today was the day she was going to leave Earth behind, she had flown a good bit but this would be her first-time off-world. She had received a letter a few days ago letting her know a ship would receive her and take her to her new assignment. Standing in front of her large bathroom mirror she dressed in her small town home one last time. Carefully she unfolded her uniform, the pants seemed to be a strange black latex and leather mixed material, ‘’great how am I supposed to fit this over my damn thighs” she said to herself inspecting them. After wiggling around like a fish, she finally had gotten them to fit over her plump bottom. She was relieved to find the top seemed to be a cozy onyx crocheted sweater. Inspecting herself in the mirror she was very pleased, she looked very sexy and felt more comfortable then she had originally thought. She was starting to feel nervous, as she placed the intricate oxford colored crest on her chest she felt it was all happening so fast. She smiled to herself in the mirror and made a posh pose “why yes, it is I” she chuckled, fake it to you make it she chuckled to herself. She had decided to do her makeup full glam, with a sexy vampire red lip and a soft coral blush to match. She looked like a baddy straight from Star Wars, that thought made her snort. She was on her way to freaking live on an alien planet, this was the closest to Star Wars as she’d ever get!

A few hours later there was a sturdy knock on her door, her heart leapt. “Well let’s make it happen” she said to herself. She took a deep breath and smiled as she opened the door only to be greeted with a black fabric wall. ‘’Ahem, most apologize to you lady Emem” a huge Nuk said as it stepped back and bent down to greet her. “Oh, hello! I’m Azura!” she said sticking out her hand in surprise, The Nuk stared at it quizzically or so she thought. The Nuk’s didn’t seem to have any eyes or facial features recollected other than their mouth and leathery scaled looking bound skin, so she couldn’t be sure for certain.  Instantly retracting her hand she said “I’m so sorry, do you shake!? I didn’t mean to offend!” she said nervously. Suddenly forgetting everything she had read, she mentally smacked herself. The nuk standing before her had to be at least six and a half feet tall, his smooth leathery face only showed two rows of razor-sharp almost shark-like teeth. He was dressed similarly to her only his top was made of a knitted leather. Without any eyes she was unsure of how to read the situation. “Oh, my lady” he said with a dramatic bow and huge shark toothed smile,which gave her goosebumps. “Please do not waste any formalities on me, I am a Kilwhan the  transporter and I am here only to aid you on your journey. I will be personally delivering you to the guardian, it is an honor to be in your service” he said standing and picking up her carry on, he turned and headed towards the ship. Azura wasn’t sure what to do, shaking her head she followed behind him into the ship nervously. “Welcome aboard lady Emem, any inquiries before we take off?” he said in her direction as she buckled in. “Yes..um about before, please I insist on you calling me just by my name, it’s Azura. This is going to be my first time leaving my homeworld so I’d appreciate it if we kept it casual during the um.. ride?” she said quietly looking around the ship . Looking up she noticed him staring at her, or so it seemed “Just to ease my nerves, if that is okay with you that is.. I don’t want to get you into any sort of trouble or anything” she said with a slight nervous smile.  “As you wish...Azura'' he said with an enthusiastic wide-toothed grin and with that they blasted into the air. 

The trip would be several hours as Yanak was pretty far away, as they went into the air she struggled to keep her heart from falling out of her ass. She had always been scared of planes and this was way worse, after entering space though she relaxed. After seeing her awe and answering her questions, Kilwhan had slowed down to give her a mini tour of the galaxy. After hours of chatting Azura had learned a great deal about Yanak and told Kilwhan much about Earth. Turns out he did this for a living and was the one of the personal transporters for the guardians. She was very relieved to find out she would be seeing him often, she would have one friend at least. It had admittedly taken a bit to get him to relax and chat with her, apparently, his job was very formal and usually he rode in silence which he said he enjoyed actually . She was pleased to find he seemed to like chatting with her, this had been an amazing trip so far. “So..what is The Guardian Mirin like..?” she said curiously as she popped some snacks into her mouth. “The Guardian Mirin is someone  I don’t know personally too  much about,” he said surprisingly. “Didn’t you say you had been driving him around for a few years?” Azura said skeptically. “Yes well, he is very quiet and I wouldn't even know how to describe him” he said quietly. This puzzled Azura, surely you couldn’t work with someone for years without acknowledging them, how strange she thought. “Well that’s unfortunate, anytime I am around I would love to talk!” She said brightly. She had to admit she had always been a chatterbox, it was something that often got her in trouble during grade school. All the excitement of space had made her feel like her old self but suddenly she was a bundle of nerves again. She hoped she hadn’t signed up to secretly be a prisoner, she shook that thought off the alliance would never allow it!

After a few hours she had inevitably fallen asleep in the ship, She had awoken to Kalwhan poking her forehead. Azura sat up with a yawn, “I didn’t even realize I passed out” she said rubbing her eyes. “I am sorry to awaken you but we have arrived at your destination” he said stepping side showing her the view.  She was in awe, it looked like she was in a giant fucking tree! Her eyes nearly budged from her sockets. All around her she could see huge trees like plants holding all sorts of buildings, some circular and others long and tube-like, She couldn’t believe her eyes . The flowers swayed in the dark purple night sky, she looked up to see Kilwhan smile. “It sure is glorious,” he said picking up her bag and escorting her inside. She had seen some photos but there really weren’t many, the Nuks had been very private and didn’t share much about themselves online. They walked into a clear amethyst tube that guided them up to the beautiful circular building, this was quite the thing to wake up to. She had reapplied her makeup before leaving the ship and had her game face ready. She had butterflies but was relieved to know she would only be meeting the guardian and not jumping straight into work and meeting new coworkers. They had arrived around late after dinner time she had found out. 

They stepped out of the tube which she assumed was similar to an elevator, she turned around when she noticed Kalwhan had set her bag outside but had not come with her. “This is where we part Lady Azura, it was truly a pleasure to meet you” he said with a swift nod. “You aren't coming with me..?” she said in a hushed tone giving him a sad face. “I am not but you will just proceed to that door and scan your ID, the guardian should be with you shortly” he said, giving her a smile  and a swift “good luck” and with that he shot down the tube. “Great my only friend abandoned me, some support system” she snorted to herself. “WELP time to put on my big girl panties and make it happen” she thought. Picking up her small suitcase she took out her card and held it to the scanner. She was a bit shocked when the door slid open and the door sang in an angelic voice, “Welcome Guardian Keeper Azura”. That made her smile, at least she knew she belonged here. She slowly entered the room only to see it was very reminiscent of an earth style study room, a fancy one at that. The room was circular and had black wood throughout, there was an opulent emerald stone fireplace, the room was more than beautiful. There were built-in shelves of books and rolled documents lined the walls and stairs which seemed to lead to another floor of books. She passed the fireplace to look out the beautiful floor to ceiling window, this place was huge and the furniture was even bigger. She took this time to admire all the dwarfing buildings, she couldn't believe this was happening to her. Her heart soared thinking of what all the buildings could possibly be used for . As she drifted deeper into thought the door swooped open, “Welcome Divine Guardian Mirin” the door sang. Azura turned and that’s when she saw him. She had assumed everyone was the same height as Kilwhan, the helpers had been. Mirin had to be at least seven and a half feet tall, his black leathery face was all she saw, all wrapped up in a classic black earth suit. “Hello, I am mirin”  he said with a deep booming voice he gave a sharp nod extending his hand to her. “Oh why yes, h- hello!! I am Azura, she said, taking his hand”. She visibility gulped as his large scaled hand  engulfed her own.  She relaxed a bit to find it was covered in leathery black scales but it was surprisingly warm, with a gentle shake he gestured for her to sit in the chair across from his own. As if she was a child jumping onto a huge bed, she sat in the chair across  him. “I hope your trip went well, I know moving for humans can be quite a stress so I tried to design this unit to resemble a comfortable earth space” he said gesturing around with his clawed hand.  “Yes it is very beautiful, but you shouldn’t have gone through the trouble for me” she said looking around admiring the beautiful room. “You are so modest! But trust me, I have been waiting a long time for someone like you so really it was no trouble at all” he said plainly. This made her heart leap, what was so special about her she thought. She was flattered to say the least if not speechless, she fidgeted a bit in her massive cushioned wing chair, her feet didn't even touch the ground! “It seems I will have to make adjustments” he said with a sharp tooth smile “I forget how small some humans can be” he said with a deep chuckle that made her heat up inside. “ Well”, he said, standing up abruptly reaching out both of his hands to  her. “Are you ready to get to work?” he said with his booming voice to which Azure smiled and nodded proudly and took his hands standing up. She was beyond ready! She couldn’t wait to see this planet and prove to the Guardian that she was small but beyond capable! This would be an adventure she’d never forget. 

[deathsteel]

30 day fanfic challenge

Prompt #13 -Regret

“Fuck”, Dean muttered, scrubbing at the dark ink curving over his collarbone with a washcloth. 

It hurt like a bitch, the skin red and inflamed and raw like he was scrubbing over a sunburn. But, damnit, Dean was NOT going to keep looking at the name of his ex-fucking-girlfriend tattooed right over his heart like some damn fool. 

Last night was supposed to be their 5 year anniversary, but instead Dean had gotten drunk alone at the divest dive bar to ever exist while looking at pictures of Lisa on her honeymoon on Instagram. They’d gone on to Jamaica, how lame. Dean would have taken her to see the Northern lights, kissed her in a forest, and climbed to the top of a mountain to declare to the world how much he loved her. In his hungover state, Dean spitefully hoped that Lisa and Benny got rained on the whole time they were there. 

So yea, Dean was out a best friend and a girlfriend all in one fateful night two years ago. He didn’t even really know why he hadn’t unfollowed the two of them on Instagram yet. Sam said it was because he liked to torture himeself, but Dean had just thought of it as him playing the long game until Lisa was single again. He’d had the tattoo for two and a half years and it served as a constant, daily reminder of how shitty one Dean Winchester was at relationships. 

“You should get that covered up,” his roommate Garth said, leaning nonchalantly in the doorway of the bathroom. 

Dean just groaned at the other man who looked annoyingly well-rested and continued to rub at the curling script even though he knew it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. He tried to avoid his own gaze in the mirror because he knew he looked like death warmed over and eventually just tossed the washcloth in the sink with a growl of frustration. 

“Really, man,” Garth continued, cheerful as ever even though Dean had brusquely pushed past him on the way out of the bathroom. “The guy that does all of my work, he’s great. He specializes in cover ups too! He did this trailing flower thing on Bess’s side to cover up the scar from her accident. It's pretty awesome.” 

Dean knew which of his girlfriend’s tattoos that Garth was talking about. Bess had worn a bikini last summer for the first time that Dean had known her and he’d seen the ink flowing gracefully down her ribcage. It had been lifelike and beautiful, dandelions both in bloom and as the white-tufted seeds clinging to delicate stems; waiting to turn into wishes. He hadn’t even noticed that Bess had a scar that the tattoo was covering up, but that was probably the point. 

He stormed towards his bedroom, mulling over the thought of going under the needle to cover up Lisa’s name on his skin. 

How much longer could he kid himself? Was it even healthy to continue to hope that he and Lisa would get back together? She was fucking married at this point, to Benny of all people! Benny was a good dude, the best dude. And Dean was scum for selfishly wanting them to split up. 

The little voice in Dean’s head that sounded an awful lot like Sam whispered that it was time to let go. 

“Garth!” Dean hollered, pulling a grey t-shirt roughly over his head and reaching for his discarded jeans from the night before. “You got the name of this tattoo guy?!”

~~

Ethereal Ink was in the up and coming part of town that all the locals snidely called ‘gentrified’. It was located in a refurbished furniture manufacturing plant that had one been the town’s pride and joy in the 60s and 70s, but it had since been updated and broken up into smaller subsections that housed the tattoo shop, a smoothie bar, and a hot yoga studio respectively. Dean grimaced at the sign for the empty space next to the tattoo shop that declared ‘Artisanal Cheese Shoppe Coming Soon!’ as he walked into the parlor before dropping his jaw open as he started at the flash adorning the walls around him. 

It was unlike any tattoo shop he had seen before, which granted he had only seen the one when he had initially gotten the ‘Lisa’ tattoo and it had been much seedier than the shop he stood in now. One of the walls of the shop was painted with a sweeping solar system, glowing in hyperrealistic color and scale, the stars and constellations radiating vibrantly against the starkly painted navy hue of the wall itself. A second wall was swathed in plaques and trophies, proudly displayed showing the triumphs and accolades of the shop’s employees. 

The remaining two walls showcased lovingly framed flash art and pictures, but it didn’t look like the kind that someone could just pick off the wall and request to have put on their bodies. No, the placement of it looked purposeful. Arranged artistically and clustered into themes, the art seemed to capture the personalities of the people who drew them. 

Dean noticed that the artists Anna seemed to prefer portrait art of people and pets, keeping mostly to a black and white color scheme. Hannah, on the other hand, used bright colors and worked in a style that reminded Dean of old sailor tattoos. Billie seemed to favor a tribal, geometric style, and Jess appeared to be the shop’s resident piecer since her cluster was artfully taken photo close-ups of healed piercings. But the last group of artwork, infuriatingly unsigned, seemed to be a marriage of realism and storybook illustrations. There was something arrestingly lifelike in the drawing of a fox posed among vibrantly pink wildflowers and playful in the drawing of a rocketship taking flight. Dean liked all of the artwork, but these caught his attention, these made his hands itch to reach out and touch. 

“You my two o’clock consult?” A femenine voice asked causing Dean to spin around and face the counter that separated the awards from the rest of the store. A dark skinned woman with riotously curly hair and tattooed arms revealed by her black tank top leaned comfortably on her arms against the glass top of the counter. 

"Yea," Dean replied, putting on a charming smile. "You Cas?"

“No,” the woman said flatly, unfolding her arms to reveal twisting dark tribal tattoos going up the inside until they disappeared under her top. “I’m Billie. Cas is sick and I’m the next best at cover ups.”

Dean tried not to be disappointed, Cas must be who the unsigned artwork belonged too and it was much more intriguing than the stark tribal pieces the woman seemed to favor.

It must have shown on his face though, “You can reschedule with him in about a week or so,” Billie offered. “He has the flu, so he shouldn’t be out longer than that. But Cas said you sounded pretty eager to get this done in your email so he asked me to see you.”

 “Cool, well.” Dean floundered, not wanting to appear ungrateful because really, he wanted this fucking name off of his body like yesterday. “Uh...where do we start?”

“Come back to my office and show me what I’m working with,” Billie said, gesturing to the hallway that led behind the counter and deeper into the store before heading that way herself. 

Dean followed quickly and was led into a doorless office that contained a padded, reclining tattooing chair, a very large tool chest that was covered in stickers, and even more art featuring tribal tattoos on the walls. 

“So where is this no doubt beautiful work that you want to get covered up?” Billie asked blandly, taking a seat on a small rolling stool that had been tucked into the corner. 

“On my chest,” Dean answered, perching on the tattoo chair before he hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged it down to reveal the inked skin in question. “It’s just the name of an ex and well…”

“Hey, no shame,” Billie said, leaning forward to study the ink. “We all do dumb stuff for love, right?”

Dean shrugged and let out a puff of air through his nose in amusement. It was nice not to be made to feel like a tool for getting a dumb tattoo.

“Can’t say I’ve ever gotten a person’s name put on me though…”Billie mused, pulling out her cell from her back pocket. “Mind if I take a few reference pictures? So I can make sure my sketch actually covers the old ink?”

“Sure,” Dean replied, feeling like a moron again. He should’ve never gotten this tattoo, even Lisa had thought it was dumb when he’d shown her.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?” 

“Um...yea?” Dean said hesitantly, reaching back to pull the shirt over his head. 

“Don’t be shy,” Billie replied, her phone audibly clicking as she snapped a few pictures of Dean’s newly revealed torso and shoulders. “This way I’ll know how much room I have to work with. Plus you’re not my type.” 

“Oh,” Dean laughed nervously. “Not enough muscles?”

“Not enough tits,” Billie replied with a smirk, winking at him before snapping another picture and sliding her phone away. “But I’m sure there are lots of people who would appreciate your physique just the way it is. You can put your shirt back on now.”

Dean smiled to himself as he did just that; he had never been one to turn down a compliment from anyone, even if they weren’t interested in more than just admiring for aesthetic reasons. 

“So what are you thinking as far as design?” Billie asked, taking her seat back on her stool. 

“Well…” Dean started before hitting a proverbial brick wall. He really hadn’t thought beyond just wiping Lisa’s name off of his body. “I’m open to suggestions?”

Billie just raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you alway this impulsive when it comes to putting something permanent on your body?” 

Dean just waved his hands in a helpless gesture and put on what he hoped was a charming smile. Based on Billie’s expression it didn’t really work as well as it typically did. 

“Which art did you like the best out there?” Billie asked, smiling when Dean froze like a deer in headlights. “I saw you looking at Cas’s stuff? You like those flowers and nature things?” 

“Yea, but uh...yours are really great too,” Dean offered trying to backpedal his way out of inadvertently insulting his tattoo artist. 

Billie just waved away Dean’s compliment with a grin, “I know my stuff is not everyone’s cup of tea. I can see the appeal in the Cas’s pretty stuff.”

Dean wanted to protest that the prettiness of the other artist’s work had very little to do with why he liked it, but honestly it was pretty and Dean was comfortable enough with his masculinity to admit that he liked flowers sometimes. Especially after all of that therapy he did after his and Lisa’s breakup. 

“Listen,” Billie continued, entirely unaware of Dean’s inner monologue. “This is just a consult, we’re not getting married. If you like the flowers, I can forward these pics onto Cas and he can work something up for you.”

Dean gnawed on his lip for a second, ultimately deciding that another week or two with Lisa’s name on his body didn’t mean anything. Maybe he could just cover it up with some bandages or something. He nodded in agreement and moved to get to his feet. 

“That settles it then,” Billie said, getting to her feet and leading Dean back towards the front of the shop. “But, let me get your contact info so Cas can reach out once he’s back to schedule with you.”

“No prob,” Dean replied, jotting down his cell number and email address for Billie before giving her a little salute and bidding farewell. 

~~

 The first text came the next afternoon. 

“What is your favorite color?” Unknown Number 1:47pm

Dean stared at his phone incredulously for a minute before shrugging and typing in ‘Red’ and hitting send. 

It had been a slow day at work, maybe this was one of those call/text your number neighbor things going around again. 

“What is your star sign?” Unknown Number 3:20pm

‘Aquarius,’ Dean replied, feeling bold. ‘What’s urs?’

‘Leo,’ Unknown Number replied a few minutes later, followed quickly by, ‘Favorite flower?’

Dean smirked to himself as he thumbed out a reply, ‘Chocolate sunflower.’ 

‘Opportunity’ Unknown Number 3:42pm

‘Huh?’ Dean replied back. 

‘Chocolate sunflowers symbolize opportunity,’ Unknown Number answered. ‘I like proteas, myself.’

A quick google search taught Dean that proteas symbolized change and hope; he decided to share this newfound knowledge with his mystery text buddy. 

He earned a photo in return. It was just a picture of a blooming flower, one which Dean now knew to be a protea, inked onto a forearm that was corded in sinewy muscle and ended in a long-fingered masculine hand. Dean noted the ink smudges on the tips of the index and thumb, the fine, dark hairs dusting the skin around the tattoo, and the freckle on the edge of the palm of the hand. 

‘I was thinking of a bouquet,’ Unknown Number shared. ‘Something big to cover up that name on your chest. I’ll send some sketches along shortly.’

Dean swallowed hard, realizing that he had been flirting with his tattoo artist via text. His apparently inked and muscled and weirdly nerdy tattoo artist.

 If asked he would deny stalking the tattoo shop’s instagram until the day he died, but it was in a picture simply captioned ‘#flowerboy’ that Dean managed to find a picture of the elusive Cas. The Cas who would be covering up the name of Dean’s ex-girlfriend. The Cas who had probably seen shirtless pictures of Dean courtesy of Billie. The Cas who was practically the walking embodiment of all of Dean’s wet dreams that featured a male counterpart. 

He groaned into a pillow for a little bit, questioning all of his life choices, before beginning to feel better. Dean had a lot of regrets, but bailing on this tattoo would not be one of them. This could be an opportunity for something. A change that he needed. Hope for something more with a cute guy who had the swoonest arms that Dean had seen in a long time. 

And yea, he did swoon. Just a little. 

[sholiofic]

Still working on the Iron Fist Week prompts! This one was Ward + withdrawal symptoms.

--

So maybe there are some cosmic scales being balanced somewhere, Ward doesn't know how all of that works, but he still thinks it's kind of unfair that he has to go through drug withdrawal again for reasons that are not actually his fault this time, for the most part.

Insult to injury is that he can't just tough it out in private, because Danny somehow talked him into staying at the dojo for the duration. And then Danny ended up being out half the time for vigilante reasons, which means Ward gets to do this with Colleen.

Yay.

Further insult to injury: Danny and Colleen's place really isn't set up for privacy. It's mostly an open plan and they don't have a guest bedroom, just a fold-out couch. There was some kind of argument that Ward slept through most of that resulted in Ward getting the bedroom, temporarily, so that he has as much privacy as possible. Danny and Colleen are sleeping on the fold-out.

Ward suspects this doesn't endear him to Colleen at all.

Sometimes, to his vast relief, he's alone here, and he makes himself coffee from instant (ugh) coffee crystals in their kitchen and sleeps and watches Netflix when he feels up for it. But Danny seems to have somehow acquired the idea that he really shouldn't be left alone, which means that half the time he holes up in the bedroom just to avoid shuffling out to the kitchen while Colleen is doing her thing on the couch, whatever her thing is.

At least he can drink water from the bathroom without having to go through the kitchen.

"Okay, you're being ridiculous," Colleen says flatly from the doorway.

Ward jumps and drops his earbuds. He's been watching some kind of nature show, which he doesn't really care about, but he can't seem to follow a plot right now.

Colleen is carrying two bowls. It smells ... good. Ward hasn't really wanted food for the last couple of days, but the salty/meaty smell is making his body sit up and take notice.

"I made ramen," Colleen says, sounding deeply annoyed by it all. "The broth and noodles were frozen. Most of the rest of it is fresh. If something isn't cooked to your liking, I don't want to hear about it."

She sits on the edge of the bed and shoves a bowl into his hands. Ward takes it carefully; his hands are shaky right now. Colleen follows it up with chopsticks and a spoon on top of a folded napkin.

Then she pulls up her feet and folds her legs and sits beside him on the bed and digs her chopsticks into the steaming broth, scooping up noodles.

She doesn't say anything. Neither does Ward. He cautiously samples the broth. It's salty and good.

The first few bites are amazing; the next few bites, somewhat less so, as his body decides it's done. He grits his teeth and pushes forward, eating mechanically even after it's not fun anymore. There's just ... not much choice, with her sitting there.

And then all of a sudden his body hits a wall, and a minute later, he puts the bowl hastily aside and gets up and stumbles into the bathroom and makes it just in time.

He doesn't have a whole lot of energy right now, so he's sitting with one arm draped over the toilet seat when Colleen says quietly, from the doorway, "Jeez. Ward."

Her steps are soft and light. She crouches beside him. "Just because I gave it to you doesn't mean you have to eat it."

He doesn't answer, resting his forehead in the crook of his arm. It was tests, with his dad; always, tests. You were never told the rules. You just had to figure them out. Guessing wrong was ... bad.

"Yeah, well, you didn't say so," he says after a minute, his voice rough.

Apparently it's the wrong thing. He senses her pulling back, and closes his eyes. His throat and sinuses burn; he's sweaty and miserable and too tired to even snap at her. He just wants to be alone.

Then Colleen says quietly, "Bakuto made me eat bugs."

Ward raises his head a little. He thought she'd left. Actually, she's sitting in the doorway.

"Danny and I joke about it sometimes," she said, smiling a little. "Like you do. I mean, he went through everything I went through and worse. It's something to laugh about. Something to exaggerate. But you know, what it came down to was, some of Bakuto's lessons were about being willing to live and survive anywhere. To live off garbage, if you had to. Off cockroaches."

Ward swallows carefully. "Do you really think this is the best topic right now?"

Colleen laughs softly. She leans her head against the wall. "No, sorry. The point is ... the thing I've realized is that I didn't really have a choice about it, even though he didn't actually make me do it. I mean, in the sense of putting a sword against my neck and forcing me. He never made me do any of it. He just asked me to. The weapon he used against me was disappointment. And ..." She takes a slow breath. "I was so desperate for it, for ... acceptance, for a place to belong, that I would have walked through broken glass for him. I did, even. Literally, sometimes."

Ward shivers; his muscles ripple, down his arms, through his abdomen. He's not too out of it or too miserable to recognize the olive branch that's being thrust out his way, even though there's some contrarian part of him that wants to set fire to it with sarcastic commentary.

You can always break things. He knows that very well. It's harder, much harder, not to. It's a balancing act, it's a series of careful steps, it's trying to learn how hard to push and when not to. And you don't get to take a break from that just because you feel like shit.

He doesn't think it's quite the right time to tell her that sometimes Harold would have him eat something just to see if he'd do it. She's not Harold. (And he also doesn't need to tell her that he always would. Always.)

So he says, carefully, "I know you're not my dad. Or Bakuto. But ... old habits, right?"

She laughs softly, and he feels a little inner tension unwind: it was the right thing to say. "Yeah," she says. "Old habits. You know, I hope I didn't ... I thought it might be nice for you to have someone to sit with you, instead of being off alone in the bedroom all the time."

"I tried to take the couch," he says, and she laughs out loud, and gets up and puts a hand down to help him up.

*

Colleen leaves him a clean pair of sweatpants and clean T-shirt (both Danny's) to change into, and makes him (slightly burned) toast. After he's had sufficient time to change and curl up under the covers again -- shivering now, waves of it, rolling through him -- she comes in and sets the plate of toast on the bedside table with a glass of water and a bottle of Gatorade.

"Doctor's orders," she says, "are to eat that if you feel like it, and only if you feel like it."

She then sits on the bed with her laptop on her knees, propping herself up against the headboard.

"Oh, come on," she says when he gives her a look from under the covers tucked up to his nose. "You're an adult. I'm an adult. Just say something if you want me to leave. Trust me, I'll understand."

He rolls onto his side and doesn't tell her to leave.

After a little while, he eats some of the toast.

[wittygaypuns]

#70 & #97 for villaneve

70; Locked in a room

97; Time Travel

BEHOLD. Crack fic prompted through this Fic Mashup list (feel free to send me more, these are fun) Takes place in the same universe as the other Alaska fics I’ve written where VIllaneve have dogs (a male named Carolyn and a female named Konstantin) and got married. Mostly behind a cut because it’s almost 3k words...

“Let's go camping, she says,” Eve half-shouted, “It'll be romantic!”

“Oh my god would you stop, I didn't know there would be a fucking blizzard okay? It's MAY, I didn't think it would happen!” Oksana protested.

“We're in Alaska, Oksana! Check the forecast!” Eve shouted for real, looking back at her as they trudged through whipping winds and biting cold.

“Why did you agree then? Why didn't you say, hey Oksana, you usually make really bad decisions, maybe we go vacation in Hawaii instead? Or book a hotel somewhere and not go out into the wilderness?” She spat back.

“Because every time I tell you you make bad decisions you make it about me and you, you jackass – I can hear it now 'Oh, do you think I made bad decision when we got together?'” Eve mimicked an overly deep Russian accent. She sounded like a villain in a cheesy 90s action flick.

“Yeah, that's probably true.” She conceded, grinning. “Oh! I see something.”

“Is that a cabin?” Eve looked where she was looking, eyes going wide.

“I think so – come on, before it gets any worse. We'll see if they'll be nice to us and let us stay the night because we're stupid and tried to camp...” Oksana began to pick up her pace.

“We're stupid? WE? This was your idea, do not slander me to strangers.” Eve huffed, trying to keep up with her. It was difficult – Oksana was all leg.

“Maybe just a little slander, huh? You love me.” Oksana grinned, taking her arm.

“You're lucky to have me. Anyone else would have let you die in the snow.” Eve muttered, holding on to her; though she was bundled up, Oksana's body was something she naturally gravitated towards. Their dogs, Carolyn and Konstantin, flanked them on either side, on the alert for any wildlife looking for an easy target.

“I wouldn't die. I'd open up a bear and sleep in it until morning.” Oksana said.

“Like in the Revenant?” Eve remarked.

“Wasn't that a horse?”

“Was it? Oh, yeah, he fought a bear and slept in his horse. Man, that movie was fucked.” Eve laughed.

“We should watch it again. So I can remember how not to fight a bear. Just in case.” Oksana nodded.

“You have a gun and I have bear mace.” Eve pointed out.

“We both have bear mace. You insisted. But we could always lose those, and then what? A bear can just fuck us up. Well, I'd have it fuck me up as you ran away.”

“I wouldn't leave you to get mauled by a bear.”

“Yes you would.”

“... Yeah, you're probably right. But only if I didn't have bear mace and the dogs.” Eve grinned as they came to the steps of the cabin.

It was hard to tell if any lights were on, or if it was occupied; it was snowing so hard that it was almost a white-out, rendering visibility next to nothing. As they scaled the steps up to the covered porch it was obvious that it was abandoned and in poor shape. There were two-by-fours blocking the door, and the windows were also boarded off. This did not perturb either of them.

“Can you go in my bag and get the -” Oksana started, but Eve was already leaning up to go through her bag.

“The hammer-pick thing?” She confirmed.

“It's a geological hammer.” Oksana grinned. “See? I told you it would come in handy.”

“Yes, it's handy this one time out of like, the thousands of times you've brought it somewhere. You're brilliant and I love you.” Eve pulled out the tool, and looked to her. “Can I?”

“Please. I love watching you work.” Oksana stepped back, pushing her hood back, shaking off the snow that had layered on top of it. Konstantin shook out her fur, while Carolyn simply sat on the porch, content to be covered. He gave a soft 'boof' at his sister, who moved next to him.

She giggled in delight as Eve started cracking at the boards with the small hammer, jumping a little at the noise of the impacts. Eve yelled as she did it, for some reason; maybe it gave her more power. Oksana did not question her process out loud, always enjoying the destruction that her wife was capable of. She knew Eve wasn't actually upset about the blizzard, or her insistence that camping would be fun; it would have been if the weather had been right, and nothing in the forecast had said the snow would be so bad. A dusting, it had predicted, not the solid curtain they were currently trying to escape. They had been trying to make their way back to the car, but had been turned around at some point – or turned sideways, or upside down. It was impossible to tell. Neither of the dogs were put off by the noises their other mother was making; they just watched with Oksana from a safe distance as she cracked the boards off one by one. Konstantin gave a soft whine, looking up at Oksana.

“It's okay baby. I know mommy is crazy. That's why we love her though, right girl?” She grinned down at the dog, who panted happily at her.

“Mommy needs to get – her – aggression – out! Every now and then.” Eve cracked at the last board, speaking through it as she hammered and throwing her arms up in triumph as it fell to the side, broken.

“Mommy is very sexy holding a geological hammer.” Oksana wiggled her brows at her wife, who rolled her eyes and tried the door... then groaned.

“Boarded and locked. Your turn.” Eve muttered, walking back to her spot.

“I taught you how to do it, though.” She smiled, letting her take the spot between the dogs.

“You're better at it.” Eve smirked, “Besides, I think it's kinda hot, so – get to it.”

“As you wish.” Oksana gave a bow, then moved into position.

As she was wearing what Eve affectionately referred to as 'shit kicker' boots, it was a simple task fireman kicking the door into submission. With one mighty kick, the door cracked and splintered next to the lock enough to be pushed in. It was a chore pushing it in, however – something was behind it. She frowned and put her shoulder into it, trying to push it open. Was someone living in there? Were they about to find a body belonging to some long dead homesteader? How was there something barring the door on one side and boards barring the other? Did someone bar it and leave out a window?

“There's something behind it? What the hell.” Eve muttered, moving to help push the door. “How? Oh fuck, do you think someone's in there?”

“We'll find out, I guess.”

When they pushed it open enough to slip inside, Oksana took the gun from its holster at her hip and kept her head on a swivel. If there was anyone or anything hostile in there, she'd defend her family without hesitation. It was easy enough to make someone disappear in Alaska. The item behind the door was a couch with a heavy oak frame coated in a fine layer of dust. She frowned; judging by how heavy it was, the place was definitely abandoned. Carolyn squeezed in past the two, ears perked. He was a fiercely protective animal, and looked around just as readily as Oksana. Konstantin came in after Eve.

“Eve...” Oksana mumbled, looking back to her.

“What? Did you see something?” Eve looked forward, worried.

“If you're mommy to our babies, doesn't that make me daddy? I thought we agreed that made me daddy.” Oksana asked, grinning cheerily as she moved to check the bathroom and bedroom.

“I never agreed to that. You had that conversation entirely by yourself.” Eve rolled her eyes, untensing her shoulders.

“What do you think, Caro? Am I daddy?” She asked the dog, whose tail wagged at being spoken to. “What about you Konny? Am I daddy?”

“They're just coming to you because you're talking to them, don't take that as confirmation. Now... It looks like the place is empty, right? Let's go lay on that disgusting bed with the dogs and wait out the storm while our stuff dries out.” Eve suggested.

“Okay. It does look pretty gross, but a bed is a bed.” Oksana agreed; the fatigue of walking for an hour in a blizzard was hitting her hard now.

Within a few moments both had stripped out of their outer layers and boots, snow caked items hanging up to dry. Oksana tilted her head as she looked down at the bed. There was no dust on it, or anything else in the room. The quilt was standard cabin fare, heavy and wool, but stained to hell. Making a face, she yanked it off and immediately stepped back. Underneath it there were a number of journals, scattered yellowing papers, and knife that looked vaguely ceremonial. It was stained black with old blood.

“Oh, wow. So the former owner of this place was a crazy person researching something, I guess.” Eve mumbled, looking at them as well.

“Great. Lost in a blizzard and in a crazy person's cabin.” Oksana muttered, a feeling of foreboding gripping her belly. She went to retrieve her gun.

“They're probably long gone, baby. We don't really have an option to go anywhere else right now, not with the storm, so let's just... clear this off and get some rest, right? We checked the whole place, there's no one in here. Leave your gun there, help me clear this. The dogs would be freaking out if something was wrong.” Eve reassured her. She had followed her to where the gun was stashed, a hand placed over hers.

“... Yeah, I guess. Isn't it weird there's no windows in this room, though?” Oksana mumbled, uneasy.

“This room would get sun blaring into it during polar day.” Eve pointed out. “Our bedroom doesn't have them either.”

“Okay okay. I just have a creeping feeling, you know? Maybe I'm just tired.”

“Wanna keep it on the nightstand?” Eve offered, looking to the gun.

“Yes please.” She nodded quickly. Having it nearby would reassure her.

Shoving the strange feelings down, she placed the gun on the nightstand and went to help gather up the detritus on the bed, frowning as she looked at the papers. They were all written on, front to back, or drawn on. The paper was not actual paper, as she had assumed before, feeling more like some sort of fabric. None of the words were written in a language she could understand – and she could read and speak seven different ones, and had been slowly attempting to teach herself Inupiaq since moving to Alaska. Languages had always fascinated her, so to come across one she didn't recognize easily...

“What language do you think this is?” She asked, hoping Eve might have some insight.

“Kinda looks like runes.” Eve was examining a paper of her own.

“Like – viking stuff?” Oksana asked.

“Well, something from that time period, I guess.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Or aliens wrote it.”

“Don't joke about that. Aliens freak me out.” Oksana stared at her.

“Don't think about it too hard, baby.” Eve smirked, tossing her pile of papers and journals to the floor beside them. Oksana added her own. Both looked at the knife at the same time, then at one another. Eve instantly brought a finger to her nose.

“Not it.”

“Damnit, you always get me with that. If I move it and an alien pops out of somewhere, we're going back outside.” She muttered as she took it and tossed it haphazardly to the floor by a corner, not wanting to look at it anymore.

The door suddenly swung shut. Oksana grabbed her gun and moved to Eve's front; the dogs had the same instinct, standing like proud soldiers in front of her. Their ears were up and alert. Eve gripped the hammer-pick, and then gave a sigh.

“I didn't close the front door off. The wind probably pulled it shut. Calm down, my loves, it was just the wind.” Eve said, moving towards the door – Oksana grabbed her arm and grunted at her.

“I'll check, just in case.”

Eve conceded to her extensively-trained-in-armed-combat wife, frowning softly as she crept towards the door. There was no reason to be paranoid, right? Doors closed by themselves sometimes. Wind and pressure did strange things in cabins. Especially old, creepy ones with notebooks full of runes and daggers in the bed. Oksana swore to herself that if she opened the door and found a zombie, ghoul, draugr, or any other sort of beast out there she would never, ever suggest a trip again. All outing planning would be Eve's from then on and she would do them without complaint because, really, Eve would never allow her to live it down. 'Remember when we got caught in a blizzard and had to fight a ghost? That was bullshit, Oksana' – she could hear so clearly.

With a deep breath, she touched the door handle and turned it.

When it opened and she peeked out, her face drained of what little color she had, looking over her shoulder at Eve.

“What is it? Oksana, is there something out there?”

“I... I...” She stammered, whispering 'мамонт'.

“I don't know what that means baby – what's out holy SHIT IS THAT A MAMMOTH?” Eve screamed as she peeked out – Oksana threw a hand over her mouth to quiet her.

“EVE.” She whisper-yelled, eyes wide and horrified.

Eve screamed behind her hand, dropping immediately into an entirely reasonable panic. Oksana squashed her own freak-out to wrap her arms around her wife, holding her tight to keep her from going completely insane right away. She sank to the floor with her, stroking her hair to try and soothe her. Outside the door there was no longer a cabin. Outside the door, the whole landscape had changed. They were tucked into the single room, a room which was now flanked by glacial drifts. In the distance was a wooly mammoth, enormous and red-furred, walking with its mate and young, paying the pair absolutely no mind.

They had somehow gone back in time.

“This is crazy, right? We're not seeing that. There's no way. Absolutely no way.” Oksana whispered to Eve, who was shaking at the implications, mouth still covered as she whimpered.

“Caro, stay!” She yanked her mouth away from Oksana's hand as the dog attempted to creep out.

He whimpered and sat, ears straight up.

“I just – I – close the door. I can't look at that. This is stupid.” Eve shook her head, looking to her.

“Yeah...” Oksana mumbled, leaning up to get the door.

“So we're in a time traveling room? Like the Tardis but super shitty?” Eve mumbled, eyes just as wide as hers.

“Or we're buried in a snow drift hallucinating while we die.” Oksana suggested lamely.

“Either way this is... pretty awful.” Eve said.

“What are we gonna do?” She asked.

“I... Well, we have each other, our dogs, and some supplies. I guess we're gonna just... have to figure this out, right?” Eve said.

“Can we take a nap first? I think my brain is fried.” She whined in response.

“Oksana.”

“Okay, okay... Time for another adventure, huh?”

“And, Oksana? You're never choosing our vacations again.”

[moodyvalentinestories]

A Holly Jolly Christ-Mess. Part 23. | Rachel x Hunt

23: An Invitation

“Silver bells, silver bells, it's Christmas time in the city. Ring-a-ling, hear them ring, soon it will be Christmas day.” – Silver Bells

Summary: There are some complications when someone finds out Thomas is in town.

Pairing: Thomas Hunt x Rachel Fields

Words: ~ 1,600 words

Notes: ITime for some serious mental gymnastics. Not gonna lie, I kind of forgot that it’s already the 23rd and I only have these two last parts to fit the whole Christmas thing I had planned in and... uh... I had to make some changes that maybe don’t make a whole lot of sense, but I'm determined to do the final part as I intended so... uh... that.

❥ Moodyvalentine’s Masterlist ❥ Christmas Series Masterlist

“I’m going to kill him,” Thomas said determinedly as he threw his phone on the bed in frustration. It nearly hit Rachel, who had been asleep until a few minutes ago but was now sitting up, in the chest. She let out a surprised yelp when she ducked out of the way, making him wheel around and stare at her in shock. “You’re awake.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Not by choice. You were yelling at someone. That sort of thing tends to wake people up, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas sighed as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He should have kept his cool. But how could he have when his perfect plans for the day had just been ruined?

He’d wanted to give her the Christmas Eve experience she deserved. He was going to take her out to a romantic dinner, and perhaps take her dancing after, but not for too long. By the time they’d return to the hotel, there would be a Christmas tree waiting for them in their room that they could decorate together. Once finished, they would be cuddling under the tree, drinking hot chocolate – the recipe she loved so much with lots of cinnamon and unholy amounts of marshmallows, and waiting for midnight to come around. And the moment the clock would strike twelve, he’d give her his first present. She’d love it, and she’d give him his which he was sure he would love as well, and then it would be time for him to give her the second. The one he’d wanted to give her since the moment he’d got it for her. The one he was far more nervous – and even more excited – about than he was willing to admit.

But now, those plans had been shot to hell. All because that bastard couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.

“What’s wrong, Thomas?” Rachel asked as she moved up behind him, placing her hands on his bare shoulders to knead them gently.

He let out another sigh, then slumped forward, burying his head in his hands. “Everything is ruined.”

“What do you mean?” She did her best to hide the panic in her voice but failed rather miserably. There was one thing, and one thing only, she could imagine that would have him react this way – someone had to have found out. “Who were you talking to just now?”

Her fingers continued moving over his shoulders, pressing deeper into his skin, and he felt himself relax a little under her touch. “Andrew knows I’m in town, and if he knows, everybody knows.”

“Who’s Andrew?” she asked. But there was an even more important question to be asked. “And how does he know?”

Thomas groaned inwardly. It was so easy to forget that she wasn’t – not yet, anyway – a part of this world he’d spent most of his adult life in. She did not yet know his acquaintances and rivals, his friends, and his enemies. He wasn’t sure, though, which category Andrew may have belonged it. “An old… colleague from my modelling days,” he said cautiously, then turned to her, seeing the worried look on his face. He immediately realised what his vague, ominous answers must have made her believe. “We haven’t been seen together. Ryan’s talked to him and let it slip that I’m here. And, believe me, he’ll pay for that.”

“Oh, thank God,” Rachel said, beyond relieved. Her brows furrowed. “So the problem is… that we can’t go outside because you’re worried about paparazzi knowing you’re here and looking for you? That’s… not ideal, but we’ll survive.”

Yes, that was part of the problem. Thomas nodded. “That is something I’m worried about.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “There’s more.”

“It’s nothing.” He got up from the bed abruptly, startling her, and began pacing around the room. “I’ll deal with it. You don’t need to worry.”

Rachel huffed as she got up from the bed, the duvet falling off her completely and revealing her fully naked body, and walked over to stand in front of him. “Talk to me. We both know keeping secrets never does either of us any favours.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he reiterated, shaking his head. “I’m not going.”

Her hand came up to cup his cheek, her thumb stroking his stubbled skin softly. “Going where, Thomas? Please.”

He sighed, leaning into her touch. He didn’t want her to worry. More importantly, he didn’t want her to say what he knew she would – that he should just go. That he didn’t have to stay with her, that she’d find a way to entertain herself while he was gone. But she was right, lying to her had never gone over well for him. And he didn’t want to lie to her. “His annual Christmas Eve ball.” He put his own hand over hers. “I already said no.”

“But you want to go,” she stated matter-of-factly. There wasn’t a hint of the disappointment he knew she felt to be heard in her voice.

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Then you feel like you have to.” She smiled, and though Thomas knew it wasn’t entirely genuine, it looked like it was. Damn her and her acting abilities. “It’s okay.”

He felt her try to pull her hand away, and he gripped it tighter, keeping it pressed to his cheek as he leaned down to kiss her. “I’m not going. End of discussion.”

It would come back to bite him in the ass, he knew it would. There would be speculation as to why he hadn’t attended despite being in the country – because Thomas always went, if only for an hour or less – but it didn’t matter. He was not leaving Rachel alone. Not today. Not ever, really.

“Okay,” she whispered against his lips before kissing him again. She slipped her hand out from underneath his and moved it down his neck, over his shoulder and chest, before snaking it around him and pulling him close. His own hands followed suit, caressing as much of her naked skin as he could reach. “Maybe we should—”

They were interrupted by a song that Thomas recognised as Rachel’s incredibly annoying ringtone. “Don’t answer it,” he breathed before taking her lips in another fiery kiss. Whoever it was would simply have to wait.

She chuckled against his lips, then put her hands on his shoulders to push him away a little. “Since it seems we’re going to have to stay in all day, anyway, I’m sure we’ll have more than enough time for this after I take this call.”

Thomas mumbled something about murdering the person who had dared to interrupt them, unaware that it was the exact same person whose life he’d threatened to take earlier already.

“Ryan’s calling me,” Rachel said, dumbfounded, as she looked at the caller ID on her display.

“Put it on speaker,” Thomas commanded.

She pressed answer, then did as he told her. “Hey… uh… what’s up?”

“On a scale of one to ten, how mad is Tommy right now?” Ryan’s voice came through the speakers.

“Try eleven,” Thomas answered, earning a glare from Rachel.

There was a moment of silence on the other end before Ryan spoke again. “I… should have expected that he’d be right there with you.”

“You should have,” Thomas said and, despite her protests, took the phone from Rachel. “And you should have also known better than to tell Andrew that I’m here!”

“I’m sorry. He invited me to his stupid ball, and then he somehow asked about you, and it just slipped out,” Ryan said exasperatedly. “But I’ll be there soon, and I—"

Rachel cut in again, her brows furrowed. “You’re coming to London?”

“I already am in London,” he said. “That’s why I’m calling. I want to… make things up to you.”

Thomas huffed. “And how would you do that?”

“By taking Rachel to the ball, obviously,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Thomas snapped then. How dare he! “You want to take my girlfriend out and call that making it up to me? As soon as I find out where you’re staying, I’ll—”

He was interrupted by Rachel’s hand touching his arm softly. “He may have a point. Give me the phone.”

“I will not—”

“Give me the phone, Thomas,” she repeated firmly. He sighed, then handed it to her.

He’d expected her to stay where she was, but she didn’t, turning off speakerphone as she walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Thomas went to follow her, but she’d actually locked the bloody door. Fuming, he returned to the bed and let himself sink into the sea of pillows and blankets as he waited for Rachel to return.

By the time she did, he’d calmed down – if only a little bit. “I hope you told him to never call you again.”

She let out a soft chuckle and shook her head. “No. Now, get up, you have a ball to get ready for.”

“I told you, I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” she said with a mischievous grin. “And so am I.”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Thomas, he told me how important this thing is. It may not be what either of us thought we’d be doing tonight, but... when has anything ever gone as planned with us?”

Thomas let out an exasperated sigh. “We can’t be seen together. You know we can’t.”

“That’s why I’m going with Ryan. Everyone will think I came with him.”

He gritted his teeth. It was reckless. Dangerous, even. But he thought back to the masquerade over a year ago, and he remembered how happy she had seemed – before he’d revealed he knew who she was, anyway – and he groaned in defeat. It appeared he was going to take her dancing after all. “Very well. But you better not leave me for Summers, Rachel.”

Tags: @lilyofchoices​ @trappedinfandoms​ @flyawayboo​ @alleksa16​ @silversparrow02​ @hopelessromantic1352​ @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​ @oneemofungirl​