#no. no going back on statements right now. we are ANGRY and UNAPOLOGETIC

[fisheito]

sometimes, the silhouettes have an ambiguity to them that fosters a mystery-teehee-??-guessy-game. this is not one of those times

[muffindaddystyles]

Tell me you love me, before I go.

A/N: A very short smutty writing I had in my swirling whole night, which unapologetically I ended up writing in the wee hours of dark.

Summary: Harry and Y/N are rivals -- very passive aggressive enemies. When on a mission Y/N breaks into his room he had no choice but to punish her.

AU: Rivals to lovers, dark sci-fi, angry rough sex, spanking and spitting, reassurance kink and unrequited love.

A war between two groups. Left one with nothing but a tech base and other with almost everything. So the Arsonists raid the Phantoms' buildings to steal food items and necessary fuels for their people since they're mostly unarmed due to lack of weapons they try to use their brain as much as possible. 

Y/N works in one of the tech bases of Arsonists and right now she's standing with her five more mates trying to figure out how to break through these large gates of the villain's building, one of his most strong headquarters. 

They've to collect some data before another truck of fuel arrives for Phantoms next Wednesday so they could have access to it without doing much effort. 

Once sneaking in successfully because the two guards were too muddled in gossiping their arsess about their maiden. The building's nothing too extravagant, sleek and able to live, dimmed to an unpleasant light indicating everyone inside it is sleeping. 

She barges into the villain's room easily and almost had all the information in her hands from his drawers when the door to the room banged close, startling her at spot and the frames of her glasses fell on the carpeted floor. 

"Shit." 

"D'ya think cursing would take ye' out of here? if so you're down bad" Her heart sinks in when his cold insensate voice booms within the walls — a heavy boot comes crushing her glasses, again and again mercilessly. 

Her blood boils. Because, what the fuck. Doesn't he have any manners? 

"Do you think I need my glasses to punch the shit out of you, you prick!!" She pounced at him, almost breaking his nose into a splitted eiffel tower but he dodged it, twisting her wrists at her back and snatching the files from her sneering menacingly —- letting her painful grunts fly over his head without any remorse. 

"Well, well." She yelps when he tightens his grip angrily, "Look what cat dragged in come little mousey we're going to have some fun." She didn't know until now that someone could be this strong as he puts her in a chair like a rag doll binding her with no escape out. 

She tries to squirm and wriggle her butt out but he just tuts standing tall and evil in front of her, she rakes her gaze slowly up to his tanned biceps and clavicles popping from underneath his flimsy shirt, matted curls grazing his shoulders. 

"Oh no, trust me sweetheart, you're going to want to stay strapped in here. We're going to find out how many times an Arsonist can break –- and for the fact my people will kill you on the spot if you step out of my room." Shiver runs down her body from fear and he chuckles, flopping onto the edge of his bed, man spreading, leaning onto the heels of his palms behind him. 

"You're pathetic!" She spits out. Full of venom. 

"Pfft, a thief telling me that 'm pathetic." He shakes his head and she's despising his audacity as if he rules the world. She could kick him square in his sexy face but the thing's she's bound to this damn uncomfy chair. 

"Atleast, I don't go on killing people." She grumps and it's like she pushed a button when his irises turn pitch dark. Her eyes widen in astonishment, reeking with fear when he leaves his spot in a thunder striding towards her furiously and drags the chair closer to him, almost lifting it inches above floor. 

The next thing she knows that a gun is resting against her temple ready to be fired, "Ye' really that desperate fo' me to prove it to you, huh?" He growls, hooded gaze following the gun that's sliding down her cheek and the way her breath wavers —- lips trembles, nose twitches he knows he's fucked. 

"Will it hurt?" If she's going to die it better be an easy way. 

His eyes soften at that. Taking in the rosy features of her, the plushiness and squishiness of her skin that his fingers feels like dipping into cream. The women of Phantom aren't like this; they're built differently to fight and kill who wrongs them -- they're almost heartless at this point. 

"Dunno, You'll get to know after taking one." He shrugs like it's not a biggie tipping her chin with the gun's pointer and her eyelids slip shuts. She couldn't cry. Even her dead body wouldn't forgive her if she would cry infront of her worst enemy for the last time. 

"I hate you, Harry. I'd never ever forgive you for kidnapping my cat when we were small." There she said it. If she's gonna die soon she better let it off her chest. Before it could hit him right in the wound he builds a shield fast arguing back with a stoic chuckle. 

"Guilt tripping wouldn't help, darling." He tuts patting her cheek with the gun's barrel —- funny case it's empty of bullets. He just shooted all of them whilst doing target practice. 

"Fuck you." She yells. 

"It'd take much more action than just undressing me naked with your bare eyes." He squeaks dramatically. Stepping away and pouts when she huffs trying to kick her feet in his direction. 

"Not my fault that you're a perv." 

He pouts feigning fake disappointment putting a hand on his chest, "You're such a grudge holder." 

"Think about 10 ways to fuck me until then 'm heading to make amends for you -- see what they offer in return of their precious nerd." He smirks, it's sad such a gorgeous face could be such evil she thinks. 

// 

When he comes back she's fallen asleep from getting tired and exhausted being trapped in the same spot for hours, "Sorry, peaches but they don't want you back –- even told me to kill you if that what it ta —- oooh" He halts in his tracks closing the door behind him quietly not to wake her up and pads softly towards her, putting her dangling head back gently in a comfortable position and tucks a strand of her hair that's tickling her nose behind her ear. 

You're not supposed to act that way with your enemy, you FUCKER. 

His brain screams but his heart says otherwise. 

She has changed. She never cries anymore. Everytime they kidnapped her or she ended up being caught from his henchmen —- she'd always need company to make her feel less frightened from the hollowness of their buildings, would cry when they'd lock her up in dark rooms. 

It's awfully hurtful how once bestfriends turns into rivals just because of a conflict that ruined their and their families lives. 

She has been doing all of this for people who doesn't even care about her. They're using her and many others like her to build a nuclear power plant so they could become intimidating. 

He retires to sleep. Debating in his sleep whether he should just free her and tell her to sleep in one of the rooms of the buildings but soon the possibilities died when he was high in his slumber. 

// 

He groans, knuckling the sleepiness away from his eyes. He woke up from loud the thumping and found Y/N trying to break the door knob, he winces covering his ears when she screams watching him lunge towards her in rush. 

His chocolate curls bouncing atop his head. His emerald eyes speaking with morning's gold and lips ripe like cherry. His brows kinked in annoyance and expression pinched in rage. 

"You're confident." He rasps out in his morning husk and slams his hands on either side of her head trapping, cornering her between him and the wall.

"Did you really think it was going to be this easy." He nothing but purres, pushing her against the door. She gasps abruptly aware of their height differences moreso the radiation of power he daunts that she ignored her whole life. 

"Hmm." He hummed. Eyes black with intimidation burning her under the intensity of it, he keeps his focus on her, smirking. "It suits you. This trying to fight me, desperation is a beautiful look on you." 

"Fuck you." 

"I mean if, ask nicely." His smile is sweetly honey and lethal if you ask me. 

She glares at him with blazing daggers, "This isn't the way you make people love you." Her chest heaving with his heat close to her and his scent enveloping her. 

"Love?" He laughs fondly even, crinkled forming by his eyes and he breathes out when she hovers her dry lips over his's, "Sweet thing this isn't about love — if ye ask me far from that." He's lying. He's full of bullshit. 

"And yet you don't touch me or hurt me." She squints her eyes up at him wrecking her brain how to slip away from his hold, "If you beg so." He simpers awfully lewd for her. Sure as rock for what he said with his whole chest. 

"Come get me then!" She trips him aside and rushes for the door when he pushes her into it tightening his hand around her throat, it's aching him to tell her the truth but he wants to let her know her worth. He rests his forehead against her's muttering a rumble deep within his chest, "They don't want you Y/N." Her windpipes squeezes painfully. The statement punching her lungs. Tears springing in her eyes. 

"You're lying!!" She looks up at him shattered and desperate. 

He caresses his knuckles against her tear stained cheek, "Shh, shh baby I'll always want you even if they don't — " He jerks back when she blows hit at his brawny chest yelling at him. 

"It's because of you!! You, you, you." He sighs. Grabbing her wrists and pining them above her head, "Shut up, please." His chillness irks her more and she nips at him feastly. 

"Make me." So he does. When her eyes drift up at his determined ones it takes her breath away and she knew it was over for her. 

His lips catches her's in a hard kiss, driving them apart with the force of it. Nothing gentle mind mushing about it rather pricking needles into her skin with the severeness of it. She feels the door rattling against her back when he shifts, pushing her against it with his hips, every thought of her exploding into white noise of want and lust. The dark curl of desire twisting in her stomach and pearling sweat on her neck. With the last thread of restraint in herself she tries to pull away. 

"No." He says bringing her lips back to his's. Cupping her cheeks to deepen the kiss and it's ardent as before not loosing it's spark, she slips her hands under his shirt — pulling him closer and the low groan at the back of his throat, a small pleading noise of want sets her skin on fire. 

"Fuck me."  She mewls. Trying to latch on his body like a kitten with it's dainty paws. 

He glides his clammy palms down her bum and grabs her thighs wrapping them around his waist. Not breaking the kiss but tasting ever dulcet corners of her mouth and creating heavenly noises. 

The next thing they know she's crawling back with the help of her bum to settle in the nest of pillows and he's fumbling with his belt buckle quite aggressively, she tugs the hem of his shirt down not satiated enough from having his lips on her and meanders her fingers in his hair to pull at them roughly in order to flush her chest up against his's.

"Never thought your sheets would have smelled other than sex." Because, genuinely. They smell that of fresh mint and roses. 

"So, you think of me doing dirty on this bed you're laying at the moment?" He asks mock and degradation evident in his tone, "D'ya get wet dreamin' 'bout me railin' ye' to death?" He grazes his teeth along her jaw and sucks at her earlobe counting in her silence. 

"Shut up." She gasps, probably from the abrupt press of his bulge against the inside of her thigh. 

"Make me then." He growls. Fisting the hem of her hoodie and pulls it over her head throwing it among his skinny jeans. Her head falls back and lips tremble from the effect of slap he landed at her outer thigh —-- she knows she can't shut him.

Though he knows that her single command and he'd be at his knees for her. 

When she clings to him for dear life and whimpers in his ear softly, his eyes widen in realization and he leans away to watch her expressions diffuse into manifold emotions. His nose scrunches up and he holds back his cooes for her. 

She's a subby. A cute one. 

Her eyes blink open to the sight of him out of his boxers and it waters her mouth —- her mind manipulating her to lunge forward and take his heavy member in her palm to give a good suck to his shiny crimson head. 

Down her throat. Nestle her nose against the trim patch of hair under his balls. 

"Like what y'see, doll?" He highers his chin quite smug about her staring and she hates him for that, "Pretty cocky for someone who likes staring at his enemy's tits." Her voice groggy. She wheezes a squeak through her nose when Harry pulls his shirt over his head revealing toned pecs and abs -- skin sewn with tats. 

Unfortunately, she doesn't get to stare at it for longer when that shirt comes wrapping around her eyes blocking her sight. 

He can never let her have nice things would he?

"Wanted to gag your mouth with it … but I'd rather love hearing you moan fo' daddy." He nips at her collarbones -- sucking it harshly to leave a prominent mark. His calloused hand rubs over her tummy smiling against her skin when she jolts and lets a little squeal slip. 

His cock drips precome at her tummy and her breath shudders into heavy pants when the tip of his cock dipped in her belly button nudging it. 

"Ha —- " He glides his sticky head down her happy trail and slips his large palm into her panties cupping her with his middle finger teasing her entrance, "Couldn't hear you!" He ducks down to put his ear near her lips and drums the pads of his digits against her cheek. 

She huffs and squirms for a second then moans breathily when he spanks the side of her hip leaving a sting, "Oh my god, daddy." His grin victorious and he lowers down to smudge his lips against her parted ones -- kissing her tongue and humming around it. 

She's somewhere it's hard to configure out, in between paradise and wonderland. 

"Tell me princess, what d'I do with you in your filthy dreams?" He grabs her jaw patching gentle pecks against her lips and he slops his finger into her throbbing pussy, "Fuckin' drippin' down ye' bum fo' me." She cries out trying to hook her thigh around him but he hisses slapping her cunt hardly -- turning her into a thrashing mess. She's trying hard to suppress the bitter-sweet sensation of her own body getting out of control and her glistening pussy lips flutter erratically creating sloppy noises. 

She squirts drenching the sheets underneath them and her panties. 

He slides his arm under her arching back pushing her up against his chest with a jerk, "Daddy's askin' you somethin'." He grits, propping his knee in between her thighs to rub it against her soaking centre. 

She gulps, licking her dry lips, "You–your rings … ah!" Her whimpers are muffled against his chest and he twists his thumb in tight circles to smear her wetness from her slit to clitoris, "What 'bout them, doll?" 

How does she tell him she liked what he did earlier. 

"Daddy, please … " She whines blindly searching for his face but he grips her wrists in his one hand and groans, "How's daddy gonna make you feel good when you don't tell him, pet?" He takes a kitten lick of her perky nipple. Teasing her areola with the tip of his cold tongue against her warm sweaty body —- he laps at it hungrily then creates a suckling noises, the noises, his slobbery tongue on her body, his fingers curled inside her pussy and the thick humidity is too overwhelming, she feels like fainting. 

She wants him, inside her needy pussy. 

She can't take the teasing anymore. 

"Spanking! I – I liked it when you did it, please." He kisses her nipple for the last time before smashing his mouth against her's in a fervent sinfulness and parts away with a smooching noise to sit back on his heels, "It wasn't that hard was it? Just a word and I could give you my whole world." The sincerity in his voice makes her want to hug him and kiss him for lifetime but for now he has other plans as he rips her panties away moaning obscenely gruff at the sight of her pussy weeping for him to pound his cock inside her, so ready and full of dripping honeyed wetness  for him. 

"Your safe word is clouds." He whispers in her ear. He knows her limits and her resistance but by any chance he'd cross it he'd never forgive himself, "What's it?" He asks and she says in wavering, "Clouds." 

"Atta girl." He pets her cheek. 

Her nail scratches the side of his hands that are pinning her down when he spits on her already damp cunt, a loud noise resonates along with her needy cries when his free hand adorned in jewels came spanking her pussy and her pelvis remains lifted in air bathing in the sting of metal and the throb rattling in her whole core. 

"This's what you wanted?" He kisses his teeth slapping her slick clit again and again, "To be roughed up by daddy, hmm." She bobs her head squirming and wriggling. Her words struck in her throat. 

"To be manhandled." He hums a growlish moan tasting his own fingers coated in her juices, "I'll show you what being manhandled really feels like." He promises her. She gasps a sweet yelp when he flips her over and throws her bum up.

His cock rubbing against her thigh and her heartbeat fastens, anticipating something, crimping the sheets in her fists and mewls into the mattress when he spanks her ass loving the way it jiggles stroking it afterwards to subside the burn down before landing another brutal one. 

She bolts her eyes shut throwing back her hips at him and he lays all the way over her back pushing her down on the bed, her cum trickling down the inside of her thigh, "Want daddy's cock?" He asks. Slicking the head of his prick up and down her asshole and slit. 

When she nods vigorously he bumps it in furious circles against her swollen bundle of nerves, "Then beg fo' it," He says intimidatingly and she doesn't waste a second before blabbering shamelessly. 

"Daddy … please I want your massive cock inside me, all of it." In her entire lifetime -- she never once uttered these kind of words. 

His heart mushes into a puddle seeing her a babbling mess and grabby hands for him, he kisses her gently speaking to her with foremost affectionate, "shh, shh moppet. You could have it anytime you want it, daddy's g'na fill you to rim with his cum and make you keep it there for hours with his prick still snug inside your little pussy, just made for him, c'mere...yeah just like that." He lays her back gently that her front is facing him now and wraps his hand around her calve raising it and pushing it against her chest firmly.

A series of pornographic moans and whimpers echoes in his bedroom when he seathes inside her slowly stretching her out in by inch leaving a burn behind her pulsating walls, their breath laboured breaths mingling, "Fuck you're so warm baby —-- hugging daddy's cock so good." He whines looking down where they're connected and knotted. His stomach twists and turns, his hips stiffens and he resists from pushing inside her when she's not ready but her milking him with her wetness isn't doing him any mercy too. 

She gropes his ass, nudging him to move and their teeths clanks, temples falls against eachother and lips whisper prayers of their unrequited love when he pulls all the way back to pound back inside her roughly. 

"You're daddy's good girl, making him feel so good. I want to keep you to myself. all of you and cherish you, make love to you, w'na mark you however I want." He groans eyes rolling back under his closed lids grinding his hips against her's in rhythmic pleasuring motions to give her clit stimulations and she cries out feeling another bursting orgasm bubbling in her tummy. 

"'M gonna cum, daddy!" She tugs at his roots and he drives more maniacly inside her, "Squirt around daddy's cock pet, so your pussy could swallow it deeper inside you." The headboard of bed hits against the wall vigorously and she digs her heels deeper into the dimples at his back moaning at the top of her lungs when she gushes all over his dick making more squelching, soapy, dirty noises of him raming inside her. 

She desires for more. 

She has become one little insatiable thing. 

His balls smacks against her bum and his thursts turn faster to chase his high, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He curses nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and keeps his hand around his throat with the slight pressure of claimation. 

"Come fo' me again." He spanks her ass and she clamps shut down at him pushing him to the edge of ecstasy, "Squeezing me so tight -- gimme more, I know you can princess." Her legs tremble around his waist when she crampies around him and his cock's head strokes against her sweet spot doing wonders to just topple her off real quick. 

"Daddy!" She feels floaty and foggy head coming on his cock for the many times she has forgotten. Her mind blocking out even the weak shuddering whimpers and beaten moans of Harry as he reaches his orgasm unloading inside her -- his cum sticking thickly to her walls and some of it oozing outside of her pussy hole but he pumps it back with lazy strokes. 

He lifts his smushed face from the dip of her neck, his own curls sweaty against the nape of his neck and he smoothes his palms down her sides to calm her, his lips brushing featherly against the corner of her mouth as she keeps on blabbering something. 

When he tries to pull out gently she cries out pawing at his shoulders, "Daddy no!" He caresses her sweaty hair back and gets rid of her blindfold, pecking her nose sweetly. 

He wants to take care of her. He yearned to have her like this for years. He has to bring her back from her sub-space before it's too late. 

"It's no daddy anymore, petal. I'll crush you in this position — " Carefully he tries to retreat but stop when she says in a very dejected feeble voice, bottom lip wobbling and tears springing at the corners of her eyes, "You don't want me too?" OH NO. This's what Harry was afraid about. A breakdown. He saw the storm coming but didn't know it could be this worst right when she's in her sub-space. 

His face pales at that. His state in frenzy and panic. 

"No bubba. I want you my precious girl -- s'just you're gonna get tired like this, hmm. 'N I have so much to show you and make you meet new people -- couldn't have me baby walkin' on her wobbly legs for whole day could I?" He cups her cheeks tenderly and smiles down at her warmly smothering her in devoted kisses. 

"Promise, daddy?" She sniffles staring up at him with doe innocent eyes and he shakes his head, "Harry sweet angel, come back to me moppet." He keeps his gaze locked with her's, gliding his thumb delicately against her cheeks and seals his promise with a kiss. 

"Promise." 

She lets him pull out and he shushes her wrecked whimpers with his lips. Falling to side with a large puff of breather and embraces her with his arm slinged around her shoulders protectively and she hides her face in his chest, mumbling incoherent things and he tries to stay with her emotionally and physically much as possible -- assuring her and soothing her with his sweet nothings. 

"Harry." She whispers softly and his ears perks up at that looking down at her with most loving eyes, "Hi baby." He giggles quietly kissing the tip of her nose and she sniffs cuddling into him. 

"Sorry —- " He shakes his head pinching her chin to make her look up. 

"You don't have to darling -- s'okay, everything's alright." After, making sure she's okay and giving her million re-assurances because he loves to he cleaned her with a damp wash rag. 

"Such a pretty babe." He makes her blush treating her as if she's a china glass doll who'd break at his slightest poke and showers her in praises and kisses because dunno who got her self-esteem and confidence like that but that person sure needs to get punched in their face. 

"Did I hurt you?" He asks tenderly applying a thin layer of cream on her red imprints. She shakes her intervining her fingers into his's one by one and kisses his knuckle, "No." 

"Good." He chuckles as if he was holding his breath. 

"How bout you take a lil nap and I see if I could bring us some brekkie, hmm?" He's gonna break his own rule. Taking food from mess area to your rooms and taking long showers was never allowed, having lights on after 12 because of the risk of attacks. 

"'M not hungry, please stay." Her eyes half open and her face buried into his scented pillow, "Dunno. But to me you look like y'could faint any time soon." He says sternly pulling a snugly clean duvet over her body. 

"Okie but come back quick." 

"Don't worry. In a snap I'll be infront of you." 

//

It's her fourth day here. She came out of his room to socialize just a day before and she realized from the nasty glowers thrown her way that not a single person likes her. 

But it felt like spending a lifespan with Harry. To fill the emptiness of all those moments of their childhood together they lost once after the war. 

She got to know he's the best cuddler and likes to be a small spoon, she loves to jetpack him. He seems rather scary and is scary when he's commanding people off -- they wouldn't dare but to speak a word over him but he's this big softie Y/N likes to squish in their privacy. 

He got her glasses fixed and put them over her nose with a mishevious kiss, she was unable to not to grin when he murmered against her lips, "Now you could punch me with your glasses on." 

"Seems like I don't have to do that anymore." She shrugged squealing afterwards when he threw her over his shoulder tickling her till all she coul see was him and stars. 

It was all going on track until now when she was passing through the lobby to go to Harry who's practicing out in field, "What are you doing here Alex?" She asks angrily grabbing his arm and he tells her feeling relieved she's okay, "I'm here to take you back." 

"But they don't want me back." She grits, he catches her wrist pleading her sadly, "We want you back -- Nia waits for you daily." Nia is his five years daughter. 

"I know that … but — " How she's gonna tell him she's in love with one person they despise with their whole hearts. 

"But what — "

"Alex!!" He was in the midst when she sees a bullet approaching his way from the side of his shoulder and screeches loudly pushing him aside, the bullet makes it's home in her chest. 

It was fired from Harry's gun with his own hands that were loving on her an hour ago. Life drains out of his body and he feels sickness approaching to split his throat, knees turning weak as he stares his shaking hand in horror. 

Before, he could do anything another bullet hits Y/N in shoulder knocking her to floor and this time it was one of his people, the shot was fired on instinct. 

"Put your gun down!!" He shouts at him shoving him away with a single forceful push and strides towards where the love of his life's laying in a pool of blood. 

He pulls his hair maniacly, falling to his knees and pulls her up in his lap cradling her head gently to press his lips against her forehead, "No,no,no,no baby." He sobs wiping his tears away harshly to see her properly. 

"Ouch. It actually hurts." She gives him a frail smile raising her shaky hand to cup his cheek. 

Will it hurt? 

You'll get to know after taking one. 

He wishes he could takes his words back. 

"You'll be fine, you're okay, 'm so so sorry moppet. Didn't-- didn't know y'were standing behind him, bu –-- but s'...s'okay yeah —-- call the doctor!! Why nobody has called him yet!!!" His scream thunders aggressively as everyone watches  their commander this defenceless and vulnerable infront of them for the first time in shock. 

"It's not your fault, okay?" She manages to speak groaning and eyes rolling back from pain residing in her bones torturesly, he cries out like a wounded puppy patting her cheek to keep her awake, "Please stay with me baby, please." Her chest tightens. His chest tightens from the fear of loosing her and he stands up carrying her bridal style tumbling his way on wobbly legs towards the medical ward in the building. 

His tears shiny droplets on her skin and she nuzzles into his fragrance for the last time. 

"There was no happy ending to this," She murmurs. Any, sign of life fading from inside her and replacing her eyes with stoness.

He brings her closer to himself, "hey, hey now none of that -- you're not leaving. 'M not letting you leave." He kicks open the door and lays her limp body on the stretcher. Snapping his head outrageously in every direction to find any doctor but none and drags his palms down his teary face.

He couldn't stop crying.

He's loosing the sunlight of his bleak life he must protect her at all costs.

But, life's prize is something that would have him selling all of what he had worked for and still he'd be unable to even bring her back from cold dark earth.

"Shit. Shit ---– I'll patch you up myself. I know how to take a bullet out — " He creates a ruckus around to collect stuff, "Harry! Harry! listen to me." but her hollow anguish calls for him breaks him at last. 

"How about you spend these last few minutes with me because 'm really 'bout to die commander." She tries to keep her anxious voice cheery but fails drastically coughing blood, "Don't say that baby -- I just got you, don't leave me, don't make me hate myself again." Sad tears trickles down her cheeks and he feels like fainting imagining the pain, agony and fear she's suffering from. 

She's hating to leave him.

"Maybe in afterlife, we could have a nice homely house, long warm baths and two smol kittens —- and oh I forgive you for kidnapping my cat." She admires him for the last time wiping his tears away and tries to lift his head that's lowered into shame. 

She's so fond of him at the moment.

She gulps, trying to gasp for oxygen feeling her heartbeat drop to zero, pleading him, "Tell me you love me before I go." His bloodshot eyes snap to her's and his chest heaves ruggedly with heartbreaking sobs -- his words full of sorrow tasting the bitterness of goodbye on her lips streaking away the blood on her mouth. 

"I love you so much, baby. Never stopped. Never will." She cries at last kissing him back with all the blood she has left pumping to her heart and tries to exchange the words but it was too late before she lost it all -- cold in his loving embrace. 

"Stay…." He begs praying like he did never before. 

"Y/N!!" He screams trying to shake her alive and hugs his angel to himself with mournful wails. 

Everyone standing outside the room knows that they'll never see this Harry again. 

[adorethedistance]

Party Hard - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: drinking, partying, intoxication, non sexual stripping, swearing probably, 

Words: 6343 (which, if you know me, is a FUCK ton)

Summary: Going from tipsy to full on drunk is a terrible idea, but especially when you’ve got a secret to hide that could mean the difference between preserving and ruining your relationship with your best friend.

A/N: A couple items before we get started: I think I’m back on my bullshit? I mean I wrote this fic and it’s three times the length of my normal fics. Also I wrote this headassery as a literal self insert me(ace) x someone and so there are a couple flaws here and there that make this something I’m not 100% proud of. Owen picks the reader up a few times and I’m aware this kind of thing can really effect someone’s experience with this fic so I do apologize for the lack of inclusivity in regards to body type/ableism. I’m falling really behind on school work because I just can’t find the motivation which either means y’all will be seeing a lot more of me soon or absolutely nothing at all. Not sure which yet.

“You’ve got it so bad.” Charlie rests his left arm on his best friend’s shoulder, tipping back the half-full angry orchard bottle he’d been nursing for the better half of an hour. Owen’s stare is immediately broken and he crosses his arms defensively.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Turning to meet his friend’s smug stare, Owen shoots Charlie a glare of annoyance before returning his attention to the girl on the dance floor. Surrounded by a gaggle of her closest friends, Y/n is dancing and singing her heart out to Fergalicious with Chelsea, Leila, Savannah, and Carolynn. The bunch of them share in sporadic laughs as they exchange ridiculous dance moves just to add to the fleeting moment’s laughter. An assortment of screeches and squawks blend together as they all prepare to sing the rap section of the song. Observing the level of excitement the girls have over the verse, Owen can’t help but laugh at the spectacle.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Charlie inquires between sips of his cold drink.

“What?”

“Y/n. Why have you not asked her out.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Yeah. Because you haven’t asked her out.” Owen rolls his eyes before turning 90 degrees to fully face the smug guitarist. He turns about-face to prove a point, but another symphony of squeals at the next song choice drags his attention back to his other best friend on the dance floor. “You’re so whipped.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! Look, if you don’t ask her out tonight, I will.”

“You’re not even into her,” Owen protests unceremoniously. Setting the molasses colored bottle on the counter next to Owen, Charlie steps back and copies his position of crossed arms and a relaxed stance.

“You’re right, I’m not. But you are, and if that’s what it takes to light the fire under your ass then I’ll do it.”

“She wouldn’t say yes.”

“Are you sure? I mean, the only way to know for sure is to ask.” And with that, Charlie is off, speeding toward Y/n at a pace that launches Owen into an impulsive chase. To prevent his friend from doing something stupid, Owen shoves him in the opposite direction from the group of girls on the dance floor. What he hadn’t anticipated was Charlie moving so far so fast. Owen has longer legs, he’s supposed to be the faster one, not Charlie. That’s why he hadn’t anticipated turning away from his musical friend to come face to face with a very flushed Y/n. Her lip-gloss coated lips are parted as she catches her breath from all the dancing. They look so soft and inviting that Owen can’t help but stare, and doesn’t realize the several looks of confusion among the girls around him.

“Everything okay, Owen?” Snapping out of his hyper focused stare, Owen blinks a few times, trying to generate a reason for coming over.

“You’ve been dancing for a while.”

“...Yeah?”

“Let me fix you a drink?” His statement comes out as more of a question but the breathless girl agrees nonetheless. Owen extends his hand to her which she gladly accepts but not without a quick word to her friends.

“I’ll be right back, I’m getting a drink.”

Her friends aren’t stupid, quite the opposite actually. And they see right through Owen’s facade of fixing her a drink because she’d been ‘dancing a while’. Please. As if they didn’t know a desperate attempt at flirting when they saw it.

The pounding music from the backyard begins to fade and muffle once the pair step into the Shada’s beautiful kitchen space. Owen leads her to the kitchen island where he has her take a seat on one of the barstools in front of the high countertop. Stepping around the fixture, Owen busies himself with whipping up a drink for Y/n at the makeshift bar on the island. He doesn’t even have to ask what it is she wants. Ice, pink whitney, club soda, and a splash of lime juice mixed together in a red solo cup Owen had considerately written her name on before going all mixologist-mode.

“Your usual.”

“Thank you, sir. You know, I’ve only had a handful of barbecue chips since I got here, and I’m already tipsy, so this actually might get me completely drunk.” Taking a sip, Y/n hums out of pleasure, “Why do you make my favorite drink better than I make my favorite drink?”

“So you have a reason to keep me around.” At the sound of Y/n’s laugh, Owen cracks a smile in time with his favorite sound in the world. The blonde haired man leans forward to rest his weight on his left forearm. He stares at her with adoration seeping from his gaze, before lifting his own cup to drink with her.

“What is that?” she asks, sitting up taller to try and see into Owen’s cup over the island.

“Jack Daniels.”

“I want some.”

“No,” Owen answers swiftly albeit softly. Y/n, however, is not feeling as conciliatory.

“No?”

“Have you ever tried whiskey before?”

“Well, no-”

“You’re drinking a fruit flavored cocktail that’s like 30% nonalcoholic. A sip of this would knock you off your little ass.” Y/n frowns at his words and employs a fake pout of anger to guilt her now laughing friend. Despite her smile, she whines,

“You suck.” Owen merely shrugs unapologetically before sipping and wincing at his drink of choice. “So… how did your date go- with Amy?” And there it is. The question that’s been at the forefront of Y/n’s mind for the last 24 hours.

Owen met this girl Amy at a more professional house party type of event and they hit it off right away. They spent the night invested in conversation, sharing in a cacophony of laughter. Y/n had no right to be upset, but she was. Amy was drop dead gorgeous in that Mini length red, velvet dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her figure was snatched to the gods, and she was about 5’3”; a seemingly irrelevant thing to notice, but Y/n knew that was the height Owen loved in a partner. At least, based on all his previous flings. And not to mention, her beautiful golden blonde hair that extended all the way down her toned back. Amy was perfect to all standards including that of any straight man with eyes and undoubtedly Owen’s. They spent the entire night together, Y/n long forgotten despite having been Owen’s plus one.

Y/n on the other hand didn’t exactly view herself as the drop-dead gorgeous supermodel type. Seeing how Owen took an interest in her at that event, it was no wonder Y/n was jealous. In fact, she had been so jealous that she allowed their flirting to ruin her entire evening.

She had been invited platonically as Owen’s guest, but Owen didn’t feel guilty about leaving her alone once he saw Charlie was by her side the whole night. Little did he know Charlie was only there for her because Owen wasn’t. It was pity company. Pity company that she was grateful to have as she cried into a few gin and tonics. Y/n avoided telling Charlie about her feelings for the adorable drummer, but with the way events transpired, he had figured out what it was that had upset her.

Charlie so badly wanted to give Owen the guilt trip of a lifetime. And he did once he and Owen were alone, heading home in Charlie’s orange hatchback car. He did so by telling Owen about how his best friend had spent the entire evening crying into gin and tonics. ‘Y/n doesn’t even like gin and tonic’ was all Owen could come up with.

When he inquired about why his best friend was crying, Charlie said he didn’t know, but it may have had something to do with the fact that the person who invited her spent the whole night ignoring her; he left it at that, leaving Owen to connect the dots, sort of. Owen had come to the realization that Y/n must have been crying over him, but why? Unable to comprehend a reason, he pushed the situation to the back of his mind. So far back that when Amy texted him that same night, he immediately responded and eventually set up a date for them to get dinner alone Friday evening.

The date was fine. Objectively there was nothing wrong with it. But every time Amy took a sip of the gin and tonic she had ordered, he couldn’t help being reminded of Y/n that night. It took Owen a solid thirty minutes to finally conclude that maybe Y/n was... jealous? Of what? Of Amy? Quickly reviewing a long list of qualities, identical to the one that Y/n had thoroughly checked through when she first saw the blonde, Owen realized she was indeed jealous of Amy. But why? What did Amy have that Y/n didn’t?

Oh.

His initial conclusion in the car with Charlie had to be right. Y/n was crying over him, and seemingly jealous of Amy, all because Amy had his attention. Why was that a problem?

Oh… no. No, Y/n does not have feelings for him. Y/n is... well, Y/n. His best friend, his partner in crime, his confidant, there’s no way she’s in love with him. There’s a different reason as to why she’d been crying into drinks she didn’t like. And that different reason is why her text replies have been short and cold when he had asked for date night conversation pointers. And that different reason is why her smile kept faltering on FaceTime when he was asking for fashion advice for his date.

Y/n is not in love with her best friend.

Owen had spent the past year pushing down his feelings for the girl that threatened to bubble over the top. If Y/n was truly into him, he would’ve acted on them. But she isn’t, so he didn’t. At least, that’s what Owen told himself…

“It was alright,” he offers lamely as a reply to her inquiry. Y/n simply nods and takes another swig of her drink to dull the ache in the center of her chest.

“Just alright?”

“Okay, it was better than alright. She was great.” There’s a hole burning in the center of her heart, and against her better judgment, she expands the deficit by asking for more information.

“What does that mean- that she was ‘great’?”

“You know…” Owen trails off in search of the right words, some words, any words, but nothing comes to him. To sell her nonchalant demeanor, the hopelessly devoted girl is staring down into her cup as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room. She didn’t expect Owen’s eyes to be boring into hers when she looked back up, so she quickly musters a polite smile. Maybe the average onlooker couldn’t tell it was fake, but Owen knows something is off. He just knows. Because he knows her.

“How did those conversation pointers pan out?” She’s deflecting, he thinks.

“One of them worked.” I’m just feeding into it, he thinks.

“Only one of them?” He’s holding back something, she thinks.

“Well, yeah. We didn’t really do much talking if you get what I mean.” I don’t think I can handle this, she thinks.

“I see…” The pair stands together in a silence so tense they felt like strangers. It’s awful. Y/n and Owen hate every second of it, but what could they do? In a moment blinded by upset, Y/n reaches across the island to grab the newly opened bottle of grey goose and pours what must’ve been no less than three shots of liquid into her cup. No club soda or lemonade this time, she chugs down the rest of her drink in a flash; Owen stares at her in disbelief and shock.

Y/n hates being drunk, she likes being the designated driver, she’s never had straight up liquor in her life, and she’s a lightweight, that’s for damn sure. Owen knows all of these things and is even more surprised to see her reaching for an almost empty bottle of gin.

“Hey. Maybe you should take it easy, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a lightweight and you know it. Put the cup down.” When Y/n shakes her head no, something in Owen snaps and his desire to be gentle is long forgotten. “Y/n. Put the drink down.”

“Why do you care, Owen?” In taking time to respond, Owen sees the opportunity and goes for it, taking the cup from her loose grasp and splashing it down the drain of the vegetable sink. “What the fuck?!”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink. Come on.” It’s only a matter of time until Y/n becomes an incoherent human being that’s impossible to wrangle, so Owen is very aware he’s on the clock. Snagging two Arrowhead water bottles in one hand, he takes Y/n’s hand in the other and brings her into the Shada’s den. There are only a few other people in the room, one is a couple and the other a pair of pining idiots, to which Owen becomes slightly wary. Not that the dynamic would change much. He and Y/n are practically a couple according to everyone around them.

Chelsea and Charlie are sitting fairly close together for just friends, on the chocolate brown loveseat facing the couch that Owen has plopped his increasingly intoxicated friend onto; Leila is sitting in a single armchair that a very tipsy Taylor is hanging over the back of to hug her shoulders. Upon seeing Y/n’s pouting expression Chelsea seeks more information,

“You good, fam?”

“He threw it down the sink!” She’s fading faster than Owen had hoped.

“I did. I poured what would’ve been her fifth and sixth shots down the sink.”

“Jesus, Y/n, are you trying to kill yourself?”

“What are you, a cop?” Even tipsy she’s still sharp as a tack. If Owen wasn’t frustrated with her at the moment, he would’ve probably laughed. But he is, so he didn’t. Slipping back into caretaker mode, he hands her one of the water bottles he snagged from the cooler on the way out. In her typical stubborn and petulant fashion, Y/n weakly throws the unopened bottle onto the couch cushion next to her. All their friends laugh but Owen isn’t having it.

“Y/n.” And it only takes a firm call of her name for the slumped over lightweight to glare at him but oblige. She retrieves the bottle and sticks her arm out straight toward Owen’s still standing figure.

“I can’t open it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucked up,” Leila comments.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you fucked up period,” Chelsea adds on. Charlie laughs lightly before resuming whatever conversation the four of them had going pre-Owen and Y/n’s entrance.

Satisfied with the small sips she’s taking of her water, Owen relaxes and takes a seat next to her on the couch. The temporary break in her temper tantrum allows Owen to save his breath; he opens his own water bottle, taking a few drinks which ended up being half the bottle. He’s given her a good bit of room on the couch but it isn’t good enough for Y/n. It takes her a few failed attempts to screw on the cap of her water but once it’s properly sealed, she moves closer to her best friend. The water has acted like some magical temperament cure as Y/n’s previously permanent pout has disappeared.

Owen knows he and Y/n are close enough to where cuddling wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But the way she’s burrowed into his side, picking up his seemingly ‘heavy’ arm to place it around her own inebriated frame, laying her head high up on his chest, and unintentionally resting her hand on his lower abdomen, something feels off. Her hand isn’t dangerously low, but low enough that the side of her limp palm has met the waistband of his jeans. Owen can’t help but feel his skin tingle and burn under her touch. Why is he so affected by her touch all of a sudden?

Owen is pulled from his snowballing thoughts by the sound of Y/n’s muffled voice against his chest. He leans down as far as he can which places his head on top of hers gently.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry,” he whispers just loud enough for her to hear. A tiny drop of warmth on his shirt under her head triggers Owen’s memory: Y/n’s an emotional drunk. She doesn’t get drunk often but when she does, she goes all in and becomes somewhat manic as a result. That accounts for her previous anger. Now it’s sadness, so in about ten minutes, she’ll be easily excitable and bouncing off the walls.

Y/n had carpooled with Leila and Chelsea to the party, and though Owen was upset about her not picking him up like they’d briefly talked about at first, he’s suddenly thankful for the arrangement.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Unhhh.” The lack of a coherent response is enough for Owen, and after finishing the rest of his water, he sits up on the couch.

“Where’s your house key? Hm?” The prospect of losing her key is absolutely devastating to Y/n as she begins to weep. Her imminent distress in response to Owen’s question has all their friends laughing once more; Leila speaks up,

“Check the left chest pocket of her jacket.”

Owen nods, noting the directions, and gently rolls his friend over on her back. Deciding against using her strength, Y/n flops over onto her other side which still allows Owen access to her pocket. His long fingers dwarf the button fastener on her jacket that she often struggles to open, and sure enough her sky blue house key is in her pocket just as Leila said.

“Thanks,” he acknowledges Leila before taking Y/n’s cold hands in his own larger ones to help her stand. It’s a bit of a struggle to stand and as a result, the fading girl leans a bit of her weight into Owen’s side. “You gonna say bye to our friends?”

Y/n nods a goodbye to each person in the room, moving from left to right naming Leila, Taylor, Chelsea, and then Charlie. Upon saying bye to Charlie the small girl starts to cry again, harder this time, much to everyone’s confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Charlie looked a-at me like he didn’t l-like me.” The entire room bursts out laughing, Owen included this time, but she’s still crying. “It’s no-not funny.”

“I know. You’re right, it’s not funny.” Owen’s exaggerated sympathy goes undetected by the very emotional Y/n as she presses her face into his grey long sleeve shirt. She reaches up to hug her arms around Owen’s neck for stability as she adds more tears to the tiny spot from before. “Can you walk?” He asks genuinely as more of her weight leans into him. The only response Owen gets is a few soft sobs, and in reaction to her messy state, lets out a subtle eye roll. He shakes his head before bending down to place one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulder blades, sweeping her off the ground before she can protest.

“Would you guys tell Jer thanks and that I had to take her home?” A symphony of affirmations and goodbyes usher him out of the house, and once outside Y/n’s crying diminuendos into short sniffles and the occasional sigh.

“Here, be careful,” Owen panics as his friend nearly bangs the front of her head against the roof of his car. Once he cautiously places all her limbs in the passenger side, Owen shuts the door and hurries over to the driver’s side as if Y/n could hurt herself in the next five seconds. He places the key in the ignition but before he even touches the gear shift, he turns and looks quizzically at his best friend. The sniffling and sighs coming from her puffy face have lulled her into an almost unconscious state; Owen puffs out a frustrated sigh as he reaches across the entire car to grab Y/n’s seatbelt for her.

Another thing about drunk Y/n is that her emotional state makes her more likely to give in to physical impulses. So after she registers Owen leaning across her lap for the seatbelt, she grabs his shoulder so he doesn’t move away. The action surprises Owen and he turns his face to look into her half-lidded eyes. He’s trying to make sense of the action but his trailing thoughts are interrupted when the girl in the passenger’s seat leans forward slightly to put her face against Owen’s neck.

“I like your smell.” Owen tries so hard not to laugh in fear of upsetting her again, but he can’t conceal the smile growing on his face. He then gently pulls away from her grasp in order to actually start driving,

“Okay. Thank you.”

The car ride is composed of mostly comfortable silence with the occasional inebriated comment or nonsensical sound from the girl in the passenger seat; Owen had been so captivated by Y/n’s uncharacteristically relaxed state, he’d been driving on autopilot and instead of turning left to get on the highway that runs south to where her apartment is, he’d gone north to go to his own place. No big deal, Owen didn’t plan on leaving her intoxicated and alone, and she’s stayed the night plenty of times before now. What’s one more night? It isn’t until he puts the car in park and helps her out of the vehicle that Y/n clocks her surroundings.

“I don’t live here.”

“You don’t, no, but I do,” Owen replies simply before he slides out of the car. Y/n stays in the car as if Owen told her not to move, and looks up at him confusedly when he opens her door. In her tipsy state, she is able to recognize what Owen is doing and smugly places her hand over the buckle of her seatbelt. With her tiny palm over the red button, she begins giggling maniacally.

“What are you doing?” Owen asks with a frustrated sigh although he can’t help the small smile overtaking his features at the sound of her growing laughter. He doesn’t get a response, just more giggling which lets him know he’s going to have to do things the hard way now that she’s in a lifted mood. “Kid, you have to get out of the car.”

“You can’t make me.”

Owen takes a step back from the open door to reevaluate. Y/n always tells him to work smarter, not harder. Another one of her many bouts of wisdom is that you can keep the attention of children and adults alike with a vastly dynamic change in volume. The question is will she notice Owen using this tactic on her in her drunken state?

“Hey, Y/n/n,” his speech drops to a low whisper. “I’m sad, can you hold my hand?” The change in volume works exactly as described; completely convinced by the sincerity of his whispering, Y/n gives him her right hand. “Can I have the other one?”

When she nods a small ‘yes’ and gives him both of her hands, Owen finds himself fighting the urge to laugh at how easy that was. He takes both of her cool hands in his larger left one to reach across her body and release her seatbelt with a swift CLICK.

Luckily Y/n didn’t tangle herself up in the seatbelt, but she had other ideas for causing trouble. Owen helped her out of the car but once she was standing on her own two feet, she began running away from him. With a slam of the car door and a string of breathy curses later, he chases after his best friend before she can hurt herself on literally anything in the parking garage. The sound of Y/n’s laughter carries through the vacant space, and despite all her best efforts, Owen quickly catches up to her. Her giddy intoxication allowed for the suspension of disbelief that she could outrun the much taller Owen Joyner, but she’s sorely mistaken when his strong arms wrap around her waist and lift her feet off the ground. Y/n’s bouts of laughter are contagious; Owen finds himself laughing alongside his best friend. Setting her feet back on the ground he asks,

“Are you going to run away again if I let go of you?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out through the tail end of her laughing fit. The candidness of her reply prompts Owen to throw his head back, shaking it as if in disagreement with the universe itself,

“I appreciate your honesty.” And with that, Y/n screeches in glee as her best friend maneuvers her body in his grip to lift her over his right shoulder.

“Owen!”

“You did this to yourself, kid.”

The silent elevator ride up to his flat is comfortable relative to the current position they’re in. Y/n’s no longer fighting being carried but instead entertains herself by tapping out an intricate beat on the surface of Owen’s back.

“Guess what song this is.”

The beat she’s playing is close to incoherent and Owen tries to stifle his full laugh in fear of making her cry again. He’s been successful so far, but now having Y/n over his shoulder, she can feel the movement of his abdomen that was unintelligible by sight alone.

“Your favorite song,” he guesses insincerely.

“No, my favorite song doesn’t sound like that. It was sicko mode.”

“That was not sicko mode.”

“Owen, how come you don’t wear a badge?”

“What?”

“Because you’re the song police?” Owen can’t help but snort out a laugh even though the comment was made at his expense. Still sharp as a tack.

Once the pair reach the front door of Owen’s ‘bachelorette pad’ as Y/n liked to call it, he sets her back on the ground albeit reluctantly as he recalls why he was carrying her in the first place. Thinking quickly on his feet, Owen forms a plan that’s more likely than not foolproof.

“Hey, Y/n/n?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is still right behind him thankfully.

“Can I have a hug?” After a few seconds of silence in the hall, Owen begins to doubt his plan until he feels the weight of his best friend leaning on his toned back. With her cheek pressed against the middle of his spine, Y/n brings her arms around his waist, clasping her hands tightly together. Her semi-public display of affection allows Owen some time to unlock his front door. Once he props the door open, Owen realizes that Y/n probably isn’t going to let go any time soon and opts to waddle through the threshold with her still attached to him. He’s able to turn around and lock them back in for the night which makes the girl begin to laugh.

“Was this your plan all along? To get me drunk so you could lock me in your apartment and hold me prisoner for the rest of my life?”

“And I would’ve gotten away with it, too...”

“If it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog.”

True to his imagination that Y/n wasn’t letting go any time soon, Owen swivels her around his torso so that he could hold her to his side rather than support her with his back. He now has his right arm over both of her shoulders as she continues to hug her best friend. The way she leans her head onto his chest makes Owen’s heartbeat the tiniest bit faster. ‘She’s drunk, she doesn’t know what this does to you’ is the mantra blaring through Owen’s subconscious. Shaking any and all sort of romantic thoughts out of his head, he begins to lead her back to his bedroom.

Flicking the lights on proves to be a mistake once Y/n starts groaning miserably, and Owen decides the floor lamp is a better option than the overheads. Much to Owen’s surprise and relief, Y/n moves to sit on the edge of his bed on her own volition. She’s not upright for long as she collapses into the sheets of his unmade bed that contemplated neatening before leaving the house; hindsight is 20/20.

“Hmm. I like your smell,” Y/n parrots despite already bringing up the topic on the ride home.

“This is the same cologne I always use.”

“No. I like your natural smell.”

“What?”

“I was reading up about pheromones the other day. And there was this thing that said when couples like each others’ scent, it’s like a primal way of seeing if you’re immuno-compatible with someone so your offspring have the best chance for survival. It’s an evolutionary thing for the survival of our species. Ants have pheromones, too.”

Sometimes she has trouble remembering to feed herself, but leave it to Y/n to remember extensive information about pheromones whilst intoxicated. The concept is intriguing to Owen, so he proceeds to ask questions, ignoring the tug on his heart he felt after hearing her say the word ‘couples’.

“So, if I like your scent, we’re immuno-?”

“Compatible, yeah. But it’s mostly me because you can sniff out my period.”

“I can what?”

“I read that men can tell when a woman is at her most fertile because that’s when they like her smell the best. They did a study where a bunch of men were introduced to a few different scents, and without fail, the one they liked the most or would describe as ‘sexy’ or ‘attractive’ was the scent they took from the woman who was ovulating.”

Y/n continues talking about what she learned about pheromones as Owen picks up a bit of the mess around his room. She returns to the topic of ant pheromones as he digs through his surprisingly large closet for something for his friend to sleep in. His temporarily bubbly best friend also notes that he should ‘sniff her now because she’s ovulating and he would like that’ which makes him laugh into the drawers of his waist-height dresser. Returning to find her still slumped over on the bed, he pats her leg and beckons her to sit up. After Y/n’s upright again, Owen hands her his classic black ‘BEANS’ t-shirt and a pair of briefs that won’t properly fit her but will fit better than a pair of his actual pants.

“Can you put these on for me?”

“Yeah.” Owen’s conflicted with both wanting to respect Y/n’s privacy by leaving the room, and prioritizing her safety, and not leaving her unattended at any moment. He comes to a compromise which is staying by her side but turning a full 180 to face the wall of his bedroom. A couple of moments pass until Y/n begins whining frustratedly.

“Owen.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t ubns-” her words become incomprehensible as she begins to cry again and Owen turns around to find her struggling with the buttons on her shirt, her jacket long discarded on the bedroom floor. This shirt: her white, cap-sleeve crop top with a peter pan collar that she wore for anything mildly significant, this was her favorite. Owen remembers her fussing about how she ruined it only to find that she just forgot to steam it one day. So with a little heat and water, Owen had fixed the shirt like nothing ever happened, and he’d do it a million times over again if it meant he got to relive seeing the smile that graced her face for the first time again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do the buttons.” She runs the back of her right hand against her tired eyes to wipe away her tears and Owen internally curses himself for the way the small action makes his heart flutter.

“Do you need help?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen to me, you are okay,” he sinks to kneel in front of Y/n as she sits tiredly on the edge of the bed. Owen doesn’t miss the slight tremble of his hands as he reaches up to unbutton her shirt, but he prays that she will. Through tiny sniffles and teary eyes, she watches his hands effortlessly work down the length of her shirt, each button modestly dancing between his fingertips. Once the short top is fully unbuttoned, Owen returns to his normal standing height and Y/n attempts to shrug the fabric off her body. She struggles lightly and knowing her frustration is imminent, Owen reaches down to gingerly push the sleeves off her shoulders. The light graze of his rough, calloused skin against her own skin sends electric-like shocks through the both of them; yet neither of them believed the other felt it too.

Owen hastily withdraws his hands and, without warning, Y/n quickly removes the bralette she was wearing. Owen’s eyes widen slightly at her lack of inhibition. He does his best to be a gentleman and swiftly redirects his gaze to the white ceiling fan that has all of a sudden become the most intriguing object in the universe. His lower peripheral vision indicates that she’s finally slipped the black tee over her head, but she begins sniffling more fiercely as she struggles with taking off her jeans. Owen sighs and drops to his knees once more in spite of himself, and aids his best friend in slipping the material over the length of her calves and off the tips of her toes. Hoping to speed up the process, he grabs the briefs he had brought her and unfolds them in preparation for helping her into them. His efforts are all for naught as Y/n forgoes the need for any more clothing and slides under the covers of his unmade bed. Owen then turns to leave the bedroom, opting to set up on the couch for the night before Y/n’s small voice is cutting through the comfortable silence.

“Where are you going?” He sighs,

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll get you some water and Advil for when you wake up tomorrow.” Y/n then nods acceptingly and allows her eyes to flutter closed as he leaves the room. Despite how tired she feels, Y/n won’t quite yet let herself sleep--not ‘til Owen is beside her. When he returns he sets the ibuprofen bottle on the nightstand before uncapping the Kirkland brand water bottle he had in the fridge. He coaxes her into sitting up just one more time so she can drink some of the water before falling asleep. She sits and rubs her tired eyes as she drinks and Owen has to physically force himself to look away from the adorable sight. He just wants to take care of her forever but things have always been strictly platonic between them.

The risk of making their friendship weird or awkward was just too great.

“Goodnight kid, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Owen leaves without awaiting a response and lets out an annoyed sigh before setting himself up on the couch in his living room. He was so focused on getting Y/n to bed safely that he forgot to grab clothes for himself. Not a big deal. He simply strips down to just his underwear and climbs underneath the thick Pottery Barn throw blanket Y/n had gifted him as a housewarming gift. That and a fire extinguisher because ‘you don’t notice its absence until you need it’ she claimed. The memory makes Owen smile and he allows his eyes to close after a long day.

A long day that was about to get longer. Owen finds himself sinking further and further into sleep until he hears the padding of footsteps that are now in his living room. He’s too tired to open his eyes, and it’s not like he doesn’t already know who it is. What does surprise him, however, is the feeling of the familiar weight squeezing between the couch and his turned back.

“What are you doing?” He half mumbles into the night.

“You’re warm.”

“That was not the question, Y/n/n.” After not receiving a reply, Owen turns as best as he can to look at his friend who’s nestling her way into his sleeping arrangement for the night. “Kid-”

“I just wanna be with you.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out of irritation, exhaustion, and a sliver of adoration before sitting up on the couch, “Come on.”

He stands up, fully expecting to have to drag her back to the bedroom, but finds relief in seeing her struggle her way off the couch. Slipping her tired hand into his unexpecting, larger one, Y/n allows her friend to lead her into the bedroom for the second time that night.

Owen considerately lifts the covers for her to climb back into before getting into the other side of the bed.

“Owen.”

“Hm?”

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, kid.”

“No,” Y/n speaks in a casual tone as if she’s not divulging into her biggest emotional trepidation to date. “I love you, Owen.”

Owen can’t help the way his heart seemingly stops. The way the butterflies in his stomach are going wild. The way he wants to smile like he’s the biggest lovestruck idiot on planet Earth.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She won’t remember this tomorrow.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

She won’t remember that tomorrow.

***

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[smol-nevi]

I don't generally make this kind of thing a habit, but I think if you happen to be on the Crystal RP Discord, aka @crystal-rp-ffxiv, you should probably be aware of this kind of behavior, so here goes.

If you're on Crystal RP and the admin team decides they don't like you, you're going to be living under a microscope while they wait for you to mess up, if not bait you, probably while making up conspiracies about you as well. As for how I know this, I was a moderator for about a week's duration and saw it first-hand.

Unapologetically lengthy post. Receipts in the link above, long version below the cut.

From the first time I looked in the mod chat I knew something was wrong. I read backwards in the channel, thinking I'd acclimate myself and see what kind of rules precedents had been set and that sort of thing. I mostly just found out that they had it out for a particular member (at the time using the name Jericho) for not much reason. They'd spent a troubling amount of time over the past few months watching him and another member like vultures, believing them to be the same person and waiting for them to make some kind of mistake that would justify banning both of them...despite keeping different schedules, having different personalities and typing habits, and visibly being two different people. The admin team had come to the conclusion that Jericho was a troll who wanted to make them look bad, and anything he said or did was scrutinized to a ridiculous degree for evidence that would corroborate their belief.

Except none of the things they believed at all were true: he'd had a minor argument via DM with the head admin Benjimir Thursby's wife, Tessariel Aerlinn, who had made an overly broad statement about anime and Asian culture. Jericho had told her that overgeneralization about 'Asian culture' is potentially racist, and she became extremely angry, saying that because she's Asian, she can't be racist against Asians. After that, it seemed that Jericho was considered fair game for whatever retaliatory actions the two of them could justify.

Even a cursory glance at actual racism in Asia pokes Tessariel's statement entirely full of holes, and having personally read the conversation I didn't see anything actually inaccurate in his statement even if she believed it didn't apply to her. I asked what he had done that would merit such a response, because it felt very disproportionate to anything I'd ever seen him do publicly, and that was what I was told. The exchange via DMs had been screencapped and kept in a channel for evidence, and while I didn't get a copy of it, I did read it, and I said that I thought it sounded awfully one-sided and punitive and would have been much better as an actual conversation. I also expressed that I was concerned how much of the channel had been solely devoted to what was basically a witch hunt, considering that some of the server members had over the course of the past couple of months commented that the admins' behavior towards Jericho seemed biased.

I basically got a pat on the head and told that my opinion was "valued" but wrong. This would happen a lot over the course of the week.

Shit continued to escalate. Their favorite punching bag, who was acutely aware of the grudge by now and probably trying to be nice and discuss something that he thought they could all talk about, brought up some articles that stated that LOTRO might be having a graphical overhaul. This actually ended in him being put into some kind of time-out mute, because "everyone knows those articles are debunked already" despite them still being hosted on reputable games news sites. Back-channel, the admin consensus was that he was in fact trying to bait Benjimir and Tessariel into somehow looking stupid in public, because [paraphrasing] 'he knows how important LOTRO is to them.'

Benjimir in fact went off publicly about how he knows the dev team and they sent him 'personalized swag' for 'being himself' and that everyone should just listen to him because he's right. Someone else made a reasonable request for sources on statements that Benjimir made about the LOTRO improvements not happening, and they immediately became the team's private #2 punching bag.

The whole time I reiterated that this was really uncomfortable and I had serious concerns about the way they were handling Jericho. And as always I received a pat on the head and was told to not worry about it, there were really good reasons for it, really. He was 'bringing down the quality of discourse' on the server somehow. Benjimir decided that the only way he would unmute Jericho is if Jericho talked directly to him, and that Jericho tried to talk to any of the more level-headed members of the team first was taken as obvious evidence that he wanted to evade rules and create problems. I asked when we planned to unmute him, and Tessariel immediately jumped to the conclusion that he had messaged me, which wasn't incorrect but the way she worded it felt highly accusatory and I was beginning to feel that I was also in trouble somehow for not agreeing with the rest of the team.

Things came to a head quickly when I woke up and looked at the mod chat and they were having an animated conversation that started with Benjimir asking if it was 'bad that he was laughing at Jericho' and most of the rest of the team talking about how he was stupid, uninformed, a troll, etc. for the sin of having some misgivings about cryptocurrency, of all the things. One of the mods self-described their behavior as bullying. I said that this was extremely unprofessional and that I thought they should keep conversation to actual moderation matters, and if they had a personal disagreement with a server member they should handle it in a personal venue, not via official server moderation channels.

I was, for the final time, patted on the head, and told that this was not something they would consider, because the moderation team 'needs to be able to vent for their mental health' (never mind that the job was not stressful except for the rest of the team committing worse behavior than the server members) and that maybe I was in fact too sensitive for the job. Benjimir heavily implied that I had become too close to Jericho and was being manipulated, managed to misgender me somehow despite my having used solely male or neutral pronouns the entire time I'd been on the server, and after relating a story in which a couple of years ago a well-liked moderator left after having the same complaints as I did (which he saw nothing at all troubling about), suggested that I should be demoted to babysitting the lore channel.

So I took some time to collect receipts, which are linked at the top of the post, and told him where to shove it.

Since that time, things have actually somehow gotten worse on Crystal RP. Benjimir posted an entire page screed vaguely talking about "rampant negativity" that stated anyone with questions should DM him.

Upon DMing him with questions, Jericho was banned, the only reason given being that he was a 'poor fit' for the server in some vague way. I was immediately banned afterwards for calling out this decision as being driven by a personal vendetta in the feedback channel and let him know afterwards via DMs in no uncertain terms that I had logged everything I needed and would be building my case (and that he is an asshole). Jericho was reinstated, though I'm not sure what the conditions of his return were as that was after my ban and I didn't ask since I didn't want to stress him out further. Benjimir also reprimanded someone for discussing asexuality, stating in a DM to them that the conversation was somehow ERP related. I called him out on this via DM as well. Tessariel was not much later caught posting my last DMs to Benjimir in an entirely unrelated server, though she didn't include the part after that where I brought up his aphobia (during Pride Month, in a server with a rainbow icon no less). Benjimir for some reason decided to suddenly start following my FC's Tumblr well after our falling-out.

And as of today (6/24), Crystal RP now has seven pages of draconian rules, because it wasn't micromanaged hard enough before or something. Notably, a lot of these rules describe behaviors that they wanted to punish Jericho for but couldn't at the time justify, or that they'd like to punish me for but have nothing they can do to me. Or they exist to justify their own behavior, as now seen in the very beginning of the channel:

"This approach also provides our volunteers with leeway to act in good faith without the burden befitting a professional occupation."

"So we afford them the means to speak openly, vent, lament, candidly and yes, sometimes crassly and raw about everything and one."

Not only did they behave unprofessionally and shit-talk before, they have now encoded in the rules that this is acceptable and even good moderator behavior, because they saw someone else do it so it's fine (a lot of this wording is very similar to what I was told when I protested it). So rather than address anything I ever said past or present, Benjimir is choosing to double down and giving himself and his team explicit permission to be shitty, right in the opening paragraphs where you'd have expected a mission statement or at least some sort of welcome.

Which is about all you need to know about that server and its owners, in my estimation. I'd considered not even posting to Tumblr about it, but given that it's only getting worse, I think it should be generally known that this is how you can expect to potentially be treated.

[kyle-valenti]

highschool milucho au drabble for @laufire

Lunch period arrives what feels like all too late after a hectic morning where Michael Guerin had punched Wyatt Long in the face for Maria. While she still thought he was an idiot for having done it, she downs a brownie for sustenance and brings Rosa along outside with her to go check on him. Unsurprisingly he was in the spot she had expected, clearly having ditched at least one class prior, and Rosa skipped over to him and roughly grabbed his hand to check on the bruise. Rosa scoffed, putting her hand to her chest with what was only half-kidding offense. “You fought him without me there? En serio? How dare you!”

Sitting up a little more against the metal bleacher column he had been leaning against, Michael gave a casual shrug. There’s still a smirk on his face as he does so. “Can’t help it if you’re always late to wake up, Ortecho.”

“He was dumb.” Maria said, a scolding look on her face that didn’t quite match her eyes. Both sat down without caring about chairs, Rosa too lazy and Maria liking to feel the earth underneath her. The shade provided overhead was just enough and while the teachers usually checked underneath here, the school was luckily short staffed due to a field trip. Also lucky was the lack of campus security in a small town. 

“No, he was right.” Rosa huffed. “Fuck Wyatt Long.”

“Thank you,” said Michael, turning to Maria with a smug look in response. Maria rolled her eyes, but Rosa still looked angry and displeased at the idea of Wyatt Long being within feet of Maria, because she continued, “Are you gonna hate me if I run over and slap him?”

“Yes!” Maria exclaimed. “Stop with the violence, you two! He’s not worth it.”

Rosa made a disgruntled sound, muttering, “Pacifist.”

“I am a lover, yes.” Maria replied with a teasing tone; one that Michael couldn’t help but use to flirt with a sultry, “Tell me more.”

She hit his arm and although the other girl rolled her eyes, Rosa was still distinctly smiling as Michael winked Maria’s way.

“Gross, stop.” She huffed, no meanness in her voice. “Even Kyle Valenti thinks we’re dating.”

“Kyle?” Rosa laughed. “Kyle’s not remotely observant enough to think that.”

Michael made a noise at that. “He was just being an ass because I commented on how he was clearly in love with Alex Manes.”

Maria glared now. “Be nice to my favorite gay and the clearly repressed football jock.”

“Here I thought you were about to pick a favorite bi.” Michael joked.

“Why would she?” Rosa challenged with a smirk. “I’m right here.”

“Right,” Michael drawled sarcastically. “Just because you two have sleepovers--,”

“Oh my god, you two.” Maria snapped, but that was the wrong decision because the two mischievous partners-in-crime looked at her with sudden interest. Michael was the first to pounce. “We making you uncomfortable, Deluca?”

He’s all but grinning, not even hiding behind a smirk, eyes alive. Even Rosa is clearly amused and holding onto laughter.

“Why the hell did everyone have to go on that museum trip?” Maria huffed, trying to ignore both of them and the feelings that rose up when the direct attention of two people who hated the world but liked her was suddenly her way. She definitely needed more friends, or at least less nerdy ones. “I need Liz.”

“You’d really use my baby sister to get out of flirting?” Rosa asked, letting out the laughter now.

Maria could feel her cheeks heat and she folded her arms stubbornly. “I’m about to use Kyle to get out of this. Luckily I have tests to study for.”

“What test?” Rosa replied, one eyebrow arched. “We have all the same classes.”

“And you suddenly pay attention?”

Rosa gave in with a playfully exasperated expression. “Okay, okay, mi vida; we’ll stop.” Then, amending as she looked conspiratorially at Michael, she said, “Well. I’ll stop.”

“I’ll try.” Michael shrugged, pretending to look as thought it would be heavy work. “I have considerably less self-control.”

Quirking her head, Rosa retorted. “Challenge accepted.”

Michael raised his eyebrows in response, before laughing. “Yeah okay.”

“Why am I always babysitting you two?” Maria sighed. “Please, tell me.”

“You’re the one who brought the pot brownies to school.” Rosa pointed out.

She couldn’t say much to that. Home had been stressful with her mother’s sudden memory lapses when it came to finances and worrying about colleges after SAT scores was even more anxiety inducing. If she was rich and privileged like Isobel Evans, maybe she could afford some xanax, but in the meantime her anxiety attacks would have to be treated herbally. Childishly, she pointed at Michael. “He’s the one who brought the flask.”

Definitely unapologetic, he shrugged. “Less teachers, more fun.”

“Fun?” Rosa asked. “We haven’t had fun in a while.”

“True.” Michael added, lighting up even further. Maria groaned. “Is this another ‘steal the principal’s desk’ situation?”

“No, but that was fun.” Rosa said thoughtfully. “We should have more… teenage fun. We have the drugs, the alcohol, now--,”

“I am not having sex under the Roswell High bleachers!”

Rosa gasped before laughing awkwardly, and Michael’s grin took an even brighter turn. “Wow, Deluca, I see where your mind’s really at.” Then he turned to Rosa, who noticeably looked pinker, and paused. Slowly, he inquired. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” Rosa replied. It wasn’t like she and Maria belonged to each other, true, but something about the mischievous Michael Guerin staying around after Maria’s slip seemed to create palpable tension. Fumbling, the beautiful brunette added, “I mean we’ve all kissed before forever ago, right? Why don’t you pick your favorite bi, Maria.”

“I’m not sure choosing favorites qualifies as fun.” She retorted, trying not to withdraw into herself. She was safe with them, she knew that, but it still felt dangerous somehow. She looked at Michael. “No sudden objections?”

Michael scoffed. “You actually think I’m going to object to being kissed by two hot girls? I’m only human, Deluca.”

Biting her lip after rolling her eyes, Maria tried not to think about how attractive her last name was every time he said it, because that was such a ridiculous thing to find attractive. Rosa had picked up on the habit, although used it far more rarely, and now she was stuck in between them.

“We don’t have to--,” Rosa began. Shaking her head, Maria came to an abrupt decision. “You decide who goes first.”

“Ladies first.” Michael declared congenially.

When Rosa turned to Maria she looked hesitant and unsure. Charged moments weren’t exactly new to them, but they didn’t exactly kiss outside of spin-the-bottle or seven-minutes-in-heaven games. Any heterosexual excuse to be made, somewhere between Rosa’s Catholicism and Maria’s fear of being vulnerable to someone. 

Only two seconds pass before the hesitation is over and then Rosa’s lips are soft and inviting like Maria remembered, tasting of cinnamon gum and tajin mango suckers. It’s an addictive flavor, especially with the flood of emotions it foretells every time. At first it’s closer to chaste than not, given the company, but like many times before it deepens until they hear Michael shift and quickly break apart. 

Maria expects some dumbass comment about not needing to stop for his sake, but either he’s too turned on to make it or he simply knows better for the moment. Shockingly, it seems like the second choice with the almost exposed look he has on his face now. For whatever reason, maybe because of his general outward mask, she had thought that while she’d be safe this would still be a fun game to him and not something where his eyes would be soft and his body language almost nervous.

More than anything else, that makes her choose to kiss him first. 

With Michael she can only taste the cheap whiskey he’s been drinking all afternoon, but his skin smells like desert rain, and it’s quite possibly the most confusing contradiction for him she could ever conceive. The shape of his lips might be a contrast to Rosa’s but he still uses them quite well and by the time she pulls back out of mindfulness for Rosa, she’s breathless yet again. 

 “Obviously I’m not actually choosing.” Maria said primly, trying to cover the fact that she had to clear her throat.

“Well I feel used.” Michael teased, but a miracle had happened because it looked like he was blushing too. Michael Guerin. Blushing.

Rosa made an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “As if you’re not getting off to this tonight.”

“Rosa!” Maria snapped, actual hurt rising. It was silly to be upset about offhand humor from either of these two, she knew that. They both felt more than they would ever let on and jokes and sarcasm were their defense for almost everything. Rosa went to apologize, but the overwhelming feeling in her chest was too much. “Don’t. I’m just—I’m going to go sober up.”

They both called after her, but she ignored them both.

“I should really avoid weed, huh?” Rosa deadpanned sadly.

He raised his flask. “I can’t say anything. You gonna follow her?”

“You?” she asked without an answer.

“You’re her best friend.” Michael countered, and while it wasn’t technically sexist she still narrowed her eyes at the ‘you’re both girls’ vibe it gave off. Either way, it was still a painful statement and she muttered, “Yeah. Friend.” Michael went to say something—either an apology or a lecture—but Rosa shook her head. “I’ll give her a head start. You should check on her later too, though.”

Michael scoffed. “Come on, Rosa, she doesn’t want me. I’m just a guy she can use to pretend she’s straighter than she is.”

“Ay, you’re dumb.”

“And if she did want both of us?” Michael demanded, turning things back into their normalcy of confrontation and stubbornness.

“At least you’re not ugly.”

That seemed to take the wind out of his sails at least, but he did give her a look. “Glowing endorsement, Ortecho.”

She smirked. “And I guess you know how to kiss for a white boy.”

“That I’ll take.” He replied, chuckling despite himself and looking annoyed about it.

Rosa gave him a two finger salute as she got up to go after Maria.

[misssophiachase]

For @klaroline-events​​ KC Bingo - “Opera House”

Bill Forbes is a well known mafia boss in Chicago. At 19, Caroline turned her back on her upbringing and left to study at a musical conservatory in Europe. Fast forward ten years and she’s a famous opera singer. Due to recent security concerns, she’s been saddled with a bodyguard she’s determined to resent, mainly because she knows the idiot.

Safe and Sound

-Caroline-

Present Day - The Bolshoi Theatre - Moscow, Russia

“Don’t you knock?”

“I did but I don’t actually need your explicit permission to enter.”

“What if I was changing?”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it before,” he murmured, his dark, blue eyes flickering down the length of her neck and focusing on her gold necklace, obviously partially visible and peeking out from her costume.

Caroline could have kicked herself for letting him see that. But she’d become so accustomed to it and the way it made her feel.

Safe. 

Protected.

The last thing she needed was to give him an inkling that she cared. 

He was a well-built, five-foot nine, suit-wearing, former Navy Seal, pain-in-the-ass who liked to be right. All the time. He also liked telling her what to do. It was like he got a kick out of being the alpha male.

How did she know this? They had a complicated past, and he didn’t seem to have changed one bit in ten years. 

Caroline didn’t like alpha males then and she sure as hell didn’t like them now. She also didn’t like playing the victim. She was many things, but she wasn’t that. 

“You can’t just come and go as you please, Mikaelson,” she growled. “I’d like to have some semblance of normalcy in my life and your presence is cramping my style.”

“Well, I’m sorry to ruin your social life, sweetheart, but there are greater things at play here.”

“I don’t need reminding.”

“I actually think you do,” he shot back, his forehead creasing. “These people don’t mess around and given your past,” she gave him a knowing look., “our past,” he corrected for her benefit. “You should know just how much.”

“I’m perfectly aware,” she shouted. “But we’re not kids anymore, and I’d really prefer not to be treated like one.”

“Caroline,” he implored, instinctively moving closer, his hand finding a stray lock of hair and fastening it behind her ear. She felt her chest constrict; his touch was as familiar as it was tender.

She shook her head determined to pretend that their past and whatever this conversation had become was a distant memory.

“I’ve got to get to rehearsal.” She left without a backwards glance, albeit on unsteady legs.

Why did he have to come back into her life and why did it have to be now? She could still remember their reunion like it was yesterday.

3 months earlier - La Fanciulla del West Opening Night - Sydney Opera House, Australia 

Caroline took her obligatory bow as the thunderous applause reverberated throughout the venue. 

As someone who’d been singing since she was five, moments like this were still surreal. Caroline had worked hard to get where she was, and she didn’t take anything for granted.

Especially nights like this. 

As she made her way from the stage, arms full of flowers, she noticed him standing in the wings. Given the intensity of the stage lights, all she could make out was his pristine suit, striped tie and imposing stance.

Caroline only realised it was him as she was giving her flowers to the stage attendant.

From one glance, Caroline could see that, albeit older, the years had been good to him. There were still the tell-tale curls, stormy, blue eyes and crimson lips but they seemed to be even more pronounced now if possible.

She was immediately curious about his unexpected appearance, but Caroline had no intention of reacting or acknowledging him, he didn’t deserve it.  

She could sense him watching her, intense and focused, as she made her way purposefully towards her dressing room.

Caroline walked past several well-wishers but she could still feel him following closely. His footsteps were undetectable, but she could still sense his overwhelming presence. 

She placed her hand on the door handle to the dressing room, not expecting his warm and masculine one to cover it. Before she could react, he’d spun her around so her back was up against the door and her arms pinned. 

He was towering over her, his chest mere inches from hers, those dark, blue eyes angry and demanding. Those crimson lips she knew intimately were so temptingly close but pursed tightly. Caroline knew from experience she was in trouble but right now that was the least of her problems.

“Are you lost?”

“Cute,” he muttered, his hands slowly releasing her wrists. “Maybe you should consider a career in stand up comedy and not opera.”

“Maybe you should with lines like that,” she countered, her gaze unwavering. 

Unapologetic.

“Can I go into my dressing room now?” 

He didn’t verbalise a response just moved to the side so she could slip inside. Once the door was closed and curious onlookers shut out she let loose. 

“How dare you manhandle me like that in front of the cast and crew!”

“Manhandle, Forbes? Nice to see your dramatic tendencies haven’t abated over the years.”

“That’s what you’re going to say to me after that little performance?”

“I’m your bodyguard, love, it’s what I do.” Caroline faltered, wondering when this terrible decision was made and also trying to ignore that familiar endearment which still sounded so good as it rolled off his tongue effortlessly. “Your team told me to introduce myself after the opera ended.”   

She was going to kill Enzo and Katherine. 

Sure, some guy had decided he liked her a bit too much and had sent a bunch of unsolicited mail and gifts, but she had no intention of changing her life for him and had told them as much. That was until her manager and publicist decided to conspire together, despite her express wishes, and contract a bodyguard without her knowledge.

A bodyguard that was not supposed to be her ex-boyfriend from another life. But here he was in the flesh. She couldn’t stop the memories from ten years ago flashing through her mind if she tried.

Kissing in the rain. Telling her he’d love her forever. Telling her she’d never be alone. Now, here he was after all this time.

Beautiful but demanding.

Breathtaking but arrogant.  

“That’s what you call an introduction, Mikaelson?”

“Well, we do know each other so I had to be creative.”

“I didn’t appreciate you…”

“I only did that to illustrate danger is everywhere. In an applauding audience, in the wings, backstage in your dressing room. You need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

“You’ve only been back five minutes, and are already lecturing me. And when in the last ten years did you become a bodyguard?”

He paused, closing his eyes briefly, no doubt trying to find the words. Caroline mentally kicked herself for asking that. She didn’t want him to think she cared.

In reality she knew he’d left Chicago to join the Navy all those years ago. The only reason she knew that was because he left her there. Alone.   

“I’m here because...”

“Actually don’t worry about it,” she said dismissively. “I don’t need to know. But it’s only one guy who likes to write letters so I think this is all overkill.” 

It was only as she said it and noticed his expression change, and then darken, that this suddenly didn’t seem like such a big coincidence. 

“My father asked you to come?” He nodded. “And this isn’t just some guy who likes giving creepy gifts, is it?” He shook his head. 

Caroline needed to sit down. 

She found her chair and sunk into it, her fingers combing through her golden waves. It was something she did when she was trying to process something she really didn’t want to process.   

“They released him from jail.” Caroline barely got the words out. It was a statement more than a question. 

“He won’t hurt you, Caroline.” He was beside her in an instant, his hand finding its way to her leg. It wasn’t necessarily unwelcome and that frustrated her more than anything. “I won’t let him.”

“Well, let’s hope you’re right,” she murmured. “I have an after party to get ready for and I’d appreciate it if you left the room.”

She busied herself choosing an outfit to wear, knowing if she looked in his eyes she was a goner. And she had no intention of losing it in front of him, of all people.

Present Day - Turandot Restaurant - Moscow

“How could you do this to me?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Care,” she replied. “I do things that annoy people on a regular basis.”

“Kat!”

“Fine,” she admitted. “But there are worse things than having a gorgeous hunk of man meat like that by your side twenty-four-seven.”

“Hunk of man meat? Just how many vodkas have you knocked back tonight?”

The Russian Operatic Society was hosting a dinner for Caroline, the cast and crew at the famed restaurant to welcome the production to Moscow. Her publicist and best friend Katherine had clearly been taking advantage of the free hospitality.

They’d met in Bulgaria three years earlier. Katherine was visiting family and Caroline was on a brief vacation between shows. Being European residents born in America, the two had hit it off and Katherine had become her publicist not long after.    

“I lost count after the first couple,” she drawled. “You really could do with a few of these, they take the edge off.”

“I don’t need to take the edge off anything,” she hissed. Given the curious glances from their fellow diners she’d no doubt said it a bit too loudly. 

“Say it louder for the people at the back,” Kat teased. “This is exactly what I mean. Something to take the edge off from all that sexual tension bubbling below the surface between you and lover boy.”

“Shhhh,” she chided. “Any louder and lover boy, uh I mean Klaus, will hear you.”

“For the last time, I had no idea you two had a past. The company said he came very highly recommended.”

“My father has networks everywhere,” she growled. “He has this amazing ability to insert himself into a situation without leaving his fingerprints.”

Caroline had left her family behind a decade earlier and even though it was difficult she knew to have any kind of a normal life it needed to happen. She was also aware that, deep down, her father knew that too which is why he’d let her go. 

Obviously though not completely. . 

“Who knew my bestie was a mafia princess? It’s like something out of a Robert De Niro movie.”

“Shhhh,” she repeated. “I really shouldn’t let you out in public, Pierce.”

“Says the girl who’s a famous opera singer and didn’t feel the need to tell me this pertinent detail that could come out at any time?”

“I’m sorry. You must think I’m strange wanting an out from my former life but choosing a not-so secret career path. I didn’t expect the singing career to happen so fast, let alone at all. I did change my surname.”

“Yes, Caroline Cassidy. Now I know why you weren’t impressed when I asked if your nickname was CC.”

“Cassidy is my middle name.”

“How original.”

“Enough with the snark, Pierce. I know I should have told you in case something came up but it just seemed easier to…”

“Play pretend and let some madman stalk you instead?”

“Yeah because I’d let him do that,” she teased, attempting to lighten the mood.  Caroline knew exactly who he was and what he wanted with her and that thought was ruining the last shreds of her good mood. 

“This isn’t a joke and as much as you like to pretend you hate Mister Muscles you need him.” Caroline snorted by way of response. “What’s the story with you two anyway? Were you like a modern day Romeo and Juliet, well without the dying part.”

“We weren’t the Montagues and the Capulets, Kat. Our fathers were in the business together and given my father sent Klaus my way I imagine they’re still close. And we had something, yes, but it’s been over for a very long time.”

“Did he dump you?”

“Why do you assume he did the dumping?”

“I’m just trying to put the pieces of this very complicated puzzle together, Cassidy or Forbes or whatever your name is.”

“He left to join the navy and I left to study in Europe.”

In truth, that’s what happened, plain and simple, but Caroline was still harbouring a grudge. One that had festered for years and now the memory of their time together as teenagers in love wasn’t a happy one. It was one full of questions and doubt that what they had wasn’t real.   

She had never loved anyone like Klaus, even to this day, and she’d often wondered whether he felt the same way. Whether he found himself thinking about what they could have had. What they could have been. 

It was something she desperately needed to know but would never ask. Her pride was everything. 

“Well, if that isn’t the precis to a really boring movie,” she pretended to yawn for effect. “You wouldn’t be so hot under the collar about him if that was everything.” She had a point but Caroline had no intention of giving her the satisfaction. 

“Why can’t we just ditch him? Enzo can protect me.”

“Enzo can’t protect himself let alone anyone else and you know how much he hates spiders. Yeah that’s a surefire way to protect you from getting killed.”

“Way to ruin the mood.”

“No, that’s my job,” Klaus murmured, suddenly appearing from what seemed like nowhere and placing himself between their seats discreetly. She was trying to ignore just how good he smelled, a mixture of sandalwood and spices. “We need to get out of here now.”

“This guy is the life of the party,” Caroline joked. She was getting a little sick of all the interruptions. Every time something seemed untoward they had to leave and every time it was a false alarm.   

“I don’t want to scare you but there is someone across the room…”

“Where?” Kat asked, suddenly turning around. 

“This is why I don’t tell you that information because you can’t be discreet, Pierce,” he noted, a grimace on his face. 

“Enough with the theatrics,” Caroline muttered. 

“The person in question looks like he wants to devour you and I don’t mean it in a nice way, Caroline.”

“Maybe he’s still hungry after the appetizer?” Kat suggested. “I know I am.”

“Do I need to call your sponsor?” Caroline asked, trying not to laugh. 

“Enough, you two let’s go,” he gestured impatiently toward the exit. 

“You’re really helping my dating life, you know that, Mikaelson?” Katherine asked, locating her purse and following him and Caroline from the room. 

“You can stay as long as you like, Katherine,” he said, ushering them towards the exit. “Caroline’s mine.” 

She should have been offended, he basically said he owned her like some chauvinistic ass, even if it probably wasn’t meant that way.

But for some reason she wanted him to mean it. And now it was too late. She felt the heat coil in her abdomen, the arousal that had been building for weeks between them threatening to spillover and Caroline was struggling to say the least.

She licked her lips, watching his taut behind move from side to side in those fitted suit pants thinking just what she wanted to do with him.     

What came next she wasn’t expecting, three loud shots rang out and she felt his hard body envelop her, knocking her to the ground. 

She was shocked, the fact she was also winded didn’t register, neither did the cries of the people in the room nor the general mayhem as they rushed to the exit all at once. 

Suddenly darkness overtook her and everything went black. 

-Klaus-

Present Day - Chastnaya Klinika Na Vernadskogo Private Hospital, Moscow

Klaus didn’t show emotion. He found that it just got in the way. He’d trained himself well over the past ten years in the Navy not to care about anything. 

Klaus found without emotion he was unstoppable, focused and at his very best.  

Now was not one of those times. And if he was being honest, Klaus knew that he’d shut her out of his life years earlier because the associated emotion would make him feel exactly like this. 

Angry.

Confused.

Desperate. 

All the things he hated because they made him extremely vulnerable and right now he needed to be able to protect Caroline.  

He’d been in similar situations, gunfire wasn’t new, but with her it was. When her father called to ask he couldn’t say no. Not just because Bill had asked but because Klaus had missed her so much he ached. 

He’d conveniently forgotten just how much his reappearance would affect Caroline and just how much their unresolved issues would be compounded. 

And those two factors had combined together the past three months to create fireworks and not of the sexual kind, even if their tension was off the charts. 

Being at the hospital brought back so many memories of a time when they were two very different people leading two very different lives. 

12 years earlier - Northwestern Memorial Hospital, Chicago Illinois, USA

“I came as soon as I finished work at the restaurant,” Klaus smiled, making his way to her bed side a bunch of white lilies , her favourite, in hand.  “If I have to make another tortellini it won’t be soon enough.”

His father owned an Italian restaurant in downtown Chicago, amongst other things, and Klaus worked there a couple of days after school a week.  He didn’t need the money but Mikael thought a job was good to build a strong constitution. 

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around, Mikaelson,” she grinned, pulling him closer for a kiss. It was only when he pressed against her chest that she winced, her pain visible. 

“I’m sorry,” he soothed. “At least tell me you fared better than the other person?” 

“This is me we’re talking about,” she teased. “Hang on, how did you know there was someone else?”

“I’ve seen you yield that hockey stick. What exactly happened at practice?” He asked warmly, taking a seat and holding out his hand so she could place hers in it.  

While Caroline attended Mount St Joseph Private Girls’ School, Klaus went to St Ignatius College Prep. A lot of their mutual friends were dating so were all part of the same group.     

“It wasn’t my fault...”

“But yet starting your story like that tells me it’s probably the exact opposite, sweetheart.” She gave him a look which clearly meant she wasn’t thrilled by his response. “You know just saying.”

“In my defence…”

“This isn’t Judge Judy, Caroline. Just tell me what happened.”

“I fell over during our practice hockey match and bruised my ribs but it was totally worth it.” 

“Why exactly?” He asked knowingly, a smile playing on his lips. “Fess up, Forbes.”

“I might have accidentally,” he gave her a look which clearly said he didn’t believe her. “Okay, I tripped Hayley Marshall with my hockey stick but she totally deserved it.”

“Oh really?”

“She said you were too hot for me and let’s just say I didn’t appreciate her for insulting my looks and fawning all over my boyfriend,” she seethed, her jealous tone not lost on Klaus. “If anyone gets to call you hot it’s going to be me not some whiny, doe eyed and, might I add, bad hockey player.”

“If you weren’t sporting an injury right now I’d show you just how hot I can be,” he said, emitting a low growl. “And she’s got nothing on you, love.” 

“I’m far more resilient than you think,,” she purred, placing a lingering kiss on his mouth. 

“So, today it’s tripping mean girls by hockey stick, how are you going to top this?” She rolled her eyes by way of response. “I know you like to run screaming in the opposite direction of your roots but maybe there’s more mafia in you than you think, Caroline Forbes.”

 “My father will be so proud to hear his little girl is literally beating girls off you with a stick,” she drawled sarcastically. “But it’s my mother I get the hot temper from, don't forget.”

“I couldn’t forget that, love,” he shot back, thinking he’d been on the wrong end of her fiery nature more than once, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.  “It’s extremely arousing.”

“I wasn’t lying about the resilience either so you better get me out of here before I encourage you to not be so PG with me, Mikaelson.”

Present Day 

“How is she?” Klaus was broken from his trance by a familiar face.   

Enzo St John was Caroline’s Manager and although he was jealous to begin with, Klaus had come to like the guy even if he was a little weird sometimes.  He’d chosen not to go to the dinner in lieu of a date with a prima ballerina. From what Katherine told him, Enzo liked to experience the local talent wherever they travelled. 

“I haven’t been in there,” he murmured knowing exactly why. “I, uh, had some phone calls to make.”

“But she’s going to be alright?”

“Yeah. Besides some bruising from the fall and a sprained ankle Caroline will be fine, I thought it was best to bring her in just in case.” Klaus knew he wasn’t the lightest of people and was worried that pushing her to the floor while throwing himself on top of her lithe figure might have caused some damage.

He’d never been so scared, even after years in the Navy. But that was because he was saving faceless civilians not the love of his life.  

It scared him to think about it. But it was true. 

“You did the right thing, I’m glad you were there to be honest, Katherine has a sharp tongue but when it comes to combat or protection of any kind she’s a pussy cat. But just don’t tell her I said that because she scares the hell out of me.” 

Klaus fought the urge to smile thinking back to her interesting commentary about him compromising her dating life.

“Katherine’s gone home to nurse her hangover after one too many vodkas, so you’re safe. But It could have been much worse.”

“Thankfully you were there, if you hadn’t been I’m not sure what I would have done without my Care Bear,” Klaus again found himself suppressing a grin. And to think he was worried they were ever romantically involved. 

“Unfortunately, that’s where the good news ends. I had a chance to speak to the local police afterwards and they didn’t catch the perpetrator.” 

“So, he’s still on the loose?” Klaus merely nodded knowing just how fraught the situation was. 

Yes, they were dealing with a lot more than one person. They were dealing with the full force of the Chicago Mafia who could dispatch hundreds more people like the one tonight.  They wouldn’t stop until Bill Forbes’ daughter was killed in retribution for something she didn’t invite. 

“I spoke to the Bolshoi Management and they have some safety concerns about the opera going ahead. Not just for Caroline but also the cast, crew and audience and I’m fairly certain this kind of threat isn’t covered by their public liability insurance.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I was going to suggest it be postponed indefinitely but I also enjoy living and knew Caroline wouldn’t see it that way.”

“Is this your way of telling me I need to break the bad news?”

“Well, you are her manager, I think it goes with the territory.”

“Fine,” he conceded. “Plus, she seems to have years of resentment stored up against you so at least I can take one for the team this time.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“I’m not going to even try and understand your situation or your past with Caroline but if you hurt her I will kill you,” he promised before breaking into a mischievous smile. “Oh who am I kidding? You’d crush me like a bug. But you get my drift, right?” 

Before Klaus could even begin to know how to respond they were interrupted. 

“Excuse me?” They both looked up to see a nurse coming from Caroline’s room. “She’s asking to see the idiot who sprained her ankle,” they both looked at her curiously. “Her words, not mine.”

“You’re completely on your own this time,” Enzo teased, his gaze now resting on the nurse who seemed to have taken his fancy.  “Maybe you can just tell her about the opera, you know while you’re in there anyway.”

He was chasing after the nurse before Klaus could respond. He really deserved a pay rise to deal with these people. 

“I’m glad you cracked my code,” she drawled. Albeit a little dishevelled from the fall, Klaus didn’t think she could look anymore beautiful in her fitted, red gown with her blonde locks tumbling around her shoulders. 

Suddenly it felt like déjà vu, like they were seventeen years-old again and she’d beaten up someone in a jealous rage. Times had changed in twelve years. 

“It’s not the first time you’ve called me that and probably won’t be the last. Enzo is here but is currently trying to pick up your nurse and avoid telling you that the Bolshoi has decided to postpone the opera indefinitely due to safety concerns and Katherine needed to sleep off the vodka. Between you and me I’m glad they aren’t charged with protecting you, just saying.”

“It’s not over is it?” Her demeanour had rapidly changed from teasing to deathly serious.

She was scared and Klaus was too. 

“They didn’t catch the shooter, no,” he offered. “But, if anything, this will serve as a deterrent to…”

“Please tell me you’re not saying what you think I want to hear,” she murmured. “Not after everything we’ve been through. This guy was put behind bars because my father framed him and this is called settling the score. Thanks, dad.”

“He didn’t do it,” Klaus replied, taking a seat on the bed and looking into her eyes. Klaus knew she could tell if he was lying and hoped that this would prove it to her. “Your father never framed him, it was an inside job. He’s doing everything he can to try and put a stop to this at his end, trust me on that.”

“Yeah because my father is such a saint.”

“I never said that,” Klaus agreed. “But this time it’s different.”

“Is it?” She asked, her blue eyes clouded with unshed tears. “Between you and me it feels a lot like the good, old days. And my father wonders why I needed to get away from him and that messed up life.”

“He understood it’s what you needed to do and he did let you go, Caroline. He’s so proud of you and what you’ve achieved, whatever you think he’s always loved you and wanted what was best.”

“Since when have you been my father’s biggest fan? I seem to recall you wanting to leave just as much, if not more, than me. You couldn’t wait to go and then one day you were just gone. I came to your house and that was it.”

“You were leaving me,” he bit back, frustrated that she got to be mad at him but he didn’t get the same chance. “You’d already been accepted to the music conservatory, I just got a head start I suppose.”

“But I would have said goodbye at least,” she mumbled just as the few tears that had been threatening to fall rolled down her creamy cheeks. “I must have read your letter hundreds of times, I’m surprised the ink hasn’t worn off completely.”

“I was a coward I know,” he admitted, instinctively wiping the tears away with his thumb. “And you don’t know how much I regret not saying it in person. But it was too damn hard. Life back then was too damn hard because escaping from that life meant, unfortunately, escaping from each other too.” 

“I know,” she nodded. “But there hasn’t been a day in the last ten years that I haven’t thought about you and what we had,” she whimpered, fingering the gold necklace she kept safely around her neck. The one he gave her all those years ago. 

“When I saw you wearing that, I thought that maybe there was a chance that,” he broke off, too overcome with emotion to finish that sentence. “And when those shots rang out tonight all I could think was that I hoped those ten years apart and finding each other again wasn’t for nothing.”

“I’m fine, although I’m not sure for how much longer.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he insisted. “Although, I do think it’s time to leave.”

“Leave where?”

“Back home. You can only run so far and for so long. I can only do so much. To these people the law doesn’t matter, borders don’t matter. Europe, North America it doesn’t matter.  You’ve been running your whole life you just didn’t realise it.”  

“So have you.”

“I have, I admit it.  I thought that escaping to the Navy was going to somehow erase where I came from. But it seems like it has caught up to me like it has you. You need to go back, if anything just to sort this out with your father. I know you’re mad at him but he has the capacity and the resources to protect you, I don’t.” 

“And what about you? Are you going to just up and leave me again? I remember once you said you’d never leave me alone.”

“And I meant it.”

“You really shouldn’t make promises if you’re not going to keep them,” she smiled despite everything. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this but, fine, let’s go back to Chicago.”

“And that’s what we’ll do once everything has died down in a month or two.”

“So, what exactly do we do until then?”

“We need to collect ourselves and be prepared for what’s to come.”

“Why do I suddenly feel like I’m in some post-apocalyptic movie? Are you going to take me out to the middle of nowhere and teach me how to defend myself?”

“You’ve seen this one then I assume?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?”

“On the contrary, love, I’m deathly serious. An old colleague of mine has a cabin in the Austrian mountains. Nothing fancy but it’ll do.”

There was also only one bed but Klaus decided he’d broach that topic once they arrived. Yes, he knew that being with her in the middle of nowhere for two months was going to test every last shred of willpower but he welcomed the challenge. 

He didn’t know it but, at the exact time, Caroline was thinking the same thing. And neither one was altogether upset by their impending predicament. 

Once they dealt with that then they could face the bad guys once and for all.

[katelynn-a-fan]

Somewhere Over the Rainbow: Chapter 4

First | Previous | Next | Masterlist | Ao3

Summary: Roman and Janus come back to a surprisingly empty house, with no sign of Patton anywhere They investigate and find some... evidence of what happened.

Word count:  6.8k (6756)

Warnings: Blood

“Ahem.”

Roman cleared his throat as he and Janus sat in the driveway in front of their home, having turned the car off already. Janus turned to him from the passenger seat, patiently waiting for Roman to speak his piece without a word.

“You… think he’ll be okay with us being back so early? The last time we came home early he was sick with worry because he thought we hadn’t gotten the job and he had to hear us say it a couple of times before he believed us.” Roman bit his thumb nervously.

“He’ll be fine, Roman. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, alright? For now, let’s get out of this freezing car and into the house.” 

Roman brought his thumb quickly down from his mouth, a grin spreading across his face.

“Let me go first though!” Roman exclaimed as he threw open the door of the car.

“When have I never let you go first?” Janus smirked over at Roman.

Roman glanced at Janus in his periphery. “Oh… plenty of times.”

Slam! Slam!

The thudding of the car doors in the driveway echoed through the brisk morning air of the neighborhood. 

Janus chuckled as Roman sprinted around the side of the car to get in front of Janus, but as they walked up the path, Janus managed to keep pace. They had a quiet competition to see who could get to the door first as they conversed.

“Name one.”

“I’ll...I’ll think about it…”

“Figures.” Janus huffed, but by the fact that his smirk was still in place, he was more amused by the banter than he let on verbally.

Just before the door, Roman managed to slip ahead of Janus, triumphantly puffing his chest out in silent victory. He had bested the goal of being the first inside when they actually got inside.

Janus just rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as Roman fumbled for his keys.

Roman stuck out his tongue at Janus in response, but became too distracted to see if Janus responded with another gesture as he found the correct key and slid it in the lock. Pausing for a moment, Roman swung back to Janus, placing a finger to his lips.

Janus didn’t react. He had been with Roman enough that he knew he couldn’t stop Roman when he was like this. Janus had said as much one time, in fact.

Roman finally pounced.

“Patton! We are back from our glorious adventure in the great wide somewhere a little earlier than expected! I hope you were not too lonely in our absence!” Roman’s boisterous and deep voice announced loudly as he suddenly flung the door open in an attempt to surprise Patton.

But just beyond the doorway, there was… no one. That was expected, though, Patton wouldn’t just be standing at the door randomly.

A gust of wind blew past Roman and Janus into the house, and if either of them weren’t bundled up like they were, they would’ve been shivering in the wind.

Roman held his arms outstretched and hovered for a little too long, as if he was anticipating a hug to knock them over as soon as they opened the door despite his attempt to surprise Patton.

But when none came, he cleared their throat again from behind his pair of almost comically big sunglasses and repeated himself.

“I hope you were not too lonely in our absence, Patton!” Roman waited a bit longer after his second declaration. His face was unreadable in the stark shadow made from the light behind him, washing out any of the details of his face in the bright light.

Eventually he finally dropped his hands and peeked inside curiously. 

“Patton?”

When Janus spoke up, his voice was much smoother, likely a consequence of attempting to lower his voice. Whereas the Roman’s voice was unapologetically loud, energetic, and on the verge of being grating, Janus’s voice had become the consistency of melted chocolate or the sensation of silk upon one’s skin. His voice was one someone could listen to without picking up anything that was said, just getting lost in his voice alone.

“Roman, he’s probably still asleep, it’s still early.” Janus soothed Roman, who was bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

“But he-” Roman turned back to him and began to interject before Janus interrupted him.

“He could’ve overslept them, Roman. When have you known Patton to wake up on time on a non-work day even with his alarms?” 

It was if Roman had telepathically transmitted the conclusion of the sentence to him. Which Roman hadn’t, and he actually wanted to finish his statement, but ce la vie, he guessed.

Janus arched an eyebrow. His tone issued a silent challenge. In response, Roman finally deflated from his previously overconfident posture, chest and shoulders pushed out subconsciously. Roman’s chest drooped down instead, his shoulders curling in as his expression turned into something that was vaguely sheepish.

“Okay, Janus, you got me. I wasn’t thinking of his schedule.”

An awkward pause.

“Anyways, let’s get these coats off so we can make something to eat, I’m starving.” Roman said as he finally stepped through the door, licking his blood red-colored lipstick lips already in anticipation.

“You and your food,” Janus replied with a roll of his eyes as he followed behind Roman. “I swear if you didn’t have different fashion senses and he never refused to shave his mustache, I would have trouble telling you apart from him. Of course, until you start reciting poetry and he starts making inappropriate innuendos, that is.” 

Though Janus's words were apparently meant to be carefully teasing by his tone, Roman’s blood red smile instantly dropped. Janus stood still in a moment of comprehension and slammed his hand over his mouth, eyes going wide.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t-” It was Janus’s turn to be cut off by Roman’s short warning tone.

“Don’t.” 

Mentally daring Janus to push it, Roman glared at him for an extended moment, but Janus didn’t take the bait.

Janus snapped his mouth shut, turning his eyes away from Roman in another apology, this one silent. 

Hiding his face, Janus stepped away from Roman and started to slowly and silently unbutton his thick, yellow patchwork winter coat. 

Roman had a coal burning in his stomach, a burning feeling of anger that scorched his stomach. But he had nowhere to vent it, so it all came out on Janus. All the smoldering feelings he could never properly address until they met again. 

It wasn’t until Roman looked back at Janus’s ‘pained and hiding it badly’ expression that Janus’s cool expression doused the flames progressively rising up his throat. Roman bit his lip.

Crap, that was a bit too harsh. He didn’t do anything to warrant that. He did go a bit too far with the comment, but I had no right to snap back like that. He was already apologizing! I’m a dunce.

Roman’s sharp expression full of furrowed brows and downturned frowns all at once softened into wide eyed and round mouthed gentleness. Wanting to remedy the situation he had gotten them into, Roman stretched out his hand to Janus’s back. Roman didn’t want to spook Janus, so instead he gently spoke.

“Wait… Jan.”

Having his winter coat already nearly off, Janus paused. His coat was peeled away to reveal Janus’s attire of a yellow slip-on jacket over a black long sleeve shirt and a pair of densely patterned flowy pants that were mostly a deep sort of purple. He turned slowly back to Roman, as if Roman was an animal about to pounce or something. 

Roman’s stomach clenched when he saw Janus’s eye trained on the ground and his shoulders hunched forward, this was a far cry from his usually suave and confident Janus. 

Dang it! I made him feel that way! How can I make this up to him? We’re both a bunch of clueless a-holes, I guess.

“No, you’re… F- Crap, I didn’t mean to do that. It’s okay, Janus. I know you didn’t mean to be mean, you’re okay. I… I acted without thinking because I was angry and I’m sorry for that. I shouldn't have lashed out when you were clearly sorry and I-”

Roman was interrupted in his ramble by a warm, lithe hand suddenly pressing against his, mind malfunctioning at the simple touch. His breath hitched as Roman blinked down where Janus had interlocked their fingers. 

Lightly flexing his hand in the grip, Roman gazed down at their hands with awe before raising his eyes back to Janus’s. Roman’s breath was nearly taken away again as he didn’t see any scorn or anything that he thought he deserved directed at him, not even the same regret he knew was shining in his eyes. Instead, he saw graciousness and forgiveness in Janus’s eyes. Janus’s face was open and gentle, like they hadn’t just been at odds moments ago.

His mind was just a whirlwind of emotions, everything coming together in a blend that was completely unpleasant in his stomach.

“Uh…” Roman breathed out, hoping the crack in his voice wasn’t too noticeable.

Keeping their fingers interlocked, Janus’s face finally dropped back into its natural smirk as Janus pushed lightly on Roman’s chest playfully. 

“Oh honey, please don’t tell me you’re speechless just because I forgave you. Certainly that’s not the reason, right?’ Janus flashed a knowing look as he finally shed his coat with his remaining free hand. The movement pulled at Roman’s hand, but he was still dazed from everything that had just happened that he barely registered the movement.

“N- uh, no, that’s not the reason because I’m not speechless. See? This is me speaking right now, not speechless.” Roman said, a slight heat falling over his cheeks. 

Roman hoped desperately on the stars above that his face wasn’t as red as he thought it was.

“Ah, so the man does have a voice! What a discovery! Let us see if he uses it again!” Janus gasped melodramatically. 

Janus placed his free hand under his chin in mock anticipation of Roman’s next words. Roman huffed, crossing his arms despite the traitorous smile threatening to bloom on his lips.

“Come on, Janus. The bit is over, it’s time to stop.”

Lighting up in pretend excitement as he opened his mouth, Janus ignored him in favor of continuing the bit. Roman pouted and turned away almost like a toddler as Janus was clearly going to continue whether or not Roman was onboard.

“Oh, he’s a feisty talker, this one. Will he… continue…to….”

Abruptly dropping the act, Janus trailed off, something catching his attention from the corner of his eye. Janus’s grip on Roman’s hand tightened into what could almost be described as a death grip. Whatever it was was behind Roman, though, so he had to turn a complete one hundred and eighty degrees to face what had caught Janus’s attention in the general direction of the kitchen.

At first he didn’t observe anything out of the ordinary about the kitchen, everything was immaculate save for the edge of the tupperware boxes that signaled Patton had been boredom baking again. It always tickled Roman to come back to a kitchen full of cookies whenever they had to be gone for more than a day at a time. But that was certainly not what Janus was concerned about, it didn’t click until he blinked multiple times to see anything new that it struck him.

The kitchen light was still on.

Roman’s grip tightened on Janus’s hand as an acknowledgement he had noticed as well.

He looked back at Janus, who led Roman by the hand over to the light switch slowly, neither of them speaking a word until Janus silently flipped the switch and plunged the kitchen into only the dim light streaming through the windows.  

It was only then that Roman finally spoke up.

 “He… never leaves the kitchen light on. You… you think he’s sick?” Roman asked, turned to Janus, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Janus was silent for a lot longer, and part of Roman wanted to joke back at Janus cause their roles were reversed, but the sudden hollow sensation in Roman’s stomach gave him reason not to.

“Whatever it is, something’s wrong. You think we should go and wake him?” Janus said.

Roman pursed his lips in thought.

“Well, at the very least we should check up on him. See if he looks like he needs anything before we jump the gauntlet here.” 

Despite Janus’s slowly revealed expression of concern, Janus’s mouth still came up in a smirk.

“And here I thought I was the one who was going to say that. You’re the Mr. Impulsive of our group, I’m surprised you haven’t sprinted to his aid yet.”

You and me both, Roman sighed,

“For the last time, you know my name, Janus. And… well…  don't know… something just feels… off about this.” Roman frowned, going to face the portion of the kitchen that continued past the dining table into the hallway.

“Definitely.” Janus echoed, shivering a little. That had his attention. Roman turned his head back to Janus, keeping his body facing the same way.

“You’re cold, Janus?” Roman asked. 

Roman raised an eyebrow at Janus as Janus rubbed his arms a little, grimacing.

“Yeah. Are you sure you closed the door?” 

Roman opened his mouth to say he had, but his mouth stayed open in a gape as the memories of the last 5 minutes flitted through his mind.

Roman had been in the car, then opening the door and doing his dramatic bit, then scowling at Janus, making up, then noticing the light and then he was here facing the hallway with Janus.

And at no point did he, or Janus for that matter, close the door. 

Roman snapped his mouth shut, but made a point not to look embarrassed.

“No, but then again, neither did you.”

Janus arched an eyebrow much like Roman had just done to him moments before. Pursing his lips, Janus nodded slightly.

“Touche, Wroammin.” 

Roman narrowed his eyes and folded his arms at Janus. “I can hear you misspelling my name. Don’t think I can’t.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,.” Janus nonchalantly shrugged. “Now, can you please go shut the door so we can check on Patton?”

Bringing a hand coming up to clutch his chest, Roman gasped dramatically.

“Why should I, the noble Roman Prince, be the one to close the door when you were the one closer to it and you didn’t close the door?” Roman crossed his hands in front of his chest again. “What do you have to say about that?”

Placing one of his hands on his hip, Janus dropped one of his shoulders, staring at Roman like he was dumb.

“Dude, you’re the one that still has your winter coat on. I’m cold over here, how do you imagine the doorway feels like?” Janus replied somewhere between flatly and incredulously.

Roman’s gaze shot down to his outfit, which showed that indeed his blood red coat was still in place as well as his winter boots below that. Not even a button was undone. Roman’s mouth hung open a little.

“Oh.”

Janus wasn’t amused, judging by the steady frown on his face..

“‘Oh’ is right. Can you shut the door now? The temperature’s dropped more than your IQ.” Janus’s smirk was back, gesturing low to the ground to accentuate his words. “Now. Before we go pounce on Patton to give him whatever care he needs, okay?”

Huffing, Roman rolled his eyes as he finally went to go close the front door. He nearly tripped over a stray glove beside the basket of gloves, picking it up so it was out of the way.

Hmm… Patton’s usually good about picking those up… Something is definitely off.

Roman threw the stray glove in the basket as he stood back up. He got what Janus was talking about as he neared the door; even through his thick coat a slight chill came over him. Though maybe that was just because his face and hands were uncovered, but he didn’t really have proof one way or the other. Either way, he was cold even with the coat.

He quickly got to the door and shut it with a satisfying slide and click sound. Sighing in relief at the sudden warmth that flooded back into his limbs and torso as the door shut, Roman turned around and leaned against the door. But as he opened his eyes, still relishing the warmth, his vision revealed Janus standing in the crossroads of the front door, the kitchen, and the living room. 

Janus’s unamused frown was still heavily in place. Roman was thoroughly chastised with just the glance, Janus didn’t even have to say anything to get Roman to want to move again.

Still, Roman only begrudgingly pushed himself up from the doorway because Janus had looked at him like that. If it was Roman’s decision, he could’ve stayed there like that forever if he wanted, but he didn’t because Janus was there and he didn’t want to disappoint Janus.

Roman grumbled as he walked a few strides and began to strip off his coat, but not before he had slid his gloves off his hand and placed them nearby for ease of taking off the rest of what he needed to take off.

 Unlike Janus’s slightly more informal looking attire, Roman’s attire under his coat was fairly formal. He did have a layer of thick black leggings on for the winter weather. Over the leggings, however, he had a flowy black dress with thin shoulder straps and a slit down the middle to about halfway up that had a design of red flowers across it. 

But despite the dress's elegance, neither of the men made a comment on Roman’s ability to rock it as Roman shook the sleeves of his coat off his hands, still grumbling. Janus looked on, unimpressed.

When Roman had finally released his hands from the mortal coil of his coat, Roman hung his coat beside Janus's dullish yellow patchwork coat. 

After shifting back to face Janus, Roman strutted to him with a sudden confidence likely brought on by the reminder of his outfit. He even threw a wink at Janus, which only garnered yet another eye roll from Janus as Roman sidled up to him. 

Roman smiled expectantly, but all Janus did when Roman came back was grunt and start to walk down the hall so they could both check on Patton. Trying to hide his disappointed look, Roman sprinted down the hallway for a moment to catch up with Janus.

“Janus, wait up! Why’d you start going without me?” Roman said, attempting and failing to hide the disappointment.

Janus didn’t respond verbally, but his eyes flickered to Roman’s before he raised a silent finger to his slightly grimacing lips. 

Getting Janus’s message loud and clear, Roman covered his mouth belatedly with his hand.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot Patton could still- no, is asleep. But still, why’d you just leave me behind?” Roman whispered, still wanting Janus to inform him why he did what he did despite Janus’s lack of answer.

Remaining deathly silent, Janus ignored him with only a glance of consideration back in his direction.

Roman considered trying to get Janus to respond again, but he decided against it as they reached closer and closer to Patton’s bedroom. 

Mirroring the events from earlier, Roman brushed his hand up against Janus’s as he walked beside him, a silent request that was fulfilled when Janus reached out of his own accord and grasped Roman’s hand back. His gloves that he always wore around this time and rarely ever took off brushed against Roman’s palm, which he hadn’t completely registered earlier due to the influx of emotion that surrounded their previous gesture.

Their mutual handhold did get Janus to look a little longer back at Roman, which Roman silently declared a victory, if but just a small victory. But as with anything, the moment of connection didn’t last.

Both of them slowly let go of each other’s hands as they stopped in front of Patton’s door, analyzing the wood of the door. Neither of them really wanted to just barge in and risk upsetting in any small way if they were mistaken that Patton was under the weather somehow.

But it was the knowledge that they had to check up on Patton sometime even if neither of them wanted to that that pushed Roman’s hand forwards, the first to open the door.

Janus gazed down from the door to Roman’s hand, and then up to Roman’s eyes with a silent question to Roman.

Do we really want to do this?

In response, Roman simply nodded, forcing his expression into a more determined expression he wasn’t really experiencing.

Breathing a silent sigh, Janus looked back down then to Roman’s hand, squaring his shoulders in a similarly determined way that Roman thought mirrored his own false confidence. They were both resigned to accept whatever happened when they opened the door.

And so, Roman slowly twisted the doorknob, light pressing his body against it as he carefully eased the door open.

“Hey, Patton, you awake? We’re back early.” Roman whispered quietly. His eyes struggled to adjust to the light in Patton’s dim bedroom, only the light of the outside allowing them to see. Roman imagined Janus was having just as much trouble making out anything as Janus’s face scrunched in concentration beside him.

For the time being as their eyes adjusted, there was silence in the bedroom. 

A nervous laugh bubbled in Roman’s throat, but he swallowed it back down. Instead, he kept his voice low as he tried again.

“Patton? I’m sorry if we woke y...ou...we...ju…...st…” Roman trailed off as Patton’s dim bedroom ultimately came into focus around them.

Patton’s plushies and various items around the room resolved into being, the blue of his comforter was still a more dull gray looking as the light from the windows still weren’t enough to completely make everything light and vibrant like they should be. 

All of those things and yet...

Patton was nowhere to be seen.

There was a sinking feeling in Roman’s stomach as Roman traced and retraced the outline of Patton’s covers. He noted how the covers looked like they hadn’t been disturbed in a while as the door fully opened, lightly tapping the dresser nearby that was in it’s path by a small margin.

“Patton?” Roman asked one last time, even though with the evidence in front of his eyes told him it was pointless. Patton wasn’t in his bedroom.

Janus, on the other hand, appeared unable to speak. Roman had to look at Janus just to try to verify Janus was seeing what Roman was as well. And by Janus’s expression, he had glaring proof that what he was observing in Patton’s bedroom was indeed what was actually happening.

Eyes wide in what Roman assumed was shock, Janus had one of his gloved hands hovering over his mouth. His lips were parted a smidgen, as if Janus had tried to stop himself from speaking and fortunately succeeded.

Roman again took the initiative to speak, as Janus was in no position to do so at that moment.

“Jan, do you- is he-” Roman stumbled over his words, which might have been why Janus had refrained from speaking. However, Roman didn’t have too much time to think about that as his own stumbling over words at long last brought Janus out of whatever slight stupor he was in.

Janus dropped his hand down out from in front of his face, his voice shaking when he spoke.

“Roman, search the house. We… Let’s make sure he isn’t just somewhere. There’s a logical explanation for this. Both of us should try not to pan-ic.” Janus’s voice broke at his last word, an ironic humor to its timing. The slow panic rising up in Roman was audible in Janus’s words as well.

Glancing from the bedroom to the slowly more and more visible hallway, Roman stepped uncertainly backwards further into the hall. His own voice suddenly became as shaky as Janus’s.

“Yeah, I’ll… get the left, you get the right.” Roman said numbly, moving automatically towards the first room on the left before Janus’s firm grip stopped him. 

“What?” Roman asked, a tinge of frustration and anger in his voice as he was yanked slightly back. 

He immediately softened when he came face to face with Janus’s concerned face. And some or maybe most of that concern was for him.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not trying to hold us up, but we’re going to find him, alright? Even if he isn’t close right now, he will be.” Janus said, looking purposefully into Roman’s eyes with that soft expression of concern that just melted Roman’s anger and frustration and some of his worries away. 

Janus… always had a way of doing that to him.

Wiping his anger and worries away so that all that was left was… love. Just a simple love that made Roman want to hold Janus and never let him go. He would kill anyone who dared hurt Janus, that was for sure.

Smiling just as gently as the touch was, Janus placed a tender hand to Roman’s cheek. He ran his thumb lightly over Roman’s cheek, as if exploring every inch of his cheek.

Roman closed his eyes, leaning into the touch more and more, trying to drink up the comfort it brought.

Opening his eyes again, Roman smiled sadly, already looking around the corridor towards the end of the hallway. But he did look back in Janus’s eyes to respond.

“Okay, Janus. Let us go find him.” 

Janus ran his thumb one more time over Roman’s cheek, letting the moment stay a little bit longer, before ending the touch on Roman’s cheek and stepping back. 

“Alright Roman, see you back here.”

Roman leaned into the touch even as Janus withdrew it, his lips parting to protest the lack of touch, but he bit his lip to stop as they didn’t have too much time to do that if they wanted to find Patton.

Roman straightened his dress a bit as Janus stepped back down the hall, facing Roman for a moment before finally turning and walking to his first room in the hall. His expression was on the verge of unreadable, and what Roman could read wasn’t one cohesive message. Roman looked after Janus, smiling a bit lopsidedly as he was fairly wary of whatever Janus’s look meant, but he stayed focused and turned to check the first room on the left side of the hallway, walking back towards the living room to get to it.

Trying not to make too much noise despite the whispered conversation he and Janus had just had in the hallway nearby, Roman placed his hand silently on the doorknob. He took a few deep breaths in before he slowly opened the door. 

Cringing at the creak the door made when he opened it, Roman peeked his head into the similarly dim room. Like before, at first he didn’t see anything in the sudden darkness, but his eyes were much more quick to adjust to the light level this time. 

Once his eyes adjusted to the light in the room, he also found the room to be void of Patton or any sign that he had been there. It was then that something irked him, but Roman couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was bothering him at first.

Having searched everywhere in the room with only a skirting glance, Roman regretfully slipped the door closed just as silently as before, a creak of the door greeting his ears once more.

Roman moved quickly down to the next room, it was his own bedroom nearing the corner of the house. 

He had no clue what Patton would be doing alone in his room, but Roman had to check just on the off chance he was. 

It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for Patton to be missing them and wanting to get closer to each of them through their room and their memories. Patton was always the more emotionally connected and empathetic of the three of them. That’s what Janus and Roman both adored about Patton; he would cry at little ducklings and puppies, at hallmark movies, and at little children. It was so very adorable.

Roman quickly brushed all of the confusion he had about why Patton could be there and instead focused on finding out if he actually was there. 

This time when Roman opened the door, he was a little less gentle or attempting to be silent. And apparently every single door had the same idea that day as it creaked loudly also when Roman cracked it open.

Peering into his own room like he wasn’t someone who lived in the room for at least a third of the day on most days, Roman was already quickly bored of the routine of waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light and if Patton was truly asleep he would’ve awoken by now. So instead of waiting like before, he took the initiative to reach his hand into the room blindly to hit the light switch.

He blindly fumbled for a moment before his hand hit the light switch, flipping it on with a deft flick of his finger. 

Roman was momentarily disappointed to find in the stark illumination of his overhead light that Patton was again nowhere to be found. However, the moment didn’t last as he noticed something else.

Roman rarely ever made his bed, because his room wasn’t a performance where everything had to be wrinkle free. Why make your bed when the only person who is going to appreciate it being made is you?  That was Roman’s methodology, at least. 

But when Roman glanced into his own room, he was struck with the fact that the bed was now fully made. The plushie that Patton had gifted him as a token of gratitude to putting up with him, his words, not Roman’s, was sitting on top of Roman’s folded blankets at the foot of the bed. It was as if the plushie was standing guard over the room, which Roman found to be adorably thoughtful for Patton. 

Roman smiled as he gazed down on the plushie. A warm feeling spread in his chest that beat the stress and panic of not finding Patton back just enough to give a little giggle at the dork Patton was for doing that.

Oh Patton, you giant empathetic dork. You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?

Except… he hadn’t found Patton yet. That was still important, but the sight of the plushie helped Janus’s previous soothing sink in a little more into Roman’s mind: “We’re going to find him, alright? Even if he isn’t close right now, he will be.” 

Roman breathed in a deep breath in and out. In and out. In and out.

Everything was going to be okay, they would find Patton, wherever he was. Patton was close, even if he was physically farther away.

Finding the switch much easier this time as the light was on this time to guide him, Roman reached through the door again to shut off the light.

Once that was done, after Roman fumbled a bit getting his hand back out through the door, Roman stepped back from the door and turned to check the last room on his side of the hallway. Janus had already checked the last room judging by the door standing slightly ajar. However, Janus’s back was still visible in the study on the right side of the hallway.

Roman took a step down the hall before it hit him that Janus wasn’t moving. Janus was just standing there nearly in the hallway staring down at something in the study.

“Janus, did you find something? Is Patton in there?” Roman moved slowly to the door of the study, but Janus didn’t move to greet Roman or say anything. Janus only stood there, silent and not moving.

Janus only moved when Roman reached a hand to touch Janus’s back, causing Janus to jump at the sudden touch. He looked truly spooked when he turned around, his eyes going wide before he caught sight of who had actually touched him. 

Janus immediately relaxed, but not completely, his shoulders were still tense as his expression was weirdly pained.

“Janus? Is something wrong? Did you find Patton?” Roman asked. 

Trying to decipher Janus’s pensive expression, he tilted his head at Janus, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

Janus looked at the ground for a moment before he looked up at Roman, making eye contact with him as his parted.

“Roman I think he could’ve-” Janus swallowed like he had a lump in his throat. “He could’ve been taken. They… look-”

Janus stepped to the side to reveal the bottom drawer that rarely anyone ever opened was more than slightly ajar. The drawer was half open and clearly rummaged in and full of tools.

It took a few moments for Roman to connect the dots of what Janus meant. But once he connected the ajar drawer full of long thick utensils that some weighed almost a pound or two, it finally clicked what he meant. Roman’s hand flew to his mouth in realization and shock.

“You think?” 

Janus clasped his hands in front of him tight, his expression pressing his lips into a thin line.

“I think it’s the most obvious, because his car’s still in the driveway and yet we can’t find him. What else is there to think?”

Roman cursed under his breath, his panic slowly rising as he imagined all the ways Patton could’ve used a utensil from the drawer to beat back an intruder. They always started out successful, Roman getting a pang of pride everytime Patton swung the utensil in a way that intimidated them. But all too soon, each possibility ended in Patton shot or stabbed or drugged, all of them ended as Patton was drug through the front door, bleeding out or kicking and kicking and screaming into a gag as the door was slammed closed, hiding what the assailants did next.

“But before we panic too hard and do something rash, don’t touch anything, and find any sign of a forced entry or a struggle. It’s possible if this happened just before we got back, they left only moments before we came. And Patton could still be hiding somewhere hidden thinking we’re still the people who broke into the house.” Janus said, smoothing down the front of his outfit compulsively, a tell that meant he was likely trying to keep down his own panic. 

Roman opened his mouth to say something before hesitating. He wanted to just call the police and find out where Patton could’ve gone right then, but if Patton was in the house, it would be useless to do that for a missing person investigation. They would still need the authorities, but-

Roman’s eyes widened, gripping Janus’s shoulders tight. Roman needed to tell Janus.

“What if Patton called the police wherever he is and they’re on their way? We gotta find him if he’s here so he can explain-” 

Janus pressed a gloved finger to Roman’s lips to silence him, prying Roman’s hands off of him with his other hand.

“Roman, if he has a phone with him, can’t we just call him? And if that isn’t what happened, he can just explain what did. Again, we can’t let panic get the better of us. Deep breaths, Roman.”

Roman was suddenly very aware of how labored and fast his breathing was. His head was very light all of sudden, which meant he had been breathing very shallowly in what he now could discern was a bit too much panic.

Roman’s lungs begged for air, and Roman obliged them as he breathed in deep. However, he was already pulling out his phone out of Janus’s eyesight.

“In... hold it… out… In....” Janus coached Roman for a bit before he glanced down at Roman’s free hand. “Oh Roman, come on. We can do that later, we need you to breathe right now, okay?”

Yanking himself from Janus’s grip, Roman shook his head as he called Patton, pressing his phone against his ear. He walked as fast as he dared back down the hallway to escape the wrath of Janus’s self-care, of trying to get him to breathe. 

Roman didn’t need to breathe, he needed answers to what had happened to Patton.

“Roman!” Janus yelled after Roman, but Roman ignored him in favor of the rolling call tones coming from the phone. He craned his ears for any trace of a ringtone nearby as well. But as he walked from one end of the house to the other, Roman heard nothing but the sound of the call tones in his ear and the faint sounds in his ears of Janus’s pleas.

Roman’s heart jumped when he heard Patton’s voice, but as it continued, it hit him that it was just his voicemail message.

“Hey! Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now! I’m probably off petting cute puppies or spending some time with my partners. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can! I love you, whoever you are!”

Roman chuckled sadly into his phone at Patton’s voice, waiting until the beep to finally slow down in front of one of the front windows as he left a message for Patton.

“Hey Patton, I- We don’t know where you are right now, just know that you’re going to be okay. We're going to find you, I promise. I love… you...Patton.” Roman trailed off as something outside caught his eye, letting the voicemail go on a little bit in silence before he pressed the end call button on his phone.

He stared outside with wide eyes, turning back to the living room only to catch sight of Janus standing a little behind him as if he was going to talk to Roman. But instead Janus was gazing down at the couch.

“Roman.” 

“Janus.” 

Both of them spoke at the same time, the same amount of bewilderment and panic in their voices.

Janus looked up from where he was looking at the couch and Roman nodded at him silently to be the one to speak first. Janus swallowed again.

“Roman, there’s a blood stain on this blanket and the vase for the living room is broken in the trash. I think Patton’s hurt bad, because it’s a lot of blood.”

Roman glanced down at where Janus had been looking. He found the stain easily with how it stood out on the blanket, like a crimson mark on the pristine white blanket. Patton’s afghan was also noticeably in the pile of blankets on the couch, which confused Roman a little, but it did make a little sense with what Roman was just noticing in the driveway.

Roman glanced back out the window, just to make sure he was seeing correctly before he turned back to Janus again, eyes wide as saucers.

“Janus, it isn’t Patton’s car that’s in the driveway beside ours. Come look.”

Janus’s eyes widened as he ran over to the other window, looking through the curtain at the car that looked like Patton’s. Same kind of look, but it wasn’t exactly the same. The color of the car itself was darker and the interior wasn’t decorated in small plushies.

“That’s… Logan’s car. Which means it’s-”

Roman nodded. 

“Remus. Which makes sense, if Patton was injured and knew he couldn’t drive and knew that Remus could get him to the hospital faster. But if Remus was actually the one to hurt Patton i swear to all things holy that I’ll-”

“Listen to Patton first for what happened instead of jumping to the worst conclusion that could’ve happened.” Janus finished for Roman, his voice gentle even as he began to tug Roman’s tense and angry form towards the door.

Roman parted his lips to protest but instead let Janus guide him to the door by the hand. Instead, he spoke to the air, ignoring the roll of Janus’s eyes as he spoke.

“Hold on Patton, we’re coming.” 

[bunysliper]

Castle Ficlet: Remembrance in Moonlight 1/1

Remembrance in Moonlight

A Season 6 Ficlet

Caskett

--------------------------------------------

He finds her at the window, sitting against the glass with her knees drawn to her chest. Her chin lowers at his gaze, at being caught out here when she has a warm bed – and a dashing, ruggedly handsome bedmate – waiting for her just a room away, but she doesn't seem particularly inclined to move. If anything, she presses her shoulders back, curling her arm tighter around her legs. He's not deterred though, dusting a kiss to the crown of her head before taking a seat on the ledge across from her. It takes some arranging, his legs don't fit nearly as well as hers do, but they manage; her lips even lift at his quiet fumbling, letting him know she doesn't mind his presence.

 They sit without speaking, letting the hum of the refrigerator and gurgle of the building's plumbing punctuate the silence. After a while, the wood of the windowsill grows hard under his backside and an uncomfortable tingle spreads down the back of his thigh. Rick shifts, trying to get more comfortable, his foot nudging hers in the attempt to make it easier to stay with her. It's not meant as anything more, certainly not meant to be a pointed suggestion that she talk about what's plaguing her mind and keeping her awake in the middle of the night, but she exhales nonetheless.

 "I thought," she starts, brow furrowing as she searches for the right words to express herself, "it's been so different this year, with you, with DC, with the way the holidays went…I thought it wouldn't hit me like it has in other years."

 Rick's fingers twitch against his thigh, wanting to reach for her. Instead he just swallows, nodding for her to continue whenever she's ready.

 "I miss her, Rick," Kate murmurs, her voice cracking on his name. "I miss her even more than I did before. More than–"

 "Kate," he breathes.

 She sucks in a hitching breath. "It shouldn't still – it shouldn't still hurt this damn much," she rasps, angry. Rick's not sure if she even knows who that anger is for, if it has a intended target at all. "She died; she's been dead for fifteen years, and I just… right now it feels like it was yesterday."

 "Tell me about her," he says, less of a request and more of a gentle directive meant to steer her from the sharp edge of her grief. To bring her focus back to the woman her mother was, not the tragedy of her death. "Tell me about your mom, Kate."

 His fiancée looks away, swiping at her cheeks as she contemplates the outside world. After a moment she laughs, weak though the sound is, and lowers her chin. Her hair slips from behind her ear, falling into her face; he lumbers across the windowsill to push it back, to press his lips to her forehead, unhurried, gentle. She tilts her head, brushing her nose along the curve of his jaw, following with her mouth a second later.

 Rick settles back, closer this time, claiming her fingers in support.

 Kate's mouth opens and closes, and he can practically see her sifting through memories to find the one she's able to share without it breaking her heart into pieces. "She had… the strangest sense of humor sometimes. Weirder than my dad's even, and you know what his is like."

 He chuckles, nodding. He's no stranger to dry humor, but Jim Beckett is a master at twisting things around with a sly statement and simply offering a lopsided, unapologetic smile once Rick realizes he's being messed with.

 "I think that's probably why they got along so well, their humor. The way they needled each other but always ended up laughing afterward." Her eyes lift to his, giving him a lopsided smile that he returns; there's something warm, comforting in knowing that the two of them remind her of her parents in some way. "There were times when she was so serious, though, so buttoned up, and then in an instant it all fell away and she was this… vibrant, wacky woman."

 "She sounds great."

 Beckett nods, swiping her thumb over his knuckles. "She was. She was really great."

 Rick jostles her hand when she lapses into silence. "Tell me more."

 She doesn't respond, doesn't give him another lighthearted factoid. Instead, she gets to her feet, taking two steps toward him and nudging his legs apart. He shifts back, welcoming her as she settles in the space she's made for herself, waiting until her head drifts to his shoulder to wind his arms around her.

 "I used to go into her room when she wasn't looking and go through her jewelry box to find something to wear." She laughs, shaking her head at herself. "My mom would catch me every time, whether it was in the act or later on when I decided to strut around wearing whatever I'd swiped."

 She chuckles again, leaning her cheek on his arm. "After it happened a dozen or so times, she let me pick a few things I liked, and said they were mine. And then we had a fashion show to let me show them off to Dad. I loved it."

 "That sounds adorable."

 Her lips brush his skin. "That's what she and my dad said. She was… I wanted to be her for the longest time, Castle. Even when I was railing against them, I wanted to be her."

 "You didn't need to be her, Kate. You were – are – already the best parts of her."

 His fiancée sniffs, gripping his fingers tighter.

 "You're smart, you're driven, you're funny. You're also principled, compassionate, and kind. You're everything I have no doubt she hoped to instill in you. She would be so proud of you, Kate."

 Beckett turns, burying her face in his bicep, a ragged cry spilling from her throat. Rick dips his head, brushing a kiss over her neck. He doesn't offer platitudes or suggest she has no reason to cry, he simply works on being still, being steady.

 And when she releases a shaky exhale and lifts her eyes to his, he brushes the wetness from her cheeks and presses a kiss to her forehead.

 "Tell me more about her. Tell me everything."

-----------------------------------------------

I started this before January 9th and the anniversary of Johanna Beckett’s death, but it wasn’t done in time. Now that it’s done, I didn’t want to sit on it for too long, so here we are! Thank you for reading!

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 14

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13

here we go! some answers are revealed, but with more answers come more questions... obviously ;) please don’t hesitate to like/reblog if you enjoy it and share how you feel here. Lowkey but highkey the reason i post this story is to interact with you guys and hear your responses! lots of la-la-la-lovvvee xx

I didn’t need to see anything in the crowd. For up on the wall, between collectors’ paintings was a vacant space.

The family portrait was gone.

And in its place was a snake that matched the one I’d seen tattooed on skin, the same snake that had been wrapped around my neck...

The police urged Mrs. Styles to shut down the party, but no man in uniform was tougher than her will to put on a show. The crowd lingered, more intrigued than frightened by the drama, no doubt wanting to carry on what they’d witnessed first-hand to their social circles on the other side of the gate.

Harry requested a Lyft immediately after to take me home. I cancelled it, unwilling to leave and wanting to hear what the police could make of it. Mrs. Styles showed them less concern than she did the caterers, and entertained them ten minutes tops before shooing them out. She gave a statement and allowed them to interview some staff, but then they were gone. Everyone else had been at the auction.

Even Harry, apparently. I’m not sure why he lied, but there must have been a reason. The officers had looked at me to confirm, and I felt Harry’s eyes on me as I nodded. I lied, too.   

I stayed long enough to see the auction resume. The foundation hadn’t suffered either, nearly raising a million by the end of the night. One of the prizes? A date with Mary’s sole prized son. His eyes remained locked on mine at the head of the podium as the eager socialites bid to set up their daughters or their neices. Maybe they were bidding for themselves to escape their husbands for the night. At the top of the podium, people threw money at him like a commodity. I knew it was for a larger cause, but the smile he threw on wasn’t the one I’d seen in the moments we were together. It was the one for show, the one that put people at ease and didn’t cause anymore probing questions. It came second-nature to him; it was a second skin, a mask like the one that covered his face, but stunning nevertheless.

He couldn’t meet my eyes when the final bid was placed. $4,500.  

Viv won.

I let him call the Lyft for me after that.

Even back in my dorm with the company of Renny’s gentle snores, I didn’t sleep a wink. I also didn’t ask Harry about his lie, or the gun. I let its image sit there, in my mind, turning over and over. The cool silver glinted each time I closed my eyes, the branding of the snake tattoo appearing in the shadows of my room whenever I tried to open them. It even overpowered my jealousy of Viv.

 I didn’t dream my nightmares that night. They were lucid.

 Spindly creatures didn’t exist in this world, but I didn’t know which world was scarier anymore.

 The attack on their home wasn’t something I could reconcile unless it was something personal. There were thousands of dollars worth of furniture, vases, and paintings - yet they stole a family portrait. Which, unless you were obsessed with stoic family poses, was neither a lucrative nor smart object to steal.

 Was there a deeper connection?

 A memory from that night crawled its way out of the crevices and smacked me in the face. I hadn’t realized I’d had it stored away, but suspicion had a funny way of bringing up memories.

 That rainy night outside of Kean’s, I’d called for Harry when I’d walked out of the bathroom. Of course, it hadn’t been Harry.

 But the stranger had said something that didn’t sit right.

 Haven’t heard that name in a while.

 Hadn’t heard that name in a while…

 The sentence echoed over and over.

 One way it could be explained - everyone had heard of the Styles. Maybe this was a threat, a warning that they’d hurt their family unless they coughed up some cash. Maybe there was no deeper connection. And if there was…

 For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why the elite star boy of the beach community would be associated with rapist thugs.

 “Are you okay?”

 “I’m fine,” I said for the millionth time. “Stop asking me that.”

 Harry’s eyes were red. He rubbed them, probably as sleep deprived as me.

 I could tell he wanted to ask me again, but he took a sip of iced coffee instead. Maybe if he heard I’m okay again, this time he’d believe me.

 I wouldn’t.

 I watched his fingers toy with his lips while peers watched us sit outside Starbucks. They were probably concerned with midterms next week, unaware of the complete mess of thoughts churning my stomach and leaving my croissant half-eaten.

 I pulled off a buttery flake. I missed the old me. The old me would’ve been the passing peer, and in any other alternate universe that was normal and made sense, I would be watching Harry sit with a sorority girl with perfectly curled hair as I stress ate 10 croissants and worried about how to cram-write a 15 page historical essay and study for a biology exam in 12 hours.

 “You can come to mine tonight. It’s dead at the house until the weekend so it’ll be quiet to study.”

I nodded. The frat house... Maybe I could talk to him about it then. Here, in this coffee shop, he seemed like the frat star college student everyone knew him as. At night in his room, maybe I could reconcile this person with who I knew outside of campus, too. The boy who was soft, who hurt, who had an entire mystery of a life inside that mansion.

 I’d accepted I was different than who I was before him. Was he different before me?

 When he pulled at his lip again, he noticed me staring and a familiar gleam lit his eyes. He looked at me in a way that made my cheeks burn and my heart surge. Muscle memory was strong, and even though he was sitting across the table, I suddenly felt him pressed against me.

 Maybe there was another reason he’d recommended the frat house.

 My phone buzzed, giving me an excuse to look away. I checked the name, ignored it. He was looking at me again, observing, waiting for me to admit what was really going on in my mind when he must know what was bothering me… He just wasn’t brave enough to bring it up himself.

 And I wasn’t ready to be the first.  

 “You know, I’m not always going to be so readily available for you. I’m a modelling girl now, my schedule’s filling up.” I threw a dramatic hand to my forehead and he fought a smile.

 “S’that right?”

 I nodded, and that’s when his brows pinched.

 “Wait, are you really modelling?”  

 “Okay, gee, don’t look so surprised. A friend of mine needed a replacement model who had more ‘life.’ And I’m just full of that, so, it worked out.”

 My phone vibrated again.

 “Zayn?”

 “No. It’s my mom...” Begging to get the details from that photo I’d sent her of Harry and I last night. I was too in awe of the decor, the gowns, and just being there to not share it with her. It’d actually been something I’d wanted to remember until it all went to shat.

 “I meant your friend. Who’s the artist?”

 “Oh, Zayn.”

 “Oh.”

 An awkward silence settle, and I picked at another buttery flake.  

 “I’m sure he’ll do an amazing job,” he said. But he looked away when he said it, and I heard the restraint in his tone.  

 “I don’t know why you don’t like him.”

 “It’s not just me.” He leant back in his chair, stretching his arms back until the muscles flexed. “I never knew him until here, but because he’s from England s’just…” He shook his head. “Look, I don’t know how to explain it, I’m not trying to be a dick.”

 Said every dick ever. But maybe I could overlook it.

 “Tell me.”

 “He just doesn’t give me good vibes.”

 “How California of you.”

 “I-” he stopped, sighed. He wrestled with the true answer he’d held all along, reluctantly giving it up. “He acts like he knows things about me. Like he knows who I am when I literally haven’t said a single word to him.”

 “You don’t like how friendly he is?”

 “It’s not a happy, familiar, I know you. S’like he looks at me and sees parts of me I don’t...”

 “Show?”

 The look in his eyes told me I was right, but he didn’t say it.  

 “Maybe he’s just intuitive,” I continued.

 “Maybe he’s just fucking weird.”

 “Harry…”

 He shrugged, unapologetic, and drew a long sip from the black coffee. For the boy who had a beautifully deceitful exterior hiding a million layers he never let anyone see, it must have taken a lot for someone to get under his skin.

 Was the thought of being seen that terrifying?  

 “Shit, I have practice.”

 I nodded, not as disappointed as I thought I’d be. I had a lot on my plate today. Biology papers, work, stopping by the studio…

 I stood up a little after him.

 “Thanks for the croissant, and the tea.”

 “Of course,” he said.

 We walked out in silence, and I wonder if he was as lost in thought as I was. Before we parted, he turned to me.

 “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 I popped a hip, putting on my best tough-girl act.

 “I-” I stopped, sighed. The tough-girl acted lasted a whole whopping two seconds as I debated on telling him the truth I’d been hiding. I knew he was genuinely concerned, and I knew that if I didn’t fess up this was going to keep bothering him. Just like him, I caved. “Not really.”

 “I knew it.” - he looked away, tugging at his hair before letting his hand fall - “I swear, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

 But there was a slight desperation to his voice, and I wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

 I nodded anyway. I didn’t realize I’d been looking at the ground until he leaned lower, trying to meet my eyes.

 “I’ll see you later?”

 “Later,” I affirmed.

 He punched my shoulder lightly, and it took everything in me not to literally guffaw. Had he really just-? Again???

 Lighter fluid of pure annoyance fueled an angry fire in my eyes. But he didn’t flinch; nothing about him seemed apologetic for the action.

 Last night his hands touched me very differently.

 Last night, he wasn’t a buddy who shoulder punched me.

 Did something change again in the blink of an eye? Then again, his unpredictability was becoming predictable. And a lot could change overnight. I certainly hadn’t been filled with this sick foreign confusion yesterday.  

 And if this confusion was actually suspicion, I didn’t even know of what.

 I didn’t hesitate to walk away, hoping that leaving so abruptly would be a GIANT NEON SIGN that he’d just done something wrong, knowing that even if it would, one of his thousand stubborn layers would never bring him to acknowledge it.

 ------

 A waft of Chinese food overpowered the smell of humid sweat for a moment and it wasn’t as disgusting as I thought it’d be. In fact, my stomach growled in response.

 I saw his glistening smile before the takeout bag. He came over to where I was sanitizing the examination table and sat down, wincing when he realized it was still wet. He held up the bag, and the smell of orange chicken was stronger.

 “For you.”

 He waggled his eyebrows.

 And for the first time in what felt like a long time, I smiled.

 “Shut. Up.”  

 Seconds later, Matt was laying on his back in the chair, and I’d set the Chinese aside for the foam roller. I leaned against it with all my weight as I rotated it upwards, soothing the tense muscles in his back.

 “You really don’t have to do this everytime you come in, I’m starting to feel bad,” I said with a mouthful of chicken. Though really, it didn’t make me feel bad at all. Some of my distressing confusion actually lifted with his presence. Or maybe it was the thought of free food.

 “You have to smell other people’s sweat and deal with bloody injuries at least once a week. I don’t think I’m the one you should be feeling bad for...”

 He sucked in a breath through his teeth as I hit a particularly tender spot.

 I bit my cheek, trying so very hard not to laugh at how brutally accurate it all was.

 “Alright, if you’re gonna talk like that you can bring me a steak dinner next time.”

 “I’m not so sure that’s a takeout thing.”

 “Yeah, yeah, get out of it how you can.”

 He struggled for the Chinese box and held up a spoonful of chowmein behind his back. I moved up just enough where I could clamp my mouth around it.

 I placed extra pressure by his shoulder blade and he drew in a breath. “Sweet...torture…” he squeaked.  

 “You don’t have to put up with my torture anymore,” I said, rolling back down. I was sweating. Forget going to the gym, this was exercise enough.  

 “It’s not torture! It’s- you’re fine.” An awkward apology came stumbling out. “It just hurts in the moment, but it’s a good pain.”

 “No, I mean…” For some reason, it felt weird admitting this to him. “I’m not going to be working here much longer. This week’s my last week here.”

 His muscles tensed a little, and I slowed my roll. Literally.

 “Oh, really? Why? Did you get fired?”

 “Noo, nothing like that. I actually got an internship.”

 There was silence as I worked his lower back. I focused harder on the way the foam roller pushed against the muscle, building and pinching, til it finally rolled over.

 I knew I’d still see him around. Less, that’s for sure. But still… around. I stopped, grabbing some ice packs for his calf muscles, ignoring the fact that he still hadn’t said anything.

 “Where’s it at?” he asked after a solid minute of silence.

 “Coast Shores Medicine.”  

 “The one on TV?”

 “That’s the one.” One Google search and the practice had popped up, along with its link to the reality show Housewives of OC. I remembered Ben telling me Mary Styles used to be a housewife and the notoriety that surrounded the Styles name surprised me less and less.

 “That’s going to be different.”

 I let out a short laugh. “Yeah, but it won’t be too bad.”

 Matt, always a bundle of optimism didn’t hesitate to say, “It’ll look great on your resume.”

 And there it was, the real reason behind this. The whole reason behind anything we did. Something else for the resume, something else for a piece of paper, something else to belong, something else to make another approve of my life’s existence. But-

 “Yeah. It’ll be fun,” I said, strapping the ice packs down.

 “Bet no one’s gonna bring you takeout though.”

 I heard the smile in his voice, and when he looked over his shoulder, there it was. All gleaming white teeth and shining blue eyes.

 And for a second, I wanted to take it all back. To say I was kidding. To stay here. To not change another part of my life that seemed to be turning into something I wasn’t quite sure I wanted it to be.

 “You’re going to do great,” he said, somehow knowing what I needed to hear without me uttering a word.

 Maybe if our families hadn’t been tied since birth, it would have been different for us. Maybe he would’ve been bringing me spring rolls to my dorm room and I would’ve been in Matt’s dad’s shop, helping where I could.

 Maybe I should stop overthinking everything and just accept everything as it was and stop thinking of parallel universes.

 Maybe, maybe, maybe...

 I wanted to give him a definite response. I wanted to say, I would be okay because I know I would be okay.

 But the largest part of me didn’t know what the future held, and somehow I still needed to be okay with that.

 ----------------

 The frat house looked a lot different than the last time I’d been there. I could hardly believe that it was the same place.

 The lawn wasn’t littered with people swaying, confessing embarrassing things to acquaintances they’d pretend not to know the next day in History class. The yard was vacant - except for two boys with hats hung low with trash collecting picks, looking like they’d just suffered from a major night out. They didn’t even look up when I passed.

 Bits of the paint were chipping off the door, and my booties stuck to the pavement that’d accumulated a healthy layer of spilled beer.

 I knocked, but nobody answered, so I walked in anyways. I was actually more nervous than if the living room had been full with bodies pressed together. I was alone, nobody to hide from, the impending conversation looming in my mind. The dance floor was back to looking like a living room. Two couches with suspicious stains were haphazardly placed to create space for a table - a bong as the centerpiece and ashes in place of a tablecloth.

 It was so different from his sparkling mansion. The frat house was clearly lived in, but I wonder if he really felt at home here.

 “Hello?” I creeped up the stairs, but nobody walked out. An open window carried in the sound of students walking to their next class. Had I gotten the time wrong?? It was too quiet. Without warning, my nightmares blended into the frat house. No one was here. My feet moved faster, faster, carrying me towards the room.

 I gasped when I saw him standing outside his door. “Shit.”

 His lips quirked into a half-smile. “You okay?”

 I looked at him casually leaning against the door in his joggers, breathless. It was pointless acknowledging the question.

 Compared to the rest of the house, Harry’s room looked pristine. Madame Bovary and his English notes were already sprawled across his creaseless bedspread, but he pulled at the corner of it anyways while I sat at his desk. I swiped my finger along the top, lips curling at the layer of dust on it.

 “I go to the library.”

 “Mhm.”

 He tugged at his t-shirt collar, mildly clearing his throat. “Not sure where you want to start.”

 I nodded.

 “There’s a lot to cover.” He lowered his head, looking over the bridge of his nose, that silly masked smile toying on his lips - but just like a mask, it didn’t hide his eyes. They were redder than before, and I almost felt bad at how tired he must be.

 It looked like I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get any sleep.

 He toyed with the bedsheet again, and I realized I hadn’t said anything.

 “There is a lot to cover.” My heart beat faster, and I had no idea how to bring up the gun. Would he be angry with me for snooping? Was it wrong of me to have done so? But then again, why the heck had he locked me in the room? “Where do you want to start?”

 He paused, just like I had. A thousand possibilities rushing through my mind,

 but he lifted up the book,

 and I wilted.

 You would think it’d be hard to study an entire half-semester’s worth of work for a class that met three times a week and a professor that filled up at least five pages of notes per session. But with enough willpower to avoid silence, Harry and I managed to study nearly all of it.

 Which, to help clarify just how much of a task it was, the only study guide we’d been given were seven sample essay questions - three of which were to be written in class after the short answer portion.

 We’d jotted notes down of themes, character developments (and lack thereof), and pretty much exhausted the entire book cover to cover. Which, was especially hard to do, being that close to a sex god and all. Even more especially, when that sex god had almost had his fingers inside of me less than a day ago.

 If I was antsy to talk about the masquerade ball before, exhaustion made me question whether or not it was even worth it. The sun had long past set, and the soft glow from Harry’s lamp cast a dreamy hue to the room that made my eyes strain to make anything out. He was unreal as a human anyways, add exhaustion and mood lighting to the mix and it’s like the gods just cast him out of heaven.

 Given my frazzled bun and hoodie with a hole near the armpit, one could say I found this to be completely unfair.

 I set my pen down as soon as my stomach growled.

 “Shit,” Harry suddenly leapt up, bounding out the door. He stopped just before he disappeared and craned his neck back. “I’ll just be a minute.”

 “Uh, okay,” I let out a nervous laugh, but he’d already walked away. I leant back in the chair; it felt nice to be alone in his room. A little weird, but nice.

 My fingers thrummed on the desk. They stopped when I saw what was on the top shelf. Did he take these from Mary?

 I reached for them without thinking, turning them over in my hand. The little white tablets shook together as I tried to find a label for them.

 Who needed this many?

 I suddenly became aware of a frozen frame behind me.

 He didn’t stop me from reading them, but I turned, embarrassed for snooping. He’d stepped closer, and I could feel the heat rolling off his body, the chiseled chest hidden behind a black sweater just a book’s width away. Any thoughts I had became mush. Too close, too-

 my ankle hit the desk when I stepped back. “I’m sorry. I was just… I was just curious.” There was a sad acceptance in his eyes when he nodded. It was so soft, I wondered if I’d imagined it. “Do you struggle with sleeping?” I asked, tone void of teasing.

 “Kind of.” Careful eyes searched mine for a reaction. Even with his desk lamp, his green eyes were dark, a thick forest that didn’t let in the light.  

 Xanax and Valium were serious sleeping pill. When my hippie aunt would come back from one of her many trips from Mexico, she’d bring Valium back by the bucketful (selling the pills as well as her psychic services). My dad bought from her, but even she cautioned him about the intensity of it. I didn’t recognize the other label, but I was assuming it was equally strong, if not more so.

 I bit the inside of my cheek.

 “I don’t really take them anymore,” he clarified.

 “You used to?” Frick. A tad too much curiosity there. Could’ve come off as judgey.  

 Harry stared off into somewhere behind me, my question triggering memories I’m not sure I’d like to see. “A lot of people take them anyway,” he said, coming back to me.

 “Really?” My back arched as I tried to create more space between us.

 He leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk on either side of me. His body moved slowly, but deliberately. Each calculated movement seemed second-nature to him. He nodded. “Sure. Want to see Niall’s desk?”

 The last time I was in Niall’s room… my cheeks flushed remembering our kiss. It was so long ago, such a stupid rash decision. But it was ages before Harry and I started… hanging out more frequently so I couldn’t blame myself for doing anything wrong. Still, if Renny ever found out I had “once upon a time” kissed her newfound obsession and that I never told her about it, I’d rather invest in a wig and move to Canada.

 Renny once delivered a package of literal dog shit to a girl who slid into her “once upon a time” friends with benefits’ dms.

 I shook my head quickly. “I mean I get nightmares all the time, I get why people take them.”

 “You have nightmares?”

 I bristled a bit. “Yeah, doesn’t everybody?”

 “Not the kind that require sleeping pills.” His head tilted back, an elitist of pain.

 “But a lot of people take them.” I spat his own words back to him, my biting tone not lost on Harry.

 “Ah, ah,” he chided. He pulled in a cheek, accentuating angled cheekbones. “That’s not why everybody takes them.”

 “Well if it helps nightmares-”  I mockingly twisted the cap between us until it “popped” but he snatched it from me. His hand took the place of the bottle, shooting an electric bolt up my arm. Leaning back against the desk, my legs stood between his, unable to take me away from his stone-cold stare.  

 “You’re not getting them from me Y/N.”

 “I was teasing,” I said, not moving my hand. “I wasn’t going to take any.”

 His calculated eyes searched mine for any hint of pill-popping desire, but I couldn’t handle the intensity.

 My eyes shot behind him. When I saw what was on the bed, I snorted. I couldn’t help it. In the grave intensity of the moment, I snorted. My hand flew to my nose. “Oh my gosh, are you serious?” I gestured to the plate atop his sheets.

 He backed up, tugging me with him. My heart fluttered, but he let go and stood back, crossing his arms instead. From the corner of my eye, I saw his feet scuff the flooring, suddenly unsure of his gesture. “You said you were hungry.”

 My side-smirk grew into a full beaming smile. I sat down on his bed, picking up the fork that was beside it. I debated about which spot would be the best to dive into. “Is this chocolate lava cake?”

 He’d only brought one fork. So… maybe I didn’t have to be to be conservative with my bites... He watched me shovel almost half the cake into my mouth with one bite. I moaned, not even embarrassed as a dribble of chocolate escaped my mouth. I moaned AGAIN, completely shameless, and fell back on his bed. Somehow, the experience of chocolate in Harry’s bed made it taste all the more delicious. “Ughhh dishh ishh amashhinnn!!”

 A breathy childish laugh escaped Harry, and it was so beautiful, I almost froze mid-swallow. He bit his lip, aware that the sound escaped him, but with no one else to observe it, he didn’t care.  

 “I don’t … want you missing out on things because of me.”

 “What do you mean?” I took another bite of the lava cake, letting the moist chocolate fudge slowly cover my tastebuds.

 “Exactly what I said.”

 The image of me running away from my pricey dessert at The Hilltop Resort flashed in my mind. I’d ran away from Harry that night because I saw him as a pretentious douchebag who thought money could get him any girl he wanted. He looked the same, and still had more money than I could comprehend, but stood before me now was a completely different person than the one I thought I knew.

 Harry could turn cold and distant in the blink of an eye, abandon me in photos and leave me feeling unwanted and embarrassed. But he could place an arm around my waist, remember the smallest details about me, and make a gesture that showed how thoughtful he could be. It was … infuriating. Unfair. Predictably unpredictable.

 I don’t want you missing out on things because of me.

 I hadn’t gotten to eat chocolate lava cake that night. Yet here it was, burning on the bed between us.

 “I think I’m experiencing more things now that I know you actually,” I swallowed slowly, the thick chocolatey goodness not the only thing melting.

 “I’m sure,” he said slyly. He reached down then, hand gently wiping a stray bit of chocolate on my chin.

 “Oops,” I laughed, enjoying this rare moment of levity.

 He licked his own finger clean, eyes fluttering dramatically. “S’damn good innit.” The bed dipped as he sat beside me, eyes never leaving my ridiculous smile. I had a feeling he was etching it to memory as he pulled my legs atop his lap like it was something we always did. Somehow, it kind of felt like it was.

 “So…”

 “Sho,” I mimicked, mouth still full of chocolate. My chewing suddenly seemed quite loud in the silence, and I cringed as I swallowed. There weren’t any napkins to be had… anywhere. With one bite left, I held it up to Harry to distract him from the chocolatey mess that was probably my face. He leant forward, eyes on mine as his full lips took the bite. I gulped again, but this time it had nothing to do with the fact that I had chocolate in my mouth.

 His strong hands pulled my legs closer ‘til I was practically in his lap, and my heart beat wildly against my ribs like caged finches smelling smoke. Traces of him - spice, warmth, and an undertone of rich cologne overpowered the chocolate, overpowered everything.

“Pulling me in for a shoulder punch?”

 He frowned, and I spotted a fleck of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. I swiped my finger along his pout, placing the stray chocolate in my mouth. Instead of mirroring my smile, his brows furrowed and he became a child as he leant his forehead against mine. “What are you doing to me.”

 I stood still, scared that if I moved, whatever spell that’d been cast in his mind would break.

 “Nothing you don’t do to me.”

 There it was. An admittance. An offering. And like all the times before, I didn’t expect him to take it.

 Foreheads still drawn together, his jaw jutted closer in temptation. He winced, pulled back.

 It was the push before the give.

 “We didn’t finish the last question on the study guide,” he murmured, but his hand spread to the small of my back. Heat swept through me, but I shivered at his touch.

 “Oh yeah?”

 “Mm,” he hummed. He leaned closer to peer at something over my shoulder and I swear my heart stopped as our chests touched. His hand stayed on my back, steadying me as he searched for whatever it was. I could feel his curls at the base of my jaw, and the warmth from his cheek so close to touching mine...

 “What’s your favorite quote from the book?” He pulled back, looking at me as though the next words I’d say would be his favorite too.

 But my brain was heavy, overworked. “I don’t know.” I rest my head on his shoulder for the briefest of moments before pulling myself up.

 His hands squeezed my sides. “M’serious, you might have to write an essay on your favorite quote. S’question seven.”

 I opened my mouth to say something, but shook my head instead. “I’m serious, I don’t have one memorized. Do you?”

 A cocky little smirk appeared on his face. “Of course.”

 “Of course,” I sighed. “Who’s tutoring who here?”

 “What, you don’t want to hear it?”

 “Oh no, I do, I’m desperate for it,” I leant forward teasingly, more pressure applied to my hips.

 He drew in a breath, screwing his eyes shut tight for a second. When they opened, they were a raging emerald green. “Careful.” Then, with all the nonchalance in the world, he rumbled, “She thought love must come suddenly, with great outburst and lightnings – a hurricane of the skies, which falls upon life, revolutionizing it, roots up the will like a leaf, and sweeps the whole heart into the abyss.”

 It took me a moment to realize that he was speaking from the book. He waited for a response, but any words I had flew out my mind somewhere between lightnings and abyss.

 “Not bad is it?” he said.

 This was his favorite quote? Coming from a boy who didn’t believe love could last?

 “Harry…”

 I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I didn’t need to figure it out. Voices rose from downstairs. I figured it was just the frat brothers, but Harry’s dreamy gaze cooled to calculation in an instant. My legs were moved to the comforter and he walked straight to the door, peering his head through the crack. He shut it gently, beckoned to me.

 “The cops are here. They probably just want me to answer a few questions,” he said lowly.

 “Really?!”

 I tried opening the door, but he spun me around. He pressed me against the wall, and for a brief moment I felt all of him. His hand snaked around my waist, and his lips dipped down to my ear.

 “I’ll be right back.”

 His entire body alit mine,

 And then he was gone.

 I’d been poured in gasoline but he didn’t stop to light the match.

 Too many times this week I’ve been left reeling, breathless, and a little too turned on in an empty room by one infuriating frat boy.  

 He was causing too much damage to be so small in the retrospect of the universe.

 I opened the door, softly, slowly. Three cops and two college admins were searching the place. While two spoke with Harry, another strayed from the group. He strolled around the floor, assessing the damage of parties past.

 I couldn’t make out everything, their voices too indistinct from a story away. Harry shook hands with the cops. One of them didn’t extend his, and Harry shoved it away in his back pocket.

 That was rude of them.

 Words were exchanged, but “charity” and “affiliation” were the only words I caught. The cops’ postures seemed relaxed enough, but their crossed arms and poker faces told me careful observations were in place. Was I going to be left here as they drove away for questioning? If this was about the charity ball, was Harry going to tell them any more of what happened? I’d seen that wild look in Gemma’s eyes, the way he’d leapt to his feet as soon as he saw it. He had to know more than what he’d shared.

 They passed Harry a paper I couldn’t make out, and his back tensed. The cops were in front of him though, so I doubted they noticed, but Rogue Cop walked closer to the stairs. Harry mentioned “familiar” - or was it “not familiar?” I couldn’t hear. The paper was passed back. More arms were crossed. Rogue Cop kept floating around, looking for something. Or someone?

 As if he knew, Rogue Cop’s eyes found the slit in the door, locking eyes with mine.

 I jumped away, adrenaline pumping when there was no reason for me to be nervous. My inner me threw up her arms, waving the white flag - I DIDN’T KILL ANYBODY! I’M INNOCENT!

 But a sinking feeling slammed her with a bus.

 I wasn’t completely innocent.

 I’d seen the snake tattoo before. I’d recognized it in the Styles’ home. I’d had it threaten my life, heard it recognize Harry.

 I’d never reported it. What would they think if I mentioned it now? Would I mention it now?

 And now did he think I was hiding?

 I picked up the study guide to busy my hands.

 A knock on the door.

 “You can come in!”

 He opened it, at first cautiously, but when he saw it was just a girl with some textbooks, his shoulders squared away.

 “Do you live here, miss?”

 “No-” I placed the study guide in my lap. “Is everything okay?”

 “That’s what we’re here to find out. I’d just like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright with you.”

 “Of course.”

 The sound of rushed footsteps coming up the hall made me glance to the door. Moments later, the faculty woman and another cop filed in. They smiled at me, easing my nerves in the slightest.

 “I’d like you to take a look at this. Have you seen this sign anywhere around campus?”

 The mysterious paper was placed in my hands. The bold image of the snake, fangs bared to the world, hissed at me through the sheet. A somber confirmation settled in my skin, my bones suddenly heavier. The outside chaos was being brought into the safety of university. My world off campus and my world here were colliding, as were Harry’s, and with the collision I didn’t know if a universe was being created or destroyed.

 “No. Not on campus.”

 That wasn’t a lie, technically. But Rogue Cop picked up on my specificity.

 “Have you seen this anywhere else?”

 “Yeah, in town.”

 “Where?”

 I cleared my throat. “Outside of a coffee shop downtown. It’s a small place. Kean’s.”

 The door creaked open wider, and Harry stood at the frame. His eyes met mine as soon as I said Keans.

 “Was it tagged? On the walls, on a jacket?” Rogue Cop’s eyes narrowed as he watched me gulp. I shoved my hands in my pockets, but there was something in there. My fingers twiddled with a cap when I realized it was a pill bottle.

 “No, I can’t, uh, I can’t remember. It was a long time ago.”

 Rogue Cop followed my gaze to Harry leaning against the wall. He wrote down my name, phone number, and e-mail.

 “We’ll be in touch.”

 A card was slipped into my hand and they thanked us for our cooperation. The commotion I’d been foolish to forget about just because of a chocolate distraction had just slapped me in the face with a badge attached.

 The presence the cops created left a vacuum of space Harry couldn’t fill. Alone again, he seemed smaller, like a child thrown in adult clothing. His hands covered his eyes at the foot of the bed as he sunk further into himself. This was a side of Harry I think I could have lived forever without seeing. This was a boy completely overwhelmed.

 When he looked up, his strained eyes weren’t glossy. They were unnervingly vacant.

 I pulled my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands. “Do you think I should tell them about Kean’s? Do you think it’d help?”

 He shrugged. “That’s completely up to you. But if you do, don’t mention me.”  

 “You want me to lie?”

 “Yes.”

 “Why don’t you want them to know? Are you scared of them?”

 “I’m not scared of them,” he scoffed. “They already know what gang they’re affiliated with.”   

 Gang...

 “And what gang is that?”

 Reluctance filled his eyes. “An ugly one. Unimpressive, but ugly.”

 “What do you mean unimpressive?”

 “They’re rash, messy. They’re like bullies on the playground. They always get caught by the supervisor.”

 “Harry…”

 His eyes shot to mine, brows stitched.

 I took a breath. “Outside of Kean’s… the guys who- you know… they said something that made me think they knew you. Or, at least had heard about you.”

 Nothing changed on his face. No flash of fear, sadness, embarrassment. Nothing.

“Are you safe?” I pressed. “Why are they targeting you? Or is it your parents?”

 His gaze softened. “I don’t want you worrying about me.”

 A short humorous laugh ripped itself from my throat. “Too late.” I reached in my pocket and held the anonymous pill bottle between us, our moment against the door cheapened. “And why’d you slip this in my pocket?”

 He reached his hand out to take it, but I lifted my hand higher. I was getting no answers from this boy, the cops flippin took my information tonight and who knew when they’d be dropping in on me, and I was sick of it!!

 He exhaled, only slightly amused. “Fine. It’s something new. Not on the market, officially.”

 “...so it’s illegal.”

 “Experimental,” he offered.

 “But you didn’t want them seeing it.”

 Any inklings of humor slipped from his eyes. “Clearly.”

 “Fine.” I tossed him the bottle. Clearly, I’d hit a sore spot.

 “Have you ever done hard drugs?”

 I ignored the slow way he spoke, making each word sound like a sultry invitation. “No.”

 “Would you ever try?”

 I opened my mouth, not sure why I was suddenly so thrown off. It wasn’t the weirdest question to be asked on a college campus, but coming from Harry in his quiet bedroom it sounded like a loaded question. And a deflection.

 “I don’t think so…”

 “They’re not all bad. For shrooms you’d preferably be in a peaceful environment, and just with people you trust.” He threw his hands up. “S’only if ever wanted to try. I’m not saying you have to or anythin’, obviously.”

 A prick of nausea filled my stomach. Somehow, without trying or saying anything directly, he managed to make me feel so grossly naive. “Yeah I’m good for now, thanks.” Miraculously, I managed to not roll my eyes.

 He sensed the shift in mood, the air filling with an awkward tension. He bit his lip.

 “Listen, I want you to feel like you can tell me anything.”

 I nodded, but fought the feeling that he was only saying this because he didn’t want me confiding in the cops. A “you can’t tell them, but hey tell it all to me!” consolation.

 Besides, did he really feel like he could tell me anything? I knew he didn’t let people beneath his shell, that he hid a heart with more guards and walls than fort knox, and I knew in my core that he’d let me in a little deeper than others. But I also knew that no matter how I deep I was now, I still wasn’t deep enough for him to trust me. I didn’t know if I could ever get there.

 I gently kicked his shin with my sneaker. “Okay, well, for starters I’m going to have nightmares about being interrogated tonight.” It was a half-joke, because the only nightmares I had now involved me, trapped in an empty house, running towards something I couldn’t name with bodiless entities watching me and the flash of a knife.

 You know, just girly things.

“Did you always have nightmares? Or-” his lips quirked, hand rubbing the back of his neck. Could he say the unmentionable? That I had nightmares because of him? “-is this a recent development?”

 “I found a gun in your drawers Harry.”

 He bit his tongue, jaw clicking with restraint. “Why were you-?”

 “Because you locked me in your room! Why’d you do that, huh?!” My hands were trembling. The words had flown out before I could stop them, but there was no going back. “What normal person locks another person in their room?”

 He flinched at normal. “I only did that because it was safer.”

 I glared at him harder until he shifted his weight.

 “I can see why you’d be upset,” he admitted.

 “How would you know if it was safer? What aren’t you telling me, Harry, because I don’t know much of anything and it is driving me insane.”

 I spared him details - that I looked over my shoulder every thirty seconds, that I stopped going to my tutoring sessions because they were held after dark across campus - but insane pretty much summed it up.

 He saw the wild in my eyes, and his shoulders fell. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

 “You’ve said that before.”

 “I know. I-” he paused, hollowed eyes not meeting my own. “This is difficult for me, try to understand.” He stopped, then tried again. “I’m familiar with the guys who assaulted you outside of Kean’s okay? But they got violent, and I disassociated. They hold a grudge.”

 “How did you know them?”

 “I think it’s best if you don’t know.” Harry swallowed thickly, tilting his head back, eyes closed, probably wondering if he leant far enough if he’d disappear.

 “Do you think they were the ones at your house?”

 “I don’t know. It’s a possibility.”

 “Does anybody else know about any of this?”

 His phone buzzed and he reached for it, relief from this unexpected interrogation. He placed it down, but it buzzed again, then again. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

 “You can answer it.”  

 “Can you come here already?”

 It was quiet, but I’d heard it. His lashes fluttered, and I stilled at how drained he looked. For a brief moment, I’d forgotten this was affecting Harry, too. The parts of his life I barely knew stressed me out enough to give me continuous nightmares, but how much more was he living?

 I stepped between his legs, deciding to give him rest instead. It was a sad picture, he and I, how entirely spent we both were.

 “I don’t know about you, boy...”

 I tried to calm the pounding of my heart as he pulled me in close, arms wrapping around my waist, head pressing against my chest. “Me neither.”

 I stilled, not quite knowing what to do or what to say, until I let my head rest atop perfectly mussed curls.

 Gangs were dangerous.

Guns were dangerous.

Drugs were dangerous.

Frat boys were dangerous.

But this?

This feeling that bubbled up inside when his thumbs rubbed circles in the soft skin of my hip?

This was dangerous, too.

 I didn’t know why we couldn’t be like this in public.

I didn’t know what Harry was burdened with or why it seemed to be so much.

 His phone lit-up with 2 missed calls and 8 messages - Viv.

 And I didn’t know who else had seen behind the mask.

part 15

[aro-of-argentum]

We’ve Got Soul: Chapter 1

WC: 2362

Warnings: Cursing, Sass, Minor Crime, that’s all for now I think

Beta’d by: @teaspacebar

Notes: This is the first of a several part Detroit: Become Human OC Fic. Eventually there will be a romantic Markus x OC pairing and a platonic Gavin Reed x OC pairing. Have fun :)

Chapter 1:

June 20, 2036

11:34 A.M.

           When Fantasia arrived at her Aunt’s house, she marveled at the sight of the long driveways and property gates and lush landscaping that seemed to be included with every house on the street. She pulled the key from the ignition and hopped out of the small moving van to walk up to the intercom. She pushed the button, “Aunt Samantha? It’s Fantasia. Can you open the gate please?”

           A voice she didn’t recognize rang through, “Leave the van at the curb and make trips,” and the gate opened.

           “Alright, I guess that works.” Fantasia strode to the back of the van and opened the doors, pulling out closed boxes labeled ‘Books’ and ‘Electronics’ and ‘Paints,’ setting them down on the sidewalk to be brought into the house. She hummed while she rolled two suitcases of clothes through the front door and set them aside neatly by the wall of the entryway. When she went out to make another trip, she was stopped by a man’s voice.

           “Moving in?”

           “Yeah, I’m Fantasia.” She turned to find a gentleman in a wheelchair and his android companion had come over. “You’re Carl Manfred,” she said with shock and awe in her voice as she dropped the box she was holding.

           The android caught the box and looked over the small plants inside it, while Carl chuckled slightly, “Yes, and this is Markus. We live next door.”

           “Oh, wow.” She looked over to their house and then back at Carl and Markus, training her expression into calmness. “Well it’s really nice to meet you both. Um, I can,” Fantasia gestured to the box of succulents and reached for it slightly, “I can take those.”

           Markus happily passed them over, with a knowing smile, “Of course. You sure you have them?”

           Fantasia blushed slightly and held the box on her hip.

           “So, you paint?” Carl asked, nodding to the canvases leaning against the outside of the van.

           “Oh, uh, yeah,” Her attention refocused to Carl, “since I was a kid, or at least as far back as I can remember, anyway.”

           “Are they always monochromatic?”

           “No, just that set. The monochrome is supposed to show obsession with the subject of each painting.”

           Carl nodded slightly. “Bold statement.”

           “Thank you?” Fantasia’s head quirked as she questioned the intent behind his comment. “Well, I have to get this stuff inside, but it was really nice to meet you both. Thank you for stopping to chat.”

           “Have a good afternoon, Fantasia…?”

           “Jacobs.”

           “Jacobs. Alright.” Carl turned his chair and began to slowly wheel back to his own home, so Markus briefly turned back to Fantasia.

           “It was nice to meet you.” He nodded as a farewell and Fantasia waved as he walked away.

 June 23, 2036

1:12 P.M.

           Fantasia sighed heavily as she was escorted into the Detroit Police Station in handcuffs.

           “Here I was hoping for a quiet day in the office.” Officer Miller shook his head as he adjusted Fantasia’s handcuffs to hook her to Detective Reed’s desk.

           “And what, now it won’t be?” Fantasia shifted slightly in her chair to be more comfortable.

           “Not when Reed finds out you’re here.”

           She snorted. “I can handle Gavin.”

           Chris only mumbled to himself in response as he walked away from her.

Soon after, Fantasia heard a distinct, “Aw, fuck,” ring out from behind her.

           “What’s up Detective Reed?” She channeled as much sass into her voice as she possibly could as she watched the man come into view.

           “I don’t have time for your bullshit today. Here,” He pulled paper and a pencil out of his desk and pushed them in front of her. “Now stay here and shut up, I’ll deal with you when I have a minute.” And he stormed off.

           Fantasia sat in shock for a moment before shrugging the encounter off and doodling her time away.

           Detective Reed returned an hour and a half later. “What are you doing? What is that?”

           “It’s you.” She turned the paper around to show him angry chibi doodles of himself with all sorts of profane catchphrases in speech bubbles.

           “That’s not funny.”

           “It is objectively hilarious.”

           He looked ready to punch a wall but took a deep breath before speaking again. “This is the third time you’ve been in here just this month. You drive me up the fucking wall for hours every time, and now that I finally gave you something else to do with your time, you’re gonna use that against me too?”

           “Absolutely.”

           “Right.” He was unamused, “The report says ‘Vandalism.’ Again. Why do you keep doing it if you keep getting caught?”

           “The point of the art is to be seen. Why would I put it up with the intent of it not being found?”

           “You could just not vandalize shit.”

           “And you could just not show up to work hungover.”

           “Excuse me?”

           “You ever think you’d get more out of people by being less of an asshole?”

           Detective Reed was fuming. “You ever think you might have friends if you weren’t such an obnoxious bitch?”

           Fantasia feigned offense with a dramatic gasp.

           “Reed! Phone!” Captain Fowler called from his office.

           Detective Reed stared Fantasia down angrily while she returned the stare, smug, and when the detective’s phone rang, their eye contact didn’t budge.

           “Yeah.” He answered the phone. “Mmhmm, yeah. Great, I’ll let her know.”

           “Were you talking about me?” Fantasia batted her eyelashes at him.

           He groaned as he reached for her cuffs to unlock them. “Somebody by the name of Manfred just paid your bail.” He tossed her cuffs onto his desk. “Get out.”

           “Gladly.” She stood up and began to walk away, “Try not to miss me too much, Detective,” she called over her shoulder.

           Reed only balled up the paper Fantasia had been drawing on and threw it at her across the office, receiving a middle finger in return.

June 23, 2036

5:42 P.M.

           Fantasia locked the front door behind her. “I’m back!” She called out.

           “You missed dinner!” Martha, the woman who Fantasia learned was taking care of her aunt, called out from across the house. “You’re going to have to figure it out tonight!”

           “Okay!” As Fantasia began her ascent up the stairs, there was a polite knock at the door. She quirked her head in confusion as she walked back over to open the door. “Markus?”

           “Hello,” He stood patiently on the porch while Fantasia stepped out. “Carl would like you to join him for dinner this evening if you are available.”

           “Uh, yeah, I’d just need to change,” She started to go inside before turning back to Markus. “Did he say why?”

           “Just that he wanted me to collect you if you’re available.”

           Her nod was skeptical, but Fantasia replied, “Okay, give me just a minute.”

           “I’ll wait here.” Markus turned away from the door and stood still, looking around while he waited for Fantasia to change.

           “Okay, I’m back.” She locked the door and gestured for Markus to lead the way.

           As he began to walk, Markus looked over Fantasia’s new clothing, noting the adjustment from paint covered jeans and t-shirt to a sensible sundress. “You look nice.”

           “What?” Fantasia’s eyes went wide and she blushed.

           Markus held his gaze forward as they rounded the corner to Carl’s walkway. “Your dress.”

           “Oh,” She looked down at her dress and composed herself. “Thank you,” She said it softly and smiled to herself.

           Markus held the door for Fantasia as she crossed the threshold into Carl’s house, to find Carl waiting in the foyer.

           “Thank you for joining us. Please, come sit down.” Carl wheeled into another room without any explanation, so Fantasia followed.

           “Am I in trouble?” She asked Markus quietly.

           “I have no idea, but I’d follow him.” He nodded in Carl’s direction and then left the room through a different door.

           Fantasia sighed, “Great.” She walked through the door Carl had disappeared through and found him sitting at a dining table in a large room, seemingly meant for other things. She saw a piano, and tall bookshelves, and skeletons hanging from the ceiling, as she walked to the seat Carl gestured toward. When she sat down, Carl simply stared at her for a moment before speaking.

           “So,” He started sternly, “What art styles do you enjoy?”

           Fantasia was hesitant to answer, but replied, “Expressionism mostly. I only paint when I have something to talk about.”

           “Mmhmm, yeah, and what about vandalism?” Carl’s tone was perturbed, “That seems to be another something that you rather enjoy.”

           A nervous chuckle escaped her lips.

           “Imagine my surprise when I looked up the young artist who moved in next door, only to find that she needed bail money.”

           “Which was extremely unexpected but highly appreciated, by the way. I-”

           “Do you regret it?” He interrupted.

           “What?”

           “Do you regret having painted a piece called ‘Androids are people too’” He emphasized the title she’d left on it, “on the wall at the bus station?”

           She hesitated, trying to gauge what kind of response he was looking for.

“I’d like the truth, please.”

           Fantasia deflated, resigned to telling the truth. “I don’t. It needed to be said. So, I said it.”

           Carl nodded. “Excellent.”

           “What?”

           “Having something to say is the most important part of being a successful painter. I’d like to see some of your work.” He started to come around to the other side of the table.

           “I-”

           “Some of your non-vandalism work.” He stopped next to Fantasia’s chair. “I need you to bring me three pieces; one that shows significant growth, one that makes an unapologetic statement, and one that you consider to be your personal favorite, so I can see where we need to start.” He began to roll away, “Follow me please.”

           Fantasia began to follow him through yet another door. “I’m sorry, what is happening right now?”

           Carl ignored her completely and lead her into a magnificent art studio with floor to ceiling windows covering two of the walls. “You can work and keep your supplies in here while I’m teaching you and-”

           “Wait!” Fantasia stopped in her tracks, face frozen in confusion. “Seriously, what is happening?”

           Carl slowed and turned to face her in his chair. “I’d like to offer you an internship. If,” he raised his hand toward her in the ‘look at me’ motion, “and only if you stop the graffiti. Whether you have something to say or not, the law will view it as vandalism, and I won’t have my name attached to it. We can find other ways for people to see your message, but it can’t be illegally if you want me to teach you. Deal?”

           “Absolutely.”

           “Good. If you get caught it again, you can consider your apprenticeship terminated, and you should not expect to have your bail paid for. Understood?”

           She nodded, “Yes, sir.”

           “Good. Then I’m happy to have you here, but please, just call me Carl.” He started back toward the door he’d entered the studio from and motioned for her to follow. When Fantasia made no attempt to respond to him further, Carl filled the silence. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

           “I’d love to.”

 July 10, 2036

3:19 P.M.

           Fantasia looked to her vibrating phone on the coffee table and saw the caller I.D. had come up as ‘Restricted.’ She skeptically answered, “Hello?”

           A gruff voice came across the line, “Is this Fantasia Jacobs?”

           “Speaking.”

           “Hi, this is Detective Gavin Reed of the Detroit-”

           She hung up and stared at her phone for a moment, startled by the identity of the caller. Her phone rang a second time, the caller again labeled as ‘Restricted.’ She clicked the accept button.

           “Don’t hang up.” He sounded peeved.

           “I didn’t do it.”

           “You’re not in trouble.”

           “I don’t believe you.” She said it matter-of-factly.

           He huffed. “Look, the DPD is formally requesting your assistance with a case, be here by 5 P.M. tonight.”

           “What if I have plans?”

           “What if I come pick you up in a patrol car with the lights and siren on?”

           Fantasia went silent for a moment, unsure of how to reply. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” She questioned.

           “Think less ‘favor for a friend’ and more ‘court summons.’” Detective Reed sounded smug. “I’ll see you in a few,” and the line went dead.

           She sighed heavily. “This is gonna be fun.” Fantasia pulled up Carl’s contact and pushed the ‘call’ button.

           Carl answered on the first ring, “Yes, Fantasia?”

           “I can’t make it for dinner this evening. I’ve been ‘summoned’ by the DPD.” She emphasized her irritation as much as she could.

           “Is that code for “Carl, I’ve been arrested again”?” He questioned.

           “No,” She defended. “Apparently they need my help with a case. I have to be at the station in a little while, and I have no idea how long I’ll be there.”

           “Alright. We’ll reschedule for when you’re available.” He sounded indifferent about the change of plans. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

           “Yes, sir.”

           “Don’t-”

           Fantasia hung up the phone before she could hear the rest of Carl’s complaint. She grabbed her things and walked outside to catch the bus to head into town. When she arrived at the station, she waited patiently to speak with a reception android.

           “Hello, how can I help you?” The android asked with a fixed smile.

           “Hi, I’m here to see Detective Reed.” Fantasia stated coolly.

           “Okay, you can go through those doors whenever you’re ready.”

           Fantasia smiled, “Thank you.” She walked through the small security gate and into the back room, escorting herself directly to Detective Reed’s desk.

           “Woah,” He looked surprised when he saw her. “What’s with the getup?”

           Fantasia rolled her eyes. “I had plans, remember? Why am I here?”

           He smiled at the annoyance in her voice “I… have a job for you.” He dropped a small file onto his desk in front of her. “I need you to take a look at those,” He opened the file and spread out the pictures inside, “and tell me everything you know about that symbol and who painted it.”

[itsgonnabe-brian-may]

You’re Just Being Nice

Requested by: @finnofamerica : 

I was wondering if I could get a Brian x reader kinda slow burn where the reader is a musician, but she's also the audio tech helping them with their album? She kinda awkward, but she gets all wistful and starry-eyed (bouncing unabashedly when she gets excited) when she talks about music and bounces ideas off of them. Thank you so much in advance, even if you don't feel the inspiration. ❤❤

I literally am so happy that you wanted little ol me to write this, it was an absolute pleasure and so much fun! I hope you like it and it does your idea justice :) 

Brian May x Reader

wc: 2.7k words

Warnings: some swear words and kissing but other than that none

// 

Oh, the 70's. The time where everybody wanted to be a rockstar. Or more they just wanted to live the lifestyle. Hot chicks, booze, drugs, music and the thrill of being on stage in front of a crowd sounded appealing to anyone in their right mind. However, the hard work and dedication it took to get there sounded anything but appealing. You and a few other hopefuls didn't mind. Gladly you poured your entire soul into the shot at being able to make it big. Being brought up in a family that was supportive sure helped, but that didn't mean they paid for your expensive recording sessions and gig fees. That money came from hard work from odd jobs. You had been a barista, bartender, door holder, waitress, busboy, elevator operator, guitar stringer, music store clerk, shoe store restocker and about twenty more jobs that offered any sort of cash fast. Nothing really stuck, now you were on the hunt to find a longer lasting job, hopefully in the music industry, that you could keep while recording your first album with your band. You were over the moon excited that you finally had a band that stuck together for longer than six months and the other 4 members were an absolute dream to work with.

There was Mark, a long-haired hippie who absolutely killed it on bass guitar. Then Sandy, who was the lead singer and always made sure that her outfit matched her eyeshadow, which was impressive with the multicolored outfits she sported. Rene was next, he was the only one who could play the drums and make it match any emotion, he could even make you cry. On the keys and sometimes guitar was Ricky, he was kind of the oddball of the group with a clean haircut that looked so professional that people were always surprised to find out he was in the band, not the manager. You guys had definitely taken advantage of that a few too many times. And last but not least there was you, Y/N. The starry-eyed and unapologetically enthusiastic guitarist and back up singer after some persuading, and maybe a few beers. 

Your job hunted ended when you reached a small recording studio that had a "help wanted" flyer hanging to the telephone pole outside by one staple. You walked in just as 4 men walked out, babbling something about a perfectly good van. 

By the end of an interview, you had scored a better deal than you had imagined. You would help out as an audio tech for the late night bands and your band would get the first slot in the morning to record, after a few months of working hard. 

That is exactly what you did. You started out shadowing and watching the other audio techs work and fiddle with the sounds. Never quite sure of what to do or what to say, you came off as the cute shy and awkward girl who stood in the back. At least that's how Queen would describe you when they encountered you. 

You didn't really meet them until a month after you started working. The head audio tech had to leave early so you were left to wrap up. Giving them a small smile you continued to do what the other tech was doing. Except Freddie wasn't having any of it. He was growing bored and started prompting you randomly about your opinions on the piece or on music in general. 

Your eyes lit up each time you got the opportunity to talk. Answering with well thought out and enthusiastic statements. Eventually, Brian joined in on the questions. The questions weren't all about music, but most of them got tied back to music. Roger and John joined in and it turned into a game of asking and answering all sorts of questions until their time slot was up. 

You worked with them until they had released their first album, you were even invited to their celebration party. By the time the party was in full swing, you were kind of done with the loud music and alcohol-fueled chaos. Grabbing your half-empty beer bottle you headed outside to get some desperately needed fresh air. To your surprise you found Brian leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, glass in one hand, staring out into the early morning sky. 

"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be inside celebrating your success?" You hummed leaning against the same wall next to him. 

"Just getting some air, And shouldn't I say the same to you? We wouldn't have an album without you," Brian responded, his voice slightly tired and raspy from the cool summer air. 

"You're just being kind, It's hard work to get as far as you guys have, give yourself some credit," 

"Now your being kind," Brian chuckled and turned his head to look at you. 

You laughed in return and the small talk turned into a deep conversation that leads you to abandon your beers and sit on the step back up to the house. Both of you were only looking at each other's eyes as you talked. You noticed how Brian's dilated when he was talking about his guitar and ideas that he had for music. Brian noticed how yours caught the moonlight and shimmered as you went on about techniques and riff's that blew your mind. To be honest he would have been lost in your eyes like he was in the sky if he wasn't so interested in what you were saying. 

"God, I would love to work on an album from start to finish," You dreamed out loud, your smile wide and your mind caught up in playing out the dream.

"Then do our next album," Brian blurted out. 

"You're just saying that Bri, I'm not nearly talented enough to do that," 

"You certainly are, sweetheart," He smiled back. 

"I'll only go if the other's say it's okay, I'd hate to be intrusive," You laughed off the offer not expecting their answer to actually be yes. 

That's how you ended up standing in the recording booth on Ridge Farm. Well not exactly. That's how you ended up as the head audio tech on Bohemian Rhapsody. How you ended up with a guitar on the other side of the glass was another story. 

-

Queen was weeks over schedule and everyone's patience was clearly wearing thin. John kept fumbling up bass lines where Fred couldn't hit the notes every time. Roger had broken most of the drum sticks, you teased that he would have to break some sticks off of the tree's to be able to play. Even the man who you had become so fascinated with and believed was perfect couldn't figure it out.

At first, he was fumbling with hitting some of the higher notes. Then he could barely get a simple riff right. Strings of swear words made the recording stop rather than the missed note. His brow was furrowed with frustration rather than concentration. The sweat collected on his forehead, glistening in the right lighting.

"Fuck," Brian cursed brashly for what seemed like the millionth time. 

"Don't you think a break is in order?" Fred asked into the mic gently, not wanting to cause Brian more anger and frustration. 

"No, I've got it, roll it one more time," He snapped back shaking out his hands and starting up again. 

Unsurprisingly he did not have it that time, or the next, or the next 8 times after that. 

"Come on Bri your nearly there, maybe take it a little slower-" You offered hesitantly into the mic.

You had been given the okay to give feedback whenever you felt like it by the boys in a unanimous vote. Yet, you rarely did, you didn't feel like it was your place to criticize one of the best bands of all time. Normally you would say something to Brian to bring up when they met together all alone. 

Brian just shot you a look filled with daggers and you put your hands up in surrender. 

He ended up playing faster than before, meaning he messed up sooner and got even more upset. The rest of the boys weren't about to say anything as Brian restarted for the actual millionth time. They didn't want an angry Brian, it was always best to let him cool off on his own. You, however, were worried and didn't want him to keep suffering. 

"Brian, Stop," You said harshly into the mic cutting him off before he could mess up again. 

"What the hell Y/N, I had it this time," Brian said throwing his hands up from his guitar. He was angry and didn't care that it was you. 

"You said that the last 300 times, you need to slow down and take a break," You reasoned, your tone becoming softer and caring rather than confrontational. 

"Then you fucking do it, Y/N, I'd like to see you try," Brian snapped, his body language backed up the challenge he was offering. 

The next thing you knew you were standing with all your weight on one foot with Brians prized guitar in your hands. The other boys clearly intrigued at what was going on had stood up to watch through the glass. Roger wore a smug smirk

"Here goes nothing," you muttered to yourself as you plucked the first few cords. 

Getting lost in the music your head bobbed up and down as your fingers danced on the strings delicately. Your eyes snapped shut as you neared the spot where Brian kept messing up. Instead of speeding up, you held a note longer and added a nice vibrato to the string to create a sense of anticipation before quietly starting the tricky riff. As your fingers moved in unison you strummed harder gradually increasing the volume as you reached the end of the difficult section. Opening your eyes you bopped around slightly finishing up the song. 

"Ta-da," You said with a straight face before erupting in laughter. 

Your laughter lit up the room and all the frustrations where gone. The rest of the band stared at you in awe, they knew you were talented but had no idea you could play that well. Brian had to full on stop himself for running in there and picking you up in a hug. 

"Y/N! That was bloody brilliant!" Roger said, regretting the attitude he gave you earlier. 

"Seriously, where'd you learn to play like that?" Brian asked as you put his guitar gently back on its stand. 

"You're not the only aspiring rock stars boys, girls can have some fun too," you laughed joining them on the other side of the glass.

"Maybe you should replace Brian," John teased with a grin that made his eyes crinkle. 

"Nonsense," you laughed. 

"Why don't you give it a shot Bri, try to outshine me," 

"I would never dream of that love," Brian smiled back, finding himself looking back into your starry eyes. 

"Oi, maybe quit flirting and try to play before we really do replace you," Roger called nodding his head in the direction of the booth. 

Brian just rolled his eyes and walked into the booth. Picking up his guitar and began playing, trying to match what you had just done. Obviously, he put his own spin on it but it was the only take needed and his section was done. You told him it was because he finally took a break and listened to your advice to slow down, but he knew it was because your fingers had somehow blessed his guitar. 

Naturally, the other boys wanted the same special attention you gave to Brian over the next couple days you bounced ideas back and forth for each of their parts for the remaining songs. Because of you, the album was finally almost finished. All that was left was the ridiculous amount of Galileos left for Roger to sing. 

"Higher," 

"Jesus how many more do you want," 

"Just one more," 

"Who even is he?" 

"Just one more Rog, do it for me," You sang into the intercom. 

He just rolled his eyes and attempted it one last time.

"Perfect!, Now pan it right and left," You told the other audio tech, who had pretty much just become your assistant, even though he was technically your superior. 

"Right, now let's listen to it?" You asked the rest of the boys once Roger had joined you again. 

They nodded and you pressed the play button with an audible click before the track started rolling. 

It wasn't long before you were bouncing up and down along with the beat. Brian watched with amusement as he rocked back and forth with the wails of his guitar. Everyone was anticipating their parts and grinning like mad when they heard how good it sounded along with the other parts. The last strokes of the piano sent them into a cheered frenzy. 

"That was brilliant!!" Brian called, this time not hesitating to pick you up and spin you around in a celebratory hug. You squealed in surprise and wrapped your arms around him to steady yourself. Once he put you down, Freddie pulled you into another celebratory hug, but the feeling was different. Shortly after, you felt the arms of the other boys around you as they closed in with a group hug. 

"Well done boys, I really mean it!" You grinned excitedly. 

"You too Y/N, we couldn't have done it without you," John said pulling you into a hug of his own. 

None of you guys could wipe the smile off of your faces on your way back to the house, or at dinner. The smiles were still there the next morning at breakfast and while you were packing up instruments and equipment and lugging it into you're equipment van. Brian had offered to drive it back so you could sleep on the bus. 

"Brian, you're just being nice," You said shaking your head at his off his offer.

"I can drive back on my own," 

"I know sweetheart, but I want to help out, you've done so much for us already," He argued lightly taking a step closer to the van and you. 

Your heart soared at the nickname but didn't get too distracted by it. 

"It's really nothing Bri, I'm happy to do it," You smiled.

"especially for you," You muttered under your breath before you could stop yourself. 

"Now you're the one just being nice," He smirked, blushing slightly at what you had said. 

"Really? How's that?" You prompted, your voice intertwined with a mischievous smile. 

"Especially for you... I heard that sweetheart," He said taking a hesitant step forward, closing the gap between the two of you. 

You gasped slightly, your face contorting with embarrassment. 

"You weren't meant to hear that part..." you said looking at your feet.  

Brian stayed silent, which caused you to look up at him. His eyes met yours and you knew exactly what he was going to do next, so it didn't surprise you that he reached out and delicately cupped your cheek. You met him by leaning forwards, lips meeting his in a soft spark. His lips were soft against your slightly chapped ones, but it didn't matter it felt amazing. You smiled softly against his lips before pulling away gently.

Brian's eyes filled with amusement with a tinge of concern. 

"You're going to tell me I'm just being nice aren't you," He mused looking at you trying to gauge your reaction. 

"No, I was going to tell you that it was really nice and would be nice if we could keep doing that," You smiled back.

"Now you're really just being nice," He teased.

You playfully pushed his shoulder away from you, laughing at his remark.

"If I was I wouldn't do this again would I?" You said before leaning in again kissing him with a little more passion than before.

"You're definitely riding with her if all your going to do it make out in the back!" Roger called as the rest of the band walked out and with their final bags in tow.  

"Oh, I was already planning on it Rog, we have at least a little decency." Brian teased opening the passenger side door for you before hopping in the driver's side.

Once you were in and the other van started down the dirt and gravel road Brian interlaced his fingers with your and started back to London with the success of a new album and scoring you as his girlfriend. At the moment he wasn't sure which was better, but it turned out to be you. 

[salaciouscrumpet]

Whumptober Day 21

Whumptober Day 21 Prompt: “Laced Drink”

So, uh, this one ... kinda got away from me a little? By which I mean it’s over ten pages long, and I didn’t quite know how to end it. I had fun writing it, though, and sharing some more of the worldbuilding I’ve been doing for my series.

CW: Offensive language

Characters: Charlie, Luke, Kate, miscellaneous others 

“What do you mean, you lost her?” Charlie hopped around on one foot, trying to wriggle his way into his jeans, his phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder. “She’s in a fucking Camaro, it’s not exactly subtle!” 

Devon’s voice on the other end of the line was frustrated and bordering on angry, and Charlie immediately regretted snapping at her like that. He wasn’t angry with her, just the situation. Beside him Luke struggled with a pair of pants before realizing they were Charlie’s and therefore wouldn’t fit, and with a huff of annoyance he threw them across the room and stormed off in search of his own clothes. They had undressed in something of a hurry and their bedroom was a disaster. If they’d known there was going to be an emergency call from Devon they would’ve taken more care with their things. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Charlie said quickly, before Devon could – rightfully so – get offended with him. “I’m just … Do we know how long it takes to metabolize?” 

“He didn’t say,” Devon replied, and it was clear that she was every bit as worried as Charlie. Charlie heard some muffled talking in the background, a man’s voice raised high and whiny, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. He assumed Devon and the others were still questioning their suspect. He wished he was there to do it himself. “I don’t think he knows. He was just the delivery man.” 

“Come on.” Luke’s hand latched around Charlie’s arm, hauling him out of the bedroom. Charlie let himself be led, even as he finished zipping up and snagged a T-shirt off the mirror by the door. The shirt was Kate’s, which meant it was both too short and too tight – it also had a picture of Princess Leia in the Rosie the Riveter pose on the front, with the caption “We Can Do It!” in big bold letters – but he couldn’t be bothered trying to find something else to wear. Nobody was going to be critiquing his fashion choices while he was out frantically trying to find his potentially sick and dying best friend. 

Luke and Charlie thundered downstairs and out the front door, leaving Bear in charge of the farmhouse. (Charlie couldn’t even remember if either of them locked the door, and honestly he didn’t care – let Bear eat anyone who tried to come inside uninvited, he and Luke had better things to worry about.) Luke had had the foresight to grab his keys, so it was to Luke’s truck that they raced, Charlie still trying to pull on his sneakers and Luke pulling a T-shirt – inside out and backwards – on over his head. 

“Do we have any idea where we’re going?” Luke asked, even as he started the truck and began backing out of the driveway. Gravel crunched under the truck’s wheels, loud against the otherwise quiet night. It had been a perfectly lovely evening: starlit, maybe a little on the chill side (perfect for cuddling, which Charlie had been happy to do right up until the moment Luke started whispering filthy suggestions into his ear), with only the crickets for company. Kate had gone out to play pool with some friends down at the Crablouse, and Luke and Charlie had had the house to themselves. Everything had been going swimmingly and Charlie was well on his way to getting laid when Devon had called to say that someone had dosed Kate with something and that she’d left the bar in a hurry, and now they had no idea where she was or even what was happening to her. 

She couldn’t have been feeling any ill effects when she’d left, or at least not anything that would have impaired her driving abilities. Kate had a fairly intense dislike of anyone who drank or got high and then drove; there was zero chance that if she was intoxicated, she would have hopped into her car and taken off. Devon had said that Kate claimed to be feeling restless and that she’d been irritable before she’d left, and while those emotions didn’t exactly make for the most cautious of drivers – and Kate wasn’t what anyone would call careful to begin with – it wasn’t the same as being drunk. But they had no idea what she’d be given or how it would affect her, only that the person who’d given it to her, by way of a laced drink, had intended for it to be debilitating. 

The truck peeled out of the driveway, dirt and gravel flying. Of the three of them Luke was normally the most cautious driver, but now he drove like the supernaturally-enhanced super-soldier he was, heightened senses and reflexes utterly focused on getting to Kate – wherever she was – as quickly as possible. 

Charlie was just about to admit he had no idea where to begin the search when his cellphone rang, the ringtone immediately identifying the caller. 

“Katie?” he said, as soon as he had the phone to his mouth. 

There was silence on the other end – well, not silence exactly, but no one spoke. Instead, Charlie could hear music playing in the background, Savage Garden crooning about how truly, madly, deeply they were in love. That had to be coming from the radio of Kate’s car, because Kate was utterly unapologetic when it came to her appreciation of cheesy music from the ‘80s and ‘90s. Kate didn’t believe in guilty pleasures; she liked what she liked, and if other people didn’t agree with her, they could go fuck themselves. (Her words, not Charlie’s.) She had a particular love of boy bands: Backstreet Boys, New Kids on the Block, NSYNC, Take That, you name it. 

“Kate?” 

A rustle, and then: “Charlie? What’s goin’ on?” Kate’s voice was slurred and too bright, with a note of surprise that didn’t make any sense, given that she was the one who had called him. Still, the surge of relief he felt at hearing from her was nearly enough to bowl him over. 

It’s her, he mouthed at Luke, before saying, “You called me, Katie. Where are you?” 

“I did? Are you sure?” Kate giggled, a strange, high-pitched sound completely unlike her normal laughter, and then started singing along to the radio. By now the song had moved on to Madonna, but instead of singing along to Express Yourself Kate was singing – off-key and slightly out of tempo – the lyrics to Lady Gaga’s Born This Way, and while Charlie had to admit the two songs were similar it was definitely Madonna he could hear playing over the radio and he knew for damn sure that Kate knew the difference. 

“Kate, focus,” Charlie said, while Luke gripped the steering wheel and swore under his breath. “Can you tell me where you are? Are you still in your car?” 

Silence again, and then – 

Retching? 

Charlie listened, phone clutched tightly enough that he swore he could hear the case crack, as Kate coughed and retched on the other end. In the background Madonna was still singing, but the sounds of Kate being sick drowned out the Material Girl almost entirely. The last time Charlie had heard anyone vomit that much it was when one of the new Alliance recruits ate a package of expired hotdogs on a dare, and that had been like watching the head-spinning scene from The Exorcist. 

One thing, though: if Kate was throwing up, she couldn’t be driving, could she? Charlie couldn’t imagine how anyone could drive while puking, especially not if they were vomiting as violently and frequently as Kate seemed to be doing. So that was a good thing, right? That she had probably pulled over somewhere, and wasn’t driving around out of her mind, god knows where? And she was clearly near the car, since he could still hear the radio, which meant she hadn’t gone off into the woods somewhere. If Kate had wandered away on foot there was very little hope of finding her, but her car – a very recognizable old Camaro she referred to as ‘asshole tax’ – pulled off to the side of the road somewhere would give them something to look for. 

“Hurts, Charlie,” Kate mumbled into the phone, and Charlie’s heart lurched. 

“What hurts, Katie-Kate?” he asked carefully, wincing when Luke shot him a panicked look and nearly drove them off the road. Luke quickly corrected the truck but Charlie was keenly aware that his boyfriend wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to his driving. “Where are you, sweetie?” 

“There’s a … a tree?” Kate sounded uncertain, but it didn’t much matter: they lived in rural Ontario, there were a lot of trees everywhere. He was about to say as much – gently – but Kate continued, haltingly, “My head, Charlie, it feels like somethin’s trynna claw its way out …” 

Charlie chewed on his lip and tried really, really hard not to consider the fact that in their line of work, Kate’s statement could in fact be literal. He didn’t know what she’d been dosed with, but he could think of several nasty monsters that had some way of making themselves or their offspring small enough to climb inside a woman’s body and eat its way through to her brain. And he could think of dozens of other things that could simply feel like that – and none of them were good. Add in the vomiting and her earlier euphoric behaviour – plus the irritability and restlessness Devon had described – and the list of things that could be wrong with Kate grew exponentially. 

Luke suddenly started thrusting his own phone in Charlie’s face, once again swerving dangerously as he did so. Charlie took the phone from him, giving him an incredulous look when he realized the damn thing wasn’t ringing or otherwise trying to get their attention, so what the hell was he trying to do? 

“Find my phone!” Luke said excitedly, gesturing towards the cellphone in Charlie’s hand with one elbow. Before Charlie could point out that his phone was in his freaking hand Luke clarified, “The app, Charlie! The app! Kate’s phone is connected, you can find it on the Find My Phone app!” 

And since Kate was using her phone, presumably they could find her, too. 

“You’re brilliant, babe,” Charlie said, and managed to keep himself from adding Now pay attention to the damn road before you get us both killed. Keeping his own cellphone tucked in against his ear so that he could continue talking to Kate, he activated Luke’s phone and keyed in the PIN, thumbing the Find My Phone app on. He remembered one of his colleagues complaining about an ex-boyfriend who tried using the app to stalk her – he had installed it without her permission – and saying that she thought it was creepy that he, Luke and Kate all had their phones connected through it, but this was more or less exactly the kind of scenario that had inspired them to do so. Not that he was about to tell Kristie that the three of them had the app on their phones in case unknown enemies decided to mess with them; there were some things the receptionist at the vet clinic didn’t need to know about his life, chief among them being I’m a witch with healing powers who belongs to a super-secret organization of supernatural creatures and we all fight monsters together. Let Kristie think he was just overprotective about his partners; she wouldn’t be wrong. 

Just as he saw Kate’s phone come up – and to his immense relief he saw that she wasn’t far; she must have been on her way home – he heard a sudden commotion from her end of the line. He couldn’t quite tell what was happening, but Kate made an unhappy noise and then there was the unmistakable sound of flesh impacting against flesh. Kate cried out and the car horn let out a short beep that was loud enough for Luke to hear. 

“What’s happening?” Luke demanded, and something buckled in the steering wheel where his fingers were clenching too tightly. 

“I don’t know,” Charlie admitted before frantically shouting into the phone, “Kate? Katie? What’s going on? Are you okay?” 

There were muffled voices in the background, a man saying “Give me that!” followed by Kate letting out another pained sound. She had to be out of it if Kate was the only one who sounded like she was getting hurt. 

“Hurry up,” Charlie said urgently, trying to will the truck to suddenly develop nitrous oxide or nitrogen or whatever it was that street racers in the movies used to make their cars go extra fast. For all that Luke had been distracted and reckless it was a good thing he was the one driving, because of the two of them he was the one who stood a better chance of getting them to Kate quickly and safely. That, and it was Luke’s truck, and he knew it better than any of them. 

The sounds of violence increased, making Charlie wish that he could reach through the phone and obliterate whoever was after Kate. He also wished, rather frantically, that he could actually see what was happening, because all he could tell was that there was some kind of fight going on and Kate – already suffering the ill effects of whatever her drink had been laced with – appeared to be on the losing end of things. 

Then, the man’s voice again, this time much closer-sounding: “Give me that, you fucking bitch!” and the call disconnected. Charlie stared at his phone in horror as he heard Luke let loose a string of curses in a mixture of English and Armenian. Charlie was grateful that from his angle he couldn’t actually see the speedometer on the dashboard, because he was fairly confident the truck was going far faster than he would be comfortable with, and yet he still wanted it to go faster, dammit. All he could hear was the anger in that man’s voice and the faint sounds of pain Kate had been making, and if they didn’t get there soon – 

Sirens in the distance. 

Charlie instinctively looked in the rearview mirror, but there weren’t any emergency vehicles behind them – not that he could blame the police from targeting their racing truck. He could definitely hear sirens, however, and they were coming from the direction they were already headed in. He didn’t know whether to scream, laugh or cry – would the involvement of regular mundane authorities help Kate in any way, or was it just going to lead to a bunch of humans getting killed by whoever had targeted her? 

Luke’s cellphone started ringing, startling Charlie so badly he nearly dropped it. For a moment he was tempted to ignore it – unless it was Kate, he didn’t want to talk to them – until he saw the name and number flashing across the screen. 

“It’s Ben,” he said. Ben Ainsley was one of Luke’s oldest friends; the two of them had grown up in the Knights of Oberon together. Ben was still a part of the Order but was one of the few Knights who remained on good terms with Luke, even after Luke was removed from the Order. It was unusual enough for Ben to call Luke out of the blue; the fact that he was doing so just as Kate was in danger couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. 

“Answer it!” Luke hissed, just as the truck rounded the corner. 

Up ahead Charlie could see the flashing red and blue lights of emergency vehicles, as well as what looked to be a police officer setting up one of those emergency orange barricades to block the road off. There were two cop cars, both with lights flashing, a couple of SUVs, and a fifth vehicle, a dark truck of some sort. All five vehicles were empty, although one of the SUVs and the truck both had all their doors wide open. 

As soon as the call connected Charlie could hear Ben’s voice, talking to someone in the background. Then, before Charlie had a chance to even say hello, Ben was speaking. “Looking for someone?” 

“Oh thank god, you found her,” Charlie said, almost dropping the phone in his lap in his relief. His hands were shaking, and beside him Luke loosened his tight grip on the steering wheel, guiding the truck towards the police barricade. As they got closer Charlie could see men and a couple of women in uniform milling around, all of them standing near the barricade, and further up ahead he saw a familiar black car gone head-first into the ditch. His panic dropped a few ticks as he said into the phone, “Is she all right?” 

Luke pulled his truck right up to the barricade and two of the police officers rushed forward, clearly intending to order him to turn around and leave until a tall, broad-shouldered man with a cellphone held up to one ear came and interrupted them. Charlie immediately recognized Ben, who – nearly as tall as Luke and just as well-muscled – would have stood out almost anywhere.

Seeing them, Ben lowered his cellphone and waved the officers off, hurrying over to the driver-side door of Luke’s truck. Charlie watched the cops warily, not quite knowing what to make of their presence. The Alliance only had a few loose connections to mundane authorities, mostly through people like Ardyn and Rishaan, who had jobs connected to law enforcement. The Knights of Oberon, on the other hand, often took great pains to ensure they had solid ties throughout the regular human community, either by having their own members join – politics was a favourite, which was where Luke’s parents had envisioned him going – or by befriending (or blackmailing) mundane humans with the right connections. If the police were here, now, blocking off the road and turning back travelers, it seemed likely they were working with the Knights – which meant the Knights were somehow involved in whatever had happened to Kate. 

Charlie didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the knowledge that Luke’s parents would have been happy to arrange for Kate to be incarcerated on trumped-up charges or otherwise excised from their son’s life made it easy for those conclusions to be reached. If that were the case, however, he didn’t think Ben would be a part of it. Ben was a loyal Knight, but there were some lines he wasn’t willing to cross, as his friendship with Luke attested. 

Ben waited for Luke to open the door, then immediately started talking, cellphone shoved in his jeans pocket. “She’s sick and a bit roughed up, but we’ve got someone taking a look at her.” His eyes darted in Charlie’s direction as he added, “You’re more than welcome to tag in if you want.” 

It was tempting, but Charlie knew whoever the Knights had brought along would be just as good at healing magic as he was, if not better. It was far more common for the Knights of Oberon to have Fae-blooded members – witches like Charlie – because of their centuries-long alliance with the Seelie Court. Only witches could be charmers – magical healers – which meant there were far more healers allied with the Knights than with the Alliance, who tended to have more sorcerers, fomoir and other supernatural creatures. The Alliance was more diverse, but the Knights of Oberon had more specialists. 

“We just want to see her,” Charlie said as he hopped out of the vehicle and followed Ben and Luke past the orange-painted roadblocks. “What happened?” 

“Why are you here?” Luke asked, and while he didn’t sound suspicious, exactly, there was a certain note of wariness in his voice. He trusted Ben, who he’d known for close to three decades, but he didn’t necessarily trust the other Knights; it was likely he had also come to the same conclusions Charlie had, regarding his parents and their potential involvement. 

But Ben’s words put those suspicions to rest immediately when he explained, while escorting Charlie and Luke past the police, that the Knights had been following a self-professed “demon hunter” who had been using a homemade concoction against people he believed were demon-blooded. In most cases the only ill effects were that his targets got a little drunker than they expected; he had been mixing in large doses of fairy blood, along with some substances the Knights’ hadn’t yet discerned, and the blood of the Fae had a tendency to get people high, especially when combined with other intoxicants like alcohol or illegal drugs. (There was a healthy black market trade on Fae blood and similar supernatural drugs.) In some cases, however, the would-be hunter had gotten lucky and chosen a target who actually was demon-blooded, and the unknown substances in his concoction reacted with the sorcerer’s or fomoir’s blood in such a way as to leave them severely ill and weakened – and in the worst cases, led to their deaths. 

“Why didn’t the Knights let the Alliance know our people were in danger?” Luke asked, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. He looked at Ben, a hurt expression on his face. “Why didn’t you let me know Kate was in danger?” 

Ben raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his own expression one of sympathy and regret. “I know, man, I know. I’m sorry, I just got put on this today.” He looked around cautiously and lowered his voice so that both Charlie and Luke had to lean in to hear him as he added, “You know what the Elders are like. It wasn’t gonna hurt any of our people, so they didn’t see any point in reaching out. If I’d known sooner, man – Luke, Charlie, you know I would’ve told you the second I realized Katie might be targeted.” 

It was always strange for Charlie to hear anyone who wasn’t himself, Luke, or Kate’s mother refer to Kate as “Katie,” but Ben was probably one of the few other people on the planet who could get away with it. Although he and Kate hadn’t liked each other initially, Ben had been the one to let Kate know the Knights had written Luke off back when he’d been abducted by the Scions of the Unforgiven, and he’d given her and the Alliance the intel they’d needed in order to rescue Luke. Kate had introduced Ben to Charlie as “the only Knight who isn’t an asshole,” and that introduction had stuck. 

As Ben led them through the cluster of people – more people, in fact, than Charlie had initially realized, and that told him just how seriously the Knights were taking this situation – they finally reached Kate’s battered old Camaro. The engine was still running and the lights were on, and Charlie could hear faint music playing over the radio, something poppy and uplifting with a good beat. Beyond Kate’s car there was an ambulance, its lights flashing, and a pair of paramedics were standing over a collapsible gurney – and on the gurney, finally, was Kate. 

Charlie’s heart leaped in his chest at the sight of her. She looked rough – she was, in fact, barely conscious, and the lower half of her too-pale face was covered in blood – but she was alive. One of the paramedics, an older woman with greying hair pulled back in a braid, had her hands on Kate’s abdomen, feeding brilliant gold magic into her. Charlie didn’t recognize the woman but he could sense that she was using healing magic, and it made sense: a lot of witches tended to fall into professions that would enable them to use their magic to help others. Just as Charlie had become a veterinarian, it looked like this woman had chosen to become a paramedic. He knew other witches who worked in home security, enhancing security systems with warding magic, or horticulture where they could use their magic to encourage plants to grow, all things in a similar vein. Sorcerers – the demon-blooded counterpart to Fae-blooded witches – tended not to follow the same pattern, but as their magic fell to the more destructive side that was probably for the best. 

“Katie,” Luke breathed, coming to stand beside Kate’s gurney, looking like his knees were about to give way beneath him. Charlie knew exactly how that felt, because he was feeling much the same way. Luke turned to the charmer, a pleading expression on his face. “She’s gonna be okay?” 

The woman gave a tight nod, her fingers moving in a graceful pattern over Kate, the golden glow dripping off her fingertips like sunlight. As Charlie watched some of the bruising on Kate’s face disappeared and she seemed to settle back against the gurney, the tight lines of pain around her eyes and mouth fading a bit. Luke tried to keep out of the way so as not to interfere with the paramedic’s work, but the woman gave him a little jerk of her chin, indicating he could move to the head of the gurney. He immediately did so, running one hand through the sweat-dampened curls over Kate’s forehead. Charlie held back, letting Luke have the space he needed; he, at least, could see through his magic that Kate was going to be all right, whereas Luke had only the paramedic’s assurances. Charlie promised himself time to fuss and mother-hen Kate once they had her back at home, to make up for his inability to do so now. 

“If it’s all right with you guys,” Ben said, making an apologetic face, “We’d like to get some samples of Kate’s blood. Normally I’d ask her for her permission, but …” He gestured vaguely in Kate’s direction, his meaning obvious: she was barely conscious, pale eyes glassy and vague, and there was no way she could be considered capable of giving any sort of meaningful consent. 

“Why?” Luke asked, immediately suspicious. 

Charlie already knew the answer, however. “They want to study the drug used on her.” He set one hand on Luke’s wrist, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Her blood will give them a better idea of how the drug worked, why the Fae mixture affected her the way it did – and maybe help them try to find an antidote?” The paramedic nodded, barely even glancing at them as she continued her work. 

“Exactly,” Ben said, shooting Charlie a grateful look. 

“Yeah?” Luke said. His hand was still on Kate’s forehead, but his eyes were fixed on Charlie’s face, trying to gauge his intent. It spoke volumes as to his mistrust of the Knighthood, that he needed Charlie to reassure him, even with Ben being the one to make the request. 

If Luke’s mistrust bothered Ben, he gave no indication, and that made Charlie think even better of him, if that was even possible. Ben knew precisely why his childhood friend would have misgivings about the Order, and he clearly felt no anger with Luke over it. The Knights of Oberon had been the ones to burn that particular bridge, not Luke or Ben. 

“Yeah,” Charlie said, squeezing Luke’s wrist again. He could have been the one to give permission for the Knights to take Kate’s blood – it wasn’t like the Knights of Oberon were the kind of organization to give a damn about legalities like whether or not Luke and Charlie had medical power of attorney or anything – but sensed that Luke needed to be the one to agree to it. 

“Yeah,” Luke echoed. He nodded slowly, turning back to Ben. “Yeah, you can do it. But.” His tone turned menacing, his expression hardening, “If I find out Kate’s blood is going to be used against her, I’ll know who to blame.” 

The other paramedic – a man, his physique similar enough to Ben and Luke that Charlie felt it was safe to say he was also a Knight of Oberon – made a sort of scandalized noise at the threat in Luke’s voice, but the woman just smirked as she continued working on Kate. Charlie suspected she had had a few unpleasant run-ins with the Knights herself, such that she would understand how justified Luke’s threat was; for all that the Seelie Court and their related members were considered allies of the Knights, unless one was actually a Knight oneself – or a member of an Incarnate family – they were still seen as lesser. Not that there were many Knights so foolish as to say such things directly to a Seelie Courtier’s face, but it was a safe bet that the paramedic had heard them before. 

“We’ll submit it anonymously,” Ben said quickly, completely unoffended. “Nobody needs to know whose blood it was, and I can make sure the incident reports about this are anonymous, too.” He fixed the male paramedic with a hard stare that cautioned the other man that his words were not a request. 

Charlie was about to ask if Ben could make sure to pass on the Knights’ findings when another man came over to join them. Like Ben, this man was one of the assembled people not wearing a uniform of some type; unlike Ben, he was barely more than average height, but just as well-built. Charlie immediately recognized him as Grant, an older Knight – by about a decade – who often worked with Ben. Grant was, according to Kate, an asshole, but not a complete asshole; he had a tendency to be a little lax with the Order’s rules and regulations, and had also been one of the few Knights who chose to stand by Luke following his exile. 

“They’re all lined up and waiting for you,” Grant said to Ben after giving Charlie and Luke a tight nod of greeting. 

“Oh, excellent,” Ben said, and the expression on his face turned purely predatory. He gave Luke a small, hard smile. “You want to come meet our wannabe demon hunters?” 

“Fuck yes,” Luke breathed out – and the look on his face gave Charlie chills. 

Apparently the other paramedic saw the same thing, because he immediately piped up. “We’re supposed to bring them in for interrogation, not murder them and drop them in the canal somewhere.” 

“No worries,” said Grant amicably. “We’ll leave enough of them to interrogate.” 

The paramedic opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat before climbing up into the back of the ambulance in search of something. 

A part of Charlie wanted to go with Grant and the others to talk to the people responsible for hurting Kate, but a bigger part of him needed to stay with Kate, especially if Luke was planning to leave her side for any reason. Luke gave him a questioning look, but Charlie just nodded, the two of them swapping places so that Charlie could stand at Kate’s head while Luke headed back into the throng of emergency workers with Ben and Grant. Now that he knew where to look, Charlie could see that some more Knights – at least, he assumed they were all Knights – had a quartet of men on their knees on the ground. There were no weapons being pointed at anyone, but even at this distance Charlie could see that the men in question weren’t going to be stupid enough to try and run away, not with this many people gathered around them. 

Still, it seemed like that sense of self-preservation only went so far, because as Luke and the others approached one of the men lowered his hands – the four of them had been kneeling with their hands behind their heads – and started arguing with the Knights standing nearby. Charlie couldn’t quite make out what he was saying – and then he raised his voice. 

“We know that little bitch isn’t a real person,” he was saying, and oh, Charlie recognized that voice. That had been the voice he’d heard over the phone, the one that had been snarling at Kate before the line had gone dead. “She’s a monster walking around in human clothes, and she deserves everything we did to her.”

“Oh shit,” murmured the female paramedic. Charlie suddenly decided he rather liked her. 

Across the way Luke broke free of Ben and Grant, moving with a sudden explosion of predatory grace as he charged at the man who’d spoken. As Charlie watched, Luke hauled back one clenched fist – and let fly. 

The sound of impact was loud enough that Charlie heard it from where he stood, even with the jumble of emergency radios and Aqua singing about being a Barbie Girl in the background. Luke punched the man solidly in the face, and while it was clear to Charlie that his boyfriend had held back – clear, because the man wasn’t killed outright – it was still enough to knock him out with one blow. 

The other three would-be hunters immediately cringed away and began babbling all at once, all three of them eager to impress upon Luke – and the rest of his company – that they didn’t share their unconscious friend’s opinions of their demon-blooded target, and that honestly, this was probably all just a huge misunderstanding, please don’t let the scary man kill me. 

The male paramedic popped his head out of the back of the ambulance, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene in the distance. “Uh. Should we do something about that?” 

“Nope,” said his partner, not even looking up from her patient. 

Charlie grinned at her and rubbed his thumb over Kate’s cheekbone, where a large bruise was steadily growing smaller under the woman’s healing magic. Yeah, not everyone affiliated with the Knights of Oberon was a complete asshole, he decided.

[playerfolie]

°✧。 [ MARGARET  QUALLEY ,  CIS  WOMAN ,  SHE/HER ]   it’s  been  two  years  since  FOLIE  joined  velia  from  NEW  ORLEANS ,  LOUISIANA ,  USA .  apparently  their  name  is  MAEVE  FOURNIER  and  they’re  a  ROGUE .  they  have  been  fighting  as  a  REVENANTS  member  for  a  while  now .  didn’t  people  say  they  were  not  a  beta  tester ?  i  heard  they  turned  TWENTY - ONE  this  year .  let’s  hope  they  make  it  out  alive . 

          hey  there  demons !  it’s  me ,  ya  boy  ( aka  spence  /  20  /  they/them ) .  i  was  in  velia  very  briefly  a  little  while  back  but  had  to  dip  because  of  school  ( + i  am  recycling  this  account  so  that’s  why  there  may  be  old  messages  from  me  in  ur  dms  asfvad ) ,  but  i  have  now  finished  finals  and  i  am  back  to  introduce  you  to  my  new  baby  maeve / folie !  if  you’d  like  to  plot  with  her ,  feel  free  to  drop  a  ♡  on  this  and  i’ll  shoot  you  a  message  ( or  shoot  me  one  yourself  if  you  wanna ) !  this  is  probably  gonna  be  the  longest  intro  ever  because  i  ramble ,  so  sorry  in  advance ,  but  here  we  go !

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒

            ♡     username : folie             ♡     level : 64             ♡     class : rogue             ♡     cursor : green  ( has  been  orange  in  the  past )             ♡     guild : revenants ,  previously  knights  of  the  blood  oath.             ♡     position : recruiter             ♡     mount : n/a             ♡     pet : rabbit  named  cecil             ♡     mastered  skills : stealth ,  communication ,  searching             ♡     proficient  skills : luck ,  appraisal             ♡     languages spoken : english ,  french

𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄  𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀

            ♡     maeve fournier was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and ballet slippers on her feet. her mother was a lawyer, one of the best defense attorneys in the south. her father came from old money, took complete ownership of a number of oil rigs off the louisiana and mississippi coasts after her grandfather died. her early life came with privileges, more than one could count, but it had its share of burdens as well. from the time she was toddling, maeve was expected to live her life like a painting ─ something to be viewed, showed off, bragged about by her parents to their wealthy friends. she was to have her mother’s smarts and grace, and her father’s power and charisma ; anything else was failure.             ♡     of the many things maeve had handed to her, video games was not one of them. her mother was convinced that they would ‘ rot her brain ’, take her time away from the things that mattered like school, dance, french lessons, her violin. the first time she played a game was when she was seven years old, sleeping over at a friends house ─ pokemon white on an old nintendo ds that belonged to her friend’s father. she fell in love.              ♡     as she got older, video games became her best kept secret. weekly sleepovers at her friend’s house became a sneaky rendezvous to escape into a digital world for just a couple of days. one day a week to get away from the constant pressure, to be a person rather than a spectacle.             ♡     when her and her best friend heard of velia, they knew they absolutely had to have it. the pair were freshman in college by then, and although maeve still lived very much under her parents’ thumb ( loyola university new orleans was close enough for them to keep close tabs on her ), it was much easier to get video games in her own hands now that she was living slightly more independently. the two bought the game the second they could, and were off to the races. until they got stuck.

𝐈𝐍  𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀

          ♡     when everyone first became trapped in the game, maeve and her best friend kept close to one another, but were hesitant to partner up with any other players or join a guild. the two had each others backs, and they were convinced that that was all they needed. that sentiment would later prove to be false. ( TW : ROBBERY, MUGGING, DEATH ). the pair were ambushed a few months into the game ; a party of five players threatening their lives if they failed to hand over their possessions. maeve, aware that the group was too big to be fought off by her and her friend alone, began to concede. instead of following suit, the other girl tried to take one of them on, and ended up catching quite the beating. maeve managed to get in a few good hits, finish the work that her friend had started on one of the group members, killing him. they dropped all they had for the remaining four and high-tailed it out before they got themselves killed.           ♡     after that, maeve went near crazy. it was ironic, how much freedom she found in a digital prison, but living in velia was the first and closest thing to liberation that she had ever experienced. chaos was unfamiliar to her, fascinating, she even relished in it at times. but it also became to clear to her that in this world, you had to do what it took to survive, and doe eyes don’t last long. she never went out of her way to hurt other players if she didn’t have to, but strayed away from heroics. slowly, the reserved, polite, sweetheart that maeve was trained to be from birth slipped away. folie was unapologetic and fierce, and she’d steel you blind if you looked away for more than a second. two things mattered to her: surviving until the end of this, and her best friend. little did she know that she’d lose the latter.           ♡     after getting robbed, and a couple of other close calls with less than savory players, folie admitted to her friend that she thought they should try to join a guild. there was safety in numbers and, with the right group, a significantly less amount of fear with going to sleep every night. her friend disagreed, thought that a group would only make you weak, that trusting other players was a huge mistake. the whole ordeal ended in an enormous fight, but no real answers. for the most part, folie got by through thievery, stealing everything she needed for herself and selling the excess. a week or so after her fight with her friend, folie was caught stealing from a couple of blood oath members, marking the beginning of a friendship that would later lead to her joining the guild. her friend stopped speaking to her after that.            ♡     she was never a fan of blood oath’s heroics, but they were the biggest guild, the most powerful - her ticket home. so that day, when hercules stepped forward, announced the genesis of a new guild, rising from the ashes of the cardinals, it sounded awfully tempting. though folie had found a place in blood oath, gotten comfortable, she couldn’t help but feel disarmed by that same fact. she wasn’t supposed to be getting comfortable ; she was supposed to be beating this game. the revenants new found mission statement of getting out no matter the cost drew her in and captured her. it didn’t take much thought for her to step forward, abandoning her old guild for the revenants.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

            ♡     despite the fact that folie lost a lot of the qualities programed into her when she was younger, she’s not unnecessarily mean. that being said, if you’re expecting the saccharine-voiced angel from before you’re looking in the wrong place ( but she’ll sure as hell put on a good show if it’ll get her something she wants ).             ♡     a little snarky, usually jokingly so, but if you make her mad she will turn into frozone’s wife from the incredibles and you will never see the end of it.             ♡     not quick to trust. if you’ve earned it though, you’re likely to see some of the old maeve slip through the cracks. those who have had the privilege may have been on the receiving end of some misplaced altruism, maybe caught a shy smile or a soft moment, call backs to who she used to be and who she likely never completely be again. but she doesn’t talk about her life back home much either, aside from the arbitrary, another way of keeping that old version of herself, the one that couldn’t survive this, locked away.             ♡     *mushu voice* a flirt ! she’ll flirt with your whole family ! she’ll flirt with you ! she’ll flirt with your cow ! i wish i could stop her but i can’t ! she’s never experienced this kind of freedom before, who could blame her for being a heaux ?             ♡     still has sticky fingers, watch your shit around her if you want to keep it !              ♡     probably other things i’m forgetting but i am currently brain dead.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃  𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

            ♡     other revenants members      ›      i mean duh,, gotta have those guild connections ! pals ? playful rivalry ? maybe even a little bit of mutual dislike ? gimme it all !             ♡     her old best friend      ›      probably gonna put a wc on the main for this but PLEASE bring me her ex friend who stopped speaking to her when she joined the knights of the blood oath. i will SCREAM !!             ♡     old folks from blood oath      ›      people who she’s still friends with ? people she never got along with ? people angry that she left for the revenants ( esp if they were close before bc i love pain ) ? maybe even an ex ? *sharpay evans voice* i want it all !             ♡     flirtationships & fwb      ›      like i said, she will flirt with a brick wall and she is living her best life as a heaux in velia asdadfvdf. let her be spici !!! ( lil notes : she’s bi + i’m chill w nsfw headcanons but i’m not super comfy writing smut in threads )             ♡     frenemies / enemies      ›      let ! her ! be ! bitter ! that’s really it we can plot out why together i just love some good old fashioned hostility ( bonus points if there’s some underlying ~tension~ *eyebrow wiggle* )             ♡     an unlikely friendship      ›      maybe someone who is more reserved who she can bring out a little chaos in or who can balance out the chaos in her ? maybe someone who has done something that she should hate them for, but instead they grew close ? a fun dynamic with characters who no one would ever guess would be as good of friends as they are             ♡     anything else !!      ›      if you have other ideas for fun connections please shoot them my way !! or we can brainstorm if ya want !!

[37energydrinks]

Part Two of Chapter Two: Infirmum

I got cock blocked by the word limit while I was writing the first part of chapter two so I had to split it in half 😠

--

I don't feel so good. 

Bile rises up in my throat and I feel my head get shoved to the side. I retch up stomach acid and chunks of ..... something. I can't remember what I've eaten. My eyes are open and throbbing, the pressure behind my eyes is painful. I'm not laying down anymore. I'm in a chair. It's metal. And cold. I blink slowly, still not fully conscious. Something wipes across my face. I blink again.

"Response to the anesthetic is normal." 

"Hm?" I blink once again, slowly, and turn my head towards the sound. The man with the blue mask is standing next to me, the little table I saw before rolled up to his side. He's busy scribbling something down in a little notebook, and doesn't seem to see me watching him. I shift my gaze from the blue-masked man to the table. On it is a little tray, carrying a variety of instruments. I see and empty needle (probably the one he used on me before) and a needle full of a clear liquid. I swallow down the lump in my throat. I can just barely see some sort of surgical instruments. I feel the blood drain from my face at that. I feel bile from up again and gag. The man looks up from his notebook to see my green face and calmly pushes me over the side of my chair where I retch again, this time just stomach acid. His hand leaves my shoulder and I see him reach onto the tray. I don't move away, though, my brain not processing what he's doing. He picks up a rag and forces my head towards him, then proceeding to wipe my face of the vomit.

How kind.

He drops the rag back onto the little table and moves away from my line of sight. I slowly blink after him, watching him bring back a stool. He places the stool about two feet away from me and sits on it, holding his little notebook and an almost empty pen.

"I'm going to ask you questions, and you're going to answer them. Do you understand?" I barely have enough energy to lift my head up, so I don't respond. "We've had this discussion already. Would you like me to drug you again?" His words send a jolt through me. A give a small shake of the head. No. "Good. Now. What's your name?"

My name? He wants to know my name? He chased me, kidnapped me, and then drugged me, and now he wants to know my name?

...

What is my name? I know that it starts with (first letter of your name), but I can't remember anything else.

"I-I don't...uh.." I clear my throat, voice scratchy from the intense screaming and drugging. "I don't.....remember. I don't remember." My last words slur together as I try to lift my head up to face him. The man doesn't make any movements, and just sits there with his stupid pen hovering above the paper.

There's a break of silence.

"You don't remember." He states bluntly. "You can't remember your own name?" He rises off of the stool and towers over me. I shrink back as far as I can into my chair, squeaking as his rough voice speaks again. "What do you mean, you can't remember?"

"I mean! I mean- I mean I know..I know what it starts with! It starts with.. its starts with.., uh.." My voice trails off and tears build up behind my eyes. What did it start with again? The man sighs irritably. 

"Okay. Calm down. What does it start with?" He doesn't move from his position above me.

"...(first letter of your name)..? I think..? I-I don't..I don't really remem-remember. I'll try again, though! I'll try.., I'll try again I promise!" I can feel his gaze look me over once before he moves back to sit on his stool. He stares at me for a second longer before turning his attention back to his little notebook. There's a pause in his writing as he stares down at the ink on the page. His head shifts upwards towards me and then back down to the notebook. He scribbles out a few more things and looks up at me.

"Are you having trouble remembering things?" I blink at him. My head falls forward as a sudden bout of dizziness hits me. 

"Iuhm, I dunno.. i'sjus that i....mm not feeling so great." My words are slurring badly. My body starts to fall forward. 

Guess I wasn't tied down. I see the man move off of the stool and in front of me, catching me before my chair tips and I hit the ground. I try to move my arms to push him off of me. So my hands are tied down.

That's progress, I guess. 

He pushes me back upright, forcing my back to hit the back of the chair. 

"Are you feeling dizzy?" A slight nod.

"Are you experiencing any sort of headache?" Another small nod. 

"Are you hearing any sort of ringing?" I shake my head no. He rises a bit and pulls the table closer to us. I hear a few metal things shift and click. "Lift your head." I obey, not wanting to make him angry again. A light clicks on and I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut and snapping my head to the right. A pained sob leaves my lips as the throbbing in my head increases. I hear the....flashlight(?) click off. 

His hand moves away. I hear him stand up, and the little table roll away. I keep my eyes shut and let my head gently rest against the head of the chair. I start to doze off, listening to the shifting sound of fabric and the clinking off metal. The throbbing in my head is intense, and I'm pretty sure that if I was outside of my body, I would be able to see my head throbbing. The blue-masked man starts to walk towards me but I don't pay him much attention, stupidly.  

I can see his shadow crouch down in front of me.

"What're you doin..g?" I carefully open my eyes. 

"I'm undoing your wrist restraints." That sparked a bit of confusion.

"What?"

"Are you hard of hearing? I'm undoing your wrist restraints." 

"Why're you-!" He scoops me up, one arm under my knees, and one arm around my shoulders. "He-hey!" I struggle a bit in his arms. He ignores my struggles and continues to walk. I don't hear any door open, and we don't pass under anything that would indicate a change in the room. 

This place is huge!

We reach the corner to the room and he drops me onto a bed. A let out a shrill cry as the bounce from the bed jostles my head. 

"Sorry." The blue-masked man mutters and unapologetic apology as he sets to work re-tying my hands, binding them with the straps that are tied to the edge of the bed. "I'm going to give you a mild anesthetic, but only after you answer some questions that I have. Do you understand?" I don't respond, my body far ahead of my brain in terms of when I should fall asleep. Which was apparently right now. I hear a click and my eye is forced open to the blinding light of the flashlight. I yelp and my body jerks upwards, instinctively trying to get the light out of my eyes. "You will sleep when I tell you to sleep, do you understand?" He doesn't let my eye shut. 

"Y-yes! Yes! I understand! I understand..." He seems satisfied with my response and lets my eye close, clicking off the flashlight at the same time.

"Good. Now. What can you remember? Recent events, or past events?" What can I remember? 

"I-I remember a..uh..a few past events..? And.. and what just happened..?" My words come out more like a question, and not like the statement that I had intended. 

"Describe the past events." He pulls out his notebook and pen. Since when did he have his notebook and pen? Where was he carrying it? My mind is slow to answer the questions, and the blue-masked man doesn't seem to patient with me right now. "I told you to describe what you remember. I strongly advise that you do, my patience is being worn thin." His threat sends vivid images into my mind of what he could do. I feel the blood drain out of my face as I stumble over my words to provide him with an answer.

"I remember my first day of kindergarten, and my mom, and my dad and what they look like and the first test that I failed and the dark! I remember the dark, and hiding under the bed..hiding under the bed.....from...someone. I don't remember who, though. Uhh.. I remember getting into my first car crash and my brothers funeral. I-I remember the fights-the fights-fights, and the-and the- and the smell of liquor. And the fights! I remember the fights. And the...uh.. what's it called? The.. um.. the.. my parents split up..?"

"A divorce?" The blue-masked man offered, scribbling furiously in his notebook.

"Yeah..! Yeah, the divorce, and and and my... uh.... my mom's marriage to this new guy..and.." I pause to catch my breath. Am I crying? When did I start to cry? "And.. and I had classes where...um....where I learned.. where I learned to fight..? I think?" The man pauses at that, before writing something down.

"Anything else?" I think for a moment, desperately clawing through my memories to provide him with the information that he wanted. 

"My dad.. my dad kept coming to the house.. he kept coming.. coming to the house and he..uh.uhm .. he wasn't allowed to.. and the fire! The fire! I remember the fire!" It's true. My dad had set a fire in my mom's house, he had turned on the gas stove and let the kitchen fill up with gas before lighting it up. 

"The fire?"

"Uhm.. yah, the , thum.. fire. My dad was... uh.. angry? He was angry at my mom..for ...for remarrying, so he .. he snuck into the house... and and lit it on fire." I can feel the blue-masked man's gaze on me but I don't look at him, I'm starting to get to absorbed into the story, but he isn't stopping me, so I continue. "I heard it. The fire. I felt it too, I felt it. It was so....so hot. And bright.. and I couldn't.. I couldn't get out. I remember.... I remember the screaming. Yah, I remember the screaming so....so..so.." I couldn't find the right word. The man is silent. "So.. clearly. Like it happened yesterday."

"When did it happen?" 

When did the fire happen? A year ago?

"I think..I think it was a year ago...? Yah, a year ago. I remember pulling my mom out of her room... but I... I couldn't save my.. my .. what's it called..?" My bound hands are making little gestures as I tell the story.

"Stepdad?" The man contributes, his words careful. I glance at him. He's looking down at me, pen held tight in his hand. I can see that he's written a lot, the pages of his notebook flipped over and over, the ink staining the white. 

"Yeah, stepdad. Stepdad stepdad stepdad stepdad." The word feels funny in my mouth. 

"What happened after that?" I blink slowly, fatigue hitting me hard.

"I had ta.. I had ta get a job, to help pay for an... apart..ment? Apartment. At that stupid cafe with Creepybossman. I hate him." 

The man takes note of this.

"Do you remember any recent memories?"

"Yah." It's quiet.

"Please elaborate." 

"O-oh, sorry. I remember the rain. And-and I remember running. Running like ....super fast. And that car that was going way over the speed limit... and mask." The man is furiously writing.

"Mask?"

"Your mask. And skin." I ponder over his skin for a moment. There has to be a reason why I remember his skin. The man abruptly stands.

"You have been very cooperative tonight. Can you remember your name yet?" My name...? I think so.

"I think.. so?"

"Well what is it?"

"(n-name)..?" He nods once. 

"Good. Well, (name)," the sound of my name being muffled by his mask as he speaks is unsettling. "You are allowed to sleep now. I'll give you a mild anesthetic, and a bit of pain killer. If you cause any trouble, make any noise, or are just a general nuisance, I will not hesitate to make you bleed. Do you understand?" A shiver rips down my spine.

"Y-yes." 

"Good." He pulls out a needle from his pocket (maybe it's a hoodie?). "This will get you to sleep for a few hours. When you wake up, we will check on your progress." My progress?

"My progress on what?" The man moves my head to the side. I'm too tired to fight him.

"Your progress on that concussion." Concussion? I decide not to question it. I feel the needle prick my neck and my thought process go sluggish.  

"Oh." 

My body goes slack, and I fall asleep.

--

Sorry about the formatting of this chapter, I'm moving everything over on to tumblr from Wattpad, so it's a little weird. Also the word limit is a huge dick in the ass so sorry about that.

[lindyhunt]

Everything That Upset the Internet This Week

What is the web-o-sphere angry about this week? A pop star who claimed her lyrics will solve racism, the meaning behind the MAGA hat and a Latina actress who’s being called “anti-black.” Here’s everything you need to know.

Ariana Grande Responds to “7 Rings” Backlash With a Fan Comment

THE STORY: Everyone from 2 Chainz to Soulja Boy to Princess Nokia has taken issue with the lyrics, beat and video for “7 Rings,” Ariana Grande’s recently released single about popping Champagne, splurging at Tiffany’s and being unapologetically rich.

“Does that sound familiar to you? ‘Cause that sound really familiar to me. Oh my god!” Princess Nokia said in a since-deleted video. “Ain’t that the lil’ song I made about brown women and their hair? Hmm… sounds about white.”

Grande then (seemingly in response) reposted a fan’s Instagram Story about why the “7 Rings” hair lyric—’You like my hair? Gee, thanks, just bought it…’—was justified: “White women talking about their weaves is how we’re gonna solve racism,” wrote the Instagram user. Grande added that she had “so much love” for the fan, finishing the sentiment with a signature Ari black heart emoji.

  View this post on Instagram

  This #PostAndDelete by #ArianaGrande has fans upset because they feel she’s missing the point of the backlash. Meanwhile, #ScooterBraun says #7Rings has hit a record on #Spotify (See previous posts)

A post shared by The Shade Room (@theshaderoom) on Jan 19, 2019 at 11:32am PST

Grande’s story was quickly taken down—but not before it was screen capped and shared across the web.

THE REACTION:

When black women wear weave it’s ghetto and trash and we’re bald but now miss Ariana says that corny ass line everyone and their mom is hype ab it. I love Ariana but bitch NO. @arianagrande

— oh k . (@xchancelorswife) January 19, 2019

Soo i show up to twitter seeing that Ariana grande said white women talking about weaves will end racism….. pic.twitter.com/5emt6Inrdz

— Amen & Gin (@_HeavensAngel_) January 20, 2019

@ArianaGrande please delete ur story and apologise. it was really insensitive. if it was meant seriously or sarcastically, it doesn’t matter, it was wrong of u to post something like that.

— lola (@styIesdrew) January 19, 2019

RIGHTEOUSNESS OF THE RAGE: Grande slid into the comments section of The Shade Room’s post, leaving a heartfelt apology. “Hi hi,” she wrote. “I think her intention was to be like… yay a white person disassociating the negative stariotype [sic] that is paired with the word ‘weave’… however I’m so sorry my response was out of pocket or if it came across the wrong way. Thanks for opening the conversation and like… to everyone for talking to me about it. It’s never my intention to offend anybody.”

A quick delete, apology and statement of appreciation for the communal conversation when she missteps—she has this whole backlash response thing down to a formula, doesn’t she? Besides, was there really ever any doubt that Ariana Grande’s hair is real…

Fox News Compares Judging MAGA Hat to Blaming Rape Victims’ Outfits

THE STORY: So you know those MAGA hat-wearing Kentucky teens who taunted an indigenous elder at a Washington protest? Of course you do. They’ve been the centre of the news cycle for the past week: the clip went viral, different narratives were spun on each side of the political spectrum and Nicholas Sandmann, “The MAGA Hat Boy,” was invited to share his non-apology on the Today Show. And then, Fox News’ The Five hopped in on the conversation to state that judging these young boys based on their Trump-affiliated merch is comparable to judging a victim of sexual assault based on their outfit at the time of the crime.

“What kills me is the idea [that], if you’re wearing something, you had it coming. We’ve learned that that’s not what you say to people,” said host Greg Gutfeld.

THE REACTION:

Aren't the Fox viewers and pundits usually the people that would do that anyways?

— Area Man | UTE (@veggiescott) January 24, 2019

#FOXNews used rape victims to defend RACIST #MAGA teens

The MAGA hat is an open embrace of #Trumpism and everything he stands for — which is BIGOTRY, XENOPHOBIA, ETHNIC CLEANSING, CORRUPTION, and HATRED.

LIKE DONNING a SWASTIKA#MOG https://t.co/3Sx79N2cf2

— Michael O'Grady (@mog7546) January 24, 2019

What does a MAGA hat signify? Does a pair of “provocative clothes” scream racism, misogyny, and other bullshit? Just say you’re a rape victim-blamer and go.

— 권치용 | 秋 (@californiaaki) January 24, 2019

RIGHTEOUSNESS OF THE RAGE: The commentators are right on one thing: you should never judge a woman’s choice of clothing when a violent crime is committed against her. What they’ve done here, however, is set up a false equivalence. The MAGA hat is not a meaningless piece of apparel—and as far as I’ve heard, a mini skirt or tube top isn’t widely perceived to express hateful views towards marginalized people. (A Zara jacket with the words “I REALLY DON’T CARE, DO U?” scrawled on the back, however, shares its message loud and clear.)

When people put on that red cap, they know the message they’re sending. It’s really no different than any other baseball hat: when you’re wearing a blue Maple Leaf on your forehead, you’re signalling to those around you that, for whatever reason, you’re a fan of Toronto’s hockey team. Wearing a MAGA hat aligns you with the president’s exclusionist policies and hateful rhetoric, and if you’re putting one on, you should know that—even if you’re a 17-year-old high school student.

Gina Rodriguez Addresses Accusations of Being Anti-Black With Tears

THE STORY: Back in November, Porter‘s “Women in Television” roundtable with actresses Gina Rodriguez, Gabrielle Union, Ellen Pompeo, and Emma Roberts went viral online. Pompeo was praised for calling out the lack of diversity in the room, while Rodriguez caught heat for commenting on the intersectional aspect of the gender pay gap in America.

“White women get paid more than black women, black women get paid more than Asian women, Asian women get paid more than Latina women,” Rodriguez said. “It’s like a very scary space to step into.”

Her statement sparked backlash, with many accusing the Golden Globe-winning Jane the Virgin star of being “anti-black” and pitting POC women against one another. Months later, during an appearance on Sway in the Morning, she broke down into tears as addressed the controversy.

“The backlash was devastating, to say the least,” said Rodriguez. “The black community was the only community I looked towards growing up. We didn’t have many Latino shows and the black community made me feel like I was seen. So to get anti-black is to say I’m anti-family.”

THE REACTION:

Listen @HereIsGina I really wanted to empathize I did but you’re just deflecting instead of being accountable. Instead of rationalizing what you said (re: white & asian community didn’t get offended) look at the moments that the black community DID. pic.twitter.com/nyjXMziuiu

— 🍯 COME GET YOUR HONEY 🍯 (@SUGGADADDY) January 23, 2019

Gina Rodriguez on Black Panther vs Crazy Rich Asians….she really is terrible pic.twitter.com/BYDIJS1bhh

— tk (@foswina) January 23, 2019

gina rodriguez: *is anti black, constantly puts black women down to favor “all women”, probably doesn’t know the difference between race and ethnicity*

gina rodriguez when she gets called out on it: pic.twitter.com/7RhSPp46Gu

— skinty (@KIMPOSSIHOE) January 23, 2019

RIGHTEOUSNESS OF THE RAGE: Cancel culture is toxic, and it pushes people to become defensive. But regardless of intention, Rodriguez’s words hurt, and she should have done was listened to that and taken accountability for her comments—rather than making excuses.

“Gina Rodriguez is really really really really ignorant, socially unaware, dismissive with black issues, and entitled,” writes Twitter user @culieatumami, “BUT I don’t think she’s necessarily hateful. I think she needs to talk less and listen more.”

[auutintiug]

“In her own words, Hoda Katebi is “a Chicago-based angry daughter of Muslim-Iranian immigrants,” author of the book Tehran Streetstyle, community organizer, and the voice behind the radical, political online fashion publication JooJoo Azad. Here, she speaks with Palestinian-American human rights attorney, artist, educator, and writer Noura Erakat, who has time and again stunned and stupefied the media in bold, brazen, sensibly unapologetic interviews. Katebi and Erakat’s conversation is akin to two streams flowing parallel to one another, embarking upon the surfaces and diving into the depths of politics, art, activism, identity, and gender norms, ultimately joining forces in the same body of water, not in competition but in support of one another—level and determined, headstrong, open to the elements.

—

Hoda Katebi: Do you think that all art is political?

Noura Erakat: I mean, I’m trained as an attorney. I’m hesitant to make such an absolute statement. Politics is basically the negotiation over scarce resources, and it’s the work that’s being done to actually negotiate that distribution. Art is expression, some sort of expression, any kind of expression, right? It’s a visionary aide. It’s a manifestation. That could be political in two ways: What is it that the artist chose to represent as opposed to anything else, and then how does creation implicate a discussion around the distribution of scarce resources?

I don’t identify as an artist because it’s political. I identify as an artist because I think that it’s a way of being. An artist is someone who can transcend an immediate material reality to be able to define yourself on your own terms, and to want to see the world on terms that may not yet exist. So those are the things that I think define an artist, which is not being bound by what is, but instead being in the constant act of creating what could be. A lot of the time it does come from people who hold privilege who say that they don’t want their art to be political or simultaneously call out Palestinians or black folks and say, “Oh, why do you always create political art?” It’s almost like my entire life. It’s triggering to you.

HK: What role does art play for you, and especially as a Palestinian, why is it important?

NE: So, I just want to be clear: I identify as an artist because I think that that’s the best way, because a lot of people see me, and they’re, “Oh, Noura’s a lawyer. Oh, Noura’s a teacher. Oh, Noura …” You know what I mean?

HK: Yeah.

NE: And I feel like rather than be defined by the actual profession, I want to be defined by the way I relate to the world in it. Me being an artist is not me defining my career or my productivity. It’s my relationship to time. I’m also identifying as queer, right? it’s not who you’re attracted to; it’s how you’re manifesting yourself in the world outside of binaries. I want to live.

I’ve written two plays, and I’ve fallen out of that—it’s a practice, like anything, and I haven’t been keeping it up. But last fall, the Kennedy Center invited the DC Palestinian Film and Arts Festival, which I am a co-founder of, to curate a program for the Millennium Stage. I got to direct the program, which meant musical direction, light direction, you know, all the stage work, plus it’s a play that I wrote, and I directed the professional actress who performed it. It was actually such a miracle, because we only got to do one stage rehearsal an hour before the program started.

The DC Palestinian Film and Arts Festival began because in 2011, I had been co-leading something called the U.S. Palestinian Community Network, and we had created a local chapter in D.C., and all of the work that we were doing as part of that network was, I thought, very reactionary. No to negotiations. No to these terms of the peace process. No to the split. I knew, I knew that that was not going to last because that’s not something that sustains. It creates a lot of toxicity.

On a trip to Toronto, I was speaking in Toronto and my good friend introduced me to her project, the Toronto Palestine Film Festival, and I thought to myself, oh my God. That’s it. We have to create something that will outlast the politics of rejection. We have to create something that lives on its own terms. So when I got back, I and two other women co-founded this project, and now we’re in our eighth year. It is not a Palestine film festival; it is a showman arts festival. Our whole purpose is to showcase the artists, whoever they are. You could be talking about your favorite color or your favorite candy or the way your mom screwed you over and still left it in your head. The whole point is to showcase the artist and all of the different media that they use, visual, performing, cross stitching, cooking, music, dance, the whole thing.

This is where we’re dreaming of the future. This is where we’re creating. Who are Palestinians? Who are young Palestinians don’t know anything about it? From what they feel, from what their family passed onto them—how are they expressing that? And that is the future of Palestine. We’re trying to cultivate the space where they can dream. What the diaspora looks like and what the community looks like beyond just, what are the political terms upon which this will be resolved? Instead it becomes a social question, more like, what do people look like? What does trauma feel like? What is joy? What is internal conflict? What languages do we speak in this space? It also becomes one of the best tools for mainstreaming the question of Palestine. We’re bringing out audiences that probably feel like the whole thing is toxic.

HK: Yeah, it’s like a language that transcends border and culture. You create really accessible work. So, how are you able to transcend that really difficult box that lawyers are taught to be sitting in?

NE: I went into law school because I wanted to fight, and I thought, if only we had these tools we could just reason through this, then we can get out of the binds that politics had created for us, and we’ll just reason through it through some arbiter. We just listen to each side, and we can figure it out, and in fact, that was a really jarring lesson, and one of naivety, and it’s become the source of inspiration for my forthcoming book, Justice for Some: Law in the Question of Palestine, which will be out in March 2019. First of all, I barely survived the damned thing, because it is the single most white, heteronormative, classist, stifling space—

HK: Say it.

NE: —you can ever imagine. It is basically where you go to protect and revere the status quo. My issue with law school is that you take that for granted. Nobody admits that that’s what it is, and you start to act like everything that you’re studying is objective when everything is so not objective.

HK: Everything that you produce, whether it’s academic in the legal industry, you’re coming from your particular perspective of the world. Oppressed or oppressor.

NE: True, but there’s a different kind. Let me give you an example. When you’re studying property law in the United States, all property law is built upon a logic of dispossessing native nations, indigenous nations in the United States. And here you are studying concepts like liens, trusts or estates, possession, but you never ever talk about, well, what is the root of this whole model? The root of it is the dispossession of indigenous nations. Or when we talk about criminal law: We want to talk about the death penalty as a jurisprudential matter, which means we’re just going to look at the case law, but we’re not going to talk about, how is it that the law itself and the way that the death penalty becomes instrumentalized is specifically to punish black people?

I had a really hard time in law school. I ended up getting a big award at the end, which was like a vindication, but I almost didn’t even go to my graduation because I was just like, this was miserable. Afterwards, I didn’t even take a traditional law job. I went to Berkeley Law, and after law school, I got a fellowship for something like 30, 35k. That’s insane for a recent law graduate, and then there was no such thing as working as a Palestinian-rights lawyer, so I had to create my own job. It was a coup to even get the fellowship.

I’m now in a place where I have some stability, but from the time I graduated until now, I came onto the tenure track in the academy basically hustling. Nobody wants to … It’s just a difficult story. I mean, you have to be crazy to be doing this work. If I wasn’t crazy, I wouldn’t have lasted this long.

HK: What has got you through?

NE: I kept pushing. I kept being a lawyer. I went back to school, and I kept writing like a lawyer. I kept appearing on television like a lawyer until more recently. I think until last December, when I started to appear on TV and in public spaces, a little less as an attorney and more like as a human being and a Palestinian, that, I think, was a major turning point for me and for people receiving me, because when I’m talking as a lawyer, you know, I’m basically trying to be removed from it, just making the argument and letting it stand, but when I step into my skin as a Palestinian, as a human being, it’s me.

I’m still going to use logic as my primary communication tool, and everybody has a different way they like to communicate in public. Some people like to tell stories. Some people like to move you, just really deeply move you and rally you to fight and believe. I think logic is really compelling. I do it in the same way when I’m in my classroom. I don’t ever tell you what exactly to believe. I want to give you enough facts and information for you to make your own decision. That’s so much more powerful when you have to engage with me and do the work with me. You have to think about it.

For me, legal practice basically means that I’m an advocate. Because what is human rights advocacy? There’s no courtroom. What does it mean, then, to be a human rights attorney? It means that I am making a case in the world of public opinion. That’s my courtroom.

HK: What got you out of bed every day during this period? Were you also doing art at the same time, or did art come later?

NE: I was producing art while I was in law school as a writer. I dabbled in poetry, but I did the theater work. My first play is based on oral histories that I collected.

I’m in the West Bank in 2000, when the second intifada begins. I’m a student at Hebrew University [of Jerusalem], which was a whole story unto itself, but I’m the only student at Hebrew U that is a Palestinian and living in what’s known as the West Bank. And so basically, school gets shut down, because the intifada has started, and I had come eager to do an oral history project. I thought it was going to be about young girls and women. I started traveling to interview families of the slain, of the killed, and to get the stories of those killed, and so I collect all of these stories and come back. I transcribe them, and then I turn that oral history project into a revolving monologue, which is like a one-act play for about an hour where you get to hear almost all of the stories being told by the characters themselves as they’re describing their loved one who’d been killed.

So, I write that while I’m in law school. I produce that. I direct that. It takes its own life, and it’s performed in different places. I then come to do another monologue, but this time it’s a one-woman show, and I perform that one everywhere. And that was it. That space just killed my creative spirit.

HK: Do you see yourself within the legacy of any artist that you look up to? Whose tradition do you feel that you belong to, if any?

NE: The first person that comes to mind is Arundhati Roy.

HK: Bae!

NE: Right? Here is this woman completely committed to revolutionary justice and transformation but who is expressing herself also as a dreamer, as a novelist, and as an essayist, and so I really like that. It’s these visionary women who are immersed and accountable to a base and to a movement. They don’t see themselves as above or as being revered. They see themselves as being a part of something bigger than them. What you’re seeing in their work is homage to it, paying respect to it, and creating space for it.

HK: Situating yourself in the West as a site of knowledge production in academia, which is heavy orientalist, perpetuates a lot of racism, the same ways that you mention about the law. What are your experiences there, and what made you become an educator?

NE: I think in everything that I’ve done, I’ve always been an educator. Even as an activist or when I’m leading workshops at different universities from before I got into law school. The difference about entering the academy is now you’re producing knowledge in a way that’s refereed and becomes subject to academic and scholarly scrutiny. A lot of circumstances pushed me into that field, and also because I’m increasingly unfulfilled by the legal practice, which I find is so hampered by the question of politics and by political issues. I’m increasingly frustrated with the limitation of the law, but also more curious about it. Why is it working in this way? What is it about the law, what is it about politics? And so these became scholarly inquiries that push me out, like make me more disenchanted with being a lawyer.

Once I’m in the academy, now it’s like a whole different set of challenges. It becomes the most stark when people of color talk about justice issues that are difficult conversations. So, if I was talking about FGM and the Muslim community, I don’t think people would receive me harshly. It might even be kind of okay, because I’m not challenging the establishment. But being of color, producing knowledge that is counter-hegemonic is when you raise a lot of flags, and immediately people begin to question whether you’re an academic or an activist. It’s one thing if somebody was studying these things. It’s another if you’re invested in them and studying them. That’s been a really difficult challenge, how to toe that line.

It’s a lot of unknowns, like you’re saying. For me, I’m leaving the choice to myself. I write about what I find the most interesting, intriguing, because that’s what’s the most authentic, and that’s the work that I do best, when I enjoy what I’m doing. But there is great risk in doing the work in that way. I feel like that’s the risk that’s worth taking. I want to know that I spent all the time I had breathing, able-bodied and able-minded, to produce the work that I thought was critical and necessary, rather than produce the work that I thought was going to help me climb some sort of career ladder.

HK: Because at the end, you always get exposed anyway.

NE: Maybe it’s about getting exposed, but I feel like it’s between you and yourself. What is it that you want at the end of the day? What is going to make you happy? So, yeah, I’m taking a risk, but everything else that I’ve done has been a risk. Right?

HK: Yeah. And with all of these risks, what are the joys of being an educator?

NE: Oh my God, the students. There’s so much tremendous joy. There’s so much tremendous joy in their capacity and their imagination and their passion, and the community that they create with one another. In finding folks who want to create an alternative world based on a place of love and a place of vision and a place of hope and a place of faith. All of that is joyful. I believe that the revolution will be full of joy. I know the revolution to be full of joy. It’s also full of tremendous heartache, but we already know that, right? But when we fight, we don’t just fight because we’re sad and because we’re angry. We fight because we believe we can. We believe we can. We believe we should.

HK: And we have no choice.

NE: We believe we are better. And that’s so joyful.

HK: And that also takes me to the very last question that I’ll ask: What is the world that you’d like to see?

NE: Well, there’s the really nerdy answer, which is to see a world where if we are to have governments, the governments are to be run by people for the sake of people, where profit is not a determinative logic, where the distribution of wealth is not concomitant with some neo-liberal equation of productivity and earnings and market formulations, but rather based on need. That’s a world that I would love to live in.

I would like to live in a world where we’re actually honoring the earth. We are depleting this earth at such a fast rate, at such a disrespectful rate, that we’re not going to have an earth to even divide by the time we figure out how to get along with one another and get over our human conflict. That’s why billionaires are trying to figure out their exit route to Mars and life elsewhere. Environmentalism isn’t this side thing. It’s central to everything that we do, and it’s entwined with indigenous justice as well, people who have already told us how to treat this earth and how to make it sustainable.

HK: That’s beautiful. Well, thank you so much. Is there anything that you wanted to say that we didn’t get to touch on?

NE: One of the things that made me most excited about the invitation by Suited, the first thing I thought of, was that I wanted Rami Kashou to dress me, because I saw him on Project Runway and he didn’t identify as a Palestinian. I knew he was Palestinian, but he was just out there being a designer, and in watching him, I found freedom. I thought, that is what freedom will mean for Palestinians, when they can just be in the world and not have to be defined by our fight. We can just be defined by whoever we want to be. “I’ve been fangirling you for 12 years. You want to dress me?” So we meet, and he dresses me, and if you notice … I don’t know if you’ve seen the photos.

HK: I haven’t.

NE: It’s like artwork. Literally the only other person who’d worn what I wore for this photo shoot was a mannequin at a museum. It is exactly what I envision the future of Palestine to be, which is taking our tradition and our history and our past, but not going back to it or being stuck in it. It’s taking it and creating something absolutely new and visionary. It’s Palestinian futurism, and it was … that is such a central piece of the photo shoot, of this story, of what art is doing, of my own vision of: What does it take for us to create these new futures? And at the heart of it, it means not being afraid to dream.