#Hmm...or I could just stick my hands under his coat and listen to his hiss and questioning grunt while he forces himself to not move

[draconic-ichor]

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 14: Dinner as a Family: Part 1

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, blood, mentions of death

Summary: Mother Miranda calls all the Lords to a family dinner, even asking for Juniper by name…

Feedback appreciated. 18+

Juniper rolled over and cuddled into Heisenberg, still half asleep. He stretched a bit, easing his arms around her as he relaxed back into the bed. He had plans to get done, but they could wait just a bit longer.

Juniper blinked up at him, a sleepy smile spread over her lips. He met her gaze, lips lazily mirroring her own.

In a small sweet voice she murmured, “You smell so bad, Karl.”

He blinked down at her dumfounded for a moment before lightly shoving her across the bed, huffing out, “Fuck you.”

She was a fit of giggles the whole way.

Their mirth was short lived. The shrill ring of the phone pieced the calm morning air. Heisenberg stiffened sitting up. Juniper instantly went quiet, worry knotting her brow.

Heisenberg stormed over to the phone, suspiciously picking up the phone with heavy reservations.

“Yea?” He spoke roughly into the receiver.

Hearing a woman’s voice Juniper came closer to listen:

“Is that how you answer calls?” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice sounded. Heisenberg snorted. She made a sound of disgust on the other end.

“What the fuck do you want? I’m busy.” Heisenberg spoke, irritation sneaking into his tone.

“Mother wanted me to remind you about the dinner planned for tonight. She’s considering it mandatory that we all attend.” The woman explained.

Heisenberg glanced at Juniper, confusion in his eyes, “A little damn short notice, isn’t it?”

“Oh, dear.” He heard a snobbish laughter filter through the phone, “Did your invitation get lost?”

Heisenberg ground his teeth.

“No matter, be here tonight. Dinner is at seven, and Heisenberg?” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice was cool, almost mocking, “Make sure you bring our sweet little Juniper along.”

“Why?!” He barked, “So you can show off and stroke your ego?”

“Mother Miranda asked for her by name.” Came the answer making Heisenberg’s words die on his tongue. In his silence Lady Dimitrescu smirked, “Don’t be tardy. Oh, and do clean up, won’t you?”

Before she could say anything else Heisenberg slammed the receiver down angrily. He placed his palms flat against the table, simmering.

Juniper waited for him to speak, worriedly.

“Mother wants us to go to dinner tonight at the supersized bitch’s castle.” He informed her, “And she asked for you specifically…”

“What, why?” Juniper blurted out.

Heisenberg quickly turned towards her, “Fuck if I know! Nothing good, it’s never good when she takes interest in someone.”

Juniper’s stomach clenched. She thought for a moment, biting her lip.

“Then let’s not give her any reason to suspect anything.” She finally spoke.

Heisenberg shook his head, pushing past her.

“Karl. Let’s go and be civil then leave. In and out.” She pressed following him.

“Fuck that.” He spat, shoulders tight, “I’m not going to yuk it up for that Bitch.”

Green eyes narrowing, Juniper grabbed his arm. He froze, but didn’t look at her. “If we piss Miranda off we could be in more danger.”

“You’re in danger already.” His voice was low, light fear pricking it.

“So let’s not make it any worse.”

“….hmm.”

“You told me we have to play along, so that’s what we’re going to do.” Juniper spoke evenly, “You’re going to be polite and not cause any problems ok.”

He growled. Juniper touch softened as she continued, “You always told me to be careful…now I’m telling you. I’m not saying you have to kiss Alicina’s boots, just don’t cause trouble. Ok?”

When he didn’t answer she insisted, “Ok, Karl?”

“Fuck.” He looked down, “I’ll behave…but just for you.”

Juniper hugged him for a moment. “Now go shower and I’ll wash your coat.”

“Why?!”

“It stinks, I know you won’t dress up so I’m at least going to wash it. I’m going to brush your hair too.” She reached up to paw at his tangled locks with a critical eye.

He pulled away, “Now that’s too far.”

“Well you better brush it yourself then.” She huffed, starting to pull his coat off.

He gave a little chuckle, “Trying to get me naked?”

Juniper rolled her eyes, fully removing his coat. A thought struck her as she smiled sweetly up at Heisenberg.

“Would that help convince you to strip down and clean yourself up?”

She saw him pause, thinking it over. “You drive a hard bargain, Buttercup.” He smiled toothily.

“So?”

“Deal!” He helped her remove the rest of his clothes, practically jumping into the bed after. He acted like an excited young boy, even when they fucked  like rabbits.

Patting his thigh once he was comfortable, he smiled cockily, “Come sit, Doll. Convince me to be a good little bastard for a night.”

~

They stood on the polished stone steps of Castle Dimitrescu’s gate. Juniper straightened Heisenberg’s collar, looking over him with almost a motherly warmth. Part of him wanted to shrug her away, unused to someone dotting on him in such a way. His face was pensive, his lips a thin line as he stood still for her preening. After she was happy with his appearance her eyes softened. Juniper cupped his jaw, strong and rough under her fingers. His pale eyes rose to meet her own behind his dark shades.

“You are so handsome.” She smiled, her voice sweet and sincere. 

He sighed, giving her an awkward smile before he hid behind bravado, “Tell me something I don’t know, Doll.”

They shared a light kiss before going to the door. Heisenberg pushed it heavily open, without pausing to knock.

The castle was very unlike the factory, glistening and delicate. But under all the gilded edges, seeped into the corners, the stale odor of death still clung. Juniper had long grown used to the hot, clinging air of the factory, finding that the castle felt almost stale and dry in comparison.

The owner of the castle could be heard long before seen, her thunderous steps echoing on the marble floors.

“Wicked witch is comin’.” Heisenberg snickered. Juniper shot him a scolding look just before the lady herself came into view at the top of the stairs.

“Ah, Heisenberg! For once you are early.” She looked down at them, “And actually washed! My, my, a lady’s touch is doing such wonders for you.”

Her tone was mocking, her yellow eyes keen.

Remembering his promise he chewed the inside of his cheek, eyes burning embers.

His silence was taken as a victory. Dimitrescu descended the stairs, each step slow and overbearing.

“Juniper dear, is that the best thing you had to wear?”She looked down at her, “I expected such thuggish attire from Heisenberg, but you too my dear?”

Juniper’s face flushed with embarrassment, before Heisenberg could snap she admitted, “I’m afraid so ma’am.”

She had thought herself well dressed enough for the occasion.

“Hm.” The giant woman pondered for a long moment before snapping her fingers. Two maids came at the sound, curtsying.

“Girls, find Juniper something to wear.” She ordered, “Something to compliment the evening.”

Juniper started to protest, but Alicina insisted, “Oh please it’s the least I could do.”

She strode away with heavy footfalls. Juniper looked down at her boots, feeling out of place.

“Hey kitten, you don’t have to do shit she asks.” Heisenberg hissed in a low voice, “You look great.”

“Thank you.” She smiled weakly. It wasn’t long before the maids returned, a folded dark dress in their hands.

“Come this way m’lady.” The shorter maid instructed as they both turned, beginning to lead them to a changing room. Approaching the door, the maids allowed Juniper to enter, but barred the way for Heisenberg.

He looked down at them heatedly.

“No men are allowed within the changing room my Lord.” One spoke.

“I’ll be ok,” Juniper smiled. He backed down, leaning against the far wall to wait for her. The knob turned, Heisenberg glanced up. His mouth went completely dry.

She wore an evening dress: made out of red velvet, with a collared neckline, a V-cut window into the chest, and made without sleeves. The fabric clung to her every curve, her cleavage peeking through the chest window.

Juniper tucked a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously, “Does it look ok?”

He swallowed hard, feeling his face flush.

Clearing his throat he answered, “It looks great, Doll.”

She beamed, giving him a little twirl. His heartbeat quickened, the dress leaving little to the imagination.

The maids giggled at his reaction. They quickly escaped after receiving a warning look.

Now alone Juniper closed the distance between them. She placed her hand on his chest, looking at him through her lashes.

“You want to tell me what you really think?” Her voice was low, causing blood to pulse to his cock.

Heisenberg took a breath, trying to push those thoughts away. He took her hand in his own, leaning down to whisper, “After this little shindig is over I’m going to ruin you.”

“Mmm.” She rumbled, “You’ll have to be a good boy.”

He licked his teeth, “I might not be able to wait till we get back to the factory.”

“Easy.” Juniper’s lips ghosted over his own before she pulled away. He almost growled.

“We should get back before we’re missed.” She pointed out.

As they made their way down the long halls, a choir of giggles broke out, loud and piercing.

“Juniper!” Cassandra exclaimed, rushing forward. The other sisters close behind.

“We missed you.” Another smiled. The third giggled while adding, “You were so much fun!”

Heisenberg saw Juniper draw back, fear rimming her green eyes. It made his stomach curdle with anger. Striding forward he brandished his hammer, growling, “If I find even a damn scratch on her I’ll break every fucking window in this castle.”

The sister’s eyes widened in surprise. They retreated back, Bella sticking her tongue out, “She reeks of old dog now anyways!”

Their forms shifted into a large mass of swollen flies, filtering through a doorway deeper into the castle.

Heisenberg felt Juniper hand on his arm. His posture softened as he turned back to meet her gaze.

She looked relieved, but spoke lightly, “I know you are wanting to keep up appearances…you don’t have to protect me all night.”

He pulled her a bit closer, burying his face into her hair, giving her a rough whisper, “It’s my job, buttercup.”

She nuzzled into him thankfully.

Oddly, no one else had yet sat at the large table within the main dining hall. The room was almost too quiet, save for the far off echoes of the maid’s heels. Juniper took a seat near the middle of the closest side, patting the seat next to her. Heisenberg heavily sighed, trudging over to sit down. He kicked out his legs widely, slouching in the chair. He looked like an angsty teenager.

Juniper squeezed his knee, “Only a few short hours.”

He nodded.

A maid came briskly in, pushing a wine cart. The cart was white with gold trim, a large bucket containing 3 bottles of wine sat on top. The maid gingerly set glasses down before them both, her eyes soft and ever looking downward.

She went back to the cart,retrieving and uncorking one of the bottles. She served Juniper first, filling her glass with red wine. It stuck to the inside and was much thicker than Juniper thought it should be.

The maid went to pour the next glass. Heisenberg caught her wrist before any wine could spill into the cup, making the maid gasp.

“No wine for me.” He rumbled, “Whisky.”

He released the maid.

She took a step back, looking at the floor.

“My Lord the Ladyship requested we only serve wine at the table.” Her voice wavered.

“Sweetheart, either you go pour me a glass or I’ll find the whole damn bottle.” His tone was warning.

Worry etched into the maid’s features. She quickly curtsied, “Yes, Lord Heisenberg. Right away.”

When the maid’s shoe falls had faded into the distance, Juniper hissed in a low tone, “Are you going to make an ass of yourself all night?”

Still tense as all hell, Heisenberg shot her a look over his shades, “Yea, and?”

Juniper rolled her eyes, turning away, not wanting to argue. She shifted her attention to the wine. Never one for heavy drinking she lifted the glass almost timidly.

The liquid was indeed thick and sticky over her tongue, almost bitter as it gave away to an irony aftertaste. She wanted to hate it, but something inside her pulsed, compelled to drink more. Everywhere the liquid touched left a heavy residue, her cup still red after she finished it.

“Easy, Buttercup.” Heisenberg warned.

She shot him a look.

Donna and Angie were the next to arrive, both in their usual garb. Angie excitedly greeted Juniper, almost falling out of Donna’s hands while trying to wave.

They sat directly across from them, Donna carefully placing Angie into her own seat first. Ever silent, Donna delicately sat down, giving Juniper a small wave.

Moreau was next, almost sliding on the polished floors. His breath was laborer as he took a seat one down from Juniper. She was silently thankful for the small gap between them. He still frightened her.

Lastly entered Mother Miranda and their host. The little semblance of calm evaporated from the table, everyone straightening and growing almost nervous as the women took their places at both ends of the table. Positions of importance.

As the maids hurried about to get everyone served their wine, and Heisenberg his whiskey, Miranda began to speak.

“Thank you, all my dear children, for attending this dinner. Especially our host, Lady Dimitrescu.”

“Oh Mother Miranda, it is nothing.” Alicina gushed, failing to sound humble.

Miranda gave a forced smile, taking a sip of wine before continuing, “As you all know, in two day's time, the full moon will rise over our little village, and Lord Heisenberg will lead another Hunt.”

Heisenberg nodded solemnly as her eyes fell on him.

Before Miranda could continue a small hand raised. All eyes turned to Juniper.

“Ma’am, can I ask something?” She chirped, face rosy under their combined gazes.

Miranda gave her a long look, her face unreadable.

“You may.” She nodded, adding, “And Dear Juniper, call me Mother.”

Juniper swallowed hard at her words, “M-Mother…why do you have the hunts? Aren’t the villagers important to you?”

There was genuine confusion in Juniper's tone, causing Miranda to laugh. It was a clear piercing sound, one Juniper never wanted to hear again.

“Oh my Dear!” Mother Miranda took a breath to compose herself, “The villager’s importance is in what they can provide for us. Their devotion is the principle in keeping order.”

She went on to explain, “We use the Hunts not only to thin the herd of the weak but to keep their devotion strong. When I feel their convictions wane or their offerings lessen we drive them with fear. Like dogs herding the sheep back to shelter.”

Realization filled Juniper's green eyes, her face losing color. The Hunts were just a way for Miranda to keep control. If the villagers didn’t worship her with absolution she would send terror driving them back to the church. Where she can be waiting to be their savior once more.

A cruel game.

“Do you understand?” Mother Miranda asked.

“Yes Ma-…I mean Mother.” Juniper nodded, looking down at her glass.

The maids brought in the first course: bread with herbed oil, and soup that smelled of cream and truffles. They placed a bowl before every guest.

“The food looks delicious Ma’am.” Juniper folded her hands in her lap, “Thank you.”

She looked at Heisenberg expectantly. He shifted the cigar from his teeth to his hand, giving a tight, “…Thanks.”

Alicina gave a cocky smirk, “So you’ve finally been able to teach this dog some manners.”

Before Juniper had a chance to respond, Heisenberg’s head snapped towards her.

“Blow it up your ass!” He growled, ashing the cigar on the tablecloth before returning it to his lips.

Alicina gave a look of disgust, turning away.

The room filled with the clinking of spoons and the light tapping of the maids going to and fro to keep every guest's cup filled.

Juniper gazed over to Moraue. The poor creature struggled to pick up his spoon, the metal slipping out of his twisted hands. Even though he still frightened her, she pitied him. His deformities were no fault of his own and he always strove to please with an almost childlike optimism.

Thinking for a moment, Juniper pulled an extra hair-tie from her wrist. She picked up her second spoon, looping the tie multiple times around the handle until it fit securely and snuggly.

She reached over the free chair and gently took Moraue’s left hand.

He almost jumped at the contact, his one good eye flicking up to her with a mix of confusion and apprehension.

The table grew quiet as Juniper placed her augmented spoon into his hand. His skin was cool and slimy as she encouraged his fingers to wrap around it. Pulling back to sit fully into her seat once more she felt relief, seeing him able to grip the utensil.

Moraue looked down at it for a moment, realizing the grip allowed him to better use it. He beamed up at her, smiling wide and innocent, “Thank you, you are too kind!”

Juniper nodded, returning the smile. Turning back to her own bowl of soup, the rest of the table slowly followed, slightly bewildered.

[theficplug]

Can I Come Home {Atticus (lovecraft country) Fic}

Atticus Freeman x Black Reader 

Warnings: smut (21+)

(Ayida-Weddo is a loa of fertility, rainbows, wind, water, fire, and snakes)

(Atticus wants to come home after his little adventures. Reader isn’t having it.)

The incessant knocking at your door pulled you out of your concentration on rolling the last bit of your hair. It had been a week of perms and presses. You were more than ready to listen to your vinyls and relax by yourself away from the troubles of whatever was going on in this hell of a country. 

The person at the other end of this door had other plans for you apparently and as an adventurous woman living alone you weren’t about to take any chances.

You grab the small pistol out of your brown fur coat on the rack and closed your eyes as your fingertips begin to spark little flames. 

As you slowly creak the door open, Tic lowers his glasses and his face comes into view. 

You let out a deep sigh of relief as you lower the pistol to the ground and the fire simmered down. 

“BOY! You play too much knocking on my damn door at this hour of the night! I almost blew your ass clean to Mississippi, Atti !  I figured you’d drag yourself here after you finished parading around God knows where else with Miss Letitia Fucking Lewis.” you say reluctantly unlatching your screen door to look at your ex boyfriend face to face. 

Even in the moonlight you could still see the bronze glow cascading from his sculpted cheeks, to his beautiful broad nose, and down to his cupids bow. He was standing there biting at his plump bottom lip nervously while awaiting you.

“Whoa . HEY. HEY . HEY!” He yelled with his hands up as he ducked down. 

“Now, baby look, i-” Tic stammers across his words trying to plead his case as you press the cold bottle of Cola to your reddened lips as you give him the cold shoulder. 

You shook your head and closed your eyes to summon snakes around his ankles as he hopped side to side kicking off the illusions.

“Town is small, Atti. Everybody talks. A postcard to know that your knucklehead ass is still alive would’ve been nice. But to hear from Betty with the uneven bob at the salon that you’re back in town running around with Leti of all people. You know good and well we haven’t seen eye to eye since junior high. I know we broke up but that don’t mean you had to disappear on me like that. Your triflin behind ain't no good Atti-. Why are you even here?” You ask him pointedly instead of going off on your tangent. 

The audacity of him to show up after months of barely 3 postcards from him and a few dodgy and quick calls in the middle of night spewing all types of things about monsters and shapeshifters and both kinds of wizards. 

He grabs you gently around the arms and presses a soft kiss to your lips while holding your chin between his fingers. 

“Just wanted to see you, that’s all.” He says simply in that tone he uses when he wants you to let him inside. Granted, you knew you were gonna let him inside and come inside but you wanted to watch him sweat. 

“I should summon rain over your head...You hungry?” 

After huffing and puffing you decide to ease the screen door open fully so that he could embrace you properly.

You turn your head and his kiss lands on your cheek instead. His gaze fell upon you intensely as he caressed over your cheek where his lips had been moments before. Atticus’s gaze falls from your warm oak coloured eyes to your neck, to your collarbones, and down further where your robe was slightly open and the neckline of your silk red gown had fallen lower. 

You lean in to breathe into his long black coat. The Chanel Pour Monsieur that you gifted to him before he left for the war evaded your senses. You hiss softly before smiling against him, feeling his large calloused and frigid hands run up the back of your thighs to cup under your butt and lift you onto him. 

“What, you run around all summer and come back here in the winter when you're cold and lonely and realize that she wasn’t gon’ stick around? Is that it? Your summer fling is back on the road?”  you question with a huff and a roll of your eyes. 

He chuckles deeply and shakes his head as he walks with you still wrapped around him into your small quiet little cozy candlelit home with Ella Fitzgerald , These Foolish Things playing softly in the background. 

“Town talk goes both ways, baby. I heard you were playing backseat bingo with Martin Thompson, the preacher? Really?” he questions as he licks over your neck and jawline pressing kisses along the way.

“And what is there for a lonely young woman to do when her man writes her a letter trying to rationalize falling in love with a goddamn ninetail fox. I saw Letitia coming. Seen that a mile away. I knew there would be women and men along the way for us. But, a fox, well baby you had me beat on that one. A descendant of Ayida-Weddo herself wasn’t enough? Bible Boy was good to me. He would make sure I made it home safe and sound every night from the shop. Bought me that fur coat and everything.” you say and he drops his head with a chagrined expression. 

Atticus sits you down on your own two feet and looks at you for a moment. Both of his hands on your hips.

“And what did you do for him, hmm?” He asks tracing his hands over the ties of your robe letting it fall open in one swoop.

“You really wanna know?” You scoff and swat at his hands for asking such a witless and invasive question. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” he whispers before lowering to his knees. He places one of your shea butter lathered feet in his hand kissing it softly before moving to the other.

Atticus wraps his strong arms around your waist and kisses your belly button. 

You push his mouth from suckling open mouth kisses onto your clothed mound and saunter away from him and over to the record player.

You search through the collection until you reach Big Mama Thornton. You laugh to yourself as “Hound Dog” starts to echo throughout the room.

“You’re ever the jokester ain’t you?” Atticus says with a laugh of his own as you sway your hips to the music and dance over to him.

“Dance with me” you call out to him as he comes up behind you and you gasp at the feeling of how hard he is just from caressing you moments before.

He meets your movements grinding with a shimmy of his own as he matches your movements of doing the twist and you sway your hips flush against him. His hands ghost against your thighs again and up your body. He takes note that you’re not wearing anything under your silk nightgown. 

Atticus  caresses over your breasts carefully massaging over the almond coloured buds as you let out a soft moan and place your hands over his.

You turn your head to kiss him again this time less innocently than before as you guide his hands in yours and slide them down your body while never losing the beat of the song. 

Goosebumps begin to pepper your skin  and your breath hitches as his hands settle between your thighs. He brings his fingers to his mouth before moving between your legs again.

Atticus’s nails drag softly up your left thigh as he grips it and brings you closer to feel how he’s already hardening for you. You ride his hand for a moment trying to control your temperature that’s already too high for the average human body. 

The flames of the candles dance as your excitement and wetness heightens and you tap against his thigh to warn him. 

He laughs deeply as he works over your clit skillfully and methodically. “I remember” he says simply and your eyes roll back as you utter the word “out” assertively. 

All of the candles burn out instantly and you revel in the feeling of his fingers treating your body and your flower like a Shenzhen Nongke Orchid. 

“You’re two seconds away from making me nut in my trousers like we’re back in your dorm all over again.” he mumbles while nipping at your neck and your deep dark chestnut eyes slowly fade to a golden hue to a soft glow of scarlett red.  

You nod giving him your consent as you lay over the couch. You wiggle your ass in the air , knowing that he’s watching while working his boxers down too.

He slowly works his way into you before slowly pulling out and watching his member glisten fully saturated by your nectar as he works his length up and down you before entering you again. 

The little gasp you let out echoed through the room and the candles were lit again momentarily with the flames dancing around as you bury your face into the couch pillow.

He gripped your hips firmly bringing you back and down onto him as his other hand gripped your silk gown. 

“Mhmmm, hmmph.” was all that left Atticus’s mouth as he sinks into your warmth the second time. 

“Careful. Slowly, I don’t want to hurt you.” you rasp as he circles his hips finding the right rhythm for both of you as the little pants and shrieks fall from your lips when he pushes deeper into the right spot.

“All the times I’ve made love to you and you haven’t hurt me once. I won’t mention the time you singed off one of my eyebrows though. That was my fault, I shouldn’t have tried to wake you up like that.” he soothes as he moves your silk gown up further to massage over your back and cheeks.

His large hands soothing over and kneading the knots and kinks from standing on your feet most days doing countless amounts of roller sets and bang cuts. 

“I know.” you whisper to him with a small laugh of your own. You drop your head slightly and arch your back when his hips finally rests flushed against your cheeks.

Your mouth goes slack as he picks up his pace but then pulls out.

“What the hell was that?” you question as you turn to face him. 

“Just wanted to see that’s all. Wanna look at this pretty face all glossy eyed and reciting my name like a poem.” he teases as he leans in to connect his lips to yours again, this time letting his tongue glide over your bottom lip until you’re suckling it softly.

He’s massaging his dick against you slowly as you pout and huff against his lips. Your legs begin to shake slightly and you can feel yourself heating up more.

“Shh shh shh, what do you want? Use your words.” he asks as his fingertips ghost over your breasts up to the sides of your face. The chill of his hands feeling like bursts of fresh air against you. 

Atticus lifts you once more to set you on the edge of the couch, his fingers tracing over your inner thighs. 

“You’re really going to tease me after I’ve already waited months to feel you. I really don’t want to get Martin to finish the job especially when you have the best d-” you let out a muffled moan as he places his fingers into your mouth and thrust into you again. 

You suckle his fingers, envisioning something else much bigger as he leans you on the edge of the couch and gives you what you’ve been missing for months. 

Resting your forehead on his shoulder you close your eyes enjoying the feeling of being full of him. 

You can feel him twitching inside of you as you begin to work down onto him, bouncing and coating his dick with you. 

You caress your own body letting your hand wander to your clit , skillfully massaging as Atticus watches on.

Both of your moans and sounds of him pounding into you flows with the music as you both cry out into each other’s mouths as your orgasm rocks through you both. 

Your fireplace goes out abruptly as you throw your head back and let out little uh uh mhhmmms.

Atticus leans down to place tender kisses between your breasts as he cums inside. 

You slowly continue your rhythm riding out the little waves of aftershock as his hips stutter and he lets his own praises of you fall from his lips this time. 

He slowly pulls out and swipes his thumb over next to your lips trying to fix your lipstick.

“Leave it, I was getting ready for a shower and the bed anyways. . . I’m sorry Atti.” you say to him softly as your fingertips trace his soft skin now donning a purple deep burgundy colour after being pressed against you for so long. 

“You’ve made me feel the best I've felt all damn year. You ain't got a thing to be sorry for. I’m the one that came to apologize. I was just too bullheaded  to realise that everything isn’t about just me. I regretted it the moment I got there. . The war. Ji-Ha. You finding out about Leti the way you did. It wasn’t like that in the beginning. I was supposed to go off and figure all out on my own. Somewhere down the line after you see enough crazy shit together. Things get all mixed up.. I’m sorry for all of that too.  I just wanna come home. Tired of all these things that don’t make no sense when everything that makes perfect sense has been here the whole time.” he explains and you nod along listening to his words, mulling them over. 

“Well you definitely scared the shit outta me… I checked that mailbox everyday for months waiting for a letter from you. And I think whatever you were searching for out there scared the shit outta you too. I think all of this made us both realise that we don’t really wanna be without each other..But next time if you’re gonna go off, play detective, and uncover some great family mystery,the smartest decision would be to take  the walking fireball with you. Yeah? And who’s Christina? ” you ask him as he carries you off with him towards your bathroom. 

“The dreams. I was wondering why I kept seeing snakes every day for a week. I ain't going nowhere. It’s gon’ take me all weekend just to explain all the shit I’ve seen in the last 6 months as it is-” 

(not my best but i still hope yall enjoy! i’m knocking the writing rust off after a few weeks of not writing new stuff. seasonal depressive be hitting different. alright my boos x ) 

[geralthastwohands]

The Play’s The Thing

I just wanted to write something with Jaskier using his brain to get them out of a sticky situation with a healthy side of angst and this spawned out oops!! but also hey!!! i finished a fic!! 

***

The mercenaries attack their camp while they sleep.

By the time Jaskier is woken up, Geralt is already being held down on the ground by at least four men. He’s putting up a good fight, but Jaskier can tell the witcher is only so strong. The men were human, but they were well trained.

He has three options. Option one, get on his feet and try to fight back against the mercenaries. There were six men standing around the four holding Geralt down and Jaskier’s always been more of a lover than a fighter, so that was out. Option two, pretend he was still asleep and let Geralt get taken away like a coward. He is many things, but he refuses to be a coward. That leaves option three…

“Oh, thank the gods.” Jaskier breathes out, standing up on shaky legs. All heads snap towards him, including Geralt’s. If he wasn’t committing to this new role, he’d be offended that they seemed to have forgotten about him.

“Who the fuck are you?” One of the mercenaries asks. He’s the only one not wearing a face mask. Most likely the leader.

“I-I’m a bard. Dandelion,” He stutters. Geralt lets out a low growl and Jaskier flinches overdramatically. “The witcher’s had me trapped with him for so long. I knew if I waited long enough someone would rescue me! You, kind sirs, are gifts from destiny.” He knows he’s playing it up, but he needs this to work. He glances towards Geralt and sees the hurt confusion there and hopes they live long enough for him to explain.

“Y’here that, boys? We’re gifts from destiny!” The leader laughs. “Fuck off, bard. We’re taking him for the coin.” The leader shoos him like a fly the little- and gestures for the now bound Geralt to be pulled to his feet.

“He’s seen your face, sir.” One of the men pipes up. “We should kill him.”

“Oh, no, no! You don’t have to do that!” Jaskier quickly interjects. “I could- I could come with you! I’m known for many songs! Drinking songs, love ballads, even the occasional jig, if I’m in the right mood for it. I could be your entertainment, at least until the next town?”

The leader leans his head back and forth, considering it. He turns towards the man who spoke, who shrugs. Jaskier notes how he doesn’t look to anyone else. Most likely the second in command. Good to know for later.

“Alright...Dandelion, did you say your name was?” The leader pauses so Jaskier nods in answer. “We’ll give you a chance to earn your life. Morning is hours off yet. You’ll play while we eat. If we enjoy it, a few of my boys will escort you to the next town.” The leader raises an eyebrow. “Agreed?”

“Anyone here know Fishmonger’s Daughter?” He asks in lieu of a response. The men cheer.

***

Within the hour, the mercenaries have taken over their camp with their own bedrolls and firmly secured Geralt to a tree. The witcher won’t look at him, no matter how many times Jaskiertries to sneakily catch his eye. Even Roach, ever so loyal, turns her head away when he pauses to slip her a carrot.

There’s a stew cooking over the fire and ale being passed around. With Jaskier’s music, it’s a proper celebration of a job well done. The bard wants to snap and swing his lute at the nearest head. Stick to the plan, Jaskier…

“Oi, Dandelion! You know anything about these?” Jaskier looks over to see the second-in-command next to the fire, holding up one of Geralt’s potions. He can't believe his luck. Fuck the plan, this one is better.

“Y-yes, sir!” He fumbles the lute onto his back, playing up the helpless bard once again. “The witcher had me gather the ingredients for some.” He stands awkwardly above them until the second gestures for him to sit. “The one in your hand is a night vision potion called Cat.” He digs through the bag for a second, slipping a small vial inside his sleeve under the cover of the worn leather. He pulls out another harmless one. “This one is for your reflexes, he called it Blizzard.”

“Interesting…” The second mutters, listening intently. “Don’t suppose a human would be able to take them, do you?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He answers, fully knowing Witcher’s potions would kill a full-grown man. Without thinking, he leans a hand on the pot to look closer. The hot metal quickly burns his skin through his sleeve and he lets out a sharp yelp of pain.

“Ryvel! What are you doing to the poor bard over there?!” The leader calls out with a laugh.

“Fuck off, he burned ‘imself!” The second - Ryvel - calls back with a grin. He shakes his head as he tugs Jaskier’s hand closer. “Let me see where it hurts.”

Jaskier freezes at the touch but relaxes when nothing follows beside gentle prodding at the new burn. Ryvel digs through his own pack for a second before coming up with salve and a roll of bandages. They’re both silent as he coats the burn then wraps it with the care of someone who’s done it a thousand times before.

When it’s done, Jaskier flexes his hand. “Thank you.” He whispers. “I didn’t expect…” He trails off, not knowing how to say it without offending the mercenary.

“What happened to us kind sirs being a gift from destiny?” Ryvel teases. Jaskier forces a smile.

“I should go back to playing.” He excuses before standing. “Any requests?”

“Something fun,” is all Ryvel replies.

Jaskier crosses back to where he stood to play earlier. Ryvel’s kindness almost made him feel bad for the deadly amount of White Gull he poured into the stew while burning his arm. Though judging by the fact that every man is without a mask and calling each other by name, they weren’t planning on letting Jaskier go anyway.

He sneaks another glance at Geralt who still refused to look at anything but the ground. Soon, love. You’ll see what’s going on.

***

Dinner is served once the meat is declared cooked through. No one offers him any and Jaskier doesn’t ask. He plays while they eat and doesn’t think he’s ever felt more anxious in his life. He watches every single mercenary as they chew and swallow and take bite after bite. He keeps waiting for someone to say something about the taste or spit it out or call attention to it.

And then the first man drops, suddenly and without warning. Jaskier starts inching towards Geralt. He only has moments before the mercenaries realize their friend has been felled by more than just ale.

The second man drops. Jaskier picks up the pace. Geralt is finally, finally, looking up. He’s got this confused expression and his head is tilted to the side and oh, that would be so cute in a different situation.

The third man drops. All hell breaks loose. Jaskier uses the time they take to sluggishly grab their weapons to throw his lute to the side - Daddy’s sorry, baby, but needs must. - and pull the dagger from his boot. He cuts Geralt free as the fourth and fifth man drop in quick succession.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters, before throwing himself at the leader. With the drugs in his system, the man goes down easily. It’s actually almost laughable how effortless it is to simply push the next three mercenaries to the ground and wait for them to die.

Ryvel, now the last of his men, falls to his knees before Geralt can even touch him. His eyes are firmly locked onto Jaskier, mouth open in shock. “You manipulative fucking jester…” He hisses out. His last words before he too meets the ground.

After hours of talk and music, it’s eerie to be met with only silence.

Geralt, with no more mercenaries to take care of, settles on Jaskier. He opens his mouth to say something only to be cut off by the bard launching into nervous ramblings.

“Listen, Geralt, I know what I did wasn’t safe or smart or anything else you’re going to say but what else was I supposed to do? Let you get taken by those brutes?”

“Jaskier.”

“And that wasn’t even my original plan, poisoning them. That was just a lucky mix of circumstances that I got into your potion bag - you should really label those, by the way. We’re lucky I just so happened to pay attention to colors and bottles last time you organized this mess. And another thin-”

“I was going to say thank you.”

The bard stops. “I’m sorry?”

Geralt takes a step forward, tense. “You did well. With the stew. And the...acting.”

Jaskier blinks. “Not as good as that, I hope. You do know I’d never actually betray you, right, Geralt?”

The witcher raises an eyebrow. “Brothers have betrayed brothers for less than their lives.”

“For gods sake, Geralt, I didn’t even tell them my name! What part of that made you think I trusted them? Do you really think so low of me that-” Jaskier cuts himself off. He’s smarter than that. He knows it’s not him that the witcher thinks low of.

The bard takes a step forward and Geralt lets him.  “I could have stayed at Oxenfurt, you know. As a professor. They all loved my classes. I was the hot, young new teacher.”

“Did you accept favors in exchange for good grades, Professor ?” Geralt asks, voice low. Inwardly, Jaskier groans.

“As sexy as that was, you’re not seducing me out of talking about this, Geralt.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“It’s worked before.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier admonishes and slaps him on the chest. “Listen to me, you brute. My point is that I could have had the easiest, boring-est, lavish-est life I wanted. Instead, I chose you. And I will continue to choose you over everything else in this world, including myself. Because you’ll do the same for me.” He says this with such certainty, as if Geralt had never done a single selfish thing in his life.

Geralt swallows, not quite meeting Jaskier’s eyes, and nods. “I would. Do the same, that is.”

The bard smiles, bright and wide, like Geralt just told him that he was personally gifting him the stars. The witcher smiles back, small and quiet, but it means all the same.

“Now that that’s settled,” Jaskier breaks the silence with a dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘Let’s find out who hired these men and kill them, hmm?”

[ultimatetrashyfanfic]

I’m just gonna say Non-despair AU cause I want everyone to be happy. I freaking LOVE Gundham so much, he’s wonderful and I’ve been wanting to write him for a while (but stalling cause of his DIALOGUE. It’s so hard). Buuuut I decided to finally give it a shot. And to kind of vent a little cause he used to stress me out in his dark coat and scarf in tropical heat. With Kazuichi because I want them to be friends, and because I seem physically incapable of not putting Kazuichi in every fic. COULD be seen as pre-soudam if you prefer, I didn’t write it like that but it could be if that floats your boat. I do like that ship, I just like other ones with Gundham and kazuichi more. Anyway, hope you enjoy - Circle

Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33543364

Warning: descriptions of overheating, sickfic. Nothing really bad here.

Kazuichi wasn’t shocked to wake up sprawled across a towel with sand in his hair and a dry mouth, completely alone on the beach. This wasn’t even the first time it had happened. When his insomnia was really bad he’d always doze throughout the next day - for some reason he couldn’t sleep in his warm, comfortable bed at night but could drop off in seconds with his head on the breakfast table or against Hajime’s shoulder. His classmates never bothered to wake Kazuichi if he was somewhere he wouldn’t be in the way, so the beach was a frequent napping spot. They always made sure to leave him in the shade with a water bottle for when he woke, so Kazuichi didn’t mind. It was normal.

What was very much not normal was waking up to Gundham grasping the front of his t-shirt, shaking him violently and yelling some weird gibberish that Kazuichi was still too woolly-headed to understand.

“Wha..?” he muttered, trying to wake up properly. For a second he wondered if he was having a weird lucid dream, because Gundham never usually touched people, especially him - though he was shaking him by the shirt instead of the shoulders.

“You’re gonna stretch out my clothes,” Kazuichi whined, sitting up and scrubbing his eyes.

“As if your tattered garments are a priority right now! Answer me with honesty, lest the demons tear your tongue from your very mouth. Have you encountered the wrath of my Crimson Steel Elephant?” Gundham cried, far too loudly.

“What?” Kazuichi mumbled. “Gundham, I can’t decipher your witchy language when I’ve just woken up.”

“Foolish mortal! This is a dire emergency!”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“I shall repeat myself just once more, so listen well. Have you encountered one of my Dark Devas of Destruction? Maga-Z appears to be missing,” Gundham said. Despite the grandeur and fancy words, Kazuichi could see he did look pretty distressed, holding the three remaining hamsters in his hand as if he was scared they’d dash away too.

“Oooh, okay. You’ve lost a hamster. That’s all you had to say, Gundham. One single sentence and I would’ve understood,” Kazuichi said.

“Do not talk so disparagingly! My Devas are far more powerful than mere hamsters. And Maga-Z has an independent spirit and often attempts to cause chaos alone. I have my concerns for the safety of everyone on this island if Maga-Z wields his destructive power without my guidance.”

Gundham was completely serious, but Kazuichi had to bite his cheeks to stop himself laughing, picturing a hamster storming across the island in a tank, decimating everything. But Gundham was clearly frantic, and Kazuichi was trying to be nicer to him recently, so he sighed.

“Okay, I’ll help you look for him. We should try to get the others to help too.”

“Indeed. You were the first mortal I came across,” Gundham admitted.

“Right, what does Maga-Z look like?” Kazuichi asked, taking a long drink of water. He felt like he’d be running around in the hot sun for a while now and wanted to drink while he had the chance.

“Your memory is abysmal.” Gundham seemed irritated that Kazuichi didn’t know the hamsters by sight.

“Look, I’m not exactly on nodding terms with your ham- Devas, am I? How am I supposed to know which is which? I only recognise the chubby one.” Kazuichi pointed to Cham-P.

Gundham reeled back like he’d been slapped, spluttering in outrage. “How dare you mock his corporeal form! If Cham-P was not so patient, he would obliterate you where you stand for such cheek.”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to body shame your hamster,” Kazuichi said irritably. “I wasn’t mocking. He’s just bigger than the other ones.”

“He is of the Golden variety, of course he is larger in stature. It has nothing to do with his nutritional intake.”

“Are we going to search or not?” Kazuichi snapped. God, talking to Gundham for more than five minutes was exhausting. “Do you know if Maga-Z has favourite places to go or something?”

Kazuichi let Gundham lead and did his very best not to talk to his strange companion as they searched through bushes and inside cupboards, asking any of his classmates they encountered to look too. Gundham muttered to the remaining hamsters, but didn’t try to talk to Kazuichi much either except to order him around - though his grandiose tone was quickly becoming softer and more anxious.

“Maga-Z has never disappeared from my influence for so long,” he mumbled, pulling his scarf to cover his mouth. “I cannot contain this feeling of dread.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Kazuichi said, surprising himself. “We’ll find him. He’ll be okay.”

Gundham blinked, then stood up straighter. “I assure you, I fear for the inhabitants of the island. Maga-Z will come to no harm.”

But he was worrying, and even Kazuichi could see it. His searching was becoming frantic, his usually careful hands clumsy, so he knocked things off their shelves and forgot to tidy up or close doors behind them. He started running between buildings and bushes, long coat billowing, calling out for his lost hamster.

“Gundham! Hang on a second,” Kazuichi gasped. “I can’t breathe!”

Surprisingly, Gundham did as he was told, leaning against a palm tree in the shade. He wrapped his arms around his chest, pale fists gripping his dark coat. His carefully styled hair was starting to droop in the heat, and his face was very pink. Kazuichi had never seen so much colour in his cheeks before. The three remaining hamsters cowered inside Gundham’s scarf, sensing his anxiety.

Kazuichi went to lean beside him, wiping the sweat off his own forehead. He didn’t know how Gundham managed in his black clothes every day.

“We’ll find him,” Kazuichi said again. “Ibuki and Twogami and Mahiru said they’d look. And Miss Sonia looked like she was going to cry when I told her Maga-Z was missing. She said she wouldn’t rest until he was found.”

“She has a good heart,” Gundham said softly.

“Yeah…” Kazuichi paused. “Hey, you didn’t say anything nice like that about me. I’m the one who’s been running around with you in the baking sun for hours.”

Gundham didn’t respond. He’d been talking a lot less in the past twenty minutes or so, though he’d originally been giving incomprehensible orders to Kazuichi every two minutes. Souda assumed he was just growing more concerned for Maga-Z the longer he was missing - so he was caught off guard when Gundham slumped over and fell limply against him, almost bringing them both to the floor.

“Dude!” Kazuichi managed to catch hold of Gundham. “What are you doing?”

Perhaps Gundham didn’t know what he was doing either, because he had a look of sheer bafflement on his face. He tried to pull himself upright, clinging to the rough bark of the palm tree, but each time he wobbled dangerously and Kazuichi had to grab onto him again.

“What is this..? I appear to be reacting negatively to your mortal world’s atmosphere.” His usually forceful speech came out laboured and slow, and Gundham placed a hand to his lips in surprise.

“What? You’ve been surviving in this atmosphere for ages already,” Kazuichi argued. “What’s up with you? You sound drunk. Can you tell me in plain English?”

“The temperature in this godforsaken land exceeds even the fiery bowels of hell,” Gundham hissed, having to cling to Kazuichi to stay upright.

Kazuichi took a second to disentangle Gundham’s web of fancy words. “Sooo… you’re too hot. I guess that makes sense. Who wears a black coat and a scarf in this heat? And I know you haven’t had any water since we started searching. I’d better take you back to your cabin,” he sighed.

“Unhand me this instant, you fiend!” Gundham growled, though he was the one using Kazuichi like a walking stick. “I could never rest while one of my Dark Devas of Destruction is unguided.”

“Well they’ll all be unguided if you get heatstroke and drop dead,” Kazuichi said. “Half the island is searching for Maga-Z - and I’ll go back out to keep looking as soon as I can, okay?” As much as Gundham might get on Kazuichi’s nerves sometimes, he didn’t want him to get really sick or hurt. He hoped Maga-Z had enough sense not to wander into the sea or something; Gundham would be crushed.

“Hmm.” Gundham didn’t look convinced.

“Your other three ham- I mean Devas probably need to cool down a bit too,” Kazuichi tried.

Another pause. “Very well,” Gundham sighed. “I shall retire to my artificially cooled domain until the effects of this oppressive atmosphere wear off. I trust you to ensure the search continues.” He turned on his heel and tried to walk on his own, staggering alarmingly.

“Hey, careful!” Kazuichi ran to steady him. “I told you I’d help you.”

Gundham slapped his hands away. “Fool! Have you forgotten I am cursed with poison?”

“Oh for God’s sake! Could you just give an inch for once! Why do you make everything so difficult?” Kazuichi cried exasperatedly.

Gundham stuck his chin in the air and started berating Souda again - but before he’d even finished the first sentence his words died away. He blinked several times, looking dazed, swaying where he stood.

“Gundham..?” Kazuichi said nervously.

Gundham didn’t respond. He took another few staggering steps towards his cabin, then crumpled as his knees gave way under him. Kazuichi cried out and hurried to catch him, their foreheads bashing together painfully. Gundham’s skin was clammy and damp, his face looking much more… alive than usual. Kazuichi realised it was because his pale makeup was running.

“Fucking hell, Gundham,” Kazuichi groaned, hauling one of Gundham’s arms around his shoulders. “Just hold onto me, okay? Try not to pass out.”

Surprisingly, Gundham nodded, staring down at his feet like it was taking a huge effort to make them move. It was clear he was trying to be helpful, but Kazuichi had to carry a lot of his weight and they were both breathless by the time they reached Gundham’s cabin. Kazuichi breathed a sigh of relief as the wall of cool air conditioning washed over them.

“Thank God for that,” he mumbled, dumping Gundham onto the bed. It was carefully made, which Kazuichi had never understood; why bother making your bed when you were just going to mess it up every night? The entire room was neat, though the giant cage meant it rather smelled like hamsters. “Right, get your coat and scarf off.”

Gundham glared at him viciously.

“Oh, that’s the thanks I get, is it? Well, no matter how annoying you might be, you’re overheated. No wonder, wearing that stupid dark coat. So get it off.” Kazuichi grabbed Gundham’s arms and yanked the coat sleeves off like he was undressing a sulky toddler. Gundham hissed a series of furious curses at him - one of which sounded like Latin, which was actually pretty impressive - and the three remaining hamsters hopped out onto the bed, startled.

“There. Was that so hard?” Kazuichi said silkily when Gundham was lying on the bed in his shirt and scarf, glaring. Kazuichi tried to take the scarf off too, but Gundham’s hissed threats became more vehement and he gave up. “Fine, keep it on then. Though I don’t think the gothic look is very sustainable in a tropical climate, man. Right, I’m going to get you something to drink.”

Gundham didn’t respond until Kazuichi had returned with a cup full of water from the bathroom. “I shall take advice from one with such abysmal fashion sense as yourself with a grain of salt, fiend,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster while tomato-red and damp with sweat on his bed.

Kazuichi had to fight very hard not to pour the glass of water directly over Gundham’s head, but he just about managed to help him drink it instead. Then he grabbed the little fan from the bathroom and placed it by Gundham’s bed, dampened a cloth and slapped it rather unceremoniously on his forehead. Gundham yelped and glared again, water trickling down his temples. Good. Serves him right for that earlier comment. “There. Keep your head back or you’ll smudge your eyeliner. And don’t move. I’ll try to find Mikan while I’m looking for Maga-Z, okay?”

Gundham turned his face away, cupping one hand over the Devas protectively. He mumbled something into the material of his scarf.

“What?” Kazuichi asked.

“I said I am grateful for your assistance…”

“Oh.” Kazuichi was surprised. He’d never heard Gundham acknowledge he needed any help before - though maybe that was Kazuichi’s own fault. He’d been the one to start up the whole stupid rivalry thing (which wasn’t ever a rivalry in the first place since the girl wasn’t remotely interested). Maybe this was a step towards a reconciliation.

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna leave you to die,” Kazuichi added awkwardly.

“You are far more tolerable when you do not echo the Dark Queen like a parrot. I once believed you had no real mind of your own,” Gundham said bluntly.

Kazuichi flushed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You made yourself an extension of the Dark Queen. You never disputed her or challenged her. You agreed with her every word.”

“Well… I wanted her to like me,” Kazuichi mumbled. “Look, you don’t need to lecture me about all this. You know I’ve left Sonia alone.”

“Indeed. But you still wish to befriend her?” Gundham asked. Even weak and overheated as he was, his eyes were burning into Kazuichi’s with such a fierce intensity he had to look away.

“That’s her choice. Why are you asking all this?”

“If you still seek a friendly companionship with the Dark Queen, you should not forget she is a mere powerless mortal,” Gundham said. “She does not wish to be treated like she is extraordinary. She does not wish to be around those who only agree to please her.”

Kazuichi stared at him. Was Gundham really offering advice? Was this a weird way to repay him for helping out? It was pretty embarrassing to be given advice on how to make friends from Gundham, who openly distrusted everyone - but he was friends with Sonia. Maybe even something more, Kazuichi honestly didn’t know. He’d tried to stay away from Sonia as much as possibly, partly because he wanted her to be more comfortable and partly because he was pretty fucking embarrassed by his past behaviour. But he would like to be her friend. Nothing else - he knew that wouldn’t ever happen - but friends was good.

“Now make haste!” Gundham suddenly cried, making Kazuichi jump. “Continue the search! I shall rejoin you as soon as I am able.”

“No, rest. Don’t move and especially don’t put your coat on again. I’ll find Maga-Z,” Kazuichi said quickly. He dashed outside before Gundham could protest, groaning as the sticky heat wrapped around him once more.

He started searching again, after taking a quick detour to Mikan’s cabin to ask if she could go check on Gundham and make sure he hadn’t gone out into the sun again. Almost everyone on the island was searching now, splitting off into little groups to cover more ground. Nagito was one of the last to join in - and Hajime and Kazuichi watched in astonishment as he shifted the very first box he touched in the storage room of the old building and pointed. “There he is.”

“WHY didn’t I ask him first?!” Kazuichi practically screamed.

“Ultimate Luck seems a pretty useful talent,” Hajime murmured to him, not wanting Nagito to hear. It’d only start him off on a long self-deprecating rant. “Go on then, Kazuichi. Get him.”

Kazuichi peered behind the box on his hands and knees. Maga-Z was cowering in the corner, fur dishevelled and standing on end. He didn’t look too friendly. “Why do I have to grab the stupid hamster?” Kazuichi whined. “You grab him, Hajime. I don’t like them. They look like they know too much.”

“What are you on about?” Hajime sighed. “It’s just a hamster. You can’t be scared of a hamster, Kazuichi.”

“They’re Gundham’s hamsters. They probably like… worship the devil or something.”

“Hamsters don’t worship anything. They’re just hamsters.”

“Can I go now?” Nagito asked, looking like he was losing braincells just listening to this conversation.

“Yeah, thanks, Nagito. Unless you fancy grabbing this hamster,” Kazuichi said. He looked hopeful, but Nagito left without another word.

“I’ll do it,” Hajime said, exasperated. He reached behind the box to ease his hand underneath Maga-Z, but as soon as his fingers brushed fur, the hamster made a mad dash forward. Directly towards Souda. He squealed and hastily cupped both hands around Maga-Z, holding him at arm’s length. “Oh my God, oh my God, I got him… Oh God, he’s gonna bite me, I know he is,” Kazuichi whined.

“Hey, good job,” Hajime said, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d catch him.”

“I’m not a baby, Hajime,” Kazuichi huffed. Then he whimpered in a very childish way. “Ugh, he’s wriggling around. Can I… put him somewhere? A bag or something? I don’t trust him.”

“Just shove him in your pocket and let’s go. It’s boiling in here. And Gundham will be stressing about Maga-Z. Do you know where he is?”

“I had to put him to bed because he nearly fainted. He was running around in his black coat all day.”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “Nobody on this island has any self-preservation skills.”

“At least Maga-Z is okay.” Kazuichi studied the little ball of fluff cupped in his hands. Somehow his little ink drop eyes did look menacing. “Hey, he really does look like he wanted to go off and cause chaos on his own, doesn’t he?”

Hajime gave Kazuichi a look. “I think you’ve spent too much time with Gundham today.”

Thankfully, Gundham was still in his room and looking a lot better, though still very visibly agitated. His colour had returned to ghostly pale (he must’ve reapplied his makeup) and his eyes were far more focused - they snapped to the door right away when Hajime opened it. When he saw Kazuichi, his hands still full of wriggling hamster, his brow cleared.

“Take him, quick!” Kazuichi said, hurrying over to the bed. “I’m sure he wants to bite me.”

“You fiend,” Gundham murmured, taking the hamster. For a second Kazuichi was offended, thinking Gundham was calling him names when he and Hajime had been nice enough to bring the hamster back, but then he realised Gundham was talking to Maga-Z. He spoke to them in exactly the same way he spoke to his classmates, no silly mushy voices like most people did with cute animals.

“I can only pray you have not caused too much destruction while unsupervised,” he murmured, smoothing Maga-Z’s fur. The hamster sat up to greet him like a little puppy, and Kazuichi noticed for the first time that Maga-Z’s cheeks were bulging.

“Did he really run off just to steal food?” Kazuichi groaned. “We’ve been so stressed and he was just eating!”

“Ah yes, a feast befitting the magnificent Crimson Steel Elephant,” Gundham said, gently placing Maga-Z with the other hamsters. They circled him joyfully, happy to be reunited too.

Kazuichi threw his hands up exasperatedly. “I give up. You’re all nuts.”

Gundham turned to Kazuichi, his face solemn. “I am deeply indebted to you, as is everybody who resides on this island. I cannot speak of the terrors that may have occurred if Maga-Z was without guidance. I shall spread the story of your triumph to every other mortal here so they can show you due gratitude,” he said.

“Oh… Thanks, man.” Kazuichi could see he meant well, but the thought of Gundham telling everyone Kazuichi saved the island from a hamster’s destruction was pretty embarrassing. He could already see Hajime smirking out of the corner of his eye.

“You should stay inside a bit longer though,” Hajime said. “Just in case. You need to make sure you’re totally cooled down.”

“Indeed. I have had ample excitement for one day,” Gundham said.

“Me too,” Kazuichi mumbled.

“If you’re feeling better, you can tell everyone about Kazuichi saving the island over dinner,” Hajime said, grinning. Kazuichi glared at him.

“Asshole,” he muttered as soon as they were outside Gundham’s cabin.

Hajime burst out laughing. “Maybe he’ll make you sound really gallant and fearless when he tells it.”

“Then everyone will know it’s a lie right away. And anyway, Nagito saw what happened. Even if you don’t give away the real story, he’ll definitely tell.”

“Probably. But you did save his hamster, even if you weren’t that fearless about it. Is there a truce between you two now?”

“I suppose so. He’s not so bad. Crazy and dramatic and difficult… but okay,” Kazuichi admitted. He paused. “I don’t know what half of the words he uses mean though.”

“Yeah,” Hajime agreed. “I don’t either.”

[scapegrace74-blog]

Lucky

A/N  I’m enjoying going back and filling in some of the missing Metric Universe details.  This one is set during the time of Jamie’s injury, so just after The Beginning, and it introduces some important secondary characters.

Inspired by the Radiohead song “Lucky”, and particularly by Thom Yorke wailing “it’s going to be a glorious day” as though he is trying to will it to be true from the depths of his agonized soul.

The entire Metric Universe is available on my Ao3 page.

January 6, 2015, The Royal London Hospital

Sterile hallways.  The noxious funk of London smog blending with the antiseptic sting of the Intensive Care Unit.  The endless thrum of traffic, bleep of life-saving equipment, squeak of rubber soles on linoleum.  It was only when she left the Highlands that she realized how much she took their clean air and miles of quiet for granted.

A few feet away from where she kept vigil in a stiff avocado chair, her brother lay in a medically-induced coma.  An orchestra of machinery beat out the tempo to his survival.  The zigs and zags of his heartbeat against the ivory background of an electrocardiograph called forth memories of their youth, racing like wee fiends down the snow-laden slopes behind Lallybroch.

Younger by four years, Jamie had long been larger-than-life, even before he surpassed her own diminutive stature at age eleven.  Lying now under hospital sheets carefully draped to avoid his flayed back, she remembered the tiny babe in arms their mother had carefully lowered into her lap all those years ago.  Fragile, as though life clung to him with only a provisional grip.

“Dinna ye dare think of leaving me, Jamie Fraser,” she softly threatened for what must be the hundredth time since arriving at her brother’s bedside five days before.  “I ken ye miss them, but Mam and Da have each other now.  I only have you.”

January 11, 2015, The Royal London Hospital

“Fer the love of Christ and all the saints, jus’ drink the damn water ye clotheid!” an all-too-familiar female voice rang out.

“Leave me in peace, Janet.  I dinna want any water,” a masculine growl replied.

Ian Murray was still some distance from Room 418A, but he could hear the siblings bickering just fine.  Doubtless a good handful of staff and other patients were within earshot as well.  He rounded the corner and observed a scene that was equal parts poignant, comic and exasperating.

Immobile by necessity while the surface of his back slowly reinvented itself, his best friend lay facing the door.  Ian’s fiancée stood beside the bedrail, five feet of visible agitation.  She held a cup of ice water so tightly in her right hand, the straw quivered.

Jamie was no longer the pallid husk who awaited them at the end of a frantic race from Lallybroch to the Royal London that first morning of the new year.  Normally hale and over-flowing with vitality, it was distressing to witness him so motionless, eyes sunken and muscles slack.  Unfortunately for both Jamie and Ian, Jenny’s sharp tongue increased in direct proportion to how much emotional turmoil she was forced to cope with.

“Och, ye’re finally here,” the woman in question exclaimed.  “Will ye explain tae this bampot tha’ he willna improve if he doesna listen tae what his doctors tell him?”

“And what of no’ getting me riled up, hmm?  Ye dinna seem tae care what the doctors say when ye stick yer neb in my face every twa minutes.”

“Mebbe the doctors dinna realize that ye’re a muckle-sized bairn with the sense God gave an...”

“ALRIGHT, THE BOTH OF YE!” Ian yelled over the melee.  “I am tired of hearing ye bicker an’ so is the entire fourth floor.  Jenny, ye’re tired.  I’ll take o’er for the night while ye get some rest.  An’ Jamie, drink yer water before I pour it over yer bloody hot head.”

Both Frasers froze with their mouths open in retort, surprised by Ian’s uncharacteristic outburst.  A deafening minute of silence elapsed before Jenny silently gathered her coat, cap and purse, wished the two men a curt goodnight, then left in a swish of gabardine and discontent.

“Ye’re gonna pay for that later,” Jamie remarked, bending a rueful smirk around the extended straw.

“It’ll be worth it no’ tae hear ye two scold each other fer eight hours,” Ian retorted, taking Jenny’s place in the uncomfortable avocado armchair but sliding it back a foot so that it no longer blocked Jamie’s view of the hallway.  

“Jen could harry Auld Nick inta church, and ye ken it well, a charaid.”

“Grant her some mercy.  She’s scared witless, Jamie.  After yer Da...” Ian left the rest unsaid.

His childhood friend nodded against the bleach white pillow, weariness and something more insidious weighting his eyes closed.  Minutes passed, but Ian could tell from his irregular breath than Jamie was still awake.

“How is it today?”

A shoulder twitched in a minute shrug which still caused its owner’s brows to furrow with pain, though his eyes remained closed.

“Hurts like hell, if ye must know.  But I’m told I should feel lucky tae be alive by a team o’ London’s finest medical minds.”

“And do ye?” Ian persisted, trying to excavate the kernel of anguish that lay almost hidden beneath all the layers of physical pain.  It had been nagging at him since Jamie first woke three days earlier.  It wasn’t only the extensive physical damage to his body and daunting road to recovery that was afflicting his friend.  The blast had shifted something nearer his foundation, destabilizing the very structure of the man he’d known since childhood.

A long, hissing breath told him Jamie understood what Ian meant by his question, and was giving it due consideration.

“Mebbe feeling lucky is wha’ led me tae this hospital bed.”  He spoke quietly but urgently, with the tone of a penitent in the confessional booth awaiting divine judgement.

“Ye dinna mean ye think ye deserved tae be burnt near tae death?  Christ, Jamie, twas an industrial accident and ye’re a firefighter.  Awful luck, aye, but twasn’t something ye did or didna do that brought it upon ye.”

Another long pause, and this time Ian thought his friend may have fallen asleep.  Finally, almost drowned out by the whir and whisper of life-giving machinery,

“I dinna ken what I think anymore, a charaid.  I got lost, an’ this is where my mindless feet brought me.”

Long after Jamie drifted to sleep, Ian sat in the awkward chair, listening to his breathing and trying to make sense of what he’d just been told.

February 13, 2015, The Royal London Hospital

Beads of sweat furled down his neck and his back burned anew.   Aegrescit medendo, he thought wryly as he readjusted his grip on the wheeled walker and continued his unsteady progress.

“Very good, lad.  We’ll have you running again in no time!”  Dauntlessly cheerful and deceptively matronly, Jamie soon learned that Maureen Graham was an exacting physical therapist as well.  It was exactly what he wanted, when he wasn’t cursing her for it.

“Can we no’ take the elevator to another floor?  Mebbe down tae the A&E?”  Jamie tried to pass it off as an offhand request, but silver-grey eyes narrowed shrewdly.

“That’s the third time you’ve asked to go downstairs this week, Jamie Fraser.  I’m beginning to think you don’t like my ward.”

Thwarted, he carefully pivoted in a half circle and began the arduous trek back down the hallway to his room.  Six weeks spent nearly immobile while the surface of his back was slowly reborn had sapped all his strength.  Even if permission had been granted, he wasn’t certain he could navigate his weakened frame all the way to the emergency ward he’d last visited the night of his accident.  The last place he’d seen her.

“What’s her name?” Mrs. Graham asked as he shuffled the final few feet and sank gratefully against his bed.  He thought about deflecting her conjecture, but it posed an opportunity too good to pass up.

“I dinna ken”, he confessed.  “Twas the nurse who saw tae me when I was first admitted.  Curly brown hair.  Eyes the colour o’ ripened barley.  I think she served overseas fer a time.  Afghanistan, mebbe?”

He was doing his best to appear nonchalant, aided in part by the fact that his muscles twitched violently after every therapy session, but he still didn’t think he was fooling Mrs. Graham.

“Oh, I know just the one.  You were lucky to be in her hands.  No wonder you pulled through.”  She poured a large amount of fresh water into his re-useable bottle.  He drank it down in rapid gulps that leaked over his chin.  He realized his was beyond pride at this point.

“Her name?” he begged.

“Nurse Beecham.  Spelled the French way, but she’s as English as they come.”

Nurse Beauchamp.  She finally had a name.  He vowed he would recover his strength so that one day he could walk up to her and properly express his gratitude.

[might-be-a-zygon]

How about Terror and 19 for thasmin but also, as an additional request if you're able, the Doctor has to be the one to say it.

The Nightmares Gonna Get You

The Patient has no idea how long she has been in the facility.

She doesn’t even really know where the facility is. She knows that probably isn’t it’s real name, but it’s the only thing she’s ever heard them call it.

The Mother says it’s a hospital, and with all the doctor’s buzzing around, that makes sense, but it doesn’t look much like a hospital. Well, she doesn’t think it looks like a hospital, anyway. When the Patient thinks of the word hospital, her mind conjures images of sterile white rooms and blue gloves and rows and rows of beds. She doesn’t exactly know where that image comes from, but she’s never been in any hospital that looked like that.

Thinking about it, she isn’t sure she’s ever been anywhere but the facility.

One of the doctors comes to tuck her in at night. She doesn’t need tucking in, of course, she’s hardly a child, but she knows that the Mother wants to monitor when she’s in bed, and sending the doctors to deal with her is a reliable way to know that she’s actually where she’s supposed to be. The Patient doesn’t mind much- the doctors are mostly kind, and she’d rather have them checking in on her than the Mother.

“How’re you feelin’?” The doctor asked, walking up to her and placing a hand on her forehead as though checking for a fever, though she hadn’t suffered from one after a tissue sample before. It was never a fun experience, but she bounced back quick.

This doctor doesn’t come to see her that often- she’s always assumed he must work less hours than the ones she sees more often. He also looks the least at home in his white lab coat, constantly tugging on the lapels as though he is used to a different sort of jacket. Still, his Northern accent is comforting to her- a little slice of a home she can never quite remember. Nobody else in the hospital talks much like her, after all.

“It’s. Alright. Bit sore.” She admits after a few moments, trying to downplay the pain. She doesn’t want them to give her the painkillers again- they make her dreams even worse than normal, and she really doesn’t want to face that.

He gives her an understanding look, nodding and stepping back. “D’ya need anythin’ else before I turn the lights out?” He asks. She shakes her head.

The doctor makes a half-hearted attempt at pulling the heavy red covers up over her, though he doesn’t tuck them in like the Mother does, on those rare nights she comes in person. The Patient is glad of it- she hates those nights, spent pinned under covers wrapped far too tight. They’re almost as bad as the nights she has to spend in the real restraints, when experiments go wrong, and the Mother is angry with her and the doctors can’t talk her down.

“I might see you tomorrow.” He promises, though from the sound of it he doesn’t seem convinced he will, “I think the Mother has somethin’ planned for you, so I might be there. Sleep well.”

She doesn’t get a chance to ask what is being planned before he’s hurriedly gathering up his clipboard and leaving. Nobody in the facility is willing to get on the Mother’s bad side.

Her room here is pretty. It has soft red carpets, and faded black wallpaper patterned with golden spirals which catch the orange light streaming through the window. When she really thinks about it, the Patient thinks it’s a little better than those all-white rooms in her head, where everything looks brand new. Still, if the pretty room is supposed to put her at ease, it never does.

The pattern on the wallpaper is nice- she can count the circles in the design when she got stressed to calm herself, but the sheets, the curtains, and the carpet are all that dark crimson colour which sets her teeth on edge. When the sun begins to go down, and the room is thrown into darkness aside from the harsh reddish glow of the lights on the machines, it looked almost as though the walls themselves are bleeding.

There are some days when that carpet feels sticky underfoot, as though there really is blood seeping through it to maintain its rich colour.

Today hasn’t been one of those days, though she can’t deny that it’s beginning to develop an unusual shine as the light outside her window darkens. Maybe it’s just that she can’t sleep. She’s tried shutting her eyes, and counting sheep, and staring at the shifting golden patterns on the wall until her eyes lose focus, but exhausted as she is, nothing seems likely to push her into the realm of sleep.

She turns over, and immediately regrets it as it puts fresh pressure on the bandage curled around her arm, further aggravating the wound underneath. She sucks in a hiss of a breath through her teeth, her fingers moving to rest over the top of the bandage, checking that it it’s not wet. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to have done any damage, though she can practically feel the hours-old stitches straining to hold the skin together.

It’s important, somehow. They need the tissue sample to test for- something. The Mother didn’t say what- just that it’s very important. The Patient knows better than to argue with the Mother. Arguing with the doctors sometimes gets her rest when the tests are getting too hard, but with the Mother? Arguing never stops the testing, it just gets her restrained for them- and that just makes them so much worse.

She flexes her fingers, and lifts her hand a few inches off of the bed, trying to ignore the phantom squeeze of the cuff she isn’t wearing now, and remind herself that she isn’t tied up anymore.

She was a good girl, today. She didn’t need to be tied up.

Just as the Patient is considering getting up- just standing briefly to try and clear some of that sickly feeling in her stomach when she hears shoes clicking down the hallway outside. She shuts her eyes and feigns sleep, just as the door cracks open.

“Hello, my dear. What do you say that we drop the pretence, hmm?” A voice comes from the doorway. They know she’s awake.

The Patient knows that voice- its one of the doctors. The older one, with the playful glint in his eyes and the wild grey hair. She likes him. He has some posh accent she can never place, and he always looked hilariously out of place in his plain white lab coat.

She hasn’t seen him in a long time.

She keeps her eyes shut, just to be safe.

“It’s okay to be afraid- you’re hardly the first person here to get scared.” The doctor promises, checking over her bandage with gentle hands. He speaks with a soft lull at the end of his words, like he’s speaking to a child. The Patient knows she’s been at the facility far too long to be considered a child, but the effect is still a little comforting. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Mother.”

The Patient nods, almost imperceptibly, a hint of a smile crossing her face. She opens her eyes just a crack so she can see him heading for the door, outlined against the artificial light of the hallway.

The shadows on the walls seemed to grow darker now- blocking out even the shimmering gold woven through the wallpaper and making it difficult to see the exact diameters of the room. When she closes her eyes, the Patient can feel the walls closing in on her, threatening to crush her under the weight of her own delusions. She sits there, afraid to even blink, with the ache in her arm becoming worse and worse as the night draws on.

She doesn’t know how long it’s been since the doctor came to check on her. Another one will come soon, and she knows she shouldn’t be awake when it happens, but how is she supposed to sleep when every time she closes her eyes she feels like she’s suffocating.

Another doctor comes, as though her just thinking about the possibility. She feigned sleep again, but this time he didn’t even pretend to be taken in.

“No point trying to hide it. I know you’re up.”

The Patient opens her eyes guiltily, looking up at the doctor with some relief. It was the funny little man with his dark eyes and sly smile- not always the friendliest, but usually more then willing to bend the rules about her treatment plan when she was upset.

“Now. The Mother did tell me to give you the jab if you weren’t asleep yet-“ Her eyes are suddenly drawn to the needle in his top pocket, which frankly seems far larger than necessary. If he gets that sedative into her she’ll lose control of herself, and she’s always hated that.

She shakes her head quickly, not daring to actually speak, just in case. It wouldn’t be the first time the Mother had been listening at the door while she was with a doctor.

“No?” He raises an eyebrow at her before breaking into a grin. “Never was a fan of needles myself. How about-“ He takes out the needle and uncaps it, squirting the colourless liquid inside into a potted plant. He taps his nose twice conspiratorially, and then pulls out a small, circular plaster from his pocket, sticking it onto her arm where the needle should have entered. “That should do it. No one needs to know.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Be better next time. You’re very bad at fake sleeping.”

“I’ll try.”

He takes a step away, before moving back to her side, and patting her rather awkwardly on the arm. “Do try to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

She doesn’t get the chance to ask what he means by that, before he’s disappearing out into the hallway, and she’s alone again.

Big day tomorrow.

She hasn’t been told about anything particularly special that would be happening, but a big day in the facility was never a good thing. Big days meant big tests, and big tests were always painful, and often humiliating.

Sleep is certainly not coming for her any time soon. She kept thinking back to the last big day she’d had- they had said they needed to test her physical endurance, and had made her run until she collapsed, and every cell in her body burned. It’d been a week before she could even stand without one of the doctor’s helping her. She’d begged and cried, but ever time she fell the Mother had shushed her, and kissed the top of her head, and helped her to her blistered feet, and set her off running again.

The Patient shudders at the memory.

When the door creaks open for a third time, she isn’t pretending to be asleep at all, unable to face closing her eyes and reliving that last big day long enough to feign sleep. Luckily, it is another doctor, not the Mother, this time one of the younger ones. She’d always liked this one a lot- he had a mop of brown hair that tended to fall into his eyes, and a big, infectious smile, like he was excited about even the simplest things.

“Hi” He moves quickly over to her, sitting on the edge of her bed like he’s just a visitor. “I can’t help but notice you’re not sleeping. Why not?”

She flinches slightly at the question, but can’t bring herself to respond properly. It’s embarrassing.

“Are you scared?” He asks, prompting a slight nod from her. To her dismay, he actually smiles at that. “Good! Good- scared is good. Promise. You shouldn’t let scared keep you up.”

“I don’t like being scared.” She tries to argue, but he just shakes his head.

“Well, no. Nobody does- but some things that’re good for us don’t feel good. Like choosing broccoli over ice cream! Actually- don’t do that. Don’t ever do that- that’s a rubbish example.”

“So how am I meant to sleep when I’m scared?”

“I could tell you a story?” He offers. She nods, once again struck by how brightly he smiles. “Okay! Once upon a time- no. No that’s not a good way to start. Once upon a time stories are too far away. They’re boring. How about.” He pauses, giving her another of those warm smiles. “How about we start like this. Somewhere out there in the Universe, there’s a woman. She might look ordinary, but she’s seen galaxies born and die, and she’s here to help. And, when she finds you- all you have to do is ask.”

“Will you tell me more about her?”

The doctor hesitates, glancing at the door, before turning back to the Patient with a smile. “I guess a few more minutes won’t hurt.”

 Yaz didn’t like the sound of this ‘Facility X’ thing in the slightest. She trusted the Doctor, of course she did, but splitting up in a place like this seemed like madness. Then again, this whole trip seemed like madness, really. Following a cryptic message on the psychic paper to a creepy hospital? It would  hardly have been her first choice for a good day out. Still, the Doctor seemed to think that one of the patients here was in trouble, and she wasn’t going to argue with that.

She managed to ‘borrow’ a white coat like the Doctor had suggested. So far none of the staff had given her a second look as she wandered around, looking for any patient in distress, who might have been the one to send the message, while the Doctor wormed her way into their systems to give them an out.

She was becoming increasingly unsettled by the fact that every patient room she’d passed had been empty.

 It’s the oldest of the Patient’s Doctors who comes to wake her in the morning. She usually struggles to get along with him as much as she does with the others, but this time when he comes into the room he places a gentle hand on her shoulder, and gives her a grandfatherly smile.

That’s when she knows that whatever’s going to happen to her today is going to be very bad.

“I’m sorry you’ve no breakfast this morning, my dear. The Mother says you mustn’t eat before your procedure.”

“It’s okay.” She promised, moving to climb out of bed. He holds an arm out for her to steady herself, though she really didn’t need it, she takes it anyway. “What time is it going to be?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. The Mother said she’d be sending someone along to do your bloods, so it should be a good few hours, yet.”

“Am I allowed to drink anythin’ before?”

“I tell you what, I’ll ask around, and send someone up with a nice cup of tea or something, if you’re allowed.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, my dear girl. I’m just doing my job.” He seems to hesitate for a moment, as though he’s not sure whether he’s allowed to give her any affection, and then, once again, settles for a good natured pat on her uninjured arm. “You’ll be okay getting dressed by yourself?” The Patient nods. “Well then. I’ll be seeing you later. Good luck.”

And, just like that, she’s left alone to drag her tired body out of bed and begin dressing herself.

There’s never any verity to the clothes, here. There isn’t any attempt to make her look pretty, like they did with the room. Every day she puts on an identical greyish-brown smock dress that gives the doctors easy access for any procedures that were going on. It’s a little too thin to provide any warmth, and the fabric is itchier than she’d like, but the one time she’d asked the Mother to try something different- well it hadn’t gone well.

Simple as it is to get on and off, she’s still just barely finished buttoning it when the door is thrown open again, revealing yet another doctor, this one holding a paper cup with a lid out to her.

It’s the tall one with the wild curls and the slightly unhinged smile. She always dreaded having him in the room for testing- he’d always make her laugh and the Mother would get so cross with her, but when they were like this, and there was nobody else around he made things a little brighter.

“Mornin’, doctor.” She greats him, taking the cup gratefully.

“It’s just water today, I’m afraid,” He winks at her. She takes a sip of the orange juice, shooting him a covert smile. “Oh, hang on a moment, I think-“ He moves forwards as though to fix one of the clasps on her dress for her, instead pressing a small brown paper bag into her hands. Before he’s fully pulled back, he brings a finger to his lips in a ‘shush’ motion. “Keep your strength up for today.”

She glances down, peaking at the little bag of sweets, before moving to tuck them under her pillow.

“Thanks.” She steps back at where they’re hidden, knowing she’s best of waiting until after her bloods have been done to actually start eating them. It’s pretty rare that she has something to look forward to, so the illicit treat means a lot.

“Just don’t let the Mother find out about them, she’ll have my head for messing with the experiment.”

The doctor shoots her another manic grin, tugging on the lapels of his white coat, before heading towards the door. He turns back at the last minute, adding, “Oh, and, good luck today. I know you can handle it.” as an afterthought.

The Patient finds herself sincerely hoping that he’s right.

 “She’s nearly ready for a full harvest.” Yaz heard one of the white-clad staff-members of Facility X muttering to another.

She’d found a clipboard somewhere along the route, and was now walking along pretending to check the readings on various pieces of equipment while jotting down everything she overheard. If she couldn’t find the patient they were supposed to be helping, she was at least going to have as much information as she could when the Doctor came out to meet her again.

“Oh yeah? Why are they so sure this one is going to survive? None of the others did.”

“The boss keeps saying this one is strong. Her mind is protecting itself from the machine.”

“If there’s as much to go around as the boss seems to think there’ll be-” The conversation was cut short by a grotesque, inhuman slurping noise as one of the workers licked his lips. Yaz did her best not to show her revulsion.

She walked off quickly, past another row of empty rooms.

She was really, really hoping the Doctor was doing better at finding this mystery patient than she was, because it sounded like the girl was in trouble.

 “So, are you here to do my blood tests?” The Patient asks, looking up at the newest doctor to arrive. She isn’t used to seeing him here, at least not for the nastier tasks like these. He was usually one of the gentler ones who she met when she was recovering from procedures, than the one actually administering them.

“I’m afraid so.” He gives a weak smile, pushing a few strands of blonde hair out of his face. His hair seems a little longer than the last time she saw him- it’s not much shorter than hers is, now. “And I’m sure you’re not any happier about it than I am, so lets get this done and dusted and you’ll be able to take some quiet time before your procedure this afternoon.”

The idea of quiet time in this place seems a little redundant, at least in the Patient’s eyes. All of her time is quiet time, really- at least all the time she doesn’t spend being tested. She’s never seen another patient in the facility, and the doctors rarely come and visit her this often. It’s putting her on edge, now many of them seem to be working today.

If they need this many doctors around, the procedure which the Mother is planning has to be very dangerous.

“You look nervous.” The doctor states, looking at her.

At first, the Patient shakes her head, but he gives her a knowing look.

“I never like the needles.” She admits quietly, her eyes darting towards the door, looking for any sign of the Mother.

The doctor looks at her again for a moment, before quickly standing up. “I’ll see if anyone is on break who can come sit with you. The Mother is busy right now, so you don’t have to worry about her- I won’t tell if you won’t.”

His smile is genuinely kind as he picks up his bag, moving towards the door again, at a pace which suggests he’s a little more worried about running into the Mother than he’s letting on. Still, he comes back a few minutes later, with another doctor trailing behind him. She’s always had a soft spot for this one. He reminds her of the hero of some romance novel she’d read a very long time ago- she didn’t like the book enough to remember the specifics, but the feeling of vague fondness towards the protagonist persisted.

“So, I know this whole thing is a bit nasty, but I’m sure we can get the whole thing delt with nice and quick, how does that sound?” The Patient gives him a dubious look, and he shrugs apologetically. “Nothing else we can do I’m afraid.”

“I hear this kind of thing is supposed to be easier if you keep talking?” The blonde doctor suggests. The Patient looks at him for a moment, though immediately regrets it when she sees him getting the equipment ready to take her blood. She knows there’s an easier way of doing this, but the Mother always says that the results aren’t as good when they do it like that.

“Yes! Excellent idea!” Exclaims the other. She’d never understand how he could sound so enthusiastic in a place like this. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” She asks, sounding more baffled than nervous for the first time.

“Oh, anything. What did you dream about last night?” The brunette takes her other hand as the first needle punches through the skin.

“A-“ Her breath caught slightly at the familiar sensation. She’s used to being prodded and poked with needles, but pairing the pain with the dread of what was happening next made it worse. “A woman.”

He grins at her. “Oh? Dreaming about a girl, that’s always good sign. Tell me more.”

“She’s brilliant- she’s clever, and kind, and she cares so much about people. She travels the whole universe, and, I think that she’s coming to get me.”

 “Hey, new girl.” Yaz looked up from the machine she’d been pretending to examine when one of the staff members clicked their fingers at her. She pointed to herself, and the white-clad employee rolled their eyes. “Yes you. Here, now.”

She held her clipboard a little tighter, flipping onto a blank page as she went so they wouldn’t see what she’d been writing.

“I need you to take these-“ A plastic bag of wires was thrust unceremoniously into her hands. “Up to the boss. She’s having some problems with the temporal manipulation in the patients room.”

“What?” Yaz asked, trying to play dumb to get a bit more information from them. If they thought she was new, she might be able to push them into telling her what was actually going on here.

“The timestream in the patient’s room is supposed to be moving faster than it is- look, you don’t have to understand it, just do as you’re told and get those over there.”

“Over where?” When that question won her a dirty look, Yaz held up the clipboard with it’s blank sheet, and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry- It’s my first day, and I don’t want to keep the boss waiting. Think you could-“

The employee snatched the clipboard off of her, drawing a crude map of the facility, with an X marking the patient room.

She shuffled off very quickly, glancing at the map with a triumphant expression. Whenever the Doctor managed to set off her distraction she could run out with the patient- it’d be perfect. She just wished the Doctor would hurry and give her the signal already.

 The Patient is seeing all of her doctors today, it seems. The one with the spikey hair arrived with a new dress for her, and before he’s even said a word she knows what the procedure is.

She’s being reset.

“The Mother sent me- told me to ask you to change.” He says, his tone gentle, though he seems a little nervous, as though he doesn’t want to be delivering this news any more than she wants to be hearing it.

A reset is the most painful procedure they ever give her. She’s never been reset in the same twice- the Mother wanted to test the effects of different methods on her- but every time her body would burn like fire, and she would walk away irrevocably changed.

She takes the dress wordlessly, just staring at it. It’s several sizes too big for her- just in case. She never knows what she’ll look like after this, so it’s better to have something too big on than to tear through her clothing if it’s too small.

“Oh, chin up.” His voice is full of false cheer, “I know it’s hard.” The doctor says, leaning against the wall, and watching her tug at the greyish fabric. “It’s got to be scary, knowing you’re going to come out as somebody else- but at least you know you’re going to come out of it. You just have to be strong for a little bit longer, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Someone’s going to come collect you soon. You’re not going to be on your own.” He smiles at her, a warm, genuine smile which makes the corners of her lips twitch up too. “I know you’ll get through it.” He promises, before walking away.

She stares at the too-big dress for another minute or so, before beginning to change. It isn’t as though the Mother will let her get away with not going through with it just because she didn’t put on the proper outfit.

There’s something inherently unsettling about dressing herself for her own funeral- a sense of unrivalled dread she’ll never quite get over.

Because deep down, she already knows this won’t be the last reset.

In the end, two doctors came to fetch her. They couldn’t look more different- one with a mop of dark hair, and one with a mess of blonde curls- but they’re both giving her identical looks of mingled pity and pride.

The blonde moves first. linking arms with the Patient, and offering her a too-bright smile. She can see he’s trying to cover his own distress.

“Right then. Not long now- it’ll all be over, nice and quick.”

“You won’t feel a thing.” The dark-haired doctor promises in turn, as the two of them began to usher her down a corridor, towards whatever the Mother had waiting.

 The longer it’d been with no word from the Doctor, the more worried Yaz became. She’d gone in first, she should have managed to get into the systems by now, right? Yaz had fulfilled her end of the bargain.

In the end, she headed for the area the Doctor had entered, finding a mountain of equipment, but no Doctor in sight.

She picked up the device the Doctor had been working on. It seemed to be wired in properly…

“I really hope this works…” She muttered, hitting the keys on the thing to try and set the timer. It should draw most of the staff away from the patient. Hopefully the Doctor had had the same thought before she left it.                            

She took off at a run now, mostly abandoning her pretence at being staff, and just desperate to reach the patient’s room- which, luckily, seemed to be in the same central hub of the building as the electricals.

Somehow, the patients room looked less like a hospital than the rest of the facility- a single, empty room painted an inky black colour. There was only one woman inside that she could see, standing over a large machine with a gleeful expression on her face. Yaz couldn’t get the best look at the machine, though from what she could see of it, it looked like some kind of goth-styled MRI machine.

“I don’t need those wires anymore.” The woman said, sounding annoyed at the intrusion. “The loop is working perfectly- time is moving faster for her in there. She’s just strong- keeps putting up mental blocks.”

“Mental blocks?” Yaz asked, taking a few steps closer. She pulled one of the wires out of the bag, just in case, waiting for- well, she didn’t really know what would happen when that timer hit zero, but she knows it’ll probably be loud enough to give her an advantage.

“Yes. It’s funny to watch. The whole scenario feels real to her- created from her deepest seated fears. She needs to be really afraid for us to harvest her.” The woman made another of those nauseating slurping noises. “She’s been subconsciously putting things in her way to stop herself from scaring too easily. Most people can’t get that far.”

“And when you harvest her?”

“Well, that’s the question. Most people would die- that’s why we had to lure this one here.”

Yaz craned her neck, trying to get a look at whatever was in the odd, casket-like machine, but she can’t see from here. She has a feeling she already knows, though.  

 The Patient is sitting down, now. She doesn’t remember how long they walked to get here, but the doctors had left her alone in this room, waiting for the Mother to arrive. When the door opens, though, it isn’t her.

She’s always been fond of this doctor. He has a perpetually grumpy expression, messy grey hair, and a kind smile, despite his intimidating looks. He’s gentle as he begins attaching wires to her, though she knows that he’s sentencing her to death.

“I don’t want this.” She admits.

“Well, then. Why don’t you ask for help?” He says, as though it’s that simple. He has a funny accent which reminds her of friends she can’t quite remember.

“I can’t.”

“I’m the last one now.” He presses a wire to her wrist, holding her hand a little more tightly than he needs to as he does. “After I go, it’s just you.”

“I don’t want to change again.”

“So don’t.” He says, still speaking as though that’s the obvious answer.

“But the Mother-“

“Well.” He scoffed, “If you’re going to let the Mother define your whole existence, it‘s your own fault, not isn’t it?”

“Then how?”

He gives her one of those kind smiles, standing up once she’s fully wired into the machine she knows will kill her.

“Be brave, and ask for help. You can’t solve every problem on your own.”

 “So you think this one can survive it?” Yaz asked, edging slowly closer.

The woman laughed, bitterly. “Oh no, I don’t think she can survive it. I think she can fix herself after it kills her, though- it’ll give us a near infinite source.”

Something on the device lit up, and her lips curled into a wicked smirk. “There we go. She’s alone in there- almost time to-“

A deafening bang shook the whole facility, and the lights in the room sputtered out. Seizing her chance, Yaz tackled the woman to the ground, police training finally coming in handy as she dragged the woman’s hands behind her back. She didn’t have handcuffs, but the wire would do to bind them for now.

 The Patient is alone when everything begins to fall apart. The machine she’s strapped into begins sparking, and at first she thinks it’s been turned on prematurely, but then everything else seems to pixelate around her, as though the whole facility is disintegrating. She quickly begins to fight against the straps holding her to the chair.

“No…” She pulls at them trying to get to her feet- to get the wires off before the gaping void ahead of her takes her too. She doesn’t want to change but that- the eternal inky blackness threatening to swallow her alive.

She knows the doctors have to be nearby.

“Help!” She pulled at the restraints on her wrists. That terrifying abyss was close, now- almost touching her. “Somebody help me! Please!”

 “Somebody help me! Please!”

Yaz could hear shouting- familiar shouting- coming from inside the machine, and it was more than enough to distract her from the woman she’d had pinned. Her hands were tired anyway, and the explosion should have been distracting enough to buy them time. She ran to the machine, slamming her hand down on the release catch to open it up.

The Doctor sat up, dislodging more wires than Yaz would have liked from her skin, looking wide eyed and afraid, but relatively unharmed. It was odd, really- the Doctor rarely actually showed fear. She knew she felt it- remembered how the creatures on Desolation had taunted her about it, but still.It was odd to see it displayed so openly.

“Doctor?”

“Yaz…” She looked around, still coming back from whatever false reality they’d built around her. Her fingers curled around Yaz’s wrist, as though she was trying to convince herself that this was real.

“I’m here. I’m right here-“ She heard muffled noises from the bound woman across the room, trying to undo the chord ties holding her in place. “We need to go, right now. Can you run?”

The Doctor managed a weak smile, letting Yaz help her climb out of the machine.

“Always.”

[robertdowneyhiddlesbatch]

Chapter 4: Purpose

warnings: anatomy/talk of sex

Myrena was expecting an earth shattering roar to wake her, buried under the collapsed mountain. She was happily surprised to find herself awoken in bed by the sound of birds. She stared up into the abyss, listening to their twitters and tapping beaks. Myrena had no way to tell what time of day it was from deep within a mountain. After a while, she forced herself out of bed and dragged her feet to the giant basin of water. The water was unforgivingly cold on her face, but she needed that to wake up. Myrena left the room after washing up, ready to start her day. 

This round, she took her time to look around her surroundings. They were underground; the ceiling probably reaching beyond the skies if she had to guess. It was perhaps a kingdom of some race back in its day. A hundred chambers lined this way and that; ruins of stairs going all the way up and all the way down. This place was a shadow of its former glory, she'd guess. Of course, with a dragon living in it now, nothing else could. Speaking of, Myrena wondered where her host had gone to.

She picked a random room of choice, and to her joy found a great big window. Myrena ran to it and stepped out on the terrace. Oh was the morning breeze a blessing! Having closed her eyes to enjoy the cool, she opened them again to look out. In front of her was a clearing, beyond which began the forest. To its left was a lake. Myrena felt as if she were a child again. Gathering her inner strength in a deep breath, she ran and leapt to the terrace next door. 

Her landing was successful, but her wounds from yesterday punished her. Ignoring the stings, Myrna continued running and leaping till the lake was front and center. She closed her eyes again, feeling the wind blow the water gently in her face. Suddenly, the air froze and her eyes snapped open, danger looming. Myrena leaned over the railing, watching the water rumble. Then without warning, a red flash leapt out of the lake, showering her with lake water. It would have been more fun if fish weren't part of that experience.

"You're awake!" She was sure the voice boomed across the world.

"What are you doing?'' she screamed up at Smaug.

"Going. For. A dip." He answered as he twirled higher up, showering her more.

Myrena laughed and waved him off, going back in to change her clothes. 

There was a pile of clothes in another part of her room. Myrena didn't dare think where the dragon could have picked them up from. As she began to take off her soaking dress, the cloth weighed heavy on her shoulders, causing her body to ache. She grunted as she used her strength to push the sleeve down her shoulder, the wound on her oblique stinging painfully.

"Need a hand?"

Myrena yelped as she turned to face Smaug standing in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, wearing his red coat and black leather pants again. The only sign that he'd been in the water was the curly hair on his head, sticking to his forehead.

"Um, I know this is your home, but can't a girl have some privacy?" Myrena was half serious as she covered her chest.

Smaug laughed a throaty laugh that went up the caverns of the room. 

"And who, may I ask, bound you in the first place?" He curiously pointed at her with a knuckle.

Myrena looked down herself. Her wounds had been patched and wrapped, and the dress on her shoulders was not her own. Her cheeks stung with shame. 

"You've... seen me. Naked."

"Ah, only to necessity. You seem to forget I am not man, your human hesitations do not apply to me."

"Right. Well then, Mr. Dragon. I've soaked through my dress and bandages thanks to you. So if you wouldn't mind?"

She teased him and stood up to stand toe to toe with him, suggesting he undo the strings on her torso. Smaug smirked and grabbed the top of her dress, and in one go, ripped it straight down the middle. She instinctively moved her arms to cover her chest and groin, but found it silly. Her breast wrappings from days ago was still bound tightly around her chest, and her underwear was also still on, though both were threatening to fall from the weight of the water. For a dragon, Smaug was pretty chivalrous. 

"I need to take them off." Myrena simply told him and turned away, back towards the bed. 

The end of the wrap was tucked into the binding just below her left armpit. But her right shoulder killed her as she reached to the other side to peel it off. It took the breath out of her just the first unwrapping, and she rested after it.

"Need a hand?" Smaug asked again as he came behind her.

"No! Don't rip it! I don't assume you've got more under wraps?"

"Never needed them."

Myrena laughed. 

"Great. I'll just..." she reached for it again, now hanging below her right arm, straining as she did. Smaug huffed and grabbed it instead, unwrapping it all the way. 

"Darn." Myrena exhaled instead of thanking him. "The bandages."

"I've done it before," Smaug offered.

"Thank you. But I had my wrap on then. Now I don't..." she squealed before she could finish. Smaug had grown tired and, turning her around, lifted her in his arms and placed her on the bed. 

"For the last time, and you remember it well, now. I am a dragon. I don't care for your human trivialities. Either you can shut up and let me do you, which isn't something I do for anyone else, or you can suffer in your pain and help yourself!" Smaug told her all in one breath, and Myrena watched him, too stunned to speak. 

"I'll take your silence for your consent. Now, I'll warn you. It may sting a little." 

That was his only warning as he began to redo her bandages. She hissed when he dabbed the healing potions on her wounds, but never complained. 

"Thank you," Myrena said when he was almost done.

Smaug half smiled. "I was beginning to think you were the ungrateful kind. It takes you a minute to appreciate." He stepped back when his work was done. 

Myrena stood up to put on the dress, thankful that this one didn't have strings. It did have buttons on the back of the collar, which she could no doubt ask Smaug to do for her. Smaug's kindness had reached its cap and he let her get the dress on herself. It took her longer than usual, but eventually she got it on. As she was dressing, Myrena noticed Smaug play with a bird. The little thing flittered around his head then came to sit on his offered finger.

"You don't eat birds?"

"Eat birds?" He turned her way. "Why would I eat birds? Do you think a bird would satisfy me?"

Myrena suddenly remembered the night she'd seen his dragon form. He'd eaten all her assailants, and her horse too. 

"You'd have to eat a whole forest."

"Eh, I wouldn't. Birds clean my teeth for me, eating the stuff stuck in between. Kind of a co dependent relationship."

"Interesting. Speaking of eating..." she looked guiltily at him.

"Right. Any interest in fish?" He lead her out of the room.

Myrena laughed, realizing he meant the ones that he'd 'given' her in the morning. 

"As long as it's cooked." She followed him into the terrace room.

The terrace was still wet, with a heap of fish lying about. The room had a furnace as well, on which she could cook her breakfast. Myrena collected the better looking fish and brought them into the room. She cut off their heads with the blade she'd brought with her, and fixed them on to the spit.

"Can you, light the fire?" She curiously asked him, wondering if he'd have to turn into his full form.

Thankfully, he didn't. Smaug went up to the furnace and crouched next to it. Then he took in a big breath and blew, hot streams of fire coming up from his throat and lighting the coal. Myrena sat opposite him, turning the spit. 

"Does that not burn you? In your human form?"

"Not really. It feels like it always does. A tickle in the back of the throat."

As he went on describing it, Myrena got up and brought more fish from the terrace, replacing the cooked ones with some of the raw. 

"You said I'm the only one you've ever helped."

"Hmm?" 

"Back in the room, you said I was the only person you were ever going to help. What makes me so special?"

Smaug mused. "I've been stalking your legend, ghost bride. The night you first saw me was not the first time I'd seen you."

"And you decided I was helpless?" She playfully suggested while popping a piece of fish in her mouth. 

Smaug laughed. "No, you're quite the opposite really. I decided..." he paused for effect, "that you would be my mate."

Her eyes grew ten fold. "I... Because I look like a dragon?"

"Metaphorically. You've got dragon traits; the solitude, the strength, the determination." Smaug had golfed down his second raw fish.

"When you say mate. I assume, would include... the act..." Myrena blushed.

"Yes." Smaug stated matter of factly.

"In your human form of course?" There was no possible other way.

"Initially." He stated.

"Initially?!" She choked. "You think you'd fit?" Her legs reflexively closed. 

"Hah! Mortal, I have talons longer than your arms." 

The red of her cheeks reached the tip of her ears. 

"Oh! We can't be possible! I'm afraid just thinking about it!"

"Lovely! You're just worried about the length. The barbs would be no trouble for you, yes?"

"B-barbs? There are... barbs?! They'll cut!"

"They serve their purpose. When we mate for the first time, the barbs will surely cut you, but that'll allow my seed to get into your blood." He ate. "As my mate, you'll need to be changed, my chemicals would have to bind with yours, change your chemistry. Make you turn."

His mouth made a clicking sound, releasing his fangs which startled Myrena.

"My fangs will release a venom in your blood..."

"But venom kills."

"Yes. But with my seed running in your blood as well, the two will work to match your chemistry to mine."

"What if I object?"

"You don't have the choice. It'll be easier for you to accept your fate."

"So what?" Myrena stormed up, and Smaug followed suit. "You'll force me to marry you? Subject me to you? Like, like him?"

Smaug growled and roughly pinned her next to the fireplace. 

"iiigh am not like other men! You have no master except Smaug!" He bellowed, but calmed for the next part of his dialogue, though the anger was still there. "I will only force you to be my mate, and the sire bond that will be between us. But beyond that, you'll go about as you always have: with your free will."

Angry as he was, no one had ever offered her the life this dragon currently was. It may have been his mating instinct talking, but she'd trade her whole town for this dragon. 

"What if, I don't know?" She meekly asked.

"Don't know what?"

"How to... how to mate."

Smaug laughed a deep laugh.

"You don't know how to mate?"

"Well I get the basic sense of it, but I don't know all the rituals."

"We dragons just, get it in, let it out and done." He finally let go and walked back to his seat.

Myrena laughed. "Well that's very banal! I hope that's not how humans do it."

"Your mother never taught you?"

Myrena stalled in her step, then took her seat before answering.

"My mother died before I was of age."

"I'm... sorry." Smaug said mutely. "I picked up the sentiment from watching mortals for quite some time." He explained when she gave him a puzzled look. "Who else is in your pride?"

"My family? Well, I'm the oldest of three. There's Beorn after me, then Feomer. The both of them took after our father, greedy and evil and insults to our race! But then there was Quince. Oh, little Quincy! He was born... different. The other two didn't accept him, neither did our father. But mother and I loved him. He was all I had after mother died. I took him to the monks before my wedding."

"Wedding." Smaug stated the word, but his heart burned with the thought. "You married?" He got off his seat, heading for the door. 

Myrena suddenly remembered back two minutes ago when he'd proclaimed her as his mate. She felt bad for him, for the two of them, and followed after.

"Only the ceremony. We never consummated."

"I suppose you need more of your clothes." Smaug changed the topic. "There's a town by the foot of the mountain on the other side. You're welcome to visit it if you like." He told her and turned away towards his treasury.

"I will. Thanks for letting me know." Myrena called after him, letting him go in peace.

@tschrist1

previous next

[rosegoldannie]

Tell Me no Lies  Chapter 10

TW: Mentions of abuse and stalking

My masterlist can be found here

Aelin leaned her head against the cool window, content to watch the city slide by. Downtown Adarlan was illuminated by light streaming out from office buildings, reflecting off cars, and from Christmas lights put up early. A light drizzle left a hazy mist weaving down from the clouds. Turning her head, she allowed her gaze to linger on Rowan, on his pale, silvery hair. In the strange lighting, it looked almost blue, and Aelin found herself wishing she could touch it, wondering whether it was soft. It looked as if it were silky, as if it wasn’t real.

Slowly, her gaze wandered to his strong, handsome face. When they’d first met, Aelin remembered thinking he looked angry, harsh. Now she saw the softness in his eyes, which were focused on the roads ahead. His lips had always seemed to be in a permanent frown, though in the last few weeks, that frown had vanished in favor of a smirk. Now, his lips curved sharply upwards.

“Stop that,” He murmured, failing to hide his grin.

Aelin glanced up, unaware of just how long her eyes had lingered on his lips. “Hmm?”

“You’re distracting me.”

“I am not.”

Rowan grinned. “Take your pretty little eyes off me, princess.”

Propping up her feet on the dash, Aelin savored the clenching of his jaw. “Or else?”

An unreadable element entered his expression. “Or else you’ll need to find another ride home.”

She gave his shoulder a sharp shove as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. “You wouldn’t dare,” She hissed.

His answering grin was purely animalistic. “Try me.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin slipped from the car, then turned back to face him. “Just you wait.” With that, she marched up to the front entrance, then trotted into the locker room. Rowan had taken a slightly longer route than normal, and as such, she was a few moments late. 

She quickly changed into her scrubs, and pulled her hair up into a ponytail before going out to the front desk, where Nesryn was waiting for her.

“Hey Ashryver, got a boy-toy I don’t know about?” She teased, handing an armload of charts to Aelin, all of which she knew were patients to be looked at. 

“If I did, you’d know.” She replied, making to go back to registration, where she could see a young girl of about twenty waiting.

Nesryn broke into a slow jog to keep up with her. “Then who was that guy who dropped you off?”

“My roommate, Nes.”

“Oh.” She paused for a moment, considering. “He’s hot. As in, I would have his babies hot.”

Aelin let out a choked laugh, that turned into a full blown cackle when her eyes landed on Nesryn’s fiance, standing behind her with the most confused look.

After several moments, Sartaq waved hello to Aelin, then sauntered off.

Turning her attention back to the girl, Aelin allowed herself to slip into work mode. “Hello,” She cooed in a soft voice. Instantly, the girl flinched, and Aelin knew.

She knew why she was here, what had happened. And instantly sent Nesryn out, saying she needed some food. Aelin lowered herself into a chair, mindful of both this girl’s timidity, and her increasingly aching hip, which now prevented her from bending over to pick things up. “I’m Aelin,” She murmured carefully. “What’s your name?”

Slowly, the girl met her eyes. “Feyre.” a heavy tone of distrust laced her words. “Where is my friend?”

“I don’t know, Feyre. First, I have to ask you some questions, but then I’ll find your friend. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Aelin carefully reached out, and drew the chart towards herself. “Alright, Feyre. What brings you in tonight?”

Slowly, Feyre pulled her hand from within her coat, and Aelin fought the urge to gag. Bones were sticking at odd angles below the skin, and heavy bluish tinted the pink skin. “My-my boyfriend… He accidentally slammed a door on it.”

After setting her hand, Aelin made sure that Feyre was put into a secure room under a false name, and that the police were notified. Feyre had informed her that her boyfriend had been angry when she tried to leave him, and was attempting to prevent that.

On her lunch break, Aelin stumbled into the break room, and immediately collapsed into an overstuffed couch. Glancing over to her coworkers, she saw that Nesryn was nestled up into her fiance, asleep. 

Sartaq met her gaze. “So, who was that? Your boyfriend?” He teased, a stupid, smirking grin on his face.

Aelin chucked a throw pillow at him. “Oh, piss off you. He’s my roommate for god's sake.”

Sartaq caught the pillow, chucked it right back at her. “Uh huh, sure.”

She again threw the pillow a him. “You’re a pig.”

“I know.”

Again, she rolled her eyes. “Rowan and I are just friends, alright? Nothing more.”

He grinned. “You say that now, but remember: I’ve seen every single Hallmark movie. You guys either end up in love, or hating each other.”

Some uneasy, unidentifiable feeling settled low in her gut. Aelin waved Sartaq off, pulling out her phone to check missed messages. There were several from Rowan, much to her excitement.

Need a ride home?

Pls answer Princess

Have u been kidnapped

Nvm ur at work

Hi

Sorry am I being annoying

Oh well.

She grinned as she scrolled through them, and responded with a game of 8-ball, knowing how he would groan when he saw it. Then her eyes landed on a missed message from someone she had previously thought would never speak to her again.

Hey, Aelin. It’s Chaol. Listen, I know Dorian has told you by now, but I think we should meet up and talk about everything and catch up. It’s been a long time. I know you’re probably at work right now, so how does meeting at the Coffee place on 3rd and Pike around eight tomorrow morning sound?

She thought for several long minutes, then typed her reply.

Sure, sounds good.

Just as she mad to set her phone down, it buzzed again.

Hello, gorgeous. That blue color suits your eyes.

tag list: @sailorsassley​ @whiskeybusiness1776​ @mad-scientist-pyromaniac​ @la7sorcellerie​ @dayanna-hatter​

[elusive---ivory]

The Woman In Velvet pt. 5

Aaaaa, this is a lot one. This one is just all fluffy and fun.

WARNINGS: None, just fluff

PAIRING: Arthur x Oc.

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Three little girls were in the dining room, setting the table for their dinner.

"Ha, Seriously Sandy? You still don't have a date for Friday?" The girl with dimples giggled.

The girl with black hair shook her head and shrugged. "Looks like I won't be joining you for your triple date."

The girl without dimples gave her a shocked look and gasped. "Sandy! Don't be such a debbie downer. I'll set you up with someone."

The girl with dimples scoffed. "Really? Because, the last time you played matchmaker, you set up Dollar Dave with his sister."

The two sisters bickered until a large man appeared in the entrance of the dining room.

"Girls." The man spoke. His voice was raspy. He had a thick, black, cigar hanging out of his mouth. He looked over at the girl with black hair. The man took a seat at the newly set table.

"Deliah, Destiny, if your cousin doesn't wish to attend your ridiculous triple date, then don't force her."

The girl with black hair turned away from the man and muttered a small "Thank you" under her breath. She sat next to him, but scooted away a few inches. The two other girls rolled their eyes and sat down with them.

"Besides, I think Sandy and I would have lots of fun without the two of you, ain't that right, doll?" His eyes were glued on the girl next to him. She gulped hard. She stared hard at her cousins.

They both stared back with menacing looks. Neither of them bothered to help.

Sandy woke up to a dreaded alarm clock going off.

'Funny,' she thought. Her alarm didn't work at all. She had planned on getting a new one, but it was her same alarm clock. As she opened her eyes a little bit, she took in her surroundings. She was in her bed, and in her usual nightie. What was different about today?

"Oh fuck." She said, aloud. Sandy looked around. She threw the bed sheets off her body and quickly ran into her living room.

Arthur was standing there in the kitchen, shirtless. Sandy approached him carefully, still not fully understanding what was going on. The early morning sun was slowly creeping outside the window. The small apartment was dark, beside the light of in the kitchen.

"Hey." Sandy said, quietly.

Arthur looked around him, slightly startled. He didn't expect her to be up yet.

Arthur smiled at her gently. "Good morning."

Sandy looked down, bashfully. "Yeah, what are you doing up?" She stepped into the florescent lighting of the kitchen.

Arthur shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."

"Really? Did you fix my clock?" Sandy smiled, giggling slightly.

"Yeah, you talk in your sleep. You kept mumbling about the alarm, so I fixed it." Arthur answered, sheepishly.

"Also, we were on the couch when," Sandy cleared her throat, "we, ya know."

Arthur smiled. "You also sleepwalk."

Sandy giggled and gently punched his shoulder. "You got all of that from just spending the night with me. Color me impressed, Detective."

Arthur flinched at her sudden roughhousing, but chuckled at her joke. "Yeah, you know. I do stand up comedy."

Sandy raised her eyebrow. "Really?" She said, brewing her coffee.

Arthur nodded, shyly. "Yeah. Tomorrow night will be my very first gig."

"Huh." Sandy stirred her coffee. "Save me a seat in the front." She winked, booping his nose.

Sandy walked out of the kitchen. Arthur's eyes followed her dreamily.

Sandy finally got into her routine according, putting on a seemingly different work uniform. Instead of matted and ripped purple violet blouse, it was a red and black velvet with a black satin skirt. It wasn't at all comfortable, but she had to make do. She put on black heels matching the overall theme of the outfit. When she was done, she found her cheap frame glasses, and gently placed them on her face.

Sandy walked back into the kitchen to give Arthur a small peck on his cheek.

"I'm heading out. Here's the spare key, just incase you want to lounge around here for today." Sandy placed a small key in his hand. "Try not to burn down the apartment." She giggled stepping out of the door.

Arthur's eyes never left her figure once. She looked so elegant when she walked. His hand gently touched the cheek where she kissed him. It left him breathless.

The gloomy office building seemed to be even more dull and dreary than usual. Sandy sighed sitting there in her small cubicle.

"Hey, did you hear about those subway killings?"

Sandy overheard two coworkers talking. Often times when she eavesdropped she would mostly hear some stupid gossip like she fucked or he fucked her etc, but this seemed serious.

"Yeah, I did. I hear they were employees of ours."

This caught Sandy's attention. 'Employees?' She thought. She continued listening intently.

"Wayne Enterprises?"

"Yeah, I hear one of them was Dennis Cullen."

Sandy's eyes widened. 'Dennis is dead?' Half of her celebrated the death of that bastard, but it just seemed wrong. She snapped out of her thoughts when a coworker knocked on Sandy's cubicle.

"Sandy, the boss wants you."

She took a long sigh. She got out of her chair and walked down to the boss's office.

"Needed me, Mr. Don?" Sandy asked, being as polite as she could be.

A large man looked up at Sandy from his paperwork.

"Yes, please take a seat." Mr. Don gestured to the two chairs in front of him.

"Why were you not here yesterday?" His voice sounded frustrated.

"Well, sir, I was really sick, yesterday and-"

Mr. Don cut her off with a glare.

"Look, I'm too bent on excuses. Now, as you may know, Dennis, your associate, has recently passed away. It's a shame, I know, but he had lots of clients. Since he's gone, you have to take after his clients." Mr. Don looked back down at his paperwork.

Sandy stood there dumbfounded.

"Wait. Shouldn't the person getting his position get his clients?" Sandy crossed her arms.

Mr. Don looked at her begrudgingly. "Well, yes, but there's still so many clients he had. Most are pretty upset by the current circumstances. Could you please do these few clients?" Mr. Don held a sudden desperation in his gruff voice.

Sandy gave a defeated sigh. "Alright. I'll see what I can do about the clients."

Dennis would always brag about his clients and how high maintenance they were. How he was so lucky to always have meetings with the one and only, Thomas Wayne. His position was completely up for grabs.

Sandy didn't want Dennis's stupid position. Not like she could ever get get it. She was a woman working 45 hours a week, yet being paid so little.

'Why the fuck did people get so angry over some dudes getting killed on a subway?' Sandy growled in her thoughts, as she walked out of the office building.

All day clients were yelling and screaming about how they furious they were for not getting their fucking products. It gave her such a headache.

Her heels tapped the wet pavement. The lights of bars and restaurants colored the numerous puddles on the ground.

As she was walking down the street, she felt a pair of eyes on her.

Crack.

She turned around. Her eyes monitored the alleyway next to her. She strutted ahead, continuing her path, while being on high alert.

Crack.

She heard it again. She started walking fast. As she did so, Sandy glanced behind her. It was a silhouette of a man walking fast. Her heart stopped. She kept walking faster, until she was gently jogging in her heels. She was almost to the subway.

The man had finally caught up to her, and gently tapped her shoulder.

Sandy froze. She turned around to face her stalker.

Arthur smiled gently, taking off the yellow hood of his hoodie.

She sighed in relief. "Oh, thank god. Arthur, it's just you." Sandy smiled at her supposed stalker. "I thought you were the subway killer."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, so I've heard."

"How could you not? It's everywhere. Who cares about some assholes dying?" Sandy tapped around her coat. "Damn it." She hissed under her breath.

"Hey, Art." Sandy said, getting his attention.

Arthur tilted his head. "Hmm?"

"Do you think I can bum a cig?" Sandy asked, desperately.

"Uh, yeah sure." Arthur handed her a fresh cigarette.

Sandy lit the cancer stick, inhaling the dangerous smoke, then exhaling it out of her lungs.

"Thanks, Artie." Sandy smiled. "Say, you never told me why you were out here following me anyway?" She said, with the cigarette hanging out of her mouth.

Arthur looked down, almost like a guilty puppy.

"I, uh, was worried." Arthur said, twiddling his thumbs.

Sandy smirked. "Worried? Aww, Artie. You don't need to worry about me, sweets." Sandy pressed a small kiss on his cheek.

Arthur started fidgeting with the bottom of his hoodie. "Uhh, well, of course, I do, Sandy. It's dangerous."

Sandy giggled. "Ok, I guess you can walk me back to my apartment." She put out the cigarette, and linked arms with Arthur.

The subway was deserted. The florescent lights flickered on and off as the loud railings of the subway train moved by.

Sandy was seated by Arthur's side, leaning on him a bit. For Sandy, Arthur was like a breath of fresh air. He was so comforting and sweet. He listened to Sandy's problems, no matter how stupid they were to her.

"So, you're a party clown?" Sandy said, holding Arthur's hand in hers.

"Yeah, at least I was. I'm focusing more on my comedy career. I've got lots of jokes." Arthur put emphasis on the word lots.

"You said that this morning. Let me hear some of your jokes." Sandy said, interested.

Arthur eyes lit up.

"Oh? Let me get my joke book." Arthur reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn down journal. Arthur gently handed the journal to Sandy.

Sandy flipped through a few pages of the journal.

"Well, what do you think?" Arthur asked, impatient. He looked pretty anxious.

Sandy laughed a little.

"How come poor people are so confused? They don't make sense." Sandy read, still laughing. "That's a stupid joke."

Arthur frowned. "Oh."

Sandy immediately corrected herself. "No, no, no. It's great, Arthur. You're gonna be great. I know it."

Arthur's frowned disappeared, and turned into a smirk. "You think so?"

"I know so, babe." Sandy kissed his nose.

"Could I look through your book more?"

Arthur nodded.

Sandy looked through each page, but there's one page that caught her eye. It had a polaroid picture of her with twisted writings all over the page.

Mrz. Sandy Fleck

Mrz. Sandera Fleck

MY dEaR, Sandy

Sandy's eyes read the page over and over again. Arthur began to look anxious.

The subway came to a stop.

"This is our stop." Sandy handed his journal back to him. "And, by the way, it's spelled S-A-N-D-R-A." She said, stepping out of the subway doors. Arthur followed behind her.

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Probably Should Have Seen That Coming

Some cryptic-centric Side shenanigans, featuring Youtuber Roman!

Roman paused in his trekking to fish a pebble from his boot. As stylish as his footwear was, tall and gleaming with shiny buckles, they probably weren’t the best choice for venturing into the forest. But his viewers expected style, as he presented in all his videos, so he happily put up with the occasional annoyance. He recommenced his walk through the trees and lifted his camera up to his shoulder to get a good view of the golden autumn-hued forest around him.

“Goooood morning my lovely viewers! As you can probably tell, today is no makeup tutorial! We’re leaving the mascara at home, because I recently got wind of an exciting new place to explore. That’s right – I’m going on another adventure!” He swung the camera around to wink at the audience. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Roman stepped over a low-lying log and centered the camera on his face before continuing brightly, “As you all know, I’m currently holidaying in this quaint little town, and a few days ago a couple local children told me about a spooky mansion through the forest. Apparently no one goes there, and there’s plenty of ghost stories to go around! I wonder if I’ll find any princely souvenirs.” Roman scanned the horizon ahead, but the regularity of trees and bushes continued on as far as he could see. “So I thought I’d take you all for a little look! I’m heading north-west as we speak, and I should be coming across something… now!”

Nothing ahead. Well, he could edit it. Roman hummed to himself as he traversed piles of orange leaf litter and damp, crumbling logs. The air out here smelled like damp wood and earth after the rain, and Roman inhaled great breaths of it. Maybe it was his romantic side talking, but the air always smelled sweeter out in the countryside. He should holiday more often. It would make for exciting content, too – his viewers deserved only the best.

The ground turned harder under his feet, and Roman paused. He scraped away bits of leaf litter with his boot and found instead of loose earth, the packed dirt of a once-travelled path. His breathing quickened with excitement as he followed the path, occasionally trailing off it and having to find it again, searching through decades old covering of vegetation. His eyes were fixed on the ground, so he didn’t notice the structure looming until he was close enough to see its broken windows, shards of glass hanging from swollen frames like teeth in a broken maw. Roman let out a squeal of excitement and lifted his camera to give a good view of the ancient, sagging mansion.

“There it is! The kids I spoke to called it the Sanders estate. Gosh, it really does look like a ghost house.”

The building sprawled in what had once been a large clearing, now overtaken by trees and bushes and vines that crawled up the walls of the massive mansion. Only a few of the stained-glass windows were still intact – most of the others had cracked or shattered. The huge double doors groaned slightly agape, but there was a heavy chain and lock preventing them from opening fully.

Roman stepped forward, admiring the majesty of what had once been a fabulous structure. Through the vegetation clinging to the low wall around it, he could see hints of patterns in the stone. The windows that remained were stained in all colours in kaleidoscopic patterns that must have painted an inside floor like a rainbow, when the sun was at the right angle. Now it lay empty and alone, silent as the grave and half-swallowed by the forest it resided in.

“Wow.” Roman breathed. “I was half expecting it to be a joke! Come on, let’s go check it out.”

Roman rushed up the path and through the rusted remains of wrought-iron gate that now sagged on their hinges. In this little area that could have been a garden, flowers sprouted from every nook and cranny and littered the area, some almost choked by the approaching forest. Roman spun in a slow circle to take it all in, before inspecting the heavy chains on the door.

“Locked, huh? This is positively ancient. I wonder…” Balancing his camera in one hand, Roman pulled out his Swiss army knife and scraped at the rotted wood around it. It was old and water-logged, and it crumbled apart to reveal – ugh, termites. He brushed away their squirming white bodies and kept patiently working at the door. No wonder it was frail.

After some time, the chains were loose enough for Roman to pull them out of the doors and let them groan open. Light flooded in around his silhouette to pool across a dusty wooden floor, an ancient but expensive-looking antique coat stand and a dim entryway further inside. Roman let out another happy squeal.

“Okay! We stand at the threshold of the unknown. Let’s go make it known!”

He stepped forward onto groaning floors. A glimmer of light caught his eye, and Roman glanced up to where a positively marvelous chandelier dangled overhead – it was dusty and unlit and absolutely covered in spider webs, but even so its delicate metal curves and cut crystals gleamed.

Even more exciting sights waited for Roman the further he explored, using his phone screen for light. He was lucky this camera had a night-vision setting or his viewers would be seeing dark blurs with Roman’s commentary. He passed through a drawing room, a sitting room with rotted couches and silver serving trays bearing dusty glasses – and excitingly, a grand piano resting on a slight stage. Who had played this instrument, decades ago? It was covered in a thick layer of dust now. Roman brushed off the seat before sitting and holding his hands over the keys. Was it still in tune?

He pressed down on a key, and heard nothing. Roman frowned and tried another one. This one made sound, the note reverberating through the old house like birdsong. This place had acoustics, all right. Lifting the top of the piano revealed that the inner workings were all in place, but were half gummed-up with spider web and rot.

“Do you guys wanna hear a song?” Roman questioned his camera. “The ambiance is one-of-a-kind. Hang of a sec, I just have to find something to clean out these cobwebs with. I’m certainly not risking my manicure.”

Hmm, the kitchen aught to contain some tools he could use. From his copious study (binging Downton Abbey) the kitchen was most likely to be downstairs. Roman passed a grand staircase on his little adventure – but there was plenty of time to explore that later. From somewhere behind him there was a jarring bang – the top of the old piano must have fallen down. He hoped nothing was broken. That would really spoil the mood.

Roman finally located the kitchen and began fishing around for a large stick maybe, something lean he could use to get rid of webs.

He found what he was looking for in the form of a mostly-preserved soup ladle hanging up on the wall, and had just grabbed it when he heard a creak from above.

Roman froze.

“Did you guys hear that?” Wait, his viewers couldn’t respond, they hadn’t even seen the video yet. Roman held his breath and listened hard, but the sound didn’t come again, and he let out a sight. “Old houses and their creaks. Okay, back to the piano.”

As Roman crossed the threshold out of the kitchen, a faint tickle touched the top of his head. He reached up and found dust sifting from above him. That was weird. He shrugged it off and hurried back to the sitting room with his prize in hand.

“Okay! Now, let’s make some music.” Roman bounced up to the stage – and that was odd, he could have sworn he’d heard the lid slam shut, but it was still up where he’d left it. Maybe the wind had knocked something else over. Roman placed his camera down on the seat and leaned over to start extracting cobwebs from around the delicate workings of the instrument. A few tiny black spiders scurried away as he worked. He would have thought that they’d scatter, but they crawled over each other in their haste to disappear over the lid of the piano, like a mass of ants with one mission. Roman hummed curiously. He didn’t know that spiders were herd-animals. More dust trickle down and he waved it away from his face as he finished clearing away webs.

“Finally!” Roman sat back on the seat and turned to grin at the camera. “This is a little original piece I’ve been working on.”

He brought his hands down on the keys with a blast of sound, and behind him there was a strangled screech and a thump.

Roman jolted out of his chair. On the opposite side of the room there was a mass, and as he watched it twisted and scrabbled back into the darkness.

“Who’s there?” Roman’s voice crackled with panic. He grabbed his phone and turned its light on the shape, which let out a hiss. There were legs, too many legs, and as Roman stared those legs dug into the wall and the creature blurred up with the clicking of armoured limbs on wood. Roman tried to follow it with his light but it was so fast, scampering across the roof like a demented insect. Roman grabbed his camera and bolted.

He shot from the sitting room and collided with a figure – one that was large and solid and furry, and let out a yowl as Roman slammed into it. He screamed and jolted away, only to trip and hit the floor, camera and phone skittering across the ground. The shape loomed above him – Roman could see glints of teeth, black claws, flattened ears and piercing blue eyes through the darkness. It leaned down towards him and Roman screeched and kicked out wildly, catching something soft. There was a pained yelp. Roman scrambled to his feet and bolted the other way. There was another exit from the sitting room, right? To the kitchen area. Roman gasped for breath as he tore a hallway, rebounding off the wall in his haste to turn a corner. Hissing sounded behind him.

Run. Run. Where was his camera? It didn’t matter, just run. Roman skidded into another room. In the dark, the furniture was too indistinct to identify. Where was the exit?

He recognised this area. Roman ran down a hallway – nope, wrong way – the other one, bolted through a sticky cloud of spider webs and finally, finally, there was the entrance way with its gleaming crystal chandelier and light spilling in through the door. Roman ran for it.

His feet hit dirt and he stumbled out into the blinding Autumn sunlight, wheezing for breath. The mansion behind him was eerily silent. But whatever it was that lived there was right there. Roman bit down on a sob and hurried down the path, back towards town. Where was the town anyway? South-east? His phone had acted as his compass.

Just as Roman was frantically trying to remember his navigational skills, there was a booming from above him. He lurched back with a shriek as a thing dropped down in front of him with a thud and the sweep of wings – big black wings, like fucking MOTHMAN. Roman didn’t see any more, because the world spun around him and, like the Disney princesses he idolized, he fainted dead away.

    “-do with him?”

“We certainly can’t allow him to leave. He has seen us.”

“Come on, Lo. Maybe he’ll think it was a dream?”

“The recorded proof would beg to differ.”

“Oh, right. Did you see where it went? Maybe we can delete the footage.”

“I have it.” A third, gravelly voice mumbled. “Ugh, why did he have to come here? Or play that damn thing so loud?”

“You were startled, Virge. It’s not your fault he saw you.” The higher voice soothed. “Does anyone know how to work one of these recording devices?”

There was a long silence.

“I might try it.” The stiff voice said. There was some clicking and shuffling, a flap of sails or wings. The voice hummed in thought. “They have certainly developed these things. The last time I saw one, it was much larger. I wonder how they have compacted the design like this. I would like to keep this specimen for examination.”

“He’ll be looking for it.” The gravelly voice groaned. “We have to give it back – after we delete the footage, anyway.”

Roman yawned.

There was a startled skittering around him, which made him frown. His bed was cold, and dusty – why was he lying on top of the sheets, anyway? He felt around for his pillow and found a very large, ornate, and unfamiliar bedhead. This wasn’t his room. Which meant the voices weren’t his podcast.

Roman bolted upright. There was a hiss, a clatter and a crunch underfoot. He looked around frantically in the dim light – he was in what looked like an old bedroom, flopped on a four-poster bed with three indistinct shapes gathered around him, twitching and flinching back now that he was awake. His heart hammered in his chest.

“Well, that’s one way to do it.” The higher voice said. And now that Roman’s eyes were open, he could see the person it belonged to. A – not quite a person, wearing overalls with gleaming fangs and canine ears pricked in curiosity, eyes gleaming an inhuman blue. He lifted clawed hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, so-”

Roman screamed.

The other two figures – one tall and pale with huge black eyes and massive wings folded against his back, the other hunched over with way too many limbs twitching around him – jumped at the shriek. For the wolf-man’s credit, he didn’t appear startled. His ears lowered non-threateningly.

“Are you finished?”

Roman wanted to petulantly say ‘no’. But that probably wouldn’t get him anywhere, so he nodded quickly instead. The fanged monster beamed.

“Great! Sorry to startle you, kiddo. You can call me Patton.”

“What are you doing?” The spidery-creature hissed. “Don’t introduce yourself!”

“Well he looks scared!” Patton protested.

“Good!”

They continued to bicker, as Roman looked between them like a rather terrified tennis observer. The third creature cleared its throat with a flutter of wings – less like moth wings, he could see now, but thickly feathered, like those of a bird. An owl? His eyes were very large and very black as they observed Roman. He cleared his throat.

“Greetings. Since we are doing introductions, you may call me Logan.”

Roman let out a little frightened whine. The third creature – smaller than the other two, with dripping mandibles and a cluster of gleaming eyes and far too many spider-like legs, groaned.

“Ugh, whatever. I’m Virgil.”

“And you are?” Patton prompted. Roman curled up with his knees to his chest, dimly wondering if he was tripping. There were mushrooms in the forest, right? Could you get high without eating them? Maybe by breathing in enough spores? This place was mildewy enough for him to have breathed in lots of spores.

“Err – Roman.”

Patton grinned at him with very sharp teeth. “It’s nice to meet you, Roman.”

“I… wish I could say the same, but I must admit I’m… very confused.” Roman managed. Patton nodded sympathetically.

“You must be. I bet it’s strange waking up in a new place surrounded by strangers.”

“It is.” Roman agreed. The spider – Virgil – grumbled.

“Strange? It’s our house.”

At Roman’s stare, Logan elaborated, “We live in this mansion. You unknowingly trespassed in our home.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Roman said faintly. “I’ll just be on my way then. Did any of you gentlemen happened to see where I dropped my things?”

Logan glanced down at his feet, where a camera sat crumpled with a foot-shaped dent in the middle. Roman’s mouth dropped open.

“You startled me.” Logan defended, before turning. “Virgil, you found the recorder. Did you see the light source as well?”

“Um, I think so.” Virgil muttered. He backed away from the bed before turning to scurry away. Roman squeaked as all those limbs disappeared around the doorway.

“So, about that leaving.” Patton winced, and Roman began to have a very bad feeling. Patton’s eyes flung open wide. “Oh, it’s okay, no need for that face! You can go. I just need you to make a promise, first.”

“A promise?” Roman echoed. Patton nodded while Logan watched passively.

“Yeah. I need you to promise to not tell anyone about us. You can kind of see why we’re a big secret, right?”

Roman nodded frantically. “Yes, I won’t tell anyone. Not a soul. My lips are sealed.” To demonstrate, he pretended to zip up his lips and Patton’s ears lowered in confusion. Okay, maybe cool it with the gestures around a wolfman. “Your secret is safe with me.”

With a series of clicks, Virgil slunk back into the room, something clasped in his hands. Roman swung his legs over the side of the bed, and just managed to catch his phone as Virgil tossed it at him.

“Light’s off. I think it’s broken.” The monster mumbled. It didn’t look broken – at least, the screen wasn’t cracked. Roman frowned and clicked the on button, and the screen lit up. All three creatures jumped. That in turn made him jump.

“Er, no, not broken.” Roman said warily.

“How does it work?” Logan leaned in with a fascinated stare.

“I press the button?” Roman demonstrated, turning the screen off and on again. Logan looked mesmerized. “It’s my phone.”

“I thought phones were bigger.” Patton lifted his hands to demonstrate. “They’re connected to wires, and you can talk to people through them.”

“Well, yeah, old ones.” Roman felt like he was in a dream. “With the new ones you can still talk to people. And play games and stuff. Listen to music…”

“All of that from one tiny box?” Logan breathed. “If you have time, I would love to learn more about it. It has been… some time, since I ventured into the outside world.”

Well, this might as well happen. Roman unlocked his phone and scrolled between pages, showing Logan the clusters of apps. “So these are all the applications. They do different things.”

“Oh!” Patton jumped up with an excited yelp that made Roman jump. “I’ll get our guest something to eat. Oh this is so exciting.” He darted off as Roman began explaining touchscreens, and then Wi-Fi. After a few more questions, Roman found himself stumped.

“Uh – okay. How about I come back tomorrow with a PowerPoint?”

“I do not know what this ‘power point’ is, but I am intrigued.” Logan admitted. “Please do. It is wonderful to learn more of the outside world. Before you go, will you please show me what these ‘applications’ do? What is this colourful one?”

“Oh, it’s Candy Crush.”

  Roman spent more time in that mansion than he would care to admit. After some scares with suddenly-blaring music that made Virgil cling to the ceiling, and almost an hour of playing with the voice-recorder app and Patton making all kinds of sounds Roman didn’t know he could make, he found he was almost… having fun. Like, yeah, everything was weird and kinda fucked-up, but if Roman was anything, he was adaptable. And brave. Handsome, too, and dashing, princely…

He was almost reluctant to go home. As he hesitated at the door Patton grinned at him, and Virgil sighed.

“Look, we’ll still be here tomorrow, flesh-mortal. Scram.”

“Come back soon!” Patton added brightly.

So Roman left.

He spent most of his evening doing research and putting together a power point – and then decided that if he was going to do this, he should do it right, and bought a huge bag of snack foods that those poor unfortunate souls hadn’t had the chance of tasting before. He dutifully kept his promise to keep the secret, but when he tried writing down the day’s events in his diary – his hand wouldn’t move. He tried to remember the names but they hovered just out of his grasp. Only when he gave up trying to write it did everything come back to him.

So, no talking or writing about it. That was probably for the best, to keep his strange new friends safe. Roman was already planning to extend his holiday. He wondered if Logan would be open to setting up an email account. Roman was just dying to introduce them to instagram.

[i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate]

Hello! Forgive me for the angst, but how about the idea that everything - Edens Zero, time travel, Rebecca - turned out to be just a dream for Weisz?

Oof, Key, why do you hurt me so much? 

This deserves more than one part, so stay tuned... maybe at some point it’ll get a sequel. ;) 

I hope you enjoy!

Six Months Without You

          “Hey, soft-man,” Rebecca ran her fingers through his hair, humming softly. “Are you awake?”

          “I am now,” he groaned, turning to look at her in the dim light of the stars, just outside their viewer. She was beautiful. I still can’t believe you’re my wife.

          “Good.” She leaned over to press a lingering kiss to his lips, and he brushed his fingers across her cheek. “I love you, you know.”

          “I do,” he murmured.

          “Can you believe we’re married?”

          “No…” he said, “I never once imagined I’d be lucky enough to have someone like you.”

***

          When Weisz woke up everything was blurry. Somewhere something was beeping softly and regularly. The room was pale white, and beyond some sort of viewer there were lights of a city? He felt nauseous, and the moment his vision began to clear his head began to pound.

          “Wh—” His throat was so hoarse. How long had he been out? “Where am I…?” He was in some sort of bed, in an unfamiliar room. An infirmary? He lifted his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists. I’m okay. It’s fine. An IV was sticking out of his arm, he traced the tube with his eyes to a bag of some sort of clear liquid hanging above him. What the hell is going on?

          The door swung open, and a young woman in a white coat slipped inside. Her eyes widened when she saw him. “You’re awake!” She set aside her clipboard and rushed over to check his vitals, listening to his chest—his heartbeat. As she checked his blood pressure she talked to him.

          “Do you remember your name?”

          “W-Weisz Steiner,” he said, clearing his throat.

          “Do you remember what happened, Professor Steiner?”

          He blinked. Everything was still hazy. Did this strange doctor woman just call him “Professor”?

          “No,” he whispered.

          “There was a terrible accident,” the doctor said, leaning over to check his IV. An accident?! Weisz searched his mind for the last thing he could remember. Rebecca.

          “Where’s my wife?!” He said, suddenly very awake. The doctor blinked, and shook her head.

          “Professor, we don’t have a wife listed in your file. In fact…” she hesitated, “You didn’t even have an emergency contact listed.”

          “Th-that can’t be right!” He whispered, “The last thing I remember… the last thing I remember… I was with my wife. Rebecca! Her name’s Rebecca, please—”

          “Professor, you need to take a deep breath,” the doctor said, raising her hands. “Maybe it was just a dream. Sometimes coma patients—”

          “A dream?!” Weisz hissed, reaching for his IV, “That’s impossible.” It was impossible! Not Rebecca. Not my wife. He had to find her, he had to—

          “I need some help in here!” The nurse shouted, reaching for a drawer. Weisz ripped out his IV, swinging his legs over his bed. I have to find her! Several other doctors rushed in—or maybe nurses. The grabbed his arms.

          “Let me go!” He shouted, knocking two of them back, and throwing another at some sort of expensive-looking machine. But two more came, and he was held down. “Let me go! I have to find her! I have to find—” The prick of a needle, and everything faded into darkness.

          He was walking home from his last class of the day. Home. To his apartment in Seattle. The sounds of car horns, and screeching tires, and it was raining—pouring. He was crossing the street, one step at a time, and there were headlights. There were headlights coming right at him. The screech of tires, and someone across the street screamed. That was the last thing he remembered.

***

          By the time the goddamned doctors at the psych ward let him out, daydreams of Edens Zero were only distant memories, mixed with memories of his real life. He was a professor at the university, and he taught astronomy (having majored in the science and minored in engineering). They said, at the psych ward, that maybe his dreams of Edens had been inspired by his career. But Weisz knew that all the planets he had dreamed up never existed. And his “wife” …he still scoffed at the idea aloud. But… sometimes he dreamed of her. He dreamed of the way she teased him, the way she kissed him, the way the stardust framed her figure. He dreamed about their first time, their first kiss, their wedding. He could still so clearly see the color of her eyes. And when he closed his eyes, sometimes he imagined he could hear her voice, humming a lullaby—lulling him off to sleep. He hated Rebecca, because… I still love her. And she wasn’t real.

          It was six months after his accident—after the drunk driver nearly killed him—that he was heading home on a warm Seattle Summer night, from his last class of the day, hefting a pile of tests he had to grade. The sun had only just set, and the sky was growing dim. The first stars were appearing… no, that was Venus, following the sun—down behind the Olympics. Weisz took the steps up to his apartment two at a time, and arrived at the door, but paused before he pulled out his keys. The door of the apartment next door was wide open, light streaming out, boxes piled up high in the hallway. The apartment had been for lease for some time now. Someone must have finally decided to move in.

          He hesitated. Should I introduce myself? Before deciding it was far too late to be meddling in neighbors’ affairs and turned back to unlock his own apartment. But just as he had opened his door a cheerful voice said:

          “Hi! You must be my new neighbor!” Weisz turned to see who it was. Keys fell with a jangling thunk to the floor and the tests that had been in his other arm scattered across the hallway. “Oh no!” His heart had practically stopped, he couldn’t breathe. He knew her. From her big blue eyes to her light hair—tied back in a ponytail. He intimately knew each of her curves, he knew there was a birthmark on her hip—just above her bikini line, he knew every expression—the way her eyes lit up, the way she bit her lip when she was focused, and he knew her smile. Oh God, he knew her smile. He could remember the feel of her hands in his, the way she whispered his name. He knew her. His wife. His Rebecca.

          And yet… she didn’t know him… She dropped down to her knees, gathering his scattered papers. Move, Weisz. But his mind was reeling. How is this possible?! Somehow he managed to shakily crouch down to help her.

          “S-sorry,” he mumbled, reaching out for his textbook. Their hands brushed. He took in a breath. Her eyes met his.

          “You’re a teacher?”

          “Yeah,” he said, “It’s been a long day.”

          “I understand,” she laughed, “I’ve been trying to move all this junk into this place. I have a lot more stuff than I realized I did!”

          “Do you…” he hesitated, as they stood. “Do you want some help?”

          Her eyes lit up, and she beamed up at him. “I’d really like that!” She held out her hand. “My name’s Becky!”

          “Rebecca,” he whispered, trying the name out on his tongue for the first time in six months. Rebecca paused, staring at him.

          “Hmm… I… I never used to like ‘Rebecca’ but… the way you say it,” she smiled. That smile. God, I missed that smile. “The way you say it is nice.”

          “I’m Weisz.” He took her hand, her touch electrified him.

          “It’s good to meet you, Weisz!” Rebecca beamed.

          “I’m just going to drop these off in my living room and then I’ll be out to help.” Weisz slipped back into his apartment, slipping his keys in his pocket and dropping the book and papers on his coffee table. He paused, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. This is happening. He clenched his fists. He could still feel the touch of her hand in his. She’s real. It didn’t make any sense, and yet it seemed so right. He smiled, trying to push away his excitement. He stepped back out after another deep breath and turned to see what he could do to help. Rebecca was lifting up a box of books.

          “You can help me with these if you’re still up to it. I’ve got a few shelves in my living room that need filling.” She turned and headed towards the doorway. Weisz leaned over and lifted a box of hardbacks, groaning under the weight.

          “Geez, these are heavy!” He huffed. Rebecca glanced back over her shoulder, undeniably familiar smile on her lips.

          “What are you? Soft?” She giggled and then turned to face him again, “Yeah. You are. Soft in a good way. Soft-man.”

          He shook his head with a laugh. It was a good beginning. And the name made his knees weak. So many memories. “Tsk,” he chuckled, following her into her apartment. “I’m not soft.”

Thanks of Reading!

Buy me a coffee? :)

[phandomphightclub]

Honorable Mention Round: The eliminated phighters of the Phandom Phight Club vs. Birch Tree Fartman Himself

Disclaimer:  This is all done as a joke in good fun.  While I don’t agree with a lot of his personal views, I definitely do not advocate for anyone to physically harm Butch Hartman in any way.  Also, minimal to no effort was made to make anyone in character with their actual personalities.  Enjoy!

“Holy flying ice cream,” Tali murmured up at the sky, where the ghost who’d spoken descended amid a cloud of darkness.  “Get down, guys.  Get down!”

Danny didn’t need to be told twice; he went intangible and phased himself, Sam, and Tucker through the floor of the bleachers.

“What are you doing, Danny!?”  Sam stage-whispered.  “We can’t just leave them to fight that - that - what was that?”

Something in the depths of Danny’s memory had been stirred at the voice, but he still couldn’t say.

“There’s a whole stadium full of ghosts out there.  They can handle it. My job is keeping you two safe.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Tucker said.  Still, Danny was curious.  Staying invisible, he stuck his head up through the floor.

“Vic?  Come in, Vic!”  Tali was shouting into the walkie talkie.  All she got was static.

“Come on, what’s with all the panic?”  The voice asked.  Danny still couldn’t see his face; his form was shrouded in the dark mist.  “Aren’t you happy to see your creator?”

“Creator?”  Sam asked incredulously.  “Is that ghost saying he’s-?”

“If that’s God, I’m converting to atheism,” Tucker said in forced deadpan.

“No,” Danny shook his head, which was still sticking up through the floor, so his friends couldn’t see it anyway.  “That’s not - I know who this is.  I just - can’t remember.”

As the ghost came to rest over the pavement - ignoring the barrier that should have kept him out - the smoke veiling him finally cleared.  Danny cringed in expectation of some eldritch horror, but it was just… a man. A regular, human-looking man, with dark hair and a cocky grin.  He clasped his hands behind his back.

“It’s a nice place you have here,” he said conversationally, staring around the arena.  “It’s too bad that none of this is canon.”

“Nobody cares if it’s canon!”  A brave ghost shouted from the crowd.

“Nobody cares.”  The man sighed.  “Nobody cares!  Well, I know one person who does.”

He revealed his hands from behind his back, and Danny’s stomach dropped.  It wasn’t possible, but there he was, weilding a weapon Danny knew he’d destroyed.

“Danny?  What’s going on?”  Sam demanded from below. He pulled his head back under to answer.

“He’s got the Reality Gauntlet,” Danny answered in a broken voice.  “All the gems, too.”

“What?”  Sam and Tucker shouted.

“Shhhh!  We can’t let him know we’re here!”  Danny whispered.  For some reason, Tali had been intent on them hiding, and he couldn’t help the feeling in his gut that told him it was for a good reason.

“Me.”  The man snapped his fingers, and the arena disappeared.  All of it - all the seats, all the cracked, potholed pavement, all the concession stands full of Cheez-Its—gone.  In one snap.

All the ghosts, fortunately, were still standing - or, well, floating.  Several flew away, screaming in all-out panic.  A few stood their ground, however, including most of the Denny’s crew.

“This is not good.  This is very, very not good,” Tali muttered, staring at her walkie-talkie.  Hopefully Vic was safe in the Denny’s, which hadn’t been affected by the snap.  She’d have to distract him long enough to make sure he didn’t notice it.  She’d put in too much effort to let it get destroyed on the whim of some egotistical ghost, no matter how powerful he was.

“Hey, Birch Tree Fartman!”  She shouted into her megaphone, which wasn’t connected to the speaker system and therefore still worked.

“Hmm?”  The ghost looked up at her.  “Calling names isn’t very polite, you know.”

Birch Tree Fartman, Danny thought, remembering back to Tali’s comment from the last round - it was the name for a ghost who wasn’t supposed to be named.

“Butch Hartman,” Danny whispered as his eyes widened.  “That’s who he is, that’s - that’s the guy who created my TV show!”

“Danny, you weren’t supposed to say his name!”  Sam hissed.  But it was too late.  Butch’s eyes glowed bright red.

“Someone’s summoned me again,” he murmured.  “Where is he?  I can feel him close… my son.  Danny?  Are you here?”

Danny’s blood ran cold.  Or ectoplasm, since he was in ghost form - whatever.

“Dude, that guy is not your dad.  Right?”  Tucker asked nervously.

“Probably just another frootloop wanting to ‘adopt’ me,” Danny said with more confidence than he felt.  Butch had created his TV show, which, through the impossible laws of metaphysics and the writer’s discretion, meant that he had created Danny.  Like a father.  Only Danny had no memory of it, and had a feeling that that was for a reason.

“Ah.”  Butch’s eyes glowed brighter.  “There you are.”

There were no more bleachers or floor for protection.  Aside from Tali who still stood between them, they were completely vulnerable.

“Danny!”  She shouted.  “Get out of here!”

“I-”

“Why would you listen to this ghost?”  Butch asked, floating towards them.  “She’s not even canon.  Why, I could just snap my fingers, and-”

“Would you like a pancake?”

Butch blinked.  Suddenly floating behind him was a ghost in fuzzy rainbow twinkle toes, a monster hat, and a fanny pack.  She was also holding a platter stacked high with pancakes.

“Uh, no, I’m kind of in the middle of something, random non-canon ghost.  Why don’t you go crawl back to the fanfic gutter where you belong?”

“Now that’s what I’d call not very polite,” the waiter—Ectolights—said, then shoved the platter of pancakes into his face.

“GAH!”  Butch shouted, wiping the syrup from his red eyes.  “Why you little—!”

“There’s more where that came from!”  Another ghost said, teleporting between Tali and Butch.

“Vic!”  Tali grinned.  “You made it!”

She winked back at her before turning back to Butch.  “Alright, Phighters!  Execute Plan Delta Despa Dorito 0.25, Reverse Formation!”

At her command, a flood of ghosts teleported into the empty space between them, all wearing the most ridiculous outfits Danny had ever seen. He caught glimpses of croc hats, sequinned leggings, zoot suits, weed socks - even a full-body Gritty costume.

“What—you think your poor taste in fashion can defeat me?”  Butch chuckled.

“Maybe not,” Tali said, flying to join Vic at the front of the small army.  “But these are some of the best phighters this side of the ghost zone. And some of the best employees too.  So without further monologuing—PHIGHT!”

The ghosts charged at Birch Tree, some holding their weapons from earlier on in the phight, some just wielding standard-issue ectoblasts and fists.  Regardless of fighting style, all had the rabid violent enthusiasm one would expect from an elite team of shitposters.

Before he could be overwhelmed, Butch quickly threw up a translucent red barrier.  Spacegravedoodles smashed directly into it, their barred sunglasses shattering on impact.

“MY EYES!”  They cried, forgetting to hover and falling towards the depths of the ghost zone.

“See?  Your lawless fanon is powerless here,” Butch taunted.  

“It’s pronounced PHANON!”  Ectopusses shouted before shattering the barrier with a sharp kick from her guac-coated flip flops.  Butch covered his heads as the red shards fell around him.

“Alright team, here’s our chance!”  Tali called.  “Go for the gauntlet!”

From there, all semblance of order broke down as approximately 20 ghosts fought to reach the metal gauntlet.  At least in all the chaos, Butch was too distracted to use it.  The chaos only compounded when a familiar tune began to play from behind them.  It was a glitchy song being scratched out, but a few words were recognizable.

“Phantom Planet’s not canon, F you,”  Lexosaurus beatboxed behind them while dabbing.  The music sent Butch into a rage; his eyes glowed with the threat of an ectoblast.

“Get down!”  Fantasma-Exspiravit (who was wearing a vampire costume) shouted, but not soon enough to save Gosteon, who was blasted backwards into the abyss.  Meanwhile, Phantombreadproject (in a dress made of ballpit balls) and Cluelessintheusa (in horrible pink-and-blue leggings) attempted to tackle Butch from behind.

“Surprise attacks?  Please, I created your reality.”  He spun and punched the two of them so hard they were sent flying.  “I know what you’re going to do before you do.  How do you expect to defeat me?”

From further back, where they were floating invisibly, Tucker whispered to Danny and Sam.

“He’s got a point.  If he actually did create this place somehow, how can we beat him?”

“We beat Pariah Dark,” Danny said, though his voice was grim.  “We can beat this frootloop too.  But… they might need some help.”

“Danny,” Sam warned, “I don’t know what he wants with you, but be careful.  Whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

She didn’t have to tell him that twice.  Any strange old men claiming to be his father had bad news written all over them.  Ignoring the danger, though, he flew up to the fray.

“Hey, Birch Tree!  It’s me you want, not them!”

Sam smacked her forehead.  “So much for being careful.”

His voice distracted Butch long enough for needstobehelped (who was unrecognizable under her Grundy costume) to get him in a headlock.  Butch grunted, scraping at her furry arms.

“Nngh… you shoul’ve… gone for the hand.”  With one snap from his gauntleted fingers, needstobehelped was gone.

No one had time to wonder what that meant for her.  They just had to get rid of Butch, now.

Danny launched ectoblasts from a (relatively) safe distance, careful to avoid hitting the ghosts on his side.  Still, it was such a mess that he accidentally blasted Ifellbecausegravity, who was wearing a suit similar to his – only hers had advertisements from Nasty Burger glued to it.  Why hadn’t he thought of that?  It would’ve been one way he could’ve made money while working as a full-time superhero – but that wasn’t important right now.

“Danny, don’t you remember me?”  Butch asked with mock hurt.  “I’ve missed you, son.  Why don’t you come back with me and we can give you the fourth season you deserved?”

“He deserves better than you, dipstick!”  Voidetrap said while decking him with a gloved Minion arm.  The hit barely fazed him; he flicked her away as if she were a pesky bug.

“As I was saying,” Butch cleared his throat, “don’t you want to see what I could’ve done for you?  You’re stuck in limbo.  Why, after Phantom Planet, you would’ve–”

There it was again: Phantom Planet.  Those two words set off a buzzing pain in Danny’s head.  He gripped at his hair, crying out when the pain intensified.

“Ah, I see.  You’re just now starting to remember.  These so-called fans have brainwashed you to the point that you’ve forgotten everything.”

Had they?  Had he – was he supposed to –

“You’ve got to fight it, Danny!”  Tali urged him.  “Birch Tree will do anything to manipulate you!”

“And these ghosts will do anything to keep you broken,” Butch sneered while grappling with What-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me, who was wearing short shorts with Enemy of the State plastered across the butt.  “You should see the angst they’ve written about you!  Dissections.  Pain. Your family abandoning you.  Why would you listen to them?”

“Because we care about him!”  What-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me said.  “He’s just a tool to you so you can make even more clickbait videos and pretend you’re still relevant!”

Butch snarled and finally shook her off; she went tumbling into the abyss, but another ghost took her place.

“The saturation on all of your art is way too bright!” Luma said, decking him over the head with their pillow.

“That… that would explain a lot.”  Danny shook off his uncertainties. Whatever kind of ghost Butch was, he didn’t deserve control over Danny’s life.  “You may have started my story, but I’m going to finish it!”

His legs morphed into his ghostly tail as he flew forward, ramming into Butch with his shoulder.  The breath knocked from his chest, Butch tumbled back - but not before Dots (in a full-body suit covered in Dannos) and Bibliophileap (in an outfit too terrible to be described) could grab hold of the Reality Gauntlet.

“Pull!”  Dots cried, and the two ghosts heaved for all they were worth.  Though they were still tumbling along with Butch, they managed to right themselves and exert all the energy they had left.  The Reality Gauntlet finally dislodged from his hand with a sharp pop.

“NO!”  Butch cried.  “This is my show!  Mine!  I created your childhood!”

“Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t.”  Vic shrugged

“Either way, we decide where we go from here.”  Tali smirked as Bibliophileap and Dots brought back the gauntlet.  “As winner of the honorable mention round, Five-Rivers should get to do the honors.”

“Back to the Shadow Realm for you.” Verbally-Situational-Irony flashed her Yu-Gi-Oh cards as Five-Rivers put on the gauntlet, having to slip it under her bedsheet covering first.

“You are the weakest link,” Five-Rivers said.  “Goodbye.”

She snapped.

“No, wait!  I don’t want to go –  just think of all the YouTube videos we could’ve made together!  You could’ve been buff instead of a twiggly little twink like these idiots make you!”  His body began to crumble to dust.  “Daniel! Wait!  I don’t want to–”

“Oh, and Birch?”  Tali cut him off with a grin.  “It’s ‘yo.’ Not ‘young.’”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”  Was his last cry before his form completely dissolved, scattered to the ends of the ghost zone by a gentle wind.

Lexx stopped beatboxing in order to cheer, and soon that cheer was taken up by all the ghosts as they returned to the site of the now-nonexistent arena.

“Wow,” Sam said as she and Tucker floated towards Danny.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he laughed.  “That was weird.”

“Does your head still hurt?”  She asked.

“Nah.  I think I’ll be fine, as long as no one tries to tell me what a Phantom Planet is.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Tali assured him, then called to the rest of the ghosts.  “Alright, guys!  Stand clear!”

There was a confused mutter before Vic took the megaphone and explained.  “We’re bringing back the stadium, so unless you want to get crushed, get your butts out of the way!”

After being told twice, the crowd finally cleared.  Five-Rivers, still wielding the Reality Gauntlet, waved her arm.  As it passed over the space where the stadium once was, the architecture rebuilt itself out of nothing.  The ghosts who’d been yeeted off by Butch reappeared as well, blinking in disorientation.

Tali sniffed, wiping her eyes.  “It’s beautiful.  Phight Club, I’ll never let you get destroyed by a crazy ghost with a superiority complex ever again.”

The crowd cheered, flooding back into the stadium.  All except for Tali, Danny, Sam, and Tucker.

“So, uh… is he really gone?”  Danny had to ask.  He’d thought the Reality Gauntlet was destroyed before, and it had come back.  What was to say Butch couldn’t too?

Tali sighed.  “I’m not sure a ghost like that can ever truly be gone.  But if he comes back, we’ll yeet him into the nether realm.”

“Fair enough.  But about the Reality Gauntlet…”

“We’ll take good care of it,” Tali said with a knowing smile, the kind that let Danny know it wasn’t up for discussion.  “If Birch Tree does come back, we’ll need a way to defend ourselves.”

“No way,” Sam said.  “No one should have that kind of power.”

Tali raised her eyebrows.  “What are you going to do, take it from us?”

She started a retort, then bit her lip.  Tali nodded as if that settled that.

“Oh!  There’s one thing I almost forgot!”

She sounded her kazoo to the tune of the Danny Phantom theme song.

“Birch Tree Fartman is unable to battle!  Five-Rivers – and the collective Phandom Phight Club – win!”

@five-rivers is the winner of the Honorable Mention Round!  Mod Vic is working on your certificate for winning, but she has finals coming up so it might be a little while before it’s done.  Thanks everyone for phighting with us!

[singingunderthecurtain]

Equivocal - III [FINAL]

Author: @loeyeolty​ AU: Non-Idol Genre: Angst Pairing: Suho x Reader Trigger Warning: Cheating, Mentions of Smut in Future Chapters Word Count: 2,349

Plot: Equivocate - the use of ambiguous language so as to conceal the truth.

“Hey, are you okay?” A bespectacled passerby pulls you to the side of the road, while the driver of the car that almost ran you over keeps screaming profanities as they pass by.

“Go easy, miss. You almost got hit by the car.”

Your face was flushed, desperate for help, “Please help me. Robbers got into my car,”

From your viewpoint, Jongdae had already taken off his white t-shirt, throwing it onto the dashboard, before taking over the fucking skank.

“Oh shit. Let me borrow your keys,” he presses a certain button which triggers the alarm in your car.

The sound of the wailing sirens startled the impudent fucking couple, Jongdae rushes out immediately in his half-naked state. Soojin hurriedly opens the side of the door, exposing her breasts onto the street.

The man behind you claps in laughter, “should we call 119?”

“No need, thank you, mister. What’s your name, by the way?”

“I’m Junmyeon. We are both wearing pink. Chanyeol’s wedding? See you...” The man walks away towards the wedding area.

You followed the mysterious guy who helped you, he sits in the farthest corner of the reception.

He looks at you above his glasses, pouring red wine. “Bride’s side, her longtime childhood sweetheart.”

He explains himself, pausing, waiting for an explanation from you.

“Groom’s side. My now ex-boyfriend is a friend of the groom.” You put much emphasis on the now.

“I’m no stranger to the situation. I actually caught the bride and her soon-to-be groom, fucking, in my car. Welcome to the dark side, honey.” He downs his whole glass of wine.

“Really?” You were flabbergasted with how much this man was relatable.

“Not really. We did not even break up, we simply lost touch. Now she’s getting married. I just said what I thought happened to you. It wasn’t a robbery, right?”

“You’re smart.” You took the bottle of wine and chugged directly from it. But Mr. Junmyeon takes it out of your hands.

“Please just let me be!” You pleaded.

“No. If you can, talk to your boyfriend right now.” He points at the now fully clothed Jongdae, standing by the door. A disheveled Hyojin runs after him, barefoot with both stilettos on hand.

“I don’t think I can!”

“You know why I’m here in the wedding?”

“Because you like pain? A masochist?” Come to think of it, why would he want to watch his ex’s wedding?

“Because I did not have any closure. At least now I know, she’s really not the one for me. Now go! Set things straight, and then I’ll give you wine.”

Is this stranger really bribing you with… Alcohol?

With a brave front, you approached Jongdae.

“Oh baby,” he smoothens the creases on his coat, “the car had problems. I’m glad Hyojin was able to help–”

“Stop lying to me. Jongdae, I know you have been fucking this… This… This thing!!!” you glared at Hyojin from head to toe, as she was still fixing her bra.

“No, baby, what gives?”

Hyojin discretely tries to walk away, but you grab her arm.

“Tell me, Hyojin...”

“He didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend!” Hyojin hisses at Jongdae.

“To be fair, I should be out of this situation. Jongdae, you lied to me!” Hyojin wiggles herself out of your control and starts ushering more wedding guests.

Jongdae refuses to meet your eyes, he fumbles at the hem of his suit in anxious guilt.

“You aren’t even sorry?”

He remains silent.

“I hate myself, Y/N. I hate myself.”

“That’s your excuse?”

He looks away.

“She was the one who started it,” his voice cracks, without a hint of guilt, “I told her to stay away but...”

“But?”

“Can we put these behind, and start over? I need you, Y/N.” the nerve of Jongdae to grab your hands and place them on his chest, where that woman’s hand have been.

His eyes were sincere, and slowly you were falling to his charms again.

“I learned, after today, that you are the only one for me…”

You roll your eyes.

“So how did it go?” Junmyeon stands up, as you walked back to him.

“He seemed sorry. People make mistakes so...”

“Well, between you and me… I’m so stupid, going to this wedding hoping that once she sees my face, she’ll change her mind.”

Although Junmyeon helped you, you laughed deep inside at the pathetic state he was in.

For them, they lost contact, and proximity is love. As for yourself, it seems that Jongdae has learned his lesson, he chose to stick with you. Right? Right?!?!

—  —  —  —  —  

You didn’t have the heart to kick him out, not until after he made you your fave breakfast: sausage and scrambled eggs.

Not until after he started bringing you to and from work again.

Jongdae was back.

He was always home.

He was always horny.

He was almost…

Too fishy.

Perhaps it’s the lack of trust from his Hyojin incident, but you never really felt comfortable with him afterward.

Whenever Jongdae would go out, you felt like he would leave you forever, to fuck another random girl on the streets.

You loved him, but you were left miserable to your own devices.

It was your birth month, and while rage cleaning the apartment, you stumbled upon two musical tickets on his desk.

You loved musicals. It was your secret joy but you never get to watch them since Jongdae prefers sexual activities rather than romantic dates.

Nanta, May 19, 8pm. You giddily memorized the details on the ticket and made a  mental reminder to yourself to act surprised once he whips them out.

That night, you felt like giving him an extra hug, cuddling him under the sheets.

“Jongdae, have I ever told you I like musicals?”

“Not really,” his reply was lackluster, sounding bored.

“Would you watch a musical with me, or should I tag a gal friend along instead? I really want to watch Nanta.” You weren’t even subtle.

“Hmm..” and he doses off.

The audacity.

May 19 came. Your birthday. No surprises. Just “Hey I need to go to Chanyeol’s, his wife is giving birth so...”

“Are you live streaming her birth? The hell why you need to be there?”

“No, but we give bro-ral support.”

Not believing Jongdae, you rush to the same hospital where apparently Chanyeol would be expecting his child. True enough, the front desk directs you to the 7th floor.

“Congratulations Chanyeol, but are you sure Jongdae didn’t pass by?”

“Yeah, he didn’t. Didn’t you come together?”

Deja vu hits you.

The three of you were alone in the hospital room, Chanyeol, his wife and you,

It would be awkward to stay any longer.

As soon as you were about to leave them, the door swings open. A familiar faced, bespectacled man, in a white coat, enters.

“Hi, I’m going to check on the mother–”

“Junmyeon?!”

“Oh… Hi!” He waves back at you. But he does not seem to recall your name. Then again you never introduced yourself to him back then, did you?

You waited for him outside the room, grabbing onto his arm as soon as he got out. “Doctor Junmyeon?”

“Yes, Miss. Who stole your car again this time?”

“You never told me you were a doctor. Your ex’s doctor, to boot.”

“I am very professional.”

“I should have listened to you, doctor.”

—  —  —  —  —

“Now he’s probably watching Nanta with some scum of the earth,” you wept. Junmyeon massages the sides of his temples, sighing.

“Why aren’t you saying anything, Doctor?”

“It’s because I’m stupid too. Can you believe I delivered my ex’s child?”

“We’re both stupid, aren’t we?”

You weren’t expecting this but, “Let’s be stupid together?” ended up the two of you grabbing drinks in some shady bar in the Rodeo drive

Spilling sorrows, him making jokes ‘The only time I saw her pussy was when she fucking gave birth to another man’s child.’, which you find inexplicably hysterical.

“What? I’m an ob-gyn, I see lots of pussies all the time, whether I like it or not?”

“Jongdae is not even an ob-gyn yet he sees lots of pussies too, whether I like it or not.” You jokingly self-depreciated your own situation.

Junmyeon turns quiet after all the pussy talk. “Well, we should probably get going. I had fun, Y/N. Take care going home.”

You could not explain how rejected you felt when he abruptly wanted to cut short your drinking session. Were you boring him out? Were you making him awkward? He walks you to your car as the driver you hired waits, his body hanging onto your passenger door.

As soon as you climbed into the passenger’s seat.

Without his glasses, Dr. Junmyeon actually looks cute. He’s too pretty for your type, though.

“Text me when you get home. Be safe.”

By some weird motion, he moves in and kisses your cheek.

“Junmyeon,” you were taken aback by the abruptness of his actions, and so was he.

“I’m closing the door!” He slams it immediately and walks away.

—  —  —  —  —

Your head swirled in confusion from what just happened. Jongdae had not returned home yet, but he managed to text you “Hey her labor is taking long. Will stay here overnight.” Which you immediately categorized as bullshit, because you went there. He was not there.

As for Junmyeon, why did he kiss you?

You texted Junmyeon.

You: sorry late text. I got home a while ago, took a shower, now I’m off to sleep. Tnx for 2night.

Junmyeon: I needed you tonight.

Junmyeon: No… Fuck.

Junmyeon: I mean I needed someone to talk to tonight, coz you know, ex-issues

Junmyeon: so thank you too

You: actually, I needed you too tonight.

You: I mean, I needed someone to talk to tonight, coz you know, asshole Jongdae issues

Junmyeon: Guess we do need each other then...

—  —  —  —  —

The next day, you get another text from Dr. Junmyeon

Junmyeon: come to my office, quick.

You: why?

Jm: I can’t really tell why it's complicated. Please wait outside my office in an hour.

JM: oh if anyone asks why you’re in my clinic, just say you have an appointment

You: Doctor, this isn’t a surprise checkup, is it? :P

Junmyeon didn’t reply. How awkward, your joke was unanswered. But seriously, you were on all levels of confused. He’s not gonna ask you to spread your legs, just because he’s a doctor right? Not that you mind at all... He’s cute after all. But you like, rough-looking men, Y/N. Like Jongdae. Rough men who give you a hard time. Junmyeon is too clean cut for you.

Nevertheless, the irony of it all, you chose a sunflower, sleeveless printed dress which flowed beautifully down your ankles. This isn’t a date. You kept reminding yourself.

You: Hey, I’m here.

You text him promptly upon arriving outside his office. His assistant, who introduced himself as Baekhyun, leads you to sit on the benches.

JM: Yes, I’ll be out in a second.

The moment the doors swung, your heart pitter-pattered. What’s wrong with you, Y/N? You expecting the same bespectacled man in his white coat, but instead.

It’s Jongdae.

Hand in hand.

With Hyojin.

“Jongdae!!!” You screamed at the top of your lungs. The two of them froze on the spot, Hyojin flinging away Jongdae’s grasp, holding onto her prominent tummy instead.

“Baby, What are you doing here?” Jongdae’s face panicked for a second but immediately reverted back to a relaxed stance. He’s so fucking good at lying you wanted to punch him right then and there.

“No. What are you TWO doing here?”

“I went to visit Chanyeol, then I bumped into Hyojin. What a coincidence right?”

“I thought you changed Jongdae,” hot tears rolled down your eyes, your chest twisted in knots in imploding pain.

“Babe I–” Jongdae runs after you, as you ran away from him.

Words could not find you now, all you wanted was to run away, forget this ever happened.

Jongdae keeps calling your name, his voice was still audible down the hall.

You felt his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to turn around.

He said your name, out of breath. You could not even bring yourself to open your eyes to his face. His stupid lying face.

He said your name again as he shook you with both hands, to which you played dead.

“Jongdae, we have nothing to discuss. I fucking hate you. You betrayed me.”

“It’s me.”

You peered open your eyes and found Junmyeon, inches away from you, the look of worry written all over his face.

“I’m sorry you had to see all of this. I was just planning on telling you but they went ahead of me–”

Someone screamed your name, looking to your right, Jongdae was catching his breath, panting to your side. Jongdae’s eyes slide to the doctor who was taking a protective position on you, with his hands on your shoulder. “Dr. Junmyeon? Y/N, who is this man to you?!” he judges Junmyeon from head to toe, brows furrowed.

“It’s none of your business, asshole.” You nodded at Junmyeon, taking his hand, walking away.

—  —  —  —  —

“Are you sure you are ready to throw away all of this?” Junmyeon stares at the trash bag, waiting by the door.

“Yup. Actually, I have always had my reservations against him. After finding out he cheated before. Believe it or not, I was sure this day was to happen.” You wiped stray tears down your cheek. As much as you tried to mentally cheer yourself up, it still hurt.

“Thanks for helping me clear out the trash, Junmyeon.”

“But I still haven’t cleared out the trash in my own flat.” He chuckles at the irony of things. “Well, I better get going, it’s getting late… So...”

With both hands on his cheeks, you gave him a kiss. Junmyeon slowly re-opens his eyes, a smile creeping up on his face.

“It’s late. You can stay here, you know.”

—END—

Aikie Masterlist | Michiko Masterlist | FIC RECS | FIC REC SIDEBLOG

[agoodflyting]

That’s What We Do - (post-TLJ Kylux)

Classic Kylux  /  Rated T  / 2100 words

Mission objective: get Ren to his quarters quickly and without anyone noticing that their new Supreme Leader was drunk off his arse.

Surely Hux does not get paid enough for this.

Hux finds him in the audience chamber.

They’ve retreated back to the Finalizer after that cock-up on Crait, their new Supreme Leader shouting at anyone within earshot that he wasn’t to be disturbed. They’ve managed to rout the Resistance, reduced them to a group small enough to cram inside a single junk freighter, but the sheer fact that any of them survived at all when he had the number, the ships, the opportunity to reduce them to nothing. It was... sloppy. Poor form, given the resources expended. The casualties.

The waste of it galls at him, nagging like the sharp edge of the tooth that he’d chipped when Ren threw him into that damn console. He keeps running his tongue over it.

They would have to do better. And so, Hux takes his life into his own hands.

“Supreme leader,” the words stick behind his teeth and have to be forced out, “We need to discuss our next move. The galaxy is watching to see what you will do next.”

No response except the faint echo of his own voice.

Ren wasn’t here. Hux had expected to find him lounging on his throne, relishing his stolen power. (That ten-stone scavenger girl killed my master Snoke and oh dear I just couldn’t stop her his arse.) It’s what he would have done, anyway.

He pauses. Glances around the audience chamber for good measure. It isn’t as grand as the one on Starkiller Base, but it’s dark and suitably ominous all the same. Snoke had a very particular aesthetic.

“Ren?” This isn’t the time to play hide and seek you overgrown child, if you leap out of the darkness at me I swear to the maker I’m going to punch you in the face and claim it was an accident-

And there- a faint sinusy sound, like a cough or maybe a snort.

“Supreme Leader Ren?” Hux tries again, trying to layer honey over the words and only succeeding in making them sticky.

Another sound, this one closer to a sob.

He approaches the low dais holding the empty throne, the sound of his own boots on durasteel echoing around the empty room. Zeroing in on the sound, Hux finds him.

The Supreme Leader is sitting on his arse on the floor, wedged into the little corner between the throne and the wall immediately behind it. He’s got one long leg sprawled across the floor, the other drawn up so that he can rest his head on his knee.

Ren makes another wet sound and Hux realizes he’s crying.

“Get up,” Hux says, flat.

Ren mutters something that sounds like fuck you.

“This is unseemly. Get up.”

Ren laughs, a weak, throaty sound. “You don’ get to tell me to... what to do, Hu-cks.”

He’s slurring. Swaying a little where he sits.

Drunk.

“You are embarrassing yourself-”

“I’m Supreme Leader now.” Ren continues loudly, not listening, before mumbling into his knee, “No- nobody getss tell me... what to do.”

“Yes, you are.” Tension is building in the hinge of his jaw. If anyone saw Ren like this the First Order would be a laughingstock. Their Supreme Leader drunk and pathetic, crying over his failures- all of high command would be a joke. “And right now you’re a disgrace. Go to bed, Ren.”

Ren growls and waves an arm and there’s a momentary surge of adrenaline- of fear - but all that happens is a light pressure, like somebody had bumped into him in a crowd. Ren glares up at him myopically, eyes red and unfocused, and waves again. Sloppy. Uncoordinated.

Another bump. Hux rocks back a half-step.

“F-fuck you, Hux-” Ren buries his face in his knee again, hugging both arms around his bent leg.

Hux pinches the bridge of his nose in one gloved hand.

He could have been an engineer. The pay was decent. More leisure time-

Far less opportunity to rule the galaxy. Damn.

He takes a deep breath and sighs it out. “Alright, Supreme Leader. We are getting you to bed, that’s the ticket.” And if Ren doesn’t think he’s demanding the Grand Marshal title for this, he’s a fool. Firm, but cajoling. It’s a tone he hasn’t used since the Academy and early mornings spent coaxing drunken roommates back into their bunks before morning roll. Why did he always end up the designated driver?

Ren protests, whining like a child, when Hux lifts his arm and slings it over his own shoulder. “Up we go, that’s right-” He nearly overbalances, swinging hard to the side when he attempts to heft Ren’s weight. Something in his back makes a worrying crunching sound. Fuck, it’s like trying to deadlift a black hole. 

“Ren, your legs- legs- stand up, Ren-” he snarls, stumbling and nearly going down before Ren gets his feet under him and collapses heavily against Hux’s side. He’s warm and clammy, reeking of sweat and ozone, and under that something cloyingly sweet. Cheap wine.

Right. Mission objective: get Ren to his quarters quickly and without anyone noticing that their new Supreme Leader was drunk off his arse.

A bottle clatters and skitters away across the polished black floor when Hux stumbles into it. “Very good. This way, Supreme Leader.”

It’s no use, he still can’t make the words sound sincere.

Ren staggers along with him, leaning heavily on Hux’s shoulder. They pause at the door, and Hux wedges Ren against a wall to fish his comm out of the pocket of his coat. He’s never believed in doing things the difficult way if it can be avoided.

“Captain Tripp,” he barks.

“Yes, General?”

“Clear the halls in thresh sector, decks eleven through seventeen. Absolutely all personnel on lockdown. The Supreme Leader is heading to his quarters.” Threading a bit of casual exasperation into his voice, he adds, “He’s in a mood again. I’d rather not have any more casualties today.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll see to it.”

Kylo Ren’s tantrums were legendary on the Finalizer. This wasn’t the first time Hux had turned them to his favor.

He waits for five minutes, long enough for Tripp to evacuate everyone out of their path. Ren is slumped heavily against the wall, like the idea of standing unaided is far too difficult.

“What...” Ren says, carefully pronouncing the word. He’s struggling to keep both eyes open and focused on Hux at the same time. “Are you looking at? Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

Ren snorts, loud and obnoxious. “Right, right, right, right... nothing. That’s right, you and everybody- everybody else. That’s what you all... see... well fuck you.”

Hux purses his lips. “How much did you drink, anyway?”

A shrug and a querulous noise.

He resists rolling his eyes, but only barely. “Come on, Ren.” Hux gets Ren’s gangling arm over his shoulder again and steers him towards the door and out into the hall. It’s a little like piloting a freighter with the controls inverted and the thrusters misfiring. Hux brackets one arm low around Ren’s hip, to keep him from slipping to the opposite side.

He doesn’t get paid nearly enough for this.

“Never- not supposed to drunk. Before.” And oh charming, he’s reached the drunken rambling state. Ren puts on a deep nagging tone like he’s imitating someone. “ Not allowed, never- that’s not control, have to be in control- not ever, ever... not in control. But... fuck it. I’m Supreme Leader now, who fucking cares. No more fucking aesthetic...”

Hux pauses, “Ascetic?”

“That, yeah. Whatever. Fuck it! I’ll be drink if- if I want to.” He stumbles heavily into Hux, knocking him a half-step to the side. “Who’s gonna stop me...? Hmm?”

“Lower your voice!” Hux hisses, as he half-shoves, half-drops Ren into the turbolift with a grunt. “The doors are shut, but they aren’t bloody soundproof!”

“I don’t care-” he enunciates, gearing up for a shout.

“Well I do!” Hux slams his gloved palm against the button for floor 17. The door slides shut and the lift engages with a quiet rush of air. Executive residential quarters were all on the same block. Ren’s room on the Finalizer was only a few doors down from Hux’s own. He rounds on Ren. “If you want to be Supreme Leader then you need to start bloody acting like it. You represent more than just yourself. That’s what power means. It isn’t doing whatever the seven hells you want, just because you want to do them-”

“Don’t tell me- you have no idea what power is-”

“I know what responsibility is. You think I’m dragging your sorry carcass to bed because I want to? I’m doing it because it’s my duty, something you have probably never done a day in your life! I would love the freedom to run around smashing everything when I’m angry, or wallowing in my misery, except I don’t have the time! You aren’t the only one who’s had a bad day, Ren!”

The lift is silent except for the soft sound of decks passing them by.

Ren’s chin crumples. His plush lips tremble, and to Hux’s mortification he bursts into tears.

“Stop that... Stop that at once,” Hux says, alarmed. Ren cries like a little boy, bawling fat messy tears, as he slips down the wall to collapse on the floor again. Hux pounds the emergency stop.

“You hate me. I don’t... why does everyone...” the words are lost under choking sobs. Ren buries his face in his knees again.

“Ren,” Hux groans. Why was this happening to him?

“Go- just- fucking go- everyone else does.” Ren sniffs loudly. “I don’t care...”

“Please get up. Please?”

No response. Grand Marshal Hux, he thinks to himself.

Wait- what was it Brendol always said when he was upset as a child? It had usually done the trick. There- “If you don’t stop crying, I’m going to hit you.”

“Fuck you.”

After a long moment of standing there awkwardly, tapping his boot while his supreme leader sobbed brokenly into his own robes, Hux sinks down to the floor and sits beside Ren, back to the wall.

“Ren, I don’t hate-” No, that was too obviously a lie. He changes tactics, tries for a playful tone, “Oh come on- we hate each other. That’s what we do, isn’t it? You throw me into a wall, I try to shoot you when your back is turned? That’s... that’s our thing isn’t it? Hmm?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?”

“I don’t hate you,” Ren repeats, quietly. There’s a hollow edge to his voice, like the echo in an empty room. “You’re the closest thing I have to a friend.”

“Ren...”

They sit there in silence, until finally Ren says, “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” and with a last, loud sniff, pushes himself up off the floor. He smashes the button for floor 17 again, still a little clumsy with drunkenness, and leans back against the wall. Closes his eyes. Under his dark lashes, there’s still a faint glimmer of wetness.

“S'fine, I can do it by myself,” Ren complains when the lift stops on their floor and Hux moves to sling Ren’s arm back over his shoulders.

“It’s alright,” Hux brushes the protest off. “Nearly there, anyway.”

He helps Ren down the residential hall, ignoring the way Ren sags against his side in something that might be relief, stopping at his door and allowing Ren to key in his security code. Hux notices, for the first time, that one of his gloves is missing.

Once they’re inside and the door slides shut behind them, Hux helps Ren through the nearly-empty living area into the bedroom. He knows the layout- it’s identical to his own. Only where Hux had placed a couch, a table, comforts, Ren has nothing but empty space.

He drops Ren onto the only piece of furniture in the suite- a low, simple bed.

“Here we are. Get some rest, Ren.” Hux says, brisk, as if that little exchange in the turbolift never happened. On the bed, Ren curls over on his side, facing away from Hux.

“There’s a holoconference with the security council at seven-hundred. Don’t worry about it- I’ll take care of it. ”

“Thanks.” Ren sounds half-asleep already. Or perhaps he’s going to cry again.

“You’ll need to make an appearance at the banking consortium gala next week, though. They’ll all want to see the new Supreme Leader, after Crait. Between that and the Starkiller weapon I think we sent quite a message.” He attempts a wan smile.

“Mmhmm.”

Hux hovers.

“Well at least take off your boots- do I have to do everything?” Hux tchs, but without any particular venom, before kneeling beside the bed, fingers going to the fastenings of Ren’s heavy boots. When he’s tugged each one off, Ren curls his socked feet up close to his body like a child.

A glance at his face reveals that he’s asleep.

Sighing, Hux shrugs out of his greatcoat and tosses it over Ren’s shoulders where the idiot has fallen asleep on top of the blankets. “All hail, the Supreme Leader,” he says wryly to himself.

Before turning to leave, he dials the lights down to five percent.

[little-owly]

so please don't imagine an extremely bladdershy little!ja//ck. Definitely don't imagine that every time daddy ma//rk orders him to go potty, it almost brings him to tears because he's so embarrassed but of course he loves it too. And please, whatever you do, don't imagine little!ja//ck nursing a VERY full bladder, practically vibrating trying to hold it, and daddy ma//rk having to actually step in and help his baby boy go, and the desperate moans of relief that follow (and the huge puddle)!! 💖

THIS IS THE CUTEST IDEAjack and daddy mark driving home from the store. the ride long and bumpy as jack squirms in the front seat. dressed in his overalls and soft green tee, he bites his lip and holds his tummy -- the pressure in his bladder way too intense. poor jack regretting drinking that huge bottle of soda at the store!!mark glances over and sees jack's thighs and legs crossing over each other every other second. his baby boy sure is a jumping bouncy one today!! he's sure he just needs to get all that pent up energy out of him, mark thinks about maybe playing superheroes with him to help him run around and play."d-daddy?" jack whimpers as they turn. the liquid in his bladder sloshing as the sharp turn makes him freeze up."yeah, jackie? need anything?""n-no, i mean--""need your sippy? anything?"jack freezes up again. he can't get the words out. he just cant -- his overwhelming shyness about his bladder and the potty in general preventing him. heat rushing to his face as he grips the hem of his overalls. "n-no, just -- when we get home?""hmm?" mark grows concerned, usually jack begs to stay out longer than going home. is his baby boy sick? "oh, another 15 minutes, jackie. baby boy, are you okay?"jack frantically nods his head. if he tells daddy, he'll probably get upset or punish him!! he doesn't want spankies or time out!!"'m okay, daddy!! i swear!!"mark leans over and ruffles jack's hair. his poor baby boy -- what ever could be wrong with him?the next 15 minutes are pure torture for jack. he sits and nearly cries at the pressure inside him. needing to be released. needing to go potty. needing to just...go and get relief. his bladder throbbing, sticking out against his belly. by the time they park in the driveway, he can't move. mark squeezing his hand and getting out to jack's side. fear rushing through him -- no, he wont make it!! he wont make it and daddy's gonna be so mad and--!!mark helped jack down before jack cried. nearly tackling and nuzzling into mark's coat, throwing the other completely off and confused. "jackie?! whats a matter with you? why've you been so strange?!"jack finally huffed and cried, embarrassed beyond belief. "g-gotta go potty but...weally embarrassed!! scared!! and now not gon' make it to potty inside!!" he sobbed out the last word. oh no. mark knew he should've had his baby boy go before leaving the store. he knew how shy is baby was with going to the bathroom -- and now here he was: in pain, embarrassed, and crying.mark took him in his arms, hugging him from behind. the open car door shielding them from people passing by. wincing as jack cried harder. his poor baby boy, needing release. finally, mark unzipped and pulled jack's member out of his overalls. jack downright sobbing in embarrassment, fat tears rolling down his red cheeks. bladder pulsing -- no, /downright aching/ inside him. mark nuzzled into his neck and whispered, "go, jackie. let it out.""b-but...not at potty--""jackie, listen to daddy." mark ordered, voice still sweet as candy, "daddy wants you to go because you'll hurt yourself if you don't. you dont like getting hurt, hmm? its okay, daddy's got ya.""d-daddy no mad?""of course not. jackie, i want you comfortable and able to say anything to me. not matter what. and i'd never get mad at you for this, so let go and get that achey icky feeling outta ya."jack brought his hands up to hide his face. tears streaming down as he finally let go. daddy aiming for him, the pee splattering on the concrete under them. the hissing loud as he cried, downright shaking in his daddy's arms. jack's mind a mix of emotions -- embarrassed, scared, relieved, thankful, too much for him to express.the puddle grew, moving down behind them to the curb. nearly two whole minutes before jack finished. whimpering and sniffling. resting against mark as the last few spurts of pee escaped from him. mark shaking his member before tucking him back into his undies and overalls. "wow, look at how much you had in you jackie." mark smiles, the two turning around to see the puddle. "daddy...no mad? no get spankies?""no, jackie," he sighed, holding jack close with his clean hand, "daddy understands. i know you have a hard time going potty or asking to go, but can you promise me something?"jack nodded, nuzzling into mark's shirt, huddled close to him. close enough to hear his heartbeat. "dont ever be afraid to tell me anything. big or little. i'm never ever going to get mad about little things like this. i'm your daddy and it's my job to make sure you're comfy and okay. understand?"jack nodded. thumb sliding into his mouth as he looked up with baby blue eyes. innocent and wide."...wuv you, daddy, tank yoo...""i love you too, baby boy. now let's get washed up and get the bags down from the car, okay?"jack nods again, following mark like a duckling into their apartment. "maaaaybe after we can have some ice cream and watch nemo?"jack perks up, the bad feelings melting away, "yeah yeah yeah!! pwease, daddy!!"

[hamlet-writes]

Private Lesson

Sometimes even the Riddler needs to be taught a thing or two.  (Un)fortunately for him, Jonathan is a very eager teacher.

"No."

It was the third time Jonathan had asserted his response in the past five minutes.  Unfortunately for him, Edward Nygma was not one to take no for an answer.  The man had been waiting for him on the less-than-pristine couch that was the only piece of furniture decorating Jonathan's admittedly dingy apartment, lounging nonchalantly along the cushion with the fewest number of springs sticking out of it and greeting him when he walked through the door.  That part hadn't surprised Jonathan in the least- in the past few months he'd known the man, he'd learned that he had a penchant for making overly dramatic entrances.  No, what had surprised him most was the man's outlandish request.

"Oh, come now, professor!" Nygma argued, as Jonathan busied himself with rearranging his notes. "Surely you can spare one tiny little vial?"

"I certainly could," Jonathan agreed, still facing away from the man. "But I won't."

"Why not?" Nygma whined.

"What do you even need it for?" Jonathan countered.

"Well, I can't just tell you," Nygma said with a frustrated huff, as if that were the most obvious assertion in the world. "It's for a game of mine."

"If that's the case, then I certainly won't be giving you any," Jonathan said. "I don't need you drawing any more attention to me from the police than I've already done on my own."  

"Are you sure?" Nygma asked, sidling towards him until they were side-by-side.  Jonathan flexed the hand still wearing his fear gauntlet from the night's earlier excitement, casting the shorter man a warning glance.  People only got this close to him when he was the one boxing them in.  He was very particular about his personal space.  Nygma didn't seem to notice, though.

"I'm told I can be very persuasive," Nygma said, dropping his voice to a sultry whisper.  Jonathan turned to face him now, which proved to be a mistake. Nygma pushed himself up onto his toes, planting one hand on Jonathan's chest and leaning into him.

"Perhaps we can work out a private arrangement, hmm?" Nygma purred. A mixture of rage and repulsion boiled up in Jonathan, and before he even knew what he was doing his hand shot up.  Nygma let out a pained gasp as the fear gauntlet sank into the exposed muscles of his side, losing his grip on Jonathan's shirt and sinking back to the floor.  

"You wanted some of my toxin so bad, huh?" Jonathan snarled, retracting the gauntlet before stepping back and brushing off the spot where Nygma had touched him with a look of disgust. "Fine. Have some."  Nygma's eyes grew wide as the toxin began to set in, and he clenched his fists, taking a wobbly step backwards.

"No..." he said, staring up at Jonathan with exhilarating fear. "No, no, no, no..." Despite himself, Jonathan felt the corners of his mouth curling up into the beginnings of a grin.  He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been curious as to how Nygma would react to fear toxin- he'd refrained from using it on him these past few months as thanks for saving his life, but now that'd it'd already happened there was no use squandering the opportunity.

"No what, Edward?" Jonathan purred, taking a step towards him. "What is it that you see?"  Nygma recoiled with newfound fervor, tripping over his own feet in his desperate attempt to escape.  He crashed to the floor, still fixated with a look of abject horror on Jonathan.

"No, I- I didn't- Don't-!" Nygma begged, scrambling away from Jonathan. "P-Please!  Leave me- leave me alone!"  His voice cracked at that, and Jonathan couldn't help but laugh, advancing on the man with predatory intent.

"Alone?" Jonathan asked with a derisive sneer. "Why, it's just us two, Edward, how much more alone can we be?"  Nygma clawed at the ground in his panic, apparently not noticing how he was tearing up his fingertips against the rough flooring.  He gasped as his back hit the corner of the room, and his eyes darted frantically back and forth, searching for any escape.  He whimpered when he found none, pressing himself as flat as he could against the wall and drawing his knees up to his chest.  

"Oh, you are pathetic, aren't you?" Jonathan scoffed, kneeling down in front of his quarry.  Nygma somehow managed to make himself even smaller, turning his head away and squeezing his eyes shut with a terrified sob.  Jonathan reached out with his free hand and grabbed Nygma firmly by the chin, turning his head so that he was forced to face him.  He noted with a laugh how much Nygma was trembling underneath his fingertips, shaking uncontrollably as tears streamed freely down his face.  

"What's the matter, Edward?" Jonathan asked with mock sympathy. "You seem frightened.  Surely an important man like you isn't afraid of anything?"  Nygma barely stifled a sob, squeezing his eyes even more tightly shut.  Jonathan's grin widened, and he reached up with the hand still wearing the fear gauntlet, tracing a delicate question mark across the sensitive skin of Nygma's cheek with the tip of one needle.  

"It's a shame I didn't have any forewarning about this," Jonathan mused. "You have one of the most violent reactions to fear toxin I've observed as to-date.  I'd have loved to get it on recording."  He leaned forward, practically touching Nygma's nose with his own.

"Open your eyes, Edward," he hissed, tightening his grip on his subject's face. "Open your eyes, or I'll make you regret it."  Something in Nygma's fevered brain registered the threat, for he peeled his eyes reluctantly open, trembling even more violently when he found himself gazing into Jonathan's yellow glare.  Jonathan laughed when he saw the look of pure, raw, undiluted fear in his eyes.

"Oh, how the mighty fall," Jonathan whispered. "You've spent all this time building yourself up from the ground, making yourself into this intellectual giant.  But look at you now- it seems that big brain of yours you love to boast about has betrayed you."  Nygma whimpered, trying to jerk his head away.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy," Jonathan growled.  That was the ticket.  Nygma went ramrod stiff, forcing his gaze back to Jonathan with a look of mute terror.

"Interesting," Jonathan noted. "You don't like being called that, do you, boy?"  All the color drained from Nygma's face, and he clenched every muscle in his body.  Frozen with fear. Through his research, Jonathan had come to realize that that was a learned reaction to fear, usually in response to some recurring threat.  He wondered...

"What do you have to say to your father, boy?" Jonathan growled.  Bulls-eye.  

"I didn't do it," Nygma whimpered, frantically spitting his words out. "I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I-"

"What didn't you do?" Jonathan hissed excitedly.

"I didn't cheat!" Nygma cried, lashing out at his attacker in a panic.  Jonathan grunted when his subject's fist connected with his stomach, releasing his face and stumbling backwards from his kneeling position.  Nygma curled up into as tight a ball as he possibly could, gripping the brim of his hat and pulling it down over his eyes.

"I didn't cheat I didn't cheat I didn't cheat I- I- I-" he sputtered, then sobbed. "I did cheat."

Jonathan stood, smoothing out his coat and studying Nygma with a curious glance.  

"Subject's breathing is beginning to slow," he noted with a hint of disappointment. "Parasympathetic system is slowly regaining control."  

He busied himself with meticulously unstrapping and removing his fear gauntlet, laying it out on his desk, all the while listening as Nygma took shaky, shuddering breaths in an effort to calm himself.  Soon, a stiff silence had settled through the dimly-lit apartment, until Jonathan almost could have forgotten about his verdant interloper.

"A simple 'no' would have sufficed," Nygma said weakly.  Jonathan turned to look at him, slightly amused by the mixture of embarrassment and anger slowly replacing the look of fear on his face. He clutched his crumpled hat so tightly in one hand that his knuckles had turned white, while the other was pressed to his no-doubt aching forehead.  He pushed himself to his feet with difficulty, hissing with pain and grasping at his side.

"This was a new suit," he complained, picking at the blood stains blossoming from the torn green fabric with a shaky hand.  

"I think you'd do well to remember not to touch me like that ever again, Mr. Nygma," Jonathan said with a hint of hostility.  Under normal circumstances, he was sure that Nygma would have had some sharp comeback, some obscure quotation or asinine riddle designed to chastise; however, these were not normal circumstances.  

"...Right," said Nygma meekly.  He smoothed out his hat the best he could, tugging it back over his disheveled hair and looking anywhere but at Jonathan as he snatched his cane from its hook on the wall.  Jonathan couldn't help but feel a hint of satisfaction at that- the man needed to be brought down a few pegs.  Still, he didn't dislike Nygma, and he'd proven to be a valuable ally.

"Watch yourself out there, Mr. Nygma," he warned, stepping forward and grabbing the door for him. "The Bat's been awful busy these past few nights.  Hate to see you get caught off-guard."  For the first time since he'd met him, Nygma had no response to offer Jonathan.  He shuffled out into the creaky staircase, leaning heavily on his cane as he descended.  He paused halfway down, conflicted, before turning over his shoulder and muttering a curt, "Dr. Crane," with a tip of his hat.  Jonathan watched him go with a burning curiosity.  The man really was an enigma, and that voice in the back of Jonathan's head was screaming at him to pursue him, to drag him back and pick his brain apart bit-by-bit until he'd learned exactly what made him tick.  Jonathan pushed the thought aside, closing the door and making sure it had properly locked.  No matter what he was left wondering, Jonathan wanted the man on the same side as him.  He would refrain from any more tests, for the time being.

Besides, there were bound to be plenty of opportunities in the future.