koko-poco-blog

[koko-poco-blog]

Quick sneak peek for my new angsty SidLink one-shot! It’s still in the works (not even edited yet lol), but it should be done soon :)

[koko-poco-blog]

Who We Are Chapter 2: Escape- Run

If you see any errors or mistakes, please let me know!

Enjoy!! :)

-Koko

If you like the story, don’t forget to like and reblog!

Title: Who We Are

Genre: Action/Adventure, Romance, Crossover FanFiction: Hetalia x Skyrim

Rating: SFW ( Note: some material may be NSFW and will tagged as such)

Synopsis: “Sometimes life puts you in difficult circumstances you didn’t choose. But being happy or unhappy is a choice you make, and I’ve chosen to make the best of things that I can.”

Ludwig had just been arrested in an ambush, almost executed, and escaped a dragon attack through a collapsing tunnel-way.  Now he’s been told that he’s the legendary Dragonborn and must stop an ancient dragon from devouring the world. Feliciano is an enchanter, mage, and an apprentice in the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun who wishes to find what he’s missing in his life. After a chance meeting, together these two will begin their long journey to save the world and find the answers that they’ve sought, though they may end up gaining more questions than they do clarity. A GerIta twist to the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim game.

Trigger Warnings Here.

Story Below the Cut

And the Scrolls have foretold of black wings in the cold, That when brothers wage war come unfurled! Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, With a hunger to swallow the world!

Ludwig was frozen. He stared and watched in horror as the creature reared it’s head back and thrust it back forward with a blood-curdling screech, sending everyone left standing reeling backwards.

The clouds behind it gathered and swirled, turning a dark intimidating grey. It shouted again, and Ludwig found himself being dragged to his feet, the fear-fueled adrenaline pumping energy back into his veins.

He steadied himself on his feet, and looked up. Before him stood Ralof, pulling him up.

“Hey, kinsman. Get up!” he shouted over the screams of the crowd and the dragon’s roaring. “Come on, the gods won’t give us another chance! This way!”

Ludwig stumbled the first few steps, but managed to follow him into another tower. As he ran through the entrance, Ralof slammed it shut, locking it behind him.

On the stone floor was one of the Stormcloak prisoners, tending to the female soldier that had cursed the Imperials before. Her leg was bleeding profusely, even with the now blood-soaked cloth pressed firmly against the wound. Beside her lay another unconscious Stormcloak, his breathing shallow and ragged.

Ludwig knelt down to her, examining her leg. “Will they be alright?” he asked, ignoring the raw pain in his throat.

“They’re hurt, but they’ll live. Another second out there with the dragon, and they’d both be dead…” The soldier grimaced and looked down to the injured.

Ralof looked to Ulfric, who was standing by the keep entrance removing his gag from his mouth and spitting at the ground.

“Jarl Ulfric! What was that thing? Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don’t burn down villages,” the Jarl grumbled, his voice rough and scratchy from being gagged for such an extended period of time. “We need to move, now!”

“Up through the tower,” Ralof ordered to the group. “Let’s go!”

The standing Stormcloak ushered Ludwig to follow Ralof up the tower staircase. He hesitated, but complied after a short moment and jogged to catch up with him.

A Stormcloak was already up on the first landing, throwing pieces of collapsed stone out of the way.

“We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way-“

“Yor… Toor… Shul!”

The wall abruptly burst in on itself, taking the Stormcloak with it and crushing him in the rubble. Ludwig and Ralof immediately receded back down a few steps, stumbling and having to lean against the intact wall for balance.

The dragon’s head was visible through the large hole, and the two men crouched down so that it wouldn’t detect them.  At this close of a distance, the creature was even more terrifying than before, and Ludwig felt as if he were to vomit then and there.

It only took a few seconds for the dragon to breath fire through the new opening and take off again, searching for more prey to terrorize.

Ralof swore, then pointed through the immense hole left behind at a ruined, burning building and spoke to Ludwig. “See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!”

Ludwig began to protest, but Ralof shoved him forward up the a few steps. “Go! We’ll follow when we can!”

Ludwig watched as he descended the stairs, then decided that he would put his faith into these men. He backed up a few paces, counted down from three, and rushed forward.

The sensation of falling as wind whipped around him and smacked his face made him feel almost weightless, as if he were flying. When he landed, the force of the shock from the hard contact between his feet and the wooden floor shot immense pain up Ludwig's legs, causing his knees to buckle and he collapsed to the floor. It took much effort for him to stand on both feet and rush to an opening in the floor, where he fell another, shorter, distance.

He ignored the throbbing in his legs as he ran outside to see the soldier with the list with an elder villager and the father of the boy whom had been ushered inside. Both the soldier and the elder had their weapons drawn, and the boy appeared to be frozen in fear as he watched the dragon destroy his home.

"Haming," the soldier yelled, "you need to get over here! Now!"

The boy seemed to find his senses and ran back to them just as the dragon landed a nearly a mere hundred feet, making him stumble and fall. Ludwig felt a moment of panic as the boy scrambled to his feet and sprinted to the soldier and his father.

The dragon bellowed fire at the boy just as turned off the stone path, the deathly heat missing him by inches.

The father stumbled and fell, caught in the blast.

The soldier screamed his name. "Gods... Everyone, get back!"

Yol... Toor... Shul!

The three hid behind the rubble of a fallen house, protected from the dragon's flaming breath. Ludwig joined them.

"Still alive, prisoner?" The soldier asked, giving him a quick glance. "Stay with me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar," he turned to the elder, "take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join their defense."

The elder nodded. "Gods guide you, Hadvar." With that, the soldier- Hadvar, Ludwig now knew- dashed off, Ludwig in tow. They ran down the path where the dragon previously stood, passing the father's dead corpse, and through a small alley between the village wall and a house.

The dragon dropped down on top of the wall from the sky, blowing another attack in its strange tongue. The two men crouched down against the wall to hide from the beast. Once it passed, they started once more, through the ruins of burning cottages and the bodies of Imperials, villagers, and Stormcloaks alike.

While running, Ludwig tripped and ran his shoulder into a burning log, sending him reeling back with a cry of pain. After giving himself a second of pause before dashing after Hadvar again, trying to think of anything but the burning pain pulsing through his shoulder and arm.

"It's you and me prisoner. Stay close!" Hadvar shouted back as they ran past injured soldiers and villagers. Everything was in ruin and chaos, and Ludwig found himself running purely on adrenaline and fear.

As they approached the entrance to another keep, Ralof appeared running from beyond the rubble of the side.

They all stood there for a moment, Ralof and Hadvar staring each other down.

"Ralof!" Hadvar shouted. "You damned traitor. Out of my way!"

"We're escaping, Hadvar," Ralof said cooly. "You're not stopping us this time."

Hadvar glared daggers at him. "Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."

Ralof looked over to Ludwig, beginning to run towards his direction. "You! Come on, into the keep!"

Hadvar ran towards the front of the keep, while Ralof grabbed Ludwig's wrist and led him around the back to another door. Ralof began working on the locks as he spoke. "I can cut you loose inside!"

The dragon flew by and breathed fire where they were all previously standing just moments ago, the power of its strong wings causing Ludwig to stumble.

Ralof made a sound of approval as the lock gave, and the door swung open. As he was ushered inside, Ludwig could have sworn he had heard someone speak, and turned around to look outside.

Hin sil fen nahkip bahloki.

The door slammed shut, and the screaming was replaced by silence.

[koko-poco-blog]

Me: *finds fic*

“Warning- major character death”

Me: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Me: @ 3:39 a.m

[koko-poco-blog]

Who We Are Chapter One: Execution

If you see any errors or mistakes, please let me know!

Enjoy!! :)

-Koko

If you like the story, don’t forget to like and reblog!

Title: Who We Are

Genre: Action/Adventure, Romance, Crossover FanFiction: Hetalia x Skyrim

Rating: SFW ( Note: some material may be NSFW and will tagged as such)

Synopsis: “Sometimes life puts you in difficult circumstances you didn’t choose. But being happy or unhappy is a choice you make, and I’ve chosen to make the best of things that I can.”

Ludwig had just been arrested in an ambush, almost executed, and escaped a dragon attack through a collapsing tunnel-way.  Now he’s been told that he’s the legendary Dragonborn and must stop an ancient dragon from devouring the world. Feliciano is an enchanter, mage, and an apprentice in the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun who wishes to find what he’s missing in his life. After a chance meeting, together these two will begin their long journey to save the world and find the answers that they’ve sought, though they may end up gaining more questions than they do clarity. A GerIta twist to the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim game.

Trigger Warnings Here.

Story Below the Cut.

Ludwig was silent as the soldier looked back down to the list, his brows furrowing deeper. He turned to the commanding officer.

“Captain. What should we do? He’s not on the list.”

She held a look of indifference. “Forget the list. He goes to the block,” she stated curtly. The soldier gave her a look of uncertainty, but did not remark on her decision.

“By your orders, Captain. Follow the Captain, prisoner.” Ludwig felt the lump return as he moved forward. The soldier put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him as he leaned in and quietly spoke in his ear.

“You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman. I’m sorry. At least you’ll die here, in your homeland.” The soldier released Ludwig’s shoulder and moved away.

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

He continued following the commanding officer the rest of the way to the small group, and watched as General Tullius approached Ulfric.

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” he began. “Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn’t use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.”

Ulfric merely replied with a muffled grunt.

“You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos,” he continued, “and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace.”

As one of the Stormcloaks was directed to the executioner’s block, a distant roar-like noise cut across the silence, gaining the attention of the crowd. Ludwig wasn’t sure why, but it made him uneasy, and he shifted uncomfortably as his heart pounded restlessly in his ears. He noticed Ulfric watching him, and could feel the intensity of his stare.

He didn’t dare meet eyes with him.

The soldier whom had read off the lists looked up to the sky, searching for a sign of the bellow’s source. “What was that?”

“It’s nothing,” Tullius said curtly, seemingly annoyed. “Carry on.”

“Yes, General Tullius,” the commanding officer said dutifully, then turned to a nearby priestess. “Give them their last rites.”

Ulfric looked back to the front.

The priestess walked up to the front of the block and raised her arms, beginning her prayers for the prisoners. “As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for are the salt of Nirn, our beloved-“

“For the love of Talos, shut up and let’s get this over with,” one of the Stormcloaks growled and made his way to the block.

She shot him an irritated glare. “As you wish,” she said crossly, and stepped back.

“Come on,” the Stormcloak snapped at the executioner, “I haven’t got all morning.” The commanding officer put a hand on the Stormcloak’s back and shoved him to his knees, then used the heel of her foot to force him to the ground, his neck pressed to the block.

“My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials,” he said. “Can you say the same?” The executioner raised the heavy axe over his head, and swung it down. There was a collective sharp intake of breath as his head fell into a wooden crate, and the commanding officer kicked his dead body aside. Ludwig felt his blood run cold.

“You Imperial bastards!” a female Sormcloak cried in fury. Ludwig pitied them, having to watch the heads of their brothers and sisters in arms roll in such a crude manner.

A few of the villagers cheered.

“Death to the stormcloaks!” a woman hollered, and Ludwig could see Ralof look to the ground from the corner of his eye, his jaw set and Adam’s apple bobbing a couple times. Ludwig looked the other way.

“As fearless in death as he was in life,” Ralof said quietly.

“Next, the Nord in rags!” the commanding officer ordered, and Ludwig felt his heart leap to his throat.

Another roar howled again, closer this time. The soldier with the list seemed even more unsettled, and Ludwig felt his stomach twist.

“There it is again. Did you hear that?” the soldier asked, but the commanding officer ignored him.

“I said, next prisoner!”

It was his turn, now.

Why was he here? How did it come to this, he wondered. For what crime was he to be executed for? All he wished was to find his brother, nothing more.

His brother, whom had left home and disappeared; whom he swore to his father he would find before he left home himself.

He could not die here, not like this. Not when he was so close.

His brother was waiting.

Please, he prayed to all Eight Divines, not now. I can’t die yet.

“To the block, prisoner,” the soldier said to him sympathetically. “Nice and easy.”

He was led over by an Imperial’s grip on his forearm. He could feel his knees turning to jelly as he knelt in front of the stone block, the dead Stormcloak’s body not even having been bothered to be moved. The force of a shoving foot was applied to his back, and he felt the freezing stone against his neck, a strange contrast to the still hot blood staining it. He was face to face with the decapitated head in the crate, the stench of death already wafting to his nose.

The soldier’s eyes were still open.

Ludwig turned his head away.

He saw the executioner, his face hidden by a black leather mask. He saw something move in in the sky in his peripheral vision, momentarily assuming it to be a large bird or falcon as the headsman began to raise the axe over his head.

Just as he began to swing it down, and Ludwig was going to shut his eyes tight, he heard Tullius shout in fear as a giant figure dropped heavily atop the tower behind the headsman.

“What in Oblivion is that?!”

“Sentries!” the commanding officer called, “What do you see?!”

“It’s in the clouds!” Ludwig could hear someone shout, but he stared at the figure in disbelief as the headsman fell forward with an unheard grunt.

This wasn’t happening. This was impossible, a thing only ever mentions in fairytales and myths.

Someone screamed.

“Dragon!”

[koko-poco-blog]

Who We Are Prologue

If you see any errors or mistakes, please let me know!

Enjoy!! :)

-Koko

If you like the story, don’t forget to like and reblog!

Title: Who We Are

Genre: Action/Adventure, Romance, Crossover FanFiction: Hetalia x Skyrim

Rating: SFW ( Note: some material may be NSFW and will tagged as such)

Synopsis: “Sometimes life puts you in difficult circumstances you didn’t choose. But being happy or unhappy is a choice you make, and I’ve chosen to make the best of things that I can.”

Ludwig had just been arrested in an ambush, almost executed, and escaped a dragon attack through a collapsing tunnel-way.  Now he’s been told that he’s the legendary Dragonborn and must stop an ancient dragon from devouring the world. Feliciano is an enchanter, mage, and an apprentice in the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun who wishes to find what he’s missing in his life. After a chance meeting, together these two will begin their long journey to save the world and find the answers that they’ve sought, though they may end up gaining more questions than they do clarity. A GerIta twist to the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim game.

Trigger Warnings Here.

Story Below the Cut.

Darkness.

It surrounded him, made his shoulders and arms stiff and his neck ache. It was when thinking of this ache he suddenly realized the pounding in his skull, reverberating off its interior walls.

He felt an intense cotton-like pressure in his ears, and through it heard the muffled sounds of what he believed to be bits of conversation.

It took effort to slowly crack open his heavy eyes, the lids wanting to stay glued together, but he managed to break the darkness. After a moment of blinding light, he saw the figures of sitting men through the thin sliver cut through the black. He tried speaking, but choked and began coughing, the rough contractions making his esophagus feel raw.

The figures seemed to shift to look at him, and he thought one of them may have said something, but the darkness took over again before he could make the words out through the cotton.

Voices; deep and low.

He could hear them conversing, just beyond his dreamless rest; dragging him back to the world of consciousness.

He slowly opened his eyes, little slivers first and then full blinks. He forced them to stay open, willed them not to seal shut again. He gave a sighing groan of effort, and tried to move his arms to stretch them, only to find an un-budging force of resistance. He looked down.

His hands were bound at the wrists by thick rope.

“Hey, you,” a voice said. “You’re finally awake.” He turned toward the voice, let his eyes focus. In front of him sat a man with long, filthy blonde hair matted to his dirt-covered face, wearing the ever-familiar quilted leather and chain mail armor, a blue cloth draped across his chest and over his shoulders; a Stormcloak, rebel to the Imperial army.

He saw that the man wore similar bindings to his own.

“You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.” the Stormcloak continued in his thick Nordic accent.

He stayed silent. They passed through snow-covered mountains and forest, following a winding path of stone.

“Damn you Stormcloaks,” another man spoke to the right of him. The other man wore stained rags and no shoes. His face was even more caked with dirt than the previous man. “Skyrim was fine until you came along,” the man scowled. “Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and have been halfway to Hammerfell. You there…”

The man turned to him. “You and me, we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief,” the Stormcloak spoke with a resigned tone.

“Shut up back there!” someone yelled from the front; an Imperial soldier.

He was suddenly struck with the realization that he was stuck in the back of a wooden prison carriage, being carted away to Talos knows where. He felt his pulse quicken, and his hands became clammy with hot sweat.

“And what’s wrong with him, huh?” the horse thief asked with disdain, looking to another man who sat across from him. The man wore much nicer clothes than the other two; clothes of a noble status. His hands were bound like the others, too, and his clothing was torn and stained with blood and dirt. His mouth was gagged.

“Watch your tongue,” the Stormcloak scolded. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.”

Ulfric Stormcloak. The leader of the Stormcloak rebels. If he remembered correctly, he had killed the previous High King of Skyrim, using some strange power. He did not remember much more detail about the incident.

“Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion, “ the horse thief said in astonishment, then fear. “But if they’ve captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?”

He didn’t want to think about that.

“I don’t know where we’re going,” the Stormcloak replied, “but Sovengarde awaits.”

“No,” the horse thief’s voice shook, “this can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.”

They were nearing the gates of a village, following another cart in front of them. They were led by more Imperial soldiers.

“Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?” the Stormcloak asked the thief, and the thief looked at him in annoyed puzzlement.

“Why do you care?”

They passed homes and villagers who had gathered along the sides of the stone path to watch them pass.

“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”

The horse thief was silent for a moment, then said, “Rorikstead… I’m from Rorikstead.”

“General Tullius, sir!” an Imperial voice greeted, and the four men looked back to the front. He recognized a man as an Imperial general. “The headsman is waiting!”

The headsman. He didn’t want to think about the context of that statement.

“Good,” the general- Tullius- said. “Let’s get this over with.” He pulled out of formation from the front of the line on horseback, moving over to a few Thalmor on the sidelines.

“Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh,” the horse thief prayed. “Divines, please help me.”

“Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor,” the Stormcloak glowered. “And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.”

The Stormcloak paused.

“This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with the juniper berries mixed in.” The Stormcloak’s voice held a tone of melancholy. “Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

“Who are they, Daddy?” a small boy from the crowd asked, watching them pass. “Where are they going?”

The father began to usher the boy inside. “You need to go inside, little cub.”

“Why?” the child insisted. “I want to watch the soldiers.”

“Inside the house, now.” The father’s tone was firm, and the boy gave in.

“Yes, papa.” The child disappeared into the house.

“Whoa!” the driver shouted, pulling on the rains.

The carriages stopped.

“Get these prisoners out of the carts,” the commanding officer ordered. “Move!”

“Why are we stopping?” the horse thief asked with panic.

“What do you think?” the Stormcloak asked, as if the man was dumb. “End of the line. Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.”

The Imperials unloaded them off the carts and grouped them together before a commanding officer and a soldier with a quill and a piece of parchment.

“No!” the thief shouted, his panic rising. “Wait! We’re not rebels!”

“Face your death with some courage, thief,” the Stormcloak chided him for his cowardice.

“You’ve got to tell them!” the thief cried. “We weren’t with you! This is a mistake!”

“Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time,” the commanding officer spoke, ignoring the thief’s cries.

“Empire loves their damn lists,” the Stormcloak muttered.

The soldier began calling off names. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.”

Ulfric stepped forward, meeting Tullius’s gaze with his own unwaveringly impassive one. He walked past and stopped before the block.

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!” the Stormcloak shouted to his leader.

The soldier continued. “Ralof of Riverwood.”

As Ralof, the Stormcloak soldier, passed to join Ulfric, he and the soldier with the list shared a look of familiarity, before both looking away.

“Lokir of Rorikstead.”

“No, I’m not a rebel. You can’t do this!” the thief- Lokir- yelled. He began to sprint past the soldier and down the path, sending the rest of the Imperials into a commotion.

“Halt!” the commanding officer yelled, but Lokir continued his sprint without looking back.

“You’re not going to kill me!”

“Archers!” the commanding officer commanded, and a few Imperial soldiers pulled out their bows, aimed for Lokir, and fired. He was down in seconds, and did not move again.

The commanding officer turned back to the crowd of prisoners as the archers replaced their bows. She gave them a pointed look. “Anyone else feel like running?”

There was a long moment of silence as no one spoke up. They would face their death with pride.

She looked to the soldier with the list and gave a curt nod. The soldier looked back down to the parchment, then looked back up again, his brows furrowed.

“Wait. You there.” The soldier motioned to him, the only one left from that cart. “Step forward.”

He was still for a moment, his body refusing to move. He forced his feet to shift towards the soldier, then slowly walk, until he was within a few feet of the man.

“Who,” the soldier asked, “are you?”

He swallowed the strangling lump of panicky fear down, straightened his back, and squared his shoulders.  If he would die, it would be with dignity.

He spoke with a blank, stony face and a prideful tone.

“Ludwig Beilschmidt.”

[koko-poco-blog]

ATTENTION!!

First, I must apologize for my absence. A lot has happened this past year, and I have been struggling to adjust and keep up with everything. However, I can happily say that I have returned to writing and am going to be active again!! :D

I can assure you guys that I’m still writing Who We Are and Breaking Point, and even have drafts for another Hetalia short-series, and two stories for LOZ: Breath of the Wild!

However, I went over what I’ve written for Who We Are and Breaking Point, and have decided to re-vamp the chapters I have up. I am happy and more satisfied with the edits I’ve made, and I think you guys will be too. I also have more chapters drafted for both of them, and they will be up once they’ve been edited and revised.

I’m really looking forward to getting back into writing, especially since I really enjoy writing Breaking Point and Who We Are and the new ideas I’ve come up with for them and for new stories. 

I’m going to have to take down the chapters I’ve already posted so I can replace them, but keep an eye out for updates!!

Thank you for all your patience, and I hope to hear from you guys soon!

~ With Love, Koko

[koko-poco-blog]

Attention: Stories Collection Feature

Hey there, guys! This post was made to introduce all of you to the new Stories Collection feature. The link for this page is located furthest to the right in the ribbon on top of the PC screen.

This feature was created specifically to help you guys easily keep track of and find chapters to specific stories. The stories are currently groupedd into two different categories: Multi-Chaptered ( Breaking Point, Who We Are) and Short Stories (Mama’s Girl). Later on, more categories may emerge, like Poetry, Drabbles/One-Shots, ect.

This was all made for your guys’ convenience, so please, use this feature at your leisure. If there are ever any issues with the page or the links, then please let me know!

Thank you for your time, and enjoy!! :)

~ With Love, Koko

[koko-poco-blog]

Breaking Point Chapter Five

If you see any errors or mistakes, please let me know!

Enjoy!! :)

-Koko

If you like the story, you have permission to reblog the post!

Title: Breaking Point

Genre: Murder, Romance, FanFiction: APH Spamano

Rating: SFW ( Note: some material may be NSFW and will tagged as such)

Synopsis: When Antonio gets a surprise visit from Lovino, he’s certainly not expecting to find his lover shaken and covered in blood. After learning of Lovino’s fatal encounter with a fellow employee, Antonio makes the decision to make sure that Lovino is safe from suspicion and imprisonment with the help of old lawyer friend Abel; even if it means sacrificing himself. ( Based off of this.)

Trigger Warnings Here.

Story under the cut.

  He turned his head, and felt his entire body freeze. He felt the blood drain from his face, his eyes widening slightly as the two men approached him, dressed in their fancy black suits and ties. One of them flashed their badge.

  Lovino felt his blood run cold. No no no; what were they doing here? Where were Antonio and Abel? Had they already found them out so quickly?

  "Lovino Vargas," the man said with a look of indifference, "We were wondering if we could have a word with you."

  Anxious. That was how Lovino felt as he sat in Laura and Abel's living room, one of the two policemen pacing in front of him while the other sat opposite of Lovino.

  The officer that sat across from him had a nonchalant face, devoid of any expression other than immense boredom. His hair was just barely light enough to be considered a platinum blond. Light streaming from the windows behind him reflected off the metal of the cross clip that held his locks back on one side, a stray curl sticking out to the side and out of the clip's grasp.

  The officer ignored his more active companion, arms and legs crossed and his slate blue eyes trained on Lovino.

  The officer pacing in front of Lovino, he could already tell, was a much more hyper fellow than his tired looking friend. He was a bit taller than the officer on the couch, his strides longer and exaggerated as he walked back and forth. His sandy hair was swept up to the side in a gravity-defying way, reminding Lovino of Abel.

  However, unlike Abel, this man was much more energetic, rapidly speaking in a way that Lovino could not understand, nor comprehend how he could last so long without taking a breath. The man had hard features, but not so sharp that it was intimidating, as Abel's was, and bright eyes that Lovino couldn't decide were a more of a sky blue or a sort of dodger blue.

  It was during this contemplation that Lovino had realized his brother's art lessons had rubbed off on him, a twang of irritation stinging him before the sick nervousness returned.

  He wished that he had gotten a chance to drink that ginger ale.

  "You knew Castor Lenden, correct?" the active one asked. Lovino believed that he had introduced himself as some name that started with an M, and that the other one was named something like Luke. He didn't remember, as he had been distracted by the fact that the police had found him and he had a high chance of ruining everything that Antonio and Abel had worked for.

  "He was a coworker of mine," he replied, trying his best to keep his usual, somewhat grumpy, attitude. He wasn't sure how well he was doing.

  The officer didn't seem to notice.

  "What was your relationship with Lenden?" the officer, who Lovino just decided to call M, continued to interrogate. Lovino cringed.

  "He..." he began, then paused to think."We... weren't exactly the best of friends..."

  "We were told that the two of you were rather aggressive towards each other," the other officer, who Lovino decided was L, interjected. His demeanor didn't change, unsettling Lovino. It felt as if he could see right through him.

  "A-Aggressive..." he repeated, mentally cursing himself for stammering.

  "According to our sources," M continued for L, "There were at least three incidents where the two of you were involved in a heated argument, and once you broke out fighting." He paused, staring so that his blue orbs met Lovino's olive ones. "The last one being the day Lenden was last seen at work."

  Lovino pursed his lips. "Yeah," admitted, "We had a... Disagreement, and he threw a punch at me, but that doesn't mean that I killed him. How he died- that had nothing to do with me. He was an asshole..." He trailed off, looking down to stare at his clasped hands, resting in his lap. "... But that doesn't mean that he deserved to die like that."

  "Where were you that night?"

  "I left work around seven and went to the bar with my buddy, Abel. We were there 'till- " Lovino paused, his stomach doing a flip.

  Shit. He couldn't remember what time he and Abel were to supposed to have left. He felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face, and he had to resist the urge to wipe it away. Think dammit, think, he scolded himself. What fucking time was it-

  "Ten," he blurted. "That's right, it was around ten. I got wasted, and he dropped me off at my boyfriend, Antonio's apartment. I spent the night there."

  Lovino silently sucked in a breath, holding it. The two officers were silent, carefully watching him; he felt their stares on him like headlights and closed his eyes. After a moment of silence that seemed to last forever, the bored looking officer moved, hoisting himself up from the couch. He dug around the inside of his suit jacket, pulling out a small card.

  "Thank you for your time, Mr. Vargas," he said, holding out the card to him. "Here's my business card, in case there's anything other information you find out or anything else that you remember."

  Lovino carefully accepted the business card, hesitating for only a second. "Thank you," he said, glancing over the thick paper in his hand.

Lukas Bondevik.

  Lukas, that was his name, not Luke. He still couldn't remember M's name, though.

  "Thank you," he mumbled, stuffing it into his pocket. Lukas nodded and him before looking to his partner.

"Let's go, Matthias. We have what we need, for now."

  M, or Matthias Lovino now knew, seemed to pout a little, but obliged, following Lukas out of the living room. Lovino slowly moved back to the armchair, easing himself in and staring at the wall in a daze as he listened to the two officers thanking Laura before leaving. He watched through the windows as they walked to a black SUV with police light bars attached to the hood, stopping in front of the vehicle to speak for a moment before climbing in the front seats and driving off.

Lovino sat there for another few minutes, staring in the direction from where they left, thinking. When the thought of Antonio and Abel entered his mind again, he immediately jumped out of the armchair, darting through the kitchen and past Lauren.

  He threw open the backdoor, calling their names. Antonio and Abel's heads whipped in his direction to look at him. Antonio bolted up out of the chair, causing it to fall over. The sound of iron clashing against the stone of the patio rang through the silence of the backyard, ringing in Lovino's ears. Antonio rushed to him, enveloping him into a tight him with his long arms, burying his face into Lovino's hair.

  "Jesus," he breathed. "I didn't think... I mean, they just broadcasted it on the news this morning..."

  "They must have known about it longer," Abel recommended. "It wouldn't be the first time they altered information for the public."

  Lovino somehow managed to find comfort in Antonio's embrace, his racing pulse slowing. He rested his forehead against Antonio's shoulder, closing his eyes. After sitting back down at the patio table, Antonio picking up and replacing the chair he had knocked over, Antonio and Abel asked about what exactly had happened.

  Lovino described the previous events with the officers to them, telling them of how they had suddenly shown up in the kitchen before sitting him back down in the living room and asking questions about himself and Lenden. Abel asked for him to retell the alibi he told the two officers. When he repeated the tale, both he and Antonio visibly relaxed.

  "Good," Abel said. "It's good that you remembered." He paused, thinking. "... I suppose it's also good that you had to think about it, to give off such a sense of normalcy. The average person probably wouldn't remember something as trivial as another night to the bar, especially three months ago."

  Abel’s words didn’t make Lovino feel any better. He could still feel the tenseness of his body from his earlier anxiety rush.

  The backdoor opened, and the three men looked to see Laura walk out, a tray covered with the speculaas cookies and some refreshments. Lovino could still see the steam rising from the cookies as she set the tray down and pulled up another chair. She reached over and took a glass filled with a fizzing clear liquid, coupled with ice, before handing it to Lovino.

  “Here’s that ginger ale you wanted,” she said, and he thanked her, taking a sip of the carbonated beverage and feeling the dissolved carbon dioxide bubbles fill his mouth and move down his throat. He paused, the feeling of the carbonation a little overwhelming, and saw as Antonio and Abel took their own cups of lemonade, thanking Laura.

  “So,” Laura began once everyone settled down, gaining their attention, “Who wants to explain to me why there were two police officers in my living room?”

  The three men exchanged a look before Abel spoke up.

  “They were here looking for information on the murder we heard over the radio this morning,” he said. Laura crossed her arms, giving him a look of scrutiny.

  “Try being a little more elaborate,” she pushed, obviously wanting a complete answer. She knew how Abel could work with his words.  “What does that have to do with Lovino?”

  He also knew this, as well, and cut as close to the chase as he was willing to.

  “Lovino used to work with him, and they didn’t like each other, always arguing or fighting. They wanted to see what Lovino had to say.”

  Laura watched him, not breaking eye contact. It was impossible to miss the obvious communication they shared with each other as siblings.

  “So in other words,” she said, “They think Lovino killed this person?”

  Lovino clenched his fists as his stomach did another roll, beginning to feel a little dizzy. If you only knew, he silently lamented. If she knew the truth, how would she look at him? How would she associate him with? With disgust? Fear?

  She would look at him like a stranger, as if they had never known each other since they were children.

  “I don’t know about that, but they apparently feel that they have reason to question it, or they wouldn’t have come to see him,” Abel sighed, taking a sip of his cold beverage as he looked over the garden.

  Laura still didn’t look satisfied, but must have accepted that it was all that she was going to get. She sighed, reached over to Lovino and resting a hand on his knee, giving it what was meant to be a reassuring squeeze.

  “Don’t worry, Lovino,” she said. “We’ll make sure this gets all cleared up.”

  Despite her good intentions, Lovino felt like he was going to throw up again, taking another quick swig of his ginger ale. He could see Antonio cast him a look of concern from the corner of his eye.

  He coughed, turning his face into the crook of his elbow. He took this time to quickly mentally prepare himself before turning back with a look of annoyance.

  “I know.”

[koko-poco-blog]

Breaking Point Chapter Four

If you see any errors or mistakes, please let me know!

Enjoy!! :)

-Koko

If you like the story, you have permission to reblog the post!

Title: Breaking Point

Genre: Murder, Romance, FanFiction: APH Spamano

Rating: SFW ( Note: some material may be NSFW and will tagged as such)

Synopsis: When Antonio gets a surprise visit from Lovino, he’s certainly not expecting to find his lover shaken and covered in blood. After learning of Lovino’s fatal encounter with a fellow employee, Antonio makes the decision to make sure that Lovino is safe from suspicion and imprisonment with the help of old lawyer friend Abel; even if it means sacrificing himself. ( Based off of this.)

Trigger Warnings Here.

Story Below the Cut.

     "I love having you boys over, but would it kill you to call first?" Laura sighed as she rushed about the kitchen. She carried a bowl of flour to the counter and mixed in brown sugar, along other dry ingredients before using the electric mixer. The air was filled with the smell of spices that made Lovino's nose itch.

   Antonio easily gave her a cheerful grin, and offered to help with the baking.

   "Thank you dear, but I think Abe's waiting for you in the garden. I can't believe he didn't tell me you guys were coming over." She pouted, and Antonio gave her a quick hug.

   "Well, after we talk with him in the garden, we can all hang out over some tea an your delicious speculaas. I think we could all use some of your wonderful baking, sí?" he said, and she huffed, turning to lightly pat his cheek.

   "Oh hush with your sweet talk. Now go on, don't keep Abel waiting any longer." She shooed the two men outback, and they began their trek down the roughly carved stone stairs that led the way down the small hill. Lovino had tripped and nearly fallen when walking up and down the stairs multiple times.

   Paths branched from the stairs, winding through red brick-bordered beds of soil where Abel's beloved tulips grew. At the bottom of the hill was a river that ran under a small wooden bridge. Lovino remembered when Antonio had helped Abel built this bridge many years ago while he and Lauren had been cleaning the house, after they moved here from the Netherlands.

   This is where Abel was now, occupied with planting new climbing ivy and honeysuckle around the garden fence that bordered the perimeter of the garden, just in front of the bridge. There was already some butterfly vine and white clematis growing along the unfinished and weathered planks of the fence, a beautiful combination of yellow and white. It would become even more beautiful once the honeysuckle and ivy began to grow, he was sure. It would add a nice sort of charm to the garden; make it feel homey.

   When they reached the bottom of the hill, Abel looked up from his work. He squinted his eyes against the light of then sun, despite the shade of the straw garden hat perched on his head. Antonio gave a small wave, and Abel set down his spade before standing, wiping his hands on his pants, and looking up to face them.

   "I saw the news," he stated bluntly, and Antonio's facial muscles twitched, his smile falling a little.

   "Ah, yeah, that's kind of what we wanted to talk to you about," he admitted, and rested a hand on the small of Lovino's back. "I was also wondering if you had some stuff to help Lovi with his nervous nausea."

   Lovino blushed lightly and mumbled a profanity under his breath, embarrassed. It wasn't his fault he felt sick every time the murder was mentioned. It was only natural to be sickened by the crime, even if he himself committed it.

   Right?

   Abel nodded, slipping his hat off so that it hung from the cord around his neck, and ran a hand through his hair in attempt to repair its former spikiness.

     "We can talk on the porch." He led them up the stairs, pausing once to lift his rabbit into his arms. It nuzzled against the warmth of his body, which had been warmed by the rays of the sun.

   Once they reached the porch, he bent down to release the rabbit. He then straightened and took the hat from around his neck, hanging it on a hook that had been drilled into the wall. With a heavy sigh, he plopped himself into one of the wrought iron chairs that surrounded a matching table. Antonio busied himself with cranking the umbrella open, while Lovino sat down in one of the chairs across from Abel, listening as the pulleys of the umbrella worked at Antonio's command.

   It was when Antonio sat next to Lovino, slipping a hand in his, that Abel began.

   "For now," he said, "we just wait for them to link either of you to the crime. We stick to the alibi, no matter what. I've already assured that we have witnesses to prove Lovino and I were at the bar."

   "Witnesses?" Lovino interrupted, confused. "How? We were never even-"

   "Yes, we were," Abel cut him off in a firm tone that left no room with argument, leaning forward so that his arms rested on the tedious iron work of the table. "We were at the bar that night. However..." he paused for a moment, a glint in his eye. "It's very useful, sometimes, to have friends in many places." 

   Lovino was still unsure, an unsettled feeling bothering his gut, causing it to squirm inside of him. It almost felt as if they were forgetting something, and it made him anxious; paranoid, even.

   He trusted Abel and Antonio, however, and trusted that they knew what they were doing. Thus, he suppressed these distressing feelings as best as he could. He didn't want to worry either of them, or for them to think he had any doubts.

   "All right," he finally yielded. He felt Antonio's hand give his own a comforting squeeze, and he held it just a little tighter.

   Abel continued.

   "If they do end up linking you to the crime, they're obviously going to question you. If they question you, Antonio-"

   "I'll tell them I went home after work, and stayed there doing some paperwork until you came to my apartment and dropped Lovino off. He spent the night, and then we went to your place in the morning," Antonio finished for him. He nodded, then looked at Lovino.

   "And if they question you?"

   Lovino swallowed hard. "I-I went to the bar with you after work around seven. We stayed there for awhile, but I got drunk, and you drove me to Toni's."

   "When did I drive you over to Antonio's?" Abel questioned, imitating a possible interrogation. Lovino had to pause and think.

   "Around nine or ten, maybe... Uhm, sometime around ten?"

   Abel was silent, thinking. "... It'll work, although you shouldn't say nine. It'll leave a blank space of time, big enough to make you a suspect."

   Lovino nodded, another wave of nervous nausea sweeping over him. He took a deep breath, staring at the colorful garden of tulips. He watched as Abel's rabbit nibbled on a blade of grass, staring back at him. He unconsciously detached and tuned the other two men out, their conversation lost somewhere within his thoughts.

   "Lovino?" The sound of Antonio's voice shocked him back into reality, and Lovino jumped in his chair, his entire body stiffening. Antonio watched him eagerly, concern written all over his face. Abel simply watched with an expressionless calm. Lovino could feel his face heat with embarrassment and he pursed his lips, his face twisting into one of irritation.

   "Wh-What?" he stammered. Antonio watched him for another few seconds, silent, before he pulled him into a hug. The sudden sensation surprised him, and he froze, stiffening at the unexpected touch of Antonio's body against his. For several moments, he was unsure what to do, stuck in an awkward position between Antonio and the chair and having to hold onto the table. When he finally made his body move to return the hug, Antonio murmured in his ear.

   "It'll be alright," he said. "I'll make sure of it; I promise. So just let Abe and me take care of everything, okay?" 

   "Why don't you go inside and help Lauren? Ask her for some ginger ale with ice," Abel suggested. Lovino opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it. He knew there was no use arguing. It wasn't as if he could do any help, anyways; he'd probably just get sick. And so he nodded, reluctantly allowing Antonio to release him, and made his way over to the back door.

   As he entered the kitchen, Lovino's mind felt as if it had been filled with cotton, and the smells of the spices left in the air only created a throbbing headache to accompany his illness. Once seeing him, Laura wasted no time in having him sit down on the sofa, listening to him relay Abel's advice, and telling him to wait there. While she occupied herself with collecting what he needed, Lovino absently stared at the wall, lost in his thoughts once again.

   He understood that Antonio and Abel knew what they were doing, and he did not question them. What he did question, however, was if he could successfully follow their lead. They seemed so indifferent to the fact that Lovino had murdered someone, treating it more as a business affair rather than an unforgivable crime.

   Maybe it was because they had not been the ones to kill Lenden, so they did not have that guilt constantly hovering over them, making it harder to breath with every passing second. The anchorman's voice from this morning echoed in his head.

   "The authorities suspect homicide, and an investigation has begun to solve this brutal murder..."

   Lenden may have been an asshole, he thought to himself, but that doesn't mean that he deserved to die like that.

   What if he can't sound convincing enough when questioned by police, he wondered. What if he slips up and says something he's not supposed to, or he just breaks down in front of them? 

   His 'what ifs' were cut off by the sound of Laura's voice, calling his name from the kitchen.

   "Lovino!" she called, "Do you think you can come here for a minute?"

   Lovino shook his head, clearing his mind of his thoughts. "Yeah," he called back, "I'm coming."

   He lifted himself from the couch, tripping over Laura's cat as he hurried to get to the kitchen. He swore as he stabilized himself, the cat giving a quick yowl in turn. It seemed to shoot him a glare before darting away and up the stairs. Lovino grumbled as he walked towards the archway to the kitchen.

   "What is it?" he questioned, still irritated by the incident with the cat. Laura gave him an uneasy smile, holding her arms.

   "There's someone here to see you," she said, her words laced with what sounded like worry and confusion. Lovino's eyebrows came together, and he was going to ask who it was, when he caught movement from the corner of his eye.

   He turned his head, and felt his entire body freeze. He felt the blood drain from his face, his eyes widening slightly as the two men approached him, dressed in their fancy black suits and ties. One of them flashed their badge.

   Lovino felt his blood run cold. No no no; what were they doing here? Where were Antonio and Abel? Had they already found them out so quickly?

   "Lovino Vargas," the man said with a look of indifference, "We were wondering if we could have a word with you."

[koko-poco-blog]

Breaking Point Chapter Three

If you see any errors or mistakes, please let me know!

Enjoy!! :)

-Koko

If you like the story, you have permission to reblog the post!

Title: Breaking Point

Genre: Murder, Romance, FanFiction: APH Spamano

Rating: SFW ( Note: some material may be NSFW and will tagged as such)

Synopsis: When Antonio gets a surprise visit from Lovino, he’s certainly not expecting to find his lover shaken and covered in blood. After learning of Lovino’s fatal encounter with a fellow employee, Antonio makes the decision to make sure that Lovino is safe from suspicion and imprisonment with the help of old lawyer friend Abel; even if it means sacrificing himself. ( Based off of this.)

Trigger Warnings Here.

Story Below the Cut.

Three Months Later:

   The delicious scent of freshly baked churros mixed with the smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee, wafting through the small apartment to greet Lovino as made his way to the kitchen. There, he found Antonio at the stove, bacon sizzling on the pan he used. The television droned on in the living area, turned to the news channel. He looked up from his work and offered Lovino a small smile, leaning over to leave a quick kiss on his cheek as he approached.

   "Good morning, Lovino," he chirped. "The bacon is almost done. Why don't you go ahead and take a seat? There's fresh coffee in the pot."

    Lovino grunted in response, shuffling his way over to the coffee pot, perched on its warming plate. After pouring the dark, steaming liquid into a mug and mixing in creamer and sugar, he plopped down into a chair at the modest table just as Antonio set down a plate of bacon onto the red and white plaid fabric that covered the light cherry finish.

   Antonio did most of the talking, Lovino silently half-listening, nodding and grunting in response when he was supposed to. In reality, his mind was occupied with other thoughts as he stared at his coffee.

   "... Lovino?" Antonio suddenly asked, his voice gentle. Lovino blinked, looking up at him in a daze.

   "What?" he questioned, not sure what he missed.

   "I asked if you were alright. You seem like you're bothered by something. Is something wrong?" Antonio gave him a look of worry, building guilt in Lovino's gut for not listening. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts away.

   "No, no nothing's wrong," he said. "I'm just... thinking, is all."

   "Thinking? About what?" A pause of silence filled the air between the two before Antonio broke it.

   "... Don't tell me you're still thinking about what happened to Lenden?"

   Lovino looked down again, staring at his plate of cooling churros and melted chocolate. His fingers fidgeted with the porcelain of his mug, rubbing the handle between his thumb and forefinger. Antonio sighed and reached his hand over to cover Lovino's trembling one.

   When Lovino flinched, Antonio's hand froze in the air, hovering for a moment until he slowly pulled it back and let it rest with his other hand in his lap. There was an air of tension that raised a sense of anxiousness in Lovino, causing him to feel stiff, and purse his lips.

   He could hear the voice of the anchorman from the television, talking about the recent crimes in the city within the past week.

   "... den filled with cocaine and marijuana was found hidden in an abandoned warehouse scheduled to be demolished. The culprits were found and charged with possession, breaking and entering, and trespassing. Late last night, a body was discovered along the west free port of Lake Chelsea."

   The two men's heads snapped up simultaneously, eyes wide with shock. Lovino felt a cold chill of fear settle in his gut, and his entire body began to shake. Antonio put a finger to his lips, a gesture of silence so that he could listen to the anchorman's voice. He reached his hand over the tabletop, and Lovino allowed him to hold his hand, squeezing the firm bone and muscle.

   "The victim was found after a young couple decided to take their new fishing boat out onto the lake. The motor caught a piece of black industrial bagging, jamming it. When they checked to see the problem, they found the victim's waterlogged body inside the bag and stuck to the plastic, his face destroyed. The body has been identified as Castor Lenden, who was reported missing three months ago. The authorities suspect homicide, and an investigation has begun to solve this brutal murder."

   Antonio swore under his breath and stood up, releasing Lovino's hand and striding over to the house phone, beginning to dial Abel's number, then suddenly stopped. As a look of realization settled upon his face, he slammed the phone back into its cradle, causing Lovino to jump.

   "Shit, no phone. They'll be able to get records and link Abel as an accomplice. We have to go over and talk to him in person."

   "T-Toni..." Lovino shakily stood up from his seat, and was immediately hit with a wave of nausea, his head spinning. He stumbled, and Antonio moved to catch him. Lovino shoved him out of the way, holding his hand to his mouth as he rushed to the sink to empty the contents of his stomach.

   Antonio stared at him for a few seconds, then walked over to him and gently rubbed his back. When Lovino's legs buckled beneath him, Antonio caught him, holding him and whispering soothing words as the younger man began to cry.

   "Wh-What're we going to do?!" Lovino hiccuped. He could feel his hair sticking to his face from the salty tears. Antonio moved the hair out of his face and cupped his face with both hands, making Lovino look at him.

   "Lovino," he said, his voice clear and determined, "we are going to talk to Abel and see what he has to say about it. And if they are able to connect to the crime, and they question us, we're going to stick to our story, all right? You were out at the bar with Abel..."

   "And he dropped me off at your place to spend the night..." Lovino continued uncertainly, his breaths becoming more regular. Antonio nodded.

   "Yes, good, and the next day we went to Abel's house to hang out and see his garden over tea. See? Everything will be fine, Lovino. We will get through this."

   Lovino hesitated, still unsure. Then, he met Antonio's eyes. Those eyes that seemed to always somehow block out everything else in the world out, as they did now. He swallowed hard and slowly nodded, then paused and held the fabric of Antonio's shirt, a hopeful light in his eyes.

   "... Together?" he asked in a small voice. Antonio seemed to be taken aback by the question, but quickly recovered and nodded, smiling.

   "Together, " he promised.

[koko-poco-blog]

Breaking Point Chapter Two

If you see any errors or mistakes, please let me know!

Enjoy!! :)

-Koko

If you like the story, you have permission to reblog the post!

Title: Breaking Point

Genre: Murder, Romance, FanFiction: APH Spamano

Rating: SFW ( Note: some material may be NSFW and will tagged as such)

Synopsis: When Antonio gets a surprise visit from Lovino, he’s certainly not expecting to find his lover shaken and covered in blood. After learning of Lovino’s fatal encounter with a fellow employee, Antonio makes the decision to make sure that Lovino is safe from suspicion and imprisonment with the help of old lawyer friend Abel; even if it means sacrificing himself. ( Based off of this.)

Trigger Warnings Here.

Story Below the Cut.

   Abel stared silently at Antonio, holding his steaming cup of tea.


   They were sitting at Abel's kitchen table, cups of untouched tea cooling in front of them. Antonio and Lovino had come over to Abel's house and requested an audience with him from his younger sister, Lauren.  As they traveled through the house to the kitchen, they made sure not to touch anything, as Abel was a picky man for perfect cleanliness.

   Lovino was convinced it was almost a sort of OCD thing, or something.

   Abel was dressed in a rather stylish cream dress pants and vest with a starch white dress shirt, his favorite blue and white striped scarf wrapped around his neck. His hair was styled up in its usual spike, revealing the small scar that cut across the ridge of his right eyebrow. 

   After greeting their dear childhood friend, Antonio as subtly as possible mentioned that it would be best if they spoke privately, to which Abel sent his sister out to shop for groceries. She complied, even if a bit reluctantly. She kissed each man once on the cheek before slipping on her flats and sun hat, then left.

   Lovino was silent as Antonio explained their situation, the Italian looking down in shame as he gripped the front of his jeans tightly. 

   Abel slowly lowered the delicate porcelain from his face and set it on its small platter. He wiped his hands off on the front of his dress pants before standing and walking over to the kitchen window that overlooked his garden outback. It was beautiful, with tulips of multiple hues of red, pink, yellow, and orange painting the beautiful plots. Abel took such pride in his tulips, never failing to care for them everyday.

   He took a long puff from his pipe, sighing out the dark smoke. After a long pause of silence, Antonio slowly felt the hope seep out of him, and he was about to stand up to leave, when Abel broke the silence with his heavy Dutch accent.
"This man, Lenden," he said, "attacked Lovino, and in a careless act of self-defense and fear, Lovino grabbed the bat Lenden was trying to beat him with and hit him in the head, killing him."


   "Yes," Antonio said, swallowing. Lovino bit his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

   "... Did he die instantly?" Abel asked, catching the two off guard.

   "W-What?" Antonio stuttered, confused.

   "Did he die instantly?" Abel repeated, turning back to look at them. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. "If he died instantly, then it would be an easier hole for me to help Lovino to crawl out of. If he didn't, then it would just end up looking worse for him."

   Lovino was bewildered, his heart sinking as they both looked to him for an answer. He swallowed hard before staring at the floor, the threat of tears stinging his eyes.

   "I-I don't know... After I- after I hit him, I just ran over to Toni's. I didn't check. He looked pretty dead to me..."

   "I don't think it took him very long, if not instantly," Antonio interjected. "There was too much.... 'damage' for him to live afterwards."

   Abel nodded. "Alright. What did you do with the body?"

   "We hid it in the lake. I took his wallet and ID off him and put the body in a black industrial bag with some stones. His face was crushed well enough to where it would take awhile for identification if they tried using his facial structure or dentals."

   "What did you do with the tapes? And the bat?" Abel asked.

   "I burnt the tapes, and the bat's at my apartment."

   Abel stared at him for another long moment before speaking slowly and low.

   "... You realize what this'll look like, right?" he asked, and Antonio nodded slowly.

   "Yes, that was my intention," the Spaniard said, and looked at him a little sadly. Lovino looked between the two men, a sick feeling of anxiousness rising in his gut.

   "What do you mean? What's going on?" he asked warily, and Abel's gaze moved to his.

   "All of the evidence is going to point to Antonio," he stated bluntly, and Lovino's eyes grew wide with horror. The Italian whirled around to look at Antonio, who was absently looking at the window from his seat.

   "No!" he cried, bolting up and slamming his hands on the table. "I will not have you take the blame for me! I killed him; not you!"

   "Lovino-" Abel began, but he wouldn't listen.

   "Are you an idiot?! You could go to prison! You haven't even done anythi-!"

   "Yes, I have!" Antonio shouted, startling both Abel and Lovino. The room became quiet as a tense silence settled between the three of them, heavy enough to make Lovino feel as if he were being crushed. Antonio took a deep breath to calm himself again before continuing.

   "I have done something, Lovino. I murdered Lenden, and I hid the body. You were at the local bar, with Abel." He looked at their Dutch friend as he spoke, Abel quickly understanding. 


   "We went over to the bar after you got off of work, at around seven o'clock," Abel played along,  "And stayed there for a couple hours 'till about ten, when I had to drive you over to Antonio's. You spent the night there and headed over here to hang out for awhile in the morning. We talked, had tea, and I showed you two my newest tulip plot. Then Laura came home from shopping and we ate lunch, and you two left."

   "During this," Antonio concluded, "both of you noticed I was acting a bit odd and distant, like I had my mind on something. When asked about it, I would shake my head, smile, and wave it off." 

   Lovino was silent for a long moment, staring down at the table. He could feel tears burning his eyes and throat.

   "... Why are you doing this?" he asked quietly, not able to trust his voice, and Antonio smiled sadly again.
"Because I love you, Lovino." 

   Lovino's legs buckled, and he crumpled to the floor, sobbing into his hands. As the realization finally dawned on him, his sobs became more intense, despair spreading through his very being.

Antonio was going to take the blame for killing Lenden. Antonio was plotting evidence against himself. Antonio was going to go to prison in his place.

   Abel was going to help him, and lie.

   And there was nothing he could do about it.

[koko-poco-blog]

Breaking Point Chapter One

This was just supposed to be a drabble/one-shot, but I guess it ended up becoming a full-on fanfic oops. If you see any errors or mistakes, please let me know! 

Enjoy!! :)

-Koko

If you like the story, you have permission to reblog the post!

Title: Breaking Point

Genre: Murder, Romance, FanFiction: APH Spamano

Rating: SFW ( Note: some material may be NSFW and will tagged as such)

 Synopsis: When Antonio gets a surprise visit from Lovino, he’s certainly not expecting to find his lover shaken and covered in blood. After learning of Lovino’s fatal encounter with a fellow employee, Antonio makes the decision to make sure that Lovino is safe from suspicion and imprisonment with the help of old lawyer friend Abel; even if it means sacrificing himself. ( Based off of this.)

Trigger Warnings Here.

Story Below the Cut.

Person A commits murder, and for several reasons Person B takes the blame for them. Person C is their attorney, who knows, and is helping them cover up, in more than one way. Alternatively, Person C is Person A’s fake alibi. They help them hide the body and stuff.  How the trial and such goes is up to you

"...En tus besos yo encontraba

El calor que me brindaba

El amor y la pasión..."

   Antonio rubbed his eyes with a sigh, taking another swig of his coffee as he absently listened to the music playing from his old radio, set to a Spanish station. Right now, they were the only things left keeping him awake. He had been working since nearly six in the morning on paper that had been neglected over the past week while he was away on 'vacation' with his best friends, Gilbert and Francis. It ended up backfiring on him, though, for he had been working for almost fifteen hours, catching up.

   It was about nine o'clock at night now. The night was alight with the bright lights of the city. Antonio allowed himself a small break, taking his glasses off and standing up, walking over to the large bay windows. He leaned against the frame, cradling his mug to his chest to absorb its heat.

   "Es la historia de un amor, Como no hay otro igual..."

   How long had it been since he had actually taken the time to think about such simple things such as the city lights? Nowadays, he was more focused on paperwork and setting up new trade agreements with oversea market companies. 

   This past year was especially hurtful, what with his tomato crops being ruined by pests and being sprayed with what was supposed to be a 'non-harmful pesticide'. It turned out to be very harmful for his tomato crops, and almost half of the plantation was spoiled.

   He sued the pesticide company with his attorney and childhood friend Abel, but didn't get much out of it other than a few hundred dollars and getting the guys involved fired.

   Antonio was so absorbed in his thoughts, that when someone harshly knocked on his apartment door, he jumped slightly and spilled hot coffee all over the front of his shirt and on his pants. He gave a pained yelp and jumped around for a couple minutes, stumbling towards the kitchen to snatch a towel off the oven handle and drying his front before resorting to removing his shirt and wiping away the still warm liquid off of his chest and stomach.

   He muttered in Spanish as he wiped away the coffee and walked back towards the door, where someone roughly rapped on the hard wood again.

"Coming, I'm coming," he called, his Spanish accent rolling off his tongue, and opened the door.

When he saw the familiar face of his lover, he immediately perked up.

   "Lovino! What are you doing here? Don't you usually call before you..." he trailed off, his face contorting from puzzled pleasantness to worry.

   Now that he actually looked at the smaller Italian, he looked like hell. His usually tan skin was a sickly pale, and he shook lightly, leaning heavily against the frame of the doorway. Lovino's dark chestnut hair and clothes were messy and askew. There seemed to be a dark liquid staining his clothed and stuck in his hair. Upon closer inspection, Antonio recognized it to be blood, setting off alarm bells in his head. 

   "My God, Lovino, what happened?!" he asked urgently, and Lovino only replied in a small whimper before his knees buckled and he fell forward. Antonio caught him just in time before he hit the ground. 

   He quickly lifted Lovino up and sort of awkwardly half dragged, half carried him over to the couch, where he carefully set him down before getting a glass of water. Lovino gratefully took the cool liquid and quickly gulped it down, only stopping when he began choking and had to set the now empty glass down on the coffee table to violently cough into the crook of his arm. Antonio noticed, now that there was a better lighting, that he had a large, dark bruise on the left side of his jaw.

   He rubbed Lovino's back soothingly before asking him what had happened. Lovino ran a hand through his unruly and tangled hair, taking shaky and gasping breaths.

   "I-" he began in a high, wavering voice, before he broke down and began sobbing into his hands, doubling over. His body wracked violently with each sob.


   Antonio stared at him, bewildered enough to not know what to say in this situation. Just what exactly happened to make Lovino so upset? He carefully rested a hand on the Italian's shoulder, causing him to flinch, though Antonio kept a firm hold.

   "Why don't you start by explaining why there's blood all over you? Are you hurt?"

   Lovino shook his head furiously.

   "No," he whimpered, "It's not mine. None of it is." He gave another loud sob, looking up at Antonio in such pain, that he felt as if someone had squeezed his heart. "Jesus, Toni, what have I done?"



   "I don't know," the Spaniard said carefully. "What have you done, Lovi?" 


   Lovino gave a pained noise and looked down to the ground at his feet. "... I was at the office putting some files away when Lenden came over," he explained, his voice no higher than a whisper. Antonio had to sit right in front of him, resting his hands on his legs in a comforting manner.

   "Lenden started being an asshole, like always, doing the usual bullshit. Getting in my way, making fun of our relationship, being a homophobic asswad, you know the shit he does. Then he started taunting me. After his words didn't work, he started shoving me around. After I told him to fuck off and gave him the finger, I started to walk away, but he grabbed me from behind. He turned me around and punched me square in the fucking face." He touched his jaw absently, biting his lip.


   "I... I got pissed and hit him back, and we started fighting. He... He suddenly grabbed that damn bat that Ronny always has and tried to beat me with it. I was able to dodge all his hits, and I had to grab it at one point to keep him from bashing my goddamn brains out. I kicked him off, and stumbled back, letting go. I-" he was cut off by another oncoming sob and he covered his lower face with a hand, shaking his head. Tears started to roll down his flushed cheeks. 



   "I don't know what came over me. I was scared shitless, but I don't- Jesus fuck, Antonio. I-"

 

   "You hit him with the bat," Antonio finished slowly and quietly. Lovino nodded.


   "God, it was awful. Blood was... Blood was fucking everywhere. I didn't even think I'd hit him that hard until I saw that. I didn't know what to do, so I ran over here."

 

   "Was anyone else there?" Antonio asked, and Lovino shook his head, saying that it was just the two of them. Antonio looked down, thinking, his mind feeling like a tornado had just gone through. He asked if he had done anything to the body, and Lovino shook his head again, burying his face in his hands. 


   After a few moments, Antonio made up his mind and stood up, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on. 

 

   "Where are you going?" Lovino asked him, his eyebrows drain together in worry and fear. Antonio shook his head. 



   "Bring me to where the body is. We need to get rid of it before anybody finds it. Then we need to make you an alibi in case someone finds it," he said, and Lovino's eyes widened. He was going to refuse Antonio's help, not wanting him to get involved, but the Spaniard cut him off, holding him by the shoulders firmly so he could look him in the eye. 



   "Lovino, I love you, and I will be damned if you go to prison for an accident. I will do whatever it takes to help you out of this, no matter what, okay? Now, I need you to bring me to where Lenden is, alright?"

   Lovino stared at him for a moment, overwhelmed, before absently nodding, allowing Antonio to lead him to his car. Together, they drove to the office and parked just in front the back entrance. They entered the office, and the sharp metallic smell of blood hit them, making them have to cover their noses and mouths. 



   When they reached the body, Antonio closed his eyes tightly, swearing in Spanish under his breath.  It was terrible. Lenden's face was completely bashed in, the skull shattered, and brain matter mixed with the blood that spilled out. It was hard to believe that this was once a person. An awful scumbag, but a person none the less. 


   Lovino looked like he would be sick. 
 

   Antonio took a deep breath and bent down to pick up the body, blood getting all over the front of his shirt. Lovino gasped and began panicking, but Antonio told him to grab the ankles. He hesitated, but did as he was told, helping Antonio bring the body over to the emergency stairwell. When they reached the backdoor, Antonio had Lovino open the trunk and threw the body in, positioning it to where it would fit in the small space. 

 

   Antonio had Lovino stay in the car while he went back inside and cleaned the mess as best as he could. It took him well over an hour, and Lovino could already smell the body rotting in the back when Antonio returned. He tossed the bat in the trunk with the body. When he got in the car, Lovino saw that he carried tapes with him, and gave him an odd look.



   "I disabled the security cameras and took the tapes," he explained. "I plan on burning them later. I cleaned everything up as best as I could, and it doesn't smell like blood anymore."



   "Where will we put it?" Lovino asked, and Antonio thought for a moment. 



   "... We'll throw it in the lake. I can grab an industrial bag from the janitor's closet."

Lovino nodded in agreement, and Antonio exited the vehicle to return with a large, thick black bag in hand. About ten minutes later, they arrived at an empty dock. The water was dark under the night sky, the light of the moon casting shadows everywhere. 



   Antonio opened up the bag and inserted the body with some difficulty. When it was finally in, he was about to put some heavy rocks in when he remembered something. He dug around the body's pockets and fished out Lenden's wallet and snapped off his name tag and ID card.

   "There, now it should hopefully take longer to identify him," he sighed, relieved he remembered, and stuck them in his pocket. He put the stones in with the body, tied the bag closed and slipped the bag into the water. 



   Later, when they finally entered Antonio's apartment, they both took a long shower, letting the hot water run over them as they sat in silence before deciding to actually get washed. Afterwards, Antonio allowed Lovino to borrow a large grey T-shirt and deep purple pajama pants. He lay in Antonio's bed for a few minutes alone, waiting for his lover as he thought of the events of that day.

   When Antonio returned, dressed in a pair of white pajama bottoms with a printed tomato pattern, he found Lovino curled up, crying. He slipped into bed next to him, wrapping his arms around Lovino's waist and, holding him to his chest, whispered soothing words to him in Spanish. Lovino turned around, wrapped his arms around Antonio, and cried into his shoulder. 

   They lay like that, hugging each other until Lovino cried himself to sleep.

   Antonio knew what he had done, and knew what he had to do. He had to keep all suspicion from Lovino, no matter what it took. In the morning, he would have to call Abel. He knew that he was the only one who could help with this. 
 

   He just hoped he would.

[koko-poco-blog]

Mama’s Girl

Well, I guess for my first post, I’m going to put up a little short story I wrote in 7th grade as an assignment. I’ve tweaked and edited it, and I personally think it’s a much better quality read than it was previously. 

If you see any errors or mistakes, please let me know! 

Enjoy!! :)

-Koko

If you like the story, you have permission to reblog the post!

Title:  Mama’s Girl

Genre:  Suspense, Short Story

Rating:  SFW 

Synopsis: When Salene Morganster strikes an unlikely friendship with her mysterious schoolmate Steven Mitchells, she begins to realize that maybe she’s got a shot to actually build on her new life since moving to the United States from England. It isn’t until it’s too late, though, that she also realizes that the past she’s been trying so hard to escape, is finally catching up with her; fast.

Trigger Warnings Here.

Story Below the Cut.

   Rage; A hot, foul feeling boiling in my chest as I struggle to keep my hands under the water, pushing against the pressure rising beneath them. The bright, pale light from the moon above casts shadows in the thrashing waves, the surrounding forest looming.

   I give another violent shove, and feel the resistance fighting underneath begin to cease until there's nothing left. I force myself to look down and see the dark locks of hair rise up from the murky depths of the water, spreading through the gaps between my fingers-

   I bolt upright, gasping, and fall off my bed in a mindless terror. My nightstand clocks the side of my jaw as I fall, leaving a throbbing ache. A scream is stuck in my throat and strangles me as it blocks my airway, sending me further into panic. Clutching my neck, I quickly scramble to my feet and dash into the bathroom, feeling my panic consume me.

   I swipe a glass off of the counter and quickly fill it with the water on full blast. I leave the water running as I chug down the water and lean my weight against the cool mica. When I finish, I take a large gasp of air, relishing the feeling of oxygen in my lungs.

   As I stand there, resting my weight against the counter and allowing my heartbeat to return to normal, I take in my reflection looking at me through the mirror. I see my long ebony hair, a tangled veil hiding my pale face. My eyes are dark chartreuse orbs that glow back at me from within their deep, bruised sockets that scream of exhaustion.

   My gaze travels down to the image of the old nightgown covering my body. It's long, covered in baggy folds from where the dress doesn't fit quite right, and is colored an old, faded pink; nearly white by now.

   It was Mother's, I recall, remembering how she would wear this very nightgown when she used to tuck my sisters and myself to bed-

   In the mirror, another face replaces mine, shattering my thoughts. It is similar, but not quite my own. Shoulder-length ebony hair with curled locks, rosy cheeks, a small mouth with thin lips to match, bright hazel eyes-

   I choke, going into another coughing fit. It feels as if I’ve been punched in the stomach, as I collapse to the tiled floor, hugging my gut. When my coughs cease, I scurry back up to my feet, and stare. 

   The girl's face is gone, my own panicked features staring back at me once more. I stare at the mirror for what seems like centuries, expecting it change again, but it doesn't. I grab onto the edge of the counter with one hand, tight enough so that my fingers go numb and the knuckles turn white, rubbing my forehead with my free hand. 

   By this point, I know that there’s no point in going back to sleep.

   I hear the bounce of happy footsteps traveling down the stairs as I focus on the sizzling eggs cooking in the pan in front of me. I shove the now finished food around with a large, black scraper, just to make sure it isn't runny anymore.

   I scrape the eggs onto a platter and make my way over to place it in front of my father when an unmistakable mess of dark curls slam into me. Luckily, I'm able to catch myself from toppling over and hold a tight grip on the platter.

   After steadying myself, I wrap an arm around the small mass attached to me and look down at the little girl currently gazing up at me with those happy blue eyes of hers. I can't help but smile at her adorable face.

   "Mornin' Sali!" she greets me enthusiastically with her slight English accent. I kiss the top of her head.

   "Good morning, Catherine. Did you get some sleep last night?" I ask her, nearly cringing at the dullness in my own thickly accented voice. My lack of emotion makes Catherine frown, but she quickly recovers with another bright grin.

   "Yes, I did! I had a really silly dream, too! I was running and playing with my friends and-" she begins, stopping mid-sentence with her eyes growing wide. She gasps as she stares at the food in my hand.

   "Are those eggs?" she whispers urgently, pointing. I have to hold back a snort.

   "Yes, they are. Now go sit your little behind down, or you don't get any, yeah?" I answer. This seems to be enough to motivate her, because she immediately runs over to her seat at our round kitchen table. She slips a napkin over her lap and lifts her fork and knife in each hand, buzzing like a little bee on a sugar-hype all the while. 

   I resist the urge to roll my eyes and chuckle as I put the plate down in front of Dad, who lowers his paper to thank me. I give a curt nod, my giggling now replaced with silence, and turn back to the stove to load up another round of eggs for Catherine.

   This is a daily routine now: wake up early (one way or another), get myself cleaned up, prepare breakfast, help Catherine get ready for school, then catch the bus. 

   At least it's occupying, I muse to myself as I hang my apron on it's hook. I make myself some strips of bacon, the fat sizzling audibly, before sitting down at the table with my father and little sister.

   When I sit, Dad looks at me over the rims of his glasses, his dark hazel eyes looking tired. Five years ago, this would have startled me, perhaps even scared me. It looked so different from his usual strong, bold nature that I had always admired. Recently, however, it's been a fairly common expression for him, ever since we moved from our little village of Archwester in England. 

   He has deep wrinkles forming around his eyes, I realize. I watch him as his gaze moves down to the food on his platter, my arms crossed and a frown drilled on my face.

   "Sissy, your face is going to get stuck like that, and then you'll look like a grumpy old lady for the rest of your life!" Catherine scolds, and my gaze cuts to her. I try to soften my expression, but it's a challenging feat. It must have worked, though, because after a moment, Catherine gives me a smile of satisfaction accompanied by a little nod before returning to inhaling her eggs. 

   I look down at my own few meager strips of bacon and force myself to eat, my appetite almost nonexistent now. The grease sticks to my fingers, making them slick. I cringe, wiping them off on a napkin before standing and tossing the used paper into the waste bin.

   "It's about time for the bus, little duck. Now, come here and let me tie up your hair," I tell Catherine, checking the time on the stove. The little girl nods and stands, walking over to the sink to wash her dishes and places them in the washer. She fetches her two red lengths of ribbon for me to tie into her dark curls on either side of her head, sitting on the carpeted floor of the living room in front of where I’m currently sitting in the armchair.

   Once I'm finished, she stands and twirls for me, a happy grin on her face. She leans down and kisses me on the forehead, and skips over to our father, doing the same for him, before lifting her knapsack and bouncing out the front door and down the yard to the bus stop. 

   After making sure she hops onto the bus safely, I clear off the table and clean the rest of the dishes, placing them next to the ones Catherine had done earlier. Once finished with that chore, I grab my black jumper off from the back of the couch and pull it over my head before slipping on my Converse sneakers and slinging my school pack over my shoulder.

   "Salene."

   I'm just about to walk over the threshold when my father's deep voice speaks out from behind me, causing me to pause, waiting for him to continue.

   "Have a good day Salene. I love you," he says, and I freeze completely, my breath caught in my throat for a moment. I hold onto the doorframe, feeling my knuckles turn white.

   I hesitantly look over my shoulder; just enough so that I can see him. I stare at him for a good few minutes, a time that seems to drag into hours, my usual face of boredom cracking to show some surprise, eyebrows raised and all.

   I watch him, as if not knowing what to expect, when I surprise myself.

   I look forward again, and mumble barely over a whisper, "I love you too, Dad," before plugging my ears with my white earbuds, turning the volume of my music up high as I briskly walk down the yard, the notes blasting in my eardrums. I can feel his own shocked gaze burning my back. 

   I swallow a lump forming in my throat and ignore everything around me. It doesn't surprise me when I feel the sting of tears gathering behind my eyes as I board the bus.

   I haven't spoken with my father like that for years.

   I drag the soft lead of the pencil along the sketched outline on the page, occasionally smudging the mineral with my finger to add a shadow effect, staining my skin a glossy black. When I finish, I look over my work. 

   It's a pool of dark hair floating in the water of a large pond, a wooded area in the surrounding backdrop with a moon peeking through the foliage of the canopy.

   I purse my lips and flip my sketchbook shut, stealing small glances at various other pencil and charcoal pieces as the pages quickly pass; the wing of a crow, the lock of a horse's mane, a portion of a child's face.

   I sigh as I stuff my sketchbook into my pack and take a swig of my cold tea, the condensation wetting my hand. It was odd, drinking iced tea, even after living in the states for so long. In England, iced tea was the equivalent to walking around the streets of London nude and yelling rubbish profanities. 

   Drying my hand on one of the legs of my trousers, I sling the pack over my shoulder and stand from the cafeteria table, walking towards the large double doors; away from the noise and cock-up of the other eleventh graders, and to the quiet tranquility of the library.

   The library is like my personal haven; my own little quiet place where I can do simple things like reading, sketching in my sketchbook, and even just thinking, without having to deal with the foolishness and idiocy many of my peers produce. It's where I don't have to ignore their judgmental gander.

   I always hear the whispers about the 'witch,' or sometimes about how they pity me because of the way others mock me behind my back. If they only knew the truth, I always silently scoff to myself. If they knew, then would they even dare to look my way, much less make a git of me? Yes, I decide; they would tittle-tattle about me even more, spinning even more tales. 

   People can be, and many are, twisted like that. That's why I prefer to keep to myself. I learned my lesson years ago, while we still lived in Archwester.

   Right before Mum got shipped off to Bedlam.

   I should be there, I sometimes accuse myself, but always try to shake it off, even though I know it to be true. I truly do deserve to go there, for what I did.

   My thoughts are rudely interrupted when I suddenly smack into something face-first, hard.

   I look up, rubbing my nose and muttering a curse, ready to tell-off whoever decided it was a good idea to stand right in my way. When I see whom I ran into, I instantly pale, the words I had loaded up in my head gone in a flash.

   It was a tall guy, sturdily built with some not so obscure muscle, that I had run into. He must spend a lot time at the gym, I figure. He's wearing a black undershirt with a red and black plaid button up overtop, along with a pair of skinny jeans colored a shade of dark grey. His choice of apparel, paired with how nicely it clings to his figure, matches nicely with his dark-toned skin and short-cut hair.

   What really captures my attention, however, is the identity of this person.

   Steven Mitchells, a big guy who usually keeps to himself most of the time. He would've made a killer football player; that much is painfully obvious with the large and athletic build of his body. 

   For some reason, though, he hasn't seemed to have any interest in anything social whatsoever. Though, it's not as if that many people have tried to interact with him, anyway. He has a sort of unapproachable and distant atmosphere about him.

   And of course, it's just my luck that I walked smack into him.

   I have spoken to him before, though. I had once asked him in my first year here if he knew where the ninth-grade science lab was, since I couldn't find it. He had nodded and walked me there, but when I turned around to thank him, he wasn't there anymore, as if he had just disappeared.

   I had just shrugged it off at the time, but now, as Steven looks down at me, I can't help but squirm in discomfort as I stand up and readjust the strap of my pack on my shoulder.

   "S-Sorry," I mumble, and move to brush past him, but he puts a hand on my shoulder, and I look back up at him, confused. Steven tilts his head to the side a slight bit, a frown tugging at his lips instead of his usual impassive demeanor.

   "Your jaw," he says, and I nearly jump at the sound of it. It was kind of high; higher than I would have expected from such a large man. Softer too. I feel my eyebrows scrunch together, and raise a hand to my jaw.

   "My jaw?" I inquire, and Steven nods.

   "Did someone hit you?"

   "Wh-What?"

   He brings his hand up to my face, and I instinctively wince slightly, but I don't stop him as he lightly touches a spot on my jaw and pushes lightly.

   "That doesn't hurt?" he asks, and I shake my head no, even though it is a little sore.

   "No, it doesn't. Why, is something there?"

   Steven nods again, his dark brown eyes flickering over from the spot to my eyes and back. "Yeah, there's a big bruise."

   "Oh," I say, and blush as I remember the previous night. "I forgot, I fell and hit my face on my nightstand. Sorry if I worried you."

   He gives me a dubious look, but decides to accept my excuse.

   "It's fine," he says, "I just wanted to make sure that, like, nobody hit you, or anything."

   He rubs the back of his neck before scratching his black cropped hair, and suddenly looks a little unsure of himself. His eyes are focused on the ground between us, distracted. It makes him look a little younger, a little smaller.

   "Steven?" I lightly call to him, and he looks back up at me, looking a little . . . startled?

   "Oh, yeah, um, I'm fine. I'll . . . see you later?" he offers, blinking back into reality. I stare at him, cautious of any tricks he might be pulling. When he doesn't do anything but give me a sort of nervous look, I’m astounded. Is it really not a prank?

   "S-Sure," I say, still a bit unsure and wary. He smiles, and I prepare myself for him to say that he's joking, and ask why anyone would want to hang out with the witch. Instead, he says his farewell and starts to walk away. I watch him leave, frozen to the spot as I gape at his receding back.

   He really was serious, I realize. It isn't so much that I believe Steven to be a bad guy; in fact, I think that he actually really isn't that bad. It's just the thought of someone willingly being around me that catches me off guard. 

   Nobody's ever made any effort to have anything to do with me during these past five years I've lived in America.

   I feel my lips curl, not in disgust, but into a smile. It feels so light, so easy.

   I stand there for another couple of minutes until the bell rings and I have to walk back to class, my smile still spread across my face.

   I have to set my sandwich down as I try and fail to hold back my laughter at a silly joke Steven made. It's been about a month since I first bumped into Steven, and since then, we've been actually been hanging out quite a bit. 

   He really isn't a bad guy, and he's a lot friendlier than I would have originally thought.

   We begin to pack up the rest of our lunches, hoping to get to the library before lunch ends. As I move to stand after stuffing my lunch bag into my pack, I see a shadow block the light from my view and look up to see Steven standing in front of me.

   "What's up?" I ask, and he rubs the back of his neck, looking nervous.

   "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to meet after school today and talk?" he asks me, and I blink at him. His gaze moves away to the side. "I've been meaning to ask you for a while, but... Do you think, maybe... that maybe I could come over sometime?"

   "I . . ." I trail off. I clear my throat and try to force my voice not to squeak. "I suppose I see no harm in it?" I finally get out, making sure to keep my voice neutral. Inside, my stomach is a fit of butterflies.

   "Great!" Steven exclaims, actually looking excited- and relieved.

   I nod, pulling out a page of my sketchbook and a pencil and begin jotting down my home address before handing it to him.

   "How does six on the dot sound?" I ask. He agrees with the time before saying his good-byes and leaving. Lunch is over by now, so there's no time to spare to go visit the library, but as I walk out of the cafeteria and towards class, I find that I'm not upset in the least.

    When I arrive home later, I work on tidying up the house and cooking tonight's dinner. I decided earlier that I would make lasagna, a personal favorite of mine. Catherine and Dad must have noticed my good mood, because they decided to help me.

   It feels nice, actually having the family do something together, even if it's something as trivial as cooking dinner. It's been so long since we've had any quality time together. I smile as I stick the pasta dish in the oven to cook.

   When the ringing of the doorbell plays, I rush over to the door and fling it open. Steven stands in the doorway, wearing a light jacket and a pair of jeans. He grins at me as we greet each other, and I allow a grin of my own.

   I lead him to the living room, where Catherine sits in front of the television watching an animal documentary with all of her little stuffed animals surrounding her. This is a weekly routine for her whenever the Animal Planet channel shows anything that has to do with animal behavior, or just cute animals in general.

   Catherine looks up at us and stares wide-eyed at Steven for about five seconds before jumping up with a smile so large, I'm convinced that her little cheeks might tear.

   "Hello!" she calls to him in her high-pitched voice. "You must be Steven, yeah? I'm glad you've made friends with Sali!"

   "C-Catherine!" I stutter and feel my face warm with a blush, both from her little outburst and my own nervousness. "Don't be rude! You can't just assault a guest who just walked into your home like that."

   Steven laughs and pats the crown of Catherine’s head, to which she raises a brow at.

   "It's alright, Salene. I'm sure she didn't mean any harm."

   "Don't be daft," I playfully scold, rolling my eyes. "You know to just call me Sali."

   He chuckles, taking his hand off Catherine's head. She shakes her head and combs her hair back with her fingers in attempt to fix it. She's about to say something when the dinger on the oven goes off, signaling that the lasagna is finished.

   "Care for some lasagna?" I ask him.

   "Sure, I like lasagna,” he responds with a nod.

   They all sit down at our little round table as I pull the pasta out of the oven and place it in the center of the table. By the time I have all the glasses filled with ice and water and distribute them out, the lasagna's cheese has firmed into a solid food instead of being all runny, and I cut out pieces to place everyone's plate.

   After dinner, Steven helps me wash the dishes and put them in the dishwasher before I lead him upstairs and down the hall, towards my bedroom. He slows down when we pass a small table covered with little trinkets and framed photos.

   I walk back, noticing that he's stopped, and see him pick up a frame to examine the photo inside.

   "Who's this?" he asks, shifting it so that I can see. It's a photograph of a young girl, about Catherine's age, with long wavy hair the color of a dark ebony; the same as the rest of the women in our family. She has thin lips and rosy cheeks, matched with bright hazel eyes.

   I feel my lips purse as the frame is moved into my own hand, and unpleasant memories fill the back of my mind.

   "My other younger sister, Lileah. She was a few years older than Catherine," I tell him.

   "Was?" Steven repeats, tilting his head in inquiry. I give a low sigh.

   "She died before we moved here from England. Drowned in the pond behind our house."

   Steven looks at me with a look that unsettles me, what seems to be regret and understanding shining in his eyes. I have to look away, continuing the walk down the hall to my room. After a short moment, I hear him follow me.

   I sit down on the bed, and Steven closes the door behind him, sitting next to me. We sit there rather awkwardly for a few minutes, occasionally shifting around a little, before he speaks up.

   "So, I notice you draw a lot," he comments, motioning toward the sketchbook laying on top of the desk in front of my window. Grateful for a subject of conversation, I nod.

   "Yeah, I do. It's a nice past time, I guess. Helps clear my head, sometimes."

   "Can I look at it?"

   I hesitate, shifting on the mattress and my fingers tugging at the edges of my sleeves. I typically don't allow people to look inside of my sketchbook. The idea of someone looking at work that’s inspiration comes from personal experiences makes me feel vulnerable. Plus, there's the worry of my work being damaged somehow.

   However, I guess since it's just Steven . . .

   Reluctantly, I agree.

   "Okay, just . . . Be careful with it, alright? The charcoal and lead tend to smudge really easily.”

   Steven smiles at me gratefully and stands up to retrieve the book. He sits down next to me again once he has it in his hands, and holds it as if it is a delicate thing instead of a book full of paper and lead. He opens it to the first page and begins flipping through it, taking his time to thoroughly examine each one. His eyebrows scrunch together slightly as he looks at a particular one, and I look over his shoulder to see which one's caught his attention.

   The drawing is kind of a complex one that I had never fine-lined and inked, so it was still a bit sketchy and chaotic. It depicts a dog having violent stand-off with a monkey in a sort of park environment. Their owners are trying to hold them back, struggling with the leashes that kept them from tearing each other's faces off.

   I recall this one, actually. If I remember right, I had made this a couple years ago, starting with little sketches during class that eventually ended up becoming an unfinished piece.

   I can see the confusion on Steven's face as he tries to figure it out, and I feel a small smile tug at my lips.

   "In the world of art, there are a lot of common different symbols that represent specific ideals and the like. The dog represents loyalty, and the monkey represents infidelity and dishonesty. In the drawing, the two are conflicting with each other and the owners of the animals are trying to hold them back," I explain, and he seems to understand as he takes in the information.

   "Wow, I guess I never realized how much thought is put into art," he admits, and I give a small laugh.

   "I guess most chaps normally don't. I forget that, sometimes," I comment with a little smile. "I usually think about things like this often, so it feels a little odd for me not to consider a piece from an artist's point of view."

   "Have you gone to art school?"

   I shake my head. "No, I've only had art classes in school."

   Steven says something else, but I don't hear him as something catches my attention from the corner of my eye. I snap my head in the direction of the movement, but only see the entryway to my bathroom. Shaking, I slowly look down to face my lap, and stare at the palms of my shaking hands.

   "Sali?" Steven said, cautiously reaching for my hand with his own. When I flinch, his hand freezes in mid-air before returning to his lap.

   "I'm okay," I whisper after taking a moment to breath. I try to sound as reassuring as I can, but my voice still shakes. I can hear ringing in my ears as I slowly stand from the bed and carefully begin inching towards the bathroom, my footsteps hesitant.

   I can feel Steven's gaze watching me, his eyes analyzing my movements with an intensity I can't bother to try to understand at the moment. I try to ignore it as I move closer to the bathroom.

   The bathroom light is switched off, which only makes me even more anxious, my nerves now completely on edge. I slowly reach inside, my fingers groping against the wall, searching for the little switch. 

   When I feel the unmistakable plastic knob, my fingers curl around it, and I flick it on, preparing myself for what I might see.

   The sudden brightness blinds me for a moment and I cringe, my eyes closing. I pry them open and let them adjust before staring into the small room.

   Nothing.

   There's nothing different about the bathroom from this morning, other than the stack of fresh towels stacked upon the lid of the toilet.

   I walk in and check anywhere and everywhere that someone, or something, might be able to hide in; the shower, the cupboards under the sink, the walk in closet. All empty.

   No, I silently plead, feeling as my lips begin to quiver. No, please, not now, of all times.

   My entire body tenses when I feel a tentative touch on my shoulder, and I jump, yelping as I spin around. Steven stumbles back in surprise, his leg hitting against the corner of the bathroom counter. He hisses in pain and mutters what sounds like a swear under his breath.

   I blink rapidly for a couple seconds, registering what happened, until I relax and immediately feel a wave of guilt wash over me.

   "S-Steven, are you okay?" I ask him. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

   He grunts and straightens himself, dusting off his trousers. He looks up at me and gives a smile.

   "I'm alright," he says confidently, but his smile is soon replaced with a look of worry.

   "Are you okay, Sali?"

   I don't have an answer to that. I don't trust myself enough to say anything, afraid that I may just spill the secrets that I have carefully hidden away for nearly five years, now; the pressure is becoming too much. So instead, I just brush past him and sit on the bed again, taking deep breaths as I stare off into space in the general direction of the floor.

   "I thought I saw something," I finally admit, and my eyes focus back on his face.

   Steven looked at me for a while longer until he nodded and looked towards the bathroom.

   "You look pretty freaked out. Do you have any idea of what you might have seen?"

   "No, I don't... It just looked like a shadow, really," I try to recall for him. "Maybe I'm just tired."

   "Do you mind if I keep looking through your sketchbook?" he inquires, picking the said book up.

   In a daze, I shake my head. "No, no go ahead."

   Steven paces around my room, flipping through the pages. I suddenly become anxious, as if I'm worried about something. I start tapping my toes, clenching and unclenching my fists. Maybe it's because of the shadow earlier, but something tells me that it isn't. Is it because of Steven?

   Not knowing what else to do, I stand up, smoothing down the sheets to my bed as I speak.

   "I'm getting a glass of water. Do you want anything?" I offer, and he pauses to look at me and shoot me a grin.

   "If I could get a glass myself, perhaps?"

   I force a smile and walk out the door to head down to the kitchen.

   When I come back, holding two glasses of icy water, Steven's standing in the middle of the room, staring at the sketchbook. His lips are pursed, and his face seems to show something like regret; maybe even disappointment. It makes me freeze in the doorway momentarily, a frown growing on my face.

   "Steven?"

   He looks up at me, his eyes flicking from my face to the glasses of water briefly. Suddenly, I am vividly aware of the wet condensation running off the surface of the glass in my hands, and cold sweat starts down my back. My body tenses.

   I swallow and force out words. "Is everything alright?"

   He gives a heavy sigh as he looks back down at the sketchbook, shaking his head and dropping it onto the sheets of the bed. He rests a hand over his eyes for a moment before heavily running it down his face, as if it's twice as heavy as its usual weight.

   I set the glasses down on my dresser, eyeing him cautiously, before making my way towards the book. When I see the page it's turned to, I freeze dead in my tracks, feeling the blood drain from my face.

   It's turned to the drawing that I had done nearly a month ago, of the mess of hair floating up from within the water. I remember the feeling of the sickening rage and the pressure from beneath my hands in the dream, and I shudder.

   Steven gives another weary sigh and idly paces around the room. I watch him, curious as to what he’ll do next, and why he’s taken such a particular interest in that one drawing.

   “You know,” he says, lifting a small turtle figurine from my dresser to his face to examine it, “I was told, once, that people write or draw to relieve stress, or trauma. It’s often suggested by therapists, too.” He sets the figurine back down, and looks up to me.

   “Have you ever seen a therapist, Sali?”

   I purse my lips, suppressing the urge to step back away from him.

   “Yes,” I admit, a gut feeling telling me that telling the truth was the best way to go at the moment. “I used to see one when I was younger, due to some bad nightmares I used to get.”

   Steven nods, as if I am simply a student telling a teacher a wrong doing I had done. A wrong doing that he already knows about.

   I feel my spine tense at the thought.

   Does he know?

   I swallow, and my face contorts into a cringe at the audible gulp. Steven leans against one of the walls and crosses his arms over his chest, his thick muscles bulging. It is now that I notice that he has taken his jacket off, and a Polynesian tattoo wraps around the meat of his upper arm, dark enough to almost blend in with the tone of his skin.

   He suddenly looks so much older than a high school student. Steven is taller, and obviously much bigger; this much I have known. But know, his demeanor has changed completely than it has been during the past month; more mature, knowing.

   Another cold wave hits me, except this time, a wave of nausea follows.

   Steven seems to be analyzing me just as much as I am him. His eyes are calculating dark orbs, taking in every move I make. Which isn’t much, to say the least.

   “You said you’re from Britain?” he continues with his little interrogation. “Why? Did something happen?” He pauses. “Was it because of Lileah?”

   I inhale sharply and my eyes widen in shock before a familiar anger settles in. How dare he speak of my personal life like that? What does he know about my life?

   More than you think, the voice whispers to me, and I go cold all over again.

   “You didn’t really come here to hangout, did you?” I ask him, and he shrugs.

   “I’m just carrying conversation with you,” he says. “You chose a nice little place to move to, little Arbington. The fact that it’s in such a small state as Maryland is convenient, too.” Steven seems to think something over for a tick before continuing. “Although, you’re probably not used to big cities, anyways, being from Archwester. It sure is bigger than Arbington, though.”

   I watch him like a hawk, my eyes narrowing as he speaks.

   “What do you want?” I demand, becoming frizzled by the fact that he isn’t being straightforward. I hate that; especially now, when it can be so important.

   Steven stops pacing and looks me dead in the eyes, freezing me in place with the exposed hardness I found there.

   “The truth. Your mother, Cate Morganster, was shipped to Bedlam Mental Institute for schizophrenia, after being accused of drowning one of her children and stabbing another.” His voice quieted into a knowing whisper. “But that’s not what happened, is it, Salene?”

   I throw my sharpest glare at him, realization hitting me like a brick to the face. So that’s why he’s here.

   “You’re working for the plodders,” I scowl, and he gives a humorless grin.

   “That’s what Brits call the police?” he chuckles dryly. “Well, at least I guess that’s better than ‘Po-Po.’”

   “Shut up!” I snap at him, then bite my tongue. Now probably isn’t the best time for me to get pissed and snap at a cop. I don’t want to give him any satisfaction, or any more reason to suspect me of anything, although by this point it’s more likely than not that he already does. 

   Still, it’s probably best not to stoke the fire.

   Steven steps forward, and I instinctively step back. He stops, and I can tell he’s taking note of my jitteriness.

   “Your mom wasn’t the one who drowned Lileah in that pond, was she?” he asks quietly, as if I could run at any moment. Which, honestly, I really want to, even though I know it’s a bad idea.

   He continues. “Why was she framed? Had she done something, or did she just happen to be convenient enough to be your scape goat?”

   “I don’t have to answer to you; you have proof of nothing,” I retort, and I hope that he can’t hear the waver in my voice. He to speak as if I never even spoke.

   “Why did you do it, Salene? Why did you drown your own sister? What really happened? Did your sister upset you? Maybe Mommy chose favorites and-“

   “Enough!” I scream at him, and he falls silent. I have lost all my patience, and I become blinded by fear and anger. My cool exterior is melted by a burning rage, a true fury that I haven’t felt in years.

   I start pacing, unable to stay still any longer, sneering at Steven as he stands still and watches me as if I am a bomb ready to detonate, which I probably am at this point. It’s his turn to become stone as I rant.

   “You want the truth?” I ask. “Fine! I’ll give you the goddamn truth! Lileah was a spoiled kid, always being doted on by our mother. Oh, that child was a gift of the god in her eyes, and she could do no wrong.” I pause to grit my teeth, turning away so that my back faces Steven.

   “The brat never passed a moment to remind us of how much better she was than all of the rest of us, always bragging about how smart she was, or how pretty and talented she was. Mother spoiled her to no end, saying how Catherine and I should take more examples from Lileah.”

   My blood boils as I remember every moment Lileah had tried to make us feel so much inferior to herself, never forgetting to tell us of how much Mum cared for her and for her alone. I hated it.

   “I hated her,” I speak aloud and stop pacing. My fists clench and unclench, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands hard enough to draw little droplets of blood. I straighten my spine and square my shoulders.

   “I hated her, and the little shit loved it. Lileah went too far and I took action. She had to be stopped!” The words flow out desperate and without filter.

   “What did she do, Salene?” Steven urges, tempting me to go forward with my confession. And I fall for it.

   My jaw works as I hiss through my teeth. “She got angry when Catherine was playing with some of the dolls she was given for her birthday. She yelled at her and hit her. When I heard Catherine screaming, I found Lileah beating her with them. She was yelling at her, calling her disgusting names; a fucking two-year old!”

   I don’t even care about how thick my accent is, I am so angry; infuriated.

   “So you brought her to the dock-house outback and drowned her,” he finishes, his face a well-masked façade.

   “Then that bitch had to come outside!” I trek on, throwing my hands up in the air. “She saw Lileah floating in the water and went ballistic; screeching, crying, swearing up and down. Then the barmy fanny saw me and started directing it all towards me, and grabbed Dad’s hunting knife.”

   I turn on my heel sharply, turning to face Steven with tears burning in my eyes.

   “She stabbed me!” I cry. I collapse to the ground and try to hold the tears from spilling over, but it’s no use as I hug myself and feel so small.

   “She was going to kill you,” Steven says, almost gently, despite the hard edge still present. “But your father came and stopped her, hitting her in the back of the head with a nearby plank. He pulled the body out of the lake, and called the police.”

   I am now sobbing, curled into a ball with my arms wrapped around my legs, the fabric of my trousers soaking up my salty tears. I listen as he retells my own sins to me.

   “When he called, he said that your mother became delusional and drowned Lileah in a mad panic attack, then tried to kill you with the knife. He used her mental illness as an excuse, and used the fact that she hadn’t been taking her medication regularly against her. You then moved to the States; you ran away.

   Steven stares at me, waiting for my reaction. I rock back and forth, pulling and tugging at my dark locks. I want to dissipate, to disappear from this world forever and never return, but I know that it’s a futile wish. It just isn’t possible now; they know the truth, and they came to deliver justice. I’m screwed, and they know it.

   I know it.

   I force myself to calm down and take deep breaths before I stumble to my feet. My previously squared shoulders are now slouched over, and my head hangs in defeat. It’s hard to see through the thick, ebony hair curtaining my face, but I manage to watch Steven reach around to his back pocket to pull out a pair of hand-cuffs, their polished metal reflecting the light overhead.

   I don’t resist him as he turns me around and secures the cuffs tightly around my wrists, and I barely hear him as he says my rights. I no longer have the will to resist. I can hear the footsteps and yelling from downstairs, along with what sounds like glass shattering. 

   The yelling grows louder and louder as Steven leads me downstairs, but everything is muffled, slowed down. It’s as if I’ve been placed inside a little bubble that is blocking everything out, numbing my senses.

   The flashing of red and blue makes me cringe as I’m escorted outside, Steven holding onto my bicep firmly. I see two other officers in the front yard shoving Dad into the back of one of their vehicles, and a woman is holding onto Catherine on the front porch, attempting to calm her hysterics.

   A social worker, I think numbly as they stuff me into one of the cars, and a sharp stab of guilt hits my chest. Catherine shouldn’t have to deal with this; she deserves better than this.

   As the car begins pulling out of the driveway, I look through the dashboard window to my poor baby sister, sending a silent prayer for her, then up further to my bedroom window. I immediately stiffen and stare in paralysis and disbelieving fear as the car makes a back turn onto the street. I turn around in my seat to stare at the window as we drive away from the house until I can no longer see it. I sit back in my seat and look down into my lap, shaking as the image is burned into my memory, never to be forgotten.

   The next time I am in contact with paper and a pencil, I will draw a little girl with long wavy hair standing behind a window with draped curtains. It will have no color, but clear as day, I will see the bright hazel of her eyes. They will contrast against the dark hollows of her bruised sockets and sickly-pale face, the corners of her mouth curled into a smirking grin.

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