#'the sun here drains your battery you should be able to pick it up once i charge it' that car has been

[adw520]

cant sleep because i cant stop thinking about how the mechanic was a bit of an asshole to me for no reason when i got my car finally taken in

[jungwonenthusiast]

Friends Don't Lie Ch. 5 & 6

Pairing: Jungwon x reader

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: there will be a scene involving a knife and cutting a body open, I'll put another warning before the part

Based on: Stranger Things

El

The next morning, Jungwon sneaks into his sister's room and secretly hands you an outfit consisting of an argyle sweater and high waisted jeans.

“What about shoes?” you ask him.

“You’re right.” he says before dashing up the stairs and bringing you a pair of socks and Keds. “Okay remember, leave at eleven fifty and meet us by the fence in front of the gym.” he says and you nod.

You make your way to the school and smile at the group of boys waiting for you.

Jungwon waves at you as you peddle over.

“Hey El!” they all greet you.

“Hi guys.” you say and brake the bike.

Jay climbs up the fence and hops over.

“Here,” he gets onto one knee. “I’ll boost you.”

You shakily step onto his thigh and he spots you as you climb up.

You wobble once you get to the top and let out a yelp. “What do I do now?”

“Twist around and start to climb down.” Sunghoon says.

You attempt the twist but you fail miserably. The fence is about ten feet high. You’ve never been this high off the ground before and it’s freaking you the fuck out.

“I can’t do it.” you say quietly, tears are starting to well in your eyes. This is too much for you to handle.

“Yes you can El, you said you couldn’t ride a bike and look what you did today.” Jungwon says.

You whine and shake your head.

"Even if you fall, it's not that high of a drop." Niki says and Jungwon groans.

"That isn't very encouraging."

You take a deep breath before twisting around and climbing down. Just when you’re starting to feel confident, your shoe gets caught in the metal and you lose your grip.

You scream, awaiting your fall onto the grass when you feel multiple arms catch you.

“Jesus christ,” Sunghoon grunts, his hands are on your underarms, making sure you didn't slam onto the ground.

“Are you okay?” Jungwon scans your body, making sure you're not injured. “Fuck, I should’nt have made you do that, I’m sorry.”

“I’m okay,” you say, still catching your breath.

Jay hops over the fence. “You okay man?” he asks and you nod.

“I’m sorry El.” Jungwon says again.

“It’s okay Jungwon, you apologize too much.” you assure him.

“Let’s get to the heathkit, we don’t wanna waste time.” Jake says.

You all scurry to the main building and sneak into the AV club room.

“Sit here.” Jay pulls up a chair for you right in front of the giant radio.

“Find Sunoo, okay?” Jungwon says. “You can do it.”

You close your eyes. You know what you need to do, you’ve done it many times before, but you’re still scared.

You feel your brain buzz and electrify as you enter the Void.

Your heart goes cold when you see him. His face is pale and his lips are almost blue. All the life has left his pretty face.

“Hyung?! Heeseung hyung?!” his voice comes through the radio and the boys look at each other, paralyzed from shock.

“Hyung please! It’s coming!” Sunoo screams.

“Sunoo can you hear us? Sunoo it’s Jay!” Jay yelps.

“It’s like home, but it’s so dark and cold! It’s dark and empty!” Sunoo shrieks. “Hyung please! I’m scared-”

His screams of terror are cut off by the radio bursting into flames.

“Fuck!” Sunghoon curses as the fire alarm begins to ring.

Your neck lulls. You’re drained like a battery now and Jungwon notices.

“Can you get up?” he puts a hand on your shoulder and you weakly shake your head. “Shit. Jake help her get onto my back.”

Jake tugs you onto your feet and helps you hop onto Jungwon’s back.

Everything is so overwhelming and you’re too tired to refuse his service.

“Where do we even go? We’re fucked if anyone finds out it was us.” Niki says while you all jog out of the building.

“Let’s just skip.” Jay says.

“And go where?”Jungwon grunts.

The sun is shining bright in your eyes and you bury your face into Jungwon’s neck.

“Sunoo was talking to Heeseung hyung, we should go to his house.” Sunghoon says.

Jungwon carries you all the way to the Camaro. They were able to sneak out of school without being noticed thanks to the chaos.

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“Can you stand now?” Jay asks you once you all arrive at the Kim house.

You shake your head and he picks you up bridal style, just like how Papa used to whenever you were too tired to move.

Jungwon bangs on the door. “Heeseung hyung! It’s me!” The door flies open. There’s a distressed young man at the door, eyeing you before asking Jungwon what was going on.

“We know what’s going on, we can help.” Jungwon says.

Heeseung looks around before ushering you all into the house. And the place is a fucking mess. Beer cans and dirty clothes are scattered on the floor, and most jarring of all, the dozens of strings of Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling and taped onto the walls.

Jay lays you down on the couch.

“Is she okay?” Heeseung nods your way.

“No, she’s out of juice.” Jungwon says.

“Juice?”

“Energy.”

“Okay, so what do you know?” Heeseung sits at the coffee table.

“That Sunoo is in some kind of other world. It’s just like ours but-”

“Upside down.” you croak, cutting Jungwon off.

“Exactly, upside down. He’s hiding from some monster.” Jungwon says.

Heeseung raises a brow. "How do you know all of this."

"Her." Jungwon looks at you.

"Who is she?" Heeseung asks.

"We don't really know," Jake says. "but she knows a lot."

"How?" Heeseung's brows furrow.

"She hasn't told us." Sunghoon says.

"How can you trust her." Heeseung crosses his arms.

"We just can okay?" Jungwon says.

Heeseung shakes his head. "Okay whatever."

"She has super powers." Niki says proudly.

“What?”

“She can… do things.” Jungwon says.

“Like what?” Heeseung asks warily.

“We don’t know everything but so far, she can move things with her mind and communicate through radio frequencies."

“What the fuck.” Heeseung says. “I swear if you’re lying-”

“You have to believe us, she’s our only hope.” Jungwon pleads.

“Okay fine, I’ve seen enough crazy shit already I might as well.” he comes over to sit next to you. “So where are you from?”

“Bad place.” you whisper.

“She’s on the run from bad people.” Jungwon says.

“Bad people?” Heeseung raises an eyebrow. “Who’s bad people?”

“Papa.” you say quietly.

“Who’s Papa?” they all ask.

You shake your head. “Bad.” But also not bad, because you love him. He raised you and taught you everything you know, up until you met Jungwon, who showed you a world you never even imagined.

“So what does she have to do with Sunoo?” Heeseung asks.

“She knows him,” Jungwon says. “We don’t really know how but she knows where he is.”

“Then-”

“But she doesn’t know how to get there.” Jungwon cuts him off.

“How the hell does she know him?”

“I can feel him.” you say. “That body. It’s fake.”

“I knew it was!” Heeseung gets up. “And no one fucking believes me.”

“Well we do.” Jake says. “But we need to confirm it.”

“How?” Jay asks.

“We need to go to the morgue.” Jungwon says.

CHAPTER 6

TW!!! There will be a scene involving a knife and cutting a body open, please do not read if this could be triggering

“There isn’t enough space for all of us.” Niki says.

“We need our strongest people,” Heeseung says. “Jay, Jake, Jungwon and the girl.”

“Her name is El.” Jungwon says.

“The rest of you stay here and if I come back and you smell like whiskey, I’ll fucking kill you.” Heeseung warns.

You feel good enough to walk, but you’re still not one hundred percent. You rest your head on Jungwon’s shoulder in the car as Heeseung zooms to the lab.

“How are we gonna get in?” Jake says. “No one’s gonna let a group of kids into a morgue.”

Heeseung looks back at you. “So what else can you do?”

“She’s not gonna be our guard.” Jungwon shakes his head. “She’s tired.”

“Then who is gonna be our guard?” Jay says and they all look at Jungwon.

“What?” he says.

“Well you've been doing taekwondo since you came out of the womb.” Jake says.

“I cannot fight off adults.” Jungwon asserts.

“You’re all we have.” Jay adds.

“Too dangerous.” you say. “I’ll do it.”

“No,” Jungown refuses. “You’ll get hurt.”

“So will you.” you argue. “We’ll do it together.”

Jungwon takes a deep breath. “Fine.”

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“We can’t just go through the front door.” Jay says.

“We have no other choice.” Jungwon says.

“How do we get there without being noticed?”

“I have an idea.” you say.

You all hop out of the car. You stand ground and close your eyes. One of the windows shatters and immediately alarms begin to blare.

“Go go,” you usher everyone to run through the door as the staff are distracted by the window.

“Holy shit.” Heeseung whispers.

“Where is he?” Jay says as you all run through the long halls.

Jake begins to read the tags next to every door. “H, i, j , k.” he stops in this tracks. “This is K, he should be in here.”

He rattles the door knob but it doesn't budge.

You take his hand off the knob and cock your head. You hear the door unlock and you quietly push it open.

You wait for everyone to get inside the dark room before shutting the door behind you.

Jungwon rushes to yank the tarps off of every body, trying to find “Sunoo’s”.

You’re surprised that he isn’t freaking out. Death still scares you even though you’ve seen it many times before.

“Jesus christ.” he whispers, while standing over a body. You all scurry to get a look.

It’s Sunoo. Looking as dead as ever. It looks so much like him. They even got the two moles on his face right.

Heeseung touches Sunoo’s face before taking a pocket knife out of the back of his jeans.

“Whoa whoa whoa.” Jay grabs Heeseung’s arm. “What are you doing?”

“We have to make sure.” Heeseung says.

“Isn’t there another way to make sure that’s not cutting him open?” Jay asks, alarmed.

Heeseung shakes his head. He places a steady hand on Sunoo’s shoulder and holds the tip of the blade at his sternum.

You grab Jungwon’s hand as the knife plunges into Sunoo’s skin. You turn your head into Jungwon’s shoulder as Heeseung drags the knife down his chest. He looks away and musters up some courage before sticking his hand into the gash. He freezes.

“What is it?” Jake says.

Heeseung pulls a clump of white fibers out of the wound. The kind that is used for stuffed animals.

“HEY! HEY WHO’S IN THERE!” a voice comes booming through the hall.

“Shit, there’s nowhere to run.” Sunghoon whispers.

You begin to walk towards the door and Jungown grabs at you. You shake him off and push the door open.

“HEY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING KID?” The man comes running towards you but you lift a hand and send him flying into a wall.

“Holy fucking shit.” Jay smiles in delight.

You gesture for them to run out.

Jungwon’s hand latches onto yours as you all flee the vicinity.

“Get in, hurry!” Heeseung orders as he puts the car into drive.

“That was so fucking cool.” Jungwon beams at you and you smile.

“Seriously, that was wicked.” Jay claps your shoulder.

Jungwon

“So what happened here?” Jungwon twists to look at the wall covered in Christmas lights and messily painted letters of the alphabet.

“Sunoo he…” Heeseung hesitates. “He talks to me through lights.”

Everyone raises their eyebrows.

“I’m not crazy alright?” he runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how it works, but it happened, okay?”

“I don’t get it,” Jay shakes his head. “Tell us what happened.”

Heeseung inhales. “I kept hearing him call my name and seeing crazy shit. I thought I was just in denial but I knew that he was alive, I could feel it in my heart. Then the lights around the house started to flicker all weird which wasn’t that unusual but they kept doing it even after I replaced the bulbs.”

Jungwon’s heart skips a beat when he remembers how the light in his bathroom had flickered the night Sunoo went missing.

“A bunch of other shit happened then I figured that he was trying to talk to me. So I bought a fuck ton of lights and painting this.” he gestures to the alphabet on the wall.

“What was he saying?” Jake asks.

“He said that he isn’t safe and I asked him where he was and he said right here, and then run.” Heeseung says and everyone’s blood goes cold. “And that’s all.”

“So that proves our Upside Down theory.” Jungwon declares. “El said that he’s hiding from something, some monster.”

“I know, I… I think I’ve seen it.” Heeseung says quietly and everyone’s eyes go wide.

“What?” Jay stiffins.

“What’d it look like?” Niki asks excitedly.

“It looked like a human but so many things were wrong. It was so tall and pale and it didn’t.. It didn’t have a face.”

Coldness looms over the group.

“Didn’t have a face?” Jake whispers and Heeseung nods.

“I need to kill that fucking thing.” Heeseung hisses.

“Where’d you see it?” Niki asks.

“It-it stretched the wall. It was pushing through the wall like the plaster was made off pizza dough or something and eventually it broke through. I didn’t know what to do so I just ran out into the car.”

Jungwon can tell how distressed Heeseung is. He has bags under his eyes and his shoulders are caved in instead of tall and broad like they usually are.

“And then I,” he pauses and closes his eyes like he can’t believe what he’s saying. “I kept hearing Sunoo. It sounded like he was in the house so I was running around until I heard him coming from the wall,” he nods at the wall in front of the groups that's been axed in, there’s a gaping hole in it with the sun shining through. “I tore at the wallpaper and the wall was like this weird fogged red glass. I could see him. I asked him where he was and he said that it’s like home, but that it’s cold and dark and empty. I could hear that fucking thing growling so I told him to run. And then the plaster covered the glass and he was gone.”

The boys look at each other in disbelief.

“So El is right.” Jake says.

Sunghoon shakes his head. “I don’t get it. How’d he even get into that dimension?”

“Well dimensions can only be traveled if there’s a tear in time and space,” Jake explains. “Almost like a gate. I think that thing somehow left the gate, took Sunoo, and then went back to the Upside Down.”

“How do we get to the gate?” Heeseung asks.

“We can’t.” Jake says.

“Well why not?” Jay challenges and Jake rolls his eyes.

“Okay, so picture an acrobat on a tightrope where the tightrope is our dimension and we are the acrobat. Our dimension has rules. We can only walk forward and backward right?” the boys nod. “Now let's say there’s a flea next to us. The flea can move forward and backwards like us, but it can also move along the side of the tightrope and even underneath.”

“Why can’t we just become the flea?” Niki says.

“Humans just aren’t capable of doing that, if we tried it’d probably obliterate the  Earth.” Jake says.

“How do you know all of this?” Sunghoon snorts.

Jake gives him a smug smile. “Just because I get girls doesn’t mean I’m not smart.”

“I think we already have a flea though.” Sunghoon says. They stare at him for a moment before turning to look at you sleeping peacefully on the couch.

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“No way man what if she fucking dies?” Jungwon whisper yells.

“She’s the only one who can do it!” Jay argues.

“Absolutely not.”

“I swear you’re in love with her or something.” Niki jokes and Jungwon punches him in the arm. “Shut up.”

“Just because he cares doesn’t mean he’s in love.” Jake says.

“Thank you hyung.”

“You’re so whipped man.” Jay chuckles cheekily.

“Fuck off.” Jungwon gets up to wrestle him but Heeseung pushes him back down into his seat.

“Shut the fuck up, all of you. You’re stupid bickering isn’t gonna get us anywhere.” Heeseung orders.

“Jungwon and El sitting in a tree~” Niki begins to sing. Jungwon lunges at him over the small dining table and despite being knocked onto the floor, Niki is still laughing.

Heeseung groans and yanks Jungwon off the other boy. “I’m gonna lock you in the shed if you don’t stop.”

Jungwon huffs and Niki winks at him.

You begin to wake and Jungwon hesitates before jogging over to the couch. “You feeling better?” he kneels down beside you and you nod.

He thinks about how cute your sleepy face is before shoving the thought into the back of his head.

“Jake found a way to find the gate.” he says excitedly and the look in your eyes changes. “What’s wrong.”

You shake your head. “You can’t go there.”

“Why not?” he says and you shake your head.

“Too dangerous.” you look down. “You’ll die.”

“But we have to, there’s no other way-”

“No,” you cut his sentence short. “You. Will. Die. I will go.”

“What? No,” He knits his brow. “No way.”

“You don’t know enough.” you say.

“Well can I at least go with you?” he asks. “Heeseung hyung is gonna wanna go, it's his brother.”

You shake your head. “You don’t understand. It’s not like going into a different state. It’s a dimension. And it’s not a nice one.”

He holds your hand in both of his. “Please El. I need to go. Please, I have to.”

He looks at you with pleading eyes and you sigh.

“What if you get hurt?” you say.

“Then I get hurt, it’ll be fine.” he replies.

“What if you die?”

“Then I die.”

You frown. “You’re so foolish.”

“What do you mean?” he pulls away, taken aback.

“Think about your mother, your father, your friends,” you say. “Think about me.”

His heart sinks. He hadn't even considered how the people in his life would feel if something happened to him.

He lowers his lead. “I’m sorry. But I still need to go. What will it take to convince you?”

“If you somehow became immortal.” you say and he snorts.

“Hey, so is she gonna help us?” Jay asks and Jungwon looks at you.

You sigh, and then nod.

taglist: @shawkneecaps @wonwoosh @strwberrydinosaur @ferxanda

[timextoxhajima]

GEN Z SERIES, CHANG MIN: Invisible Blindfolds

“I want her dead.”

Member: Changmin

Genre: Angst / Fluff

Word Count: 5.2k words

Taglist:  @lovely-kpop-writer​​ @yn-am-pm @fleurseoul​ @sunwoowuvbot​ @mystaydeobi​ @fullsunsays​ @glcwing0​

The corners of your eyes well up with tears, and you swore you’d get a tummy ache the next morning from laughing all too hard. 

“Spin the damn thing again! I’m not going into the closet with him!” Chanhee nearly screams his head off, getting onto his feet just as the soju bottle stops, pointing dead straight at him. 

Ji Changmin gets up from beside you, and steps across the carpet, hands outstretched towards his classmate.

“No, fuck off!” 

The laughter in your abdomen forces you to double over, nearly spilling the cup of Coke mixed with Whiskey in your hand. 

Kevin and Eric get to their feet in a bid to force Chanhee along with the game, and you lean over on your best friend, watching your boyfriend turn back and grin at you as he followed his screaming friend into the closet. 

“The things I’d do to have what you have with him,” Your friend almost shouts, trying to beat the rest of the crowd in the room.

Exams had just ended and you had been cordially invited to an end-of-year party at Kevin’s place as Changmin’s girlfriend. 

“Mm,” A hum commands you to take a sip from your cup, just as Eric and Kevin lean on the closet door from the outside, and Chanhee’s screaming only tickles your funny bone even more. 

The alcohol burns your chest, but it was for a good cause; you were having fun. 

“You say that as if you don’t have just about the greatest thing with Kevin.”

The sparkle in your friend’s eyes would’ve gone unnoticed had you blinked, and you can’t help but to snuggle in further into her neck, resting your head on her shoulder while you revel in the atmosphere of the party. 

Chanhee literally crawls out of the closet once the phone’s timer goes off. Changmin walks out with his mouth covered and wide eyes while Chanhee hurls strings of vulgarities at him, back to the floor like he had just been abused.

“Oh my God, what did you do?” The view stuns you, and Changmin naturally struts over to you, his free hand dangling by the side of his thigh calling out for you to hold it.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Liar--” Chanhee’s eyes are so wide open, his blue contacts might’ve popped out. “He tried to kiss me!”

And the crowd bursts into laughter, including you. 

“Why are you laughing?” Chanhee throws a tissue ball at you, getting to his feet and returning to his spot on the carpeted living room floor. “Control your man.”

“He’s well controlled,” You come down from your high, and pull on Changmin’s hand so he’d sit down. “It’s not my fault he likes you more than he likes me.”

Some in the circle snort, and Changmin pulls you into a headlock, ruffling your hair like you didn’t put effort into styling it before coming. 

And so, the moon hangs itself for all eternity in the dark sky when you leave Kevin’s home, your friend by his side and the group of boys behind you howling and screaming as if they didn’t have to worry about being a public nuisance. 

“Goodnight, Kevin!” You call out over your shoulder, and the others follow suit. 

The door shuts with two smiles behind, but you turn to watch Chanhee and Changmin struggle a little to support the little ball of sunshine who had too much to drink.

“I can go home on my own, you guys need to take care of him.”

Changmin looks up upon your suggestion, watching as you shove your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. 

“What? No.”

Chanhee grunts as Eric nearly slides off, mumbling something about the cat on the other side of the road. 

“I’m not going to be able to bring him back home alone.”

Changmin’s eyes flit between you and his friends, his expression dulling when he realises he doesn’t really have much of a choice.

“Come with us? I don’t want you walking home alone.”

A yawn crawls up your respiratory system, and the remnants of the alcohol gets seeped into your blood as you shake your head.

“I’m fine,” You shrug lightly. “I can take care of myself, but Eric obviously can’t.”

“Your girlfriend’s right,” Chanhee grunts when Eric suddenly does a little skip on a floor, despite his right arm being hooked around Chanhee’s neck. “Eric’s going to spend the night on some pavement if we don’t get him home.”

Changmin looks a tad bit upset with your refusal to walk with them, but he knows he’ll be wasting his breath trying to convince you to go along.

“Okay,” He leans over and pecks you on your forehead. “Be careful, and text me once you get home, okay? Don’t wait up, we’ll probably be awhile.”

The tone in his voice is heavy, and for a moment you worry that he might be more than upset that you were stubborn and rock-headed. 

But Eric starts trying to braid Chanhee’s hair, leaving Changmin no choice but to help untangle his hair from Eric’s fingers. 

You watch for awhile until they disappear around the block, Changmin turning and giving you one last glance before they are out of sight.

The walk home is quiet, apart from the cricket chirping and the occasional car that drives down the road.

You can’t help but to wonder if Changmin really was pissed off with your stubbornness. The stars in the dark sky glimmer down at you, and if you tried hard enough, you could almost see Andromeda, or Mars -- well, it was either or, since both had a shade of red to them if you were to see them in the sky.

The ink sky collects you into its silence and peace, leaving you to wander through the fields of thought in your head before the sun was to rise again. 

A honk outside your house jolts you awake, and your eyes immediately squint away from the bright sun flooding the four walls of your room. 

It is a surprise to realise your phone is a lack of messages -- or replies -- from Changmin when you roll over and fetch the device from your night stand. 

The house was empty, so you could only guess your parents had brought your brother out to buy some of that sports equipment he’s always been wanting to get. 

By nature, you call Changmin, but it meets the dial tone. More messages swarm your chat, but they go undelivered.

WiFi seemed to work but why aren’t they getting through?

A slight headache starts to knock on the inner shell of your skull, and you realise a small cut on your thigh.

Must’ve been Kevin’s house. Wooden floor boards and their splinters.

You forgot to charge your phone before you passed out last night, so it’s a frustrating dead-end when your phone’s battery drains out within the next few minutes.

It wasn’t the first time you’ve been at a social event with Changmin, so being his girlfriend has taught you that he had a habit of sleeping in the next morning after a drinking session. It doesn’t really bother you that you might only come into contact with him when you’re back in school.

Yet the universe thinks it’s fun to pull a prank on you -- for not only is Changmin’s shadow almost out of sight; nobody speaks to you. 

The confusion was overwhelming, nibbling away at your consciousness and your social awareness. Not only did Changmin and his friends seemingly disappear off the face of Earth, so did yours. 

Their seats remain empty for a day, and some don’t even return after the second, including Changmin.

You take the opportunity to run the question through your friend, two of the three who was back in school and the last one gone from your radar as well. 

The cafeteria is bustling as usual, though not as noisy because none of the noisier boys in Changmin’s group of friends were around.

“Do you know what happened to Changmin? And where were you the last two days?” You rest your arms on the table before you, for the lack of appetite from the mistreatment of your boyfriend begins to haunt you like a living nightmare.

“Are you alright? If you need to speak to any of us, we’re always here for you.”

“What?” Your brows furrow and your head cocks to the side. An alarm goes off in your head because that is a strange reply. “What are you--”

“Talk to us, we’re your support. We don’t want you dead in a ditch somewhere, okay?”

“Uh-- sure... I just--”

“Good,” A pause as she returns to her potato salad. “Let me clear this before we head back to class, we have shit to catch up on.”

Baffling.

The next day greets you like the devil’s smile the first time you see it in Hell, for Changmin walks right past you without even looking at you but instead exchanging knowing, suspicious glances at your friend -- the one who assured you her comfort and support just the day before. 

Changmin looked terrible; his smile was gone and the eyebags under his eyes were unmistakably caused by a lack of sleep. The red rings around his eyes are glaring, like he had been a fight and this was the aftermath.

Maybe you should start losing sleep over this too, but everytime your back hits the mattress at home, you knock out and wake up the next morning with a shitty ache in your neck. 

Changmin doesn’t enter your field of vision for the rest of the day, for you have no classes with him besides the chemistry classes on fridays. 

The stinging, wearing pain in your neck draws you to the bed once you reach home, and it feels all too lethargic, like a fever dream. 

The days pass so quickly, so fleetingly, and you weren’t sure if you were just too cooped up in your room studying or sleeping that you haven’t really gotten the time to talk to your family members either. 

They’ll understand. 

But I definitely don’t understand Changmin.

There is something wrong, but he feels so far away, uncontactable.

All those messages and calls to him but nothing. He doesn’t pick up, he doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even look at me in school.

The tears well in your eyes when you struggle to hold yourself together.

How did such a pretty fairytale become a living nightmare?

A phone in the house rings, and the anxiety in her voice thrums through the walls of the house. You wonder for a moment how it was able to wake you -- when your mother finds extreme difficulty in even waking you up on a normal day -- but you peel yourself off the bed anyway and walk out the room, feet snuggled into the thick carpet of the floor. 

It doesn’t take too long for you to realise your mother’s been on the phone for an extended period of time now, and it calls you down the steps of your home into the living room.

The phone is on an extremely high volume; your father has had hearing problems for the longest time so the rest of you simply endure the sometimes-painful levels of pitch whenever someone calls. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you--” 

“No, wait, plea--”

And the phone is almost slammed back into the set with a plastic clack. Your mother doesn’t see you because you’ve stopped yourself at the top of the stairs, bending over to watch the situation unravel under the roof of the first floor.

Ji Changmin is a phenomenon on his own, impeccable. There was absolutely nothing about him you hated, until he treated you like you were invisible.

Then your mother buries her face in her hands, looks up at the top of the stairs and spots you, but she doesn’t look you in the eye; she knows you’re standing there. 

Someone must’ve told her Changmin and I are no longer together, but for what reason, even I don’t know. 

The weekend roles around, and the strangest thing happens in the midst of you sobbing your heart out over losing him to a force even you cannot see. 

Why would he show up at your place with a shovel and a rose?

You watch from the window in your room as your older brother and father try to pry Changmin away from the hole he’s dug on your front yard from the window. 

Quite a sight to behold, honestly. But at what cost? Who was hurting more in the relationship? Why is he here when he hasn’t responded to my calls?

The man tried to plant the rose (still in a pot with a soil-base and all), but fragility gets the better of the fickle thing and its petals dribble off throughout all the chaos. 

Changmin literally gets yanked away into the family car, and if you blinked, you would’ve missed the way Changmin looked up at the window with such yearning, it might’ve been excruciating to digest.

There was almost no way you could decide when it all happened. 

Why did Changmin suddenly stop talking to you? 

Why did he stop seeing you? 

Why did he stop loving you?

The curtains draw back before your nose, your mother closing them for you, though she doesn’t say a word. Her back is turned and she shuts the door of your room behind her, the soft thud a signal to you that maybe it was time to close your eyes and let abyss of dreams claim you again.

Maybe this time -- finally -- you’ll forget you ever loved him. 

Then again, it’s not easy to pretend like you hadn’t once had your hands all over him. It’s not easy to pretend like you didn’t just sit and watch the love of your life perform favourite song before an audience, despite the lyrics being heartbreaking... but watching him dance was like watching the waves crash against the shore, the trees hiding the sunshine from the skies.

It’s not easy to pretend that Changmin didn’t actually make the song your reality. 

The cotton of your bedsheet sucks you into its comfort, albeit the memories still running in your head like a broken record.

It was just weeks ago that the dance crew you were in had finished the showcase, the same one that Changmin had performed Maniac in the gym, that Changmin sent you home.

The crickets on out on your lawn were chirping and halted the moment the both of you were walking along the path up to your porch. The night temperature was colder than comfortable, so Changmin has his windbreaker wrapped around your shoulders, and his left hand interlocked with yours, stuffed into the right pocket.

You remember clearly: he smelled like a disgusting mix of deodorant and his body wash, and you could smell his cologne on his windbreaker. 

Strangely comforting, however gross that sounded. 

And so, it is sweet like hot chocolate in winter and his jacket around your shoulders when he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

Your eyes travel up to his. Those large, round, doe eyes that you fell for after almost a year of being friends. He isn’t that short, so you can’t help the smile when you remember all the teasing he suffers when he’s with his friends.

“Goodnight.”

God, those dimples. 

“Goodnight.” 

The memory of that night swallows you whole like you were a druggies’ pills, and the night collects you the way the grim reaper would -- or should -- collect your already dissipating soul. 

I wonder why he’s crawling back now?

The hallways of school haunt you like Hell the next day; is this my Hell?

It might be, especially if Changmin walks by you, on his phone, and does not see you. He is distant, walking at the back of the group with his friends, and you at the back of yours. 

Everybody looks gloomy; did something happen that you didn’t know about?

Maybe that was why Changmin stopped treating you like you existed.

You claim your seat as per normal in class at the back with your friend, and the other two infront of you. Changmin is seated diagonally to the right before you, and you can tell he starts to drift off to sleep. 

Wait-- I only have one class with him on Fridays--

You realise he’s wearing the same pair of pants he wore to your place the night before, when he tried to plant that rose in your front yard. 

There was a patch of rubbed-in soil into the side of his thigh.

It truly is detrimental to your spirit, when you cannot piece together the information. 

Then the lyrics of the performance he pulled off perfectly comes back to stick themselves in the crevices of your brain like a parasite. 

You were with your friends, partying

When the alcohol kicked in

Said you wanted me dead

The pinch forces you to look away, the sound of his voice saying those words driving merciless needles into your skin, making your hair stand. 

“I want her dead.”

His voice rings in your head, though you have no physical memory of him saying that. When did he say this? Over the phone? To someone else? 

Why do you remember his voice saying these words but you don’t even remember seeing it for yourself?

The teacher’s voice is literally drowned out by all the other little clicks and clacks you can hear in the classroom. 

The clock ticking, people clicking their pens, tapping their feet on the floor. The scribbling. 

So, you shut your eyes, and the school bell violently wakes you up from your never-ending nightmare. 

Everybody is on their feet, heading towards the front of the classroom to get some worksheet from the teacher and one of your friends take one copy for you. 

She’s busy looking at the worksheet for herself, so she candidly slides yours under your desk, and seems to miss your little “thank you”.

Your friends forget about you -- which is a normal occurrence, because they know you like to stay behind after Chemistry to leave with Changmin. 

But all three of your friends spare Changmin a look of pity, almost pain and misfortune before they leave the classroom. 

The room is bare besides you sitting in the back and Changmin sitting in his seat, never really moving a single muscle until he slides everything into his bag and stands up. 

It is so quiet, you can hear him breathing. 

His laboured breath tells you there is something wrong, and if he wasn’t going to talk to you about it, then maybe you should find out for yourself. 

It takes a surprisingly minimum amount of effort to follow Changmin out of school and to the bus stop and the train station, because he doesn’t stop once -- he is rushing somewhere, steps larger than he normally would walk with and his hood over his hair, almost hiding his eyes. 

I wish I never loved you, Ji Changmin. You love me with all your heart with mine sitting in the heart of your palms only for you to crush it the very next day, and forget that I ever exist. 

Changmin alights at a station he doesn’t usually alight at, the situation starting to make it even more mind-boggling for you.

Just who or what was it that tore you away from me? We had everything, and the way your eyes twinkled when you looked at me made me feel like I was the only thing you ever needed. 

Then, Changmin gets on a bus, shoving his hands into his pockets. The sun was setting so the sky was turning into a gentle blue from orange.

So, was I? Was I the only thing you ever needed or did you realise that you were wrong, and that you could do without me? That you could be better off with someone else?

The bus stops, and Changmin alights. 

But what greets you is the daunting architecture of a building almost as high as apartment buildings.

It was a hospital.

Something dawns on you, but anger and confusion is not a good mix of emotions when your boyfriend suddenly stops acknowledging your existence without an explanation. 

What if it was your mother? Your father? No, you would’ve told me, wouldn’t you, Changmin? Or was it another girl whom your eyes laid on, and your heart decided her hands were softer, warmer for it to snuggle into, sing melodies into her skin and press loving songs onto her lips?

I wish you were dead, Changmin.

I wish--

“I’m here, y/n.”

It crushes your spirit when you hear the name ring in the halls of the hospital, or maybe it was just in your head. Changmin had entered a ward, but you haven’t seen what was in it.

The sudden nausea in your gut starts to grumble through your system, and your heart rushes like manic in the cages of your chest. 

“How are you today? You look better.”

If I looked hard enough, maybe I could see Andromeda or Mars--

Until bright, white lights blind you.

And your neck feels like there is a harsh squeeze around your spine on the inside, and you groan in pain to yourself, the movement shifting you forwards, just enough to provide you a view of the patient in the ward Changmin was sitting by. 

It feels almost aggressive, or violent, the way the truth of reality slaps you across the face, possibly breaking your neck and a few bones in the process.

But that was not possible, because you were looking at yourself lying in the hospital bed, motionless. 

Cast around your neck and stitches across your face, left hand in cast and one of your legs held up by a support, the physical pain starts to spread through your body just as the information clicks together. 

“I want her dead.” Changmin’s face is tear stained and he is drunk from the sorrows he ironically tried to drink away. Distant, hazy memory reminds you that he is distraught over your accident, for the doctor cannot promise a hundred percent survival rate, not after it’s nearly severed your spine, fractured about a dozen bones in your body and broken your leg.

“You know you don’t mean that.” The calming voice of your voice, though hoarse and also slightly strained, tries in vain to soothe the poison in his heart. 

“If she is in so much pain then I rather her--”

“Shut-- the fuck up!” Then she hurls her glass across the living room, and Kevin rushes to hold her back. She breaks down in his arms, and Kevin looks to Changmin with agony in his eyes. 

He knows Changmin is feeling worse, if not the worst in the room. 

“Are you alright? If you need to speak to any of us, we’re always here for you.”  The memory plays out in your head, leaving a horrid, bitter taste on your tongue. 

She was talking to the other friend at the table, and you weren’t there. 

Your room had been empty the day you were in the accident -- almost three weeks ago. 

The rose sitting in the pitiful pile of soil in your backyard gets surgically removed and then re-installed into the grass by your older brother, because he knows why Changmin left it there. 

Both of them are afraid they are going to lose you, but it’s not in their control to decide what the Grim Reaper decides to do. 

The soft beeping of the heart monitor is a stab to the chest when you realise it was your own heartbeat you were listening to. You slowly walk around the bed and sit in the chair on the other side, directly opposite Changmin with your lifeless body between the two of you. 

You are barely recognisable, but Changmin still looks at you with that twinkle in his eyes, though now shrouded with the tears coating them. 

Guilt finds you in places you never knew was possible, when you realise you had just played Changmin off as an unfaithful, unreasonable partner. 

All he had been was just the opposite. 

The tears fall from Changmin’s eyes, and God, how much do you want to reach over and wipe his tears off his face and tell him you’re still alive, and you’re still fighting. 

He gulps, not doing much to salvage his need to be strong for himself, or for you, and presses one hand into the back of his neck, over the material of his hood. Your right hand, with the index finger clipped with the pulse oximeter, held in his free hand, as he lowers his head in despair.

You don’t know how you’re feeling it, but maybe because the entity you are right now is your soul itself. So the pain is intrinsically sharp in your heart when you watch him crumble, and you cannot do anything about it. 

He sniffles and brushes away the tears streaming down his face, dampening the ends of his sleeves when he looks up at your scarred, wounded face. 

“I’m gonna hope you can hear me, because I don’t think I can say this again...” His finger is trembling when he reaches up and brushes away the hair by your eyes. “If you need to go, if you’re really in pain--”

The hiccups stop him, and you find yourself cracking into sobs, shaking your head when you know what he’s about to say.

“--if you’re really in pain, then go. I don’t want you to stay if all you’re feeling is pain--” 

His teeth are gritted, and you can see the strain in his neck when he hides his eyes with his palm, free hand still holding onto your limp fingers.

No, I don’t want to go if it means you’re hurting.

“I just... I know your family will hate me for saying this but I just need to know that you’re not in pain--”

No, this pain is nothing compared to if I don’t have you. 

“But if you’re somewhere in there, and if you’re fighting, I hope you know I’ll be here to wait for you to come back to me, no matter how long it takes.”

No, no, no, no, this was not how I planned my life to end--

“I love you so much... and I’m sorry I didn’t say it more. I’m sorry that you don’t feel it sometimes, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you in any way, I just--”

He takes a deep breath and strokes your cheek. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The tears are ruthless yet intangible. They fall as tears from your face but disappear into nothingness just before they reach the floor. You try to wipe them from your face with your sleeve but they leave no marks. 

“No... no!” You know the screams can’t be heard by anybody but yourself, and you try to pick up the chair to hurl it across the room but you can’t shift it an inch. You try to kick the bed, but the mattress sheet doesn’t even crease.

“No! Changmin, I’m still here! I’m not in pain and I don’t want to go-- Please...”

Your knees meet the floor of the ward, your hands gripping onto the sides of the hospital bed as you listen to Changmin offer your body sobs and hiccups. 

The rough material of the bed makes you feel the texture, but it doesn’t leave any marks. 

You hear some shuffling and you look up with tired eyes, the pain in your neck calling you back into that lethargic ambience that you now reocgnise. The nightly “sleep” you’ve been getting is just your soul being pulled back into the reality you’ve been so used to, leaving your body here to rot and remain in its useless trance. 

The pain starts to ring a pitch in your ear, and you wince as you stand, watching Changmin stand and rub his eyes.

“No, no, stop!” The pitch gets higher, and the pain spreads a strange need to pass out throughout your body. 

How long are you going to be stuck in his vicious, torturous cycle?

You claw and scratch at the spot of pain causing the ringing in your ears on the back of your neck as Changmin leans forward and presses a gentle kiss into your forehead, lingering there longer than you expected him to. 

The ringing reaches a pitch in your skull that has you covering your ears and cowering to the floor, and just before you black out, you read Changmin’s lips as he whispers to you. 

Please don’t leave me.

The ring cracks something in your neck and you pass out completely, feeling your weight thump to the floor.

“What would you do if I got into an accident?” 

“What?” You frown and look over to Changmin, who’s got his arm under his neck and his eyes looking down at you. “Why would you ever ask that?”

He smiles, the neon stars pasted on your room ceiling still darker than the ones in his eyes. 

“I don’t know, just wanted to know.”

“Hm,” You pull the blanket up to your neck and turn to your side to better face him, rolling the metal ends of his hoodie’s string between your thumb and index finger. “I don’t know. What are the given circumstances?”

“You need given circumstances?”

You laugh, and his eyes are widened with amusement.

“Well, yeah. Like, if the doctors were to tell me you’re dead then there really isn’t much I can do, can I?”

A gasp from him tickles your funny bone again, and you push his chest, shoving him off balance. Changmin repositions himself now, pulling the blanket over himself and tucking his arm under your neck, so that you were resting against his chest and hoodie and his scent intoxicating you in every sweet way possible.

“Okay, what if I become brain dead or something?”

“So, like... alive but you’re never gonna wake up?”

“Yeah.”

Your eyes travel to the ceiling, the stars pasted mapped out according to your starsigns. 

“Do I have the choice of pulling the plug?”

“Mhm, you either pull the plug and get me off life support or you don’t and keep my body around but I’d never wake up.”

“I’d pull your life support.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I don’t want you to be stuck in a body you can’t do anything with. You love to dance and play sports-- I can’t imagine you being stuck in a body that doesn’t allow you to do that.”

Silence.

“You okay? Or did I say something wrong?” 

“Nah,” He shakes his head when you look up to him. “It’s just-- I’m glad you said that. You know me well enough to know that’s what I’d want you to do.”

“And here I was worried you’d want to spend the rest of your life stuck in a body that’s dead.”

“Nah, I’d rather spend the rest of my life with you, and if there’s no you, then there’s no point living.”

So, your eyes shoot wide open like waking up from a dream, but the ceiling is white and your body is being hugged with a thick, uncomfortable material you can’t recognise.

But Changmin’s voice comforts you, and when the tears from his eyes sting the wounds on your face, you don’t mind the extra pain when yours seep into the cuts and wounds too. 

[katahnisharma]

gone (3) | t.h.

Summary: tom is back from shooting cherry, but he’s not okay.

Warnings: this started as my entry to the lovely b’s writing challenge @worldoftom, but you guys were so amazing and wanted a second part. this is a very emotional chapter and there are mentions of anxiety, depression, and overall intense emotions so please be careful loveys ♡

A/N: for this chapter i’ve been listening to a lot of sun airway (mostly all in) but I hope you guys like it!! also Tumblr apparently won’t let me link certain things so if you’re looking for my masterlist, playlist, taglist (please send an ask or fill out the form!), or writing challenge it’s in my bio ♡

gif by @hllands

“It’s a good thing you brought her in when you did. From what it looks like, that metal piece had a chip of mercury in it and she was at risk of poisoning. That should account for the nausea and weakness, but she’ll pull through with the medicine.” The doctor said, handing Harrison the report. He gave it a once over, and then turned back to your bed. You were finally asleep, the sedatives knocking you out so you could sleep properly.

“Thanks, doctor. I’ll let her family know, hopefully she’ll just sleep for a while.” Harrison said, moving to sit down next to you. You looked so peaceful now, completely unbothered by anything. Truthfully, Harrison hadn’t seen you like this since Tom came back from shooting. You’d been killing yourself trying to spend time with him and do things for him, only to have Tom brush you off or avoid you all together.

It was eating away at you, and Harrison knew it was just a matter of time before you broke apart.

A ping from his phone drew his attention away from you, and he took a deep breath when he read the text message.

I just got to Tom’s, Haz.

He’s a wreck.

“Tom, you have to let me in!” Harry shouted, banging on the bathroom door. He’d been outside the door for fifteen minutes, listening to his brother cry on the other side. Occasionally there would be silence and the sound of something shattering, and Harry knew something was very wrong. When he heard Tom’s voice break softly, Harry grew more desperate.

“Alright, if you don’t open this door in the next minute I’m breaking it down!” Harry said, feeling his resolve crumbling. He was trying to be strong for his older brother, but he’d never seen Tom like this before. Of course there had girlfriends and break ups before, but he knew you and Tom would be different from the first time you met. You two were soulmates, everyone was convinced of that. Nobody knew Tom the way you knew him, and nobody made him happy the way you did.

It was like a perfect equation, because you and Tom equated to that kind of everlasting love you read about in books.

But now it felt like someone had come in and ripped out the happy ending, and Harry was struggling to piece the story back together.

“Tom...please…” Harry whispered, a sinking feeling taking over his body, “I don’t know what happened with you and Y/N, but I know one thing. You love her, Tom. You’ve loved her ever since you met her, and I know she loves you too. Just please, let me in.”

Harry fell against the door, finally spent with emotion. A tear escaped fom his eye as his head hit the door, sliding down to sit on the floor. He’d texted Harrison a couple minutes ago, but hadn’t gotten a response back. Truthfully, Harry wasn’t even sure where he was or if you were with him. But the situation must have been bad if Harrison wasn’t responding and you were nowhere to be seen.

“Shit.” Harry’s phone flashed with a low battery warning, and he was about to get up to find a charger when he heard the lock to the bathroom door unclick. It was so soft that he would have missed it, if not for the fact that he was sitting with his back to it. Harry’s breath hitched and he dropped his phone near the wall, slowly turning the handle.

The bathroom was so dark, Harry almost stumbled over his own feet. But a sliver of light from the window illuminated his brother’s body, slumped against the cold tile walls of the shower. Tom wasn’t moving, just breathing quietly and staring at the wall behind him. The light shone on his face, and Harry could make out dried tears and the start of fresh ones. His eyes were sunken and lifeless, like he’d been dead and propped up against the wall. Tom barely stirred when Harry walked over, just glancing at the space in his direction.

“Tom...what happened?” Harry breathed, crouching down to look at his older brother. At close proximity, Harry could see Tom better. He looked completely exhausted, the life drained from his face and his eyes glossy. His hair was hopelessly disheveled, and Harry knew he must have paced for hours running his hands through it in anxiety. He’d clearly been crying for a long time because his shirt was still wet, clinging to his chest like a worn out rag.

For a moment, Tom looked at Harry and it seemed like there was something right behind his eyes that was trying to get out. That look of fear and anguish melded together, wanting someone to help him because he could no longer help himself. It was like another person inside him, the real Tom that had been trapped for so long. The person he had been before the trauma, before shooting Cherry, the man Harry was proud to call his brother.

And then Harry knew what to do.

“Come here, come on.” Harry breathed, holding out his arms. Tom made a broken sound, and finally fell in. The weight of his brother felt right, after months of being pushed away and locked out of his mind. It had never been like that, the feeling of an intangible barrier blocking Harry from Tom. But now it was gone, and the only thing Harry could think of was how long his role model had suffered in silence.

All that pain, to carry it alone.

Tom sobbed harder than Harry had ever seen in his life. It was shuddering and full of hurt, like some dam had broken inside of him. Maybe that was what Harry had seen, the beginning trickle of a flood that needed to wash everything away. Tom was barely breathing, just crying into Harry’s chest with such emotion that the bathroom felt heavy. Every few seconds Tom would only be able to make guttural sounds, and to Harry it sounded like pure torture.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Harry whispered, clutching Tom and rocking him back and forth. The action must have calmed him, because Tom’s sobbing was slowing down. The tears began to lessen and Harry could now hear Tom’s breathing return to a steady pace. There were still some sobs in between, but it all had to come out. It had been locked away for far too long, and Harry knew that he would stay with Tom until he was okay again.

“I...I’m so sorry.” Tom gasped, taking a deep breath before another wave of tears emerged. Harry held him tighter, waiting for him to feel safe with his own words. He didn’t push him, or even tell him to take his time. Harry knew that wasn’t what Tom needed right now.

Sometimes, people just need someone to hold them so they can feel whole again.

“You shouldn’t be here...picking me up off the floor like some kind of child.” Tom finally spoke, his voice coming out strangled. He balled his right hand into a fist, and Harry recognized the action from set. While shooting Cherry, Tom would do that if he was stressed or feeling overwhelmed by everything. Harry had never brought it up, but he knew now that it should have warned him this was coming.

This was no ordinary mood swing.

“Hey, don’t say that. I’m your brother and I care about you. I’m always gonna be here, whenever you need me.” Harry said, giving Tom a reassuring hand. He noticed his brother flinch slightly, but after a few seconds Tom relaxed again. And this time, Harry knew it was because he was finally ready to talk.

So he held Tom’s hand, like he knew Tom would do for him.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Harry. I-I’m scared of myself…” Tom whispered, his hand gripping Harry’s tighter.

“What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with you, Tom I-”

“Yes there is!” Tom suddenly drops Harry’s hand, immediately bringing his hands to his face. He balled his fists again, almost like he’s beating himself. Harry sits still, wanting to reach out but he knows this is part of the process. Tom needed to let it out.

“I-I don’t recognize myself anymore...it’s like looking into a window or a painting. I see myself and I hear myself, but it’s not me. I became someone else...and I hate who I am.” Tom breathed, getting up and leaning against the sink. Harry stayed silent, watching Tom’s eyes focus on the ceiling.

“When we first started shooting Cherry, I was so excited. I had finally gotten a role where I felt I could really grow, push myself out of my comfort zone. That was what I had trained to do, and I was so happy that I never stopped to think about if I could really handle it.”

“Honestly….I don’t think I wanted to think about it. I just wanted a chance to prove myself as a serious actor, and I thought ‘fuck it, I’ll do whatever it takes’. I’ll do the late hours, the reshoots, the mind games, the method acting shit…..I can take whatever they throw at me. And I did it, Harry. I did it all.”

“I threw myself into that movie one hundred and ten percent. I went harder than I ever have in my life, even more than I did for Spiderman. I just kept telling myself ‘No breaks, keep going. You don’t get to stop until it’s perfect’. So I didn’t stop, and I kept pushing myself.”

“Nobody warns you about what it will do to you. How it starts to feel real, all of it. Like...like it wasn’t a movie anymore...I felt so alone. You were there, I had the whole crew too...but it didn’t matter. There wasn’t anyone who would understand how depressed you start to feel. Because it became a part of my mind, the drugs and the pain and the emotion. I couldn’t separate myself from the role anymore.”

“I never told anyone what was happening, I just told myself to get over it. I was ashamed that I allowed it to affect me. You know, h-how could I be so weak? But filming every day, reshooting takes that drained me completely, it was really bad. I keptfalling into this dark place and I thought I was going to drown alive.”

“At the end of the day, when you were out with the cast, I stayed in that trailer and cried myself to sleep. I was so tired and I felt sick to my stomach every day. It fucking messes with your mind, doing that every day. It feels like someone is punching you in the gut until you throw up, like you want to just drown to keep out the pain...I never want to feel that again.”

“But all I wanted was to prove something to the people that didn’t believe I was good enough. I just wanted the respect, the recognition that I could be something more. I pushed myself until I was so far gone because I wanted it to be perfect. Because what if…… what if I was really just a fluke? What if I was only good enough to play Spiderman?”

Tom’s shaking again, and Harry knows he’s ready to break. It takes only a second for his knees to give out, and Harry’s right there to catch him. The two of them collapse against the cabinets, and now it’s Harry’s turn to cry too.

“God, it hurts so much...it hurts so much, Harry. Why does it hurt so much?” Tom sobbed into Harry’s shirt, and Harry felt tears of his own hit his cheek. He had no idea Tom had been harboring all this for so long, and it had been happening right under his nose.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I’m so sorry.” Harry cried, holding onto Tom like he was afraid he would slip from his fingers. Tom didn’t move either, and maybe he was afraid of that too.

“I pushed her away...Harry what the fuck do I do? I love her so much, she’s my entire world and I broke her heart. I told her to leave and now I’ve lost the one person I don’t ever want to live without. I can face anything with her, but I can’t face knowing I drove her away. Not when I know s-she’s the one…” Tom sniffled, and he felt his heart ache again. The way it had without her, the way it had when he wished she was there to hold him while he cried.

“It’s okay, Tom. We’ll figure this out. It’ll be okay, I promise.” Harry whispered. Tom wiped his eyes and looked up at the wall. It was a picture of you and him, the first wedding you ever attended together. You looked so happy, glowing in your flowy lavender dress. That smile made Tom’s knees weak every time, and he had kissed you speechless right after the picture was taken.

And that’s when Tom knew that he couldn’t be himself again without you. Because you were his second half, the only one who he’d ever loved unconditionally.

“I love her, Harry. And I have to prove it.”

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[howggswouldreact]

♡ Serenity | Seulgi

Request: hii, can u write a fluf scenario with seulgi of red velvet where they gf have a bad day on the University and she tries to comfort her with cuddles and a lot of kisses ? thank u sorry for bad English ❤️❤️❤️

Plot: Reader has a terrible day at college and Seulgi is the only person who can help her feel better.

Words: 1,553

Genre: fluff, college!au

Notes: this is one of my favs i’ve wrote... hope you like it! ♡ ♡

You never thought that one day could be as bad as this one. And by just thinking about it, you were afraid it was going to start raining and a lightning bolt would hit the very top of your head, as it usually happens in the movies.

Since you woke up for classes, everything was going wrong. You stumbled when you got out of bed. When you went to take a shower the water that came out was strong and the fast jet was as cold as snow on Christmas morning. You put your blouse on the wrong side and had to come back to fix it. And, for some reason, you had the feeling that you were forgetting something. Luckily, you weren't late.

What was happening? It seemed to you that the day was destined to be a bad one. Was it some kind of curse? You didn’t know. But you were asking the universe not to make it worse.

However, it can be cruel when it wants to.

When you arrived at your first class of the day, you realized what you had forgotten: the last exam of the semester.

How could you miss such an important detail like this? It was the last one! And a subject that you were not so familiar with. Okay, your week was terrible, exam after exam, project after project, you weren't sleeping well or even eating well.

Sitting down and picking up your pen, you took a deep breath and looked at the paper that was deposited by your teacher right in front of you. Closing your eyes slowly, you thought of all the content you had learned, went over every detail in your own mind and hoped you hadn't missed one. You would need calm but, mainly, you would need luck.

A few kilometers and a few hours later, on the same campus, your girlfriend, Seulgi, was concerned. While sitting with two of her friends, Yerim and Joohyun, she texted you asking if you were eating or at least had a glass of water. The answer was almost always negative, so Seulgi's concern increased and made her heart squeeze. But since you didn't respond right away, she sighed heavily and put the phone back in her jacket pocket.

"Honestly, girls, I miss Y/N..."

"This is new!", Yerim said in a boring tone, used to Seulgi always saying how much she missed you, even though she saw you the night before.

“No, I'm serious, I haven't seen her in over a week. And we study at the same university! ”

Yerim's eyebrows went up in surprise. Joohyun, who was concentrating on her milkshake, finally spoke up.

“This last semester is very stressful, Seulgi, maybe she won't be able to manage everything at once. At least she had answered your messages, right?”

“Yes, but she is putting college above her own well-being! That's what worries me. She is not taking care of herself. ”

Seulgi's cell phone rang and when she picked it up she realized it was a call from you. She answered it.

"Hey, babe!", she said, with a huge smile on her face.

"Hey..."

From the tone of your voice, Seulgi knew there was something wrong.

"Did something happen?", she asked, worried about you.

"I’ve had a very bad day..."

"Tell me where you are and I will get you."

While waiting for Seulgi with the backpack on your shoulders, you looked at the sun, which was setting behind the tall gray buildings of the university. You were feeling drained and connecting with nature wouldn't work to recharge your batteries. Then you looked down at the sidewalk and there she was, in a black jacket and her hair hanging loose over her shoulders, a beautiful smile, which was the only thing capable of recharging your batteries.

Seulgi approached you and hugged you.

"Are we going to my apartment?"

You nodded.

You both walked hand in hand all the way. Her apartment was not far from the campus and it was much more comfortable for you two than your dorm. And your roommate would be there so you wouldn’t have privacy and you wouldn’t talk about your feelings to Seulgi.

When you arrived at her apartment, you hugged her again, and the feeling of her arms around you made you feel at home. Seulgi was your home.

"What do you think about..." she started to speak, fingers sliding through your hair as she slid her nose to yours. "... taking a shower to relax while I order your favorite food and put a really bad movie for us to watch?"

You smiled and felt her lips on top of yours. Seulgi sucked your lower lip and gave it a light peck, her hands cupping your face, her thumbs giving a gentle touch on your cheeks.

"I think it's a good idea.", you said when the kiss ended.

You went to shower in Seulgi's suite and she took out her cell phone to order your favorite food at a restaurant near her apartment. She asked for the order to come neatly arranged and even tipped the restaurant as an incentive.

In the bath, you tried to relax. There, the water was at a pleasant temperature. There, you were feeling well. It was as if everything needed Seulgi's presence to finally come into balance. You stayed like that for a while, so immersed in your own thoughts that you didn't hear the bell ring or even when Seulgi came in and out of the room quickly.

You came out of the bathroom and saw on the bed clothes that Seulgi had separated for you to wear. Smiling to yourself as you got dressed, you thought of how lucky you were to have her in your life and how she made difficult days easily light, as if she had done some kind of magic.

"Do you prefer to eat here on the sofa to watch TV or in the bedroom?", asked Seulgi.

She wasn’t wearing her jacket anymore and hadn’t turned to you yet. She was taking the food out of the bags she had received from the delivery man minutes earlier.

"It's so warm!", she said, pointing to the food on the table and turning to you. "Oh, Gosh! We haven't seen each other in so long that I forgot how beautiful you look in my clothes!”

“Hey, it was only for a week! I couldn't stay away from my teddy bear for a long time... ”, you laughed.

"Any time without you is a long time, you know that.", she pulled you by the hand and kissed your forehead.

"Silly!", you said, approaching and inhaling the delicious scent of the food. "My goodness, just smell that... Definitely, let's eat here in the living room!"

So, as Seulgi had said, you started eating while watching a cliché movie from the 00s' on Netflix, a very boring romantic comedy. This early evening made you feel that everything was completely different from your morning. Like the two sides of the same coin: one side, in the morning, was completely dirty and dusty; on the other side, it was shiny, shiny like your girlfriend's smile.

You finished eating and Seulgi stroked your hair, sitting next to you on the floor. She was facing you, the movie was of no importance to her, and you knew those dark eyes were reading you.

"Do you want to tell me how you're feeling?", she asked you, her quiet, low voice taking a path so deeply from your ears to your heart that you just started to cry.

All the feeling of tiredness, physical and mental exhaustion, leaving in an intense flow of tears. That simple sentence by Seulgi broke a wall, releasing trapped feelings.

Her arms went around your body, warming you up and giving you the security you needed at that moment, that terrible month. She kissed your cheek several times, kissed your temple, said everything you needed to hear:

"Everything will be fine, my love."

But, unlike when other people say the same thing, hearing those words coming out of Seulgi's mouth brought an immeasurable truth, a certainty that left no room for doubt. Everything would really be fine.

Then the tears gradually stopped, your breathing normalized and Seulgi wiped your face with the tips of the sleeves of her blouse. She placed a kiss on the tip of your nose, making a smile appear on your lips.

"This is how you should look, always with that smile that I love on your lips.", she pulled you closer, caressed your face, smiling at you.

Her lips traveled every corner of your face until they finally found your lips, applying soft pecks mixed with smiles. Seulgi had your heart and knew how to take care of it better than anyone.

"Thank you.”, you said, leaning your forehead against hers.

"For what?", she asked, confused.

"For being the best girlfriend in the world."

"I only accept thanks if it is in the form of kisses."

You smiled, your eyes alternating between her mouth and her perfect eyes.

"I think it is a price that I am willing to pay.”, you replied.

And you leaned down to join your lips to hers, finding that taste of serenity that only Seulgi’s lips had.

[starsfic]

The Ghosts of Fiery Cloud Manor, Chapter 8: Deals

Summary: Xiaotian and Red discuss terms.

AO3

-_-

The manor had a very nice dining room.

   Xiaotian hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it, but he had admired it on his self-guided tour around the manor. Beautiful traces of gold paint broke the dark red the walls were painted in. The dining table, made of dark wood, looked like it could comfortably sit eighty people, which was a surprise given his first guess had been forty. It was also somehow magically clean, lit by red lanterns, and brimming with a feast.

   A feast he most likely couldn’t trust.

   Still, that wasn’t the biggest surprise. What was the fact that Xiaotian had walked through the ballroom doors and into the dining room when, last he checked, the dining room was on the other side of the manor. He stopped and stared.

   “Uh...did you guys move the dining room?”

   “No,” Jin said with a shrug.

   “The rooms always move around, you just haven’t been able to see it.” Yin explained more.

   “Oh.” Well, that was unsettling. So before tonight, the entire manor could’ve shifted and he wouldn’t have noticed a thing. But  with the staff, he was able to see it. What would happen if it happened when Spindrax was here? He was a terrible liar and while Xiaojiao was slightly better, he had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long.

   But maybe it happened at night? A quiet breeze from outside blew as he moved past some of the screens, painted with the images of purple bulls, and he thought he heard whispering. Who knew how many of Red’s subjects came to eavesdrop?

   Speaking of Red, he had settled at the head of the table in a chair that definitely didn’t look like part of this dining set. It looked more like a throne than the rest of the stools. There was a smug smirk on his face as he made a gesture and the stool at the other end drew itself out. With the angle, Xiaotian would be craning his neck to meet the demon’s eyes.

   Yeah, no.

   Making eye contact with him, Xiaotian pushed in the chair and instead headed to where Red was seating. He pulled out the stool right next to the throne and sat down, close enough that their knees were touching. When he looked up, Red looked bewildered. Given his position and how long it had apparently been, Xiaotian was willing to guess it’d been a while since someone invaded his personal space. Feeling a touch guilty, he stuffed the bracelets in his bag and put it aside in the next seat, keeping the staff slung over his legs. When that was done, he tried to give Red a friendly smile.

   “Hi, neighbor.”

   The demon blinked. “Hello.” he finally said.

   “So, this magically clean table,” Xiaotian gestured to the table. “Should I be crying over all the wasted hours of manual labor-”

   “It’s temporary!” Yin called out.

   Xiaotian nodded because that was good to know. If it turned out he had actually been wasting time, he probably would’ve broken into tears. “That...that’s good to know.” This was awkward. He awkwardly picked at his hand, not sure of what else to do.

   “Do you want something to eat?”

   Ah, there was the question. “I’m feeling a bit peckish, but I’ll wait till I’m somewhere where I can eat the food without being poisoned or being kidnapped to another dimension.” There was a squeak from one of the twins, followed by a hiss to shut up. He pretended that he didn’t feel Red’s glare.

   “You’re very well-informed.”

   “Not by anyone in the village.” Xiaotian was quick to explain. “Just...common sense.”

   Red made some kind of noise that he was willing to guess was an admittance of his point. “I can’t kidnap you with food unless you choose to. Force would be useless, by the rules of our prison.”

   Prison. Once again, that word. “Well, then.” Xiaotian said, pushing aside his questions to focus on the current task. “There should be a rule that you can’t coerce anyone into eating kidnapper food.” His smile grew at the frustrated growl.

   “You’re asking a great deal from me.”

   “I just want to protect myself and my friends.”

   “I want to protect my court as well.”

   “And kidnapping me was involved how…?”

   Red waved his hand and in a burst of flames, the feast vanished to be replaced by a steaming teapot and two cups. “You’re working for the mortal the Monkey King’s courting.” He gestured to the tea set and Xiaotian shook his head. He shrugged in acceptance and poured himself a cup. When he drained it, Yin refilled it. “Stealing you would’ve been payback aimed at Sun Wukong.”

   He had so many questions for Tang. “Yes, but again, since I had no idea that I was working for Sun Wukong’s boyfriend and he had no idea that you’re here, it would’ve been impossible to know it was payback. Let’s skip over that.” Xiaotian tried to pull on a serious face. “I would like your permission to stay. Will you grant it?”

   “To what end?”

   Good point. Tang had made it sound like he was thinking about turning this place into a museum and he couldn’t see that going smoothly. Thousands of mortals coming in and out? He very much doubted Red would be amused by that. “I think we should revisit that later. Say, late August?”

Red paused, the serious royal expression being replaced by confusion. "...what?"

"For now, safe passage, in exchange for catching you up on all you missed." Xiaotian nodded to his phone. "Like passwords. And batteries." The twins turned dark- blushing? "Honestly, for now I’d just like to be able to tidy up the place without worrying about you turning up to ask if something smells like chloroform to me.”

“Smells like what?”

"Pop culture reference, don't worry." He did have things greater to worry about. "I can catch you up on that and other stuff."

"Like passwords?" Jin asked.

Xiaotian decided to take pity. "It's...a code that opens the phone." He racked his brain for a comparison. "Like a key. That, right now, only I know."

The twins gasped and Red scoffed. "Trifles." Then suddenly he was in his face, looming over him. His eyes seemed to have a gentle glow. His voice was a gentle purr, washing over his mind, as he spoke. "You could have more than trifles."

Xiaotian blinked, trying to snap his brain to life. "Like trust?"

The fogginess over his mind receded as Red leaned back. At that moment, he looked nothing like a demon royal.

He looked like a boy. A cute one.

"Although, that might be a bit much," Xiaotian said with a sad shake of his head. Under his clothing, bruises tingled. Trust was the only thing he didn't seem to have. "Let's aim for understanding."

"Understanding." Red repeated.

"Take the summer to see if you want mortals in the manor on a more permanent basis."

"How generous."

Be serious. “And in exchange I’ll do what I can to catch you up on what’s been happening in my world.  Music, food, history.  Whatever you want to know.”

He took a moment to consider that before asking, “The food’s changed?” Xiaotian nodded and Red huffed. “It is not just my consideration you want,” he reminded her.  “Free reign to move through my property, safe passage - ”

"For me and mine." He paused to consider. "It's too late for Xiaojiao but I would prefer if Spindrax doesn't find out. Or Tang." At the mention of the scholar, Red tensed. “Regardless, the protection I negotiate for myself would also apply to them.”

Red considered him. Xiaotian refused to blink.

"I accept." Red held out his hand, a pleasant smile on his face.

"Including the food rule?"

His smile vanished. "Yes." he ground out, sounding very unpleased.

"No kidnapping, no-"

"Will you just shake my hand?!" Red's hair lit up. Xiaotian reached out, feeling the claws prick against his skin, and shook. The flames died. "We'll revisit the terms in August." Red said before pulling away.

"Thank you." he breathed, giving a respectful nod as he folded his hands in his lap.

Xiaotian's hand tingled with warmth.

[doing-all-write]

you’re out

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your favorite past time is roasting Joe about how much the Yankees suck. So, when you go to a Yankees game with him and make a bet about whether they’ll win or not, you can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, they’ll win so Joe can do whatever he wants to you. 

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: SMUT (don’t interact if you’re under 18 please!), swearing, mentions of alcohol, continuous talk of how much the Yankees suck (they do, I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules!!!!). 

A/N: Hello, hi, hey, anyone else bummed there isn’t any baseball to watch?? No?? Just me?? Alright, well, have soft, baseball loving Joe to fill the void in your heart. (and once again, thank you to @diasimar​, @fairestkillerqueenofall​ and @mrhoemazzello​ for their contributions and for being in horny/yearning hell with me all day every day)

💖As always, likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💖

"NO!" 

"HA! See, that's why the Sox are the best team in the league right now and the Yankees, well, the Yankees, they suck." She took a long pull of beer as Joe’s string of curses were muffled by the material of his Yankees cap.   

Slapping him on the back, she raised her hand to get the bartenders attention. Her friend, Dylan, nodded back and slid two tequila shots down the bar toward them, not even bothering to hide their laughter at Joe, who had fully slumped over the bar and was letting his forehead bounce lightly against the wood. 

Pushing one liquid gold shot toward Joe, she pulled her own closer, watching a droplet of water fall over the edge of the lime's rind into the glass.

"C'mon Mazzello. Buck up. It's just the Yankees fifth loss of the season. Which means they’ve secured their status as the most suck-tastic team in the MLB." Smirking, she threw her shot back, quickly bringing the lime to her mouth and biting down on soft flesh, the sting of acidity biting back as she licked her lips, making sure she got every bit of salt from them. 

Watching (Y/N) lick her lips was the only thing that was enough to make Joe stop feeling sorry for himself and start feeling a different emotion. 

"Can't you have some sympathy for a mourning man? I'm dying over here. I'm slowly being killed by the thing I love most." He wasn't quite sure if he was referring to the Yankees or the more than friends feelings that he'd had for (Y/N) since the moment he’d met her. 

And her boyfriend. 

But the boyfriend was out of the picture (She'd swanned into his apartment one day, already monologuing, "So, I dumped Mitch. He told me once we got 'serious', my career would need to take a back seat so I left him, and our relationship, in the back seat of the Uber we were in.") and Joe felt like he needed to take his chance before someone else came into the picture. 

Laughing, she reached her hand up to the Sox cap she wore, twisting it around so the brim was facing towards the back.  

Joe almost choked at the action.  

"Joe, if you don't take that shot right now I'm calling the cops because I'm pretty sure that's alcohol abuse to leave a perfectly good free shot sitting in front of you." Dylan raised an eyebrow as they finished wiping down the last glass they had pulled from the crate they'd brought from the kitchen.

Ripping his gaze from (Y/N)'s form, he hurriedly threw it back, scrunching his face up in an exaggerated fashion as the burn of the alcohol streaked down his throat and warmed his stomach. Popping the whole lime slice in his mouth he heard her laugh,

"Joe! God, how many times do I have to tell you that you don't have to put the whole lime in your mouth?" 

"When you stop laughing every time I do it." He admitted as he delicately placed the mangled husk of said lime on his napkin. Dylan shuddered as they touched the very edge of Joe's napkin to let it fall into the trash can behind the bar.  

Shaking her head, she swiveled in her chair to face Joe, "So. I have a proposition." 

Please let it be that she things we should be together forever and get married. Or that she proposition me for sex. Either one. 

"You know how I scored those tickets to the Yankee's/Sox's game for next week?" 

Shaking himself from the imagery of shoving a piece of wedding cake in (Y/N)'s face, Joe nodded, taking another gulp of beer. 

"Well....since you're my best friend who I love dearly," she placed a hand on his thigh, smiling, and Joe knew he would do whatever she wanted. 

"I was thinking we could make it extra interesting." Her heart was racing at just the small action she had accomplished. Feeling Joe's thigh muscle tighten as she laid her hand on it made something deep in the pit of her stomach tighten as well.

Since she'd broken up with Mitch it freed her up to do things she'd always wanted to do. To focus on her career, her friendships, herself and on the fact that she wanted her best friend, Joe Mazzello, to absolutely wreck her in the bedroom. 

The first time she'd envisioned it, she'd almost drained the new pair of batteries she'd put in her vibrator and since then she'd been falling without a parachute. The only thing that kept her from ripping the cord was the fact he was her best friend. They spent all their time together, what if it went wrong? It was a silly fear, she knew if anything were to happen they’d work through it like they always did, but it still bugged her that something so trivial was stopping her from potentially jumping into the best relationship she'd ever had. 

Besides, she'd do anything for Joe and she knew he’d do anything for her. They'd picked each other up from the airport, taken care of each other when they were sick or hungover and once Joe had plant sitted for her. 

(The key word there being once. She'd come back to all of them dead. "Joe...they're succulents. How do you kill those?")

She was nervous the fantasies she'd cooked up in her head would never live up to the reality that was in front of her, but recently she'd noticed little things that were starting to embolden her. 

Lingering gazes, holding on for a second too long during hugs. Once, it had been late, and they'd pulled apart from a hug only for their eyes to lock. Her breath caught as the thought oh god it's actually happening flitted through her mind, but Joe just gave her a gentle nudge toward the door urging her to get into bed as soon as possible. 

But, she was nervous that she was reading too much into these signs. 

If (Y/N) had been able to read minds she would have been very confused to see Gwil in his "I Want To Break Free" get up but it was Joe's surefire way to get rid of an erection and with (Y/N)'s hand so close on his thigh, he knew he needed to do something desperate to settle himself down.

Bringing herself back to the feel of Joe's thigh under her hand, she peered up at him through her eyelashes and shot him a smile, "I think we should place a bet." 

"A bet?"

"Yes, Joseph. A wager. On this ball game."

"Alright, what are the terms?" Joe leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the way the sleeves of his t-shirt stretched against his biceps. She swore he bought his shirts a size too small just to fuck with her. 

"Well, if the Yankees lose, which they will because they suck," Joe made an indignant noise in the back of his throat, "then you have to do anything I want."

Joe's eyebrows almost shot into his hairline, "And if the Sox’s lose? Which they will," he declared pointing a finger in (Y/N)'s face, causing her to lean back in her chair, batting his finger out of her face, "then you have to do anything I want." Crossing his arms behind his head he settled back into his chair, smug smile firmly planted. 

"It's so on, Mazzello." She declared as she stuck her hand out for him to shake. As his hand slid into hers, she could have sworn they both held on for a beat longer than was absolutely necessary. 

~~~

In (Y/N)'s opinion it wasn't really summer till she went to a baseball game. The artificial green of the grass, the sun shining down, the crack of a baseball hitting a bat. There wasn't a scent more intoxicating than that of popcorn, hot dogs and cheap beer. 

Which was probably why Joe had sent some serious side eye her way as she filled her lungs and drank in the scene before her, settling into their seats, hands clasped around flimsy plastic cups filled with overpriced alcohol.  

"What? You don't love the smell of a ball game?" she shot him an incredulous look.

"No, I do. But I don't try to inhale the whole stadium through my nostrils." 

Reaching a hand around she knocked his Yankees hat off his head, laughing as he scrambled to pick it up and jam it back on his head. Turning, she saw he had his best scowl prepped as he glared at her, 

"How dare you try to knock the best good luck charm the Yankees have off my head?" 

"Because I need my bathroom cleaned and I want you to do it." she shrugged as she took a sip of what was mostly foam. Gotta love baseball beer.

"I can't even be that mad at you because you did bring me to a baseball game that my team is going to whoop your teams ass in so, thanks, (Y/N)." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, bringing her into his side as she leaned a head against him, smiling and wanting to  stay in that position for as long as possible. 

"Oh, you two are just the cutest couple! Reminds me of myself and Harold at our first baseball game." 

Both their heads turned in perfect unison to look at the form of a woman cautiously making her way down the stairs, cane in one hand, her grandson holding her other arm and mouthing I'm sorry at them over her head.  

Laughing self-consciously, (Y/N) started to disentangle herself from Joe's embrace, "Oh. Ah. That's really not-"

"Thank you ma'am, that's really sweet of you. Were you and Harold married a long time?" Joe interjected, keeping his arm firmly wrapped around (Y/N)'s shoulders.

Stopping in the middle of the aisle, the woman’s eyes grew soft, "Oh yes. We were friends for the longest time until finally one day he kissed me on the cheek. I remember I turned to him as he turned bright red and looked ready to melt into the floor. But I just told him 'It's about damn time!' And planted one on him myself." She laughed at the memory as her grandson rolled his eyes,

"C'mon Grandma. Let's get to our seats. The first pitch is gonna be thrown soon." 

Waving goodbye, they watched the woman toddle down the stairs. Lifting one thigh and then the other, (Y/N) felt her skin unstick and prayed to god she wouldn't have butt sweat once this thing was over. 

"That's cute. But also it sounds like she was a huge hussy back in her day." 

Snorting, she slapped Joe in the chest, "Really, Joey? You're going to call a sweet old lady a hussy for sharing a cute story about her and her husband?" 

"I'm just calling 'em like I see 'em!"

"And that old woman is a hussy?"

"She's the one throwing herself at men!" Joe protested as he tried to hold back his laughter. Soon, they both were laughing so hard no noise was coming out, just their whole bodies shaking with mirth.  

"Okay, okay...oh my god. I will give her credit, that's a very sweet story." (Y/N) admitted as she leaned back in her seat, adjusting her own lucky Sox hat.

"It is. I've always liked being friends with someone first before dating them." Joe admitted as he slid his eyes over to meet (Y/N)'s. Staring back at him, she felt her heart stop as his gaze burned into hers. Nodding, she mumbled, "Yeah, me too."

His lips twitched upward as he broke the gaze and leaned back in his seat, throwing one arm over the back of her chair and propping his foot up on the seat in front of him, "I think it's gonna be a great ball game."

She could only nod mutely as she tried to pick up the scattered fragments of her thoughts. 

~

"C'mon. Go. GO. GOGOGO. DROP IT...AHH FUCK." Her head dropped into her hands. She was so sure that the hit the last batter had was going to be the one that got the Sox the win but the Yankees outfielder had just managed to snag it.     

Beside her, Joe was on his feet, pumping his fists in the air and cheering along with every other Yankees fan in the stadium causing the floor to rumble underneath her Converse. 

"C'mon (Y/N), you're missing the best part!" Joe laughed as he tugged on the back of her shirt. Lifting her head up she was met with confetti raining from the sky and Frank Sinatra crooning "New York, New York" over the stadium speakers as the crowd started to flood out of the ball park. 

"You're an insufferable bastard."

"Yeah but I'm your insufferable bastard." Joe cooed as he patted her head, snickering as she rolled her eyes and dodged out from underneath his patronizing hand. 

"Whatever, Mazzello. Let's head out." Pulling her phone from her pocket to call a ride, her brain was already going a million miles an hour, thinking about what Joe would possibly make her do. Just the kind of thoughts she was having were causing her to shift in place, trying to find some relief for the ache that was building between her thighs. 

Joe was consumed by his own thoughts at the opportunity before him. He didn't want to make (Y/N) do anything she didn't want to do but at the same time...he wanted to kiss her. He'd almost been disappointed that the kiss cam hadn't landed on them. 

Both of them were lost in their own world and as such didn't realize that the herd moving to exit the stadium had stopped which caused Joe to run into someone which made (Y/N) bump into Joe with an "Oof" 

Reaching an arm back, he wrapped his hand around her arm, steadying her as she tottered on the balls of her feet. 

"Without even looking back, that's impressive." 

"What can I say? I'm an impressive sort of guy." (Y/N)'s breath caught in her throat considering what else about Joe was impressive but immediately snapped out of it when he turned to face her over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows up and down. 

Rolling her eyes, she shoved him forward, "Let's just get home so I can sooth my wounds with booze and maybe some leftover Chinese." 

"Wait, but we had Chinese at my place, none of it is at yours." Joe wrinkled his brow. 

"I know, that's why we're going over to your place. You have all the good food and booze." She shrugged as they pushed through the gates and walked to the bus that would take them home.   

"You always say that and then I run out of food and have to buy more. Why can't you ever have the good food and booze?" he grumbled.

"Because I can't afford to have you eating and drinking all my stuff." 

~~~

Shoving his door open, they fell into Joe's apartment, letting the artificial coolness of air conditioning wrap itself around them. Both of them letting out involuntary sighs at how good it felt after being crammed onto a hot bus with more warm bodies than seats.

"Time to munch..." (Y/N) clapped her hands together before she opened the door of Joe's fridge and pulled out a Chinese takeout container, popping it open, mouth watering instantly at the sight of the golden dumplings waiting for her, like little doughy presents.

Before she could even grab a fork, Joe's hand wrapped around the container, whipping it up and over her head, causing her to turn in place so she was witness to Joe shoving a dumpling in his mouth, "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I not tell you? Dumplings are for winners." He said through a mouthful of her dumplings. 

"You're the meanest person in the whole world." She declared as she turned her back on him to rummage around in his fridge, only to emerge with two beers in her fist. 

Joe couldn't help but admire how she looked in his kitchen. He couldn't help but think what it would be like to cook with her. Or cook for her. Having her sitting on the counter as he made her a home cooked meal, stealing kisses in between stirring and chopping, making small talk, kidding around with each other, he wanted that so badly he felt his heart seize with longing. 

"Well, I guess we can't put it off any longer." She sighed as she slowly placed the beers on the counter. The look on her face was so melancholy, Joe put down the takeout box and felt his heart leap up into his throat, "What do you mean?"

"I mean the bet. I lost. Which, I would like to point out, how brave I am for admitting that without retching," Joe rolled his eyes, "But I get to do anything you want me to do so, hit me Joe. What do you want me to do?" 

Peering up at him through her eyelashes she searched his face, hoping against all hope that he would say "get on your knees" or "get into my bedroom". She knew that was wishful thinking on her part but she couldn't help it. Watching his Adam's apple bob up and down as he took a huge swallow, she almost didn't hear what he muttered next, 

"Want you to kiss me." 

Her eyes shot up to his.  

"I mean, only if you want to. I don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with but, fuck, (Y/N), I've wanted to kiss you since I first met you and I don't know, it feels like there's been something more between us lately and I didn't want to hate myself forever for not just, going for it, so, if you want, I'd really like it if you kissed me." He ended this speech with a shrug, fiddling with his fingers. 

"Joey," she breathed out and Joe's form stiffened as he waited for her rejection, 

"I've waited for you to ask me that for so long." she admitted, almost laughing at how wide Joe's eyes became. 

Blinking he stepped forward, "Then get over here and kiss me."  

Eyes widening, she stepped up to Joe, their arms hanging at their sides as they contemplated each other. Unsure, she tilted her head up. Joe leaned his head down, lips ghosting over hers as he whispered, "Are you sure?"

She just nodded and felt her heart clench as a smirk grew over Joe's face. 

Reaching a hand up, he cupped her cheek, letting his thumb stroke over the soft skin. Closing the gap between them, he placed his lips against hers, gently. Not enough to really count as a true kiss, his last ditch attempt to give her an out if she wanted. 

The electricity zipping through her body let her know that this was meant to happen. 

Letting out a small moan, she reached her arms up to wrap around Joe's neck, dragging him down more fully against her lips. Twining his arms around her waist, he pulled her flush against him. Feeling her soft curves fit up against him in the most delicious way possible.

Deepening the kiss, he nudged her back toward the counter. She made a small noise in the back of her throat as her back hit the edge. 

"Jump," Joe breathed and she did what she was told, leaping up onto the counter, spreading her legs as Joe stepped between them, running his hands up and down her thighs, giving them a squeeze when he reached where she wanted him most. 

"Such a good girl taking my directions." he breathed into her mouth. Her head dropped back as she let out a groan. Joe smiled at the effect. 

"You're gonna ruin me, Joe." she laughed weakly as one of her hands intertwined with one of Joe's. 

"That's the plan, darling" he said devilishly, bringing his other hand to the back of her head, pulling her down to reconnect their lips. She cupped Joe's face with both of her hands, giving her all to the kiss. Letting all of her pent up want and need spill through her lips and tumble into Joe's heart.  

Letting his tongue slip through her lips, he explored her mouth. She gripped his shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him flush against the counter. Chuckling, he twined his fingers through her hair, giving it a gentle tug as he felt her body become pliable at the sensation. 

"So, you like having your hair pulled, huh?" He murmured as she mewled, scooting her hips closer to the edge of the counter, wanting nothing more than to grind her core against something, anything to relieve the ache that was building in her. 

"Mmm and you're a needy little thing too." he cooed as his hands ghosted down her body, outlining her curves. Nodding ferociously, she drapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his again as he gave her hips a squeeze. 

"Joe!" the yelp that came from her mouth was louder than she intended but she hadn't been prepared for Joe's arms to lift her from the counter and carry her into the bedroom. Feeling his chest rumble against hers she smiled, "I got you. Don't worry."

"I know. You've always had me." she breathed into his ear and Joe had to bury his head into her hair to keep from letting the enjoyment he felt hearing that shine too strongly through his face. 

Lifting his head from her soft waves, he gently laid her on the bed groaning when she stretched her whole body and smiled up at him, "Aren't you going to ravish me now?" she fluttered her eyelashes at him and felt her pulse quicken as Joe started unbuckling his jeans. 

"Sweetheart, I'm going to make sure every inch of you is screaming with pleasure." Eyes widening, she started to fumble with the buckle of her belt as Joe chuckled, "I, uh, kind of wanted to be the one who did that." Lifting her eyes she saw the blush in his cheeks and smiled, "Then come here and get into these pants, Mazzello." 

He pounced on top of her so quickly she wasn't even sure how it happened. His fingers making quick work of her belt and shimmying her shorts down her legs.  

"God, you're gorgeous." Joe's eyes shone as he drank her form in. When he got to her head his lips quirked up, "You're gonna have to lose the hat, babe. Besides, if anything you should be wearing the hat of winners." he joked as she rolled her eyes. Then, a wicked idea overcame her.     

Rising up on her knees, she placed her hands on Joe's shoulders to breath into his ear, "You mean like this hat?" Grabbing the hat Joe was still wearing, she flung her Sox hat to the floor and replaced it with his well-work Yankees hat. 

Seeing (Y/N) wearing that hat caused Joe's cock to twitch in his boxers and he let out a soft whine as she placed a hand on his thigh, "Do you want to fuck me in your Yankees hat, Joey?" 

"God, yes. I don't care how stereotypically male that makes me but, fuck, (Y/N), yes." his hands came up to her face, pulling her into a deep kiss that was interrupted by his moan as her hand started palming him through his boxers. 

"Fuuuck (Y/N)" he breathed out as his head fell against her shoulder. Smiling she kissed his neck as she tugged at the band of his briefs, "I want these off" 

Again, it seemed like Joe moved so fast she wasn't sure how it happened. In the blink of an eye he was laying on her bed, briefs off, shirt off and beckoning her closer with one finger, his eyes never leaving hers. 

Smirking, she crawled over to Joe. Straddling him, she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, being careful not to mess up the hat that was positioned on her head. Joe smirked at the action but his jaw quickly dropped when he saw her. Her pink bra and floral panties somehow making the hat on her head even filthier. 

She felt his cock twitch underneath her heat and groaned at the contact. Leaning forward she pressed a kiss to Joe's lips then slowly started kissing his neck, down his chest and finally to his thighs where she most wanted to be.    

Biting his hips, Joe finally hissed "(Y/N), please, wanted this for so long..." Taking pity on him, she wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock and started working him over. The way Joe threw his head back and groaned was all the praise she needed.

Even though, as she bobbed her head up and down, Joe was heavy on the praise, "Such a good girl, making me feel so good, babe. God, don't stop..." when she took his entire length in her mouth, she felt Joe tug on her arm, bringing her back up to his lips, he kissed her deeply. 

"My turn," he murmured as he pressed her down into the bed. Smiling, she snuggled down into the pillows behind her and sighed as Joe pressed kisses all over her tits, reaching his hands behind her and making quick work of her bra.

She ripped it from her body and threw it to the floor as Joe danced his hands down to her cunt. 

Stroking the inside of her thigh softly, dragging his fingers closer and closer to her entrance she whined, "Joe..." lifting his head from her chest, he smiled,

"What? Not moving fast enough for you?" She nodded frantically and Joe's eyes never left hers as he moved a finger to run up and down her folds.

With a gasp she threw her head back and Joe growled, "Shit baby, you're soaked. Who did this to you?" 

"You...you did Joey. You always make me this wet."

"Always, huh? I think I'd remember if we hooked up before this." he smirked. 

"Every time I touch myself I imagine you doing it..." she murmured as she bucked her hips up to get his fingers closer to her entrance which meant she missed how comically wide Joe's eyes got and was caught off guard when he planted another kiss on her lips. 

"Those are the hottest words I could ever hear come from your mouth." she breathed out a laugh and then she felt her eyes rolling into the back of her head as Joe slowly inserted two fingers into her cunt. 

"F-fuck Joe, that feels so good..." Her voice trailed off as Joe started pumping his fingers into her slowly, relishing in the feel of the walls of her pussy tightening as he sought out the one spot that would make her lose her mind. After a particularly deep thrust that had her eyes rolling into the back of her head Joe leaned down to kiss her neck. 

Speeding up his fingers she felt her cunt clench, between his fingers and the way he was kissing on her neck, she knew was going to cum soon. 

"Joe...I-I'm gonna cum" 

"Good, want you to. Want you to cum around my fingers and then around my cock. Think you can do that for me, sweetheart? Want to feel how good I make you.” 

Making a whining noise in her throat she reached a hand up to the back of Joe's neck to reconnect her lips with his.

Pumping his fingers in and out of her he started to swirl his thumb over her clit and she moaned into his mouth, "Fuuuuck, Joe, don't stop"

"Wasn't planning on it" he chuckled into her mouth as he felt how close she was. Pressing more firmly on her clit, (Y/N) saw stars and she didn't even have time to warn Joe before the waves of her orgasm crashed over her. 

As she came down, she was aware of tightly she was gripping onto Joe's hair and let go with an apology. 

"Never apologize for pulling my hair when I make you cum like that. Truly, it's a small price to pay to see someone as beautiful as you cum because of me." Blushing, she reached her hands down to shimmy her panties down her legs and throw them into her room. 

Grabbing her hand, he gave it a kiss and they stared deep into each others eyes, she reached a hand down, brought his fingers up to her mouth and licked them clean of her juices, keeping direct eye contact the whole time. 

Joe's eyes darkened, "I need to fuck you. Now." 

"What are you waiting for then? Please fuck me, Joe." she cooed as she brought his fingers out of her mouth with a pop. Reaching her hand down, she pumped his cock a few times as Joe growled. 

Batting her hand away, he guided his cock to the entrance of her cunt, swiping it up and down her folds, "God, there's nothing hotter than getting my cock wet with your own juices, baby girl." 

"Fuuuuuck, Joe" she whined as she brought her hands up to rest on his biceps, squeezing them and laughing when she felt him flex, "Did you just purposefully flex?" 

Winking at her he pushed himself fully inside. Giving them both a minute to adjust, he brought his forehead down to rest on hers. Both of them closing their eyes and breathing each other in, it was the most vulnerable moment they'd  shared with each other. 

This one moment, where they were closer than they had ever been, it felt so right they couldn't quite believe that in a city of thousands, they fit perfectly together. 

"Joe?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?" 

"If you don't move soon I'm gonna be pissed." 

Laughing, he kissed her nose and started to thrust. Throwing her head back, she let out a string of curses as her hands clutched the sheets, feeling the walls of her cunt clench around Joe's length. 

"Fucking hell, feel better than I ever imagined."

"You feel a hell of a lot better than my vibrator" she choked out as Joe let out a single bark of laughter, thrusting harder. He lifted her legs so they were over his shoulders, enjoying how the new angle let him get deeper inside her, and by the way (Y/N) had started babbling about how close she was, he had a pretty good idea it felt amazing for her as well. 

"Fuck, Joe. Rub my clit. I'm so close. Again..." a moan swallowing the rest of her sentence as Joe started rubbing her clit. 

Seeing her writhe underneath him, knowing he was the cause of her pleasure and the fact that this was all happening while she was wearing his Yankees cap was almost too much for Joe.

"Sweetheart, I'm close.." he choked out as (Y/N) nodded, "Me too, want to cum with you..." she murmured and Joe nodded, thrusting harder as she brought a hand up to tweak her nipples. 

Pressing more firmly into her clit, (Y/N) felt her pleasure overtaking her body and succumbed to the orgasm that swept over her. Feeling her walls clench around his cock was the final push Joe needed. With a final groan, he filled her with his love, taking a minute to catch his breath. 

When they finally both opened their eyes they burst into giggles, 

"Hey."

"Hi" Joe breathed out as he tweaked her nose

Scrunching her nose, she reached her head up to press a gentle kiss to Joe's lips. Pulling himself from her, they both moaned at the loss of contact and after cleaning them up, he crawled into bed next to her, pulling her into his arms. 

"God, that was...amazing"

"And long overdue in my personal opinion." 

"Yeah, ya think?" he pressed a kiss to the top of her head then pulled back with a disgusted noise.

"What? Does my hair smell bad? Do I have lice or something?" pulling back she looked up into Joe's eyes. 

"No, this hat smells nasty. I can't believe you wore it when we had sex, who would do that?" 

"Don't lie, it was the one final push you needed to cum, yeah?" 

"I don't have to admit anything to you" he sniffed as she curled up into his arms.

Nuzzling into his chest, she placed a soft kiss right on top of his heart. Humming, he drew her in closer, closing his eyes and locking into his memory how it felt to hold her in his arms. 

His eyes snapped open, “Wait, hold on,” he jumped up, ignoring her protests as he rummaged around on the floor. 

“Joe, c’mon, come back and snuggle.” Pouting she turned only to be met with the lens of Joe’s camera focused on her. 

“JOE! I’m NAKED! What is your PROBLEM?” Scrambling, she threw the sheet over her form, peeking over the edge so only the hat and her eyes could be seen. They narrowed as Joe laughed, taking picture after picture of her. 

“Holy shit, there’s a really great one here. I think I managed to capture the exact moment your soul left your body when you realized I was taking pictures...” his voice trailed off as he swiped through the photos he’d taken, smile growing bigger with each one. 

“Glad you’re enjoying those horrible pictures. You better burn those Joe, I’m serious.” Pulling the sheet down to her neck, she fixed him with her best glare. It didn’t last long. 

How could it when he looked up at her with adoration radiating from his eyes? 

“You’re so beautiful.” 

Her indignation drained and she sat up, patting the bed, “Come back to me. Please?” 

Joe climbed into the bed, kneeling in front of (Y/N) to kiss her softly, “I’ll always come back to you.” 

Hiding her head in his shoulder, she pressed a kiss to the soft skin there, fighting back the tears she felt welling up suddenly. Pulling back she heard the click of the camera one more time. 

Joe lowered the phone, “So beautiful.” 

Taking the phone from him she turned around, her back against his chest as she held it aloft, “C’mon, first picture as a couple.” 

Smiling, they took one good one and the rest were a mess. One or both of them pulling ridiculous faces. A series of pictures where Joe was obviously playing with her boobs. Their favorite one was where (Y/N) was mid-laugh and Joe was looking at her, the love between them written so clearly in their eyes that they felt like they were infringing on a private moment. 

Looking at it, (Y/N) turned to Joe, “You think we’ll look at each other like that, even when we’re old?” 

Chuckling, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “Absolutely. You and I are gonna be like that old lady at the baseball game and her husband.” 

“Are you calling me a hussy?” 

“Again, I’m just calling them like I see them.” 

“I feel like you shouldn’t call your own girlfriend a hussy.”

“Oh so you’re my girlfriend now?” Joe rolled on top of her, peppering her face with kisses as she laughed. 

“Well I won’t be if you keep calling me a hussy!”

“What if I only called you a hussy when we’re getting sexy?” 

Pausing, she reflected on Joe’s proposition, “Hmm, I guess that could be okay. But can you not call it Getting Sexy? That makes it decidedly not sexy.” 

“Alright, we’ll come up with something good. Though you should definitely always wear The Sex Hat whenever we fuck.” 

Sighing, she flicked the brim of the hat she was still wearing, “I set a dangerous precedent by wearing this, huh?” 

“Darling, you have no idea how dangerous you in that hat is.” Joe growled as he nipped her neck.

“Mmm, I think I have a pretty good idea.” She smirked as she tilted her head to the side, “It’s just enough to distract you so I can do this.” 

“Wha-” Joe hit the bed with an grunt as she slide out from underneath him and raced out of the room. 

“I’M GOING TO EAT THE LAST DUMPLING AND YOU CAN’T STOP ME.” 

Pushing himself up, Joe raced after her into the kitchen, knowing he’d be too late to stop her but he wanted to be around to imprint the image of (Y/N) naked in his kitchen into his brain for forever. 

[the-headbop-wraith]

3 _ 47  A Goodbye Letter

 Kingsman Mechanics didn’t usually pick out supplies with smaller distributors, but occasionally Arthur would roll around to collect some of the less essential equipment which had a habit of wearing out. Sometimes it was worth it to spurge a buck if the use was versatile enough, while other equipment had components that wore out regularly and it required periodic maintenance. Other assets he did like to snag spur of the moment, typically for his personal work such as on his arm, or when he needed inspiration for new gear that was hitting the market.

 It was always such an outlet to head out of town and browse the techno shop, supplied with quality parts and computer components for modest prices. One division of the shop displayed aisles of industrial shelving, with test gadgets up top for casual shoppers. Other portions of the store dedicated inventory to domestic living, or industrial distribution. It was likewise one of the nearest shops that carried valued craft supplies for largescale modeling, such as welding and do-it-yourself engineering. For Arthur’s needs, he was aiming for some new soldering parts to boost the efficiency in a refurbished arm.

 There were advantages to a custom made mechanical arm. Dealing with corroded bolts and nuts or working with a stubborn, over twisted bolt was not the issue it used to be. However, it wasn’t a real arm, some of the angles he used to twist into for reaching sections of a car was now troublesome, and his false arm had limits different to a limb of flesh and blood. The circuits and servos didn’t mend on their own over time, if something inside the arm ceased altogether the whole arm crapped out. He couldn’t call for ten and give the arm a chance to heal, anything that needed fixing Arthur did so in his spare time. To avoid those complications, rotors and gears required maintenance; the harder the work, the more frequent the checkups. Circuits burnt out due to overuse – sometimes it overheated – wiring frayed of came loose from the excessive movement and prolonged abuse.

 And dear gods, did he abuse his arm.

 He moved down the large lane, checking his phone and comparing the listing to the names and brands of spooled wires in bins. A metal with a higher heat tolerance was more expensive, but it would endure more hours. However, he needed to construct a better housing for the circuit line to prevent the insulation getting snagged. One of the first arms he built, he totally forgot to factor in gravity and momentum; the wires were not secured like they should’ve been and the model was short lived. He didn’t even make it through the first (return to) paranormal case, they didn’t even arrive to the destination before the thing died.

 With a shudder, he tossed the elected spool into his basket. Within, some large crates of craft metal for repairing cosmetic areas of the shop. Some lowkey cheapy materials he bought offhand, rather order wholesale. Some test gear to burn through before reaching out to large distributors for orders.

 Next, he ventured to the aisle for hosing and insulation components. A new building line for storing energy for the battery would extend the functionality of his arm. The only thing he could do while resting was recharge the internal battery, big whoop.

 On his way to the aisle, Arthur dithered and gave his space a brief examination. The creeping sensation that someone was watching, or someone followed him. It was no mistake, he knew that sensation better than a burn. No way this was paranoia. Never would he attribute his instincts to paranoia.

 For now, he played it cool. It was more to the hope that being out in public would deter something malicious, but he wouldn’t let on about his suspicions. Once he reached the parking zone, he’d have to be on his—

 In his ruminations, Arthur almost didn’t react in time to avoid the basket that eased out into his path. However, his reflexes remained uncontested, and he managed to swerve despite his gimp arm.

 “Holy crepes! I’m so sorry, excuse—” He shut up, and mayhap his face drained of what little color it had. In his path stood….

 MAMMA PEPPER!

 The stern face, the tight shoulders, the imposing aura. Arthur purposefully avoided the Pepper Paradiso, the whole Pepper Bushel – save one vengeful spook – nononononononononononononononononononoNO! Why is she here? He avoided all the grocery stores in all their small town, save for the few times he had to go out and pick up foodstuffs because his Uncle was too sick or swamped with work, whatever – he couldn’t let Uncle Lance go out, even if he insisted he was fine – she couldn’t be here, not in the sacred mechanics haven. The last frontier of casual shopping, and freedom from the accusing eye. This was inconceivable!

 Arthur opened his mouth, but words abandoned him. His throat generated an eerie whine. “Ack.”

 “Arthur,” Mamma Pepper spoke, voice icy, but somehow heated and thick. “I haven’t seen you in some time. You and Vivi, don’t come by anymore. Do you?”

 Any shape or form of human vocalization was beyond Arthur. He clenched his jaw, choked back a swallow, and tried for a syllable. “Uh.”

 “Are you all right? Should I leave you?” She pulled the basket backwards, though there was plenty of room for Arthur to move onward.

 “No,” squeaked Arthur. “Uh… it’s all right. I mean, I’m fine. It’s okay.” He took a breath. Without a word, Mamma Pepper stood, rigid and impassive. “Yeah. It’s fine. Um, Vivi… she uh, she—” He stalled when Mamma Pepper raised a hand.

 “I see. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She tightened her grip on the basket. “I try not to push, but I also don’t want you both believing you are not welcome. You are always… welcomed at the Pepper Paradiso. Does it help when I remind you?” She peaked one critical eye at Arthur.

 He nodded. “It… yes. I appreciate the offer.” He glanced aside, then, checked the supplies in the basket. Industrial Gas Connectors, among other parts and pieces from gauges to replacement dials. “How’s the restaurant doing?” Mamma Pepper seemed to frown. Seemed to. And sighed.

 “Business as usual.”

 “I didn’t mean the business,” Arthur interjected. “I was talking about your equipment. I meant to call and ask, if you… needed some maintenance work? I could come by sometime. I can bring, eh… Vivi. She’d like to come by too, I think. I’d have to ask. She’s been, um…” reflexively, he reached over to grip at his metal wrist, “been doing, erm… well. Yeah. I wanted to ask….” He stalled.

 Mamma Pepper’s stare became harder, more critical. But there was an underlying softness he could scarcely discern.

  __

 For the past month Lewis spent the bulk of his time at Vivi’s apartment, while she was out at work or checking in with Arthur during days off. Though she recognized Lewis wouldn’t remain the whole time locked away or secluded from the world, he left notes when he was jamming off and for how long he intended to be. Where he went remained a mystery, which she was not super eager to inquire about but she did remain curious. She was more apt in reading his nonverbal cues and perhaps a little underestimated in her abilities, given her experience with paranormal creatures.

 Today was one of the first times she hauled Lewis out, though he was foremost invited to change up his ‘routine’, whatever that consisted of. For a bit, he pretended to give the offer some thought – while he hovered midair looking pretty relaxed. It wasn’t a huge surprise that he went along, not that he had a schedule or anything to keep on task with. Aside from shopping runs, a task reserved for the evening, with funds set out for his personal use, and having no real needs of his own. He spent the money on making sure Vivi was well stocked, so poor-poor Mystery wouldn’t have to watch his partner drink those awful canned teas.

 This day was not one to be in any particular place, with an established time to return on. It was a rare day to get out there and go nowhere, spend time in each other’s company.

 And Vivi felt like she was getting to know a Lewis better. She wasn’t certain which Lewis she was becoming more aware of, since there was a difference between Lewis Pepper when he was living, and the Lewis postmortem – if she was to put it indelicately. There were not enough notebooks and folders in the Box which gave her insight into Lewis Pepper, not enough pictures to rekindle memories stolen from the pools of reflection. It didn’t matter so much that she remembered who he was, but that she knew who he is. It bothered her that she lost what once was, and might never be able to take it back.

 A braided crown of stems and flowers alit on Vivi’s head. She took it down and gave the hoop shape a brief scrutiny.

 “Not my best flower crown,” Lewis admitted. “But not a lot of flowers ‘round here.” He held a short stem between his teeth, and gave a comical southern draw.

 “Is it imbued with special, mystical properties?” She turned the crown over and over. Lewis’ voice hitched, as he cackled.

 “No, Vii. Not everything needs special secret magic to make it special.” He grinned. “It’s an old fashioned, unremarkable, flower crown.”

 Vivi set the crown back upon her head. “Plants always have a charm about them, through the winter they endure. I don’t know what it is. The dormancy, the anticipation of reawakening post a harsh and relentless season, something previously viewed as unsightly, reviving, blooming. Hmm… I hope we can have a snowfall before the cold ends.”

 Lewis shrugged. He leaned back against the tree they sat beneath, shaded from the sun by the thin branches brimming with miniscule buds. “One more snow fall wouldn’t be too bad, though I always love the colors of spring. I’m eager for the return of some color.”

 Across the open field of the park, Mystery darted by like a bullet. As if a vengeful spirit was snapping at his tail. Like he was racing his own shadow.

 Vivi reclined back and rested her head on his thigh. “Hey.”

 “Hmm?”

 “When you leave your notes? Do you actually go out somewhere, or… do you sometimes rest too?” she pondered. “I get this feeling you’re not gone completely. Like you’re still there, but unresponsive. Resting?”

 Lewis reached a hand up and scratched at his cheek. “Uh, perceptive much? Sometimes I am a little weary and can’t fully manifest, like the way you… know. Since I can’t just be, I don’t want you to worry. Other times, I’ll find my way to the van. It… is a place where I feel at peace. Dunno why that is.”

 Vivi pulled her hands up and folded them over her middle. “Hanging around with the living still overwhelming?”

 “It’s a lot of energy to deal with. I can’t really escape it.” Vivi smirked.

 “And how’s the van coming along?”

 Lewis wheezed, “Slowly.”

 Vivi tilted her head back further and gazed into the rich azure sky. “What about you? Not that it matters right now, but you’re not casting a shadow. That only happens when somethings on your mind, or you’ve pushed yourself a little too much.”

 Lewis reached over and tucked back a loose hair under the woven crown. “That’s nothing to worry about, I’ve been more active than usual. I guess it’s not so noticeable when we’re doing the travel gig, and you’re focused not on me.” He offered a sly waggle of his brow above the sunglasses, and Vivi responded by squinting back suspiciously. “Mi queria, don’t worry so much. If I thought something was off, you’d be the first person I’d go to.”

 Vivi scoffed. “You better, buster.”

 Mystery sprinted over and gave pause, long enough to tumble down beside Vivi and roll in the scraggily grass. “Mystery!” The wily hound snatched the crown from her head and took off, his yapping suspiciously rebounding like cackling laughter. “You give that back!” Vivi flew up, scrambling to get on her feet. Lewis was up immediately, skiing forward.

 “Oh! I absolutely will catch you! Don’t you doubt it!”

 The ears and hair on Mystery shot up, and he was off faster than a beam of light. Lewis dove after the dog, zigzagging in wild patterns and grabbing at thin air upon every duck and slide Mystery pulled. The grass beneath Lewis’ heels scorched upon every twist; try as he might though, the pup was unattainable.

 Before Vivi could fully devote herself to the chase, the muffled hum of her phone went off. She almost went ahead and left the phone beneath the tree, tucked away safely in the backpack, but decided better and picked it up. “Arthur?”

 “Hey,” replied through the phone.

 “Didn’t expect a call from you. Is everything okay?” She spun around and watched as Mystery made a wide turn, with Lewis hot on his tail. Literally. When Lewis spied Vivi on the phone, he abruptly broke out of his glide and jogged over. “Hmm?”

 “What was that? Is Lew there?”

 “Yeaahhh… Lew’s here.” She grinned up at the aforementioned specter. Lewis’ appearance flashed and shimmered, he set his hands on his vest and tugged. “Arthur says hi.”

 “Tell him… hey, back for me?”

 “Lew says Hay.” Arthur laughed. That was a good sound.

 “I was callin’ to see if you were busy tonight, I have something I wanna ask.”

 Vivi stepped back into the shade and leaned on the tree. “You can’t ask right now, over the phone?” Mystery padded around the side of the tree, lil crown looped over one ear.

 “It’s ahh… a lil complicated, to talk about. Actually, you and Lew both.” Arthur didn’t sound super fortified himself, but his words came through. “Would Lew be willing to come by? If not, that’s okay too. It’s up to him. But he can come by too, I could talk to him.”

 Vivi looked over to Lewis and hit the mute button on her phone. “He wants to see you.”

 “I got that.” Lewis’ appearance dimmed, the burning eye behind the sunglasses glistened in the shifting fractures of his projected appearance. For a moment, Vivi thought he would vanish or lose his grip.

 “You can say no,” she affirmed. “You don’t have to give a reason. He’ll understand.”

 Lewis snatched her hand before she could work at the phone screen. “No, espera. I’d like to see Artie.”

 “You sure?” You and he… you think you’re up for it?”

 “Yeah.” Lewis took the little stalk of grass from his mouth and tossed it. “If he’s cool, I’d be down for a visit.”

 Vivi unmuted her phone. “Hey Art, you still there?” Arthur replied with a hum. Some background noise came through his side, it sounded like traffic or machinery. “What would be a good time for us to swing by?”

 “Around seven, a little after,” he offered. “I’m running some errands, so no rush. You don’t sleep, do you?”

 “Mmm,” Vivi mocked contemplated. “It’s not in my schedule.” A sound akin to static emitted, and she took it as Lewis best attempt at clearing his throat. “Sounds good.” She wondered briefly, but dismissed the thoughts. “We’ll see you then.” She clicked off the phone and made certain it was closed out.

 To Lewis, “He sounded tense and anxious. I didn’t want to ask.”

 Lewis went over and took the crown off Mystery’s head, and set it back on Vivi’s blue hair. “If there’s a problem, I can duck out. Not that I mind a meet, some nonbusiness would be a nice change.”

 Vivi peered at him quizzically. “I don’t think there should be. He’s put a lot of work at the shop, and that helps. But we’ll see.” She began walking, with Mystery picking up the pace by her side and Lewis at her shoulder. “Anywhere else you wanna roll by and check out?” She fitted her hand into Lewis’ and gripped his fingers.

 In a flash of embers, Lewis lost his very convincing living appearance and stood frozen mid stride. At least the park for the time sat empty.

 Vivi stiffened. “Fuck!”

 __

 Another crate of supplies went into the back of the work truck on loan. The parts and materials sat on high value, even the copper was an easy swipe if some lowlife happened by and recognized the glossy hull. With all the valuables packed into the front seats, Arthur shut and locked up.

 Paths of sidewalk wound around the patches of desert xeriscape and clumps of cactus, cutting the sidewalk and parking zone into jagged portions. An expansive patio rolled out from the building entrance, fitted with a wide awning and short fence to divide the patio from the walkway. A few tables sat, awaiting company on the chilly day.

 Arthur moved through the opening of the fence, his gaze taking in faces, his apprehension spiked higher. He didn’t see any familiar faces, but that didn’t reassure him. It was chilly, and his metal arm shifted in the sling; the only arm covered at this time. It would be best to leave, this wasn’t a good idea. He’d call, apologize. She’d understand. He hoped she’d understand. He took a step back. On the thoroughfare traffic picked up, though none of the vehicles cruising by slowed or pulled into the parking lane. Not yet. But soon….

 The entrance to the café swept open and a familiar face glided out. Arthur grimaced, but hadn’t given his legs the memo to relocate. That would’ve been hella rude.

 “I’m glad you could make it.”

 Arthur put a hand to the low top of the fence at his side, but reframed from leaning. He was certain if he did anything but stand, he’d collapse.

 “Yeah. I had a,” he stammered, struggling to collect his words, “a last pickup. Have you been waiting long?”

 Mamma Pepper stood stock still, statuesque. “Not long at all. It’s chilly outside, I have a table waiting.” It sounded almost like she was inviting him into her own restaurant, though Arthur wasn’t sure why this out of the way café.

 He checked the area over before stepping forward. One foot, then the other, steady. “This place. It’s new.”

 “I assisted the owner’s in getting set up,” Mamma Pepper supplied. She held the door for Arthur, until he ventured in of his own pace. “Sometimes my family offers taste testing, and vice versa.”

 Arthur concealed the little twinge that ran through his spine. “Awesome.” The interior was not splendid or over done, but simplistic with a homey charm. At the furthest side of the room, logs crackled and churned within a brick fireplace. From the ceiling, rustic lanterns hung. The dim light competed with the sparse interior tables, and the little candles flickering. One table at the furthest wall harbored a mug of steaming liquid.

 “Take your time, if you choose to order,” Mamma Pepper spoke. “There’s no rush.” She left him and weaved around the tables, until she reached her target. She pulled a chair out, and then took her seat at the table across from the vacant chair. A blatant invitation, if he ever saw one.

 Despite a line, Arthur went ahead and made an order. After the barista took his name, he ventured over to the location Mamma Pepper claimed. She was sipping at the beverage. “I never gave that sorta theme much thought,” he admitted. “They offer some interesting… mixes.” Concoctions sounded rude.

 Mamma Pepper nodded and hummed. “Coffee and tea blends, with traditional staples. I wanted to tell you about it sooner, but I didn’t want to intrude.”

 “Ah.”

 “How have you been?” She squinted one eye at Arthur. “I expect well.”

 “Y-yeah. We… uh, Vii and I, we’re still at it.” He rubbed the back of his head with the heel of his palm. “Doing investigations. Y’know that.”

 “Nothing stops that girl.” A hint of a smile graced Mamma Pepper’s face. “I’m glad to hear.”

 The barista brought by Arthur’s beverage, exchanged conversation on how the two were doing, and left. It was a joy to focus on something else, if even briefly.

 “What did you get?”

 Arthur gave the warm liquid a try. “One of the trademark Hy-blends.” He wasn’t a stranger to abominable tea and coffee concoctions, or anything to spark his brain and keep his eyes open on the longest of long roads between towns. But this was really good, the appropriate balance of strength to mellow, with perhaps too much cream making it thick like ice-cream. But good nonetheless. It wouldn’t keep his heart beating, but it was flavorful.

 His mind worked to bring forth the questions, to inquire about how a family went on in the absence of a loved one. How did one approach the topic, and when was it an appropriate time? There was no reason to approach that at all, no reason to drag it forward if he could avoid it. He sipped his beverage, trying his darndest not to quake.

 “You have a way with the machinery,” Mamma Pepper went on, through the absence of substance. “The equipment gets fixed – mind you – everything works without hitch, but it’s not the same. I can’t put my finger on what’s different. Your help was appreciated.”

 Arthur slunk down in his seat a bit. “Yeah. Mn, sorry ‘bout that. Not, uh….”

 “Arthur,” she stated, firmly. “I’m not disappointed. I’m trying to explain that we missed you. We missed Arthur, not Arthur the mechanic. Just… Arthur.” She sipped at her drink.

 “Oh, right.” He looked around at the dimly lit space, the steady stream of customers. “Have you helped other restaurants get opened up? It’s pretty sweet, nothing like the Pepper Paradiso. Er, it’s more… rustic, I guess?”

 Their exchange seemed to fall into place after that, with Mamma Pepper going lightly over a few changes at the Pepper Paradiso. The two caught up on how they were getting along, while skittering aside from the topic involving Vivi. Arthur wasn’t certain how to approach that grape vine, but Mamma Pepper’s questions were careful. It almost felt normal, like he wasn’t cowering under some terrible weight and suffocating. He could breath a little easier, his replies coming with minimal hitch – when he didn’t think about the now. She did admit her family kept up to date with Uncle Lance, which surprised him. Lance never let on he stayed in touch with the Peppers, though given his Uncle’s pokey (though prying) it was a little obvious.

 As the minutes ticked by, Arthur did become comfortable with a topic delving into how Vivi was keeping. He didn’t want to elaborate a whole lot, but he wanted to assure Mamma Pepper that in the least, the blue-headed investigator sleuth had asked about the family. He wasn’t sure where to go from there, but Mamma Pepper filled in the blanks. She offered cheerful accounts of how the girls were growing so fast, what grade they were in now, and the mischief. It was all good conversation, pleasant and cathartic about the little things. Mostly mundane, and some entertaining and exciting. And when Arthur talked about the hamster he adopted, and built prosthetic wheels for, Mamma Pepper even smiled.

 __

  It was a little after six and the sun was in full set, when Vivi biked her way up the sidewalk beside Kingsman Mechanics. With her trotted the Mystery, prancing like a gazelle and very undog-like, but who was paying attention? Staff hadn’t cleared out completely, though the garages had long been shuttered and locked; barring the entitled customer from trying to get a simple (two hour) fix done on their car at the last minute. Vivi coasted up the empty carport and set her bike beside one of the sign poles for reserved parking, and latched the chain. Then, went over to the entry door and knocked. While she waited, Mystery turned his nose down and gave the area a brief scout.

 “I know you can open the door, but I’m not keen on sneaking in.” As per usual, she wore one of the work backpacks, and in the side pocket sat a snug flashlight.

 To Mystery, “You can run off for a bit, if you need. I think we’ll be fine.” This time, she gave the doorbell a buzz.

 Mystery raised his head and gave Vivi one of his, “give me a break,” looks. He trotted back over.

 In due time a wobbly, hazy form swelled beyond the dim barrier of the door. The door unlatched and opened; Uncle Lance stood there, somewhat surprised. “Aye, hey Vivi. Mystery.” He nodded to the dog as he padded by, welcoming himself in without prompt. “Arthur expectin’ yu?”

 “Yeah,” she gasped. Upon entry, Uncle Lance secured the door behind them and pocketed the keys. “We’re a bit early… I had a few stops to make. Is he not in?” She fell in step behind Lance as he led the way, through the dark passage. Most the lights through the main workshop remained off, only the soft lamps offering radiance, enough to keep people from stumbling into each other or getting lost.

 “Naw, been out all day.” Lance rolled his shoulders and stretched up one arm, gripping at the socket. “I should replace both arms,” he muttered. When he lowered that arm, he checked his watch. He didn’t wear a watch. “Not too worried. Ceptin’, I don’t have a ride out of ‘ere.”

 Vivi couldn’t help but set a hand over her face and stifle the snicker. It was usually her or Arthur winding up stranded due to shared vehicles, if her bike was not available (though Arthur would first eat a healthbar than ride her bike). Now, it was Uncle Lance’s turn.

 “I’m so sorry about that.”

 Mystery yapped. It was a distant reply, given that he was now patrolling the work garage.

 “Can’t be helped. I’m just glad whatever nonsense yu get involved with, you came out safe.”

 Vivi grimaced and bit her lip. “Yes, very glad. It could’ve been bad.” Unbeknownst to Vivi, the flashlight flickered sporadically, until it sputtered and went out entirely. Crackling webs of fuchsia detached and dispersed off through the murky air.

 Lance swung away from heading toward the office and gestured. “Something up with that flashlight?”

 “Huh?” Vivi twisted herself in order to view the aforementioned electric torch. “Uhh?”

 “I seein’ you haul that there thing around.” He tugged on his beard, in thought. “Well, not lately…. You’re not planning on doin’ no spook snoopin with Arthur? Ya’ll are on break from that job-work, eh? A vacation, ain’t it called?” He fixed Vivi with a ferocious, accusing glare – the shadow around his eyes intensifying to the tenth power. “Ain’t it, girl?”

 Vivi sweated. How was it possible for someone so opposite of tall, to be so imposing. “N-no, Uncle. We… I swear….”

 “I pay Arthur to do one of two things.” Uncle Lance counted them off on his fingers. “Work. An’ Rest. Ya got that!”

 Vivi grabbed at her scarf. Oh sweet mother of gods, Lance looked set to unite with his rifle. “No! Absolutely NOT! Er, I… it needs to be looked over. I forgot to hand it over to Arthur, it was my fault! I was careless!” Lance’s features became more relaxed, and she risked a breathy exhale. Crisis averted.

 “Ah. Groovy.” He pivoted and began walking, saying over his shoulder, “Call me when he gets in. And if you need somethin’, there’s chicken wings in the fridge.”

 Vivi waved after him. “Kay! Thank you!” And then raced off, shooting into the corridor and charging up the stairs. Down the hall, the door to Arthur’s work room awaited ajar, and she barreled in.

 A flash of embers all but blinded her. The rose-tinted blaze faded out leaving a hard, burnt fragrance throughout the room. “Lewis! Again?” She wobbled aside when Mystery shoved his way in through the doorway. “How does this keep happening?!”

 “I thought you were Uncle Lance!” came the disembodied retort, somewhat crackly.

 Vivi shut the door and checked the corkboard with the pinned schematics. “Why didn’t you wait then?” None of them were burnt, which was good.

 “I got bored.” In a fuchsia surge of flames, Lewis shape reappeared. A skull and death suit, and then a fizzing surge of embers swirled about the skull and fitted the spirit with cheeks and a jaw, a living memory. “And… I kind of wanted to check the place out.”

 Vivi studied Lewis for a moment, but said nothing. That was fast, though he hadn’t shed the death suit yet. “Okay. I’ll send Art a text, let him know we’re here. Make sure we don’t surprise him.” She set the backpack on the couch and rummaged through it. Mystery hopped up onto the cushions and curled up, his eyes tracking Vivi’s work. Up until she pulled up the laptop and her phone. “Aw. No power.”

 She and Mystery turned their eyes to Lewis.

 The spirit glanced aside and tugged at his tie. “You did ask earlier, didn’t you?”

 Vivi pointed to her little phone. “There is a battery in here. It has only so much power.” Mystery growled and yipped.

 “Be thankful your apartment covers utility costs.”

 Vivi grumbled under her breath as she rooted around her backpack for the charger. “I forgot it. I know better.” Mystery bounced off the couch, within seconds he was back with Arthur’s charger clamped in his teeth. “Thank you. I probably have to hook up my laptop too.” She tsked, this was cumbersome and she knew better.

 “I’m sorry!” Lewis swiped off the embers crackling at his vest and shirt sleeves, the same way someone would straighten out wrinkles.

 “No you’re not,” Vivi snapped. “You shouldn’t be. It’s not your fault.” Thankfully, she never took the laptops charger out of the backpack; let alone disconnected it. She hooked it up to a surge bar and plopped down on the couch once more. Lewis sat down beside her.

 “Watcha lookin’ up?”

 “Emails. There better not be emails in my damn emails.” She went through the mail icon and sighed. “Of course, it’s from Duet.”

 “Joy o joys.”

 “A list of assets for review.” She closed out the email. “I’ll look at those later.” She pulled up a new tab, and began researching how to stop spirits from syphoning battery life on the Paranormal Corner site.

 “Maybe… I should go for a bit.” Lewis glided out of his seat, up until Vivi caught the tail end of his vest and hauled him back down. “Or not….”

 “Atta boy.”

[shaydeoffical]

Bright as a Diamond. Shinso Hitoshi x Fem Reader: Chapter Eight

Chapter Summary:

The family has to come together to make a tough choice after tradgey strikes. Shinso and (Y/n) share a moment of understanding, and grow closer. 

Series Summary:  

When (Y/N)’s co-worker decided to send a picture of her making a diamond to the paper, her life was over. Gemstone based quirks weren’t all that rare, but being able to make a diamond put a target on her back. After years of hiding in the city, it’s time to hide in the countryside with her Uncle Shota Aizawa and his more than ‘roommate’ Hizashi Yamada. With the promise of training her to be self-sufficient, she’s ready to learn.

Author Note: This chapter can be heavy for some readers, so please mindful of the warnings and the tags. This is still a long chapter, but we are finally moving into the friends stage of this story. 

Warning: Cpr, blood, violence towards an animal, reckless driving, unwanted text messages, fear of home invasion.  

Last chapter: chapter seven 

Next chapter: TBC

The Right Choice 

   Finally, in my own room, I had the window open, my hand dangling over the flower pot below. Hisoka was sitting under my palm, purring contently, pawing at the dying flower steams. It was no wonder the cat hated being inside, he was a true mouser. He had brought me several birds and field mice since I gained his trust. Hunting was in his blood, and the cushy life was for soft cats. Not him, he lived for the chase and stopped by for affection on his own terms. Even sitting here out of pity with me, he had to occupy his mind boxing with dying flowers. Hisoka was allowed to be himself without hesitation or judgment. He was strong, resilient, and sensitive too.  

    Squashing his long fur between my fingers, I wished with all my soul to turn into a cat. So I could run to and from as I pleased, no one the wiser as to where I go, but they celebrate and host a feast for me when I return. Basking in the sun and chasing mice of the afternoon, curling up under the moon. That would be a more pleasurable existence than this.

    A buzz caught my attention, Hisoka taking my moment of hesitation as a sign he could leave. Reaching to my nightstand, I grabbed my phone.

   It was fully charged, finally coming back to life after draining the battery. Once the loading screen was done, ding after ding and message after a message appeared, all from Kira. The four letters flashed like a flipbook, emails, messages, voicemails, dropbox, and every other app singing out his name. Resting my fingers over the bandage on my neck, I froze up. Scanning through the messages, there were pictures of me in the hospital, even one of me getting into the car. Some of Shota buckling me in, and Hizashi driving us home. Home.

   "Help!" I slammed the window shut, tearing into the hall. Barley upright, I held my phone out once I was in the living room. The group fo pro all on their feet and ready to jump to action. "He was at the hospital. He might know where we are…I-"trembling, I hand Hizashi the phone, his eyes narrowing in on the texts. I hadn't even got a chance to read all of what he said. Looking at Uncle Sho for some sort of comfort, he instead shared a glance with Shinso.

   Shota and Shinso shut and locked all the doors and windows, glancing outside for good measure. Sho worked on shutting the blinds, and Shinso opened the front door and stepped outside.

    "Take a seat, baby." Hiazahi sat on the sofa and patted the spot beside him. Slotting against his side, he wrapped one around my shoulder. Sho started to comb through the house, putting his capture weapon around his neck, checking everything from the cupboards to the closets. Any other time I'd make a closest joke, but there was no laughing at this situation.    

     Hizashi scanned through the messages, taking screencaps with one hand. Resting my head on his shoulder, tears slipping onto his shirt. The minutes ticked by, the click of my phone's shutter feature reminding me that there were more messages than Hizashi's finger could keep up with. He had the sound off, but it was still vibrating.

  "No one followed us," Shinso broke the tension, shuffling his shoes off once again. Before he shut the door, I noticed that my bicycle was tied to the back of his trunk. I guess he went back and got it...that's kind of thoughtful.

   "The house is clear, too. We can relax, for now, the police said Kira didn't have access to transportation. We will have to be more careful when we come and go from now on."

   "We should turn your phone off and take it to the police tomorrow." Hizashi reasoned, pulling the battery out. "This is a sensitive situation, and as long as we stay calm, we can handle it."

   "I'm taking it tonight," Shota took the phone, shoving it in his pocket. "The faster we get this evidence to the police, the more we can charge him with. I trust you three to watch the house while I'm gone."

   "Don't go." I grabbed his shirt sleeve, using his arm as a crutch. He was in front of the door, about to put his shoes on. "It can wait. It's the night before the work week, there's probably a ton of drunk drivers out." It had been close to nine when we got home, but now it was closing time for most bars. "Don't risk your safety." Something fell outside, and I moved my grip to his waist. Burying my head into his back, I quivered. "Uncle Sho, please don't open the door."

   "I'm a pro hero (Y/n), have more faith in me." He ran his fingers through my hair and sighed, eyes closed. "There's nothing to be afraid of as long as Shinso and Hizashi are here. It's going to be okay."

   "Pro's get in car accidents and die like the rest of us." I shot back, tightening my hold. "There's a bad feeling in my gut."

   "This is important. I will go slow and text Hizashi when I've made it. Now go back to bed and rest like the doctor ordered."

   "But-"

   "No buts, now go to sleep." Begrudgingly I let him go, watching him pull his shoes on. When he opened the door, there was no barrage waiting to take him out or a loaded gun. Watching him safely walk to his car, I eased my nerves that Kira didn't know where I lived. Maybe I wanted to assume it was safe.

  "Do you have to go to work? The air quality isn't so great today. The doctor said you have to take it easy."

   "Nonsense, heroes always show up. Rain or smog, I have to go, honey." She kissed my forehead and locked the door in her wake.

   Shota was gone. I slumped to the couch and curled up on one half, plucking at the loose thread on a throw pillow. Hizashi and Shinso watched me curiously from the armchairs. Closing my eyes, I tried to sleep the best I could with a sling on. After an hour, Hizashi told me that Shota had made it and was doing some follow up questions. I just nodded and decided that it was safe enough to go outside. Someone would have broken in by now. Plus, Hizashi said there weren't any pictures of our house on my phone.

   It didn't matter if I was afraid or if someone was out there. The house felt smaller than ever, and I needed the wide-open space. Hisoka was chilling by my side as I sat with my feet hanging off the porch. Somewhere in my head, I convinced myself that fresh air would do me good. Crisp, cold fall air carried magic on its heels, and if I closed my eyes tight enough, I could see it slip through my lashes.    

   "Meow," A cat called in the distance. Hisoka was silent, so it wasn't him. Curious, I stretched my legs and used the porch as a crutch till my foot woke up. The pinpricks stopped, and I looked at Hisoka.

   "Come on, silly," I mumbled, picking up the cat and receiving a scratch on my functional forearm. "Be that way, I ain't no scaredy-cat."

   I approached the direction I heard the cat. There was another meow after a few minutes, and I froze to listen more intently. I was getting closer to the garage on the backside of the house. If I didn't know better, the cat was running from me, probably scared half to death.

   "Here kitty kitty kitty," I cooed, scanning the brush and upper tree branches. "I won't hurt you. You want something to eat? Meow meow." A twig snapped, and I caught a glimpse of something running.

   Going in that direction, I stopped when I saw Hisoka round the tree and hiss first. A catfight was surely about to break out. Before I could take more than two long leaps to break up the fight, a hand grabbed mine.

   "What are you doing?" Shinso refused to let go when I tried to wriggle free.

   "There's a cat-back here. Hisoka found it first, so I'm about to break up a fight…wait, he isn't hissing anymore." My heart leaped out of my chest, and I snatched my hand away and darted where I last heard the noise.

   "Hisoka, are you okay?" I called, stumbling over my feet. Rounding the corner. Hisoka had a gash along his chest. "Hitoshi, get the medical kit." I freed my arm from the sling and put Hisoka's warm body into the bottom, as not to add more pressure to his wounds.

   "What- shit." Shinso took his grey body from me and ran into the house. I followed suit, taking a moment to look for the other cat, with no luck.

   "Hizashi, where is the medkit," I began pulling cabinets open. Shinso applied pressure to the wound with a dishrag. Hisoka mewled in pain, unable to fight against being in the house.

   Hizashi ran out of his bedroom. "What's wrong with Hisoka?" Hizashi pushed me aside, pulling the medkit from under the sink, rushing it to Shinso. Hizashi was far better at first aid than either of us, being a hero for much longer.

   "A cat got him. There must a stray someone turned loose out there," I explained, putting myself to making a comfortable box to get him to the vet in.

   "It could have been a raccoon too," Shinso added, handing Hizashi the tools before he could ask. Hizashi placed swelling pads in the cut to stop the bleeding, then wrapped it carefully.

   "Here," I placed the box down by the coffee table and waited for them to put him inside. Getting closer, I could see his eyes had closed. His little body was breathing heavily. A pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Big crocodile tears swelled from my eyes. Mourning. I held back my sobs, not wanting to take away attention from my little friend. He was my friend…and I asked him to follow me to check on this stray.

   The scratch on my arm was proof that he was a fighter and didn't go down without a brawl. Hisoka wanted to live, no doubt. Hizashi placed Hisoka into the transport box I made from a laundry basket. I opened the front door and got the car keys. Our little group rushing to the car.

   "I got him, I'll sit in the back," I said, crawling in and taking him into my lap.

   "Is there even a vet open this late?" Shinso pulled up his phone, sitting on the passenger side. Hizashi rushed down our driveway, rocking the cab. I held the side of the basket and eased the shock of each bump.

   "It's going to be okay….you were so brave. You know that, right?" I cooed, running my hand over his favorite spot. "You must have known that was a mean cat and tried to protect us… we don't deserve you. But please stay with us." Shinso was giving Hizashi directions, both too busy to notice my encouragement.

   "It's half an hour away." Shinso looked back at me through the mirror, and I held his lavender gaze for a moment.

   "I can do twenty," Hizashi stated, pushing the gas down and tossing on his emergency lights.

   The back seat was lit up red and white—the colored light casting a sickly shadow on Hisoka. I hummed a little tune, running my fingers through his fur. Making sure his chest would rise and fall. My own body was in terrible pain, but I knew his was much worse. Still, I hadn't stopped crying; the tears had just run dry. There was so much more pain for me to let go of for Hisoka.

   It crossed my mind that if Shota had been home, he'd known what to do. We knew what to do, but Shota was so calm. I guess Shinso was rational, but I wanted Shota…not lent ball.  

   A small croak escaped Hisoka's lips, his breathing stopping. I lost my voice. What do I do? What do- "He's- Hisoka stopped breathing."

   "Watch out, Mic." Shinso unbuckled, crawling through the seats into the back.    

   "Can you help him?" I kept the basket in my lap but gave him access.

   "Let's hope so." Shinso turned Hisoka on his back and began pumping his little chest.

   "Turn right in five miles." Shinso's phone sputtered.

   "Hold on kids," Hizashi floored it.

   "Should I give him breath?" I asked, trying desperately to help.

   "No, just keep talking to him." Shinso was on his knees, holding the seat with one hand and pumping with the other.

   "Come on, Hisoka. We're almost there." I rubbed his forehead. "I know you want to be lazy, but you got to fight really hard for us."

   "Here," Hizashi honked the horn for the doctors and slammed the break. Shinso went flying into the middle console, and I took over compressions. I flung the door open with one arm and then bounced out. I stopped compressions and sprinted inside the little wooden clinic.

   "Help, my cats been attacked. He's not breathing." I caught the receptionist's attention.

   "Do you have money to pay for his care?" She asked, popping her gum as she hit a bell to summon the doctor.

   "Of course," Hizashi was the next one through the door. I was back at cpr, having the basket on the counter, waiting for the doctor.

   "I'll get an estimate after they look at him." She took him from me when no one came running and stepped into the back.

   The front door slammed, and Shinso put his phone in his pocket. "Mr. Aizawa knows where we are."

   "It's going cost between three to five hundred dollars," the women returned with a calculator. "Do you want us to start treatment."

   "Yes, why are you waiting?" I asked, knowing I had it in my saving if Hizashi didn't.

   "We'll need a down-"Shinso cut the woman off and slammed two hundred on the counter. "I'll let the doctors know." She sauntered into the back. My arms fell to my side, and I wiped my forehead. My body was rushing with energy, and nothing left to give it too.

   Once she was gone, I noticed the small room had chipped yellow walls, with a busted molding around the bottom. The place smelt like dogs, as to be expected. The pictures and information packets were all scattered about the lobby with little organization. Shinso's gaze met mine, and we both knew what the other was thinking.

   "Maybe the doctors are great." Hizashi was thinking the same thing too.

   "I pray so," I wiped my eyes and sat. The shaking wouldn't stop, no matter how tightly I held myself. Hizashi leaned against the one wall that didn't look like it was about to collapse, and Shinso murmured to him.

   When their conversation was done, Shinso went out to the car, and it was just Mic and me in the lobby. A few minutes passed, neither of us could find the words that generally passed so easily between us. The receptionist returned with a packet, and a cigarette loose between her lips.

   "I need you to fill this out." She motioned me over, and I quickly held my hand out for the packet. She dropped them on the counter, and they flew to the floor. She turned with a lackluster smirk. I swore she mumbled something under her breath, but I didn't really care.

   I bent over with my body making horrible popping noises. With the papers gathered, I sat on the wobbly wooden bench and started the information. The first few lines were easy enough to fill out. My eyes blurred, but I could still make it out.

   "How old is Soka?" I asked, using my leg as a support for the paper. My letters were coming out in loose swirls, and I slowed down. I didn't know as much about the cat as I thought I did.

   "Ten," Hizashi put his hands in his pajama pockets and looked at the floor. "He at least lived a long life."

   "Don't talk like that." I scolded him, writing the number down. The door opened with a cold chill, and Shinso returned toting a few items from the car. He handed Mic a coat and then turned to me with a scarf.

   "Give me your hand," He ordered, and I did so without much thought. "You can't have your hand down this long." He pulled out a packet of wet wipes, and cleaned the blood from my arms, focus on my fingernails and knuckles where my skin had cracked earlier.

   "I could do this," I murmured, looking down the hall where Hisoka was being cared for.

   "You're a clutz. I know you can do it, but I can do it better." A smug grin pulled at his lips. I supposed he was trying to be funny or light-hearted. But it was hard to dwell on anything but Hisoka.

   "Lint ball trying to be cute, huh?" I puffed up and turned my nose up. "Won't work on me. I know you got underlying motives." He flinched, pausing his work.

   "So, you think I'm a bad guy?" The question was light as every other, but I could see the line on his forehead, the slight force behind his smirk

   "At first, I believed you were an ass." I thought back to how he held Hisoka, how he held me and when he refused to hit me during our training… "But, though I'm not often wrong, you're half decent. Did I think you were ever bad? No. Prick. Yes."

   "I see." He glanced at the bloody wipes and then guided my hand to my chest, wrapping the scarf around me carefully. "So, the kitten's finally submitted?"

   I slapped his shoulder. "No, I have not submitted, I just don't hate you is all. You're tolerable. A decent dude to keep around. That's it."

   "You're turning red." I smacked my hand to my face, and he was lying. My skin was normal, no doubt.  

   "Don't tease me." I crossed my legs, trying to ignore his slight grin.

   "You are a little red," he insisted, "hold still." He pressed his brow to mine. "Hey Mic, come feel her forehead." His banter stopped, and now it was time for 'what else can go wrong' with (Y/n)?

   "This isn't about me, it's about Hisoka." I moped, clawing at my throat. Shinso took the papers from me and walked behind the desk. He came back with a clipboard and started to finish where I left off. Of course, he didn't care to just walk around like he owned the place.

   Hizashi pressed his hand to my forehead and knitted his brows together. Next, he felt my forearm and wrist. "You're a little cold. Do you feel alright?"  

   "I'm stressed." I brushed it off, closing my eyes for a moment. "I'm sure my body is having a meltdown." I leaned back and swallowed the flehm in my throat. A cat cried in the distance, and I bit down on my check. "When is Shota getting here?"

   "Soon," Hizashi pulled the coat around his waist tighter and sat beside me. I didn't recognize my body. I was drifting to a faraway place, where there was nothing but static echoing across my soul. His arm brushing against mine, and sweat was dripping down my neck. I wasn't okay. I wasn't safe.

   "I'm here," Shota burst into the small room, and Hizashi leaped from my side to his arms. I guess the hierarchy of who can break down on who ended with Shota at that top and me being the cry baby at the bottom. Still, I curled into myself.

   Another painful mewl stretched across the clinic. Gawking at the floor, I rocked slightly. The quick thump in my ears made me think I was going to die. Dying. Hisoka was dying in the back room. I dug my nails into my palm and shut out the conversation. How Hisoka got here mattered. It was protecting me, or following me, or whatever it involved me. I was the root of the problem. I was a problem.

   "I'm taking her out for a walk." A hand guided me up, and I zoned back in. "Those two need a minute," Shinso informed me, pulling open the clinic door and tugging me behind him. Hizashi was a ball on the floor, and Uncle Sho was nearly in tears. If we were gone, they could both let loose.  

   Shinso walked past the car and partly down the road before stopping. I landed in his back when he let me go, and instinctively I wrapped my arm around his waist. A small gasp left my lips before I nuzzled the curve of his spine. The wind was nipping at my neck. Leaves tickling my ankles. Smoke tickled my nose from a nearby bonfire.

   His hands crossed over mine. There were small hitches in his posture. Then the slightest whimper escaped his lips. I squeezed tighter, putting as much weight as possible on him. My head was spinning, it was my fault. Shinso was going to make fun of me, or ball me out for what happened. Fuck.

   I loosened my hold, and Shinso broke the silence. "Hisoka, he's-"his body racked, pulling away. He refused to look at me, blubbering cries escaping.

   I kneeled on the gravel road and listened intently. My skinned knees bursting under the bandages. This is what I deserve.

   There were no scars, only scabs. They told me you never really heal. You only learn not to stretch the damaged parts.

   "He's a fighter (Y/n), there's no reason to be so anxious." Shinso spat, looking at the sky. "I've known him since he was a kitten. I was the first person to notice him at Mr. Aizawa's house. My own cat passed a few years ago, and I'm not ready to lose Hisoka too."

   "I'm sorry." My voice betrayed me, and my broken tone caused Shinso to turn. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for him to get hurt." I grasped handfuls of gravel and let them fall through my fingers. "I've caused you nothing but trouble. Hisoka was on to that cat because I was out there. I encouraged him to follow me. I didn't know." I pulled my hair. "You must think I'm a monster. Even now making it about me, when it's about Hisoka. About the vet. About my uncle needing space to cry."

   "It's not your fault," Shinso affirmed. "I don't hate you." He kneeled in front of me and pulled my face up. "I actually like you. If I didn't, you know it by now."

   "What does that even mean?" I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. A car pulled in quickly. Grabbing Hitoshi, I pushed us off the road, rolling in the grass. Hitoshi rolled us over a few times to gain distance and landed on top of me.

   "Damn it. You hurt?" Shinso maintained his position on me, several more cars turning wildly.

   "I'm confused," I squinted past the headlights, blood oozing in my splint. The heat fading as it left my body. "Fuck, my wrist."

   "Let me see," Hitoshi pulled out his phone light and got off me. He examined my arm while I looked at the car caravan. Both of us stretched out in the grass.

   "I think they have a sick dog." I watched them walk their dog to the door. "He's upright, so hopefully their puppy is okay. Oww" Shinso applied pressure to my wrist.

   "You opened it a little. The stitches looked intact." He put his phone away and glanced at the clinic. "I know we pulled in fast, but we didn't almost kill anyone." I could see the tears that were still streaming down his cheeks. He really was trying to act cool.

   Leaning up, I ran my sleeve over his face. "It's going to be okay." He looked almost handsome under the moonlight, almost.

   "It will be." He smiled softly down at me, lowering his face till it was inches from mine. My throat closed up, and I held my breath. "Now you're really blushing."

   "I'm just stressed Lint ball, don't flatter yourself." I puffed out my chest but didn't move our position. "You're so lucky I'm not stronger or I'd have you quivering beneath me begging for mercy."

   "Oh, so you admit that you're weaker than me? You must have hit your head at some point to be making those kinds of statements." He put his arms under my back and sat me up so he could hold pressure to my wound better.

   "I must have," I just agreed with him, and I could have sworn his face dusted red. "It's cold out here Lint Ball, lets get back inside." He stood up and helped me.

   "You're really sticking with Lint Ball?" He took my hand and walked closet the road. I could tell he was still eerie of the cars that had just pulled in.

   "Yup," I popped the p, and winced, my foot curling around a rock. "Are you sticking with kitten?" He tugged me tighter to his waist.

   "Oh yea," he grinned before stopping. Mic and Shota were outside, and Hizashi was using his inside voice... "What's the update?" Shinso caught their attention.

   "They rushed the dog right back." Hizashi crossed his arms. "The poor thing swallowed a silica packet."

   "Let's just hope the vets are nicer than the night staff," I huffed. A small fog formed where my breath had been. "We can't be mad; their dog got help faster, but we can write an angry yelp review later. We just need to keep waiting for answers." I shoved my hand in my pocket and stood by Shota.

   "We do have an update." Shota glanced at Shinso, lips in a thin line. "He's stable for now, but it might be more humane to let him go."

   "Can we see him?" Shinso took a shallow breath and looked at the door.

   "In a few minutes, they are going to bring us back." Hizashi clung to Shota's arm, taking care to hide his tears.

   "Who makes the final choice?" I asked, holding myself the best I could with one arm. "What does the vet think?

   "We should make it as a family." Hizashi nodded, grabbing mine and Shinso's hand while resting against Shota. "First, let's go see him and really think about his quality of life."  

   The vet brought us back shortly after. We traveled in pairs to make it less stressful for Hisoka. I went back with Shinso, leading the way I opened the door and choked on my own spit.

   "He's stable like I said, but his vocal cords are snapped. We managed to fix his airways, but there's no grantee he'll be able to maintain breathing on his own." Hisoka was hooked up to a bunch of tubes that were helping him breathe. There were iv's and monitors all around the small cage they had him resting in. His throat was covered in bandages, and his eyes were barely open and lulled back in his head.

   I reached through the bars and held his giant paw, it was cold and lifeless. Words didn't describe what I was feeling. There were only the sobs echoing from Shinso that set off my own tears. Shinso kneeled behind me, caging me with one arm supporting himself against the enclosure and the other rubbing small circles on Hisoka's arm.

   "I'll give you two a minute." The vet left, shutting the door behind her.

   The analog clock mixed with the gentle beep of the heart monitor filled the small room. We couldn't stop crying, and I didn't think Hisoka would want us to cry. He was a fierce cat, the kind that took no fruff fruff bullshit. Hisoka loved killing mice, fighting off spiders, and rolling in the leaves. Sure, I didn't know him very long, but he was a great cat. He deserved to keep doing all those things, but this wasn't looking good.

   "(Y/n)." Shinso was in my ear, his voice strained and tired. "You know what we need to do, right?"

   "I don't want to say it, Hitoshi." My breathing was ragged, knees weak, and ready to give under me. If Hitoshi wasn't supporting me from behind, I'd already been on the floor.  

   "I'll say it for us. He's in pain."

   The drive had been quiet. Once we were home, we all went to our rooms and locked ourselves away. This time, Hizashi didn't pretend to fall asleep in 'his' room but went straight to Shota's. After I stopped crying, I showered off and went to bed. Tomorrow would be a new day. A sad day, but a new one.

   No one spoke at breakfast. Shinso had been the first up or hadn't slept at all, so he made breakfast. No one made a move to start up a conversation…which meant Hizashi was truly suffering. I didn't know what to do to help. There wasn't an easy answer to what was happening. We made the call to wait till morning and see if he improved. So now we were waiting for the vet to call.

   It was mid-afternoon when Hizashi's phone rang. He wouldn't tell us what was said, but he started to smile. Once he was done with the conversation, he activated his quirk. "The Vet said Hisoka is gonna make it!" Shota kissed Hizashi, and they both spun for joy.

   I glanced at Shinso, who was on the other side of the couch, we shared a smile and relief washed over us. Hisoka was going to be okay.

   "The vet said that Recovery Girl stopped by this morning and was able to help reduce the swelling that was constricting his airways. I'm so glad Shota called her this morning."

   "She deserves a Nobel peace prize," I said, not knowing who it was, but getting that she had a medical quirk from her name.

   "When can he come home?" Shinso went to grab his car keys.

   "They want to monitor his progress one more night, but we can bring him home tomorrow."

   "I'm so happy." I cheered, tears of joy flooding my sore eyes. He was going to be okay.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Demon Boyfriend

Hey, everyone! I’m proud to congratulate @trashybutnottootrashy on their first place win in the raffle! Here is their voucher commissioned prize.

Every building has its own distinct, scent, and even more so for libraries. It’s not a passing observation, but fact, and one that you are sure to observe whenever possible. This specific library is in the center of a buzzing metropolis, a five-story building of shelves upon shelves filled to the brim with books. Fact and fiction each have an entire floor of their own, things such as scientific magazines that can be easily swallowed by children, to a brand of storytelling that makes one question their very reality of life. As much as you wish you could just listlessly browse, fingertips running over the spines of carefully protected hardbacks, you sit at a table directly in front of a librarian’s desk, thoroughly filling out paperwork.

There is a unique scent of dust in the air, one that happens when many different regions of decay end up in the same area, but still not something that you are particularly abhorrent towards. At this point in your life, actually, you find it somewhat comforting. As the LEDs softly buzz along with the rest of the background noise, a single light near the back corner flickering ever so slightly, you sign your name along the last dotted line. After taking a moment to go through the work again, just to double-check its accuracy, you stand, walking back over to the underpaid librarian who has been watching you with hawk-like eyes.

“Here you go,” you say, sliding the small stack of papers and your ID onto his desk, forcing a degree of cheerfulness for the sake of politeness.

With a pinching frown, he looks your information over the brim of his thickly rimmed glasses, glancing back up to your face as though he can hardly believe that you are telling the truth. The librarian takes a moment or two to pitter and patter on his computer, manually typing the information in for, you are certain, the sake of dragging the interaction longer than it needs to be. The clock above the desk ticks, ticks, ticks, away, utterly oblivious to your straining brain as the librarian finally looks up, mouth pursed in barely disguised disgust.

“Follow me,” he says, perhaps a little too primly to be natural.

There is a set of double doors to the side of the desk, though close enough so that the librarians can catch anyone that shouldn’t be back there. The hallway you enter is long, the walls a faded yellow of what once was white, the carpet nothing more than a thin layer of scratchy gray-blue threads that probably haven’t seen a good cleaning for the better part of six decades. Doorways that lead to offices and cubicle rows pass, most of them empty and bare, some of them populated with fellow academics with the intent for growing their knowledge in mind. And, just up ahead, you can see the librarian step inside one of the cubicles, your cubicle, and gesture calmly to whatever is on the desk.

You can’t see it until you step through the opening, but you can almost taste the ancient dust from a few paces away. And there it is, in all its glory, an unbelievably old binding written in a lexicon only few can recognize, and even less decipher. The librarian hands you a pair of specially crafted gloves for handling its brittle pages, eyeing your fingernails as though you might intentionally grow claws to rip the artifact to pieces just to spite him, specifically. Even after you put them on, he still gives you a side-eye, as though you don’t have a list of qualifications to handle such things that runs for a mile long. After a pause that lasts longer than it should, the librarian leaves, giving you one last oddly angry look as he walks back through the long hallway.

With your full focus now on the object you have been trying to get your hands on for the better half of a few months, you look down on it with a kind of awe that you rarely feel for anything but the finest examples of the era you study. The cover is ladened with faded gold, a rune gently shaped in the center with finely sharp details that still is easily readable to someone who understands the language. Carefully, you run your finger over the shape of the word, mouthing the syllables silently, just like you used to when you were first learning. An old one, in a dialect that looks like a muddied mix of Sanskrit, Egyptian, and Hebrew.

There is a college student’s dream arsenal of pens, highlighters, and notebooks in your bag, all of which you carefully pull out and place on the opposite side of the table, near one of the two chairs, already mentally calculating which color you are going to attach to which particular subject/note. With reverence, you reach a gloved hand over, and slowly, gently, open the book, quickly looking over the first page within. There isn’t much more than a much more decorative reiteration of the cover, colored inks swirling into a geometric design that was very uncommon for the time frame the piece has been dated as.

Using your phone, you take a careful picture of the front page, holding it as flat as can be, then you begin to read. Well, maybe a correction, you can’t really understand the book the same way you can pick up something in your native tongue, words cohesively stringing together in your mind, this is a little more complicated to make sense of. The syntax is a bit wonky, definitely something a person from the past would be able to look over with ease, but for you, it takes some effort and muttering a couple of phrases out loud to understand.

You scribble something in your notebook, a word that you aren’t familiar with. It could be a name, you think, looking over the masculine suffix that’s common enough among any records that have been found. Again, you write the name, with better confidence and calligraphy, trying to sound out the syllables in your head before making a fool of yourself to the two other people who also occupy the space. The name itself is unfamiliar, and while there are often records of people with names as standard as Jordan or Isabella in today’s world, but this is something you haven’t seen before. You’ll have to speak with your professor about this one, just to double-check.

Hours fly by without you noticing, only when you raise your phone to take another picture and the low battery warning flashes do you realize how much time has passed, and how quickly. Your appointment time with the artifact is nearing its end, and you are certain that the pinched-faced librarian is about to storm through though double doors to unleash a kind of hell only a special breed of academics can create. Feeling a little low, you begin putting your stuff away, pens going back in the front pocket, notebook slipping back into the front compartment. As your stomach rumbles for food, you mentally pick out a place to pick up some dinner on the way back to your home while slinging your backpack back across your shoulders. Thai? Mexican? Mmmm, pizza?

Oh, there he is, right on cue, the clipboard in his hand carrying your sign-out sheet. Silently, you reach out, one of your pens already in hand. Without giving him a chance to critique your color of choice, you sign the line with the sickest neon pink in your collection, adding a good, curly loop to one of your name’s letters just for good measure. Before he can even open his mouth to say anything, you leave, the gloves on the table, speed-walking down the long hallway so you are out of hearing range once he can even formulate words. You walk right into the left door, the loud thawk echoing through the building as you exit back into the central area of the archeologist selections.

Down you go, picking the stairwell instead of the elevator, moving quickly enough to feel the breeze of cold AC threefold against your neck. The lobby is always four degrees from freezing over, most people wrapping up in two or three layers just to survive a single study session. And perhaps they all have the right idea, wearing jackets, because the moment you step out into the bustling city, you notice just how hard it started raining while you were inside.

A car horn honks somewhere to your left, the sound of squealing tires echoing through and out of the alleyway, making you wince from the high pitch. Fog rises from the drains on either side of the street, the steam licking at your ankles as you run across the street, the pavement still hot from the sun’s permeating gaze. The bus stop is just ahead, you can see the headlights of something large and square, so you pick up your pace just to reach it in time, gasping and choking as you scan your pass in the little machine. The driver offers nothing more than a grunt as you shove your way past the overly crowded front. The bus creaks as it leaves the station, the engine popping as it moves the impossible weight it carries.

Your stop is only a few minutes away but saves you an hour’s walk in the pouring rain. The steps of the central bus doors are slippery from the many that have taken it before in the day, but you keep your balance as you hop back down on the sidewalk, you still-damp clothes soaking once more. The flickering neon of an old mom and pop deli manages to catch your attention through the hazy mist, so you make the snap decision to get your food there, folding your arms around your chest as you enter. A fan takes the unfortunate liberty to blow its air right all over any skin you have left bare, and your teeth immediately begin to chatter to battle what it thinks is oncoming hypothermia.

It takes you only a moment to pick your food, pay, and walk back out to the marginally warmer streets, and you half jog, half walk back to the apartment complex you call your home. The stairwell reeks of mildew, but thankfully not of much else, and with the rainy air flowing through the open windows, you can close your eyes and pretend that you are a fully-fledged archeologist, exploring a ruin of infinite potential. After jiggling your lock for what you would consider a moment too many, it gives, and you’re finally back, ready to look over your notes and organize them properly to place in your thesis.

Again, the name catches your eye. You smooth over the paper, a crinkle from closing wrong blemishing the very corner of the page, trying to figure out why you are so enamored with that single group of letters. It’s different than the borderline obsession you possess for the language in its entirety, there’s something about it that seems... different. You press your finger up against the first syllable, and say it out loud: “Yav… Ved.”

Nothing happens.

You point to the other half of the name, and say it as well: “Far-sen..nah.”

A soft tap tap tapping sounds against wood as you tap your finger on the table, biting your lip. <em<This is for your thesis, you think over and over again, pinching the bridge of your nose and desperately trying to summon the words once more. “Yavid… Farzenah.”

You only have a single moment to sit back in your chair before your apartment explodes. Or rather, upon further observation, implodes. Everything, the floor, the table, the chair, seems to warp, as though the large, black orb that suddenly appears in the center of your studio room is sucking everything around it. The blobs of color suddenly shift, the edges of your vision growing blurry, then dark, and suddenly everything and nothing ceases to exist. Then, a sudden rise of color, and there is someone standing in the middle of the apartment. There aren’t a lot of PSA’s about what to do when someone suddenly appears in your living space, so you revert back to a primitive fix-all.

You scream.

It’s a man, or at least holds the shape of masculinity, though you don’t even think that this creature is human, and as he tries to hold his hands out in a placating gesture of peace, you are too hysterical to listen to any voice of reason. All it takes is one slithery movement forward to set you off further, and you make a dodge for the door, keeping close to the wall. The only issue with your plan is that whatever this is, he is suddenly standing right in front of it, and you barely manage to skid to a halt before ramming right into his scaly chest.

Kitchen. Your drawer has knives, you can pull one out to defend yourself! Two steps are all it takes for the cabinets to be within reach, and you are quick to yank one of the faux wooden drawers out, hastily snatching a knife away and holding it out in what you hope is a seriously threatening manner. Though in retrospect, you probably aren’t the most intimidating person in the world, and the shaking from the spiked anxiety and adrenaline isn’t doing you any aesthetic-based favors. After what seems like an eternity, whatever he is speaks.

“Do not be afraid.” While anyone else might find his voice soothing, the fact that it seems he was born with the ability to soothe others ends up winding you up even more.

“No, thanks!”

“I have no intention of harming you.” The statement, at least, sounds as though he genuinely means it. He doesn’t try taking another step towards you, so he must be a quick learner. A swift, reptilian… horned… learner. “If you would just give me whatever tools you used, I’ll be going.”

“I don’t- I don’t understand.” You wish you could just push through the wall, to shove your way through the plaster and wood and escape into another apartment.

“The summoning tools.” He cocks his head, strands of silver hair falling into his eyes as he listens, carefully, to the footsteps of your upstairs neighbors. “Ah,” the creature suddenly seems to understand. “The portal must have materialized slightly off to the true summoners. A thousand apologies, your grace, the interconnecting aethors aren’t quite as they once were. Perhaps I could receive a bit of your undeserving kindness?”

When you don’t say anything, he continues, “would you happen to know if anyone in the immediate area would dare summon I?”

Though your neck is stiffer than it has ever felt, you manage to shake it ever so slightly.

“I suspected as much…” his voice trails away, his gaze falling onto your table. A frown sets on his face as he creeps closer, hand reaching out to touch the college-ruled stripes of your notebook. And then he looks at you again, slitted eyes narrowing. ” You.”

“Me?” You squeak.

“It was you who summoned me.” His voice is almost accusatory, but not all the way there yet.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Perhaps not intentionally.” He picks up your notebook, flipping through it as though it’s his, and runs his fingers over a specific page. “However, that appears to be the case.”

“I still… I don’t understand.” God, you wish the floor would just swallow you up.

The creature, the- snakelike beast, you don’t know what to identify him as, dares to come closer to the shining edge of your stainless steel weapon, and points to the copy of the cover you had painstakingly mimicked to the best of your ability with his perfectly crafted golden claw. “Tell me, what does this word mean?”

“To summon,” you say, immediately understanding what exactly he’s implying. “But- but it’s supposed to be a book of poetry, that word has two connotations, it’s supposed to summon emotions-”

“I’m afraid that’s incorrect.” He twists your precious notebook around, mouth puckering in thought. “But, I suppose, I can’t exactly blame you for clearly not knowing better. Tell me, then, who is now in rule? Is Ammenon or any of his descendants on the throne, still?”

You don’t know which Ammenon he means, because that was a pretty popular name... about five thousand years ago. But, still, you give him the name of your country’s leaders, explaining, “no one really does the monarchy thing anymore. I mean, there’s the Queen of England and such, but,” a bead of sweat rolls down your temple, “she can’t do things like raise taxes, she actually has to pay those as well… and, um, so on.”

“Ha.” It’s not really a laugh of amusement, more of fascination and curiosity. “Interesting. Well, regardless, you called for me with a single purpose in mind, and I may not return until it has been fulfilled. I shall, how do you humans put it, give this one to you for free. No soul needed in return.”

“Is that- is that what you really use as payment?”

“Mostly.” He flips over your pages once more, far more slow and meticulous this time. “But as this current summoning is, unfortunately, clearly accidental, I’m willing to give you a pass. Perhaps, in return,” he arches his eyebrows, which are just as silver as his hair, “you could spread a good word for me, to any witch or warlock looking for demonic help.”

“Um.” You lower the weapon, only slightly. “If… the conversation of demonic help ever comes up with someone I know is a witch or warlock, I suppose I can do that, yes.”

“Alright, then.” The creature- demonic, he had said, reads over one of your pages, “so tell me, what is it you desired, while speaking my name?”

You shrug, a little shyly. “I was just thinking about finishing my academic thesis.”

“An academic thesis.” He looks back down over the notes you’ve painstakingly taken, outlining a barely cohesive idea that you are desperately trying to narrow down into something easily understood. “About?”

“Language.”

“I see.” He cocks his head, forked tongue licking over his fangs. “Perhaps we should begin, then. Seems we have our work cut out for us, hm?”

You lower the knife all the way, your arm hanging limply against your hip as you look over your new… colleague? Aid? You don’t know what to refer to him, or even what he is. But you accept your lot here, and gently take the notebook back, smoothing over the edges that have started curling over from age and wear with your thumb. Biting down on your tongue, you try to figure how you plan on handling this, what can you put him in charge of that will help, instead of hinder, your progress?

“How long have you been around? Alongside humanity, that is?” You muse aloud, trying to think a little harder.

“I’m still trying to figure out how long it’s been since my last summoning.” The long, black tail he has instead of legs flicks to the left. “I have a feeling that you don’t know where to begin, either.”

“You’re right.” The water kettle you had left on the stove in the few minutes it took to pull him into another reality begins to scream. He looks in its direction, aghast, and you flip the heat off, pulling an extra mug from a cabinet while you make tea. “Let’s work on finding a historical event that you remember.”

It takes a little while. You ask ‘Yavid,’ that’s his name, you found out, if he remembers anyone significant named Jesus from Nazareth. Not even a flicker of recognition in his eyes. You try to go down the line of Caesar’s, then the Ptolemy’s. Cleopatra, apparently, is famous from wherever he’s from just by her cunning and genius alone, but he hasn’t met her in person. “But I had already been around for a long while before that,” he adds, looking over his perfectly manicured nails.

A few days go by, and Yavid has been giving you some fundamental insights on everyday life from, by your calculations, four, maybe five thousand years ago. It’s incredibly fascinating, you admit, and you find yourself deeply distracted by his tails of barber feuds that last for years, brilliant milkmaids who end up in exalted positions, and animals that once could speak. You scribble various notes in your book, feeling an award creeping up with every word he softly speaks. This is remarkable, this is beyond astounding… this is going to bring a whole new view to the field of archeology and historical studies.

He eats, you asked at some point, you don’t remember when, but he does. Meaty things mainly, he requested for alligator at some point, and you do your best to accommodate him with the budget you have. You try not to let it slip that you are straining, but he catches onto things pretty quickly and hands you one of his many golden bracelets to sell. Just from that, you’re pretty much set for the rest of the month, your shitty job notwithstanding.

“So,” you poke at the food on your plate, hoping that if you shift it around, it will look more appetizing, “you can’t go back until I complete my thesis?”

“That’s how it works, yes,” though Yavid’s already been over this with you, he repeats it once more for your sake.

“It’s just the thesis’ completion? How will you know that it’s complete? Is it just the first draft? Is it once it’s peer-reviewed? Once it’s submitted?”

“I imagine once the entire process of turning in your thesis is over,” he folds his hands over each other, “that is usually the criteria for the process, or at least the kind I contracted to take care of.”

“Hm.” He’s going to end up being with you for the rest of the school year. You aren’t exactly sure how you feel about the impromptu roommate, you were, after all, renting in this shoddy area for a lower price on apartments just because you didn’t want to deal with that. But there wasn’t much either of you could do about it, other than tough it out. “You can just… become contracted to take care of certain things?”

“Mercenary work would be a good way to put it, except others like me have to answer to a higher power, giving them…. A cut of our wares, if you will.”

“I think I understand.”

“Work has been incredibly dry, lately, though I suppose I know the answer as to why.” Yavid looks over to where your phone lies, tossed haphazardly onto your bed. “The leaps of advances in just the last millennia, the last century, even, have been quick and remarkable. Seems that no one requires a miracle.”

“I wouldn’t say that, specifically,” you run your finger down the lower half of your fork. “Knowledge of ancient things isn’t really respected anymore. Sure, people know that at some point, ancient civilizations worshipped and summoned beings they thought were real, but ask anyone out in the street, and they would agree that those things hold up the same as fairy tales. I’m sure there are some rebellious kids out there trying to summon Satan or whatever, but they’re playing with objects that don’t really do anything.”

Yavid hums in agreement, looking at the cheap wine you purchased for his sake swirl in a cheap glass. “I suppose, then, that you will have to help us rise back up to the… what did you call it… mainstream media.”

You will not be doing that, so you say nothing, and instead take a sip of your drink. “Maybe we should talk about how the syntax evolved.”

The weather turns cold, almost like some ancient god decided to snap its fingers. You wear a coat, arms braces tightly across your chest, whenever you leave the apartment. Whenever you return, Yavid is usually coiled out on the floor, his snaky half wrapped around whatever it could find, your table, your bed, the weird column in the middle of the room, and such. He is normally reading a book you checked out of the library for him, often something history-related, since he doesn’t really like the flashing of your tablet. Or, more realistically, he has yet to figure out how to work it and doesn’t wish to admit it.

“Of course the planet is round,” you’ve heard him mutter, “can’t believe it took you people this long to figure it out… again.”

You’ve pulled up the moon landing on youtube for him to watch once or twice, his yellow eyes glittering in grayscale. That’s about the most you’ve managed to impress him, the nuclear weapon shenanigans that follow World War Two leaves him less than thrilled, “and,” he adds, poking at the glossy textbook paper, “two world wars? Was the second one that necessary?”

“To be fair,” you add olive oil to the pan, the scent of stir fry perfuming your apartment, “Hitler and his posse were persecuting eleven million Jews, Romanians, homosexuals, and literally anyone deviating from what they perceived as ‘perfect,’ including the sick and disabled. If that madman’s power grew unchecked, most of us wouldn’t be here now.”

Yavid grunts in response, brows furrowing as he turns the page.

One semester bleeds into the second, and the bitter cold begins to seep away from the earth, making way for the sun’s unbearable warmth. Your thesis is thick, papers stacked against each other neatly as can be, the final draft approved by two of your professors who volunteered to look over it. You read over it once more, as you have done many, many times, with Yavid over your shoulder.

“Well,” you say, placing it in a cheap paper folder, “this is it.”

“Perhaps it is.” Yavid gives you a crooked grin. “Unless you fail.”

“I will not!” You tuck the folder into your backpack, giving him a face. “I am an unbridled genius. The board is going to have one look at this and be vaporized on the spot.”

“They surely will, and if your unbridled genius doesn’t accomplish that, my immeasurable wrath will.”

You let out a little puff of air in laughter, slinging the backpack over your shoulders. “Look, if I return and you aren’t here-”

“Which might be unlikely, as it might be until the paper is approved before my task is complete.”

“I know, but,” you place a hand on his arm, “thank you.”

“Oh.” He blinks in surprise. “You’re welcome. And, I suppose, if you need anything else, just call for me.” 

“Maybe,” you hum, letting the door shut behind you. 

[luvshuas]

ghouls and such

pairing - seungkwan x reader

tags - horror

synopsis - when you take seungkwan to a supposedly haunted cabin, the last thing you, a skeptic, would expect was the train of events that followed throughout the night

word count - 2.2k

©

April Fools’ Day was an important holiday in yours and Seungkwan’s friendship. From the beginning of your friendship to now you both always planned pranks on each, but in recent years they began to get more elaborate. You’d spend weeks preparing for pranks, and preparing to sabotage the others prank. Your little ‘prank war’ -- if you could even call it that -- was all in good fun with spoken agreements to avoid mentally, physically, or emotionally hurting each other.

After Seungkwan’s prank last year you vowed that the next years prank would make him never want to prank you ever again. Though you didn’t want the tradition to end you did want to one-up him, and you definitely would. After lots of interrogating, you got some of his friends to expose his fear of ghosts. Thus began the planning process. For weeks you searched for haunted locations within driving distance, and then you found the perfect location. It was a cabin in an old camping ground. The cabin had been around for hundreds of years, but no one dared stay in it. Rumors of rituals, summoning demons, and the ghost of a lady who was drowned at the nearby lake floated around the internet. You never quite believed in the supernatural. If something was real it could be proven, and there just wasn’t enough unexplainable proof to justify ghosts being real.

The plan was going perfectly. Seungkwan believed you were taking him to a lake a few hours away from where you both lived. When you arrived at his apartment to pick him up he was beyond excited. “This is going to be so fun! I’ve been needing a break for awhile.” He said excitedly getting into your car. You thought he was completely unaware of the date, but he had his own prank up his sleeve. Though Seungkwan did believe you two were going to a lake to relax he also knew you’d prank him, but he just couldn’t place a finger on what the prank would be.

The car ride to your destination was fairly uneventful. The two of you acted like any best friends would if they were on a road trip. Songs were sung, jokes were told, snacks were eaten, and everything was going according to plan. Then you arrived at the front of the campsite.

You showed the park ranger your proof of payment before entering the camp ground, taking note of the way his eyes widened. He quickly handed you the papers back and waved you through, probably thinking you were part of some sort of cult and not just pranking your best friend. You watched Seungkwan from the corner of your eye as you drove further into the forest. If you hadn’t known him for as long as you did you wouldn’t have notice the way his eyes kept shifting towards the side mirror to watch the campsite’s exit disappear. You almost felt bad knowing how badly this prank would scare him, but your pity quickly fell away since he’d be laughing as soon as you came clean that it was a prank.

The closer you came to the cabin the faster your electronics began to drain battery. Your nearly full GPS began to die once you came within a couple hundred feet of the cabin. “Are you kidding me? My phone just died.” Seungkwan complained, immediately rummaging through his bag to look for his portable charger. You didn’t dwell on all the electronics dying since it was just a coincidence to you.

“Come on, let’s go put everything in the cabin. I wanna explore the lake before it gets dark and the ghosts come out.” You snickered as you mentioned the ghosts. Seungkwan was a big believer in all things other worldly, whereas you thought it was all a bunch of pre-set traps and noise triggers.

The cabin was uncomfortably quiet when you both stepped through the door. The interior looked like it’d been cleaned for the first time only a few hours prior to you and Seungkwan arriving, but whoever did it rushed. Though you were a skeptic you could admit you were curious about the experiences people had here for it to be labelled haunted. Normally a quick Google search would give you all your answers, but the only articles you could find were from the campsites opening decades ago. However that was only the surface, after much digging you found a blog post about the hauntings that occurred in the cabin. Residents reported being woken up from their sleep, strange figures looming over them in their beds, the feeling of being watched, and much more. You closed the article before finishing it, brushing the supernatural “experiences” as campers just being scared and thinking everything was a ghost.

You and Seungkwan quickly put everything up, eager to look around the lake. The afternoon had a cool breeze and it was perfect for a nice walk. “Thanks for taking me here,” Seungkwan looped his arm with yours, “it’s really pretty here.” You smiled at the praise. You hoped that, despite the prank, you’d both have a good time together.

The walk along the lake took about an hour. The sun was nearly completely tucked behind the horizon and the two of you didn’t want to stay out past dark in a forest with potential wild animals. “It got dark quick.” Seungkwan commented, waiting for you to finish twisting the key in the door knob. The clicking sound came and you were finally able to push the door open.

“I guess,” you watched him take a seat in the living room before closing and locking the entrance. “Hey, do you wanna watch a movie? I’m not tired yet and there’s nothing to do here.” You took a seat next to Seungkwan who was reaching for the remote to power on the television in the room. Neither of you were too keen to turn on any lights, save for the lamp in the far corner of the living room. Seungkwan’s silent agreement to watch the movie spurred your plan into motion. You’d wait roughly an hour to and hour and half before claiming you were gonna go change into more comfortable clothes. Once Seungkwan would be left alone in the darkness he’d immediately be on edge, and that’s when you’d prank him.

The first thirty minutes of the movie the house was quiet save for the sound coming from the television. Your doubts that this cabin was haunted grew with each passing minute. “Did you hear that?” Seungkwan asked, his head whipping behind the couch to watch the dark hallway leading to the back of the cabin. You rolled your eyes, but ultimately ignored his worrying. It was almost too easy to prank him at this point, but you’d still go through with it.

“My clothes are getting uncomfortable so I’m gonna change really quickly. I’ll be back in like five minutes.” It had been an hour since Seungkwan mentioned hearing something, and now was the perfect time to start the prank. Seungkwan’s eyes widened at the thought of being left alone in the dark. “I should come with you!” He quickly stood up, not wanting to be left to his own devices. You pushed his shoulders down so he’d sit back on the couch, making it clear you didn’t want him to follow you. You almost felt bad about Seungkwan being scared out of his mind, but it was quite funny to you.

Seungkwan didn’t continue playing the movie when you left him. He stayed on the couch with his legs curled beneath him and his eyes concentrating on the bright screen of his phone. He believed that if he didn’t focus on how creepy the cabin was nothing bad would happen, but that’s not how ghosts work.

Once you were in your room you began changing. You could admit that the cabin had an eerie vibe about it, but instead of ghosts you pinned it on the location. You slid your arms through the sleeves of a clean shirt, completely unaware of the tapping at the window until the rustling of clothes stopped. It sounded like a fingernail lightly hitting the window. “It’s just a tree. Ghosts don’t exist.” You mumbled, tearing your eyes away from the window the tapping sound was coming from. You finished changing and went immediately to the door. The air around the door knob was ice cold compared to the rest of the room. The knob was even colder. You quickly twisted the door open, wanting to get your hand off the burning cold of the door knob.

You were a bit spooked by the time you got back to Seungkwan who was staring blankly at the windows. “Hey, are you ok?” You asked, shaking his shoulder. His facial expression seemed empty, like something drained him. It took a few shakes to get him back to his senses. He quickly looked around the room to remember where he was. “Can we go back home or get a hotel in the city? There’s something, or rather someone, here.” Seungkwan lifted himself from the couch. His eyes were pleading with you to say yes. Your skepticism towards anything supernatural overshadowed the unnatural swirling feeling you had in your stomach telling you to leave as fast as possible. “No, I paid for a night here and the money can’t be refunded.” Your voice involuntarily wavered.

“Don’t turn around. I see something behind you.” Seungkwan moved closer to you, the adrenaline pumping in his veins giving him small doses of confidence. You stayed frozen in your spot. You wanted to look behind you, but something kept whispering to you not to look. The whispering in your ear went away within a few seconds. You spun around to face where Seungkwan was staring at. A window, that looked normal, was situated in the space Seungkwan thought he saw something.

Then you saw it. It was a quick shadow, almost teasing you two by flickering onto the window. The energy around the cabin seemed to darken and cool significantly. Something was in the forest, and it wanted to pay you a visit. A rattling sound came from the hallway leading to the back of the cabin. “Can ghosts float through walls, or is that a movie myth?” Seungkwan grabbed onto your hand, not wanting to separate from you.

“Hm, I don’t know. Let me just ask my ghost friends.” You refused to admit that there was a ghost, or any other supernatural being, trying to enter the cabin. The rattling never stopped, but it also never got louder. Both of you were too scared to make any quick movements. Then it stopped.

The rattling suddenly cut off. “Should we go back there and check to see if anything broke in?” You looked at Seungkwan, waiting for his response. He vigorously shook his head no. You knew there was no way in hell you’d get him to go towards something that scared the life out of him, so you went alone. Seungkwan tried pulling you back to him, but you only shrugged off his hand. A wave of determination flooded into you. You wanted to see where the rattling was coming from, and the rattling wanted you to come find it.

All plans of pranking Seungkwan were washed away as you began to follow the invisible cord tugging you in the direction of the hallway. Seungkwan followed slowly behind you at a large distance. He didn’t feel safe about you wandering alone, whether you believed in ghosts or not. You continued in a straight until you stopped in the back of the hallway at a wall. “You don’t belong here.” A voice whispered from behind you. The skin behind your ear began heating up; soon coming to a burning sensation.

Seungkwan stopped moving once he reached the center of the hallway. He watched you stare at the bare wall. “Get the bags, Seungkwan.” You turned around to face him. Your eyes were shaded as if something was making you tell him these things. However, Seungkwan wasted no time in rushing into the room with your bags. “Drive all the way back home. Stop for nothing. Never come back behind the tree line. You don’t belong here.”  The voice hissed to the right of you this time. You forced yourself to not look towards where the whispers came from. You needed to get out of the cabin and back to the city you drove here from.

Seungkwan came out of the room with all the bags slung across his shoulder. You rushed to him and began pulling him to the front door of the cabin. “We have to go.” You frantically pulled open all of the locks and then the front door. You don’t know what came over you, but you knew that if you stayed whatever, or rather whoever, was whispering in your ear would cause you and your best friend harm.

You pulled the car out of the driveway and began driving towards the entrance in less than a minute. You and Seungkwan were out of the park in five minutes. “Never mention tonight.” You glanced at Seungkwan from the corner of your eye. He only nodded, clearly too shaken from the cabin.

[asterinjapan]

The long and winding road

It’s been a long and winding road today, but oh, the views were so worth it!

Today, I took a bit of a trip further north on the Okinawa main island (I’m staying in Naha, the capital city in the south). Remember what I said yesterday, about not being able to resist visiting castles if they’re nearby? Yeah, so that also goes for castles that are less around the corner than Shuri, haha. Follow me under the link to Nakagusuku!

As it turns out, gusuku refers to castles or fortresses with stone walls on the Ryukyu islands (Okinawa island these days), so no points for guessing what Nakagusuku is. Or rather, was – the only castle currently still standing is the one I visited yesterday, as Shuri castle was reconstructed. Nakagusuku never was, but it’s one of the best preserved ruins, escaping most of the destruction of the Battle of Okinawa in which Shuri burnt down.

Anyway, first I needed to get there! Quite the trip, actually. First of all, I’d slept terribly, waking up every 2 hours for reasons I still can’t explain (I usually just sleep a long time when jetlagged). Although my head is right underneath the window, so maybe it was just outside noise that woke me up, who knows. Anyway, I woke up over breakfast and decided to try out for Nakagusuku anyway. I found a nearby bus stop and took the bus to the nearest bus stop from the Nakagusuku castle ruins – over 2 kilometers away. That doesn’t sound that bad until you learn that it’s all uphill, haha. Luckily, the steepest part was right at the beginning, and the sun was hiding behind the clouds over Nakagusuku today. A faint breeze was picking up, so in the end, the walk wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

Regardless, I was pretty thirsty once I made it to the entrance, having nearly emptied my bottle already. I grabbed a matcha latte (which I long for every day back in the Netherlands, haha) and caught my breath here, listening to music from the 60s – from America, pff. Hi there, Elvis songs! There’s actually quite some American presence on Okinawa due to the military base, and lots of aircrafts flew over here too.

 Armed with an extra bottle of water and my camera, I made my way up to the actual entrance. As it turns out, there are golf carts waiting for visitors, and you can hitch a ride to the top of the castle. It’s a dead end, so if you don’t take the cart, you end up walking the premises twice.

The cart ride was only 500 meters, so I didn’t expect to take super long walking the castle grounds, but I was underestimating my own castle fascination there, haha. Almost instantly, my breath was taken away at the top. There were already some marvelous views of the ocean from here, and I was impressed by how well the nearest wall was conserved. I hadn’t seen nothing yet at that point!

Via the main gate, you end up at the south enclosure with holy ground, containing several places of worship that are now partly reclaimed by nature. Moss covers the walls still standing, and with the grey clouds straight overhead and the occasional crow, I was getting Halloween vibes a little early, haha. But the sun was shining elsewhere, making for some spectacular ocean views in between the walls.

I’m actually not sure what I liked best; exploring the huge expanse of the castle or the gorgeous views. I had gotten caught behind a tour group, but they all but rushed through the next enclosures, which was incomprehensible, because who skips over a panoramic view of the ocean? Yeah, not me, that’s for sure. I stuck around for a good while, draining my first camera battery (luckily I always carry two) and just loving the sights here.

Nakagusuku is 160 meters above sea level and looks out over Nakagusuku Bay into the Pacific Ocean and the East China sea, with peninsulas in between. The first constructions of this castle took place in the late 14th century, and by the 1440s, the lord Gosamaru arrived and completed the castle into the six enclosures it still has today. Gosamaru was a war lord and castle builder, also responsible for Zakimi castle, and was supposed to defend the area from the lord Amawari from nearby Katsuren Castle. Alas, in 1458 Amawari overthrew him as yet, and my leaflet mentions 1458 as the year of death for Gosamaru. His tomb sits nearby.

As another fun aside, from the castle site, you can spot the ruins of what was once supposed to be a hotel back in the 1970s. Monks warned that they were constructing it on top of graves and sacred sites, but the builders didn’t listen. Until of course, so many accidents occurred that the construction workers refused to continue. And now those ruins just sit there, lurking in a corner when watching out from Nakagusuku castle…

 Told you I got a spooky feeling here, haha. Luckily it was still broad daylight, and I braved my fear of heights to climb the walls for the best views, be it with shivering legs. (It was allowed, by the way – not that that was easy to tell since there was almost no-one else here, but they had plates up where you were not supposed to climb.) This castle was also special for its well within castle walls, meaning water supplies, but I didn’t go down there as the road was slippery enough without rain and there were warning signs for snakes, so uhm, no thank you.

It really took quite a while, but after about 2 hours, I made it off the castle grounds and had indeed found my way back to the entrance.

I had a bite here and decided that it was only a little past one in the afternoon, so plenty of time to visit something else today. I opted for the Nakamura house nearby, which meant continuing on the road up that I’d already walked for 2 kilometers… Thankfully it is one long road, so it’s almost impossible to get lost, and signage is really good here.

(Which randomly reminds me, but Shuri castle was very good with that too, plus it was super accessible. It might be the only castle I’ve seen so far that was pretty much entirely wheelchair friendly, which is a bit of a sad truth, but it’s good to see they can do it. That as a complete aside.)

 So, Nakamura house! The history of that house actually ties to Nakagusuku castle, as the Nakamura ancestor Gashi served as teacher to lord Gosamaru above. With the downfall of the castle and its lord, the Nakamura family also suffered, but in the 1720s, tides turned and one of the members was asked to serve as a village headman here. It was around this time when the house was first constructed. Miraculously, it has survived until the present day, so it’s not a reconstruction! It survived the Battle of Okinawa, and the Fuguki trees shield it from typhoons.

As a house, it’s pretty big, as it belonged to an upper class farmer and thus even has a pig pen. As a tourist attraction, it’s pretty small, haha. But there’s an office attached which also serves as a souvenir shop, and a place to have some tea with traditional snacks, so that’s very nice! I ended up buying a strap with two shisaa, those lion-dogs I mentioned yesterday. They’re everywhere here in Okinawa, so I’m taking them with me, haha. They’re here too; one of them is on top of the roof, actually. It should drive away unwanted visitors.

Walking the premise, you’re allowed to enter all places (just take your shoes off inside) and they put up QR codes for extra information. And this time it was actually useful, since there’s Wi-fi here and I thus didn’t have to use up precious data to get the extra info. It’s in multiple languages, so that’s very helpful if you can’t read Japanese or are lazy like me and just want to quickly read the info, ssh.

Regardless, it was a shorter visit than to Nakagusuku, if only due to the sheer difference in size. The house also has a koi pond, which is nice, but it also attracts bugs, which is less nice. Luckily I brought my Japanese bug bite cream with me, because last time I tried, Dutch spray did exactly nothing against the itching. The cream still works though!

Be that as it may, it was around 2:30 now and I still had quite a stroll to go, so I left and traced back the long and winding road. Apparently there should be a bus stop a little closer to Nakamura house, but a) the nearest stop was further away from my hotel and b) I had yet to find it. So I just chose the one I knew for sure and waited for a bit for my bus.

Really, these buses here are so empty, I’m going to get spoiled before I move on to the mainland and get stuffed into trains again, haha. At least the trains are more punctual, I guess that’s the trade-off.

 Back at the hotel, I picked up a sweet potato tart since they’ve been advertising that with a very catchy song, and I must say it was quite a delicious snack. Finally, it was dinner time. I found a small establishment which served some Okinawan dishes – I meant to go for taco rice, but I saw they also served a dish with Okinawan fish, so I went with that instead. I just – don’t know what fish it was, but it sure was delicious!

 And now I’m back in my hotel room. I have several options for tomorrow, but to be honest, I have too many ideas for Okinawa to fit into this one week, so I’ll have to make some choices, hm. No more castles for now though! I mean, I could, but I want to get a slightly more nuanced idea of Okinawa, haha.

So that’s it for today, pictures will be up soon and see you tomorrow!

Apologies for the length, castles make me wordy…

[stephhannes]

212.

one year ago, we left new york.

a week before we moved out of our apartment, i started cleaning. our kitchen was a straight-up disaster zone. when we first moved in, the AC unit in the kitchen was leaking underneath the tiles so everything was just….moist for awhile. for whatever reason, nathan refused to call maintenance whenever something was broken in the apartment so we lived with a wet floor for months until it started leaking in the apartment below us and they fixed it one day when i was at work.

because of that, there were weird remnants of amazon boxes that had melted and become a frankentile with the flooring. and we put off cleaning that for….the entire time we lived there. nathan’s whole concept of cleaning was “we can put it off until right before we move, it’ll be fine, we’ll still get our security deposit back.” i, however, could not live in a scum palace, so i would clean up once a week, but a lot of it slipped through the cracks. so the week before we left, there i was, cleaning all the cracks in the kitchen. i sat and scrubbed the kitchen floor for hours, painstakingly scraping up weird sticky spots and cardboard. there was a drawer that just had loose rice in it from a broken bag, and cleaning that was surprisingly tricky. i lysol’d the chicken shelf. i completely dismembered our stove to scrub underneath the burners. i swept up all of the onion skin and coffee grounds that had fallen in the crevice between the counters and the fridge. and then i moved onto the bathroom. while i wish i could have taken a match to the room, i just poured fabuloso all over the entire space, which is basically the same thing. my favorite part was when nathan came home one day and was like “wow, the bathroom looks so nice….why did you clean it?” and i was just like…..because, you idiot, we’re moving in a week and i’m trying to get a security deposit back. the only thing worse than having to clean all of the hair out of the sink was the period of time that our bathtub wouldn’t drain and i had to take a bath with every shower i took.

i’m a person who likes to be over-prepared. especially when it comes to things like traveling, or moving. i make lists, i get all my ducks in a row ahead of time and count them twice. nathan is the exact opposite. we left nyc on the morning of may 23rd, and i couldn’t quit work until may 21st, because i couldn’t afford to take any more days than that off. in my head, i anticipated that on the 22nd we would have been doing the final touches on cleaning and packing. we would have all our furniture out, all of the floors swept, everything we were taking back to texas in suitcases. the only thing we’d have out is the mattress so that we could go to bed at a decent time and be well-rested for our flight the next morning, the only thing we’d have to do in the morning is toss our mattress on the streets and leave.

but of course, that’s not how it panned out. the week leading up to moving, nathan did absolutely nothing in regards to packing. the only thing that got done was the prior cleaning i had accomplished. on may 21st, i got very drunk at my going-away party at work, came home at some stupid hour and fell asleep. i woke up at like 2pm on the 22nd, and nathan still hadn’t started anything. i had to go run an errand downtown, so i picked up the halal guys on my way back uptown. when i got back, we ate and then he went to the gym and then i was like uhhh ok i guess i should start getting shit together. so while he was at the gym i packed up all of my clothes. then, when i moved onto packing up the kitchen, i realized there was a lot of alcohol still left, and me, being a certified poor person, didn’t want to waste the money i had spent on it, so i started drinking while cleaning. when he got back from the gym, we accomplished my favorite part of moving- we slam dunked his nasty basketball shoes right into the dumpster.

we took turns throwing trash out into the hall, and leaving furniture down in the lobby. and eventually, around 4am, we had most of our garbage cleaned out of the apartment. also by this point, i had sobered up from drinking earlier in the night and was feeling dehydrated and terrible. all i wanted to do was sleep, but we still had so much to get done. by this point, i was getting stressed because we definitely were not close to finishing on time.

my breaking point was when we were trying to re-assemble our smoke detector. we disassembled it at some point early in our time living there because it would go off even if we were just boiling water. nathan struggled to put it back together for like 10 minutes and called me into the hallway to advise. me, being a person who’s done this before suggested, “oh so you have to flip that latch and then put the battery on top of it, then screw on the top,” and of course, immediately, nathan was like “no, that’s not right that doesn’t make any sense,” and after struggling for five more minutes i pushed him out of the way and was like, “oh my god let me do this” and i re-assembled it on my first try. because i was right.

we watched the sun rise over the GWB one last time.

our flight was leaving in 3 hours. we still had a couch, and a bed, and a table in the apartment. i had a headache. we hadn’t eaten in hours. so while nathan ran out to get bagels i cried for a solid 15 minutes out of exhaustion and stress.

i moved to new york with two suitcases. one for all my clothes/shoes, and one for towels, linens and pillows. somehow i thought i’d be able to leave new york with two suitcases, despite having accumulating even more stuff. i was shocked when i was actually able to fit everything that i owned and wanted to keep into one suitcase, my second one was basically just dedicated to nathan’s shoes and winter clothes.

when we were leaving for the airport i remember mentioning, “hey we should probably call an uber because i doubt all of our suitcases are going to fit into a taxi,” but nathan refused, so we walked two blocks to get a taxi and then had to spend a stupid amount of time playing jenga to get our suitcases into aforementioned taxi. two fit in the trunk, one was in the front seat, one was in my lap.

my suitcase was 10lbs overweight and southwest charges $75 for an overweight bag. so of course i lost my god damn mind and started crying and flung myself to the floor and started throwing things out of my bag and trying to shuffle things around to get it underweight. i was an airport goblin. here’s the thing: i’m actually very good at traveling. i’ve gotten my personal travel down to a science and i love flying and am usually very collected. but i was so stressed, i hadn’t slept in a day, and it truly brought out the worst in me.

once we made it onto the plane nathan told me that he never wanted to travel with me again because i am a disaster, and i promised that i’m not usually like that, but he definitely didn’t believe me- i’m so glad i made a good first impression. whenever we got to our parents’ houses back in texas i sent him a very nice text apologizing for being the human equivalent of a hurricane and he was just like, “it’s fine, you’re lucky i love you and also that i know exactly who you are.” which is true, i’m lucky that he knew and accepted exactly what kind of gremlin he was about to spend the rest of his life with.

despite paying a disgusting amount of money in rent, that was a dope little apartment. we had more space than we knew what to do with, literally half of our furniture in the living room was just a pile of nathan’s clothes because we needed something to take up some space. it was nice to have a doorman, even though there were a handful of times when i got stopped on my way into the building. my favorite time was when i rolled in at 3am after drinking with coworkers, and i had left my columbia ID in the apartment. usually this wasn’t an issue, but the person at the front desk stopped me for once and wouldn’t let me go upstairs without it. when you’re an actual columbia student, it’s not an issue because you can just give your student ID number to get in, but i was like “uhhhhh i don’t have one, i don’t go here, my husband does, please just let me into my home i want to be in my bed i am so drunk” and they were like “ok well he can bring your ID or he can sign you in,” and i was like “I PAY SO MUCH MONEY IN RENT HERE. MY ID IS UPSTAIRS, IN THE APARTMENT THAT I PAY RENT FOR, I CAN GO UPSTAIRS, TO THE APARTMENT I LIVE IN, AND BRING MY ID AND SHOW IT TO YOU” at this point, the doorman was DONE with me and was like, “well if i let you upstairs to get your ID, i’d still be letting you into the building without an ID and i can’t do that,” and i stood corrected, yeah ok touché, and then i had to call nathan to bring down my ID. luckily he was still awake, and since i was very drunk and love drama when i get stressed i started crying in the lobby while i was waiting for nathan to come downstairs. i would say this was my NYC rock bottom, but my NYC rock bottom was obviously the night i threw up in a mcdonald’s and 3 subway stations and lost my phone.

even though i was constantly stressed living in NYC, it was nice being able to come home to an apartment that wasn’t tiny, had a ton of natural light, and never had a rat (or carpenter bee) problem. i’m also so glad we got to avoid having roommates. we never really “moved into” our apartment- all of our furniture was trash we collected off of the streets, i never decorated anything, or even hung up all of my clothes. we knew we were going to be leaving new york after that year, so we tried to invest as little money as possible into the apartment. in fact, we invested so little money in the apartment that i didn’t have a mirror the entire time we lived there- we also had no overhead lighting. we found one lamp, so our bedroom got a lamp. if we wanted light in the living room, instead of just buying two lamps, we’d have to decide which room needed the light more and move the lamp accordingly.

when we moved to philly, even though all of our furniture was the cheapest we could find at walmart, we still actually spent money on buying matching furniture. pretty much all of our decor came from my old apartment in austin, but at least we tried to do some decorating. even though we put effort into having a kind of put-together home, it still felt less like home than 60 haven avenue did.

here’s a few pictures of our old apartment. first, the living room- where you can see “the pile” in its full glory. instead of folding and putting clothes away, nathan just dumped all of his clothing in a pile in the living room, partially because he didn’t care about organization and partially to just fill up some dead space. second, a corner of our bedroom- we fit a full mattress and still had a ton of space in the room. the window looked out at the GWB, which was my favorite part of the apartment. third, the bathroom- the only reason the shower curtain and bath mat look coordinated is because i brought them with me from my austin apartment. (the only reason we have a shower curtain is because i brought it. nathan didn’t think we needed one, and literally didn’t have one for a few weeks before i moved in). finally, the kitchen- it was pretty small but it did the job. this is a terrible picture of it, but you can see the amazon boxes that got fused to the floor when the floor started to leak. also pictured is a broom and dustpan, two items that sat in plain sight in the kitchen the entire time we lived there, but that nathan was still shocked to learn that we owned the first time he saw me sweeping the floors. 

[diamantinemind]

Après Nous, Le Déluge

Summary: When Natalia is finally sent to terminate the threat posed to U.S.S.R. interests and assets like herself and her sister Black Widows that is the pair of American profligate psychics who ruined in West Berlin her otherwise spotless record with Rossiya-matushka, it’s to the prodigal 7th and 8th arrondissements of France’s capital city where she discovers that she may have bitten off more than she can chew.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Mutant!OC (Enemies to Friends)

Word Count: 9,292

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.

The sudden rise of a hot and blustery midmorning wind from the southwest announced the arrival of the dog days—or as the French called them, la canicule—to the electric city of Paris. Sweltering summer heat pressed down on la Ville Lumière, making the glittering Seine and every public fountain havens from the sunbaked boulevards that crisscrossed the capital city of France. Parisians and tourists alike fled in droves to such watery oases to find solace from the heatwave all across the city, barring the modish 7th and 8th arrondissements where some people were too sophisticated to run anywhere and were much too cultured to attend the public sanctuaries that the rabble visited. Rather, the cosmopolitan hordes haunting two of Paris’s most refined administrative districts seemed almost to ignore the scorching breath of the sun that curled around them as they walked the streets and went about their daily lives of capitalistic excess and privilege.

Natalia idly observed them all from her seat at a glass patio table outside an upscale artisanal boulangerie and patisserie on the 8th arrondissement’s fashionable Avenue Montaigne. The scent of various fresh breads made with cheeses, fruits, and nuts mingled with the sugary smell of pastries, folding her in a pocket of aroma. She adjusted her sunhat, dipping its floppy brim over her jade eyes and picked at the tarte tatin set before her. Pleasantly surprised by the sweetness of the caramelized apples and the buttery softness of the puff pastry, Natalia could almost forget the reason she was here.

The list of people that the K.G.B. perceived as legitimate threats to the U.S.S.R. and its mission was rather short. Names that the K.G.B. would want removed from the face of the earth if any Soviet operative could get within a kilometer of them appeared on a second and even shorter list—shorter because these people were absurdly proficient at either evading abduction and/or dodging assassination. Because of what the K.G.B. was now calling the “West Berlin Incident,” the psychic who had marred Natalia’s otherwise spotless record as an agent and Black Widow of Rossiya-matushka was now firmly at the top of the first and second list. The psychic was also now ranked first on Natalia’s personal revenge register which had totaled a zero sum until recent. More often than not, people never got the chance to make it onto Natalia’s own hit list since they were typically dead before they could even think of crossing her, but for those who did manage to appear on her list, they did not usually stay there long: whoever crossed Natalia rather swiftly ended up dead.

Comrade Vasily Lebedev—the senior handler of the women who had been given the mantle of Black Widow for graduating top of their class from the Red Room Academy and who were now employed by the K.G.B. as instruments of war and espionage—had received word from K.G.B. high command that the culprit behind the West Berlin Incident must be removed from the board or, at the very least, intimidated into hiding. The K.G.B. didn’t want any more of its beautiful and dangerous Black Widows being thwarted in the field. Nor did Vasily want harm coming to any of his weapons, especially not his favorites, one of the Devushki Vasiliyathat brought him so much acclaim in the shadowy world of espionage.

“I don’t care how it’s done, pauchok, and high command doesn’t care how many agents we need to put on this assignment,” Vasily had said in Natalia’s briefing with a few other important agents and handlers three afternoons into the aftermath of the West Berlin Incident, which mutually comprised Natalia’s failed assassination attempt and her being hurled into a psychically-induced coma from which she had awoken thirty-nine hours after initially being telepathically anesthetized. “Every agent on the ground will be looking for them, and once we get concrete intel on the target, you’ll be the only agent allowed within two kilometers of them. We wouldn’t want to tip our hand on your chance for… revenge.”

Natalia knew that what Vasily had meant to say was “redemption.” The K.G.B. had a low tolerance for failure, and an even lesser amount of patience for failed results from its best assets, and Natalia was by far the best in the Soviet Union’s arsenal. The burden of the West Berlin Incident rested not on Natalia’s shoulders solely but was also borne by Vasily since he was the one responsible for Natalia and all the other Devushki Vasiliya.

Comrade Sokolov was the only reason that Natalia had not faced harsher punishment than what she had—being handcuffed to the metal drain pipe of a bathroom sink and being electrocuted with an automobile battery’s jumper cables after waking from a coma was getting off the hook, really; she’d had much worse in the Red Room as a girl. Seeing as how the strange Comrade Sokolov was the leading psychic in the K.G.B.’s psy-ops team, when he had determined that Natalia could not have readily prevented what had happened to her, the K.G.B. had listened.

“The psychic responsible for subduing the asset,” Comrade Sokolov had said to Vasily and a few high-ranking officers after evaluating Natalia, “must have been one of the best to have been able to so effortlessly circumvent the Black Widow Ops Program conditioning the Red Room inculcates into its graduates before shipping them to us.”

“Stronger than you, Mikula?” Vasily had asked with a skeptical furrow of his brow.

“By leagues,” Comrade Sokolov’s tone had been grim as he had turned an appraising eye to Natalia. “Never have I seen such surgical psionic precision or finesse. Work such as this bespeaks not only a natural talent but also a lifetime or more of experience, which is… an inauspicious prospect for the future of our operations should the West Berlin psychic express an interest in continued intervention.”

“Is the asset’s conditioning broken?” One of the higher ups had asked Comrade Sokolov.

“Oddly enough,” the psychic had said, “it’s not. There are no detectable lingering alterations to the asset’s mind, and it seems as though the West Berlin psychic knocked the asset unconscious merely to neutralize the threat she posed. We were lucky in this regard.”

Comrade Sokolov had been positive of this much. Ever since she had woken up bound to a sink and faced with imminent electrical torture, though, Natalia had felt as if something had minutely shifted within her skull. She couldn’t quite explain the feeling, so she sure as hell hadn’t said anything to Vasily or to anybody else about the unsettling sensation. She hadn’t even thought about it much while off-mission to prevent Comrade Sokolov or any of the psy-ops team from detecting her doubts.

As if on cue, a feeling of unreality struck Natalia; she looked about the busy Avenue Montaigne to confirm her surroundings, to confirm her own presence in the rich and sunny environment. It was not exactly a bout of déjà vu or anything of that sort from which Natalia had been suffering as of late, but… Natalia could not put her finger on it. Perhaps it was an intuitive impression of wrongness, of falsehood, and as rapidly as it had solidified, it evaporated.

She glanced down at the empty dish of tarte tatin in front of her and gently slid it away from her. Natalia frowned before returning her gaze to the boulevard and its many upper-crust pedestrians. As expected, there was no one and nothing of import. Yet.

It hadn’t taken long for the K.G.B. to attempt to identify Natalia’s assailant in West Berlin. In fact, the K.G.B. had managed to narrow the search in the same amount of time it had taken to give Natalia a jolt in a dingy bathroom. As Comrade Sokolov had made it clear later in their meeting, there were only so many world-class psychics who could match Natalia’s extensive psychological conditioning or that of any Black Widow. To be precise, the K.G.B. was aware of only three candidates, one of whom was Professor Charles Xavier. Xavier, though, had been in his family estate-turned-mutant academy in Westchester County, New York, on the day of the West Berlin Incident.

Naturally, the remaining two possible suspects were the ones that the K.G.B. knew the least about: the White King and Queen of the New England branch of the Hellfire Club, a clandestine group whose leadership concealed their identities behind aliases based upon the titles of chess pieces—often White and Black—and who typically possessed some… unusual talents, although the Black royalty has historically been of the more mystical bent. Not much else was known about the organization. It claimed itself to be an international socialites club with branches on six of the seven continents; it held quite a bit of political and economic clout which it flexed behind the scenes around the world. Even less was known about the White royalty who co-led the New England branch with the Black King and Queen.

While other agents had been searching for the White royalty of the New England Hellfire Club, Natalia had been given a short-lived respite after her initial briefing. She had used the time to read through the pitifully thin dossiers the K.G.B. had on the enigmatic duo. The White King and Queen, real names unknown, but possibly Christian and Cordelia Winterson, Jeremiah and Jessamine North, or Elias and Emma Frost—the last pair was highly unlikely, but would be quite the scandalous reveal were it true. After all, Elias and Emma Frost were the CEOs and co-presidents on the Board of Directors of Frost International, a multibillion dollar Boston-based shipping, transportation, and personal electronics conglomerate. Of course, no one knew what the Frosts looked like, for they avoided the public eye as though it were the bubonic plague. They managed the family company by proxy via a chain of trusted directors, supervisors, and secretaries.

The White King and Queen were either siblings or lovers due to reports of one being not too far from the other wherever they went. They were also powerful psychics of some sort; however, the exact nature of their preternatural gift or gifts was also unknown beyond their having unparalleled telepathic prowess. Like all of the other leaders of the Hellfire Club that the K.G.B. had run into around the globe, the White King and Queen of the New England branch were as intelligent as they were evasive. The only photographs the U.S.S.R. intelligence community had of New England’s White King and Queen were indistinct CCTV images revealing little more than the pair’s haute couture and fair hair.

When the White royalty did leave a trail to be tracked, it usually went cold. It had taken over two weeks of grueling manpower, several favors traded in, and an inordinate quantity of rubles to get a lead on the White King and Queen of New England’s Hellfire Club. A European source had finally disclosed to the K.G.B. that a pair of towheaded American socialites had appeared in Paris after the conclusion of President Kennedy’s European tour in early July and had been staying since. All agents in the area had been mobilized to investigate the situation.

After almost a week of observation and no sign from the Americans of being watched, real intel that warranted Natalia’s dispatch had trickled in. The pair owned a summer home in Paris’s 8th administrative district. A private Louis Seize penthouse on Avenue Montaigne between the neoclassical façade of Dior and the red window awnings and even redder window box geraniums of the sumptuous Hôtel Plaza Athénée where Natalia was currently staying in a K.G.B.-rented suite. Moreover, the two blondes were characteristically American profligates, purchasing designer fashion from the luxury flagship stores on Avenue Montaigne and visiting some theatre or ballet or opera or museum around the capital city every day. Identities have yet to be confirmed, but more than likely, the K.G.B. had finally found the White King and Queen.

When Natalia had at last been told to remove the Americans from the picture and was preparing to leave the K.G.B. outpost in Novosibirsk where she had been stationed, Vasily had brushed her cheek with his rough knuckles and had said, “You’ll always be one of mine, little spider; make it clear to those capitalist warmongers who trample upon the poor and working class that no one toys with the Devushki Vasiliya.”

“Pardon, mademoiselle?”

Natalia cast her gaze to the waiter, a pale mustachioed Frenchman dressed in a starched white shirt, pressed black pants, and a black vest. He was the same man who had served her tarte tatin on the bakeshop’s patio.

“Yes?” She said in perfect French.

“Will you be staying for our lunch special, miss?” The waiter asked as he took her empty dish. “We will be offering bouillabaisse paired with a toasted garlic-rubbed baguette and rouille that has been prepared onsite.”

“I—” Natalia’s eyes darted to a shimmer in her periphery.

A woman in monochromatic white strode by in the street beyond the waiter’s shoulder. She wore atop her head a pillbox hat with an attached pearl-strung birdcage veil and oversized square-framed Nina Ricci sunglasses upon the bridge of her fine upturned nose. A pair of Italian kid leather gloves reached up to her elbows, and a brocaded dress with a scooped neckline, sheath skirt, and sash tied into a bow about her waspish waist embraced her trim body like a jealous and grasping lover. Diamonds dangled like icicles from her ears and exposed throat, and a Gucci handbag swung from the crook of her arm. The sunlight ran like water down each gently waving strand of her pale blonde hair that bounced with every purposeful step and lifted from her shoulders in the breeze.

Every single person on the glamorous Avenue Montaigne instantly paled in comparison, and they all knew it as they stared at her, stumbling to leave a wide berth for the trail she and her designer pumps blazed. Had Natalia not been paying as close attention as she had been, she would have thought Marilyn Monroe had been resurrected on the streets of Paris or that Jacqueline Kennedy had dyed her hair platinum and had returned to France for an undercover shopping spree after her husband’s return to Washington.

“You know,” Natalia returned her attention to the waiter and brushed aside his curious gaze. “I think I will stay for your lunch special.”

The waiter nodded before stiffly walking away. Natalia’s eyes followed the blonde until she disappeared completely into the crowd. Natalia set her hands upon the glass tabletop and tapped out a steady sunny beat with her manicured fingernails, a tune that gradually morphed into Tchaikovsky. As it always did. She could feel her feet itching for her favorite pair of satin pointe shoes and her face in need of the warmth of the Bolshoi spotlights.

She blinked hard. She yearned for something, felt a twisting in her gut. She was Natalia Alianovna, Black Widow, the deadliest of the U.S.S.R.’s lethal arachnids. She never yearned—it simply wasn’t in her nature, not since… Natalia’s mind blanked. She shook her head. Not since ever. Her sisters never yearned. Those who had were long ago buried outside Red Room Academy in the primeval forests and snowbanks of the B.S.S.R. Natalia stilled her hand and scanned the crowded boulevard.

The intel had indeed been good; the White Queen was in Paris. Natalia had no plans of pursuing the woman, though. Loath to make a move on the Queen without knowing the exact location of the White King—he was not far, of course, which doubled the risk of being detected or deterred from carrying through with her mission—Natalia watched and waited. Her bouillabaisse, garlic-rubbed baguette, and rouille were served to her, and she pecked at her lunch over the span of a half hour, ears ever pricked, eyes ever searching. After paying for her brunch and lunch, she sat outside the bakeshop for an hour more, content in the cool green shadow of the store’s awning, before she stood up from the glass table and decided to promenade along Avenue Montaigne. She stopped outside several shops and stores, silently peering in to watch as the sheep bleated about fashion and the economy and capitalist things for which Natalia had little care.

By midafternoon, she walked back in the direction of the boulangerie and patisserie toward the Plaza Athénée. She may not have spotted the White King during this particular outing, but she had at least seen his colleague, and that was enough of a success for Natalia. The fear of New England’s White royalty slipping between her fingers was practically nonexistent in Natalia’s mind as she reached the magnificent glass doors of the Plaza Athénée; with K.G.B. agents peppered throughout the city, the White royalty would not be able to make a move without someone catching their scent.

When Natalia went up to her suite of extravagant baroque-themed apartments, she tossed her sunhat aside like a discus, kicked off her strappy heeled sandals, and snagged the telephone set off the mahogany end table in the plush sitting room. Ringing the secure K.G.B. number on the rotary dial, Natalia padded as close to the picture window overlooking Avenue Montaigne as the phone cable would allow. She wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder and waited for the call to go through.

“Pauchok,” Vasily’s voice was clear on the line. “Report.”

“Seen,” Natalia said casually. “The White Queen, anyhow. Hard to miss. Very white. I imagine the King will be equally as easy to spot.”

“He will be. Are you going out tonight as planned?”

“Yes,” Natalia said as she turned her gaze up from the boulevard and to the neighboring buildings. She should be able to use their rooftops and balconies as steppingstones to a location that would lend promising results to spy on the White royalty in their lavish Louis XVI styled penthouse. She had examined the building yesterday after flying in, so she knew how to get a view into the King’s and Queen’s private Parisian home overlooking the Eiffel to the southeast and the Louvre to the southwest. “I have plans tonight.”

“Check in,” Vasily said.

“I will.” Natalia ended the call, cradling the phone set to her body as she stared outside.

She felt at once an eagerness to seek retribution and an unnamable murmur of hesitation in the far recesses of her mind. Shaking her head, she turned her back on the Parisian skyline and began to prepare for the night.

At half past nine, Natalia slipped out of her suite dressed in the same charcoal black and midnight blue as the few shadows which survived the well-lit night in la Ville Lumière. Though it took a series of rather impressive acts of acrobatic excellence to reach her predetermined vantage point, Natalia secured it nonetheless and crouched down atop the roof of the building directly across the boulevard from the stacked luxury apartments atop which sat the White King’s and Queen’s penthouse. Body alert and tense, Natalia was hyperaware of her potentially compromising position; the White royalty had elevation on her since none of the buildings on or around Avenue Montaigne came within a story of the penthouse’s lofty heights. Even from where Natalia was currently hunkered down, all the pair really had to do was go to any one of their south-facing windows and stare exactly at her location to spot her and her long red hair which she had attempted to knot atop her head and conceal under a dark cap. Natalia supposed she could have scaled the building, stolen into their open-air courtyard, and broken in through their patio door, but that seemed to her like too much passive suicidal ideation for a reconnaissance mission.

Natalia sat impossibly still for almost two hours before a light finally turned on in one of the bedrooms at a quarter past eleven. She shifted forward, eyes trained on the sparkling floor to ceiling windows that offered sight into the room. She hadn’t brought binoculars with her, but frankly, she found that she no longer needed them since her graduation from the Red Room three years ago as a young woman of eighteen bitter Russian winters. Vastly improved eyesight was but one of the many biochemical enhancements Natalia had received upon the completion of her training and conditioning as a Black Widow.

A man wearing a navy velvet blazer with pearlescent buttons, a silver silk cravat with blue-black fleur-de-lis, and flat-fronted white chinos crossed the room. His ringed fingers deftly unfastened the closure of his jacket as he walked. He passed by one window, and by the time he reappeared behind the next, he had shrugged out of the velvet garment, revealing the sleek silver waistcoat fitted to his trim torso with a pattern matching that of his necktie over his pressed white dress shirt. He tossed the dark blue blazer over the back of a gilt-framed tapestried chair, pausing long enough to slip loose the knot of his cravat and cast it with a flourish over the back of the same chair. He quickly ran his hand through his tousled tow-colored hair, causing a few long fair strands to fall into his eyes from the styled coiffure he had them swept up in when he retracted his hand, and swaggered out of Natalia’s view.

It was the White King, without a doubt, and his resemblance to the White Queen was uncanny. Natalia tossed aside the nonsense about the pair being lovers—they were blatantly related by blood, and a great amount at that. Whereas the Queen’s angled jaw and cheekbones and hair color had lent her an impression of platinum-tressed Marilyn, the same features translated across the medium of the masculine sex as distinctly James Dean en blond. Her distinct nose, brow, and full lips as those akin to Paul Newman’s on him. He even carried himself with the same monarchical air, his posture impeccable and indicative of generations of fine breeding and indescribable wealth. Summarily, Natalia was certain of one thing: the White King and Queen were American gods of a manifestly Nordic pedigree.

It was twenty minutes before the White King came back into sight, this time wearing cream-colored silk lounge pants and a sheer feather-trimmed floor-length ivory robe that billowed behind him as he strode by the windows, the damask curtains swinging shut of their own accord. Natalia’s eyebrows rose in surprise at both the shock of witnessing what must have been telekinesis—she’d never seen it in action before, but she knew that some of the members of the K.G.B.’s psy-ops team were capable of the feat—and the man’s bold sartorial choice to wear something that was both sheer and trimmed with feathers.

When he reached the final window of the room, his hair wet and straight, he did not will the curtains closed. Natalia remained perfectly still. A flash of silver caught her eyes and drew her attention to his bared sternum where a pair of military identification tags hung from a slender ball chain about his neck. He stared out the window, surveying the horizon with eyes pale like Siberian waters and twice as cold. He cocked a golden eyebrow, and the lights in his room died in response, plunging him in utter darkness. Natalia could still see his silhouette in the window, limned by blue moonlight and the white-orange glow of the sleepless city. The shine made the dog tags wink back at her as he outstretched his arms and drew the heavy curtains closed.

After five consecutive nights and two daring mornings of nocturnal observation, all that Natalia could say about the White King was that he was a man of routine: he exercised before his morning shower and breakfast, he applied the same cologne to his pulse points before getting dressed, he returned to his bedchamber in the evenings wearing a different outfit than the one he had begun the day with, and he took a second shower before turning in for the night.

He spent the same amount of time each morning deliberating upon his outfit for the day, pulling from his various mahogany and gilt wardrobes Italian suit jackets and silk shirts and garments made of cashmere and velvet and fur. Natalia personally thought the fur was a bit unseasonal since Paris was still caught in the snarling jaws of la canicule and only cats were wearing fur in this heat, but what did she know of haute couture? Some nights after his shower, he curled up on a daybed and read The Feminine Mystique, a newly published book which her handlers assured her was the poisonous epitome of American radicalistic arrogance and an indicator of a infirm mind, with a cup of tea set on a nearby end table. Natalia also noted that he never took off the pair of dog tags hanging from his neck, and she had witnessed him on more than one occasion absently bring the tags to his lips and hold them there for moments on end. She wasn’t sure why, but she found it hard to look at the White King when he did that.

After she had bathed and wrapped herself in one of the hotel’s fuzzy pastel pink bathrobes on her seventh day in Paris, she phoned her handlers to report the previous night’s observations. It was not initially Vasily who had greeted her, but the handler she had reached was quick to transfer the call to the senior handler of the K.G.B.’s Black Widows. Natalia’s brow furrowed as she waited. Water dripped from her long hair and dampened the collar of the robe.

“Good morning, pauchok,” Vasily’s voice came on the secured line seconds later.

“Vasily,” Natalia’s tone was guarded. “The King has shown no variance in his behavior or any actions to suggest that he or the Queen know they are under surveillance—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Vasily cut her off. “We’ve just heard that they’re planning to fly back to the United States tomorrow. We have reason to believe that they will be going to Les Invalides this afternoon to view the exhibits in the Musée de l’Armée.Get results by tomorrow morning, little spider.”

With that, the line went dead. Natalia placed the receiver back on the phone set and sat down on her bed. She gazed down at her hands, her fingers interlacing in her lap, and she thought. Or, didn’t think. She knew what needed to happen, but she found herself peculiarly deferring the inevitable. Her fingers unlaced, and her hands fisted the plush material of her bathrobe. She felt herself resisting Vasily’s orders, felt herself attempting to embrace something which she did not quite have a word for anymore, something she had forgotten in her girlhood.  Her head began to throb.

Natalia clenched her jaw to ward off an impending headache and geared up for her visit to Les Invalides. She left her suite and emerged on Avenue Montaigne in the midmorning heat wrapped in an eye-catching black gown and armed to the teeth. Guns strapped to thigh holsters hidden in the folds of her pleated skirt. Knives concealed in the bodice of her dress, an inconspicuous set of stilettos pinning her hair into an elaborate blood-red updo, blades hidden in the soles of her heeled shoes. Enough cyanide packed inside a fake diamond ring to drop a herd of white rhinoceroses and a false pearl necklace with timed explosives buried within each pretty bead. Dressed as she was, it was all too easy to flag down a cabdriver on Avenue Montaigne and be driven southward across the lazily flowing Seine, into the stately 7th Arrondissement, and through the sprawling green lawn of the Esplanade des Invalides via the flower-lined Avenue du Maréchal-Gallieni. The cabdriver was so generous (or so enamored) that when he dropped Natalia off at the open wrought iron gates and stone walls of Les Invalides, he forgot to request his fare from her before he drove off.

Natalia slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and passed through the gateway, her heels clicking on the cream-colored pavers underfoot. Shrubbery-bordered walkways fanned out from the gate in a starburst of stone to connect with all the major entries to Les Invalides from the north. The palatial complex’s long five-story stone facade and central pedimented arch depicting Louis XIV astride a horse were dominated only by the adjoining magnificent Dôme des Invalides that rose over 100 meters high. The dome’s gold leaf ornamentation twinkled in the sunlight and caused the air around it to waver from the reflected heat.

Had the weather not been so intemperately hot, Natalia supposed that the Esplanade des Invalides and the northern yard of the complex would have been rife with picnickers, sunbathers, and tourists. As it was, though, the complex and its lush green lawns were almost wholly devoid of any semblance of human life. Here and there, Natalia would spot a person within one of the buildings as they drifted by a window or hear the distant murmur of foreign tongues from within a hall or courtyard. Flanking the low stone wall surrounding the complex was a parking lot numbering twenty or so vehicles, all unattended and likely unlocked. Natalia kept that in mind should the need to make a hasty retreat, however unlikely, present itself. After what the White King and White Queen had done to her in West Berlin, regardless of who it really was that had botched her assassination attempt, Natalia was not going to let them get out of Paris without at least making it clear that they’d never interfere with K.G.B. matters ever again.

Natalia paused in the shadow of the pedimented archway, gazing up at the stone reliefs of kings, lions, and medieval armaments of all kinds. Her eyes flickered across the Greco-Roman-inspired architectural details, and Natalia was torn in a way newfound to her since coming to France. Such extravagance and waste. Such craftsmanship and manmade beauty. Her mind beat against this place of ugly capitalism, but her soul had not the same resistance.

Something moved her deeply at the sight of this Western masterpiece, this pompous show of everything she had been told was evil in the world and must be expunged to restore morality to mankind. Something wondrous and defiant and utterly unknown to Natalia stirred within her, and that unsettled her in a way that nothing else ever had or ever could. For some equally inexplicable reason, she began to hum Tchaikovsky, and all was righted once more.

Freed from the arch’s strange hold, Natalia passed under it and into the cannon-filled Cour d’Honneur. A plaque written in French supplied Natalia with the name of the complex’s central courtyard and its purpose for military parades. An array of signs likewise pointed out entrances to the surrounding arched five-story buildings. The Saint-Louis-des-Invalides Cathedral made up the rear of the courtyard and offered ingress beneath a bronze statue of Napoleon standing on the second story overlooking the court with a hand in his waistcoat. Flanking the courtyard to the east and west were wings of the Musée de l’Armée which were otherwise unmarked to reveal what lay within each. Natalia followed the small crowd milling about the court, purchased a ticket at one of the entrances, and slipped into a series of rooms dedicated to French history from 1871 to 1945 A.D.

Natalia took off her sunglasses and silently made her way around the exhibits, squeezing between tour groups and studying each display as she kept an eye on the faces surrounding her. She inspected military uniforms from the World Wars, objects from soldiers’ daily lives, emblems, arms, and items relating to France’s colonial history behind protective glass cases. She examined paintings, personal archives, photographs, and cards that gave a distinctly Gallic perspective on the conflicts escalating to the Great War, the inter-war period, and the build-up of nationalistic and political pressures which led to World War II.

Having learned all there was to learn from the exhibits and displays in the Département Contemporain, including the fact that her hotel’s restaurant had apparently served as a cafeteria for the American troops during the Liberation of Paris, Natalia slipped out of a massive set of mahogany doors and broke from the relatively bustling World War rooms. Finding herself in a desolate hall lit only by the sun’s warm rays filtering in through the windows on either side of her, Natalia watched as dust motes spiraled through the light before slinking down the corridor.

An hour or more had elapsed since her arrival and there was still no sign of the White King and White Queen. Perhaps the intel had been bad? Then again, it was just now thirty minutes shy of noon and the Musée de l’Armée was a large portion of an even larger network of interconnected buildings and halls—the pair could have been anywhere. A tingle in the back of her mind and a tug in her gut told Natalia, though, that she was going in the right direction. Since her intuition had yet to fail her in her twenty-one years, she listened. After a series of similarly deserted hallways, a flight or two of stairs, and a set of heavy wooden doors later, Natalia found herself in one of the many rooms of the much less populated Département Ancien.

Only a few museumgoers shuffled about in the room Natalia had crept into, looking at dusty sets of war armor and arms from the 13th to 15th centuries and an impressive collection of medieval swords. Natalia idly inspected the remarkable quantity of blades for a few moments before continuing on into the next room which was named, according to a plaque over the doorway, the Louis XIII Room: The Progress of the Royal Army. Five civilians milled about the Louis XIII Room, which Natalia quickly discovered was more precisely dedicated to artifacts from the Italian campaigns, the wars against the Habsburg Empire, the wars of religion of the 16th century, and the early 17th century French wars. Arms and armors related to major figures of French history spanning from Francis I to Louis XIII were featured, and there was a Turkish cabinet showcasing Ottoman pieces from the same period. Natalia traipsed on through a themed arsenal gallery next and then through a room highlighting courtly leisure activities like hunting and jousting from the late Middle Ages to the mid-17th century.

Finally, she came to an archway bearing a plaque that read “Oriental Cabinets (15th – Early 20th Century).” Beyond laid a room much like the others in the Département Ancien; it was occupied by a handful of immediately visible people, filled with relics of long-dead peoples, and was seemingly absent of any sign of Natalia’s targets. She stifled a sigh as she stepped into the room and immersed herself in the wide assortment of suits of armor, knives, and firearms deriving from the war cultures of the Ottoman, Persian, Mongolian, Chinese, Japanese, and Indonesian civilizations. The Musée de l’Armée’s host of weapons, ornaments, and oriental trophies from the Middle East to the furthermost bounds of Asia, from Maghreb to Japan, was astounding.

As Natalia approached a display of five samurai panoplies upheld by wooden pegs protected behind a glass wall, a glimmer of ash-pale blonde hair appeared in her periphery. Natalia focused all of her mental energy on appreciating the craftsmanship and antiquity of the suits of armor before her, the way the light played off the grotesque black masks, the distinct shape and construction of each piece’s breastplate. The White King and Queen had rounded a corner and were murmuring to one another about an opalescent sea snail shell that had been transformed into a lustrous powder horn and a series of heavy 16th century matchlock guns. Natalia’s hands folded over her stomach, her fingers prepared to slip a set of concealed blades out from a series of slits in her bodice. She quietly walked to the next display in their direction, a collection of Japanese horse armors fitted on life-size model horses, and eavesdropped on their conversation.

“—hard to believe the Portuguese singlehandedly changed the way warfare was fought in Japan forever, is it not?”

The White King’s voice was like liquid crystal, like cut glass: polished, cold, smooth, hard. It sent a chill through Natalia, and she was momentarily torn back to the pressing heat of June 26. His voice—she hadn’t remembered it, couldn’t quite recall it, not until now. He was the one, the one who caused the West Berlin Incident. Natalia’s eyes snapped to his reflection in the glass of the display she stood before.

His back was to her and he was several exhibits away, but she was able to get a clear image of him nonetheless. Light grey slacks and matching Italian suit jacket. Pale cashmere Borsalino fedora. Black leather brogues and gloves. He shifted his weight and turned to examine another matchlock, permitting Natalia sight of the pressed white dress shirt, asymmetric maroon waistcoat, and wine-colored ascot he wore under his unbuttoned suit jacket. He was not visibly armed, but that mattered very little in his case; as a psychic of the highest order, his mind was an armament deadlier than any nuclear or chemical weapon.

At length, the White Queen—wrapped in an ecru shawl-necked and sheath-skirted dress paired with lace gloves and designer pumps—replied with an equally as frigid aristocratic accent: “You know how looking at these dusty old guns catapults me into a depressive spiral, darling.”

The White King glanced to the woman beside him, his eyes studying her profile, and he reached a gloved hand out to her exposed bicep. His fingers had barely brushed the White Queen’s skin when she reached up and gently patted the back of his hand. Natalia’s eyes narrowed. There was something peculiarly childlike in his action, something maternally reassuring about her reaction. Natalia reassessed their relationship in her mind, placing the White Queen in the role of elder sister this time and the White King as younger brother.

“If you need anything, I’ll be at Napoleon’s tomb reliving the days when Joséphine and I used to mock his stature behind his back,” the White Queen flashed the man at her side a wry grin, and Natalia’s brow furrowed in confusion. Was she speaking in code? She must have been—Napoleon Bonaparte died over a century ago. “Who knows? I may ridicule the domineering little toad once more for old time’s sake. Kisses.”

With that, she turned on her heel and sashayed out of the room through the opposite archway. The White King returned to his inspection of the matchlocks and likely to his musing about the Portuguese influence on Japanese warfare as well. Natalia walked on to the next display, no longer paying much attention to what rested behind the sturdy sheets of glass. Her eyes flicked around the room.

Glass displays set in the walls. Glass exhibits anchored to wooden or stone bases strewn about the floor. Weapons of all sorts at every turn. Walls on either side with wide, full-length arched windows looking out to a courtyard each—the Cour d’Honneur to the east and the smaller Cour d'Angoulème to the west. The open archway behind her offered passage to the room concerning the pastimes of France’s court and another arch in the far southern wall opened to a corridor. The few museumgoers in the room slowly made their way in either direction out of the Oriental Cabinets.

Natalia steeled herself. When the last civilian exited the room, she noiselessly turned about and stalked toward the White King. Her fingers twitched against her bodice, and thin blades slipped free and rolled into each of her hands.

“Lovely to see you again, comrade,” the White King said, facing the centuries-old harquebuses rather than Natalia. “Have you enjoyed spying on us?”

Natalia was stunned, nearly stumbling on her way to him. He knew. They knew—had known all along. They’d been playing the K.G.B. this whole time, intentionally leaving a trail to be followed. Why? Natalia’s eyes snapped around the room. No civilians, no witnesses, no White Queen. The heavy mahogany doors thrown open at each archway slammed shut and bolted as if controlled by a spectral breeze. She had walked right into a trap.

Her lip curled, and she charged the White King. She fell upon him as he turned to finally face her, and she buried one knife deep into his back as she jabbed up with her other arm, jamming the blade into his throat. His eyes widened in shock before he collapsed to his knees and—

“You are going to have to try harder than that, sweetheart.”

Natalia whipped around, drawing the last set of blades from her bodice and slashed out at the man behind her. Blood arced in a brilliant scarlet stream in the air until it… didn’t. Before it even fell upon the ground, it had vaporized into prismatic mist. The crimson dripping down her knives and staining her hands melted away into nothingness. The White King—a second White King?—crumpled at her feet.

She staggered, backing into a glass display case, eyes wild. Natalia’s gaze snapped from the first White King to the second, both equally as dead as the other, both the exact same person. How?

“Cute,” a third White King stepped into view from around a rack of North African armors.

Natalia snarled and threw a blade in his direction. Her aim was true, and the knife spiked him between his piercing ice blue eyes. He died on the spot.

After a pregnant pause, Natalia frowned and knelt down beside the second White King. She pressed her index and middle finger to his throat, feeling for a pulse that had already weakly bled out of existence. His flesh was still warm, though, and it was surprisingly soft. She withdrew her hand, uncertain what to make of… well, anything.

“What kind of deception—?”

“You tell us, comrade,” two identical voices—the White King’s—harmonized with one another, and Natalia scanned the room in alarm. A White King leaned against the display of samurai armors she had earlier observed. Another King yawned indifferently by the far mahogany doors. “In fact, why not tell all of us?”

Before her eyes, the three corpses scattered about on the marble floor twitched to life. Quick as a lightning strike, Natalia slammed her final blade into the stirring White King nearest her and watched as he immaterialized into glittering stardust and then empty air. Natalia’s eyes widened, and when she felt the first White King’s hands grasp her shoulders from behind, she surged up, snagging the blade protruding from his throat, and flipped herself over. She landed on his shoulders, her strong legs wrapped about his neck, and with a twist of her body, she severed his spine and leapt off of him. By the time her last victim crashed to the floor, she had already flung the knife she had just recovered and had stuck the White King nearest the far doors in the sternum. Both White Kings burst apart in clouds of sparkling dust that drifted away like smoke into the horizon. Natalia rounded and chucked her final blade at the White King she had previously nailed between the eyes, once more dropping him.

“Illusions of a sort,” said the White King—the final one, the real one?—who leaned casually against the samurai exhibit, “but also tangible constructs, as you clearly noticed. A little blending of telepathic persuasion and telekinetic energy can go quite the distance.”

Natalia blinked.

“Yes,” the corner of his lips ticked up into a roguish grin. “I am the authentic. It really is a delight to see you again, Natalia.”

“You were in West Berlin,” Natalia said dumbly, her composure apparently fractured after such a strange experience.

She’d fought a psychic or two who had tried to distract her with illusions, but never before had they been so… corporeal. She had felt the wet heat of fresh blood on her skin, had felt the smooth fabric of his clothes and the straining solidity of the body they covered.

“Indeed, comrade. Now, is this the point in our exchange where you tell me to keep my nose out of K.G.B. business? I admit that I have been looking forward to it.”

Natalia took a single step toward the White King, and he tilted his head curiously. Something popped in her head, and Natalia’s vision splintered, spidery fissures rapidly spreading inward from the corners of her eyes until her sight had corroded into a series of frost-edged translucent fractals, until she felt as though she were looking directly through the heart of a multifaceted jewel in order to see her surroundings. She attempted to glower at the White King but found that when she turned her gaze on him, she saw his face broken into five different shards and the rest of him jaggedly distorted like a damned Picasso portrait. Natalia stumbled, struggling to make sense of what she saw around her. She shook her head, wincing and nauseous, and felt a white chill tapping on the boundaries of her mind.

“You look a mite ill, comrade,” the White King noted dryly. “Is this really all it takes to squash one of you Soviet spiders? In the spirit of candor, you fail to live up to expectation.”

Natalia gnashed her teeth and rushed the man. He easily sidestepped her and leaned out of the way when she wheel kicked the space between them. Growling out her frustration, she lurched at him, hoping to tackle him if nothing else, her vision crystallized and heartbeat quickening. He merely nudged her out of the way, knocking her into another glass exhibit.

Natalia closed her eyes and recomposed herself. Getting worked up would only result in getting even sloppier. She needed to focus. To breathe. To listen.

 “This is just embarr—” Ears pricked and eyes clenched shut, Natalia stepped into the King’s voice, jabbing out with her left fist and brushing the fine fabric of his suit jacket. Reconfiguring the proximity upon hearing his breath spike in surprise as he pulled back from her, she took three quick steps and hooked him across the jaw with her right fist. “Bloody hell!”

It had been a glancing blow, but it had been enough. She let her body turn with the momentum of her right hook, leaning into his recoiling frame and spinning to strike the White King with the back of her left fist or to crush his windpipe with her elbow. He tripped her foot mid-turn, though, and sent her tumbling before him. Twisting, Natalia plucked the stilettos from her updo, sending her long hair cascading around her, and slung the short tapered knives up at the White King from her inelegant stance on the floor. The sleek daggers slowed the second they left Natalia’s hands until they came to a halt in the air, their deadly points half a meter from piercing the man’s thigh and abdomen.

The White King slowly turned his gaze back to Natalia. His jaw was already beginning to bruise. His fedora sat at a jaunty angle atop his head now, and long strands of hair hung down in his face from his coiffure, having been knocked out of place by the force of Natalia’s punch which had also apparently jarred him enough for him to cease the telepathic spell he had over her sight. Her vision had finally returned to normal. The White King’s eyes were ablaze, his glacier blue irises becoming rings of luminous silver light in seconds that seemed to span centuries. Natalia could feel the air crackle with energy around the King and her, and she finally felt like she was beginning to comprehend that this man was not one to be trifled with. She had read as much in his files, but reading and witnessing were two entirely separate things as Natalia was discovering.

“Good hit,” his voice was hard as stone. “Now, if you would, my rebuttal.”

The stilettos redirected their suspended trajectories and were released from the White King’s telekinetic hold, or rather, were expelled like darts from it. On either side of Natalia and the White King, the daggers streaked through the air and struck the marble floor, puncturing it as though it were warmed butter rather than cold rock and sank to the hilt into the polished stone. Before Natalia could even respond, she was hurled across the room and propelled into a case of antique blades from the Middle East, the wind knocked from her lungs as glass shattered, wood cracked, and blades fell around her and cut at her exposed flesh. She slid to the floor amidst the wreckage, gasping and eyes wide but not frightened. She didn’t scare that easily.

The White King’s irises returned to their normal frigid blue hue, and as he strode to her, he turned his gaze down to his white dress shirt which had come untucked during their fight. He fixed his shirt while he walked, and Natalia eyed the man for a moment as he stalked toward her before quickly taking stock of the situation. He had five or six inches of height and maybe twenty or thirty pounds of weight on her, but she was surrounded by fallen swords and was used to capitalizing on her being the smaller opponent in combat. While the King’s attention was elsewhere, Natalia subtly reached across her body, wrapped her fingers around the leather-wrapped grip of a scimitar, assessed the length of the blade and the diminishing distance between the King and her, and waited. Three steps, two steps, one step—

She lunged upward just as the White King stepped within range, and she swung the scimitar’s curved edge out in a wide arc, catching the man off-guard. His reflexes were quick, but they were not anywhere near quick enough to entirely evade the blade. He cursed hotly and staggered away from Natalia, gripping his right bicep. Claret blood spilled like dark wine from between his gloved fingers and trickled from the gash in the arm of his suit jacket. Had he not managed a half-step back before the sword struck him, he would have lost his arm.

Pressing her advantage, Natalia utilized the motion of the first strike to spring into the air. Swinging the scimitar over her head, she planned to bring it crashing down on the White King. She had not expected him to be prepared for the downstroke of the sword, though, much less catch the blade between the flat of his hands and actually stop it, leather gloves ripping and sparks flying. Natalia couldn’t even process how he had done it until after she had collided into him, had felt every bone in her body rattle on impact, and had rolled to the blood-speckled marble floor after he had shoulder-checked her aside as though she were a ragdoll.

She stared up at the White King as he tossed the scimitar over his shoulder, his whole person scinitillating in the afternoon light. His flesh, his hair, his teeth, his eyes… they were coated in some kind of crystalline carapace. Or… the makeup of his entire body had somehow transmuted into a strange, organic diamond substance.

“Bozhe moi…” Natalia breathed, otherwise rendered speechless. He was beautiful and awesome and definitely a hell of a lot harder to kill now. This certainly hadn’t been mentioned in the K.G.B.’s dossier.

The second his body shifted to take a step in Natalia’s direction, she snapped out of her daze and hiked up her skirt, drawing her handguns from the holsters strapped to her thighs. She didn’t even aim. Not at the range she was at and not when a man made of diamond was about to bear down on her. She just fired. Repeatedly. And prayed to a God she just might start believing in if this do-or-die tactic worked.

A fusillade of staccato gunfire filled the room, but much to Natalia’s dread, the White King still stood resolute and immovable. Every single bullet had either flattened into steaming bronze discs when they struck him or had ricocheted wildly off the curves and contours of his dazzling body. One of the bullets actually slung off of him and grazed Natalia’s left shoulder. She couldn’t even feel the stinging pain beyond the numbing shock she felt. Who was this man?

“You are certainly not the first person to realize that you cannot harm me like that in this form, comrade,” The White King said, his voice oddly metallic and detached. “But be my guest and keep trying if you so wish.”

He began to prowl toward her, and after everything she had seen today, Natalia knew with a cold rationality that her only real option left to her was racing in the opposite direction of the White King and hoping for the best. She wasn’t equipped with the means to take him down, not like this. As he continued to unhurriedly advance on her, Natalia scrambled to her feet and ran, covering her retreat with another vain barrage of bullets.

Her eyes darted along the wall to which she dashed. Eastern wall. The Cour d’Honneur was two or three stories below her—she couldn’t remember anymore, but it didn’t matter. She had made jumps much worse than two or three stories and had walked it off afterward. Out one of the windows it was, then.

Natalia gritted her teeth and braced herself seconds before she barreled into a window and soared out of the Oriental Cabinets. For the second time that day, shards of glass burst around her, the sharp splinters sparking in the sunlight and spreading like pearlescent lines of a web behind her. The wind tugged at her snapping hair, and she alit neatly upon the sun-warmed pavers of the complex’s vacant central courtyard as the glass rained down around her like cutting hailstones. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Natalia glanced back up in the direction from which she had fallen. Outside the long rooms of the Musée de l’Armée, she could now tell that she had in fact been on the third story.

The White King stood in the window with one brogue-shod foot raised on the ledge and one hand gloved in tattered leather resting against the frame. Shimmery colored light sparked like fire off of him, and when he canted his head to scrutinize her from three stories up, glaring starbursts of prismatic color scorched Natalia’s eyes. When she finally averted her gaze and did the only logical thing left to do—sprint out of the Cour d’Honneur, hotwire a car in the parking lot of Les Invalides, and speed back across the Seine away from her second failure as an elite deep-cover agent of the K.G.B.—the bright white spots of his shine that had been burned into the backs of her eyelids remained.

[everlark-your-own-adventure]

Mockingjay Manor - Ch 2

Find Part one here.

We asked, you voted overwhelmingly to send Katniss and friends into the strange old manor house she’s inherited. What adventures await them inside? Let’s find out, shall we? As always, you’ll have 48 hours to vote (in the comments or reblogs, NOT in the tags!), until Noon EDT on Thursday, September 7th.

This week’s installment was crafted by the incomparable @jennagill (who asked that we give a shout out to @papofglencoe for her invaluable assistance.) Hang on folks, here we go...

“C’mon Katniss. We’ll take a look around, assess the needs, and come back tomorrow with a more informed game plan,” Peeta promises.

“Yeah, and maybe we can start on the demo,” Johanna says, rubbing her hands together and no doubt wanting to stick her axe in a wall.

“Who said anything about demo??” I squawk. “Maybe I want to restore this house to its former glory,” I say. It's all still a little surreal to me. Inheriting this manor with $500,000 to fix it up in six months and the possibility gaining half of the estate if I'm successful sounds like a dream. Of course, if I don't complete Uncle Haymitch’s task, then it all goes away and Peeta and I will return to the quiet life we had before the reading of the will.

“There's always an opportunity for demo,” Finnick says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “This house was likely built in the turn of the century. It's probably going to need foundation repair, new plumbing, bringing the electrical up to code, new roof, and new windows,” Finnick finishes, listing the top tasks off with his hands.

“Do you have a second career as a contractor that we don't know about?” Peeta jokes.

“Nah, just watched a lot of This Old House,” Finnick says.

“Okay then, that'll be a good start for things to look out for,” I say and head towards the house.

Dark clouds flit across the full moon that illuminates the long path up to the house and the others follow behind me. I'm grateful that we changed out of our more formal clothes from earlier when we picked up Finnick and Johanna. It's been a mild October so far, so I'm comfortable in jeans and short sleeves.

“Don't go round tonight, it's bound to take your life, there's a bad moon on the rise…”

“Not helping, Finnick,” Johanna snaps.

“What? I can't even sing a little CCR?” he pouts. “You guys have no sense of adventure.”

We reach the threshold and I dig the key out of my pocket. It is heavy, with a circular emblem at the end. It's hard to make out in the moonlight, but it looks like a bird in flight. Plutarch had mentioned that the house has been sealed for years, so the key and lock might need some elbow grease. I slide the key into the lock and try to turn it the knob but it won’t budge.

“Let me try,” Finnick volunteers and works the key in and out while twisting the knob. “It's definitely stuck. Peeta, give me a hand… Or a shoulder.”

“It's almost like the house doesn't want us here,” Johanna says.

“Shush Jo. We just need to work as a team. You boys hurl your weight against the door and I'll turn the knob,” I say.

“And I'll just hang back here, thinking that this is a bad idea,” Johanna adds.

On the third try, the door gives way and we tumble into the foyer. The musty odor nearly chokes me. We all flick on the flashlight apps on our phones. Plutarch didn't say anything about the power being on or off, so I'm not taking any chances with the wiring.

Finnick blows out a low whistle as he takes in the entrance hall and our flash light beams bounce off the walls.

Cobwebs and dust form lace networks in every corner. White cloth is draped over all of the furniture and portraits. The stairs lead up to a wide platform before splitting off to either end of the house. Above the platform, there's a large portrait hidden underneath a sheet. Peeta steps forward to pull the sheet. After the cloud of dust dissipates, a portrait of a beautiful woman comes into view.

“Maysilee Donner Abernathy” Finnick reads from the plaque aided by the flashlight. She has a brave face, framed by straight blonde hair and blue eyes. A gold pin that matches the emblem on the key shines brightly on her dress. A canary is perched in a cage by her side. She has a sunny disposition, in direct contrast to the gloomy mansion.

"You don't need a contractor, Katniss. You need an exorcist," Johanna snarks. “I'll bet she's still here, watching over her manor.”

“What does you paperwork say?” Peeta starts, “about the layout of the house?”

“Eight bedrooms, eight full baths, four half baths, four garages, four fireplaces, library, lot size two acres,” I read aloud with the beam from Peeta’s flashlight.

“Is there a floor plan?” Finnick asks.

“Yeah,” I gesture with the additional information Plutarch gave me. “The master and a few bedrooms are in the east wing. Library and guest rooms are in the west wing,” I decipher from the map. “There's this grand staircase and another between the kitchen and the butler’s pantry.”

“We might need to get more supplies out of my Jeep if we're going to be here a while,” Peeta suggests.

A crack of lightning shakes the house and the roar of thunder rolls through the open door. Rain starts to fall nearly immediately so I shut the door to keep out the moisture.

“I don't want to make the trek back out to Peeta’s jeep again, especially in the rain,” Johanna says.

“So much for a quick look around,” Peeta shrugs.

“Well at least you'll see where the leaks are,” Finnick says.

“You two take the west wing and we’ll explore the east wing,” Peeta directs.

“I'll take a picture of the floor plan with my phone, so we'll have a copy too,” Finnick offers and starts climbing the massive staircase.

“Okay, just don't drain your battery!” I warn him.

Peeta and I take the east wing and head towards the master ensuite. It's odd to me that Haymitch would want to see the sun in the morning, he must have been very different with his first wife. I've only known him to sleep in until the early afternoon and stay awake most of the night with Effie flitting about their gaudy house in Merchant City.

We reach the master suite and Peeta pulls back the sheets on the massive bed and presses down on the ancient mattress. It's a huge room, easily swallowing up my childhood home.

“Want to give it a test drive? Sure would ease the tension I know is building up in your body…” he offers with a wicked grin.

“Tempting...but your winning smiles aren't going to work right now. It doesn't seem right,” I say, standing firm.

“Remember the time I went down on you before your dissertation defense? That sure calmed you down fast,” he says.

“True, it did. But this isn't that type of situation. Besides, Johanna and Finnick could wander back this way at any time,” I remind him.

“Katniss, it's 10,000 square feet to explore...they'll be at it for a while,” he says.

We continue searching the master suite. The fixtures seem to be in good shape and no obvious leaks are pouring through the ceiling. I find the same bird cage from the staircase portrait in the sitting room adjoining the master bedroom. The wind has picked up and is rattling against the window panes. Satisfied that we’ve seen all there is to see, we keep going.

I get a chill as we enter the bedroom adjacent to the master. There's a faded mural on the walls with dozens of once colorful birds, some in flight and some perched by a lake. A flock of pink birds catch my eye. I pull a sheet back to reveal an intricately carved crib.

“Umm Katniss, did Haymitch have children?” Peeta asks, pulling back another sheet to find an ornate bassinet.

“Not that I'm aware of, at least. I know his wife died 25 years ago,” I say, pulling back more sheets. “This was definitely a nursery though. I think my mom might have known Maysilee, but doesn't talk about her much. I could probably ask and find out what happened.”

“Was Haymitch your mom’s brother or dad’s brother? I never thought to ask, since he was just always ‘Uncle Haymitch’ in your stories,” Peeta says.

“Dad’s half brother. We all have the same eyes,” I confirm.

Lightning flashes outside and the rain falls harder.

“We should get back to the others,” I say.

We close the door and start back down the hallway towards the stairs. According to the map, there's another pair of bedrooms with an adjoining bathroom on the other side of the hallway.

Just as Peeta is opening the first bedroom, I hear an odd chirping from somewhere in the house.

“Did you hear that?” I whisper.

“The door creaking? Yeah, it's going to need some oil on the hinges,” he says.

“No, not the door. I distinctly heard a bird,” I say, a little rattled still from the nursery.

“Are you sure? With the wind howling outside, it could be anything. Or there could be a bird trapped inside somewhere. If so, we’ll find it soon enough,” he says, reassuring me--the way he's always done.

Still, I would feel better if we were all together--eerie bird noises or not. I know we work better as a team but we would cover more ground and be able to leave sooner if we kept on in separate groups. Should I insist that we find Finnick and Jo or keep searching the house with just Peeta?

[danandphilsecretsanta]

Dan and Vampire!Phil Christmas AU

To: @spark-writes

Dan was anxious. It was already dark out: the sun had set hours ago, and here he was, still wandering alone around the London landing bay trying to find some stupid tech for his younger brother. His search however had so far been fruitless, and he was quickly starting to realize how unsafe it was to be outside at this hour when it was so close to the end of the month. He quickened his pace, trying desperately not to breathe. The foggy cloud leaching from his warm mouth in the cold would be a dead giveaway for the Feeders, and Dan had no desire to fight anyone off tonight.

He was nearly at the landing bay now, and he tightly gripped his tube pass. The snow around his feet didn’t help, as he was worried he would slip going at such a fast pace. If he could make it to the underground then everything would be fine. They weren't allowed on the train this late at night, and if any of them tried to make a move on him there, the Minders would lead Dan safely away.

Only about 50 meters away from the entrance now he mused to himself, jogging faster. He could see the light of the opening from here, yet he swore heard… something… trodding behind him now. Even though it was most likely another anxious Human rushing to the gates, he did not intend to stick around long enough to find out. Now only 40… 35… 30 meters…

“Hey, excuse me! Please wait!” A desperate sounding voice called from behind him. It sounded like any young man, late for the train just as Dan was, but the voice sounded slightly sticky and metallic. It was just the tiniest difference from a Human voice, but Dan knew it was one of them. They were very good at copying the real Humans, but Dan had always picked up on their small irregularities easily. Dan started to run now, but he was no match for the creature. He could hear it picking up its pace with inhumanly speed, and heard it gracefully take off from the ground. Just fucking run, idiot, Dan screamed internally as his breathing became shallow and labored as he ran faster and faster. 20 meters now… 15…

“I asked you to STOP!” It said forcefully, suddenly appearing in front of Dan so quickly that he had no time to slow down causing him run face first into it’s pale body. He felt himself land awkwardly on his back in the slushy snow outside the bay, and closed his eyes tightly refusing to look up at the being.

“P-please.” He begged weakly, losing the remaining ounce of courage he had been holding on to. “Just d-don’t hurt me.” He begged as he cautiously opened his eyes hoping to find escape. But regardless of his intents, his eyes uncontrollably raised to meet those of the figure looming over him, and he felt himself passing out quickly as he stared at the vampire’s pristine, pearly fangs. However, as his vision tunneled and he drifted into unconsciousness, Dan swore he could hear the vampire yelling concernedly, and felt him reach down, attempting, he supposed, to shake him awake.

“No I wasn’t trying to hurt you” he heard the being whisper and felt a cool hand touch his cheek as he faded into the blackness.

____________

Dan awoke slowly, unsure if what he had just witnessed was only a dream. He stretched up anxiously from under his sheets and looked around as if he was expecting to see that vampire next to him, fangs bared menacingly ready to drain the life from Dan’s neck.

However, there was no vampire to be seen, and it seemed the only one awake at this hour was Dan himself. He took inventory: everything was just as Dan had left it when he headed out to go Christmas shopping. His drawers were still half empty, and his floor was littered with the same laundry. His filming equipment was still strewn around the room, and he saw that the gifts he had purchased were laying semi-neatly in a pile by his bed frame. Could it really just have been a dream? he wondered unlocking his phone to see a 20% battery warning and a time that read 2:45am.

He was nearly about to accept that it had been a strangely real nightmare and cuddle back up in his warm sheets until he heard a creak come from the kitchen followed by and bubbly but nervous “Oopsie!” Dan stood up slowly and rummaged around in the pile of pants nearest to his bed hoping to find something to use in defense. Grabbing a folded tripod in his left hand, and the phone in his right, he slipped silently through his door, and into the hall.

The closer he got the more rummaging he heard, and the more he thought that maybe he should give up on being brave and instead just turn around and try and escape through his bedroom window. It was too late now though; he was nearly at the glass entrance to the kitchen. It couldn’t be that Feeder rummaging around in there, right? Wouldn’t he have already come for Dan’s blood by now?

Nonetheless, as Dan peered through the door, he saw the tall, pale figure from a few hours ago searching through his cereal cabinet. Filled with rage by both the kidnapping and the intrustion, Dan banged the door open screaming and waving the tripod over his head. He swiftly brought it down on the vampire’s shoulder with a satisfying crack, and stood there panting, smug, and still fuming waiting for the creature to fall down in pain.

… But nothing happen. Other than the Feeder chirping a little “ow!” and rubbing its arm, the hard thrust of the tripod had no effect. Dan meekly realizing his mistake started backing towards the wall as the vampire turned towards him slowly. As Dan met the beings blue eyes once again, he wrapped his arms tightly in front of his chest waiting silently for the being to attack him. But instead he felt himself warmly wrapped in a bear hug. “Oh thank goodness you woke up! I was worried you’d hurt yourself with that fall. It was really icy and -- oh I haven’t even introduced myself! Hey, don’t worry! It's okay to open your eyes you know…?” The Feeder whimpered, releasing Dan lightly from his grip. Dan slowly opened his eyes to see the vampire-man beaming back at him.

Suddenly realizing that he was not in any immediate danger, Dan quickly regained his confidence (as well as his anger): “Oh I don’t care who you are! Why the hell did you scare me and break into my bloody house and -” Dan looked down at the cereal the boy was gripping in his hand - “eating my fucking cereal of all things!” The being looked down in shame and quietly set the box of Crunchies on the counter.

“Listen! I really am sorry. You don’t understand at all. I didn’t mean to scare you, but when you fainted… well I couldn’t just leave you in the snow because-”

“It’d be bad for your Feeder Rating, right? Leaving a human in the snow you’d get taken in for sure, wouldn’t you… erm… what did you say your fucking name was again?!” He blurted wildly, taking another step away from whatever monster was in front of him.

“No that’s really not it at all! Oh my name’s Phil by the way. Lester. Phil Lester… but I’m getting sidetracked.” The being, erm Phil, blushed a bit running his hands through his jet-black hair before nervously resuming his plea. “Please just give me a few minutes to explain. If you’re still mad then… I don’t know… I’ll pay for all the packages you bought yesterday and buy a new box of those “Crunchies” things. Oh, and leave, of course!”

Dan considered the danger that could come from this, and knew he should call the Minders right away and get this vampire fiend reported and detained as soon as possible. Maybe it was only the fatigue from being awake at 3 in the morning, or maybe it was the innocent look Phil was giving him, but against his better judgement he hesitantly reached his hand out, tilted his head slightly, and smiled. “We can sit over in the living room” he suggested quietly, and Phil accepted Dan’s warm hand with his chilled one.

“Okay it’s a deal!”

____________

Phil took a long sip of the warm coffee that Dan had just brewed and breathed out softly and lovingly as he indulged in the sweet aroma. Dan however couldn’t bear to drink any of his coffee as he stared across the living room at the Feeder. He kept his phone firmly in hand, in case this was all a trick, but the longer Dan stared at Phil, the less he thought that was the case.

“I suppose I should start with the facts.” Phil murmured from behind the steaming mug. “Yes, I suppose so,” Dan nodded, barely able to focus on the words coming from Phil’s still slightly sticky tone. Along with this irregularity, Dan also noticed how Phil’s hands sometimes rested against his side in awkward angles, and how his chuckle sounded strangely dark at times. No matter how hard Dan tried, he couldn’t get over the thought that a vampire was sitting only meters from him.

“Well, not all vampires, or Feeders as you Normies call us, drink blood.” Dan refocused looking questioningly at the monster. Phil giggled again with that oddly bubbly yet awkward sounding laugh. “See, we really only drink blood for the sugar content as our own bodies lack it. But that sugar source doesn’t necessarily have to come from Normie blood. We can take it from smaller creatures such as birds or fish, or we can even intake sugar from other sources. LIKE COFFEE!” Phil smiled taking another sip of the drink. Despite himself, Dan laughed brightly.

“A vampire with a coffee addiction. Who would’ve thought?” He said still slightly wary that Phil would jump on him at any moment.

“It’s true!” Phil said defending himself. “Blood is really an acquired taste in this day and age… only the vampires with a really low Feeder Rating do it anymore! Last I checked my Rating was in the 90s. Dan, I promise I really am a good guy!” Dan could see that now. The Rating system was what the Humans used to decide the goodness and Humanity of the vampires that lived among them. The closer to 100, the more normal a vampire would seem. Those above around an 80 were typically pretty great people. The ones that were farther down… those were the Feeders you had to worry about…

“Maybe I’m crazy, but I believe you.” Dan said with certainty. To prove his point, he stood up from his seat, and waddled over slowly to sit next to Phil on the couch. He greeted Phil with a smile and a nod, and in return, Phil’s blushed cheeks stood out sharply against his nearly white complexion. Dan found his heart beating a little faster the closer he got to Phil, but surprisingly, his reaction wasn’t a fearful one. It was actually quite pleasant. He looked at Phil’s blue eyes again, and watched as the candles he’d lit flickered softly in the lightly colored orbs.

Dan scooted away quickly, blushing himself. What was wrong with him? What was he doing? Shaking his head lightly he resumed his discussion with Phil, still bothered by one detail of his story. “So, why did you try and stop me at the station then? We missed the train, and I bet it was really an inconvenience to get me home. Sorry about that by the way…”

“It's fine. I’m kind of used to Normies running away from me… it's happened for nearly 150 years now.” Phil paused here for a bit, and the silence tugged lightly on Dan’s heartstrings. “Regardless, you seemed nice and I’ve been pondering something for quite awhile now.”

“Go ahead. No judgement here!” Dan joked trying to lighten the mood. However, Phil continued with all seriousness.

“Well, I was bitten when I was around 25, and that was nearly 130 years ago. Other than that and my name, of course… well, I don’t really remember much else about my life. I can’t remember my family well at all anymore, or even some basic things like how to brush my teeth or how to work the clasps on a coat… So for the past few decades… I’ve kinda been wondering what this “Christmas” thing is all about. Why the indoor trees? Why all the gifts? Why so MANY TRAVELERS? I NEARLY GET HIT EVERYDAY!” Phil mumbled. “I guess what I’m asking is: why all the fuss? Is it really worth it?”

Dan had to stop himself from giggling. What a silly and adorable thing for this sweet vampire to ask. Any malicious thoughts Dan had held onto about Phil were immediately forgotten. Dan smiled over at Phil and quickly checked his phone. It was 4:30am on the morning of December 12th, which meant Dan had 12 days to show Phil everything there was to know about Christmas, and to prove to the curious vampire that Christmas was really worth it. He pulled Phil into a gentle hug before looking at him sweetly.

“Of course! Don’t be silly, I’ll show you everything… well, maybe starting in a few hours. I’m absolutely exhausted.” Dan giggled. Phil nodded seriously. Dan looked concernedly at Phil: “Do you vampires sleep?”

“Yeah, but I’m really a night owl, haha! Don’t worry though. You can get some rest, and I’ll stake out plans on the couch out here.” Phil said saluting Dan causing him to smirk and laugh heartily. But after he calmed his giggles, he reached his hand out to Phil.

“Nonsense! You can come sleep with me.”

____________

There were 12 days left until Christmas, so how had it just now occurred to Dan that he hadn’t gotten his tree set up? Over brunch he attempted to explain to Phil that decorating was a ~KeY eLemEnT~ of the Christmas holidays. “But why?!” Phil whined like a child. “I don’t understand what’s so important about another glorified houseplant, especially a fake one!”

Dan shrugged pulling out his phone trying to Google an answer. “I dunno… says something here about the Germans starting it… apparently the sparkling stars inspired the lights and shit.” Dan mumbled through bites of food. Phil groaned, still unsatisfied with Dan’s answer.

“Here, maybe after we set it up it’ll make more sense.” Dan tried, still unsure of how to explain it. Dan stood up and threw his plate in the sink before heading to a storage closet near the back of the flat. After some rummaging, he finally found the tree covered securely in trash bags with a box full of baubles and a string of lights resting close by. Dan struggled to move everything at once, but damn it all if he had to make two trips. Phil rushed over with impossible speed and took some of the load from Dan’s tired hands.

“Just thought you could use some help. Don’t want Christmas to kill you… well at least until I learn more about it!” Phil joked and Dan playful bumped his shoulder with the boxes in defense.

“Well thanks, then! Glad I’m only around for your amusement!” Dan laughed, as he set down the box in the living room, and started to untwist the seemingly endless tangle of lights.

“Well of course that’s why I keep you around!” Phil giggled as he smiled sitting down next to Dan while attempting to untangle the other end of the string. Of course it was nothing, but Dan couldn’t help but notice Phil’s feet lightly touching his as they worked together in joyful laughter. It sent a chill down his body at first as it took some adjusting to being next to Phil’s constantly cold body, but soon it felt comfortable and almost necessary that they be touching while they worked. Dan enjoyed Phil’s presence next to his body. It was very rare that someone visited him at home, and having another person there (even a half-living one) was definitely an upgrade. Phil’s presence in general made Dan’s heart flutter a little. Dan realised how much he hated being alone especially in the dreary months of winter. Phil seemed to fill that void that always crept up on him every year as the holidays approached. It was pleasant.

As they finished hanging the last colored bauble on the tree, it was already starting to get dark. “Okay Phil, this is the best part!” Dan said, reaching for Phil’s hand. The cool touch no longer scared him, but invigorated him with pleasure. He pulled Phil’s body a few steps backwards, placing him at just the right angle. “Okay, now don’t move a muscle!” Dan laughed as he rushed to turn off the lights. He slowly waltzed back over to the tree, and gracefully plugged the string of lights into the wall.

The house was alive with light. The tree sparkled in a rainbow of tinsel and baubles, and the strings of white light they had placed around the house looked almost like the same stars Dan had Googled that morning. Dan, blushing, turned around to see Phil’s expression and found him crying softly. “Is everything alright Phil?” Dan asked with worry, going to hug the shorter boy. Phil nodded quietly, still staring at the tree before looking up to smile at Dan.

“I understand. It’s beautiful.” Phil declared, not letting Dan go a bit.

____________

Christmas was fast approaching, and with only a week remaining, Dan decided (maybe a little over-ambitiously) to bake some cookies to take over to his parents place. Dan had told Phil about his family’s meetup every Christmas, and had even pondered the idea of Phil coming with him. Of course, he hadn’t told Phil about this yet. If it were to happen, he wanted it to be a surprise.

The two boys walked to the grocery store quickly, bundled up in layers to shield themselves from the chill. Phil told Dan he didn’t really need it as vampires were already always freezing, but Dan figured it was best to blend in to not cause attention. Dan didn’t have any of the necessary ingredients to make the promised cookies, so a trip had been absolutely necessary. This was the first time they had gone anywhere in public together, and Dan was afraid of what people would say if Phil was discovered. What would people think of a Feeder camping out with a Normie?

However, Phil seemed to blend in well enough in the large crowds. As they walked in the store Dan became giddy with excitement, and tugged on Phil’s jumper. “Listen, Phil. That right there is a prime example of the trash they play for about a month before Christmas. Ah, the infamous Christmas music has once again become unavoidable!”

Phil frowned. “Oh hush Dan! This song is actually really nice! What’s it called? Who sings it?”

“This, my friend is ‘All I Want for Christmas’ by Mariah Carey: the queen of Christmas music royalties!” He laughed. Phil pushed him lightly, and kept humming the tune as they wandered through the aisles. The shopping went surprisingly quickly even with the lines, and they managed to make it home without any trouble. Almost…

“Ugh, how disturbing!” Dan heard a woman around 30 mumble. From a distance, he could see she was holding a young child close to her, and he saw her glancing over at him and Phil. “I can’t believe they still let Feeders out during the daytime.” she said passively. Dan clenched his fist about ready to go over there and teach that woman a lesson, but then he felt Phil rest a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not worth it, Dan. Please don’t worry. We’re nearly back at the apartments anyway, and people are entitled to their opinions, no matter how cruel.” Dan, still fuming, turned around to see the face of a man who was absolutely defeated. He could tell Phil had gone through this many times before and that trying to do anything about the situation would probably just make things worse. So instead, he grabbed Phil’s hand giving it a tight squeeze marching both of them triumphantly back to their apartment.

“Come on, Phil.” He said, raising his voice a few levels. “Let’s get out of here. We have Christmas cookies to make!” He felt Phil squeeze his hand back, and heard him whisper a soft ‘thank you’ through a smile.

____________

It was now only a day before Christmas and Dan had managed to procrastinate packing for his parent’s yet again. As he violently tried to shove his things into the bag, he checked it over again to make sure he hadn’t accidently grouped the two train tickets into the jumble of clothing. He smiled in relief seeing them still laying on the bed where he had left them.

“Dan, have you seen that nice shirt of mine that we bought? I swore I left it in the bathroom…” Phil mumbled as he walked into the bedroom half naked, only covered by a few towels around his waist, head, and neck. Dan smiled involuntarily at the presence of the vampire, and giggled as he threw him the shirt laying on the dresser.

“You left it in here, you twat!” Dan said rolling his eyes with mock sarcasm. Catching, the shirt, Phil smiled half-heartedly before thanking Dan softly and going to change. Dan looked after him concernedly. Something was wrong, but he didn’t quite know what. Maybe Phil didn’t really want to go with him to his parents’ after all. He had, in fact, kinda forced it on him…

Dan hurriedly zipped up the case, and grabbed all his gifts in tow to the living room. He quietly snuck into the room, and saw an exhausted looking Phil laying on the couch. He looked paler than normal and had his eyes closed, head nuzzled deeply into a pillow. Even though Dan thought he looked adorable all cuddle up in a ball, he knew that something was definitely not okay. He stepped in place loudly, to feign his entrance into the room. “Everything okay Phil?” He said dearly, as Phil quickly sat up pretending nothing was wrong.

“Oh yeah, of course Dan! Let’s go!” He said cheerily as he grabbed his own bag from the kitchen and the tickets from Dan’s hand. Dan shook his head knowingly, but if Phil didn’t want to bring it up, then Dan wasn’t going to pry. The two rushed out the door towards the loading bay. Although Dan wasn’t in shape, he was beating Phil to the station by a few meters. Phil was much more in shape (being a vampire and all) so it was strange he was lagging behind. As they made it to the station, it was still around a half hour before sunset, so Phil would be allowed on the train.

“Hurry Phil!” Dan said worriedly. If they missed the train, they wouldn’t be able to take another one till morning, as the Feeders weren’t allowed on night rides. Some silly rule to keep them from hurting Humans, Dan supposed. But when Dan turned around, Phil was not hurrying. Instead he was bent to the ground in pain. “Oh my God.” Dan said paling almost as much as Phil was. He dropped his packages in the middle of the loading bay, and rushed to Phil’s side. “God Phil, cut the crap and tell me what’s wrong.” Dan begged tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. He rested his hand softly on Phil’s cheek, rubbing it softly with his fingers.

“I’m low on sugars… really really low.” Phil murmured embarrassedly as tears flowed from his own eyes. “Y-you didn’t have anything sugary enough, and I knew we didn’t have time for me to stop and get a drink anywhere, and I-I thought it would be fine, but it’s not and now I feel like I’m going to die!” Phil sobbed into Dan’s chest. Dan tried to shush him softly, but Phil was having none of it. “And now I’ve ruined your trip, and I was so excited to meet your family because… well because I’ve learned that’s what Christmas is. Sure, the trees, and the music, and the food and stuff are all important, but really it's being with people you love. For you, it’s your family, Dan. I wanted that so much. I wanted to enjoy Christmas with your family, Dan. I wanted to do it… with you.”

Dan was crying by now too. He had been contemplating an idea in his head for a few minutes now trying to decide if it was worth the risks, but he realized it was: for Phil. Dan didn’t know if he cared about anyone more in his life, even though they had only known eachother for a few days. He would risk anything for Phil: even his own life. Slowly he pulled one of his arms back from Phil, and gently rolled up the sleeve before displaying his bare wrist in front of Phil’s face. Phil looked up nervously, glancing at the small crowd that had formed around them. He shook his head defiantly. “No Dan. I can’t let you do this. There are risks. You could die… or you could be stuck like me… and being undead is so much worse.” Dan only shoved his arm closer as he wiped away tears with his other jumper sleeve.

“It’s safer if it’s my arm right?” Phil nodded. “This is the only way I can keep you from getting sicker. I trust you, Phil. You’re a good vampire, no screw it, an amazing guy. You know your limits, and I hate seeing you this way… Now hurry up and do it already or we’ll miss the train!” Dan said giggling and smiling sweetly at the boy. Phil contemplated for a moment before nodding and quickly bending down to meet Dan’s arm.

It felt like nothing more than a pinch: like getting a shot at the doctor or getting blood drawn for donation. In no more than 30 seconds, it was all over, and Dan saw the color returning back into Phil’s figure. A little blood dribbled slightly down his chin and onto the new shirt they’d bought him, but none of that matter to Dan when he saw Phil’s relieved smile. Phil’s eyes looked up and met Dan’s and for only a moment it seemed like the world stopped. For a split second it was only them. The crowd was gone and all that mattered was that Phil was okay.

“Last all-accepting train #231 is heading out now, please head to the station for departure!” The intercom blared, and Dan was released from his trance. Glancing once more at Phil to make sure he was alright, he quickly pulled the other man from the floor and rushed to grab his things. The pair made it to the gate in plenty of time, and headed into their seats. They smiled softly at each other while loading their bags in an overhead compartment, and Dan rested his hand inside Phil’s. Everything would have been perfect --

-- If that lady hadn’t noticed the red stains on Phil’s shirt and the blood still dripping slowly from Dan’s wrist. “I refuse to sit on the same train as this beast!”She screamed violently reaching out to her baby to pull him away from Phil. An attendant ran to try and comfort the woman, but she refused and even threatened to call the Minders on Phil for attacking Dan. Dan, still gripping tightly to Phil’s hand tried to explain to the woman what had happened, but the closer they got, the tighter she clung to her phone and the more she threatened to get Phil taken away. The only option seemed to be for the pair to stay behind.

In her defense, the attendant did offer Dan and Phil another ticket for a morning train, and full compensation and benefits for all future travels, but it still left Dan and Phil stuck at an emptying train station. To make matters worse, they refused to let Phil leave the building since it was already past dusk. Dan used some highly profane language, but nothing seemed to change the station’s mind. After hours of arguing with official after official, the pair finally resigned the fight, and sat alone together on a bench in the empty tube station.

“You can go home if you want, Dan. Or just take a night train. I can meet you first thing in the morning.” Phil pleaded with Dan over and over, but Dan shook his head every time.

“Don’t you get it you twat?” Dan said, half seriously and half not, “I could never leave you here alone. You just mean too much to me now.” Dan smiled.

“Whatever, Danny boy!” Phil giggled. “I give up!” he said resting his head in the crook of the living boy’s neck. He rubbed Dan’s arm softly, inspecting the two pin-sized dots he had left from earlier. “I’m so sorry… It didn’t hurt too much did it?”

Dan shook his head softly. “Nah it was fine. I was just so worried about you, so maybe that reduced the pain or something.” The two sat in silence for a moment before the furious sound of ringing bells came from the tower near the bay. It was midnight. “Hey look. Merry Christmas!” Dan said sarcastically, nearly defeated. “Sorry I couldn’t make Christmas perfect for you, Phil.” He mumbled rubbing his fingers across Phil’s back.

“What are you talking about?!” Phil laughed. “It’s been perfect. I loved our little tree, and baking cookies together, and Mariah Carey is my life now!” He giggled making Dan smile a bit. “But you were the most perfect part about it. I’ve never had someone stick up for me before like you have. And saving me like that… you’re so selfless and sweet to me even after all the trouble I’ve caused you… God you’re so perfect, and I love you!” Phil declared before clamping his hands over his mouth. “Did I say love? I mean… I don’t mean love... You’re just really great and I like that you --” But Phil couldn’t finish because Dan’s lips were softly pressed against his. The kiss wasn’t long at all, but there was so much tenderness in it, that it might as well have lasted for hours. Dan slowly pulled himself away looking down at Phil whose face was currently blushing next to his own.

“Don't worry, Phil. I love you too.” Dan said, ready to face Christmas, and every day yet to come with this beautiful little vampire by his side.