#this idea that an outsider can control someone else's life is railed against very hard in this comic

[eat-a-dicker]

compulsatory heteronormativity was literally one of the biggest themes in homestuck, and yet here the fandom is. deriving worth from female characters based on how the men treat them

[marshmallowprotection]

Wildflowers

Pairing: V | Kim Jihyun/Rika Kim

Description: Desperate to break free from her family, Rika runs from her arranged marriage in the hopes that she can look at that blue sky without fearing she'll lose her innocence forever. However, the unrelenting desert heat leaves her indebted to a stranger who offers her the chance of a lifetime. Will she take it knowing it might be a trap, or will she give up before she dares to try?    Prequel to Cereus.

[Read On AO3]

Cowboy Universe in order: [Wildflowers] [Cereus] [Andromeda] [Wren]

Chapter 2

His name was Jihyun Kim.

She'd never seen him before. At least, if she had seen him, she knew she never would’ve forgotten a face like his. It was strange, given the fact they had lived in neighboring towns for quite a long time. Of course, the miles between their towns were enough to make a rail trip of about a day. In the west, that was like being an ocean away from someone. But, if it was the only place you could go to get something you needed when your town was out, it was a trip you would have to make.

If it wasn't out of desperation, nobody would leave as long as they could help it.

It wasn’t often one would stray from their town when locals were determined to find every ounce of gold they could from their location.

People were greedy for more and if they left a location without checking everywhere, that would open the opportunity for someone else to find something they already imagined to be theirs. If they didn't look where they needed, the riches they imagined for themselves would never be theirs. There weren't many towns in that area. The few that existed could take a while to travel between. If you weren't lucky enough to stumble into one of them, you would be walking for miles in the desert without any idea of where you were going.

Her parents didn't want her to leave their remote town, either. It was one of the few in the area but they were committed to their preacher and his practice of boiling out punishment until sinners learned their place. She knew it very well because it was the same lesson that had left her reeling in fear for years. In a lawless place like this, the rule of law was that of God.

However, Rika felt as though God’s will had been twisted by man. She hadn't been able to see outside of the trap that she had been placed in until today. It was as if she had been trapped in a bubble for as long as she could remember. There was no other way to think or feel when she grew up with her parents in control. Their orders were law and she had to listen. It was a sin not to follow along with every command her parents had given her. It was a blessing that she had a family in the first place, at least, that's what they would say.

Her parents had been following a man who claimed to be righteous but he was nothing more than a liar and a false prophet.

They’d followed him from the east before they settled in their mining town some years ago. It didn't matter where that man traveled, they would follow him to the end of time. It was her luck that she had been adopted by people who were willing to live in the middle of nowhere to hear the voice of God by this man. He was no man of God but she had no place to say that. Her parents never listened. They knew what was happening to her and they turned a blind eye. All in the name of salvation.

Rika couldn’t imagine salvation would find them… not after what they did. It was hard to believe as her head was spinning back and forth with fears of fighting back against all she had ever known and the relief that came from turning against fear and living a different kind of life. It felt liberating to be far away from that place, but at the same time, she kept looking over her shoulder as if someone was going to bring her back. After all, they knew how to bring her back.

Her parents had chosen her because someone said it was a good idea to take her. It was hard to believe that they could ever see her as a good idea after years of telling her that she was an abomination and a failure. She was only worth her weight in gold to them as it stood today. Yet, those people who saw her as being worthwhile for their pocketbooks in all ways had chosen to take her instead of any other child offered to them.

It was something she didn't think she'd ever understand. These people who claimed to be devoted to God and their mission couldn’t have children. They couldn't do the one thing that God expected of them. Sometimes she wondered if they had chosen her out of shame or desperation. It was hard to say for sure.

Whatever the answer, she’d been important when she was chosen, if only briefly. Sometimes she wondered if it was specifically so she could be offered to the preacher when she came of age.

She didn't fit into their grand scheme but they had no choice but to keep her around no matter what they wanted her for.  Their preacher promised them the Gates of Heaven if they would give her up to God. Rather, if they would be willing to give her up to a man of God. Rika didn’t know if it was their idea or his, but the fact remained that they wanted to give her away for good to a man that didn’t love her. The only thing that man liked about her was her looks. The only thing most people liked about her was her looks.

If she knew anything, it was that she didn’t want to go back and she would do anything to ensure that it never happened.

There was a glass of water in her hands, but she couldn't bring herself to drink as much as she needed to. It’d been roughly three days since she’d stumbled into this mysterious man in the desert. Her body was exhausted and her mind was even further, but she was safe. It was the first time in her life that she felt safe. It was all thanks to this man. He had a gentle kindness about him that was hard to describe.

It was the first time in her life someone had looked at her without expecting anything in return. He didn't expect her to do anything but relax and rest up. Of course, it was hard for Rika to not do anything. She had been taught that her future would entail being a wife and a mother who took care of anything and everything that a man needed. It felt wrong to sit around without picking up after herself and cleaning up messes.

This man didn't want her to do any of that. either she had been taught something strange or the world wasn't like she expected. It was hard to say, though. The most she interacted with people came when she was allowed to run errands or do things for the church. Even then, the few people she interacted with were those that were close to her parents and expected her to follow their rules. People were polite in the way every religious person could be polite.

She would be courteous with them but it was obvious that they were acting a certain way around her. People were holding her back for a reason. Being one of the few young people in the church, it made sense that everyone wanted to tailor her existence a certain way for their benefit. That's why it was strange that this man wasn't anything of the sort. He expected nothing but for her to take care of herself.

She didn't know what people were like outside of her little church.

She would have remembered if she saw him. At least, she wanted to believe that she would remember but her childhood felt so spotty. There were things she remembered and things she couldn’t remember. It was easy to doubt herself when her parents were instilling fear deep within the pit of her stomach about what she knew and didn't know. It was easy to be confused when you felt you were a person made of contradictions as Rika did.

Perhaps she’d seen him before. However, the only place that would’ve happened would have been in her church. It was hard to imagine someone who stood out like him being in a place like that. She could say in no uncertain terms that he felt otherworldly to her. The feeling in the pit of her stomach might have come from his kindness that seemed beyond genuine. She almost wanted to run away just because this felt like it could be a trap with how kind he was being.

For the most part, people didn't try to hide their intentions. It was made abundantly clear from the minute someone opened their mouth. People would want her to do something for them or they would expect something from her. There was no reason for people to lie when she already understood her place in life. But, it was always possible that there were tricksters out there. Those people could pull the wool over your eyes and rip it away just as quickly.

What manner of man was Jihyun?

Was he the relief she had been praying for or was he more of the sun that had scorched her soul?

“Sorry, miss, let’s get ya’ some water, hm?” Jihyun sat at her bedside that evening with his hand on another glass of water. As much as she didn't want to have water, she needed it as soon as possible. It was strange how her body wanted to hydrate itself in the dry heat and now she couldn't stomach the thought. “I reckon yer’ hands are still too weak. Can I help?”

Rika’s throat was hoarse but she could still speak. “Okay.”

Jihyun was careful as he tipped the glass against her lips and she slowly drank until she felt her stomach protest. It was better this time. The last couple of times he tried to do this for her, she felt like she was going to return the water to him in the worst way possible. For some reason, it was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time. A glass filled with water… the best gift she’d tasted.

She wanted to enjoy it.

Even if it did feel like the most difficult thing in the world to stomach.

“Don’t worry about it if ya’ can’t. What matters is that we’re gettin’ ya’ what you ya’ need to feel okay. They say rushin’ the water after somebody dries out is worse than when they leave someone to the birds.”

It sounded counterintuitive. But, what did she know, she wasn't a doctor. She didn't know anything about taking care of herself apart from the bare minimum. She could cook and clean and make sure people had their basic needs met but not when it came to anything of her own. If he said it, she didn't want to doubt it. After all, even if she still felt like she had been left out to dry… At the very least, she felt a few steps of the way better thanks to his choices.

Anything was better than the options she had before she saw him.

“How long did ya’ think ya’ were out there?”

“Few days, I think…?”

“Well, yer’ mighty lucky I found ya’, miss. It ain’t too often I run across anyone alive on my trips out of town when I find ‘em like that.”

“...Yeah, guess ‘m lucky.”

Rika took another long sip from the glass of water and felt the cotton taste diminish. It wasn’t too bad anymore but it was just faint enough that she could feel it if she thought about it. She wasn't lucky, but if he wanted to say it, so be it. She was alive and that was enough. She wasn't sure what it meant to be alive, anyway. It was hard to say if she was grateful or not.

What was another day just like the one before?

At the very least, his water didn’t taste like iron… a lot of the water her family had gotten recently tasted like…

Rika shook the thought from her head. It didn't matter how much they tried to clean up the water, it would always taste like there were small bits of sand. She needed to focus on figuring out what she was going to do now. It wouldn't be long before her body felt like it was back together. Her thoughts sounded a bit louder than the sound of his voice in the background.

His smile appeared, be it a small one, “I bet yer’ family will be happy to hear yer’ okay. I reckon I'd be afraid if some of my own wandered into the desert without a horse. I know it’ll be a bit ‘fore yer’ feeling better, but is there anyone I can send for? Anyone I can send a letter to? I’m sure someone would be happy to hear yer’ okay.”

Fortunately for her, it seemed as though her body was coming back to life after how close she had come to death. It was hard to say for sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The threat was lingering out there. she knew her parents were waiting for something just like this. If they knew where she was or how to find her, they’d take her back to that damn house. Her body felt petrified at the thought of being forced to go back to that place.

As if the fear had come back to the surface out of nowhere, she felt herself suddenly jolt forward, and the rest of the glass of water spilled as Jihyun moved to give her space. No, she realized. Jihyun had just asked about her family. What if he already knew and was just saying it to get confirmation? What if he was trying to gain a reward that they likely would have put in on her head? What was she supposed to think?

It didn't matter how much strength she had in her body, all she wanted to do now was run away again. She didn't want to go back. She didn't want to go back! It was why she had been so willing to die in the desert in the first place. She knew death was better than being forced to go back to that place.

For a while, she’d been numb and too exhausted to think about what was happening. But, now, like every time in the past when her fears caught her, she had dreaded and terror in her eyes.

“I’m sorry!” she said, almost pleading as the words escaped her again and again. “This is a mistake. Sir, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I can’t be here. Don’t make me go back. Please! I can’t go back! I know they must be tryin’ a to pay you a hefty penny but, don't, please! I’m scared!”

She didn't want to go back. She didn't want to go back! It felt like she was becoming frantic again, and the more she lashed out, the more exhausted she became. She didn't want to go to sleep again; There was a chance she could wake up in a place far worse than hell. It was a nightmare. She was living a nightmare. She knew she should’ve closed her eyes and let it happen.

This stranger looked shocked by her words. He didn’t say anything. His blue eyes looked remorseful for asking, though. She was waiting for the ball to drop again. She was waiting for him to laugh in her face and say that this was all a trap and her parents were waiting in the other room. But, he wouldn't say it. He wouldn't say the words she expected.

All he did was stare at her with a perplexed expression as she babbled in circles… pleading and begging for a semblance of mercy that she hadn’t been granted before. Her vision became cloudy despite her pleas for it to stay. Her eyes closed, despite how badly she didn’t want them to. The only thing left was a man who seemed determined to bring her back to life.

—

“I’m sorry I scared ya’, sir,” Rika sat with her arms huddled around her body to make herself as small as she could. “Was the last thing I wanted to do. I’m used ta’ my parents draggin’ me back home if I make a break fer’ it. I didn’t mean ta’ assume that y’all here were workin’ with ‘em… I just… I ain’t going back home. I can’t. I really can’t go back.”

“No, no. I’m sorry that I put ya’ on the spot. It ain’t my business what you’ve been through, miss. I just wanted to make sure that if ya’ needed anyone, I could find ‘em for ya’. I see that was a mistake,” Jihyun wrapped a blanket around her shoulders so she would not feel frigid in the cold desert air. “I won’t ask about yer’ family again if y’ain’t want me to.”

She looked up at the sky. It was the first time in forever that she felt a sense of peace when she saw the moon. Normally, the night was the only time she had to be alive. There would always be a few fleeting moments when she was allowed to be herself. Those moments belonged to the night. However, this was the first time she was sharing her Freedom with another person. She wasn't allowed to be herself with her family, and they were the only people she was allowed to be around. Even if this man was still somewhat of a stranger, he had shown her more kindness than she had ever known.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

“Is it?” he countered.

It wasn’t.

It was never okay. But, she was never allowed to say that it wasn't. It wasn't ladylike to admit that she was having problems. She was supposed to bundle all of her feelings inside her stomach and bury them away. She was supposed to live for the sake of others and then die when that ran out eventually. She was useful until she wasn't useful. It wasn't a perfect existence but it was one she had been taught to believe in. She had been born for the sake of others. It wasn't her choice to fall into the family she had landed in, but they raised her with the full intention of making sure she understood a woman's place.

Her role in life was to be a God-fearing woman who committed to the role that she had been given. It was painful. It was the very reason why she ran away in the first place. As much as she feared her God, she feared humanity all the same. What sort of life was she living if she had to experience suffering in life and death? If this was all for her to know what it felt like to join Heaven’s paradise, why did it feel so bad? Certainly, there had to be a difference between the misery she felt in the Eternal Bliss that was put on a silver platter to taunt her.

She hurriedly removed the tears from her face by dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. She didn't want to lose her composure. She had done so once before and she felt like she would be running out of luck the more time she lost control of her emotions. Her welcome would be worn out sooner or later. It was only a matter of time before this man realized that she was a nuisance and a burden to him. It was only a matter of time. He would get tired as the others had. She might have had a pretty face but her personality was as rotten as they came.

Even the people who had to tolerate her because of her parents didn't care for her after long. They insisted that her personality wasn't what it should be. She wasn't good enough. There would always be some sort of critique against her character, and she took it to heart when her parents would lecture her for hours. Even if there was one hair out of place on her head, that would be grounds for being locked in a closet for a day.

Her mother would always say, “Be grateful it’s not a shed. We could always leave you tied up outside like a dog, but we don't. We give you everything God wants you to have. Stop crying and take it. Take what you deserve, you devil.”

As far as she knew, that was the suffering that everybody was supposed to be privy to. Every person she met was supposed to have experienced the same thing she did. But, why did it feel like she was the only person who was suffering in this way? Why did it feel like she had been born to be tortured? Why was the world given to her where children were subjected to misery in the name of God? Was that truly the life she was meant to live?

Was that the only reason she was born?

“I’m not close to my father, either,” Jihyun admitted.

Rika snapped to attention and looked at him. That wasn't what she expected him to say. She didn't think that he would say much beyond making sure that he knew what to not ask again. He seemed to be earnest in his words. Of course, it was strange to think that somebody would admit that they didn't have great feelings about their parents. She thought that anything negative in that nature was meant to be kept to herself. As long as the thoughts were not voiced aloud, they were allowed to exist. Once the words were uttered, there was no taking them back.

“It’s not that I’m not close to ‘em… it’s just…”

“They asked ya’ to do somethin’ y’ain’t wanna do, huh?”

She blinked.

How did he know that?

He didn’t look at her, “I dunno if I’m right or not about ya’... but that’s where it went wrong with my ol’ man. He left his business to me n’ ran off with ‘nother woman a couple of years ago. I don’t reckon he’s ever comin’ back here… but, I run his business best I can since it’s mine now. He ain’t ever ask if it was somethin’ I wanted to do. Just left to me n’ ran. I ain't been close to him since then. Hard to be, y’know? Didn't even care if I had other things I wanted to do with m’ life.”

Oh.

He was left with a job that he had no choice but to do. She wasn't sure what business he was running, but many of them in this area were crucial to supporting the lifeblood of the desert. If he ran a business that was in taking care of others, it would make sense. He wanted to do right by his father even if his father hadn't done right by him. That was the same sort of thing that had been taught to her since she was a child. It wasn't about her hopes or dreams, nor was it about what she wanted, it was about the honor of doing what her parents wanted.

Rika felt a sense of familiarity in his words. Even if she didn't know a lot about him, those words from him made her feel like he understood. She didn't imagine she would ever meet somebody who even had an idea of what she’d gone through. It felt too good to be true. But, just as she’d been surprised by the fact that he was willing to give her water when nobody else could or would, she was surprised again by his humble words.

“I coulda’ left town if I wanted to. But, I figured I should stay n’ take care of people in need. Ain’t a lot of safe places to get yer’ fill of water and food out here without sellin’ yer’ soul, y’know? My ma’ would be happier knowin’ I helped someone ‘stead of turnin’ tail like my father when the going got too tough for him.”

That’s why he had water to spare.

It was because he owned water. He knew where to source it and how to get it. There was a strong chance the water was clean. All she could think about was how clean the water had tasted against her lips. It was nothing like the bitterness she felt before. It wasn't even bitter like the dull alcohol that was safe to drink.

This man was one of the few people who had the resources to take care of others. He ran some sort of establishment to take care of others. Normally, business owners like that would be so quick to make sure that they didn't waste their product on people who couldn't pay. But, this man was unlike everyone else she had ever interacted with. There wasn't the threat of being in trouble for not having enough spare change to pay for bread with him. She couldn't imagine that… but his warm eyes felt like they could be sincere.

It couldn't be too good to be true, could it?

She whispered, “That’s… mighty generous, sir.”

“I suppose. Ain’t too many good men out there these days… I try my best to be one of ‘em. Can’t say fer’ sure I am. But, if I could help ya’, I guess that’s what matters. I reckon I don't know what yer’ next move is. I don't know what ya’ want to do. If ya’ want to get outta’ town, far from whatever wants to get ya, let me know when yer’ ready. I’ll get ya’ a ticket and some cash.”

He didn’t need to do that.

She wasn't sure she deserved that kindness. It was one thing that he had offered her some water and a place to sleep after being lost in the desert. It was another for him to give away money without getting something out of it. It didn't make any sense to her for someone to be so generous. Surely, he had to want something in return. It wouldn't be the first time that somebody looked her in the eyes and said something too good to be true. She didn't want to be naive enough to believe it, but things had already been so strange.

If he didn't, he was a fool. He would be called a fool by anyone who dared to hear about his actions. He didn't know anything about her and he had no reason to care. He had no ties to someone like her. The only reason why he would want to do something for someone like her would be to clear his conscience, right? There were plenty of men who would never say a thing about a life lost, but maybe this man did.

She hadn't offered her name, either. Rika was a stranger. The further he wanted to go to help her, the less she understood. What reason did he have to care? Even if he prided himself on being someone who took care of others, there was a limit. There was always a limit. He could only take care of other people for so long until he would need to be taken care of himself.

Kindness and generosity were one thing, but to give too much would leave him with no shirt on his back. There was a reason why the church was gathering money every step of the way from people. It didn't matter how much people cared, what mattered was how much money they could continue to garner to take care of others. Money was the key, after all. That was what people cared about. Even if people would deny that's what they wanted, it's what they wanted. People could call it a sin but it was what humanity desired.

“Ya’ don’t mean that,” she said.

“I do,” he said.

She laughed. It was a bitter, yet confused laugh. “No, ya’ can’t. I reckon yer’ a man that wants to be a saint. But, I can’t say yer’ in the right business. Give the shirt off yer’ back when it’s all y’all got left, and y’ain’t got nothing to show for yer’ time. Better yet, I can’t say I’m worth the trouble. Ya’d be better off puttin’ yer’ money into somethin’ that’ll count fer’ somethin’. ‘Sides, I ain’t got nothin’ to give ya’ for the trouble. Y’ain’t gettin’ paid back fer’ the trouble.”

He asked, “Who said I wanted anythin’? Sounds ta’ me like y’all assumed without gettin’ to know me. I ain’t want nothin’ if that’s what ya’ want. Yer’ clearly tryin’ to get away from a problem and I want ta’ help.”

Rika floundered. She stood up despite the pain in her legs and stared at him, her hands trembling at her sides. Why wouldn’t he? Was he out of his mind? What was wrong with him? A part of her wanted to scream at him for suggesting these things. Why should she believe him when it felt like he was leading her into a land of false promises? He wasn’t a saint! How was she supposed to have faith? How was she supposed to believe in somebody when nobody had ever believed in her before?

Why should she believe anything he said?

She couldn't say for certain that the heat hadn't done worse things to his brain than it had done to her. It didn't make sense. Nothing about this man made sense. All of his words and kindness seem to make her feel as though she was going back and forth inside her head. One moment, she wanted to believe it, and the next she wanted to run away because it sounded like Fool's Gold. She didn't even believe in herself, so how could she believe in him?

“Why should I believe ya’?! Y’ain’t know nothin’ about me! Why waste yer’ time trying to help a lost cause, anyway?! Don’t play pretend with me! Whatever the hell it is y’all want from me. go on and get it! It wouldn't be the first time a man told me to do somethin’ fer’ him and it sure as shit won't be the last time!” She shouted at him through a flurry of tears that had swelled in her eyes.

“What makes ya’ any different from the rest of ‘em?! What makes ya’ so different than any other man who said he’d make it right only to take advantage of me?! I don't know what yer’ thinkin’, but I'm not a moron! I reckon I have enough brain in my head to understand when somebody wants me to believe somethin’ ridiculous! Yer’ name ain’t Jesus Christ himself. Even then, I ain’t sure I’d believe a word out of yer’ mouth! Too many men tell me they’re gonna save me! Then what do I get when I listen to em’? I get burned! I get burned because I’m the devil! I’m the devil nobody wants to save!”

It didn’t matter that he’d gently carried her from the mountains. It didn’t matter that he had carefully held her face in his face while he coaxed water down her throat. It didn’t matter that his comfortable bed had been given to her for a few nights! It didn’t matter that he’d spent hours by her side while she faded in and out of consciousness!

It didn't matter that he was offering the world on a silver platter!

It felt like God was too little, too late trying to get her what she prayed for. It felt like a sick joke. Was she a joke to God? Why would he allow her to fester in misery her entire life only to dangle an offer of temptation in front of her at the very last moment? Why would there be a chance for her to know what it felt like to be free? It would almost be better for her to not know what it felt like.

When she didn't know the truth, nothing could hurt her. But now that she knew what it felt like to be given a tender touch, she wanted to scream and shout. If she’d died without knowing what it felt like to be treated kindly, she never would have known how unfair it felt.

Was she screaming at Jihyun… or was she screaming at God?

Her breathing was ragged and she felt dazed. She could have run away from this place if she wanted, but something was telling her to stand her ground. She’d never been the kind of person to speak her mind or say what she felt. She had been living in hell for God knows how long and she didn't know how to imagine paradise. She wanted a reprieve from all of the misery inside of her heart but she didn't know how to be anything but miserable.

Rika’s heart was afraid. She couldn’t stop herself. Her tiny hands balled up into frustrated fists and collided with Jihyun’s chest. He didn't flinch nor run away. He took every hit like it was something he deserved. It frustrated her so much. There was no screaming, crying, or begging for mercy. He took the lick she had to give and then some until her strength caved. For the first time in her life, she fought back but it wasn't against the person she wanted to fight.

She only realized that if she fell to her knees and wept the tears that had been buried deep within her heart since she was a baby. She wasn't angry at this man because he wasn't the one to blame. She was angry with God, her parents, and the preacher. They were the ones at fault for the misery she felt but nothing could be done to make them feel the same pain she did.

[Chapter Two (YOU ARE HERE.) | Chapter Three]

[themadauthorshatter]

Let's dive back in.

I'm excited to meet our Million In One man❤

Sanders Sides BEETLEJUICE AU Part 2!!!

We start with Patton working on the model town, especially their own funeral, as Thomas tries dusting around. It's been a few more weeks and they're bored.

Thomas gives up and sits down, asking why there's so much dust, as neither have a body, and why they can't just leave; France is supposed to be really nice this time of year. Patton shrugs, but wonders maybe this house is their heaven.

Thomas smiles at that, though still questions why heaven is so dusty.

Patton hides a smirk and keeps working; "...Reeeasons?"

The two share a laugh and Thomas asks what Patton read in the hand book.

Patton stops his work and passes to book to Thomas, saying he can barely understand it, but maybe Thomas will.

Thomas gives it a go, skimming through the pages, checking for a table of contents, and an index before starting back at page 1; "Like Medical Chemistry all over again."

Cut to Patton as he continues on the model, more specifically the cemetery. We don't hear what Patton's thinking, but we see it on his face; the cemetery isn't big enough, because he didn't plan it out fully, the wreathes for his and Thomas's graves aren't as funeral-esque as he'd like, and he didn't make a different model for Dice, who he's still annoyed with.

He snaps out of it when he hears an, "OH!" from Thomas and asks what's up.

Turns out people usually won't see or hear the dead and Thomas and Patton are TEMPORARILY stuck in the house, but the amount of time isn't specified.

They hear a pair of cars pull up and investigate to see Dice again, who's not in any fancy clothes, but is still in black, and is accompanied by a VERY fancy looking business man.

Our ghost friends wonder what's going on, and get a bad feeling when they see Dice nod and shake hands with the business man.

Patton, however, notices the watch he's wearing and finds a telescope he has, using it to gwt a closer look.

The watch has rubies on it.

Thomas, who's more far sighted, asks what a guy like that is doing in this part of Florida, and pauses when he sees the growing excitement and unease on Patton's face.

They watch the two leave, and see Dice give the house another look and take a flask out of his coat and drink from it before going to his own car.

Thomas continues to watch as Patton leaves the window, leaning the telescope back against the wall.

WHICH MATCH CUTS TO A MAN HANDING A WOMAN A NEWSPAPER. She stares at it and then races away. We're in a studio, specifically in the dressing room/makeup area, it's nothing but controlled chaos, and everyone is fussing, well most at least.

These calm souls are the people painting on and fussing over a man, who we see in quick cuts, one with LOVELY, fluffy, full of volume, red hair, tan, smooth skin, and a body carved by gods, long legs, a thin waist, and lean body, but still muscular(so he's fit, but not buff; he has muscles, but he's still got the body of a ballerina), lovely eyelashes, eyebrows that match his hair, soft lips, ears pierced with roses and ruby studs, and all in all, a painting brought to life.

This, dear fans, followers, and viewers, is Roman Scarlet- now Deetz- and is preparing for his photoshoot, one that requires him to look like a porcelain doll to match with the set.

The idea came from his adopted son, who isn't there.

While we're focused on Roman, we hear a man whistle and compliment him, saying he looks like he was painted in oil and pastels. Roman smirks up at him and reminds him that he knows, because he's already said it.

Remy Deetz, his husband, shares a smirk and almost kisses him, almost because he stops himself-much to Roman's confusion- and says he's not allowed to distract anyone while they work, including Roman.

Remy looks the same as he usually is, but his hair's darker, just saying that now.

Everyone stops as we see the well dressed man from before, being Roman's agent.

Roman greets him quite warmly and asks what brings him and how his excursion went.

The agent reveals it went well and he's got good news AND bad news, so which would Roman like to hear first? Roman would like the former, please and thank you.

Good news: the house he's interested in is up for grabs and, seeing as how he's placed the highest bid on it, is as good as his.

Roman rejoices at this excellent news, clapping his hands and being a happy boy, before askimg what the bad news is.

The girl we saw pushes her way in and hands Roman the newspaper as his agent also delivers the bad news.

The house is up for sale because the original owners are dead, having drowned in a car accident. And unless Roman wants rumors to arise of him killing the two for the house, he'd better wait for a little while.

Roman has the wind knocked out of him, and asks how long they died.

A month.

After a moment, and a glance to Remy, Roman asks if he can still put a down payment on the house.

He can, but, again, he can't move in for a while.

Roman accepts thise terms; it's lighter on his conscious and still lets him have the house.

TIME JUMP A MONTH OR TWO AHEAD AND CUT TO THOMAS AND PATTON!

They're asleep in bed, and we get a ghost gag of Patton hogging the blanket and revealing a floating Thomas, who wakes up and falls down with a yelp.

Patton wakes up, too, but it's because there was a loud BANG that happened just as Thomas hit the floor.

He asks how high Thomas was to fall that hard, as Thomas asks Patton if he heard that BANG, especially one that happens again.

They quickly leave their room and see moving men enter the living room, and haphazardly shove a couch on a roller until it hits the stair railing.

Remy races over and tells them to please try being a little more careful becasue this is country craftsmanship, not city hocus pocus.

Roman slinks in and takes in the house he'd wanted so much, admitting it wasn't what he'd expected, but one of the owners was a small interior designer, so what was he expecting in the first place?

Thomas, from his place next to Patton on the upper level, gapes at the comment, very much offended as Roman goes back outside to examine the exterior.

Thomas wonders if Dice had a point, but Patton squeals at the fact that Cardinal Rose is in their house. Thomas isn't as enthused, mainly because 1. They can't talk to him, 2. He can't see them, and 3. Dice SOLD this house to him after the two had just died.

Patton is discouraged, but still smiles with Thomas that there's a celebrity in their house.

Thomas smiles with him and they have a fanboy moment, holding hands, squealing and giggling, and jumping with excitement; happiness now, stress later.

Cut to Roman outside as he scrutinizes the area. There's no fence or no gate to keep any intruders out. Not even a garden to make it pretty, at least.

His looking brings him to his car, and looks inside, his look of, 'what can I fix about this?' becoming a mix of disappointment and frustration.

"We'll be here for a little while, the LEAST you could do is come out and look at it."

He sighs and walks away, but we focus on the car as the back passenger door opens and reveals a boy.

He's a petite little thing, a young teenager between 13 and 16, kind of cat-like, but has that 'angry cat' look to him. He's got bags under his eyes, a slight scowl on his face, and is dressed in black. His hair is extremely cleverly dyed, black on top, where everyone can see, but purple underneath, which we see as he runs his hands through his hair.

He stares at the house with a mix of sorrow and indifference, muttering that they're now the Addams Family, maybe a little worse.

Remy calls for the boy, our emo himself Virgil, and asks him to be a dear and take his luggage inside and look for a room he wants; there's five bedrooms and three and a half bathrooms, so there's a lot to pick.

Virgil remarks that he'll try not to invade the master bedroom, because that's undoubtedly going to be Remy's and Roman's room, and trudges toward the house, Remy ruffling his hair.

Remy watches Virgil before turning to Roman, who's standing and doing his best thinking face.

Remy wraps his arms around Roman from behind and asks for his opinion. Roman gives it to him flat: he wants to change the house. Remy gives him a withering look and Roman stipulates it will be just a few things, nothing major. Maybe take down a wall or two and put them somewhere else, maybe some paint, just things that will make this house their home.

Remy politely asks him not to, because this house belonged to someone else and shouldn't be torn up, but Roman reiterates: not the whole house. Just a couple things and then it can be hone. And he dares Remy to say the house is perfect as is, because it's not. He's just trying to make Roman and Virgil comfortable and he knows it.

Remy admits that he DOES want Roman and Virgil to feel at home and there are a few touch-ups that can be made, but this house wasn't even theirs to begin with, so they shouldn't change up too much.

Roman, quite solemnly, states that the house is theirs now and the owners aren't coming back, not when they're in a better place.

Comedic cut to Patton and Thomas as they sit and watch the moving madness unfold, right in their house. Virgil slips in, and catches Patton's attention.

Virgil looks around as Remy and Roman return.

Remy asks what the teen thinks of their new home. Virgil looks over at Roman, who's judging again, and murmurs that he(Roman) probably hates it. He spots a spider on the stairs railing, like between the rungs, and admits he could live here, letting the spider crawl onto his hand.

Remy walks over to an armchair and takes a seat, taking a breath and checking his watch. He doesn't know about Virgil and Roman, but it's only been twenty minutes and he already feels at home. Roman muses, "Good for you," and notices the kitchen, sighing at how that, at least, is acceptable and something he's probably not majorly changing, maybe he can even get into cooking, like he's been trying. As he walks up the stairs, Virgil calls about, quite bitterly, about how great it is that cooking is another thing Roman's good at.

Roman walks to the beginning of the stairs and dares Virgil to repeat that, though Remy calls for them both to leave each other alone; even though the comment was a little rude, Virgil's still nervous, and new to Roman's lifestyle, and needs time to adjust, and moving around a lot does not help with that. Roman counters that he's nervous too, but that doesn't mean he's going to be a sourpuss and snap at anyone who passes by.

Patton and Thomas try to ignore the argument, but are appalled by the fact that Dice gave their house to these people. Patton wonders why they even moved, if they hate it in this part of Florida. Thomas groans that they're probably from the city and probably want to use the land for making more condos and apartment buildings. Patton asks if Remy's a writer, though, and Thomas leans to his side until he falls to the floor, groaning how both their idols are selfish and insufferable. Patton rubs his arm as Virgil walks by.

The two catch a glimpse of each other, though it's in slow motion(nothing but TV perspective in this series), Patton giving a confused look as to why a teen would wear so much black in the Florida summer and Virgil having his own confusion be because he thought the house was empty before they moved in, the owners are dead, after all.

Before Roman and Remy can really go at it, someone walks through the door and muses that despite the change of scenery, Roman hasn't changed at all, being dramatic and lovely, as always. His entrance catches everyone's attention, though Virgil hightails it into room hunting.

Remy rolls his eyes as Roman squeals with joy as he hugs his friend, Janus, a golden blond who displays a tattoo on the side of his face to hide his scar, has gotten his ear on the same side cropped so it's sharp, and looks almost as impressive as Roman, though he slays in a plain black suit and yellow dress shirt.

The two hug and Roman barely contains his excitement at the fact his friend came all the way from the city to see him.

Janus returns the gesture and is glad to see Roman too, because this place, in its current state, will not do, and it's a good thing Remy's a best seller, because they're renovating big time.

Roman gives a glance to Remy and says that the house itself is fine, he just wants to make small-ish changes.

Thomas quickly sits up just as Virgil opens one of the bedroom doors, Thomas shouting and Virgil calling out, "Knocking down a wall and throwning paint on it is not a small change!"

Roman harshly shushes and gestures for Virgil to go away, but Janus shakes his head; guess Virgil hasn't changed either.

Patton pulls Thomas back and asks what they're going to do, because he can't tell if this is paradise or punishment.

Thomas shrugs and replies that he's not sure, but knows they can't stop them, seeing as how no one can see them, but that sets off a light bulb in both their heads and they turn to each other.

Both have been reading the handbook, and there's a word for thise in their situation, a word that makes them smile and foght to contain another hit of excitement:

Ghosts.

With a laugh, forhead touch, and quick kiss, they get to work.

[kpopmalereader]

a friend ; ten

• summary: you are very much in love with ten. however, because you are best friends with lucas, he chooses to use your feelings against you as he tries his hardest to convince you to confess and to set you and ten up • pairing: ten x male!reader • word count: 3635 • to do

i changed the request a bit, so, i’m sorry about that but i hope you enjoy

The loud music booming through the dance room seems to make the floorboards you're sitting on shake and move. Their combined steps and powerful movements add to the shaking feeling and you nod your head along with the beat.

You try to watch whoever is in the middle of the dance or who's singing but you're eyes continue to fall right back to Ten. His dancing goes from sharp to smooth and facial expressions shifting from cute to sexy seem to happen effortlessly and you're not surprised he's an idol. He seems to be born for the stage. Born to dance. Born to perform for people.

The song ends with a bang, each member standing in strong poses.

You clap and cheer as the music fades.

All of the members go from an idol performing in front of fans to falling onto the ground, groans coming from some of them. Lucas leans against Yangyang, almost pushing him towards the ground, looking like he'll fall asleep on his feet. Kun downs a bottle of water before you can blink and Xiaojun isn't that far behind.

You smile at each of them, knowing they're tired and want to leave but at the same time want to continue to practice and head towards perfection.

Ten collapses next to you. His sweaty forehead presses against your shoulder and you try not to shudder (either from disgust or simply from how close he is to you.)

“Do you want me to order you guys some food?” You ask, heavy breathing being the only other noise in the room. “Order it to your apartment so you can collapse in your beds instead of on the hard ground.”

“I would love you forever if you did.” Lucas hums, stealing a water bottle from Win.

“Me too,” Ten adds.

Your heart quickens and you nod, attempting to hide your shaking hands by typing as fast as you can. You quickly order enough food for the group with the appetite of an army. Ten looks over your shoulder, pointing to a specific food he wants. You tilt your head in pretend-thought about ordering the food.

“Maybe,”

“Please~” Ten whines and pouts dramatically, shaking your arm back and forth.

You try not to swoon at his expression and nod your head.

“Okay.”

Ten's smile is brighter than the sun. What's the brightest star in the sky? Ten's smile has that beat. He kisses your cheek very quickly, a light brush against your face that is barely there.

Your eyes go wide as he stands up. He tells you where he's going but for once you're focusing on something other than his voice.

The area he kissed burns red-hot on your face. You wonder if there will be a visible mark for the rest of your life and you aren't too upset if you'll always be able to feel it.

Lucas' smirk and delight at your reaction radiates off of him, worming it's way right to your chest. He slowly takes the steps over to you, waiting for your reaction to return back to normal.

“What's that about?” He asks, taking a long sip of his drink.

“What?”

“Your face is redder than a firetruck.”

“It's hot in here.”

“You're hot for a completely different reason.”

“Shut up. I'm not used to public affection, it caught me off guard.”

Lucas sits next to you, incredulity plastered across his face and demeanor. “Seriously? Okay, even if you weren't used to affection, you're really telling me that you would react the same way if I kissed your cheek? Or if Xiaojun did? Or literally anyone else? Come to terms with it, babe, you-”

You smack your hand over his mouth, nostrils flaring. “Shh. Shut up.”

Lucas cackles at your reaction, physically falling onto the floor. He just about rolls around as he mocks you. He only stops drawing attention to it when you stand up.

“What's going on?” Kun asks you as you pass.

“Y/N is being dramatic.” Lucas answers.

“Lucas is being an asshole.” You correct.

*

“Hey, Y/N?” Ten catches you as you walk past his door. “I don’t completely trust anybody else’s opinion. How do I look?”

You can feel your ears start to heat up and you take a step back, bumping into the hallway wall, to look at him. “Uhm, great! You look… perfect. Great. Good.”

Ten giggles and poses before he turns to the side to look at his outfit. “Thank you!”

You hesitate before asking. “Where are you going?”

“Out with a few friends.” He answers. “Do I really look okay?”

“Yes, really. Perfect.” You repeat. Your attention drifts from listening to what he’s saying and helping him out to simply looking at him and not-so-subtly checking him out. You knock yourself out of it and point at him, trying to pretend you weren’t staring. “You should try a necklace though. You know that choker one? I think that one would look… good.”

That’s not the word you were going to use.

Ten hums and steps back, moving to his dresser. He holds one up and you nod. “Nice choice, thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t think anyone would know a specific necklace I wear.” He puts the necklace on and looks at himself in the mirror.

“I notice a lot.” You say. Especially when it comes to you. “You look great. Why are you so nervous?”

Ten shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not sure. For the last few days, I’ve had this need to impress people. I don’t know if it’s a specific person I’m trying to impress or if I’m trying to impress everyone.”

“You don’t need to impress anybody. You’re very pretty and everyone knows. You could go out wearing sweatpants and a seven-year-old t-shirt and you would still be the most magnificent person there.”

“Magnificent?” Ten asks with a shy smile you hardly ever see.

You nod, not trusting yourself to open your mouth. Your face is a not very flattering shade of scarlet by now.

“Thank you.” He says.

He turns back to the mirror and you walk away slowly.

Lucas raises an eyebrow when you flop into the couch. “How did you keep your crush on him hidden from me for this long? You didn’t look like you were breathing the entire time you were talking to him.”

“Probably because I wasn’t.” You curl into yourself and bang your forehead against your knee. “Something about him makes me stutter and trip over my own mouth. He was talking about wanting to impress someone and I hoped it was me he wanted to impress even though God knows he isn’t trying to. He doesn’t need to try to! He walks into a room and I have a heart attack.”

“I have a crazy idea,” Lucas pulls your head up. “Tell him about how you feel.”

“You’re right. That is a crazy idea.”

“Y/N,” Lucas starts, placing both of his hands on your shoulders. “I know I pick on you about this and everything else, but you like him. It’s so obvious that you like him a lot. Maybe you should try and tell him, confess and see if he likes you back. That’s better than looking into everything he says or does.”

“But me freaking out over everything he does is better than ruining a friendship when he turns me down.” You argue. “I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

Lucas sighs and lays against you, already concocting a plan.

*

“Sorry,” Lucas lays on his bed, video game controller balancing on his stomach. “I completely forgot about it and I’m doing something right now but uh… Y/N is free. He’s just sitting in his room feeling bad about himself.”

“Feeling bad about what?” Ten switches the phone to his other shoulder. “Is he okay?”

“You’d have to ask him about that, but I’m sure he would be fine enough to film the dance for you.”

Ten hums and picks at his fingernails. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll text him.”

“Good! Okay!” Lucas hangs up the phone shortly after and does a small victory dance as he grabs his controller. “Point Lucas!”

Ten paces around for a minute. He doesn’t have a reliable way to record this dance. Lucas flaked and it’s embarrassing to ask some random staff member to record him who knows how many times. Especially for some dance that’s not even for a project for the company and is just something personal. He is worried about what Lucas was saying, that you’re sitting in your room feeling bad.

“Hello?” You sit up, blanket falling off of your shoulders.

“Hey,” Ten scuffs the ground with his foot and scrunches his nose. “Are you busy?”

You’re definitely not. “No, not really, what do you need?”

“Do you think you could come down to the studio and record a dance for me? Someone else was supposed to come and film for me but they bailed, and you came to mind.”

You pull at one of your ears and nod. “Yeah, okay. I just have to get dressed and then I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, see you soon!”

The elevator dings at every floor you pass, light shining through the centimeter gap between the doors. You look at the front-facing camera on your phone and obsessively try to perfect the casual look you’re faking.

“3rd Floor.”

You nod at the imaginary woman announcing the floors and walk a few feet out of the elevator before dread and panic sets in. You side-step to the railing looking over the main floor. You breathe in and out of your nose slowly while you wait for your heart to fall back to your chest.

A few workers pass, some of the more formally dressed ones giving you some questioning looks while you try not to panic. What might be an hour, might be one minute, passes and you push yourself off the railing. Your want to be casual and the contrasting need to run makes your walk seem much shadier than you intended.

The music Ten is playing can just be heard outside the door and you inch the door open slowly. He stops mid-turn, one of his feet floating above the ground.

“Hey.” He smiles and pauses the music. “I’m happy you made it. Thank you.”

You shake your head. “No problem.” I’m happy to be near you. “Don’t the staff members normally record for you?”

“Normally, but this dance is more of a personal type project instead of something for NCT or WayV.” Ten nods and hands you the speaker remote. “Do you mind if I dance it multiple times? I want to make sure it’s perfect.”

“I’m yours for as long as you need.” You hope your cringe isn’t too obvious.

Ten winks at you with a sly smile. “That’s the way I like it.”

You sit in front of the mirror, catching Ten’s phone when he tosses it. He jumps twice before nodding his head. His face shifts from friendly and flirty to cocky and mischievous. You start the recording and the music, making sure everything is in focus. He begins his dance and you start to think agreeing to this was a bad idea.

Your grip on the phone tightens, eyes locked on his every move. You wouldn’t be surprised if your jaw was on the floor. You hold onto your wrist to steady your shaking hand. Watching him through the phone feels less awkward and stalker-like than openly staring as he dances but you don’t get as good of a view as you would if you were physically able to look at him without making yourself look like a fool.

He finishes the dance but notices something you couldn’t and decides he needs to redo it almost immediately. “Restart please.”

You nod your head and cut the recording first. You press the record button again, mentally preparing yourself a bit better before starting the music again. He begins to dance again and fixes the part you didn’t realize needed fixing.

Confidence comes off of him in waves as the dance ends. “Okay, can I see it?”

“Mhm,” You hand him the phone.

He doesn’t spend near enough time to look through the whole dance, looking at specific spots before handing the phone back.

“One more time.” He smiles at you. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I want to be here, and I like watching you dance.”

“Hey, I was talking to Lucas earlier.”

“Oh, god.” You mumble, eyes as big as saucers.

Ten doesn’t notice or pretends not to notice the change and continues. “He said something about all you’ve been doing today was sitting in your room and feeling bad about yourself? Is that… true?”

You breathe half a sigh of relief before the real question sets in. “Uhm, I haven’t been having the best couple of days. It’s nothing. Just like normal, I guess.”

“What do you mean like normal?” He walks back over to you. “What about yourself would you feel bad about?”

“Nothing.” You shake your head but the soft and sincere he looks cracks right through any façade you could put up. “A lot of stuff, but it’s nothing I need to worry you about.”

He sits in front of you and grabs one of your hands. “We’re friends, aren’t we? You can talk to me. What’s in your head?”

You’re holding my hand and fireworks are going off in my stomach.

A beat passes.

“I like someone. They’re an amazing person. I’ve liked them for a couple months now, Lucas recently found out, but I don’t know why for the past couple days I’ve felt like shit over it. Just thinking about them makes me feel weird and thinking about the positive possibilities is great and I love those thoughts but realistically…” You zone out for a few seconds before shaking your head. “I don’t know. I guess that’s what’s been bothering me.”

Ten frowns, squeezing your hand. He speaks in a low voice. “Y/N, you’re great! Don’t think about the negative things that could happen. Without actually asking whoever you like out you’ll never know what could’ve happened.”

“I would rather not know what might’ve been instead of ruining what we already have.”

“That’s such a negative way to think about it.” Ten shakes his head and moves to sit next to you. “Come on. You’re amazing. And even if the other person doesn’t feel the same way, no one would want to lose you as a friend.”

“Thank you.” You smile and pat his shoulder. “You should get back to the dance. I don’t want to take up more of your time.”

And being so close to you I feel like I might catch fire.

“You seem upset.” Ten sighs.

“It’s okay. I just needed to get some thoughts out. Thank you for listening.”

He smiles and ruffles your hair. “I’m always here for you. Always.”

“Let’s get back to dancing. Before my heart explodes.”

He points finger-guns at you and winks, giggling as he stands back up. “Okay! Let’s do this!”

*

“Hey,” Ten sits next to you, moving a shoebox to the ground. “I noticed you were sitting alone and decided to sit next to you.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Lucas thinks I take too long to try out shoes.”

“You’re just thorough.” He looks down at your shoes and gives a nod of approval. “I’m glad you came with us. And, whether we’re going shopping like this or if you want to go out to eat, you’re always allowed to come with us. You don’t have to ask Lucas or worry about it.” Ten smiles at you and you pull those shoes off, untying another pair. “Are you feeling any better about what we talked about? Your… crush?”

You nod your head at the question and really me it. Your stomach still flips when you see Ten but at least your hands aren’t shaking as bad as they used to be. “Yeah, I’m coming to terms with my feelings and what might happen. He means a lot to me as a friend and I hope I’m the same for him, so if my feelings come out, it won’t be terribly awkward for too long and we’ll still be friends no matter what.”

He smiles at you and throws his arm over your shoulders. “I’m glad. You seem more relaxed and you’re already speaking more positive about it! I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” You nod your head, and everyone can see the more-than-happy smile you’re wearing. “But now I need your help, which pair do you like better?”

Lucas walks through the store looking for you. He’s thankful for his height when he sees you and Ten being friendly over the aisle he’s standing in. Your smile is genuine as Ten points at your shoes and Lucas can tell, even from four feet away, that you’re not as panicked as you used to be.

You seem to settle on a pair of shoes, handing one of the boxes to Ten. “Thanks.”

“Always here for you,” Ten nods and turns around, spotting Lucas’ head over the shoe rack. “Hey, spying on us?”

“Mhm.” Lucas nods. “I don’t know what you two could be doing.”

You roll your eyes and slide your own shoes on. “If you didn’t know what we were doing wouldn’t you close your eyes instead of creepily staring at us?”

Ten smiles and leans toward you to whisper. “He does seem like he would be into some weird stuff.”

You giggle at Ten’s sentence, breaking into full laughter at Lucas’ confused expression. You put the decided-against shoes back on the shelf. “Did you need something?”

“I just noticed you two weren’t with us. Go back to doing whatever you were doing.” Lucas smiles and winks at you as he passes. “But we’re leaving soon. So, I would wrap it up.”

You take the shoebox from Ten and begin to walk to the register. “You can go with everyone else if you would like.”

“Nope. I’ll walk you up there.” He shakes his head, falling in line beside you. “So, I was wondering, and if you have a crush on someone, I want to know-”

Oh no.

“Some things about them. What are they like? They must be pretty great if you like them so much, but I feel like I need to approve of them before anything happens.”

You breathe out and press the box against your stomach. “They are great.”

“Yeah?”

You’re sure you have a dopey smile on your face but you’ve begun to not particularly care about making a fool of yourself. “He’s amazing… I think I’ve always had some lingering romantic attraction to him but I couldn’t really tell the difference between the platonic emotions and the romantic ones. But recently my romantic emotions towards him bubbled up enough for it to become noticeable to me and also some other people.”

One of Ten’s eyebrows perks up. “Well, I haven’t been able to see any difference in the way you talk or act around people I’ve seen. Maybe it wasn’t that obvious.”

I’m pretty sure it was.

“He’s great. He likes music, he’s a dancer, he’s very funny. And he’s incredibly smart but I think some people have a tendency to underestimate his brilliance.” You shake your head and look at the ground, trying not to describe Ten exactly. “And, something but not the most important thing, he’s so cute.”

Ten laughs and pinches your cheek. “You’re turning so red. You really like him, huh? That’s good. I hope it works out for you. You deserve a good person.”

“Thank you. You do too.” You place the box on the counter and nod at the cashier. “That’s it, thank you.”

The cashier rings the shoes up and you hand your card over.

“I would be lucky to have someone who cared as much as you do.” Ten mentions. “About everyone. Not only your crush or who you like romantically, but you seem to care so much about everyone you come across.”

The cashier bags the shoes and hands them to you. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

Your friendly smile aimed at the cashier falls as soon as you turn around, remaining half-a-step in front of Ten as you walk out, thousands of thoughts bouncing around inside your skull. Ten raises an eyebrow at you as you walk, rethinking over everything he said before, wondering if he said something wrong.

“Ten.” You turn to him outside the store. “We drove here in two different cars, so, I’m going to say this now.”

Ten nods slowly. “Okay…”

“I like you. You’re the one I talked about, you’re my “crush”. I’m afraid of losing you as a friend, and I don’t want to, but I think you should know about my feelings.” The quick nodding of your head devolves into shaking your head and you switch the bag between hands.

Ten does nothing but blink for a few seconds and lets the words sink in. “Oh.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t. We’re still friends.”

A force-field seems to appear between you and Ten, knocking all of the air out of your chest in a single movement. You’re unable to look straight at him as you nod your head.

“Yeah. Yeah.” You clear your throat and point over your shoulder. “I’m going to go find Lucas. Tell him we can go now. Thank you. For talking and sitting with me. I appreciate it.”

“Y/N,”

“It’s okay. We’re still friends.” You smile at him. An artificial smile that breaks Ten’s heart in as many pieces as yours is. “I understand, and us being friends is all I’ll ask of you.”

[anchorsnook]

Commander Fox needs some love

Fox walked down the hall, trying to find the new office. He shifted the large packet of hard drives to his other hand. Why did they suddenly decide all sensitive reports needed to be turned in manually? His eyes lighted on a sign on one of the office doors. There it is, finally. He shouldered the door open and walked into the office. A human woman sat behind a desk in front of him. Her hair was put up into a bun, and frizzes were starting to streak out from it. She frowned at the monitor in front of her. Fox dropped the small packet of hard drives on her desk. 

She jumped back with an “EEp!”

She looked up at him. Her mouth slowly opened, then shut. Fox didn’t have time for this, “Here are the reports.”

He spun around and walked out of the room. 

~~

Silv drank deeply from her coffee cup. She felt life flow into her as the liquid ran down her throat. It had been a solid four weeks since she had accepted the job as a secretary for the Republic. It took her three days to sign all the paperwork for confidentiality and “Don’t tell anyone” files. By now, she figured out why the last secretary had left the position. There was too much to do. The Republic demanded not only she sort the files, hard drives, and emails for all the staff, clones, and commanders, they also wanted her to file all sensitive reports herself, with no outside help. Trying to even understand the storage room, let alone file all those reports in a timely manner, was difficult.

 Her supervisor barely gave her a tour before throwing her into the den of wolves. Everywhere she turned, each person was chewing her out for not being fast enough. She smiled wryly, probably the most interesting and well, nice conversation she had was with one of the clones. That was one part of her job she was nervous about. She had heard some horrible things about the clones. How they were simply war machines, built with a thirst for blood. That they would kill you at any opportunity. She knew these rumors weren’t reliable, but after years of circulating rumors, it was hard to keep scepticism out. It didn’t help that with their armor and helmet, they were down right intimidating. It started her when one of them had quietly slipped into the room, and slammed reports down on her desk. That was the first time she thought she had actually heard a clone speak. He had come in three more times. He was very prompt, coming at the same time, the same day of the week. He usually only dropped the drives and walked off. Once, he had given her a grunt of acknowledgement. 

The very last time he had come in had shifted her vision of him. She was just into a new cup of coffee when he came in. He had dropped the hard drives like always, but then lingered. She saw his armor was more scruffed up and dirty, and compared to the sharpness in his step the last couple of times, he seemed almost to drag his feet on the way in. She saw his chest plate expand as he breathed in deeply as he had stood there. His head tilted slightly, and she almost would swear that she could see a longing desire in his visor. His shoulders jerked back up and he had marched quickly out of the room.  

Humanity. That is what she saw in that moment. Not a war machine, not even a soldier, just a person who was worn down to the bare threads. She shook her head and smiled, this time she would be ready. She poured another cup of coffee into a to-go-mug. 

~~~

Fox walked down the now familiar hall. It had been a strange week. Sometimes, his duty and job was too strenuous for him. This week he was being tugged on by both the Jedi Council, the Senate, and the Chancellor. A bombing at the Jedi temple had struck up “peaceful protests” that always turned sour. On top of crowd control, which last time Fox checked, was NOT in his job description, he had the task of holding one of the Jedi padawans who had murdered a key witness. Of course, her master had threatened him, and of course, the padawan escaped, killing a few of his men. All in all, a REALLY long week. 

    He walked through the door. The secretary was talking to one of the non-clone military personnel. The military man snapped, “I expected those files an hour ago. Where are they?!”

She sighed, “And you will get them when I can properly file them. However, I received them later than the others, so you will get them later than the others.”

The military man’s face flushed, “How dare- those are due next week. And I NEED at least a WEEK TO EDIT IT. Do you not understand that?? Or are you just slow?”

The secretary barely flinched. Fox set the hard drives down, he had had enough of that sort of thing this last week. He turned quickly around to escape back to the barracks. The secretary whispered calmly, “Sir, I need time to complete it. But when it's done-”

She turned to see Fox walking away. A desperate plea escaped her, “Soldier Wait!”

Fox stopped abruptly, and turned slowly. Her forehead creased, “I’m sure you had a lot, but I have something for-”

“DON’T IGNORE ME!” the military man spat. 

She shifted towards him. She shifted, “I was not ignoring you. Now is there anything else? I need to attend to this matter and then get straight to your report.”

The military man’s nose flared, “Fine Civi. Just be quick about it.”

He stormed off. Fox saw the secretary’s lower lip quiver. She closed her eyes. Breathed deeply, and turned to him. She smiled softly, “Thank you for waiting. I’m sure you have a lot of pressing matters.”

Fox stood silently. She gulped, “Right. I’ll get right to it.”

She turned and grabbed two cups of coffee. She set one cup on the table, and offered the other one to him. He didn’t move. The steam wafed up into his helmet. Last week he had come in when she had made a hot cup, and it had smelled devine. Fox had only had coffee once before, and had been in heaven for a split second. Unfortunately, he wasn’t paid, and coffee didn’t really come in the job perks. He would sometimes grab a cup from the office lounges, but the other staff around Coruscant weren’t really open for a clone to use their space. She nodded to the cup, and moved it closer to him, “Please. I had an extra.”

He cautiously took it. She smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of her neck, “I really need a pick me up on days like today.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks as he stood there silently. She stammered, “I mean. It's fine if you don’t- I don’t know if you even like- maybe you don’t need to drink anything-it’s not like I was trying t- ” he babbling quickly died off. She looked to the ground and slowly sunk into her chair, “I’m sorry to use your time. That was all.”

Fox stared. He had never received such a gift. It was obviously out of her way to make another cup, and to stop him while someone was railing on her just to give it to him. Her figure was slumped at her desk. He smiled behind his bucket. He turned around. At the door he paused, looking over his shoulder he said, “Thank you.”

~~~

The next week Fox almost started jogging down to the office. The case of the padawan had gotten even more confusing, and had eventually resolved itself. But he was excited for the coffee. One sip of it last week, and he was in heaven. It was better than he remembered, better than the coffee he grabbed from the lounges. He almost considered that she put some sort of addictive drug into it. He wanted another. Swinging into the office, he quickly walked up to the desk and set the hard drives down. The secretary smiled, “Thank you.”

He looked around. No coffee. He slowly scanned the room, nothing. His heart fell. Why was there no coffee? The secretary took a second glance up, “Yes?”

He cleared his throat, “Um. Nothing.”

He started to walk slowly out of the room. He paused at the door. Would it be rude to ask? He shook his head, more like, could he make it a week without some? Slowly turning around, he spoke, “Um, actually.”

The secretary looked up, slightly startled that he wasn’t gone already. He sighed, “Do you have any more of that coffee?”

A smile slowly crept across her face, “Sooo, you liked it?”

Fox cleared his throat, “It's fine. I-”

The secretary jumped up, “NO!”

She cleared her throat, “No. It's fine. It's right in the back. Can you wait 5 minutes?”

Fox nodded once. She quickly slipped out of the room. He stood near the door. He looked around the office. It was pretty tidy, and pretty sparse. There were a couple of chairs on one side, and a window in the back. A row of bookshelves lined one of the walls. Her desk was not as tidy. Piles of hard drives, files, and screens were sloppily placed everywhere. There were even stacks on the floor near her desk. She came back in and sat down, “It is on its way.”

He nodded. She turned back to her computer screen. Her mouth started moving as she read. One of his fingers tapped lightly against his thigh. She glanced back up at him. She smiled, “Would you like to sit down?”

He looked at the chairs. Perhaps this was a bad idea. Could he really wait 5 minutes? Just then, the smell of coffee wafed into his nose. He sat down. It was worth it. She smiled, “My name is Silv by the way.”

He nodded, “Commander Fox.”

He took off his helmet and set it gently on his knee. She stared. Her eyes examined the contours of his face. He looked up and met her gaze firmly. She flushed, “I’m so sorry. I just….”

She looked down, “I’ve just. Never seen a clone before.”

Fox raised an eyebrow at her. Her face became even more red, she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. A ding from the other room alerted them. She quickly ran to the next room. A few minutes later, she came back out with a steaming mug. She smiled, “Sorry it took a while.”

He took the coffee, inhaled deeply, and took a sip. The warm roasted flavor tickled his tongue. He felt the warmth run down his throat all the way to his belly. He chuckled. Looking up, he saw Silv trying to hide a smile. He cleared his throat, “Thank you. I will be on my way.”

He put his bucket on and walked out of the room. From then on, Silv always had coffee ready to go for him. At first, he simply took it, thanked her, and left. After a while, he started picking up conversations with her. Five minutes here, five minutes there. Longer weeks made him look forward to the office run even more. Once, he had come in, talked with her, left, and when he got back to his office, saw the hard drives, still on the desk where he had left them. The peaceful protesting, however, got worse.

~~

A citizen slammed into his shield, screaming profanities and death wishes towards him and his men. The citizen’s voice rose with the crowd. Fox gritted his teeth. This one was bad. The crowd was writhing over a new decision the Senate had made. Fox had strict orders not to hurt anyone. He grunted as another citizen slammed into his shield, trying to break through his trooper’s defense line. How was he supposed to keep the crowd back without using force? He knew how of course. If it got bad enough, him and his men would become living shields. One of his men, Sharp, got punched in the face. Sharp reeled back, but held his ground. A few more got through. Suddenly the line broke. The crowd surged forward, a writhing, seething mass of hate. The police behind them screamed on their whistles, trying to arrest anyone who broke through. But there were too many. Three citizens pushed him back into a street sign. He stumbled back and his head cracked against the metal pole. Spots flickered in his vision. He looked around, trying to find his men through the three who were now screaming in his face. Across the street, his eyes lighted on a hurried figure. Silv. She was trying to fight through the crowd. What was she doing here? She tugged on her skirt to get past another raging person shoving a sign in her face. She glanced over, and her blue eyes met his. She stopped dead in her tracks. Her face went pale as she saw him. His armor splattered in mud and the different rotting things that the protestors brought with them. The protester in his face spat, “WE DON’T WANT YOUR WAR HERE CLONE!”

Fox growled, trying to contain the anger zipping through his body. Didn't they know? It wasn’t the clones fault they were here. They were simply bred to fight a war that wasn’t theirs to fight. But no, these people didn’t know. Fox realized they simply needed a person to blame. One protester elbowed his helmet at his jawline. Fox grunted, but continued commanding orders to his men, trying to help order the crowd. One of the three walked away, and grabbed one of the signs thrown to the ground by another protester. The man stalked angrily towards him. He swung the sign, smashing it against Fox’s ribs. Fox gasped and clutched his side. The protester screamed, “HOW'D YOU LIKE THAT WARMONGER??”

He lifted the sign back and slammed it across Fox’s head. Fox’s head wrenched to the side and he fell to his knees. His head started to spin. Black spots flashed across his vision. A few kicks came raining down as he clutched one hand to his head. “Use no force. Use no force!” he chanted. Both to himself and to his men. 

Fox looked up. His men were being beaten. Angry citizens ran rampant around, pushing, shoving, and attacking his men. Bile rose in his throat. How could they put his men through this? The protesters were almost to the doors of the Senate entrance. Fox shook his head. He had a duty to fulfill. He had to secure that door. Those protesters couldn’t get inside the building. He started to crawl up the stairs. Another protester slammed a sign on his back. His knees and arms gave out. His body cracked against the stairs. Sharp heat flashed from his cheek, rib, and thigh as the force of hitting the stairs cracked his armor. Grunting with pain, he continued his climb. A kick to the shoulder ripped his shoulder pad off. Fox roared as the strap caught his shoulder and jerked it out of its socket. Clenching his jaw, he stumbled to the door. Turning around, he gripped the sides of the doors. He lifted his head to face the screaming mob. 

    Their faces were blotched red in rage, the mob climbed the steps towards him. His men were now focusing their attention on evacuating the wounded. The police were in the fray too, but had no luck controlling the crowd. He clenched his jaw. It was up to him. The crowd swayed. His legs trembled with the effort to keep himself upright. His shoulder throbbed. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead and face underneath his helmet. A protester walked up to him, his fists balled up. Fox took in a shuttered breath. Use. No. Force.

    The protester brought his fist back. Brown hair and a slender figure moved over his vision. She lifted her hand above her head to ward off a blow. Fox’s heart jumped. Silv! The fist of the protestor slammed into her forearm. She yelped in pain and was pushed back against Fox. He whispered, “Silv! What are you-”

She glanced at him. There was a fierce determination in her eyes. A fire Fox had never truly seen before. She turned to the protester. Fox wanted to scream, to get her out of harm's way. She had no training, no armor. This wasn’t her fight. Fox was stationed at Corusaunt to protect people like her. The protester landed another blow. Silv screamed in pain and fell to her knees. Fox roared. She glared silently up at the protester. He slammed another blow down on her without a thought. Silv dropped to the ground. Fox whimpered. He stepped closer to the protester and shoved him back. The protester took a couple backsteps. Another protester came from the side and slammed his fist up under Fox’s jaw. Fox’s head whipped back, his helmet shoved off. It hit the pavement, bounced, and slowly rolled down the stairs. 

Fox saw the crowd pushing further forward. He knew he couldn’t hold this for very long. He put one foot over Silv’s limp body. He snarled challengingly at the crowd. Balling up his fists, he waited for the protester to step forward. The crowd swayed in hesitation. The thunder of helicopters flew overhead with fresh reinforcements. The crowd stopped as dozens of police and troopers came swarming in from the alleys and swinging from the helicopters. A wave of realization swept over the crowd, and they jumped into a frenzy, running in panic away from the scene. More helicopters zoomed in with the media sites, not wanting to miss the action. 

Footsteps thudded all around him. A straggler raced clumsily by. He clipped the back of Silv’s head and tripped down the stairs. Fox’s face fell in fear. Was she ok? He flipped around to her head and felt her pulse. It was barely there. More people came streaming over the steps. The first few started tripping over her legs. One stepped on her arm without noticing. Fox desperately curled her further into a ball. He placed one hand on the other side of her limp body, and crouched gently over her. He lowered his head down close to hers as the mob raced through. He felt the bumps, kicks, and feet of those trampling past. Fox screamed, desperate to keep her safe. Fear streaked across his face. The crowd could do their worst to him. They could mock him, hate him, beat him daily. He looked down at Silv’s relaxed face. But how could they do something to her? A small light of hope, who knew nothing of war. She was the only innocent in all this.

 He crouched there for a long time. His body tensed for any other attacks. Soon, the blows slowed. After ages, he felt the silent whisper of wind, and then nothing. He looked up, blood and tears slipping down his face. He was alone with Silv on the steps to the Senate house. Wind rustled the loose protest flyers. Police and troopers scattered across the yard, finally getting the crowd under control. Ambulances were taking the wounded, and the Media circled the yard. The worst was over. 

~~ 

Fox limped through the hospital. Where was she? A nurse was running behind him, “Sir. Sir! You have to sign in to see a patient.”

Fox ignored her. He rushed through the hall as fast as his bruised body could take him. The bacta was taking effect, but not fast enough. Fox glanced up at one of the TV screens in the hall. Silv’s face stared back. He froze. The nurse behind him slammed into him. He barely noticed. Silv’s face was bruised badly. One side of her jaw was swollen, and she had a black eye. Her hair was frazzled, and she was sitting in a hospital bed. The sign behind her showed the room L3D. The headline said, “REPUBLIC’S SECRETARY BEATEN IN “PEACEFUL” PROTEST.”

Silv was speaking right into the camera, “How DARE you call yourself citizens. When you mercilessly beat on those who are just like you.”

The screen showed a shot of the protestors racing around the Senate stairs. In the middle was a limp figure of Silv. An armored soldier was hunched over her. His face was smeared with blood. Desperation in his face. Fox realized, that was him. 

Silv’s voice continued as the picture stood, mocking it’s viewers, “You say you hate war, but you attack those trying to protect you.”

Another picture of the wreckage and havoc showed on the screen, and finally, Silv’s bruised and battered face came into view, “How dare you call yourselves ‘peacekeepers’ when you hurt those who have nothing against you. Who cannot defend the hate you spit on them.”

Fox ran. He swept through the building. First, floor L, then wing 3. Up ahead he saw a room swarmed with reporters. Two nurses were trying to get in and push the reporters out, but to no avail. Fox straightened. He put his bucket on and walked sternly towards the reports. He snapped, “Official Senate business. Please leave the area.”

The reporters jumped at the sound of his voice. As they looked over and saw him, they parted like water. Fox walked into the room and focused on the rolling camera, “Shut that down. OUT. All of you.”

The reporters quickly scrambled out and down the hall. He motioned for the nurses to come in. Silv flustered, “What was that for? The public needs to know how horrible they-”

Fox smiled. He had to replace his stained armor, and hadn’t had the chance to paint his new one. He took off his helmet. She stopped. Tears swelled into her eyes, “OH Fox!”

He smiled and sat beside her. She sniffed, “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Fox nodded, “I’m fine.”

He looked at the nurses, “Is she alright.”

Silv answered, “I’m alright.”

The nurse sighed, “She is a bit battered. A minor concussion. But nothing else.”

Fox released his breath. He turned back to Silv and started, “What were you-?”

Silv spoke sternly, “It was the right thing to do. I’ve seen the reports. Those riots have been getting worse. Something drastic needed to happen. They can’t just beat on you! You should have the right to defend yourself. I don’t see how the council can- are you crying?”

A single tear slid down his cheek. Silv’s determination flipped into concern. He quickly wiped it away. Just having that support. Any support from outside his brothers, was a strange new thing. They were expendable. Fox knew that. He had heard this brother's stories about the Jedi. Those that always had their back, knew their names. Fox had never really seen that for himself.  But now he saw, in this one woman, hope for the galaxy. That someday the world would be better, and he smiled.

If you liked it, do me a solid and reblog!

[imagine-the-fanfics]

Honesty -- Part 2

Characters: Goro Majima x Reader X Daigo Dojima

Warnings: Abuse (verbal), cheating, softcore (brief), toxic relationship traits

Inspiration: Prompt – “I stay awake constantly. I’m always awake. Always. I’m scared that if I fall asleep, I’ll see your face, and I can’t do it. I just can’t.”; “i hate u, i love u (feat. Olivia o’Brien)” by gnash; “Invincible” by Crossfade; “Everything Stays (feat. Olivia Olson)” by Adventure Time

A/n: I don’t know what to add. I feel like I’m not having a lot to add to fics lately.

Months had passed since you saw Majima last. His existence haunted yours; every so often he would randomly pop into your mind, memories the two of you shared playing back like a movie. It was at its worst when you dreamt about him, only to wake up next to Daigo.

The relationship was toxic, that was undeniable. There was nothing good that came from it, and it was better that it die and be left behind.

The love was consuming, that, too, was undeniable. You had never loved anyone as fiercely as you loved him, and you fully believed you would never feel that deep of a love for anyone else.

When your relationship with Daigo went public, your life changed. Majima was forced back into your life, and it was painful. Every time you saw him was a stab to your gut. He always had this blank look in his eyes, the fire that had drawn you in was barely an ember now. He was still the Mad Dog, but the mask slipped more than it stuck these days. You’d heard that he was seen around town spending his money on women and whiskey; rarely spending more than a handful of nights with each of them, and those nights were never in succession.

A year passed since your break up with Majima, and your engagement was formally announced.

Your engagement party was the worst of those moments. Daigo had picked your dress, just like how he picked everything in your life now. Once you agreed to marry him, he had started being more controlling. If you went anywhere, you went with guards. If you wanted to go shopping for clothes, Daigo had final say over what you bought. If you went out to eat, he ordered for you. You knew walking into this that you would likely end up in a loveless marriage, but you hadn’t expected to end up feeling like property and absolutely fucking miserable.

So there you stood, in a black halter dress with a cut out window creating a pseudo sweetheart neckline. The halter straps emerged from the side of your dress, connecting where your collarbones met, leaving you and your cleavage very exposed. You overheard someone joke about how your breasts looked ready to jump out and join the party, but Daigo paid it no mind. The bodice was so tight you had a hard time breathing, but skirt was a floor-length A-line with a slit in the side starting at your hip. Diamonds decorated your neck, your wrists, your ears, your feet— the wealth of your fiancé displayed on you like an intricate mannequin.

You stood next to your fiancé, smiling and thanking people as they gave the two of you wishes of congratulations. Some of them had gifts, but they were directed to a table where they could be placed. So many people came and went that the endless parade blurred into one single stream. So many new faces to memorize, even more returning faces you scrambled to remember. There were easily a thousand people here, if not more. You were here to greet all of them.

The Majima’s depression was written in his blank stare, the bags under his eyes, the smell of whiskey on his breath. He’d watched you from afar, greeting everyone while at Daigo’s side and it made him sick. He slammed the rest of his whiskey before getting in line.

Your heart broke when Majima came to offer his congratulations. He was clearly well on his way to being drunk, and he looked like he was completely dead inside. Still, you kept the façade of a happy bride-to-be, smiling and thanking him. You could feel Daigo’s eyes on you, watching for any hint of an emotional connection to Majima, and you were more than happy to deny it. Still, you couldn’t help but watch as Majima left.

After the greeting was dinner. You and Majima couldn’t help but make eye contact, and each time it became harder and harder to keep the façade together. You managed to choke down the food you’d been served with a smile on your face. Once dinner was finished, you asked Daigo for permission to step outside. He waved you away and you stepped out onto the balcony, looking at the bustling street below.

You hadn’t expected to see Majima already standing there, leaning against the railing with a cigarette in his fingers. You watched him take a drag, and you kept watching him after. There was so much inside you that you wanted to say, that you had to say. Instead, you turned to go inside. The peace of mind you had come here to find was nonexistent.

“You don’t have to leave,” Majima said before you could take another step. You turned your head and torso to look at him. “Not on my account at least. You’re Dojima’s woman now, you don’t have to worry about me trying anything.” The fake accent you had loved was gone.

You looked inside for a moment and then towards the railing of the balcony, continuing your path to the railing. You leaned against it next to Majima.

“Mind sharing?” You asked, looking at his cigarette.

“Since when do you smoke?” Majima asked with a raised eyebrow but a tone of concern. Still, he obliged, handing you a cigarette, letting you put it to your lips before lighting it. He watched you and frowned. “You used to get on my ass about my smoking. Sayin’ I was going to die of cancer. Now you’re smoking?”

“Reminds me of you,” you admitted absentmindedly. When you realized what you said you coughed. You saw Majima staring at you with a slack jaw. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Don’t want your fiancé to hear, after all,” Majima said with disgust.

“Tell me about it,” you grumbled. “I can’t even pick out my damn clothes anymore.”

“I was wondering about that dress,” Majima said, looking at you. “Doesn’t seem like you at all.”

“Because it’s not, but Daigo wanted to show off his trophy, I guess.” You took a drag from your cigarette, exhaling out just a slice of your frustration. “I don’t hate him, but I’m getting there. I resent him. Looking at him makes me sick. And fucking him? I—” You looked at Majima and saw the pained grimace on his face as he returned his gaze to the street below. “Sorry.”

Silence settled over you as the two of you stood there in silence.

“I stay awake constantly,” Majima admitted. “I’m always awake. Always. I’m scared that if I fall asleep, I’ll see your face, and I can’t do it. I just can’t, Y/n.” He took a drag, a tear rolling down his cheek as he regained his composure. “Watching my boss dangle you in front of me like a toy I can’t have pisses me off. You’re not a toy. I know I treated you like shit, but you’re a human being; you’re not a doll to dress up and show off to your friends.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you said nothing. Another drag, another exhale. Silence settles in again. The two of you listen in to the traffic below.

“You haunt me,” you admitted quietly. “It comes in waves. Sometimes it’s just a spec of a memory; sometimes it’s all-consuming.” You flicked your ash and let it fall from the balcony to the world below. “I’ll dream of you and wake up next to Daigo and… It’s devastating. I see you everywhere, in everything. Daigo put on a movie with zombies and I couldn’t help but wonder if you’d like this one. I see a couple fighting on the street and I get nostalgic. Nostalgic, can you fucking believe that?” Another drag. “You can’t sleep, but I can’t seem to exist.”

More silence. You finished your cigarette, putting it out on the railing and flicking it out onto the street below before leaving Majima on the balcony to be alone with his thoughts.

It wasn’t long after that that the dancing started. Majima stared at you as you danced with Daigo and others, watching you with a mix of devastation, love, and anger. He didn’t say anything – he wasn’t dumb enough to do that – but he sipped his whiskey. The whiskey didn’t dull the edge of the pain he was feeling. The whiskey did nothing but make those emotions stronger. Seeing him broke your heart one piece at a time, and when it was completely shattered into dust you excused yourself, leaving the rented ballroom and sobbed in the hall. Thank God that you could afford the best setting spray for your makeup.

Seconds after you started crying Majima was taking your hand and leading you to an elevator. “No one can see you cry or the façade is off and Dojima is made a fool.” Thankfully, it didn’t appear anyone had seen you leave. When you were on the elevator, he hit the button for his room’s floor. The door closed and the elevator started to rise. “I’m taking you to my room. You can cry in peace there, but if you take too long people are going to question where you are.”

You watched him, but he just stared at the buttons. Your crying stopped, he looked at you, and the next thing you knew he had against the wall of the elevator, his lips on yours. You put one hand on his chest, the other resting on his neck as the two kissed like it was oxygen after the two of you had nearly drowned in the sorrow of the other’s absence. You didn’t care when he slid your skirt to the side, one hand against the flesh of your hip, the other tangled up in your hair as he slid a leg between your legs. It gave you something to rub against, and you rocked your hips on his thigh, the sweet friction making you 

The elevator was still going. You had no idea how long you had left in this moment, but you didn’t care. This was much needed bliss. Toxic as the two of you were for each other, the love you shared for each other would never die, no matter how desperate the two of you were to leave it in the past.

The elevator dinged; the door opened up. Majima immediately backed off at the sound, running a gloved finger against his bottom lip. Your skirt fell to its intended place and you were left panting. He took your hand in his and led you to his room, taking his hand back as he flipped his wallet open, removing his keycard to open the door. The whole process was second, but it felt like eternity.

[halequeenjas]

What the Howl || Harsh & Jasmine

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @notsoharsh & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Jasmine hears through the grapevine that Harsh is a hunter. She hires him to take out the Cù-sìth occupying the backyard of one of her listings. CONTENT: Gun use

Living in White Crest, having contacts with a wide variety of skill sets was a must. Jasmine knew as much. While she could kick a ghost out of just about anywhere, monsters were decidedly not her thing. She was still super human even with her abilities. There was no accelerated healing or added strength to make her more likely to survive an encounter with a beast. When she saw this wolf-like animal roaming around the yard of the estate she was trying to sell, she knew she’d have to get rid of it quickly. She couldn’t even safely show the property with it there. Thankfully, this Harsh guy seemed confident he could take care of the beast and she’d pay him generously for it. All the doors were secure as she waited for his arrival. Once she heard a knock on the door, she jumped up a bit startled by the sound, and glanced out the peephole. Thankfully, it was just her hunter and not the monster getting smart on her. She opened the door and ushered him in. “Hey,” she greeted, “I appreciate you coming out and helping with this problem. I may be good at many things, but beasts aren’t one of them.”

Someday Harsh would learn to not do the first stupid thing that popped into his head. Today probably wasn’t going to be that day. On the one hand, the more people thought he was a hunter, the less that might show up at his door with stakes in hand. But on the other, even hours of googling had only given him the slightest idea of what he was about to go up against. Green Dog hadn’t gotten him very far, but it hadn’t shown up on any weird werewolf hunting forums, which were mostly just trolls and conspiracy nuts anyway. So maybe it was something else. He had stocked up on silver bullets anyway and grabbed a few wicked looking knives for good measure. Hunters always had tons of those. The fact that the cashier hadn’t looked at him twice told him a lot about White Crest that he probably should’ve already known. The property was for sale. Huh. Harsh grinned even as he half waited for the invisible push to keep him from crossing the threshold. It didn’t come. That was good to know. “Yeah, no problem. I like doing what I can. Now, fair warning, I wasn’t able to find much on your wolf, but I think what I’ve got should cover most things. You’ll probably want to hang back, just in case things get rough.” 

Between the weapons packed on him and his build, Harsh definitely looked the part of hunter. Whether he was a good one had yet to be determined. Even so, Jasmine led him towards the back of the house where the expansive backyard was. Minus the creepy wolf, it was quite the setup with an outdoor bar and kitchen, lush foliage, and plenty of space to run around. It was a dream backyard that plenty of people would pay a pretty penny for, but she could not in good conscience sell it knowing it was unsafe. The fact he wasn’t able to find much on the wolf wasn’t promising, but at least he had that whole strength and dexterity thing going for him. At least, she hoped he did. Calling the police and animal control to collect a dead body was not high on her to do list. “You’ve got quite the arsenal there. I don’t think Mr. Wolfy over there will know what him… or her. I don’t really care I just want it gone.” She gave a firm nod and said, “You don’t have to tell me to hang back twice. I’ll keep an eye out from the balcony.” Odds were the wolf couldn’t fly or leap quite that high. It still felt odd sending someone into danger, so she added, “Shout if you need anything.”  

“Got it.” Hopefully one of these things would do the trick. Harsh pulled the gun from his bag, loading it up with silver bullets as he headed toward the back door. Maybe just one shot would be enough. Whatever this thing was, maybe it wouldn’t like silver. At least he wasn’t trembling when he gripped the door knob. So many years of faking, he always looked confident at the very least. That was probably good for a hunter. They probably never looked like they were about to go off to face certain death. He threw open the door. The monster… whatever it was, looked like it was just standing there. It was definitely green. And big. And wolfy. But not a werewolf. Harsh could tell that much at least. The beast looked at him with curious eyes. If he was more patient, maybe he could reason with it. Patience had never been one of Harsh’s virtues, so he lifted the gun and fired. Then the beast began to howl. 

Jasmine had shuffled up to the balcony to keep eyes on the situation. While she was sure what the hell she could possibly do if things went south, she still had an iron bar firmly in her hand anyway. Better safe than sorry they always said. She jumped slightly at the ringing sound of gunfire and let out a small gasp. Neither of which could be heard over the loud bang or the howling of Shrek the werewolf over here. Since when were monster wolves green anyway? So far, the situation still seemed to be under control so she watched from the balcony and hoped with everything in her that was where she could stay.  

It had probably been a few decades since Harsh had last fired a gun. Or that was at least the reason he was going to go with when he missed. His second shot was a little more on target, catching one of the beast’s legs. The creature let out a pained bark, far louder than any wolf had any right to be. Harsh winced, throwing his free hand up over one ear. Shit. This thing was seeming less and less like a werewolf. What the hell was he supposed to do? Maybe it would still die if he just shot it enough times. But the creature didn’t look like it was too interested in letting him. With an oddly silent snarl, it charged. Harsh swore under his breath as he leaped out of the way, firing again. A direct hit, the bullet biting into the beast’s chest. It staggered, letting out another ear splitting cry. But it didn’t go down. As Harsh watched with widening eyes, it looked like it was already shaking off the first hit. Shit. That was so not good for him. He cast a glance back to the house, Jasmine was still in there, maybe she could grab him something else. Catching sight of her, he gave her a slightly panicked look. “Uh, I don’t think it’s a werewolf--” was all he had time to say before the beast charged again. 

The loud bangs of gunshots left her ears ringing and the wolf relatively unbothered. Injured, yes, but now seemingly pissed off. Great. Jasmine was beginning to wonder if this guy had any idea what the hell he was doing. She didn’t even deal with real monsters and she could tell this big bad green wolf over here wasn’t a werewolf. It wasn’t even a full moon. Why would the assumption had been werewolf? This was decidedly not good, the wolf was charging Harsh and he kept shooting at it. Enough bullet wounds should be enough to kill it she hoped. Outside of the fact she was supposed to stay away from them, Jasmine knew little else about beasts. Her recreational reading was reserved for trashy romance novels and ghost-related research. “Uhm, duh,” she called out from the balcony wondering if he needed anything. She was not about to go down there and get charged by that thing. She already had a broken arm. The last thing she needed was claw marks ruining her near-flawless complexion. She threw her hands up over her ears again as it let out another deafening howl and she could feel her heart rate creeping up. Terror was evident on her face as she watched the scene play out before he. “Watch out,” she screamed. Her hands were shaking, but she needed to do something. The wolf was nearly on top of Harsh as she leaned over the railing of the balcony. For a moment, she was frozen in panic as the iron rod she had been holding fell out of her hand and onto the wolf seemingly distracting it from Harsh.

Shit shit shit. Why had he just gone straight for the silver bullets? This thing definitely wasn’t a werewolf. But it was still wolfy. And shouldn’t shooting something at least slow it down? Harsh cursed as he tried to throw himself out of the way, throwing up his hands. If the gun didn’t do it maybe he could punch the stupid thing to death. Hunters did that, right? But then the wolf stopped. The creature skidded to a halt, letting out a deafening yelp of pain. That was something. What did that? Harsh looked over frantically, watching as the creature shook, throwing a metal rod from its back. Huh. There wasn’t time to think. Harsh rushed forward, snatching the iron rod as it fell. “You don’t like this, huh?” He bashed the beast across the snout with the iron. Something crunched as it let out a piteous howl and staggered backward. Harsh found himself grinning as he straightened up. “Arlight, now we’re talking. You’re not all that wolfy, are you?” He twirled the rod in his hand. Iron… he was going to have to google that when he got home. But for now, there was a monster to put out of his misery. It was out of it, still shaking its head. Harsh readied himself, iron rod held tight as he whistled. “Hey, over here, greenie.” Blood was dripping from the creature’s mangled snout as it hissed, one claw dragging through the dirt before it charged. Maybe it was a little too showy, but wasn’t that what hunters were supposed to do? They acted like such bigshots, treated themselves like real life superheroes. And Harsh had never really been able to resist the urge to show off. So he rushed forward as the beast charged, dropping at the last second as the beast ran right over him. He rammed the rod up, right into the beast’s chest, driving it in as hard as he can. The beast let out one last, mournful howl before it went still. With a great shove, Harsh forced the creature off, staying where he was, taking a few unnecessary breaths. Had to make it look real. Managing a grin, he looked up to Jasmine, lifting a hand. “I think I got it.”

 Every howl left her heartbeat racing faster and faster until the iron rod fell onto the wolf causing it to yelp in pain. A new development that Jasmine hadn’t quite expected, but Harsh got his hands on the rod which would surely only help his fight. It appeared this thing also didn’t like iron. Was it a ghost wolf? No, Harsh wouldn’t have been able to seen it if it had in fact been spectral. Other creatures could have iron sensitivities too she supposed. That happened to be some dumb luck and she felt the terror melting away as she watched Harsh fight. Okay, this guy knew what he was doing. She held her breath as she watched the finally moments of their showdown. The bar collided with the wolf’s face. The way Harsh seemed to move quickly. She’d held in a gasp as the wolf charged him and he managed to move out of the way just in time to let it collide with an iron rod. The pitiful howl resonated in the yard and sent a chill down her spine, but it was over now. Once the relief set in, she was able to offer up a small round of applause. “Clearly, you know what you’re doing. Sorry for any doubt on my end.” She made her way back down to the first floor and let him back into the house. “That was intense… and impressive.” She gave him a smile as she got her checkbook out. “I don’t think I caught your last name before-- Who should I make the check out to?” 

“Hey, I don’t mind. I looked kind of stupid for a minute there,” Harsh said, with an easy laugh at himself. “I went at it with the wrong equipment. But hey, live and learn.” At least now he could deal with these things easily if he ever ran into another one. He still wasn’t quite sure what it was, but if iron did the trick, maybe it was a ghost or a fairy… or some third thing he had never even heard about. That was always a possibility. Even with how long he had been around, there was plenty to the supernatural world that he had never really experienced. And getting paid certainly didn’t hurt. “Harsh Mishra. And thanks. If I ever have any ghost issues come up, I’ll make sure to send them your way.”

“You said it, not me,” Jasmine joked as she fished her checkbook out of her purse. Not surprisingly he had been a good fighter, most hunters were. He was right about the equipment though. Still, for not knowing what hell kind of wolf it was, that had been relatively quick and easy. “Harsh Mishra,” she said more to herself as she filled out the check, “Please do, I’m kind of the best in town.” Or definitely. It felt more like a definitely considering the other exorcists she knew. She handed him his check and offered niceties as he made his way home. Or to hunt more monsters. She didn’t really know what hunters did with their free time, but she did know she’d have his number on speed dial. Just in case.

[naturaldisasterfanfiction]

31.

Placing Fenty in her crib in our bedroom, it’s easier for us that she is in the bedroom rather then travelling around to her room. I am honestly at a stage where I think this is all so unreal for us, I can’t believe that I am a mother to a beautiful girl, I am a mother. Something I gave up on a while ago, I thought it wouldn’t have ever happened for me and it did, I am married on top of that to the love of my life and I wouldn’t change that for the world. I am finally thinking of me and I love it, I am entering a new year being a mother and wife, it’s so surreal when just last year I was crying to Mel that I am lonely and I have nobody, it was the perfect mistake to us. Fenty is very on time with her feeding, like her night feed is on time, she will wake up and then play up a little and then just want to feed to then go to sleep, the girl can sleep. If anything she is not like Chris, she sleeps well, and I am thankful she does sleep and doesn’t cry all of the time. Dennis and my mother have parted ways for the New Year, they have gone home, so that leaves just Chris and I with our daughter, it’s been a weird feeling to feel. It’s quiet and I don’t think Chris is dealing well with it, things are settled. But I give him his space, since Dennis went two days ago, he spent the first day on my hip, I mean like he was following me and I tried to do things with him, but I fall asleep, I am tired. My body is still healing, the day after I couldn’t find him and he was alone for the most of it but he’s not sleeping either now, which that has started again. When Fenty was crying and I didn’t feel the bed move I knew he wasn’t in the bed. Chris doesn’t like silence; he doesn’t like to be in silence and then also he has so much going on in his mind. I have never asked him if he takes his medication, I totally don’t do that with him. I have so much on my mind, I know things are quiet, but it will get better for him, like the home will start to get busy when the team is back.

It’s so hard, it’s so fucking hard to know where Chris is in this house and it’s bugging me. I have to wait it out until he comes to me, I am going to have to put some sort of tag on him to locate him because I can’t find him. I stifled out a yawn, I am trying to watch Real housewives, but I am failing at this, I have my daughter swaddled up next to me as I laid out on the couch, I am falling asleep again. I jerked at the sound of my phone blaring out ringing “Jesus” grabbing my phone from the side, Tina is calling me on New Year’s Eve too, surprised she isn’t drunk somewhere “hello bitch” answering the call “I can’t wait to see you! I miss you so much. I wish we knew you would be pregnant, then we could have had one last drink blowout” I chuckled at Tina “miss me huh, well I am going to be a reserved woman now thank you. I am married and a mother, my daughter don’t need to see her mother’ ass hanging now” I missed Tina “I will give it a year but anyways, erm what is Chris doing?” she didn’t even call for me “honestly, I wish I knew, he is somewhere in this house. I should have got an apartment; I can’t locate him or have the energy to find him” I need to start actually figuring out his spots in this home “I didn’t really ask what is he doing but like what is he doing on Instagram?” I breathed out “I don’t know, I don’t look at that shit Tina. Please don’t tell me it’s stupid shit” I hope he isn’t being dumb “there is whole battle going on with him and Drake, Chris did start it by commenting on a post and it was a old picture of you and Drake, he said that you all think I am the bad guy when Drake wrote a diss song on Rihanna. Drake wish he had a black child; his child is albino. And now like it’s kicking off, Jen text me and I called you” what is he playing at “god, why. Oh my god, Jen knows so someone as personally contacted her because she doesn’t check for it, what is being said? I don’t need this shit” I am just so fucking annoyed now.

I am going to not snap on him, but I want to know why, leave fucking Drake alone “sorry I am back, so Chris started with the albino thing, he commented on that post of you and Drake, then the IG gossip blogs saw it. Then Drake responded back but he posted a picture of your matching tattoos and said it was a great night. Then Chris went on his page and commented saying you, wait a minute just getting it now. So yes he put, you are old news nigga, how you saved pictures of a woman that don’t want you. Then Drake commented back saying you seem unsecure, is there some issues at home which Chris went on a full blown rant on how he is going to beat Drake for posting that, the thing is Chris is looking like the bad guy in this even though he made some valid points. He quoted a line from the diss track, but Drake denied it now, he is making out that never happened, Chris is losing his mind. He is currently doing it now; Chris is going back and forth with him. Jen didn’t mention who contacted her. She just said that Robyn should have had him under control” shaking my head sighing out “I am not controlling him Tina; he is free to do what he likes. I would never control him, I don’t know what idea you all have got thinking I control Chris, that I need to put a gag on him because it is not that and never will be” I kind of snapped on Tina “Robyn, I didn’t say that. Jen said it, but I think someone else has mentioned it” that annoyed me “he is my husband, he is not a dog. I am not his carer either, yes Chris shouldn’t have started but he is defending himself now he is making him sound crazy. Tina, just tell Jen that I want to know who said control him, but anyways. I have an appointment to go too, talk soon” disconnecting the call.

Zeus laid his head on my foot, I was supposed to go and see to Chris, but he will find me. My stomach hurts a little “you are so hairy, Chris needs to sort that out” Zeus looks fed up, I would move him away, but he doesn’t seem happy and he is also on my couch “where is Chris Zeus, you know where he is?” I asked him, this dog knows what I am saying. I have an appointment in an hour so he better hurry up “I literally came into this room but didn’t see you, I went all the way upstairs” Chris walked around the couch “where have you been all day Chris!? Seriously, and all night” Chris sat down but at a distance “in the office area thing, next to the garage. I been spray painting it” my eyes widened “what!? You’re joking right?” he shook his head without a care, he is being serious “not this house Chris, I didn’t want you to do that. What if we don’t stay here forever then what!? Is that what you been doing all that time” he nodded his head and clasped his hands together “smoke a blunt, paint. Just do what I want, then repaint it” staring at Chris in annoyance “so you decided to make a mess in this home, I am not having this home like the shit in your house!” I spat “it’s not, it’s one place, nobody will see. What do you want me to do all day, stare at you?” getting up from the couch as Zeus jumped off “well you could tell me, just tell me you are doing that instead of just doing what you like” I hissed out sitting up “well I went out in the morning, got them and came back” I didn’t even know he did that “why wasn’t I told?” Chris laughed, he finds it funny, but I don’t “you were asleep, man. I didn’t come to argue, I know you got an appointment” Chris got back up from the couch “walk off, we still have so much to speak on. Go on” waving him off, I swear to god.

Chris decided to come into the bedroom, I mean he has to eventually see me “have you stopped doing all that shit on Instagram?” zipping up the baby bag “I can’t take a shit without you knowing” I laughed shaking my head “what is wrong with you? You know what, just take the baby bag and go outside. We need to go; I don’t have the time to be just stood here hearing shit from you. Has the driver put the car seat in?” Chris shrugged, his lack of care disappeared, I mean where the fuck did it go “thank you Chris, really I mean it” picking up Fenty from the bed “the bag Chris” walking around the bed, I know Chris is struggling he probably feels like he has no freedom but it’s not that, he is fighting me on this now, I can tell he is. The fact he is going out without me knowing, I like to know what he does. I mean first of all I am his wife, and second of all he can easily go off the rails and end up taking drugs. I can’t let Chris slip, I can’t have this because then it will be I told you so, I know it’s not going to be plain sailing, I know for a fact it takes work and I am here for that but he needs to just try and help a long the way. Just tell me so I can make it right, try and make it better for him to be here. I understand he is struggling; I really do.

It’s been a while since I have been out of the house, but all I can think of is Chris and his behaviour “Robyn” looking way from the car window “mhmm, yeah?” I am not impressed of course “I just don’t feel like doing shit, my mood is low, and I am irritated. I just want to be zoned out and be alone, I am trying to break this mood by thinking of the good, but I can’t. Even now I just feel like I am not here, I feel like I am battling two parts of my mind, one part is wanting me to jump on a flight and go back to Cali and go back to normality and the other part is wanting to just cry and bang my head against a wall because my mind is racing. It’s really racing, and I can’t stop it, I need too” he spoke to me without being an ass “what made you feel that way Chris? I need you to tell me where I go wrong to help you” I asked “I just feel like I am not in control and in my mind I feel like it is a bad thing, it’s like mind games. I want you to take control but then there is another half where I want to be in control” shaking my head “you are in control Chris; I am only guiding you. Who said about this control shit!?” I have heard it a few times now “Ant messaged me, Jay Brown emailed him saying that he is not my manager no more, that Rihanna is. If I am to be married to you then I have to be under Roc Nation. Ant said it’s all games and control, she is controlling you and I said it isn’t and that plays on my mind” Jay Brown is a fucking liar “I didn’t even say that he mentioned about wanting you! That bastard” they want to play games “I am no good for you, like you love me, but you deserved a man to guide you” frowning at him “no, this is your mind talking. It’s not that Chris, too much is happening, and you can’t process it. I wanted a man which I have got, they are lying to you, I am not controlling you” they want Chris to seem like a little bitch and it’s not even that, they are playing on his mind “do you think that I am?” I have to ask Chris “no I don’t but shit just plays on my mind Robyn, it’s hard fighting your own demons on your own” reaching over touching his arm “you’re not on your own Chris, you got me. I am here for you, even if I am tired I am here for you. I see the change Chris, I do” this is what has been irritating Chris.

I filled out all of the paperwork while Chris sat with Fenty in the waiting room, I though there is no reason to just make them wait around while I did it. I had to fill out Chris’ part too which was funny to me because I knew everything, I had to even mention the Bipolar, but I did it while they waited in the room “is she awake?” Chris is getting her out of the car seat “yeah, she just woke up now” nodding my head “it’s ok, get out there” Chris has become a little shy with doing it now I am here “I am not judging you Chris. I want you to be comfortable” too late now, Chris is not doing it “why did you do that? It’s ok you know, I am not judging you” Chris is so deflated about things, I hate that for him. Reaching into the car seat “my little angel is awake, awww” kissing her little cheek before resting her over my shoulder, Chris placed the blanket over her “when we get back home we will talk, because you caused some shit on Instagram too” lightly rubbing Fenty’ back “they tagged me in some shit Robyn, the caption stated that you loved him and that I don’t deserve you. I am sick of seeing that fucking shit so I said it, they playing in my face I hate it” rolling my eyes.

[bittersweetmelxdy]

hi! loving your work. pls can I request a victor angst where MC thinks he hates her because she doesn’t understand his mean personality so she distances herself but he notices and goes after her

Title: I like your soul when it’s shirtlessPairing: Victor x MCNotes: Title taken from Take Off All Your Cool by Sabrina CarpenterWords: 2026

There were some days that production for a show took forever, whether it be a problem with the guests themselves, a series of bad takes, or even the weather halting production, there were definitely some shows you glad to be over with. This particular show however was not like that. You were doing a show in preparation for Loveland’s annual Skateboard tournament. So you had decided to interview the Home team and have them walk you through how the tournament worked and the preparation they make for it. An added bonus of the show was that the youngest rising star of the team, and the one your show was focused on in order to introduce a wider audience to the sport, was actually your cousin on your dad’s side of the family. You and he were particularly close, treating each other as siblings rather than cousins, and you were glad his talent was going to be recognised by a wide variety of viewers. You were down to the final days of shooting when you received an unannounced guest.

“Victor, what are you doing here?” you had spluttered out confused at his presence.

He and Goldman looked extremely out of place in their sharp suits compared to everyone else’s casual attire. You had told the staff to dress casually so that you wouldn’t look out of place during shooting, and looking at how strange formal wear was on set you were glad you had made the right decision.

“I came to see how the production was coming along.” He said nonchantly.

“Couldn’t you just wait for the final cut?”

“Then how would I know you know how to do your job properly?”

At his haughty attitude you huffed angrily and stormed off to the refreshments table before you said something you would come to regret. Whilst there your cousin was leaning against the table and handed you an opened bottle of water before opening one for himself.

“So who’s the guy in the suit.” He said casually, noticing your temper.

“Victor, he’s the CEO of LFG.” You spat.

“Wait the guy who keeps threatening to take away your investment?”

“One and the same.”

“Well for someone you say hates you, he does stare at you a lot.”

You choked on your water.

“Cody he does not stare at me.” You said between choked breaths.

Cody shrugged and gestured at Victor who quickly averted his gaze from the two of you.

“Think what you want, but he does stare pretty hard at you so he’s probably crushing on you, although I doubt it with your violent personality.” He teased.

“Cody!” you yelled in disbelief and whacked him with your water bottle.

“See violent!” Cody laughed as you too bickered until it was time to resume shooting.

Victor was seething, he may have only just come to terms with his feelings for you, but in no way did he needed to be educated by a child about them. First of all he had no idea why he was even on set today. It was true, there was a lot resting on this programme, but if he was being honest he had just wanted to see you, you’d only come to LFG for meetings and left as soon as it was over. So he decided to just go to set to see how everything’s going, with an added bonus being seeing you. Yet somehow, whenever you would talk to him it always felt like he had no control over what he was saying. Yes your pout and angry expressions were adorable, but he’d been seeing that since the day you two met, and if he was honest he wanted you to smile at him how you smiled around everyone else, like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds and brightening everything it touched. He mused that he could chalk it up to years of being around people who were always after something from him, so it became easier to don a mask whilst in the company of others in order to protect himself. It had only aided him thus far, pushing everyone away, but now the one person he wanted to see through his mask was also being pushed away. He sighed, he had been coming out of the restroom when he was blocked by one of the guests leaning against the wall and had placed his leg on the opposite wall, effectively blocking his way. Victor had stopped and waited for the child to lower their leg when they spoke,

“I don’t know what your deal is being so rude to her.” He had said not looking at Victor.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Victor had replied.

“She’s like sister to me, so yeah it is my business that some jerk is bothering her.” The child lowered his leg and turned to face Victor, making direct eye contact with him.

“Jerk?” Victor laughed mockingly “Listen kid, how I treat my employees has nothing to do with you.” He had then walked past them when the kids next statement stopped him in his tracks.

“You’re right, how you treat your employees is none of my business, but just saying from someone who’s known her all her life, if you do love her, you’re only causing her to hate you.” The child had then walked into the restroom, leaving Victor to seethe over his statement.

‘Was he more transparent than he realised when it comes to you?’

Somehow ever since Victor and Goldman had arrived, shooting was getting harder and harder. Problems you hadn’t encountered before suddenly just appeared. A lens broke during filming and you had to halt production whilst you sent someone to get a replacement, the ring light overheated and you had to wait for it to cool down, and people suddenly had a million and one questions to ask you. You were usually very on top of things during production but you could feel the panic clawing it’s way up your throat. You took a few deep breaths to calm your nerves and push the panic down before returning to set.

“Boss.” At least ten voices of your team called at the sight of you.

All their voices and questions blended into one cacophony of noise and you couldn’t take it anymore. You crouched on the floor balancing on the balls of your feet, and tried to get your breathing under control. Your head was pulsing with every heartbeat and it was only getting quicker and quicker, and louder and louder.

“Give her some space, she’s having a panic attack.” You could barely hear Cody’s voice over the pounding in your head. Your team knowing that sometimes you had them when overwhelmed immediately stepped back to give you the space you needed.

Tears sprang to your eyes and you forcibly tried to suppress them, swallowing them down in shallow breaths when a baritone voice cut through the noise completely.

“A more capable producer would been able to handle this.”

Your blood ran cold, then white hot, you stood up and forgot about the consequences of speaking out of anger, as you looked at Victor tears in your eyes and flushed in anger.

“How dare you! Everything was going just fine until you showed up and started insulting me Victor. If that’s all you know how to do, then why don’t you just leave?” you yelled, and then turned and walked out of the room muttering a quick “roof” at Cody before slamming the door behind you.

The slam of the door jolted Victor, and he felt oddly cold at your leaving. As if this time you weren’t going to come back on his direction again. The child who had confronted with outside the bathroom, rounded on him with a glare full of fire and he could admit he’d never been scared of a child, but he was then.

“Seriously is your head made of rock! Did nothing I said get through to you!” Cody yelled at Victor, fist clenched by his sides as if refraining them from using them.

“Listen I didn’t-“

“Save it I’m not the one you should explain yourself to.” Cody spat at him.

Victor sighed in defeat, “I don’t think she’d want to see me now.” His voice was quieter than usual reflected his inner turmoil.

Cody sighed, “I should really hit you, but she’d be mad at me. She’s on the rooftop, don’t let me regret telling you.”

Victor didn’t wait another moment, he ran from the room and waited for the elevator to slowly crawl its way down the various floors. Bouncing his leg, Victor realised that it would take too long and ran up the stairs until he reached the roof door. He panted for a minute trying to catch his breath before pushing the door open. You jumped at the sound of the door opening, and spun seeing Victor, and Victor’s heart almost broke at seeing the fear in your expression and the tears streaming down your face.

“Listen I just want to talk.” Victor said gently, taking tentative steps forwards, as if you were a deer he didn’t want to scare off.

You scoffed, “Haven’t you said enough.”

“I think I’ve said a whole load of words that have no meaning.” He mused as he joined you by the roof railing.

“I thought you were someone who didn’t “waste words unnecessarily”” you said, voice devoid of emotion, adding air quotes.

“So you do listen to what I tell you.”

“Isn’t that what got us here in the first place.”

Victor winced at the flat nature of your tone, he had thought that of he attempted to tease you would rise to the bait, but you hadn’t. Right now, Victor would rather you were screaming, crying, yelling even, anything was better than your cold emotionless tone.

“I didn’t-“

“Victor stop.” You interrupted, your voice wavering due to the onslaught of tears, “You made it perfectly clear time and time again how weak I am in your eyes, for once… Just. Stop.”

You then turned to leave the rooftop, your sanctuary having been invaded by the very person you were running from.

“I never called you weak.” Victor’s quiet voice interrupted your stride.

You spun around quickly, “What? Victor don’t lie to me. Not now.” Your voice wavered.

“I never called you weak, not once. I can call you a million things but never weak.” Victor walked determinedly towards you.

“Maybe not weak, but you always call me an idiot, so what am I supposed to think.”

“You are an idiot.” Victor stressed, and at your scoff he grabbed your forearms “My Idiot, I’m right here, just rely on me if you have problems, you don’t have to be strong on your own.”

“Don’t Victor.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t get my hopes up thinking you mean something more.” You pulled your arms from his grasp.

But Victor wasn’t going to let you go that easily, he grabbed your hands and pulled you back, so you tumbled into his chest your intertwined hands between each other.

“You are such a dummy.”

Victor leaned in and muffled any protest you could have given to that statement with a solid kiss on your lips. To you it felt like heavy rain after a month of drought, and to him it felt like time had stopped even though he wasn’t using his Evol. Pulling back slowly you both paused to catch your breath, and Victor’s eyes softened at the sight of your closed eyes and flushed face before your big bright eyes fluttered open to look at him with nothing but affection. Victor let go of your hands and enclosed you in his embrace, with your head resting on his chest listening to his rapid heartbeat.

“Still think I don’t mean it?”

Victor laughed as your response was to shake your head against his chest as a ‘no’, as you cried in relief. Victor pressed a few kisses to the top of your hair and rocked you until you calmed down, with the stars your only witnesses of both of your confessions.

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 18

~*~Emma~*~

 Sebastian pressing himself against me on the deck was the last straw.

 So many hugs and so much touching. I shouldn't ignore the conversations and joking around because they were fantastic. The expressions on his face tell half of his stories and make up a good part of conversations. Watching him remember the beach in Romania was beautiful. I don't think he shares much of that time, and I'm humbled that he shared with me. The book conversation turned nature of relationships was scary. Telling someone you've barely started dating (and not kissed) your thoughts on love and soulmates is risky. Quick way to find out if your completely incompatible or scare them away. The talking bits led to more touching. When I ran my hand over his back, I noticed him twitch when I trailed off almost around to his stomach. It was just a little twitch and I wanted to see if I could find it again. Hanging pictures was a fucking free for all. He'd caress my fingers when taking a nail and when he took the hammer or level. He was purposeful in laying his hand over mine and sliding down to the item. I wasn't innocent in this game. There was no reason to stand so close to him except to tempt him and myself. I like looking at him and being close enough to feel his warmth. I'd touch his arm or back to guide him bumping into me. Did I say guide? I meant to say keep him from bumping into me unsuccessfully. He was making such an effort. I couldn’t let him fail. The best part was neither of us were hiding our sneaky touches. We’d smile, look surprised, maybe apologize, and definitely do it over and over.

When we separated and his mom and went downstairs, I noticed the sun was setting. I always go outside to watch the sunset unless there's a reason I can't. It is the perfect end to the day. A perfect time to stop and be present. Magic happens at sunset.

 I checked if Georgeta minded if I went on the deck. She thought it was a good idea and thanked me for all the help. I rested against the railing and watched the scene progressing in front of me.

 Sebastian has known where I was all day. He's protective. He didn't want me to feel uncomfortable. I knew it was just a matter of time before he joined me on the deck. I heard him walking up behind me. Felt him like a wall against my back and the slow slide down my arms to join our hands.

 When he said I was beautiful my heart skipped a beat. The look on his face was like he adored me. I wasn't having this spoiled by an awkward moment so I turned in his arms and held on to him. Sebastian followed suit, holding me close. I’m pretty tall and in shape. He's taller and bigger, which makes me feel unusually petite. I like the way he folds around me, his edges overlapping mine.

Asking him if I was reading things wrong seemed to fit in here. Why hadn't we kissed? I knew I ran a risk of blowing things up, but I didn't think so. His fingers playing in my hair and his voice when he said I wasn’t reading this wrong may not have given me a reason, but I knew we were going to be fine.

The way he closed his eyes to gathered his thoughts was endearing and sexy. The words that followed made me glad I was touching him. I think emotional conversations go better with contact. Especially if anxiety is the emotion. Anxiety need something, I slid my hand up his t-shirt a little and used my thumb against his skin to ground him. Anxiety can make you feel like your drifting away, you can get lost in. I didn’t want him drifting away.

 What I got from the conversation was that acting kissing isn't real and he wanted to really kiss me. To feel everything that goes into a first kiss. He was struggling to find the perfect moment. There's an incredible sweetness and romance to him caring so much about a first kiss.

 I knew how to fix this for both us. I turned back to watch the sunset and wrapped his arms around me. I told him a true story of my love of sunsets. They're perfect and magic. So this moment is the perfect moment he's been looking for.

 Sebastian did recognize the moment and made use of it. His hand on my face was soft and firm in moving me where he wanted. I saw him move in and closed my eyes. The first touch of his lips was like firecrackers going off. Sweet kisses that add a touch of tongue make my knees weak. It’s cautious and tentative. Until it’s not.

 I'd had barely a taste of him when he pulled back. His blown pupils and the hazy look to his eyes was definitely not something I was reading wrong. The way he licked his lips as he palmed the back of my neck had me feeling like the only woman on the planet.

 Sebastian pulled me in for another kiss. He pulled at my lower lip and I felt the warm swipe of his tongue asking for more. My lips fell apart and I met him with teasing licks. I gripped his shoulders, trying to hold on to my patience, which made him lose his. His arm around my waist brought me tight against him while his tongue swept inside my mouth. I moved my hands down his chest and around his back.

 One of us made I noise, but I'm not sure who. Fuck, can he kiss. Control shifted back and forth. Like everything else with us the intensity would surge then retreat. Somehow the hand that was on my neck moved to the small of my back. Sebastian broke the kiss and nuzzled my neck, "You're right. Perfect time of night."

His breath against my skin caused a shiver. I thought I could feel him smile the split second before he started to leave wet kisses down the side of my neck. I gasped when he hit the tender spot along the curve from my neck to my shoulder. He pulled my hair away and kept up the gentle assault on my neck. He'd drift away, but always returned to the spot that made me shiver. The effects were cumulative and I was close to insane. I snaked my hand between us and up to thread my fingers into his hair. That didn’t help. His hair was soft with just enough wave to feel like it was trying to hold onto my fingers. Sebastian let his approval be known by murmuring, "mmm, yeah" and sucking on my earlobe.

 The next time he went for that spot I fisted his hair and pulled him away. "You're gonna drive me crazy."

He almost purred the words, "I think I'd like you crazy."

 My hand drifted over his butt, "I promise you would."

 A sexy smirk formed on his lips, "Not an impetus to keep me away."

 I tightened my grip in his hair and kissed him. Hard. "Not trying to keep you away."

"Good. It wouldn't work."

 No pretense now. We crashed together in a kiss that was all lips, teeth, and tongue. Sebastian growled deep in his chest when I sucked on his tongue. There were so many places I wanted that thing. He had skills best put to use other places. Sebastian planted his hand in the middle of my butt and hitched me up and closer. Yeah, he had plans too.

 I have no idea how long we stood on the deck making out. I have no idea why we didn't find a room somewhere and like Sebastian had said, "don't stop until we're naked and exhausted.” We were both up for it. Him more obviously. Impressively so.

Besides the occasional noticing of Sebastian's arousal, I was completely submerged in the moment. Taking in the smell, taste, sounds, sight, and touch of him.

 A voice from the house called out, "Dinner's ready, you two."

 Sebastian dropped his forehead to my shoulder and mumbled, "Seriously."

 I flipped his earlobe with my tongue and ran my hand over his ass, "Your mom is quite the cock blocker."

 He laughed and lifted me a little off my feet, "Definitely."

 I loved the crinkles at the sides of his eyes. He’d had a lot of laughter in his life. My intention was a quick kiss, but mysteriously that morphed into something longer. And deeper. I remembered dinner and pushed him away, "Dinner."

 Sebastian's arms fell away and he took my hand, "This would be a shitty time to get grounded."

 Dinner was delicious. I enjoyed trying new foods and everything tonight had a story. I'd felt welcomed and included all day, but more so with the sharing of food and memories. Everyone pitched in cleaning up the kitchen before heading into the family room.

 While our history with movie watching was short it wasn't very successful. If Sebastian fell asleep tonight I was going to poke him in the stomach. At least that was the plan if his parents were still in the room. If they went to bed all bets well off.

 We settled on a sci-fi movie about a woman joining an expedition to find her husband who disappeared into some X-files kind of area. Anthony opened a bottle of wine and I went with him to the kitchen to help with transport. Sebastian was seated on the love seat perpendicular to the TV. I had to walk around the love seat behind him to sit. He reached out and took one of the wine glasses from me. I ran my now free hand from shoulder to shoulder and he took my hand before it slid off, leading me around to sit next to him. I smiled with the sweetness of the gesture. He let go of my hand when I sat and put his arm around me. I leaned back against him, replicating last night, except tonight I laid my arm along his thigh. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his head drop onto the back of the couch.

 So fucking cute.

 I pulled at the thread hanging from the hole in his jeans. Pretty sure that didn't make him feel better. Better might not be the right word. I was still on a high from our make out session and figured he was too. The dinner interruption was a little frustrating. There's the word! Me playing with the hole in his jeans probably wasn't making him feel less frustrated. That's what I meant.

 Forty-five minutes and a couple of jump scares later things tuned freaky. Freaky and a little gross. I was curled up tight and damn close to being in Sebastian's lap. The rip in his jeans might have grown a little. Playing with that hole was like a fidget to a nervous child. I liked fidgeting with the hole, but touching his skin was more calming.

 From his side I imagine it felt like flirting. Which it was. Very intentional. Just like his hand going from holding onto my shoulder to where his thumb could stroke and make circles where I liked his kisses was obviously flirty. Nothing like teasing someone hidden in plain sight to see where it would go, who would get most worked up. Teasing is fun. Letting it turn into foreplay can be even better.

 I’m not certain if we're in teasing or foreplay territory. Could go either way. We're new to this with each other. We don't know the physical side of each other yet. I think the one being touched gets to decide intent: harmless teasing, flirty foreplay, or unwelcome over the line. For me, the way he's varying pattern, speed and pressure on a very sensitive spot is foreplay. It's most certainty welcomed and not even close to a line.

 At the end of the gross scene Georgeta turned off the TV. The couple stood up and she explained, "We're exhausted. Why don't you two go finish the movie in the pool house so it won't keep us up."

 Sebastian practically bounded off the love seat, "Sure, been a long day, you must be tired." We headed toward the door, "We'II take the last of the wine."

 Georgeta nodded with a smile, "I got the kitchen stocked and everything set. Should be very comfortable."

 He hugged her, "Thanks, mom. Good night and I love you."

 If I didn't already find him crazy attractive that would have done it. Since I did, it just made my chest ache.

 Sebastian grabbed the bottle of wine with his right hand and me with his left. At the door he realized he didn't have a hand to open it. He held the bottle out, "Take this for me, please."

 I could have opened the door, but Sebastian had the gentleman thing down. Besides if I opened this door, I'd also be opening the door to his space. Nope, don't want to do that. I liked the idea of him inviting me in. I think it's clear that I'm self-sufficient. Doesn't mean I don't like being taken care of. I liked being treated like a lady and I liked taking care of my friends and boyfriend. Cherishing another and treating them with respect is over looked too much. What some call old fashioned behaviors doesn’t equal old fashioned attitudes. Both can coexist. I felt a thrill when Sebastian opened the door and stood just inside, "Come on in."

 "Thank you." Going along with my chivalrous thoughts I gave him a little curtsy.

 He bowed, "You're most welcome, my lady." I think that was statement more than a courtesy.

 He let go of my hand as I walked by. The left end of the room was a small kitchen. Simple white cabinets and countertops. The small island had two stools. The right three quarters of the room was the family room. The TV was mounted on the long wall across from where we stood. The couch was in front of us and made a sort of hallway left to the kitchen and I assumed the door to the right led to a bedroom. The room was painted a light yellow and the furnishings were navy.

 I walked toward the kitchen with the wine. "This is a nice space. It feels like a beachy pool house. Simple and clean."

He nodded, "I don't have a problem with the guest room at the house. Mom wants me to have some private space." He followed me to the island, "Wine?"

 I nodded, "Sure. Can I use your bathroom?"

 He pointed to the only door. "Though the bedroom, door on the left. Ignore the clothes."

"Be right back." I ran a hand down his arm and stretched up for a quick kiss. As I walked away I looked over my shoulder to see him smiling as he watched me go.

 I left the bedroom door open as I walked to the far side. I'd told him to ignore the clothes in my bathroom because it doubles as a laundry room. His reasoning was that his clothes were strewn on the floor and unmade bed. He hadn't slept there last night, but I imagined the sheets still smelled of him. Part of me wanted to crawl in and wrap myself in him, but why do that when I could wrap myself in the real thing in the other room.

 Kissing him before I left the room set the stage. I can't begin to count the times a quick kiss would have made sense, but instead was an awkward moment. I replaced the awkward with the natural. Hopefully cluing him in that while a glass of wine with a movie was acceptable, adding kissing to the mix would multiply the fun.

 Speaking of fun. Sex. I'd put chance of intercourse at fifty percent. Brought to orgasm by the other a solid eighty-five. Dry humping, fingering, or a hand job producing the orgasm doesn’t necessarily lead to intercourse. For me, once oral sex is in play there's going to be intercourse. Oral is much more intimate. Intercourse does not provide the up-close sight, taste, and smell that oral does.

 I came out of the bedroom laughing. Sebastian was on the couch and looked over. "What’s so funny?"

I walked around the couch and sat a little further away so I could turn to talk to him, "I was thinking about chances. What would you have put the chances at of you coming up here and spending three days with a stranger?"

 "You're not a stranger. You’re something different. Something more." He leaned and kissed me. Not as quick as mine and not as innocent. His had tongue. "Um, chances of meeting woman, hanging out, and changing plans to be with her. Fifteen percent tops."

 I nodded, "That sounds fair.” I sang, "What are the chances that we'd end up dancing. Like two in a million, like once in a life. That I could have found you, put my arms around you. Like two in a million, like once in a life.”

 Sebastian smiled and shook his head, "I used to like Backstreet Boys. Went to one of AJ's solo shows. He got naked at the after party. Guess I need to give the new stuff a listen."

"You won't be sorry. Trust me."

"I do."

 I glanced to the Tv. "Do you want to finish the movie?"

 Sebastian stared straight ahead, with a slow smirk forming, before he looked over to me, "I don’t have a fucking clue what's going on in the movie."

 I opened my mouth in surprise, "You didn’t like it?"

 "Don't know," he took my hand in both of his and held them to his chest. "I was too distracted. I was watching your beautiful eyes and face and the expressions you were making. I wanted you looking at me. I could hear every gasp and sigh. I wanted to be making you make them. I could smell your perfume and wanted to wriggle in closer. I could feel your hip and leg flush to mine. Your arm on my leg and your nosey fingers playing in my pants. I want to play in your pants." He smiled widely and barely kept away the laughter. "And I can remember every kiss on the deck and I want to go back there. There's no way a movie could keep up with that."

 Quite the list he had. Not the answer I expect, but fuck me, if it wasn't the best answer ever. He wants to make me gasp and sigh, plus he wants to play in my pants. The smirk and near laughter in the middle was perfect. Fun. Chance of intercourse just went up to a solid ninety seven percent.

 "I understand that. You needed something to help focus you. Like, for example, playing with the hole in your jeans helped me attend. " He quirked an eyebrow, clearly doubting my words. Smart man. I started to smile, shrugged, and put my arm on the back of the couch where I could play in his hair. "I didn't say attend to the movie, Bastian."

 "You kissed me a few minutes ago."

 I bit my lower lip as I nodded my head, "I did."

 He glanced at my lips then back to my eyes. "I want you to do that again."

 I remembered the conversation on the deck, "We're alone. No one to interrupt. Think you'll be able to stop yourself?"

 I didn't wait for Sebastian's answer. My hand that had been playing in his hair brought him to meet me. No teasing. No soft chase kisses. I was hungry for him. My playing in his jeans may have been teasing him, but it was teasing me too. I was touching his skin and knew there was much much more skin I wanted to touch with more than my "nosey fingers."

 Our tongues met before our lips did. He got one thing he wanted. I sighed with the contact. Sebastian pulled the hand he held against his chest across his body. I followed my hand, swinging my leg over him, and settling on his lap. Not to close, but his hands on my hips guided me closer while I held onto his shoulders.

I felt the loss of contact when his hands went between my arms, pushing them off his shoulders. Holding my face with his hands he broke the kiss, and looked in my eyes for several seconds. I shifted a little on his lap. The way he looked at me causing an ache low in my body. He kissed me again. Slow, intense, and not nearly long enough.

 "That's about wanting you." Sebastian's thumb ran over my cheek. His touch was incredibly gentle and the desire in his eyes softened. “You say stop, I stop. Even if I’m inside you. You say stop. We stop." Raised eyebrows asked if I understood.

I nodded just enough for him to see.

 Sebastian returned the nod, licked his lips, and pressed them to mine softly. The gentle caress of his tongue asked for a permission I gladly gave. We started over slow and easy.

The slow down gave me time to process. I can't believe he was so intentional in making sure I understood he knew the meaning of stop, the meaning of no. I never thought for a second that his "I don't know if I can stop" was anything other than desire. I noticed his hands hadn't move from safe zones. I needed to make sure he knew I understood yes. I pulled away from his delicious mouth and waited for his eyes, pupils dilated where the blue was almost gone, to focus on me. "I want your hands on me. I want you to kiss me everywhere. I wanna feel you inside me." I kissed him, my tongue teasing the swell of his upper lip. "I want you."

 The left side of his mouth started to curl up and the corners of his eyes crinkled. So fucking sexy. He kissed me as his hands grab my ass and pull me tight against his growing erection.

[shadows-echoes]

Look me in my Eyes (Tell me Everything's not Fine)

Pairing: Aaron Warner x reader

Prompt: the hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes– they were drugged [...]. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse into the villain’s arms. (I’ve modified the prompt a tiny bit, but that’s the gist of it)

Word Count: 5.5k (self-control, who?)

Warnings: nothing outside of stuff mentioned in the prompt itself, and a swear word or two.

A/N: yeahh... You can blame @pandemoniumambassador for this fic. She’s a hype master and was, for some reason, willing to beta this?? So like,,, please go love her??? She’s awesome and puts up with a lot from me tbh.

-

The side of your fist hits the smooth white front of the wooden door so harshly that the skin over your bones threatens to bruise. Not that you notice. Or care.

You keep knocking— if you can call it that, that is. It’s more like pounding. Hammering. You’re hammering your fist against the door in the hope that it will open— in a desperate, sloppy, chaotic last-ditch hope that it will open right now.

“Leila!” You shout at the nearly invisible seam between the door and doorframe as if that would somehow help your voice carry— as if that would get you inside faster. “Leila, please! It’s me, Y/N.”

The words are loud. Too loud. Far, far too loud in your otherwise silent surroundings. They echo around your skull, ringing, bouncing around with an alarming intensity that’s dimming, dimming, dimming as your head fills up with fog.

The amped-up sedative in your bloodstream is affecting you more rapidly than you had initially thought— than you had wanted to believe.

Once you had slipped away from your make-shift guards and back into the real world, you ran. You ran at a flat-out sprint for as long as you could maintain, lungs bursting at the seams, heart thundering in your ears, deafening, and a taste of copper in the back of your mouth. You ran as fast as you possibly could with tar in your veins, lead in your limbs, and blood seeping from your skin and into your clothes. You ran, and this place, these few disgustingly, unnervingly pristine blocks that lay untouched by the havoc which now wrecked the world, was the first landmark you recognized.

You had intended on running right past these houses and into the more desolated wooded areas not far from here until you found a safe spot to hide away in until the drug wore off, but your legs had different ideas. Your feet led you here, to a house you had only been in a handful of times a lifetime ago, to a house you remember a kind woman once living in.

You don’t know if she will remember you.

Or if she still lives here.

Or, granted she is still here, if she’ll even take you in-

No.

No, she’s home. She still lives here. She has to.

The street is coated in darkness over your shoulder, illuminated only by the few-and-far-between stars peeking through the dark, cloudy sky. The porch you’re on is dark, too, but the faint light seeping through the cracks between the window curtains acts as a beacon—a spotlight broadcasting your location to the entire world, to anyone left in it who’s interested enough to look.

You’re not so foolish as to believe you lost them, they’re too good for that and you’re far too disoriented, but you would like to think you bought yourself a few minutes of time at the very least.

It’s hard to tell though.

The trees lining the front yards across the street are entirely blurry now, blending into their suburban background of white picket fences far too well for your liking.

The stinging sensation in your right forearm and left leg have practically numbed altogether, and the strain in your muscles and lungs may as well be gone too. It is all still there, you know that, but the feeling of it is becoming inaccessible to you.

You can’t smell anything either, not even the blood staining your clothes.

And your hearing…

You don’t know how much longer you have until you pass out. What little of a head-start you might have had is gone now though, you do know that much for sure.

“Please!” you try again, and it sounds slurred. “I didn’t have anywhere else to-”

The door is wrenched open so swiftly that in one second you’re staring at the increasingly blurry grains of wood, and in the next you’re staring at someone’s chin.

A part of you wants to ask Leila when and how she had grown half of a foot taller than you remembered her being, but by the time your brain catches up and your eyes see the face looking back at you, you’re already stumbling backwards.

No.

No,

No,

No,

No.

No.

Not him.

Shock courses through your veins and panic rifles through your brain, setting off every alarm bell still functioning. Confusion follows in its wake, and it all adds to the ugly mix of out-of-breath panting and the drugged tissues of your body which have turned to concrete. Immobile.

The subtle details of his expression are blurred and cast in a slight shadow due to the warm yellow light streaming past him from inside the house. From what you can tell though, Warner does not look happy. Not that you blame him though, considering that the last time you saw each other was when you shot him and then jumped out of a window after Juliette and Adam.

It had been quite the string of coincidences, really, that day.

Your hate for the Reestablishment and the fact that you never wanted to be a soldier in the first place led to two different outcomes. The first was a thick and colorful record detailing your insubordination and other “offenses” against your superiors which had been amassing since the very start of your training. 

The second was your plan to desert.

Unfortunately, planning to successfully run away from a military base was less easy than you had hoped. It took time to collect some provisions, find a way off base, find someplace to go after you left...

You did it though, meticulously put together a plan to desert which was as foolproof as it was ever going to get. Except, days before it was to all take place, your plan fell apart due to an event which would have led to increased security, harsher superiors, stricter orders, and even less freedom than you were already granted.

Though your carefully crafted hopes for your future were viciously ripped from you mere days before they could take place, a different opportunity had been thrown directly into your hands and you had been physically unable to let it slide through your fingers like your original plan.

That day you happened to be inside the main building when a code seven alarm went off. You heard shouting from one of the rooms, went to investigate, and lo and behold you found an open window with “escape” written all over it, perfect for you to climb through and into freedom. 

The only trouble was that between you and it stood three other people.

Juliette.

Adam.

And Warner.

You read the scene you walked in on quickly enough—it wasn't difficult considering the weapon Warner had been aiming at the other two, the two with interlocked hands and an open window at their backs.

The rest was history—a blur of actions and reactions you hardly had time to think through or decipher.

You stopped desperately seeking a way out of the life of a soldier you had been forced into—stopped looking for a chance to leave and an exit through which to run; you found one, and you were leaving.

A hand that wasn't your own had aimed your gun at the back of Warner’s head while a voice not dissimilar to yours told an incredulous Adam to grab Warner’s weapon. Keeping Warner in your sight, you then backed towards the window with Juliette and Adam at behind you.

Warner had not been particularly pleased. In fact, he mentioned some rather violent consequences and, when you failed back down, he lunged for your gun.

You pulled the trigger.

The few people currently looking for you might be bad, but this… Him… Warner… This might be worse. This is out of the hands of pissed off, blood-hungry citizens, and into the hands of the ruthless Chief Commander and Regent of Sector Forty-Five.

The one you shot as you looked him in the eyes.

Run.

Run, your mind screams at you.

Run as fast as you can while you can and don’t look back until you’re dead, otherwise you will be.

But you can’t run.

The floor shackles itself your feet, locking you in place even as the porch starts swaying before your eyes.

You think you manage to take a single stumbling step backwards. You assume you must have, at least, for the cold, smooth railing of the porch materializes beneath your hand and keeps you upright— keeps you standing as a tide of vertigo brushes over you.

Another few steps backwards and you would be down the stairs and on the front lawn. That’s the direction you want to go. Out. Away. Far away from the tall, imposing, deadly figure slowly stepping out of the doorway to approach you.

But your legs refuse to move even more insistently than they had a few moments ago, cooperating even less than they had. Traitors. They would get you killed.

Warner says your name.

He says something else too, something that sounds like a question. You can’t make it out—the sounds you hear don’t sound like words, but a chain of syllables strung together in an odd tone that’s even less decipherable than the sounds themselves.

Technically, you knew Warner could be here.

You knew, somewhere deep, deep down in the recesses of your mind that there was the tiniest, smallest, fraction of a possibility…

But surely, surely, you thought, your luck could not possibly be that bad.

You were wrong.

Darkness encroaches your vision, blurring and blocking out your surroundings one by one in a dull, unnervingly subtle wave.

The eyes looking back at you are the last things to fade out of focus.

They’re green eyes. So, so green.

Not the green of hatred or even the green of authority with that familiar fire always, always burning just below the surface.

But the green of a young boy you once knew in a lifetime before the world ended.

Green bleeds into black.

-

The first thing you notice when you wake is the pounding in your head— an amalgamation of the dull pain residing there and your own thudding heartbeat mixing together.

The next thing you notice is that you’re still alive, and –you open your eyes— unrestrained.

The fog which consumed your mind is gone now. You can acutely feel its absence in the clarity of your thoughts— in the clarity of your confusion, but… But tendrils of it still remain, a sheer film of murkiness lingering ever so slightly over your mind.

“Oh, good. You’re finally awake.”

Your head snaps towards the voice.

And your eyes…

Your eyes find Warner.

Warner.

Right.

Shit.

He sits at a small table in the corner of the room and holds your heavy, undoubtedly confused and startled gaze with ease. His left arm is in a sling. In his right hand he holds a data-pad which he sets down on the table without looking away from you. The device now sits a few inches away from the sleek black gun also on the table. Both remain within easy reach for him.

You swallow.

Your head spins as you sit up and as you try to understand why you’re not dead yet, why Warner hadn’t killed you immediately and on sight. Why, instead of bringing you back to the compound and throwing you in a cell, he brought you into what you think is the spare bedroom in Leila’s house and waited for you to wake up.

You know it must boil down to information, it always does, but still… It’s odd.

It’s a shame you’re unwilling to divulge anything serious though, anything at all that he might be interested in. A real shame, considering said information is probably all that’s kept you alive as of late.

Warner observes you in silence and with shrewd eyes, like he’s reading a book with a lot of unfamiliar jargon but reading through it all the same. The look puts you on edge, as it is likely supposed to do.

“I’m not going to tell you anything, you know.” It’s a hedged warning, a cautious one, but a warning all the same.

“But you haven’t even heard my questions yet,” Warner replies in a tone all too pleasant.

You shift atop the covers of the bed, more than thoroughly uncomfortable, and pain threads up your arm as you do.

Oddly enough, the three people who had grabbed you yesterday only hurt you enough subdue you. One of them had recognized you as a solider and they planned to interrogate you for information and—wow.

Wow. You really just traded one interrogation for another, didn’t you?

You really are that unlucky. Damn.

Regardless, after telling them that you had deserted they spent the next few hours arguing about what to do with you. One option they discussed involved taking you to the “others” –whoever they were— and the other few options they contemplated all ended rather bloodily for you.

Needless to say, you did not sit idly by while they so candidly discussed your apparently ever-shortening future. As luck –or your lack of it– would have it, however, you ran into one of them after slipping your restraints and she shot you up with a syringe half full of a goddamn sedative before you managed to get away from her. You want to blame it on said sedative for your clumsiness, but in your hurry to escape you jumped a fence rather poorly, managing to snag both your forearm and your calf on two different pieces of exposed, jagged metal.

Both injuries had bled a fair amount at the time. Now, they’re no longer bleeding. Now, white gauze spotted with dried blood peeks out at you through the blood-stained tears in your clothes.

You stare at the bandage on your forearm, blinking at it slowly as though it would answer your questions if you only looked long enough.

Why?

Why would he do that?

Why on Earth would he put in the two minutes of effort to help you –in any way, let alone medically– if he planned on killing you at some point anyway? Why-

You don’t understand this— what kind of game he’s playing.

And… And he’s not giving you any clues, even unintentionally.

You don’t have any superpowers, not like the ones you have heard rumours of, ones whispered about in hushed tones filled with awe or brushed off with a scowl, and you certainly don’t have any abilities like Juliette’s.

As it turns out, however, you do have exceptionally good hearing.

So that’s what you do now, in need of any kind of additional information available, you listen. You quiet the world inside your head, still the questions on your tongue, move past the noise of your own body, of Warner’s, of the idle sounds of shifting fabric and measured exhalations of breath, and you listen.

The sounds which greet you do little and less to placate your worries.

The house itself is alive.

Alive and humming with the sound of electricity buzzing in the rubber-wrapped wires behind the walls and the water flowing in the pipes beneath the floor under your feet, with the low thrum of the refrigerator in the kitchen downstairs and the roaring of the furnace in the basement tick, tick, ticking away the seconds until it turns off again.

The building is alive with the signs of life and inhabitation.

It’s also empty.

Not abandoned, empty.

Unoccupied.

Save for you and Warner.

“Where’s Leila?”

Out of all the questions dancing around your brain, you’re unsure why that one makes it past your lips.

You also have no clue what you had been thinking last night –for you assume it was last night given the early morning light streaming through the window a few feet from Warner— aside from the fact that you hadn’t been thinking. Sure, why not show up on a woman's doorstep, begging for help, despite the fact you hadn’t seen her in years and— oh, yeah, you shot her son less than a week ago.

Yeah. That was bound to go well.

Fuck.

“Not here,” Warner answers crisply. “Who were you running from last night?”

The question hangs in the air, suspended by silence.

There’s a high likelihood Warner already knows about the group who grabbed you for you assume he must get at least some reports about civil unrest, but on the off-chance he doesn’t…

The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?

Despite how they so plainly discussed different ways to pry information out of you and other things you would rather not think about, you’re hesitant to blow the whistle on them— not when they are one of two groups willing to speak out, to do something about the Reestablishment. Hell, you might have helped them had they not been so… rough.

Well, rough and hateful.

Apparently, they had heard rumours about the resistance— about Omega Point, about how it housed people with abilities which might help to take down the Reestablishment. They hadn’t been fans of that, even using some artfully constructed and colorful language to describe the “freaks” there too.

“Where are Juliette and Kent?”

With any luck? Far away from here.

At the time, you had thought that you were rather smart, that the one bonus of your surprise escape –as opposed to the one you had planned– was that Warner would be focussed on trying to find three missing people as opposed to just one. Both Adam and you needed to take care of some personal business –though neither of you asked or wanted to know what the other’s was– and you both thought your odds were better if you split up into two groups. Besides, they didn’t trust you and you didn’t particularly trust them– not with your life, anyway.

Though the three of you knew that Juliette would probably be Warner’s top priority, you were not overly worried about either her or, by extension, Adam. No matter how terrified she seemed or how… oddly kind the few words she had spoken to you were, she could, after all, kill someone with a single touch.

After going your separate ways a few days ago and a few quick pitstops on your end, you had been en route to… Well, you’re not entirely sure where. You’ve heard rumours– a lot of rumours about where Omega Point is supposedly located and you’ve narrowed it down to a general area. That’s where you had been going yesterday before you got jumped.

You’re not sure where Juliette and Adam had intended on going –it’s best that way– but you can only assume they had made it there safely if Warner still hasn’t found them.

“Is whatever happened to you happening to her?”

His voice is harsher now. Stern. It’s less like the pleasant tone he began this conversation with and more like the one he uses to command the entirety of Sector Forty-Five.

His patience must have run out.

“Why do you care?” you counter, snapping out the reply before you can stop yourself. Then… Then you see it. You see his fingers curling together, tightening, and a muscle in his jaw clenching. You know the response is not due to anger either, at least not entirely. So, for some reason you don’t want to think about, you end up relenting after a quiet sigh. “Not that I’m aware of.”

The answer seems to appease him, but only for a moment. Without missing a beat or even chewing over the only answer you’ve given him, he asks the one question you least expect.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

You gape. “What?”

Asking if you heard someone correctly has not really been an issue for you, not when you have the ability to hear the blood being pumped through a person’s veins and the grinding of their teeth, but… but that…

You had been mentally psyching yourself up for an interrogation– for roughly asked questions about the resistance and their numbers, about the extent of the dissent among his soldiers and troops, more about Adam and Juliette– especially about Juliette. Not-

“I was point-blank when you shot me in the shoulder,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to the now thundering rate of your heart and the rising emotions in your throat. “It would have been a clean shot, an easy kill. Yet you decided not to kill me. Why?”

“I missed.” The blatant lie thoughtlessly, stupidly, carelessly slips past your lips in a small voice that isn’t your own.

And Warner… Warner only smiles.

He smiles.

He smiles like your two meager words are best things he’s heard all month, like he’s suddenly enjoying this. Like talking about how easily you could have killed him but didn’t is amusing to him.

To make matters worse, it’s not a cruel smile of barbed wire and rusted nails. In fact, it’s almost… nice. It actually looks good on him. More than good, unfortunately. But it is wicked, a pleased display of a mind full of cutting knowledge locked behind an array of sharp white teeth and soft lips.

“The worst of my soldiers would have been incapable of missing a shot like that,” he says, “and I have seen you shoot, love. You have some of the best marks of all the soldiers within Sector Forty-Five. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you missed?”

The surety with which he speaks turns your blood into ice, makes it congeal and crystalize in your veins. It blooms enough apprehension and fear inside your chest that you can’t even correct him over the sobriquet he uses– though you’re sure your expression shows enough of your displeasure to make your feelings on it obvious.

You’ve seen more emotion in Warner in the last ten seconds than you have in the last ten years and you don’t know how to handle that- how to deal with the odd assortment of unorganized facts and small, peculiar details you’ve been handed.

The emotion contouring his features makes him look ten years younger too. It reminds you that Warner is, in fact, your age. 

You had become so acclimatized to his blank expression cross-referenced with the occasional scowl and sharp commands that you became convinced the kind boy you once knew was long dead— that Supreme Commander Anderson had slowly, torturously killed him over the years and replaced him with Warner.

Then, a few weeks ago, you saw a brief, momentary, flickering crack in his façade, there and gone again in a moment. It made you remember the little boy with pale green eyes who took you out of the very house you now sit in, away from the wrath of his father which your short temper would have surely evoked. You had disliked Warner then, in that moment and with your young, righteous heart from keeping you from yelling in all your rage at his obnoxious, horrible, insulting father.

It was only later that you had come to realize the boy’s actions for the unnecessary kindness that it was. Though you never figured out how he had known you were seconds away from talking back rather sharply to his father, you were glad he had. He might have just saved your life.

That hadn’t been the only time you had met that summer, for you had seen each other a handful of times, but it had been the first– and the notable.

Warner is calm. You know that with certainty because you can hear his heartbeat: strong, steady, regular. He’s not the slightest bit ruffled or stressed. You suppose having a gun at one’s side helps with that.

In lieu of an answer you can’t give and don’t know how to provide, you keep listening.

To him.

To the house.

To the yard beyond the barely open window.

To wind filtering through the leaves of nearby trees, carrying whispers of halved-sentences.

Of voices.

It’s not Warner’s voice, though Warner is saying something to you. You can hear him in the back of your head speaking clear, understandable words, but you’re not listening to him anymore.

No, you’re listening to the other voices, ones you recognize.

Angling your ear towards the window, you strain your hearing to its full extent, cursing whatever remnants of sedative still lingering in you for making this more difficult than it usually is.

A quick debate in sharp tones, that’s all you’re able to pick up.

Then a click.

A distinct click that is all too familiar, one that doesn’t need any explanation.

You know the sound that will soon follow it too.

“Get down.”

“Excuse me?”

You don’t repeat the softly spoken words, not that there’s time to reiterate anyway. A sleeve is already being dragged against the coarse shingles below it, flesh is readjusting– tightening over a piece of hard, military-grade plastic.

You’re up and across the room before you even realize you’re moving– before you know what you’re doing– before you recognize your hands pushing at Warner’s shoulders.

By the time the two of you hit the ground, he’s somehow already switched positions and has you pinned you to the floor, no doubt assuming you’re trying to attack him.

But you’re not trying to attack him. You’re not even trying to fight him.

A half second later, you hear the sound you had been expecting. It’s rather difficult not to though, the bullet fractures the window panes in an explosion of glass before embedding itself in the wall above your heads with a soft thump.

You can feel Warner freeze at the sound, the sudden rigidity of his muscles.

You press yourself into the floor as two more bullets are fired, wishing for all the world that you could slip between the cracks of wood and rematerialize on the floor below.

Warner shifts as well. Closer.

Between the screaming of your heart and the ringing in your ears, a fleeting thought crosses your mind that you’re being covered. That Warner is covering you. Then the thought is gone– as it should be. He’s just trying to get closer to the ground.

He turns his head slightly to the side, towards you, and you wait, half frozen as you hold the calculating eyes which bore into you.

This time, when he asks who is shooting, you have no qualms about telling him.

This time, you answer without hesitating.

Because this time it feels different.

It is different.

“Civilians,” you state. “Third-party; hate the resistance but hate the Reestablishment even more.”

“How did you know they were here? How do I know you’re not with them?”

The words have a funny pitch and sound as though you’re listening to them through a pool of water. You’ve come to expect that part, the temporary and partial loss of hearing after listening to something particularly loud, but it’s still disconcerting to experience—to live a life listening to the uproarious, never-ending, screaming cacophony of the world and then have it just… vanish.

Needless to say, you became quite good at reading lips within the first few weeks of living on the military base of Sector Forty-Five.

You scoff at the words you see, and half hear, his lips saying. Or maybe you laugh, you’re not too sure which. “Narcissistic much? They were after me, I think you just became a big bonus though.”

Friend or foe? Enemy or ally?

Truth or lie? Deception or misperception?

The questions storming through his eyes and over his hardening features are obvious.

Warner pushes himself higher off of the ground, off of you, and you don’t need the full extent of your hearing to know what a bad idea it is.

Your hand, of its own accord, latches onto his elbow as you hiss at him to wait.

But it’s too late.

The warning is unnecessary.

The gunshot which follows his slight movement is sufficient warning.

Warner ducks down again.

Idiot.

What was he thinking?

God, what were you thinking? Trying to warn him? Pushing him out of the way? Coming back to this house in the first place?

Your own thoughts and feelings are so disorganized that it’s hopeless to sort through them, but when Warner looks at you there is such a mix of surprise and confusion– suspicion and intrigue in his eyes that whatever traction you might have had over your own feelings is immediately lost.

“They’re shooting at both of us,” you state.

The reminder, whether for him or for you or for both, works.

A long moment passes– a moment in which the ringing still in your ears quiets enough for you to hear the hearts, yours and his, crackling like thunderstorms and the intentionally slow breaths being forced into and out of two sets of lungs to try and counteract the rapid beating.

Warner nods, a fractional dip of his chin.

He looks over his shoulder, his good one, at the now glassless window, then at the door half-way across the room, his eyes calculating angles and distances as they trace a path to escape.

You listen, extending your hearing as far as it will currently go, examining the spaces around you and the roof next door for any tell-tale signs of dangerous activity to be careful of.

When Warner’s gaze again meets your own, it is you who nods this time.

The two of you crawl as close to the door as you can without being seen, and another shot rings out as you dash across the remaining distance and into the hallway.

Warner had snagged the gun from the table before leaving the room and now holds it extended in front of him, keeping a watchful eye on both you and the rest of the house as you silently make your way downstairs.

You could tell him that the house is still empty, that this isn’t some kind of ambush, but you don’t. You could also tell him that the shooter and his friend scampered off of the roof they had been perching on after failing to shoot either of you, that they’re now out of your hearing range entirely, gone, but you don’t. It would only lead to too many questions and fewer chances of your own escape– something which you still have every intention of doing.

So when his wary and watchful attention habitually leaves you to scan the next room, it’s easier than you expect to trip him up and pry the gun from his hand.

You aim it at his chest.

“Well, this seems oddly reminiscent, doesn’t it, love?”

Outwardly, Warner is as calm as ever, his face a pleasant and blank mask. The mask is too tight, though, its edges plainly visible and showing the frustration underneath. You know he’s ready to risk a bullet and fight if need be, but he also does not look particularly surprised. He just looks… wry and nearly disappointed.

“I won’t go back to being a soldier,” you say, “and certainly not for the Reestablishment.”

You’re not sure if the words are a warning or an explanation, but either way he does not heed them.

Warner steps towards you.

A bullet pierces the floor in front of him in a miniature explosion of splinters. You wince at the sound and from the pain it causes, but it’s worth it. Warner stops advancing.

His expression is grim, eyes narrowing. “You won’t kill me.”

It’s a hard statement, nothing remotely close to a question, and you wonder how such conviction came to be. 

There were a handful of times you thought you would be able to kill Warner if given the chance, that you could stomach doing it given all of the horror he’s allowed, but then things changed. The boy you once knew made a reappearance, surfaced for a few heartbeats too long, and changed everything.

Shooting to impair him is one thing, but...

You swallow– swallow the self-doubt, the curiosity, the regret, the pain, the nostalgia, the rage, the despair– and hope that your actions today don’t royally screw up future events, that this day won’t haunt you for the rest of your life no matter how short that ends up being.

“You’re right,” you admit, “and please don’t make me regret that, Aaron.”

Warner stiffens at the name, at his name. He freezes as if he hadn’t heard it in years, as if you had summoned up an ancient ghost and just carved out his heart as a sacrifice.

He makes no move to stop you as you slowly back out of the room, never taking your eyes off him for fear of snapping him out of whatever daze of memories he’s found himself in.

You walk backwards out of the house.

Out of the yard.

Then you turn, running, sprinting as fast as feet will carry you all the way to Omega Point.

[ransomedbard]

Peacekeeper WIP 2

This is a WIP flashback chapter from the story that started here.

Rating: Teen

Category: Gen

Chapter Summary: Soon after the end of the Eve Wars, a still recovering Quatre returns to the place of his birth: the Winner family’s private home colony. But the death of his father has set in motion the long-simmering plots of his relatives to gain control of the family fortune, and the lengths that they will go to are unknown.

———

Age 15 - AC 196

Two months after the end of the Eve Wars

“I don’t like leaving you here.”

The admission caught Quatre off guard. Not the sentiment behind it - he himself had warned Trowa how difficult this trip to his family home would be - but the fact that Trowa had chosen to put it into words. It pleased him to see his friend continue to adapt to the end of the war by growing more expressive, and to watch him begin to temper that mindset of self-sacrifice that had carried him through years of fighting by becoming a bit more in touch with his own wants.

Case in point, he had wanted to accompany Quatre here, and Quatre had been only glad to have him, both as a friend and an outsider, someone who could give him a dose of sanity in this place that ran on its own strange and hidebound logic. He had told Trowa that he could stay as little or as long as he wished, and in the end it had been nearly three weeks before his friend had asked him to arrange a flight out. Quatre was quietly impressed that he’d lasted that long.

They had paused to say their farewells in a little park across the avenue from the spaceport. Quatre rested on a bench under the shade of a citrus tree, and Trowa stood a few feet away, his luggage at his feet. The turf and greenery surrounding them were so highly manicured as to almost appear artificial, and the overhead light simulated a summer day, bright enough to make them both squint.

Quatre gestured with his free hand, encompassing the well kept park and the quiet streets beyond. “You don’t like leaving me on the most secure colony in the L4 cluster?”

“No, I don’t like leaving you with your family.”

Quatre couldn’t help but laugh. Ever since the end of the war he’d been working his way back to here, the colony he had grown up on, and it had been like wading into a sandstorm every step of the way. The rumor that he had died in battle had been given great credence, bolstered by the fact he’d remained incommunicado during the last months of the conflict. His sudden reappearance posed a considerable problem for those who had thought they were finally rid of him. The ruling faction had closed ranks, and the silken facade of politeness that had met them on arrival had given way to posturing and manipulation, honeyed words laced through with arsenic. He didn’t blame Trowa for not understanding his motivations for carrying on in the face of that onslaught. It was not wealth or power that drew him here, but something he couldn’t quite yet explain to himself, let alone articulate to others.

Quatre dug the tip of his cane into the gravel path, creating a small imperfection in the level smoothness. “Yes. The prodigal son is not always welcomed home with open arms. But they’ll get used to it. I was the heir before.”

Trowa looked down at him, arms crossed. “You were a child then, and they had plenty of time ahead of them to figure out how to get what they wanted - and then you gave them the perfect opening when you left the fold on your own. After your father’s death, nothing stood in their way. And now after they have divvied up all the spoils, you’ve shown up again and thrown their plans into disarray — Quatre, what you’re doing is dangerous. The very rich are…” Trowa trailed off, and Quatre caught a brief flare of something from his mind, some feeling of disgust and panic.

“Are?” Quatre prompted.

Trowa frowned. “Amoral.”

“That’s a bit much for us to say, don’t you think?”

“No. We killed for a cause far higher than greed or ambition. I’ve seen how they look at you. You are an obstacle.”

Quatre fixed a little smile on his face and tried to sound reassuring. “Trowa, my relatives are not going to harm me. But you’re right that they’ll fight me for the company and the inheritance with every other trick that they can. This will be a battle of sorts, but it will be legal and emotional - not physical.”

Trowa didn’t look convinced. “Then what’s with all the bodyguards?”

It was true; on this private colony, an oasis of luxury in space where crime was seemingly non-existent, each Winner family member had their own retinue of bodyguards which followed them everywhere like a line of incongruous ducklings. The higher the standing in the family, the greater the entourage. As Zayeed’s son, Quatre knew the practice better than anyone else. He had rarely spent any time alone for the whole first decade of his life, as he ate, slept, and played under the watchful eye of numerous armed guards.

By making his return accompanied only by Trowa, he had defied convention, and put his opponents temporarily at ease. In truth, he wasn’t sure he would have been granted leave to dock if he had done otherwise - the optics of coming with a large retinue would have been a signal in itself, immediately alarming those who did not want him to resume his heirship.

But Trowa was closer to the truth than Quatre cared to admit. He was accustomed to his empathic power giving him occasional glances into the secret thoughts of others, so he was well aware many impulses were never acted upon. Even some of his greatest benefactors on Earth who had risked much by offering him shelter and support had contemplated trading him in to the Alliance. But here he caught tendrils of dark thoughts that were more detailed, more direct, more full of potential, like a match head waiting to be struck. A calculation of how quickly poison could be introduced into his meal before it was served. What words might lure him to an old, disused part of the colony on some false pretense. And more than once, a vision of his body tumbling rag doll-like from a height down to stain the gleaming streets below.

These were only fragments of thoughts, picked up randomly, and he had no idea if any of the people who had them truly contemplated doing him harm, or were only giving vent to their frustrations. But his discomfort was growing into fear. If he was going to stay here, he needed a security detail he could trust, and the sooner the better. The problem was pride - and money.

During the conflict he had roamed both Earth and space, a wayward son accepting the extensive kindness of others who shielded and armed both him and his comrades. While his father never truly cut him off, his disapproval meant Quatre could not always make those who aided him whole. He knew they helped him in spite of that - their support was given for his efforts to fight for an end to the oppressive regime - but he still considered himself to be greatly indebted to a number of people. While his intention had always been to repay them after the fighting was over, he was now effectively penniless; he had been legally expunged from his family’s accounts.

And thus he found himself in his present situation. He had come expecting resistance, but also that proving himself alive would force his relatives to recognize him and begin to restore his place in the family. He had miscalculated, badly. If he had accepted the status quo, and ceased pressing for his rightful inheritance, he had no doubt that his family would have given him ample sums - a payoff to quietly go away. But because he persisted he now had nothing but what they were willing to give him, a beggar in his own house.

Unwilling to leave, he had been too proud at first to go hat-in-hand to his old benefactors yet again, too ashamed to ask others to give up home and family and come work for him without recompense. He was confident he would be able to pay them all back when he regained access to his legacy, but how long would that take? He was beginning to realize that his family had engineered so many legal obstacles that it might require many months, possibly even years.

It had taken Trowa telling him that he was leaving to catalyze Quatre’s resolve. The thought of being truly alone here combined with his fear to goad him into action. Once he had swallowed his pride it had not been hard to find those willing to help him again, but they needed time to prepare; it was truly just unfortunate timing that they couldn’t arrive before Trowa left. He had considered asking Trowa if he could stay a little longer, but decided against it; Trowa’s request to leave had coincided with the advent of some faint but persistent worry that seemed to never leave his mind for long. Quatre couldn’t discern what the cause was, but if it was driving Trowa to act, he didn’t want to stand in his way. Thus, he had told Trowa nothing of his concerns about his own safety. But now he saw that the situation had not escaped Trowa’s notice.

Quatre shrugged his shoulders. “I know what it looks like, and it’s logical to infer that everyone has bodyguards here because they’d be in danger without them. But the history of the practice goes far back, and it’s more a display, a projection of wealth and patronage at this point than anything else. I can count on one hand the times anything worse than a scuffle occurred here when I was a child. If you’re worried they would have someone attack me outright - no, they couldn’t bear the shame. That won’t happen.”

He gently patted his wounded side at Trowa’s stony-faced reaction, and added, “I will admit that there have been a few suspicious ‘accidental’ deaths of those in the line of succession over the years, but no fear of that befalling me. Everyone knows I won’t be taking up rock climbing or skiing for a while.” The stab wound Dorothy had given him two months ago had not been large, but it had perforated his bowels and gone septic. He’d spent weeks in hospital and emerged from his stay rail-thin and weak; he had filled out since then, but he still walked with a cane and tired easily. They wouldn’t take advantage of me in my current state...I think.

“Really, there’s no need to worry,” he assured breezily, finally looking back up at Trowa only to catch a knowing look.

“So you’ll be getting some protection of your own? Soon?”

Now who’s the empath? Quatre’s placid smile slid off, replaced by a rueful grin. “Am I that obvious?”

Trowa looked like he was considering the question seriously. “You’re not bad, but you could use some work on your tells when you’re lying. More eye contact, for one thing.”

Quatre suppressed a whiff of frustration and filed that info away for consideration later. “Duly noted. Sorry. I didn’t want to worry you with this nonsense...it’s not an aspect of this place that I missed. But yes, I’ve already made arrangements to contract with some of the Maganacs, and a few others I know from Earth. They’ll start arriving by the end of the week.”

Trowa gave him a smile and a nod. “Good.” He looked relieved.

“Good,” he said again, eyes lost in the distance, and Quatre felt it again, frustratingly vague - whatever was pulling Trowa away. A worry. A threat?

The clock tower several streets away broke the silence as it chimed a quarter-past. Trowa was in no danger of missing his flight, per se; it was a charter and he was the only passenger. But it was time. He stepped closer. “You’ll let us know if anything is amiss? If you need anything?”

“Of course. Thank you for coming here - and for all you’ve done for me.” Quatre levered himself up off the bench using the cane and wrapped his free arm around Trowa in a one handed hug. “Be well. Stay out of trouble.”

Trowa laid a hand lightly on his shoulder. “No promises. Watch your back.” Then he stepped back, lifted up his bag and crossed the street to the port entrance, disappearing from view.

[calleo-bricriu]

Aberforth is the FUN Dumbledore.

(( Another one I meant to consolidate into one post ages ago and forgot about until, oddly, I got to the part in Hogwarts Mystery where you meet Aberforth Dumbledore.

Sadly, I'm pretty sure @theotherdumbledore​ has disappeared; they were away once for a few months and came back, then disappeared again. :(

Of course, if they ever do come back, I'd love to pick this one back up.

Edits for spelling, grammar, clarity, etc...have been done where needed.

Somewhere in the distance, I’m sure @lamentedhope​ either has another massive headache or is just doing the screaming internally thing.

The start ))

“Look mate, I’m next door. I heard you. Your… noise. Last night.”"

“Oh! Right, sorry about that; it all went a bit sideways at one point and I lost the silencing charms, two windows and about a third of the Southern wall,” Calleo laughed, “I’d call the fire damage minimal, but I keep finding bits of it everywhere so I can’t necessarily get an accurate gauge of that right now.”

“It’s probably all right–ah–did I wake you, then? Reckon I owe you a drink if I did.” Smooth. Offer the man who owns an entire pub a drink.

Aberforth frowned and looked at the other man, both curiosity and vexation in his eyes. “What were you even doing? Some experimental magic or what?” he grunted, lifted his wand and stepped inside the room.

He started to repair the damage while waiting for an answer, waving his wand in circles to gather up the pieces of broken window.

“I thought that you could use a hand. And you don’t owe me anything. I was just… Worried” he grunted again, shrugs like it was no big deal to him. Like he actually didn’t care.

“Exactly that!” Calleo replied with a grin, “It’s one hell of a hobby. Usually doesn’t go too badly, sometimes causes something or other to explode, light up, or melt. Wood melts into liquid if you screw it up badly enough. Or succeed. Which it is would depend on how you look at it.”

He waved his own wand, both to check for remaining fire and to clean up bits of debris, “I’ve never really liked calling anything a failure, though; it usually isn’t, it’s just a success in a way you hadn’t considered as a possibility before seeing the result.”

“Failure,” Calleo picked up a few books that had fallen, “is just a way to talk yourself out of a path that might be potentially more interesting. Unexpected success is a much better turn of phrase.”

He tilted his head slightly at the mention of worry, and met it with a smile and a shrug of his own, “Ah–right, well, I never do mind a hand, but there really is no need to worry. I am careful, despite what the room might indicate at the moment. Haven’t died yet, at any rate.”

Calleo stopped to consider his last statement, “Been close a few times–closer than I’d generally like to be, to be honest–that that’s bound to happen.”

If any part of him had stopped to consider that maybe he could be a bit reckless at times and should probably take some steps to control that sort of impulse, it faded quickly and he very cheerfully asked the other, "Do you? Experiment with magic, I mean.”

“Failure is when you screw up so badly that you get yourself homeless. Or killed. Failure means you should slow down and give another thought to the whole project. And this,” Aberforth gestured to the room, “was a failure.”

“Are you sure this experiment is worth your life?” He sighed and lifted up couple of fallen paintings. “ I can’t even imagine what this spell of your should have done if this was the unexpected solution. What you were trying to do?”

When Calleo asked about his history with experimental magic, Aberforth chuckled a little. “Well, actually, I have made couple of spells and brewed some unique potions during the past few decades.” He smiled a little smile, feeling proud of himself.

He also resumed repair the wall, rocks banging together when they land back to their places. “It was a long time ago but I really enjoyed it. It made me feel smart, you know? Maybe…” A hesitation. “

“Maybe I could help you out? I’m not very good but I’m sure that I won’t blow down your house or anything.”

Aberforth silently hoped that Calleo would say yes. He had been lonely for the past couple of weeks, customers were gone and Matey was sick so the goat slept a lot and Abe didn’t want to disturb him.

“That–is also an accurate interpretation of failure, though, in fairness, homes can be rebuilt or moved. Death is slightly more permanent, but still not technically a failure. I view it more as a potentially unexpected shift in priorities of where one spends the majority of one’s time.”

“I’d prefer not to die, if given the choice, but if it happens it happens,” Calleo added with a lazy shrug.

“This,” at the question of what he was trying to do, Calleo perked up noticeably, “was not technically experimental magic but more experimental tying together of two existing spells; I have a slight problem with being told something is impossible and often like to try and prove that it isn’t.”

“What I was trying to do was to tie a chaser to a curse that’s legitimately not anything I’d ever use against someone; just wanted to see if I could couple the two and get around that ‘requires line of sight’ limitation. And to see if it’d work.”

“It took it just fine, oddly enough, it was more that I…didn’t. I mean, I did, but only for a few seconds before it required a bit more control to remain under control, if that makes even the slightest bit of sense,” he laughed, “Pulled the chaser off and managed to grab control of it again before it fully hit the wall we’re currently repairing. If I hadn’t, honestly, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world but it would have been the end of that wall.”

Calleo waved his wand again, sending more pieces of debris back to their proper places, “Took less than five seconds total, despite how long winded I just was about it.”

He stopped speaking entirely when Aberforth mentioned that he used to experiment a bit and offered to lend a hand.  It was, if nothing else, an interesting proposal and the other Wizard hasn’t just called in authorities, which was also a nice bonus. Never fun to deal with the Ministry when experimental magic went off the rails. Despite his position there, and that it was in the Department of Mysteries’ Research Wing, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could still be a bit of a hassle.

“I would, I think, enjoy that immensely!  I can’t promise that I’ll listen if you tell me I’m doing something stupid or high risk, but I will take it under advisement and give you full rights to say, 'I told you so.’ if the outcome is a bad one.”

“Could be fun, dragging that ’used to’ out of retirement, yeah?” This time the grin was significantly more playful than cheerful.

“Oh!” Calleo snapped his fingers as a sudden thought struck, “If cursing’s not really a thing you’re into, just let me know; it’s easily avoidable."

Aberforth listened while the other Wizard talked and thought to himself, "How the hell he is able to talk so much?" It’s not a bad thing, he just wasn't used to it. His pub was more a quiet ‘let’s-just-drink’-kind a place.

Calleo's babbling made him smile, though. It reminded him of home, of Ariana’s talking while they were feeding the goats.

He looked at the repaired wall and nodded to himself before he started to clean the candle wax off the floor. He was pretty sure that some of them had been on that wood before the accident happened. Calleo seemed to be that kind of a Wizard who would burn the candle at both ends when his mind was on something.

“You don’t have to avoid anything. I have seen and done much  worse things that you could even think of.” he sighed and waved his hand.

“I may be little rusty, it has been so long I have done everything experimental but it would be nice, yeah. Tying two spells together doesn’t sound so difficult, though. It depends on the curse, right?” he looked at Calleo over his shoulder before turning to face him.

“Let’s try it again. I want to see what we are working on here. You need a proper target to your tests, I can make a counter spell. Maybe we can figure out what went wrong.”

Maybe this was the new liquor talking, but Aberforth was really enjoying this. Talking with someone who didn’t seem to care about his reputation or his brother, making something new with them outside of those two all too common contexts. Before this Matey was his only experimenting partner and his ideas and opinions were hard to understand.

“Yeah?” Calleo answered cheerfully, “Ever hit a living thing with Nihilus? I have–not a person, just a rat that a friend of mine found in his office at work.”

“Still,” he shook his head, still smiling somehow, “can’t say I’d recommend it. It’s also why I cap myself at maybe two drinks. Turns out if I throw all inhibition out the window I don’t much like what I’m capable of doing in that state.”

“BUT,” Calleo clapped his hands together once, “we’re not dealing with that curse and I wouldn’t trust it on a chaser anyway, it’s hard enough to control by itself. This time I was just toying with its messier cousin,” Calleo busied himself tidying up again. It seemed almost impossible that he could be either still or quiet.

“Aside from one time I hit a mouse with Excidium, I wouldn’t use it on anything living; wouldn’t even hit the mouse again if given the chance again. All the punch of Nihilus with meat bits splattered so widely across a room that it takes weeks to find it all. Same end result, though,” he shrugged.

Now and again, Calleo glanced over at Aberforth, not for a reaction so much as it was just to see if the poor man was trying to get a word in edgewise.

“Usually, it’s just a line of sight sort of curse, right? It doesn’t even take aim very well unless you’ve got one hell of a grip on it; I use it for practicing maintaining high levels of control and it’s started to be a bit too easy. Always goes where I tell it to go, doesn’t even try to wrench away anymore.”

“It’s a lot harder to force it to attach to a chaser and follow a moving target; the chaser itself can’t get a strong enough attachment to direct it, so there’s an element of manual control. Lose that, the chaser snaps off and goes out, and that particular curse doesn’t just keep on the path it was on, it tries to circle back to whoever cast it. The only reason I caught the mouse was it was running in a fairly straight line.”

“I can catch it if it breaks loose again–or at least before it hits anything; the last one didn’t hit anything hard enough to go completely off, I just caught it and detonated it mid-air, which is what made most of the noise,” he added sheepishly.

“Ah–if I’m talking too much just hit me with a silencing charm or something. Can’t promise I won’t brush it away and keep going, but it might help get the hint across.”

Aberforth had to sit down while Calleo explained his tests and studies so he could keep up with the train of thoughts. It all sounded so magnificent and interesting but, as he had said, the last time he had done any experimental magic had been long ago.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he had hardly used any magic in months.

“Oh, you’re not talking too much.” he groaned and shook his head. “It’s nice actually.” he almost whispered, smiling to his beard. Realising that he had been staring at his shoes and smiling like an idiot was likely not making the best ‘I-really-can-help-you’-impression, he coughed and stood up, walking next to a crack on the floor and filling it up with splinters.

“Let’s fix this place up so you can continue with your studies.” he nodded to himself and gave Calleo another quick look over his shoulder.

“But you are saying that you need a moving but not-living target for your tests, right? Have you tested it on a patronus or some spell like that or try moving an object with a spell? You need more room as well, I don’t want to have to fix the walls again…” he rubbed his chin and scratched his beard while thinking.

First, Aberforth considered the cellar of his bar. It was quite roomy and quiet and he is certain that no-one would ever come there to investigate magical experiments.

But there was that risk of blowing the ceiling of or breaking the painting of his dear sister or spilling the liquor all over the place. And he had done a lot of work with those bottles. So maybe the tavern is not the best place. But it was the only place he knew and…

Wait.

He knew one another place, with lot of space, peace and quiet. He just had tried to forgot it, all about it.

He lifted his eyes to Calleo. “I think I know a place were we can practise and test those spells of yours without worrying about the Ministry or lack of space.”

Well, he hadn’t been hit with a silencing charm. That was always a good sign. Being told it was nice, however, caught Calleo completely off guard, considering the subject matter and that he’d nearly completely (accidentally!) destroyed a room in the middle of the night.

“Nice is–not exactly the answer I was expecting, but I’ll definitely take it. Beats most of the alternatives!” He added with a laugh.

“Most people mind. Not necessarily the damage, more what caused the damage, and then they start lecturing me as if I don’t know exactly what it is I’m playing with; and it really is playing, it just happens to fall in line with my actual job as well more often than not. I just get paid to play with it during the week. Been told I play ‘too rough’ by more than one person anyway.”

“Moving and non-living would be best, I’m not really ever completely on board with the idea of killing things if it’s not absolutely necessary. I can, it’s just unpleasant, even more so when using something like Excidium.”

Calleo paused and shook his head, “Death is one thing; something dies, it either moves on or remains behind as a ghost, but it still exists. It’s not gone, it’s just somewhere else. Completely removing all aspects of a living thing from existence itself is–another, and not one I’d care to experience again.” Calleo shrugged that line of thinking off quickly, re-focusing on putting the room back together and on the rest of the conversation.

“I haven’t tried it with a patronus, primarily because I’ve never bothered trying to cast one. Never had the need for it which, before you say it, I know damn well isn’t an excuse.”

Calleo finally stopped standing there and just watching Aberforth repair the damage to the room and got to work on it as well, “I should think trying to blast a patronus into oblivion might make it not–return the next time? Or at least not want to.”

And then, came an offer Calleo would never have expected.

It was a jarring enough offer to cause him to stop mid-repair of a section of the wall and just sort of stare at Aberforth in mildly stunned silence for a minute.

Aberforth had a reputation, and it was the sort of reputation that got people barred from the premises sometimes for just looking at another patron the wrong way or mentioning anything about the goat in the building, no matter how benign.

And Calleo had nearly blasted an entire room of the building apart using a notoriously dangerous, very lethal curse, and–had not only not been kicked out, he’d been invited to a presumably better place to continue messing about with it.

That should have raised every possible alarm but, Calleo being Calleo, ignored all of that and flashed a bright grin at Aberforth’s suggestion, “Brilliant! I’m in. So–when are we leaving? If it’s now, just go ahead and grab me. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s done that and dragged me out somewhere else.”

Aberforth had been sure that this would be the moment when Calleo coughed awkwardly and told him that ‘Well, come to think of it, I think I’m better off alone, but thanks!’ So, when he got excited instead Aberforth’s mouth just popped open.

He couldn’t believe it. Was he actually interacting with another human being successfully?

Weird.

“Are you serious? I mean, we can leave right away if you don’t need anything with you. It has been long time since I have used apparition but I think I can still do it…” he mumbled, putting his wand to his sleeve and walking over to Calleo.

“I’ll try to be careful,” he smiled and grabbed Calleo's arm before he closing his eyes and the two men disappeared from the room, leaving only a cloud of dust in the air.

They reappeared in the middle of an oat field, or at least it once had been an oat field; Golden plants had turned into grey twigs, weeds had used all of the nutrients from the ground and under the weeds are years worth of true grass crops so the ground feels soft and bouncy under the feet.

One could see a wooden house and a little barn in the distance. The house looked abandoned, like no-one hadn’t been there in centuries and the roof of the barn has collapsed, probably because of heavy rains and the weight of snow. Aberforth looked at the house and smiled sadly.

“The neighbour lives couple of kilometres away so we should have peace and quiet.” he said, finally remembering to let go of Calleo’s arm and took couple of steps closer to the barn.

“I think we still have our old buldger in the barn, we could try that… Or I can use Leviosa to some objects if you want to have more steady and predictable target. Don’t mind the fields, they are practically mine so we can destroy them as much as we want.”

“So, do you want to wait the sunrise or start right away?”

When they reappeared, the first words out of Calleo’s mouth were, “No need to be careful with me, mate. My job alone puts me in close contact with things designed to injure or kill, not to mention I occasionally make it a point to make terrible things even worse just to see if it’s possible, and that’s before even getting into the sort of people I end up dealing with on a regular basis! I stopped counting the amount of times on any given day when I should have died but didn’t several years ago.”

“Awful people, for the most part, you should see the records of some of them; but networking is networking.” Calleo casually looked around the area, more to get an idea of what was there than to find out where they were. Where they were was obvious enough: A field with a couple of abandoned buildings. Nice, open, and nobody else around to disturb.

“It’d be nice to live somewhere with the nearest neighbour a few kilometres out. I don’t live in the largest town, but there are still a few hundred people and it’s oddly all packed together for as small as it is. All Muggle too! So, I get to be extra careful. With everything.” Calleo added with a laugh.

“I’ve been told my house is lit up like a prison to anyone who can see the warding. Always disagreed with that, as it’s not designed to keep anything in so much as it’s designed to keep anyone who isn’t invited out.”

Lazily, Calleo flicked his blackthorn wand out and in a sweeping motion, putting up a wide spread of silencing charms anyway, just to be on the safe side.

He then turned its aim toward the ground and spread out a rather large layer of protective warding over the plants, “I don’t want to–hit any of them. Or anything living under the grass. Thing is, plants have–I’m not sure if it’s souls or what, but I’ve got the ghost of one that I’m fairly certain is spitefully hanging about my garden. Knowing that, I’d feel a bit awful if I blasted any of the living ones into oblivion. If the aim goes off it’ll just chew up the warding and not what’s underneath it.”

“There!” Finally, he finished with the cheerful babbling explanation of what he was doing, “Now then! A bludger could be interesting, since those things are pretty well charmed to chase after people. That’d add one hell of an incentive to keep things under control–oh! And you’d get to see the colour change that curse does as it approaches and moves away from living things. Goes from yellow to red. It’ll still hit the bludger either way. Do you mind an exploding bludger?”

For a few minutes, Calleo seemed to be considering the question as to whether to wait or not and eventually shrugged, “Doesn’t matter to me, really; daylight makes things easier to see, but also gives a less spectacular light show when that curse is trailing something.”

“It’s interesting when it gets close; if you’ve ever had a killing curse just miss, you probably know the cold rush of air it leaves in its wake. This one is–” Calleo paused, “It’s different. Colder, and somehow burning hot at the same time.”

“I’m not a fan of Quidditch so an exploding bludger is okay with me.” Aberforth shrugged idly and lifted his wand, turning his eyes toward the collapsed barn.

“Accio trunk!” he yelled and the sound of pieces of the roof to lifting and turning before eventually collapsing again when the heavy wooden trunk dug it’s way out temporarily shattered the quiet.

“I think it would be interesting to see that light show of yours so let’s start right away. We can sleep in the house when the morning comes."

"You can stay as long as you want, nobody misses or needs this place anymore.” he nodded to himself and opened the trunk. He stared at the balls, tightly tied to their own places.

They were covered in dust and splinters but seemed otherwise intact and functioning. The bludgers had already started to struggle, trying to hit the man who was looking at them.

There was other equipment as well such as a helmet, a pair of thick gloves and a bat lying in the bottom of the trunk. Aberforth stared at the pieces from his past and smiled.

“Ever had a killing curse just miss?”  The smiled faded at Calleo's question.

He remembered how it felt. The coldness, the reaper trying to get a grip from the heart. It had felt like a dark, heavy cloud had tried to swallow him. But, the feeling when it missed it’s target was much more terrifying. He felt the pain of looking at his collapsed sister, the numbness and coldness that surrounded him.

The silence was the worst. Not crying, not cursing, just silence. Like the world had stopped to witness it.

“Cold and burning hot at the same time, you say? Hmm… It sounds like the feeling when you try to take the cauldron from the flames: it’s so hot that brains think it’s cold.” he murmured and took the bat from the bottom of the trunk, put the helmet on and crouched next to the trunk.

“We can try the snitch as well if you like. It’s trajectory it’s much more difficult to predict so it would be more difficult to hit as well. Not to mention the size and color difference between it and the bludger…”

Suddenly, in a blink of an eye, the first bludger’s old, rusty chains gave up and let the black ball loose.

It flung itself through the air, gathering up some speed and power before heading straight towards Calleo.

“The scoring system is completely irrational,” Calleo frowned at the trunk, as though it were somehow the fault of the Quidditch balls inside, “If you can only win the game by catching the Snitch, why have goals for anything else at all? Just send everyone after the damn Snitch!”

He laughed and shook his head, “One of my friends at school was on the Slytherin team as a Beater; I once asked him to, after the Keeper had the Quaffle, knock the Keeper through the goal to see if it counted as a point.”

“It did, if you were curious,. I don’t know if that’s in the rules or if Professor Dumbledore just thought it was creative enough that it deserved a point,” he eyed the struggling Bludgers warily. He’d never been hit with one as he’d never played the game, but he knew full well that they were capable of causing some pretty extensive bodily harm. He’d definitely had people sent to the hospital wing at school after asking his friend Braxford to whack someone in the head with it.

Calleo had intended to elaborate on the hot-cold topic and on using a snitch as well when one of the bludgers broke loose and headed at him. Whatever he said must have been some sort of profanity or, at least, was meant as one as he ducked out of the way and hit the ball with a spell just to knock it back. Way back. Back far enough that it wouldn’t be coming at his face in an instant at least, and cast the coupled spells.

The chasing charm itself held no particular look to it or, if it did, it was eclipsed by the vivid yellow of the curse as it began to chase its wobbly, weaving target. For the moment, Calleo kept it just slow enough to not immediately catch it and blast it into tiny pieces; the point, after all, was to make it chase the bludger and keep control of it, so he purposely put some brakes on it.

He kept it close, within a centimetre or two of the ball, but didn’t let it connect just yet.

The bludger, being a bludger, soon circled back toward the two the curse trailing it changed. The closer it got, the easier it became to see that it made no hesitation or attempt to conceal its desire to stop chasing the bludger and slam into one of the two living creatures in its path. In the dark, the colour change was obvious, brilliantly frightening, and lit the entire area shifting from the vibrant yellow, to orange, to–as Calleo narrowly dodged being hit in the head with a bludger–a bright, searing red. As it passed with its target, and more distance was created, the curse slowly shifted back through orange to yellow. In its wake, it left the feeling of nothing.

Cold, but wrong.

Completely wrong.

The sort of wrong that, to Calleo at least, gave the distinctly loud impression that one should immediately leave the area.

And, then, it was back, circling toward them with the bludger. Another streak of light, another streak of cold, and it was gone again.

“When I don’t have this chasing something, I often toss it back and forth in my office like a horrid little ball. It’s much easier to control that way. Just push it back and forth–did you notice how, whenever it gets close, it tries to wrench itself away from the target and come at me?” Calleo laughed, which may not have been the most appropriate reaction, and spoke to Aberforth as though they were back at the pub chatting over drinks instead of--this. Throwing beyond lethal curses to chase old Quidditch equipment, with nothing but respective skill and control standing between either of them and complete destruction.

“It does that in general, you know; this spell is designed to destroy the one casting it if they can’t manage the mental wherewithal to do what they claimed they wanted to do in the first place.”

“Good thing I have no trouble destroying a bludger, I guess!” Calleo let it loop back toward and past them one more time before letting go of the restraint he’d kept on the curse once the bludger was at a distance far enough that being hit with shrapnel was unlikely.

When it hit, it was less spectacular than one might have imagined. The curse seemed as if it engulfed the bludger rather than slammed into it despite the result being tiny pieces of bludger scattered around the field.

“I don’t think I’d want to know the sort of person who could successfully hit another person with that, you know,” Calleo slowly lowered his wand and started toward the impact area, “it was hard enough hitting a mouse, and I still feel terrible about that. I don’t even like mice.”

After a moment of inspecting the debris that was there yet somehow not there at all, Calleo sat down on the ground, leaned back on his hands and tilting his head in a vaguely bird-like manner so he was looking mostly at Aberforth again, “Let the Snitch out.”

The light show on something that moved as erratically as a Snitch would probably light up the remaining night sky better anyway.

[hacks-and-heroes]

Hacks and Heroes #3

For those who are unaware of it, Dishonored is a series of first person action stealth games developed by Arkane Studios. It is well known for its Victorian-style setting, and its intricate and Lovecraft style lore. Dishonored is one of my favorite game series to come out in the last couple of years. If nothing else, the art and design of the series as a whole is breathtaking and unique. One particular special thing is its “Whalepunk” technology; big, bulky wrought iron devices and ships, powered by the oil of speared and skewered whales. All of this and the way it captures magic and gods makes for an enthralling setting.

So how do you translate all of this to tabletop games. Dishonored hasn’t been fully hacked by anyone that I have ever seen online, not for lack of people asking about it. I suppose as a whole it isn’t a complex setting to convert. Most games you play will have the pieces, they may just need a bit of rearranging. I’m gonna start by talking about general ideas that apply to all games, and then delve into a few specific games.

World Building

Firstly, as mentioned Dishonored is of a subgenre of Steampunk, Whalepunk. Truly the only thing in the subgenre is Dishonored itself but the point stands. So what defines Whalepunk? Well like Steampunk it is all about technology tinged with magic. Everything in Dishonored is bulky and harsh like the whaling ships that enable the technology. There are also a lot of Tesla-like devices that are apart of Dishonored’s world. The Wall of Light and Arc Pylon are two whale oil powered devices that produce electricity in a way that would make Tesla very proud. Other important things about the technology of Dishonored’s setting is the use of a railway-like system, with carts and boxes on elevated rails that loop through the cities.

Let’s talk about some of the themes of the story telling in Dishonored. The main games hold a lot of themes about family, royalty and responsibility. As well, the subjects of political discourse and poverty are also made apparent in the world building. It helps when our main characters, particularly of Dishonored 2 when you play the Empress Emily, are they themselves royalty. In the DLC and spin-off games, more is put towards themes of loyalty, survival, and revenge. The first novel also has the classic theme of being unable to change the past.

So now I’ll get into the specifics of making a Dishonored game.

Magic

Magic is complex in the Dishonored world. All magical ability stems from The Void. The Void is another world. The mirror to the tangible. Inhabited by giant floating leviathans and ancient otherwordly beings. There are several ways to receive magical ability in the world of Dishonored. The most prime and prominent answer is to receive the Mark of the Outsider. A godlike being who roams The Void, the Outside may bless anyone of his choosing with a mark on the back of their hand, that grants them various powers, unique to them. If you were to wish a character to have an array of magical powers in a Dishonored game, this would be the easiest way of doing so. That being said, the powers tend to be limited and do not go beyond five or six powers (and a small array of supplemental powers). As well, the bearers of the mark tend to not be mages themselves, often being rogues and warriors who use the powers to add to their repertoire. For example, a Pathfinder “Magus” class may be an example of someone such as Daud or Corvo. However, this isn’t a perfect example, and a better way to portray this in a game with classes would be to allow character class of choice, and offer the powers in a separate way such as Feats or Abilities.

Another way to gain powers in the world of Dishonored is to have them bestowed upon you by the bearer of the Mark. Some holders of the Mark can share their abilities with underlings, giving them access to some or all of their powers. This is how it is in the case of Daud and Delilah Copperspoon. While this is more apparent in Daud’s assassins, whose powers are more clear cut, the Brigmore Witches seem a bit more uncertain. Their powers are different from Delilah in a number of ways and manifest differently from witch to witch. That being said, I’d say there is something to be said of Witch Magic that is certainly aided by the Outsider’s influence. In a game, I’d offer up Witch magic as its own entity that could be aided by Shared Power. Once more in a class system I’d offer Feats like the Mark, but with the caveat that the power can be lost if the giver dies, retracts, or loses their own abilities.

One more source of magical power lies in the Dishonored world. That is Bone Charms and Whalebone Runes. Runes in the games have always been away of improving your abilities, so in an RPG terms, these could possibly be conduits that aid your growth through perhaps ritual. The bone charms are a more interesting tale. There have been several characters who used bone charms to great effect. In the video game, they aided your current powers or gave you small buffs and abilities. However other characters, such as the gang leader Paolo made use of several bone charms and a powerful artifact that gave him Mark-like powers. The character Zhukov from the first Dishonored novel has several powers granted to him through the use of corroded bone charms and a magical dagger. These powers began to take a toll on him in their own right, however he is one of the most powerful people in the series at large. From a gameplay point of view, Bone Charms should range from weak magical items that provide small buffs and bonuses to powerful items that can bestow new powers themselves onto the wielder. As well, they should be able to be combined with other magical artifacts for even greater effect.

A small aside about religious power in the Dishonored universe. While the Abbey of the Everyman is vehemently against the Void and any kind of dark art is met with execution, they themselves make use of some Void magic. To begin they have in their control special Music Boxes that play a song that nullifies all powers in the area. There is also the point of the Oracular Order, a group of women within the Abbey suspected to have powers that allow them to make “prophetic visions”. They seem to be more in line with real world monks, highly educated, trained in battle, and viciously cunning rather than truly magical. However, one may say that through the use of hallucinogens and possibly magical substances, their powers become truer.

Equipment

Much of Dishonored’s base technology is in line with real world tech of the late 1800s to early 1900s. The second game sees the advent of an internal plumbing system throughout the cities. As well, city lighting is through the use of street lamps, and news is pumped through a mix of hanging metal speakers and newsprint.

When it comes to personal equipment available to your party, there is a series of options for sure. Firearms lie pretty much in the realms of pistols, though it is not hard to imagine rifles or blunderbusses existing as well. They are primarily wooden-hafted weapons, functioning like flintlocks and wheelocks. Emily’s pistol from the second game appears at later upgrades to become more of a break-action revolver deal. From a gameplay perspective, these weapons have a one shot magazine without upgrades, and require an action to reload. They also have a small spread when fired, hitting a small five foot cone with shrapnel (half damage to even just 1 damage). Other options for ranged weapons include crossbows (the protagonists all use intricate rotating hand crossbows, or similar wristbows). There’s also several options for grenades, special ammunition, and devices for distraction. The tallboys of first Dishonored game also a type of compound bow, making them an option available to your party as well.

As far as melee weapons go, the games show primarily sword usage. Each faction tends to have a unique weapon. As with the pistol, I believe this primarily for simplicity and design standards. In RPG form, it is within reason to see weapons such as axes and spears, though spears will be more rare, as they became in real life.

Other weapons include several forms of landmines, including the infamous springrazor. Essentially a short range landmine filled with spring loaded razorwire. There are no real options for vehicles besides personal boats (such as Amanda’s boat in the sequel) and if characters are nobles, a personal railcar, though there’s not much one can do with the railcar besides traveling around the cities specific pathways. One could possibly also obtain some of the Tallboy armor, which is a strange mix of armor plating and massive stilted legs. Most modern miscellaneous items should be available within reason. Things such as internet and tv are clearly out, but gramophones and cameras aren’t.

Things such as Walls of Light and Arc Pylons should be treated as traps and obstacles. The arc pylons function within a certain range, and automatically attack a single target in range with a high damage electrical arc. The wall of light is only passable by those attuned to the wall or if the wall is disabled. Those that pass through should either take a high amount of damage, or just to make a safe to be instantly killed. Regardless, if a person survives a wall of light (never seen in the game, but there’s room for cool things like that) they should come out maimed and horrificly damaged.

Specific Game Conversions

So I’ve talked about the ideas that are pertinent to game run in Dishonored’s world. So let’s now talk about what you have to do in specific games to replicate that feeling.

Dungeons and Dragons 5e/Pathfinder

So converting settings to class-based systems like these two can be complicated for a number of reasons. Such as the fact that in Dishonored as a whole, there are numerous characters who have magical powers who would definitely not fit into the roles of Wizard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Bard, etc. So how do we remedy this. Well as mentioned earlier, feats are a possible remedy to these issues. In Pathfinder something like the Drow Magic feat progression offered to Drow players is possibly option, with steadily gaining more magical powers as time goes on.

For example:

Outsider’s Mark

Prerequisites: 5th level or higher, Iron Will, must be contacted by the Outsider and bestowed this power

Effect: Allows the use of Dimension Door and one other 4th or lower Spell of choice up to 3/day.

Some players may be opposed to this though, as this robs them of feats they may feel fits their character better. In Pathfinder this is a completely understandable as feats are a major piece of what makes up your character. Now since feats in 5e are optional, this is a more viable option, if your players meet said prerequisites. You can always decide to give these feats and abilities for free as the story progresses, as long as you are okay with your players having an edge against other characters. That’s really all you can do in these particular systems without being restrictive. If you want, you could also just give the Marked players a choice of spells from their mark and they have a certain number of uses, like other casters. Since the Mark tends be based on the strength of the wielder, Wisdom or Charisma wouldn’t be too off.

One more thing of mention for D&D/Pathfinder; the options for classes should be restricted to primarily martial classes unless under specific circumstances. I could see a point made for things such as Warlocks and Bards for the for former, and a handful of the latters. However, direct magic users, such as clerics, druids, paladins, sorcerers, and wizards should be kept to a very limited number to preserve the setting.

For Pathfinder, there is plenty already around to represent the setting of Dishonored. You may have to come up with some miscellaneous items, but not stuff that’ll have much bearing. For 5e, I highly recommend the Steampunk Compendium and the Urban Arcana Modern Magic Subclasses. Both fit fairly well, give equipment examples and a possible class, the gunslinger.

Savage Worlds

So Savage Worlds is pretty easily one of the best games for hacks and conversions. Not just Dishonored. I have seen hacks for Savage Worlds from Star Wars to Weird War to Conan of all things. So if you are looking for something to do Dishonored in, Savage Worlds is quite good.

So about players and building characters. Giving your players the Outsider’s Mark, or another form of magic, all they need is the Arcane Background edge. From there they will have to take the power edges to gain new powers and points. Any of the Arcane Background edges fit the setting really, even weird science could be put towards characters like Jindosh or Sokolov, but that may be a bit much. However using powers in Dishonored is almost always a force of will scenario, I highly recommend making them Spirit based. With the rate that characters gain powers using power edges, you may think that may too slow for your game. If that’s the case, don’t be afraid to either throw your characters extra powers or advance them a little faster to compensate.

From there it’s just about getting gear and equipment right. The core book does have some stuff that will work. However, if you’re unable to due with those, both The Widening Gyre and Rippers have a mix of settings that you can pull from to build. Rippers especially will have a lot setting appropriate miscellaneous items to pick from.

Aaaaaandd…

Those are the best systems I can think to run a Dishonored based games. That being said, there are a plethora of other systems that can do the job but I did not list for the reasons that will follow!

Point-Buy Games

Both Mutants and Masterminds and GURPS could run this game. I’m not kidding when I say Mutants and Masterminds has been made to run weird. Seriously take a trip over to the Ronin Army forums and look under the pages for characters made using that system. Literally made characters from sitcoms. My sole advice for M&M is that you keep the PL a little higher for your players. This way they will have a reasonable amount of points and limits for their powers.

On GURPS I can’t say terribly much. I’m sure there are plenty of Steampunk settings for GURPS given its age, so you should have no problem hunting stuff down for it.

Story-based Games

So this is anything along the lines of FATE. Very minimal dice rolling, primarily a talkative situation, and self-described abilities and skills. For anyone who prefers a more story heavy game, and isn’t a big fan of the mechanics of other RPGs, check these out.

-

And that’s where I’ll wrap it for the week! Let me know what you all thought, send me your feedback. I know this is a lot talking and there aren’t really any hard conversions from myself this week. If would like to see actual statistical conversions of things from Dishonored or other settings, let me know and I’ll post some stuff up. Now with this, I bid you adieu. Next week we’ll be taking exchanging our Whalepunk aesthetic for an art deco dieselpunk and travel beneath the waves to a world of...Rapture.

[beckytailweaver]

[FIC] Coco 1934 - Part 2

All the art and stories! Everyone is being so creative lately. I need to contribute!

Here we go again!

For the previous chapter: Part 1

To read Part 2...

Coco 1934: Part 2

When Miguel opened his eyes, he was standing in a large business office surrounded by a crowd of walking, talking skeletons.

All of them jumped.  At least half of the skeletons screamed as well.

Miguel would never admit to screaming, but he did try to run from the sudden nightmare of hollowed eyes and bony, reaching hands.  It took two of the blue-uniformed officers to snatch him up and hold on to him while they half-carried him kicking and yelling to a smaller office chamber.  They made him sit in a chair before a large desk piled with files and papers, and held him there until he quieted.

Behind the desk was a short skeleton-man with eyeglasses.  He looked like a clerk.  He and the officers questioned Miguel about how he'd gotten there—Miguel himself wasn't very clear on that—and who he was, if he had any family in the Land of the Dead.  Which was somehow where he was now.

"Mamá's parents died when she was young," he explained nervously, trying not to stare at the white, painted skull faces.  It would be rude when they weren't being very scary at all, but actually speaking reasonably.  "I don't know their names.  And I think my papá was an orphan."

He watched the Clerk and the guards exchange a look, and wondered what it meant.

"See, here's the thing, niño," the Clerk said patiently.  "You're under a curse.  Not just any curse, either—a death curse.  Which you can only get by messing with something that belongs to the wronged dead, something with the death curse attached to it."

"The last thing I touched was a guitar," Miguel confessed, hunching in the chair, "but the man it belongs to is alive!"  Maybe someone had cursed the guitar and meant it for De la Cruz, and Miguel had intervened.

"Are you sure?  Are you absolutely certain there is no one dead attached to the guitar?  Might you have touched anything else?"

Miguel rapidly shook his head.

He watched the Clerk and the guards exchange another look, before the Clerk sighed.  "The only way to get out from under a death curse is to find the wronged dead and have them undo it—get their blessing, using the magic of a cempasúchil petal—or figure out how to satisfy the terms of the curse and break it, which we have no way to know."

"So..."

"Nobody's much in the business of traditional death curses these days, niño. The last person this happened to was well before my time.  Unless the owner of the cursed guitar is dead, which you've insisted he isn't, you're stuck here in the Land of the Dead until the curse runs its course."

"What will happen then?" Miguel quavered.

The Clerk pointed at Miguel's left hand.

When Miguel found only white bone where his fingertip used to be, he fainted.

Miguel woke up with the Clerk and the officer with the thick mustache standing over him.  The Clerk was fanning him anxiously with a file folder.

"...don't know, at least he's still breathing.  Niño?  Miguel?"  The Clerk leaned closer, still fanning, peering at Miguel's blinking eyes.  "Oh, good.  You're awake.  Come on, then, up you go..."

With shaking hands, Miguel let the two skeletons help him back to his feet.  He felt woozy and his head hurt, and all he could think about was glistening white bone moving like it was alive where his finger used to be.  "What...what's happening to me...?"

"It's how most death curses go," spoke up the officer, his voice quiet and gravelly.

"That and the Land of the Dead isn't exactly a holiday destination for living things," the Clerk harrumphed, straightening his green eyeshade.  "To sum it up, young man, you have a very limited amount of time to remain alive.  Since we don't know much about the exact sort of curse you're under I can only guess how long, but at the rate you're losing flesh...perhaps sunrise?  Certainly no more than a full day."

"S-sunrise?" Miguel yelped, swaying on his feet.  The officer hastily steadied him.  "You mean...after tonight...I'll...?"

"You'll become a permanent resident here, I'm afraid."  The Clerk was businesslike, but there was pity in his eyes, a hopeless kind of pity that made Miguel's chest ache and his knees start to tremble beneath him.  "With no source here for your curse, I'm afraid that all we can do is make you comfortable until it runs its course."

"But...but my mamá, my family, they won't know what happened—!"  His vision started to blur with tears.

"I'm very sorry, niño," said the Clerk, more briskly than he wanted to hear.  "You can wait here at the Department.  When the time comes, since you have no family here, one of the officers will walk you down to the San Gerónimo Children's Home.  A counselor will assist you with filling out the requisite forms before you leave, so that you can be notified if and when any family members arrive in the future—"

"An orphanage?" he yelped, drawing away from them.  "You're sending me to an orphanage...f-for dead kids?  I have a family, I'm not dead!"

"I'm afraid it's only a matter of time," the Clerk sighed.  "And since you are underage and with no known deceased family, you have no residence or legal guardians here.  When an adult from your family arrives, you can—"

"I want to go home!" Miguel declared, but when he tried to back away further, the officer set a very firm hand on his shoulder, preventing him from moving.

"There's nothing we can do, son," the officer said in a gruffly gentle way.  "We don't know of any way to bring you back into the Land of the Living."

"You don't, but maybe someone else does!" Miguel insisted, trying to free himself from the bony hands.  "Let me go!"

"It's not safe for a living person to go gallivanting about the Land of the Dead," the Clerk said, adjusting his glasses.  "There are still bad sorts here that might try to use you for some unsavory purpose while you are still alive, likely to try to contact the living world, and...it doesn't bear thinking about, especially for a child.  It's best if you just wait here quietly until tomorrow.  I'm sorry, Miguel, but that's the best we can do.  Jorge, if you would take him to one of the family rooms, maybe get him some water...?"

Looking stern and sad, the officer pulled him to the door.  Miguel fought him along the way, unable to hold back his tears.  "Let me go!  I'm not dead!  I want to go home!  Let go!"

Just outside the Clerk's office, they almost ran into another uniformed officer and a lanky skeleton in a purple jacket he was frog-marching through the front office room.  "—could have been clocking out to visit my living family already," this new officer was grumbling at his captive, "but I have to haul your obnoxious arse to lockup again—every goddamn year—"

"Carlos! There is a child present!" the lanky skeleton protested, before he took a closer look at Miguel and gasped.  "Ay!  He's alive—!"

"And he's none of your business, Héctor," the mustached officer stated, keeping his grip and pushing Miguel along before him as if to shield him from the other detainee's view.  "Looks like you're in enough trouble as it is."

As they all trudged along almost in parallel for a few moments, Miguel's tear-streaked face turned up to glance at the tall lanky skeleton staring wide-eyed back at him.  In that instant, something passed between them—an echo of determination, a shared desperation, a wily spark of inspiration.

"No! I wanna go home!"  Still struggling against the mustachioed officer's grip, Miguel threw himself with a wail to the floor at the lanky skeleton's feet, almost dragging the startled Jorge down with him.

The lanky skeleton—Héctor?—took a step to the side and tripped over Miguel in such a dramatic sprawl that the two officers collided with each other and stumbled as well. Suddenly everything was a mess of clattering bones and flailing limbs and everyone else in the office was staring in incredulous dismay.

As limber as if he'd practiced for a circus tumble, Héctor rolled out of the mayhem and bounced to his feet with Miguel clutched under one arm.  "Let's go, chamaco!"

The mustached officer made a grab for them from the floor, but like a thief with a freshly stolen jewelry box, Héctor slipped away from the reaching hands and lit out for the front doors.  Miguel was jarred against rigid bone but didn't complain, hanging on to the skeleton's threadbare jacket for dear life.

There was yelling from behind, and another officer tried to bodily block them from the doors, but Miguel's long-legged ride spun nimbly around the tackle, cleared the queue control rail in one leap, and slammed into the office doors hard enough to rattle teeth.  He scrabbled at the handle for a heart-pounding instant, and Miguel felt a hard bony hand grasping at his ankle before they all but fell through the opening.

Miguel kicked out blindly, knocking the reaching hands away, and the skeleton carrying him bolted out of the office like a spooked deer.  Moments later, they were weaving without slowing through thick crowds in what seemed almost like a train station, leaving the frantic officers and angry shouts far behind.

tbc...

Notes: There may or may not be an actual face scanner in 1934! It’s likely a new-ish invention. The marigold bridge magic still works to prevent unauthorized passage, though. The office skeletons aren’t uncaring of Miguel’s situation but they honestly have no idea what to do for him. This sort of thing doesn’t just happen any more, since the world has moved away from belief and magic of decades and centuries past. Even if they could walk Miguel across a marigold bridge, they have no idea how to flip him back into the living world from where they are. Nobody knows how to help, unless they’ve got maybe an Aztec shaman stashed away somewhere or something like that...? Yes, this Héctor is in much better shape than the one in the canon movie. It’s only been a decade or so since he died, so he has multiple living people who remember him. He might be penniless and a bit threadbare, but he’s still fit, unfaded, and even somewhat optimistic. There might be a familiar face or two in the office...

Thoughts welcome!

[tentoriwrites]

Between the Lines

After much badgering and poking from several people I have decided to try to keep writing and posting fanfics for the SLBP fandom. I have no agenda other than requests at this point until I see for sure. Considering I was able to do this one with some minor tweaks here and there I think it might be okay.

@dear-mrs-otome​ I told you it was a terrible idea! I thought this might turn into a songfic but it didn’t. But above is the song that spurred this whole shaboozie though.

Not everyone is good with their words. Not everyone can say exactly what they mean. For people like them to find love, sometimes they need someone willing to read between the lines... 

She was internally cursing herself for how much she was letting his words affect her. It must have been because she liked him, in some strange way. She had admitted this to herself weeks ago, but never had any intention of acting on those feelings. He was her boss and so out of her league… Understanding this fact didn’t make the feelings go away. Nor did it make his particularly biting criticism any easier to swallow today of all days when everything else had already gone wrong. She knew without him saying a word the mistake she had made and was already going back to fix it when he stopped her.

If that had been all she would have been fine. She could have soldiered on through her shift and been perfectly fine with the whole thing. But no, he hit her in a spot left vulnerable by the last guy she dated. She sniffled hard and gave her chest a self-conscious squeeze. She hated that she was still under the spell of that ass hole, but here someone else had said it and she couldn’t help but wonder if it were true… She sighed and tried to push those thoughts away.

She had a myriad of reasons to be especially emotional today. Everything had gone wrong from work to school and anything in between. She knew this was in no small measure hormones taking their toll on her otherwise buoyant attitude. But one could only take so many small things going wrong before it dragged them down. The straw that broke the camel’s back was forgetting or losing her keys somewhere. Locked out waiting for the landlord all she could do was sit on the stoop and lament her rotten luck in love and life, in everything. There was a crack of thunder that made her look up at the darkening sky.

“Perfect…” She muttered before sinking her head into her knees again. “Locked out in the rain…” One drop of water hit her head as she sobbed, makeup ruining with each passing tear. She knew there would be more so, she grabbed her bags and hugged them between her legs and body in an effort to keep them dry.

“I have to keep these notes my tutor gave me dry… I won’t be able to do my homework otherwise…” She muttered aloud not expecting a response. There was something relaxing about the rain hitting her back slowly. If she wasn’t being forced to sit in it on today of all days she would likely find it soothing. She just started to wipe the ruined makeup away with some tissues when someone broke the monotony of slow falling rain.

“You’re in the way.” Her whole body grew rigid as she sat up slowly. She knew that voice… She looked up and sure enough there was her boss hovering in front of her, umbrella in hand.

“Sorry…” She replied dumbly as she slid to the side of the stoop. Although he could have just gone in and left her, he wasn’t moving.

“Only a dullard sits outside when it is clearly going to rain soon.” There was a harshness she had grown accustom to in his voice that was missing. He was always so harsh with her at work but always made sure not to leave until she could complete the task perfectly. That’s why she never quit her job or looked for another one, despite his piercing words, her time with him had been extremely fruitful. But today she was too emotionally drained to stand it. In fact, she had just up and left in the middle of a shift without saying a word.

“I’m locked out…” She replied quietly as she dropped her gaze again. “Only a dullard loses something as important as their keys, right?” Her voice was positively crestfallen as she went back to taking all the makeup off. It was a rouse to distract herself from starting to cry again. A long, exasperated sigh drifted through the air before he sat down next to her.

“Surely, what I said earlier didn’t cause all this…” He gestured to her vaguely with his free hand as he held the umbrella over them with the other. He wasn’t looking at her though, his gaze was focused on the building across the street. “My criticism was not unduly harsh. Further, you have taken my criticisms far better in the past.”

“Your criticisms are always harsh.” She paused only long enough to crumple the tissues and stuff them in her pocket. “But you’re right about the things I do wrong when you do criticize me. I just… today…” He didn’t care. She knew he didn’t care about her problems or about how she always wanted to work harder to show him she could do it. How she wished he would notice her efforts from time to time instead of just her mistakes. She wanted so desperately for him to care, but she knew it was folly. So, she swallowed all the things she had wanted to say. “I’m sorry I just left like that. I’ll stay late tomorrow to make up for it.” As she folded back up on herself she caught a look at the time.

“Shouldn’t you be at the library still? You shift doesn’t end for another hour…” She glanced over at him and noticed a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Do not presume to make my clean up your messes anymore.” He muttered as he slowly held up her keys. She just stared at him mouth agape as the keys tinkled against each other. When she didn’t immediately take them from his hand he grew irritated. He grabbed her hand and yanked it over, but he had pulled far harder than was necessary and she was now leaning on top of him as he came to a stop against the stone railing.

“Just what exactly are you doing you… you… BRAZEN HUSSY!” He sputtered and spewed the words almost frantically but his efforts to remove her from his person were half-hearted at best. All the while his blush deepened. It was cute, she thought, as she took it in for as long as she could. Her straight laced and by the book boss always seemed so confident and in control. Yet here he was bashful and shy like a teenager with a… NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT! NO WAY! She jerked herself off him and immediately looked away.

“Sorry, sorry! I wasn’t expecting you to pull so hard!” Not a lie, really. A long silence fell between them save for the rain on the umbrella and the sound of her boss righting himself. “Mister Ishida…” She finally said at last.

“We aren’t at work…” His voice was quiet and restrained. “You can call me Mitsunari outside of work.” That was a shock to say the least.

“Mister Mitsunari…” He let out a long, exasperated sigh as he rolled his eyes.

“JUST Mitsunari. No Mister…” He finally looked at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do the same.

“Why are you still here, Mitsunari? You could have just given me my keys from the start and left.”

“You were in the way…” He muttered looking away again, an unreadable expression masking the complex emotions he really felt.

“I didn’t know you lived here… and your shift…” She cut in after she thought he wouldn’t finish.

“I didn’t get to finish!” He snapped irritably as his blush deepened. “Just now or before…” She looked at him confused a moment waiting for him to explain.

“You really don’t get do you…” He sighed again as he stared at the concrete sidewalk. “I suppose it can’t be helped…” He sat up straight as if he were trying to brace himself against an in coming tidal wave. “You were in the way of me completing my work.” It took a moment for the words to sink in.

“You… you were distracted because of what I did?”

“Yes… it was very bothersome and no matter how I thought about it I couldn’t figure out why. So, I decided to bring you your keys now and see if I could get any more information to further my understanding.” He explained very seriously. A blush creeped across her face at a rate similar to her mouth slowly falling open. Not possible… Mitsunari a crush… on her? And not even realize that’s what it was?!

“So, did you get your answers?” She finally asked as her curiosity overpowered her shock.

“Only more questions…” His reply was sullen and he seemed to be deep in thought. “Like why seeing you cry made my chest hurt. Or why I couldn’t just walk away…” It was becoming clear he wasn’t going to figure this out on his own.

“Mitsunari would you turn this way for a moment? Please?” He begrudgingly obliged and she seized the opportunity. Grabbing his coat collar, she pulled him to her sending the umbrella off and exposing them to the now pouring rain. Her lips found his easily enough. Though they were parted in preparation to deliver a scaving rebuke of her actions, they were now silent as she pressed against them.

“I like you too, Mitsunari.” She whispered as she pulled away. Her face darted to the side to hide her blush and only then did she notice her bookbag was getting soaked.

“Damn it! I really am an idiot!” She lamented as she pulled the bag up against herself trying to save the contents from total loss. “I needed those notes to do my homework…” Tears started to well up in her eyes as she smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. At the same time the umbrella covered her again another hand grabbed her wrist and stopped her from hitting herself again.

“Your tutor is the real idiot. How you could learn anything from a second-rate teacher like him is beyond me.” His harsh tone was back though it was clearly not directed at her for once. He lowered her hand and finally looked at her, despite the blush on his cheeks. “I suppose it can’t be helped either. From now on you are not to go back to that tutor. Anything you need help with I’ll teach you.” He was so serious in that moment her heart skipped a beat. It seemed unfinished though, it almost felt as if there was more he wanted to say or do.

“Thank you… Is… is there something else?” She felt hopeful as she looked him in the eye.

“That thing with the lips…”

“A kiss?”

“I know what it’s called you, dullard!”

“Yes, yes…” She couldn’t help but giggle at his flustered face and voice.

“Your technique was terrible.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time.” Next time seemed to strike him in an odd way.

“Not without some practice first.” Before she could even try to make sense of what that meant, his lips were on hers and every possible thought was plucked away…

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” He whispered when he pulled away. “You’re not a manju-chested simpleton with bean paste for brains.” He brushed the damp hair from her face and hooked it behind her ear. “You’re beautiful… even without all that unnecessary paste on your face.” She started sobbing again and his sweet demeanor faded instantly.

“Oh, hells now what?” He was clearly confused and exasperated as he started to pull away. She sniffled a few times.

“Sorry, I’m really happy is all, I promise.” His narrowed eyes searched her face seemingly to confirm what she said. “Why don’t you come up and I’ll make you some tea and let you dry off.”

“This had better not be a feeble attempt to seduce me… you… succubus…” He was pouting when he looked away and she giggled.

“I assure you, it’s not.” She mused as she reached down and picked up her keys from where they had landed on the stair between them. She consciously realized something she perhaps noticed long before. With Mitsunari, you sometimes had to read between the lines…