#also thanks for reminding me the ask box exists there's a few corpses in there oh gods

[cantspelldragoonwithoutgoon]

I okay. I've seen a good few references to it now I gotta ask: what horrible mistakes is Eclaire making in the AU? (And whomst is she making them with? :3c)

(Only if you want to share of course ^^)

(oops i have been perceived)

(added a read more since i ended up rambling again)

It's him.

He's the mistake.

Horrible choice on both sides, tbh. I think i vaguely mentioned Eclaire's bad habit of latching onto other people's misery before and well, there's hardly anyone more miserable.

At first, during ARR patch time their interactions are somewhat like the one we get to play through in msq, which is some twisted way of... actually having fun. (even though fun might contain a few explosions and has the vibe of poking a wasp nest with a stick) and then there's the void incident (lvl 50 blackmage quest gone wrong). on the surface, i think Elidibus' motivation to pull her back from the void is something along the lines of "oh no, my plaything" but then again from that time onwards they sort of turn into each other's safe space. (e.g. for the longest time no one else knows about the extent of her permanent aether corruption) of course they never figure out where that sense of familiarity and trust stems from (*) and try to justify their clinging spending time together with "you know what, while we're at it i might just as well try to manipulate them" (that doesn't work out for either of them). he's very much encouraging her progress into black magic, that might be useful later, and at some point she just goes along with it since she may have become a bit power hungry over the course of events.

(*) it's Psyche :3 even though i don't exactly know what their relationship even was back in unsundered times other than some flavour of close with a (probably botched) soul bond

(also while we're at it, have a screenie of these dorks sizing each other up like cats separated by a garden gate)

[queenofgotham800]

Freedom and Love

(Roman Sionis x Reader)

Requested by: @oneandonlyizabelle

(A/n): Thank you so much for request. I had much fun, writing this imagine, I hope you will enjoy reading it.💜🍸

Warnings: Gramatical Errors, swearing, death/or at least Injury, kidnapping

Nights in Gotham City were never peacefull. This city was living it's own life like always. Through the day, crime wasn't sleeping and in these hours it was just worse.

You were running through Gotham's dark alleys, turning your head behind, every time that it was possible. You knew you had no chance against him, he was the Dark Knight after all, the protector of Gotham. What would Roman do? This question popped into your mind. Roman Sionis, was your boyfriend, owner of the Black Mask club, which was now too far from your aproach.

The question; What would Roman do?, was not right becouse he wouldn't get into situation like this at all.

Few days ago

You were sitting behind the table in Roman's and your's apartment, since you already moved there.

Roman was sitting by your right side, and Victor was sitting in front of you, at the end of the table.

Victor had complicated relationship with you, same with Roman, it wasn't negative, but weirdly possitive. You could say that he liked you both.

That day, you were having breakfast with them, eating little cupcakes from the plate.

"Boss, we still have no idea, who is that crossbow killer guy," Victor mumbled as he ate cupcake.

"Victor, I told you that you should't talk as you eat." Roman looked nervous and then, he realized what Victor told him and smashed his cup on ground.

"WHAT! I sent few people after him, what happened?" Roman screamed after Victor.

"Roman, babe, I told you that you should't smash those cups," you told, even when you knew that this may don't help to his current situation.

"I don't care about the cups! I need that crossbow guy dead!" Roman turned to you and pointed at the cup. Victor looked on you with the 'we need to calm him down' look, and you sighed.

This crossbow killer, was causing Roman stresses and outbursts of anger. But what wouldn't, right?

You loved Roman despite his flaws and he loved you, even when he sometimes said terrible things, he always apologized.

"Honey, honey, look at me." you came to him, lifting his chin with your finger. Roman stopped shaking and his heavenly blue eyes looked in your (y/c) eyes.

"Breathe slowly, in and out," you whispered and Roman closed his eyes, and breathing exercise calmed him down a bit.

His breathing slowly turned into yours as you ran from the hero of Gotham City. Shit! He was still somewhere behind you.

"Breathe slowly, in and out," sounded your own voice in your head. "Right," you mumbled as you ran around some couple, who were holding their hands and then you dissapeared in another alley.

Roman opened his eyes, calm and then he stood from his chair. "Sorry for that cup, I will buy a new one to you," he mumbled and left. You looked on Victor desperately, who just silently mouthed at you -He needs you, go-

You turned to Roman who was leaving to bedroom and then back on Victor. "Go," he whispered, so Roman couldn't hear him.

You went to look at your boyfriend, who was standing next to window, looking down from it.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked as he turned around to you.

"I have no idea," he mumbled. He had still his pajamas on and you came closer, wrapping your arms around, hugging him.

"Don't worry about that crossbow guy," you whispered as he hugged you back, kissing the top of your head.

"I guess I should go take care about the club," he said heading to elevator.

"Roman, honey?" you stopped him.

"What?" he turned, with raised eyebrows.

"You have still your pajamas on," you smirked and opened the wardrobe, pulling out his favourite suit.

"Oh, right, I forgot," he laughed as you gave him his blue suit.

"I have to go, I have some bussines to do. I will be home probably sometimes around this time tomorrow," you said as he changed his clothes.

"Okay.. Should I sent few my mens with you?" he asked as you caught his shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

"You don't have to," you kissed him.

"Are you sure?" he asked as he broke the kiss.

"I am sure, don't worry," you smiled, "I love you," you said and turned to go out, but Roman caught your arm.

"I love you too," he said and kissed you, "Be safe (y/n)," you smiled and blushed at his words.

"I'll try," you said and left the bedroom.

Behind you felt something down. He was close, and Black Mask club was few miles from this maze. Maze was the first thing that appeared in your mind when you heared Gotham City. Hidden spots all over the city, occupied or not, you had to find one of them and when we are mentioning a maze, that also meant lots of blind paths. End of the line.. Said voice in your head as you stopped running, facing the walls. You were trapped...

As you left the apartment, with two guns in your coat and one knife attached to your belt, you decided to go for this Crossbow killer alone. It was better, you hated teamwork. When you went somewhere by yourself you always informed Roman about it. Not becouse he would hold you back, but just for assuring him that you will return, or in the case that if somebody kiddnapped you, he could send you some help.

Roman had his own bussines, and you had yours. You were strict to your morals, unlike him, who acted always impulsive.

You also prefered to travel mostly by walk. Police station was your first stop. Roman had few cops there, who would hopefully tell you some useful informations.

When you entered, you found officers laying on ground with glitters on the floor. Pink and blue, those two collors were reminding you just one person. Harley Quinn, she was somewhere close. You didn't wanted to meet her right now, doubting she would tell you something what would help you.

The crossbow killer could be anywhere and cops wouldn't tell you right away anyways. So you 'got lost' in archives of criminal records of Gotham City. Of course, all of them weren't here, many of them were destroyed becouse their owners were unhappy with their existence. Few cops had their tables here, they weren't close so you sneaked to their workplace, taking a closer look. There were nametags on it, 'Howard Petterson' and 'Renee Montoya'

You started seraching the tables, hoping that you will find something that would help Roman.

In first table there was nothing, just few notes, diary and photos of dead bodies.

But then, you stopped, looking again onto the photo. There were laying mans on sofa, and you knew them. Roman knew them also. You saw the arrow sticking out of the neck of one corpse. It was familiar to you, the arrow was made in such a precise way, only one man in Gotham could do weapons that precise.

You took the photo with you, heading to the weapon shop, which was open in Gotham 24/7. You knew the owner, who was kind to everyone who came to buy something.

Shop wasn't looking too fancy, windows looked like they weren't cleaned a while and when you opened the doors, they made a terrible noice. Interior of the shop didn't changed, it was exactly like you remembered. Big guns on top of the rusty iron shelves were clean and polished.

"Hello?" old man said from behind counter.

"Hey dad.." you told him as you came closer.

"Long time no see.." he said and frowned, "What happened?" he asked.

"I need to know who did this," you said and took out, from your pocket folded, stolen photo.

Your dad fixed his glasses and looked on it.

"It looks like crossbow killer was in action again," he laughed and gave you back photo.

"Dad, I need to know who is he. That arrow is from your shop, isn't it?" you whispered as you heared opening the doors.

"Who told you, she is he?" he laughed and smiled when he saw girl, dressed in black and purple, entering the shop.

"Oh, hello, i did not expected you to be here so soon,"

he said and she smiled at him, holding the helmet in her hands.

"Hi, as usual please," she came to counter, pulling money from her pocket.

"Of course, wait here," your dad said, going somewhere in back of the shop.

"You looking for somebody?" she asked you, pointing at the photo.

"No, no.. Just checking.." you mumbled, holding your eye contact away from her, slipping the photo back into your pocket.

"Okay then," she smiled. You dad came back with a little box.

"Thanks," she told, opening the box with the little arrows, similiar to the one on the photo.

"Bye," she said and left the shop.

You were just collecting your thoughts at what really happened. She is the crossbow killer!

"Bye dad, I think i have to go.." you mumbled, running to stop the mysterious woman.

"These childrens.." Your dad told himself and shaked his head.

When you walked out of the shop, there was nobody. Not even a trace of the Crossbow lady.

It was getting late, sun started to fall slowly down like your hopes.

It was already dark, with starts above you as you went back to your boyfriend with empty hands.

Maybe it was better that you didn't followed her.

You didn't even knew what you would tell her. You didn't planed to kill her, just to blackmail her or maybe steal the crossbow from her, and now she is gone.

Somebody suddenly crushed into you, as you walked by.

"Hey, mind where you going," you turned to him as he standed there facing you suspiciously. After that you felt somebody's arms wrapping around you, throwing you in the trunk of a car. You tried to scream, but nothing, no one was around to save you.

They threw you out on ground in some old warehouse, which reminded you Roman and Victor, but this warehouse was darker.

"You took her weapons?" one of them said.

"Yes of course, I am not an idiot," said the other one.

There was just two of them, both of them looking like burgulars. They were poor, jugding by choice of clothing.

"What the fuck?" you shouted as one of them kicked you into the back.

"That's for Clary!" they both screamed as they continued with kicking you.

"Who!? Who is Clary?" you asked and they stopped.

"You are (y/n) (y/s), You are dating Roman Sionis, the man who killed my wife," one of them told you, kneeling down to you.

"Sure, look i am sorry about your wife, but that wasn't me, dude," you said.

"That doesn't matter!" he hissed at you, leaning his face closer, which was a big opportunity for you. They took the guns, but they forgot the knife.

You took it from your belt, stabbing the kidnapper into the cheek. The second one was pulling a gun at you.

"Oh, darling, you don't even know how to shoot with that," you smirked, standing up, ready to leave this damn place.

And it was true, he didn't know, but surprise came across your face when you saw big figure, dropping through the ceiling, falling down to kiddnaper.

"Shit.." you mumbled and started running away from the Dark knight himself.

And that is how you got into this situation, standing alone trapped in this corner, you turned to face him.

"You can't take me. I did nothing wrong.." you laughed as you watched him comming closer to you.

"You have nothing against me. I just defended myself there," you shouted at him.

Your shouts were muted by his punch. Then, you lost consciousness.

Then, you woke up, laying in some little cell. It looked familiar. It looked like.. Blackgate..?

"No, no, no.. Shit!" you screamed and kicked to doors.

"Hey! Go away from the doors," cop told you, and you obeyed and stepped back from the door.

"Wait, I need to ask you something," you shouted to officer. He just raised eyebrows, "What do you want?"

"Why... Why am I here? Shouldn't i be judged by court at first?" you asked, you knew you had some criminal background, but you weren't 100% evil.

"Oh, you are not here permanently. We have you, we have also your boyfriend. When he comes to save you, we will get him and then we will move you to another cell," cop laughed and left.

You caught your head, you wanted out, but you hoped that Roman is not comming for you. You didn't wanted be the reason, which is gonna get him behind bars.

Time was passing slower than usual, or not? You didn't know. Cell was small, boring, without the window, without the chance to see what is going on outside.

It was like time stopped and suddenly, you were all alone. You felt tear slowly comming from your eye. You realized that if Roman doesn't come for you, he probably didn't loved you that much as you thought. But if he came, he would be here trapped with you. You hated batman and cops for putting you in this position. Light above your head went out and you were thinking, if you already spent whole day here. No, that wasn't possible, they would give you some food and water. When the light above your head started flickering, you got up from bed.

Somebody broke in.. That was the next thought that popped into your head. Roman? You ran to doors, looking around through the small window. Others inmates started bashing on doors, shouting on the uninvited guest.

When you saw familiar Black mask, you bashed on doors.

"Hey, this is a trap, you have to go!" you screamed at him, as he tilted his head and called, "Zsasz?"

Roman whispered something to Victor, who just smirked waving you through the window.

"Don't worry princess, we got this," said Vic, kissed the window and ran away. Roman gave him an ugly glare, and put down his mask.

"I know, babe, that is why we need to go right now," He said, unlocking the doors. His mout hang open as he opened the doors.

"What?" you asked.

"I know this is not the right time for me to say that, but damn, you look so hot in that prison uniform," Roman said and you rolled your eyes, pushing him forward, away from the cells. Other prisoners didn't stopped kicking into doors and you heared few police officers.

"Sure, look who is talking, I am sure the prison uniform would fit you as well," you smirked as you both ran to the exit.

Outside, you both ran to his Rolls-royce.

"Wait.. Where is Victor?" you stopped and asked.

"He will be back, enter the car my dear, please do it now," Roman said, entering his car.

You sat next to him, watching the back doors entrance open. It was some officer, who was slowly comming closer to the car, and when he opened doors on the driver's spot, you held your breath.

"So, I guess we can go," said the police officer and turned to us. It was Victor in police uniform.

"Victor! Why did you.. Oh wait.. That's a brilliant idea," Roman and Victor smirked as you laughed.

"But how did you.. Where are guys, that were guarding this place?" you asked, while Victor started the car, leaving this horrible place.

"Look out from your window (y/n)," Roman pointed to window, at your left side, showing you the view of cops, who were fighting against Roman's army.

"That's impressive, what about Batman?" you asked and Roman's face went from being confident to being shocked.

"Batman, he is going after you? What have you done?" he asked you, holding your shoulders.

"Nothing, I.. I don't know why is he going after me," you lied and fixed his messy hair.

"Are you sure, he is not after us all?" Victor asked and increased the speed of the car nervously.

"I have no idea, but that could be the reason," you mumbled as Roman hugged you.

"Baby, it was just a day and i missed you so much," Roman moaned into your ear and you smirked.

"I missed you too," you said as he wrapped his gloved hand around your neck, kissing you slowly.

On the way home, nothing bad happened, no Batman, no cops, no kidnappers or crossbow killers. Sun was slowly rising.

"Beep, beep," Victor said as he parked next to Black mask club. "Hey, love birds, wake up!" he shouted. You and Roman, were peacefully sleeping, Roman sitting and you, laying your head on his lap.

As Vic shouted, you both woke up.

Club was closed, and you were glad. This night was so stressful and you both went up to bedroom to get some sleep. After bath and dressing up to pajamas, you both laid on bed, hugging eachother.

"I love you," you smiled and gave him kiss.

"I love you too," he kissed you back and you both felt asleep.

[onceabluemoonwrites]

Cursed Kiss - Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

Title: Cursed Kiss Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

Author: OnceABlueMoon

Rating: T

Pairing: Bianchi/Chrome Dokuro

Tags/Warnings: There is some violence

Prompt:  Cloud day: royal au  for @khrrarepairweek

Summary: The tale of Kuromu Dokuro is an old one, perhaps preceding even the existence of the monster hunters. To think the woman in the tale- the monster she became- is here, in front of her? Bianchi shudders to think of it.

Still, she has no choice. Her grip tightens on the knife in her hand, but before she can start to make her move, Kuromu- Chrome?- raises her hand, shaking her head. ‘’No need to fight your way out, darling, if you want to buy your brother’s freedom. All you need to do is take the geas on in his place.’’

~~

Monster hunter Bianchi bargains her freedom for her brother’s and has to stay in the vampire Chrome’s castle. But the horrors within are not the shadows that whisper and follow Bianchi wherever she goes- no, to the contrary, the horrors are inside the mind of her captor.

AO3 link

Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

It wasn’t, Bianchi thinks later, when her mind is clearer, that she did not want Chrome to take her hand. She had desperately wanted to take her hand, to feel what it would be like to squeeze it, or to simply take it, softly hand in hand, skin to skin.

Somehow, the thought of it makes her ears and cheeks go red and warm. She doesn’t really know how to interpret that. Her entire relationship with Chrome is already complicated enough without the warm feelings in her belly interrupting, let alone the butterflies whenever she thinks of the lovely woman, vampire or no.

It's why she’s staying, now, even when she doesn’t have to anymore. The geas is gone, and it confuses her so much, because if geas wasn’t what was holding her here anymore, then what was? It’s clear as the sun breaking through the clouds. It’s Chrome. Chrome, all by herself.

Bianchi likes Chrome. She really does. She likes their little games of property destruction that are actually just them training side by side in inappropriate places. She likes the way a drop of wine so often clings to the corner of her mouth at dinner. It makes Bianchi want to go up to her and lick it off her face. She likes the way her eyes follow birds like she’s hunting prey. She likes shooting at them with her.

She’d just wish she’d be able to reconcile the hunt of birds of prey with the way Chrome’s obviously hunted humans before too. But that’s the thing too- before. Bianchi’s not sure if the preying on humans is actually a thing of the past, but she hasn’t seen Chrome do anything of the sort in the past few months she’s lived with her, and she doesn’t quite know what to do with that. Does she not hunt humans anymore? And is there even a way to ask Chrome that without immediately ruining Bianchi’s romantic prospects with her?

It makes Bianchi laugh at herself, high and mean. Romantic prospects? Who is she kidding? She knows she hurt Chrome a lot, that night when she told Bianchi about her past. Bianchi would be lucky if she’d be able to salvage their friendship at this point.

As much as she’d like to say the opposite, while Bianchi likes Chrome, she’s not sure she likes her monstrous nature. And that isn’t fair to Chrome, not fair at all, because it’s simply who Chrome is. That’s not something you ought to judge a person for, except what Chrome is eats humans and Bianchi… Bianchi is frustrated and angry and a little sad to because she just doesn’t get what she’s feeling right now.

It helps, that Hayato writes to her. Every week, a hawk arrives at her window. She reads his letters  dutifully, like an older sister ought to, and writes back. He writes of his friends, all vividly described long before it comes out just what they are. Yamamoto, she already knew of. The witch, who enchants right and left. Hibari, the taciturn vampire who protects his little town with fevour. Tsunayoshi, who Hayato is so, so weak for. Bianchi startles when she finds out he’s a goddamn mountain lion shifter. Ryohei, loud, so loud, his caterwauling often described before she is told he is a siren, though one that’s rather bad at his job. Mukuro, who Hayato dislikes, but can’t help but respect, a mage that has mastered the art of the illusion.

His tales soften her heart towards them, make her life vicariously through him. Her life isn’t bad. Far from it, even. She enjoyed her peaceful days here, together with Chrome before Bianchi let her down, but sometimes she did wish for a little more excitement.

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. It doesn’t matter, because she’s alright here with the stupid mess she made of her own feelings, and Hayato is free and happy. She might not trust all monsters, but she has accepted that not all of them are bad, and if his friends are as good and true to him as Hayato describes them, then surely he is well protected. He’s fifteen, by now. She has missed his birthday. He’s an adult now and he has the right to roam wherever he wishes.

She misses him, though. She misses him terribly.

Thankfully, Chrome is very good at distracting her. There’s been a wall between them since the incident, but when Bianchi pulls her to the kitchen one evening before dinner, Chrome doesn’t protest. Bianchi starts handing her ingredients to chop before she gets the fire going. There are no words between them, not about why Bianchi’s still there, despite the geas being gone, nor why she’s doing this.

Bianchi doesn’t explain.

Chrome doesn’t ask.

The cold regality in both her demeanour and posture reminds Bianchi of Chrome’s past as princess. That hurts. But it shouldn’t. It really, really shouldn’t.

Chrome is a person so lonely that she placed a geas on the entrance of her castle, as if catching herself a companion with a geas was the best option she had. It worked, of course, but that’s another issue all together.

When they bring their dinner to the table, it’s been perfectly set by the shadows already. Bianchi pets them when they leave them be, her quiet love for Chrome’s strange servants warming her inside out and lending her courage.

Eating the food they’ve made together, Bianchi’s dawdled enough. She needs to put her big girl panties on and talk to Chrome.

After dinner, for the first time that week, she takes Chrome by the hand and leads her to the huge stuffed chairs in front of the hearth. ‘’Get us some wine, please,’’ she asks the shadows. They comply immediately, getting the hint.

Chrome is looking at her. Her eyes are no longer wary, like they were before, but they’re… Soft, almost mellow in the low light. Possibly because she knows Bianchi is still here even though she doesn’t have to be. Because that means something, even if Bianchi has a hard time saying it.

She swallows as she receives the wine glass from the shadows, Chrome getting one as well and the bottle being deposited on the table. Bianchi clears her throat. Chrome watches her calmly, which isn’t good for Bianchi’s nerves at all. ‘’So,’’ she starts, ‘’I know I’m not the best at being… emotionally available at times.’’

Chrome snorts.

‘’Ouch. But I can’t deny I deserve it after our last talk about feelings and our pasts. You told me about your issues and I reacted badly. I’m sorry about that.’’

Chrome doesn’t make any excuses for Bianchi, and Bianchi loves her more for it. She doesn’t need others to excuse her actions. She needs to learn from them.

‘’Go on,’’ Chrome says, ‘’I suppose you’re going somewhere with this?’’

Bianchi nods. ‘’You told me about your issues, now I’m going to tell you about mine.’’

Chrome takes a sip of her wine and peers at Bianchi over her wine glass. Bianchi takes that for a go ahead.

‘’So the first thing you’ve got to know is that I became a hunter because I’ve dealt with monsters before. That includes the monster that killed my family, but also the human monster that was my family.’’ Oh god, this is hard to talk about. But she has to, if she wants Chrome to understand.

‘’When I was seventeen, I found my mother floating in our well the night after a were attacked our village. He’d killed countless amongst our neighbours. My mother most likely just searched for a place to hide as the were went to town on them. She drowned after not being able to swim more after hours and hours of hearing the onslaught above her go on.’’ Her chest hurts and her voice is thick, but she soldiers on. Chrome reaches for her hand and Bianchi squeezes it, thankful for the warmth the skin-to-skin contact brings her.

‘’Here’s the thing: I hate my mother. Hayato’s my half-brother, you know. She hated him. And I can’t understand how anyone could want to hurt Hayato, let alone kill him, drown him in that very same goddamned well. I wondered whether it was karma when I discovered her corpse in it. I remember that so clearly. So vividly. It was bloated, her body. So bloated, as she was floating on top of the water.’’ She stares into the fire, the only thing grounding her the pressure of Chrome’s hand in hers.

‘’I hate the woman who did that to Hayato. I do. But I also love the person who sang me the very same lullabies I sang for Hayato later, who tucked me into bed, who rocked me through my every nightmare. The woman who kept my milk teeth in a box because every part of me was precious to her. I love the person I remember her being before Hayato.

But then again, I loved Lavina, Hayato’s mother, too. Thinking of her is painful. I was too young at the time to really understand what was happening, but I remember the look of betrayal on mt mother’s face the day my father came home with a bastard and the news that my baby sitter- Hayato’s mother- had died.

Sometimes I wonder, you know,’’ Bianchi stares into her wine glass before taking a gulp. ‘’Sometimes I wonder if Hayato’s conception was even something Lavina consented to. I mean, I’m not a nine year old snot anymore. I’m older, hopefully a little wiser and definitely a whole lot more jaded. Lavina became a bit of a social outcast among the adults when she got pregnant. Nobody knew who the father was. There used to be lots of children at her house during the day when their parents worked, but there were a lot less after that. She never really seemed like the kind of person who would sleep with a married man to me. At least not if she knew he was married- and Lavina knew, without a doubt, as the one who minded me.

The last memory I have of her is actually of the very same day Hayato was born and she died. I and the other children had no concept of the scandal she was, seeing our age, so we loved listening to her stomach, pressing our ears against it trying to hear the child’s heartbeat. We loved touching her stomach too, if she let us, trying to feel the kick of the baby’s little feet. Of Hayato’s little feet.’’ She gulps down the rest of her wine, before turning her head and looking straight into Chrome’s eyes, watching the strange shadows the flames in the hearth cast upon her face and her curious purple eyes.

‘’Chrome, I loved my little brother before I even knew he was part of my family. But that was a weak love. But that day, seeing my awful father thrust my baby brother on my mother so callously, drove something home to her if no one else would love this little ugly creature that my mother hated so, then I would.’’

Bianchi is tearing up, the tears starting to roll down her face, but she can’t stop now. She has to ask, otherwise it will always remain in between them, an invisible wall of unasked questions and hurt that cannot be spoken of.  ‘’I can’t condemn you for your nature, but I also can’t let me tear myself apart further with not knowing. Please tell me: do you still hunt humans?’’

Chrome looks up. ‘’Not innocent ones.’’ And then, because Chrome is cruel, as much as she is beautiful, she says: ‘’You can’t say that about your hunting of my kind.’’

And that hurts, but Bianchi swallows the lump in her throat and says: ‘’Yeah. Yeah. That’s more than I can say.’’ Her voice cracks on the last word.

Then she cries into Chrome’s shoulders until she falls asleep, warm against her side. Chrome lets her, snot and tears be damned, handing her a handkerchief to clean herself up.

It feels like an absolution.

~~

She wakes up in a rather uncomfortable position, with her neck in a crick. She groans, massaging her neck as her eyes slowly blink open. Violet eyes are staring at her directly. She blinks again. No, Chrome’s still there, pressed up against her in the very same chair. They’re lucky the furniture was large enough to allow for it. Bianchi’s slid down to Chrome’s lap at some point, feet over the side of the chair, Chrome staring down at her. She has the most longing expression Bianchi’s ever seen on anyone’s face and her breath catches in her throat.

The small hitch in her breathing seems to shake Chrome out of her reverie. The expression leaves, once again gone behind her mask, but it doesn’t change that it had been there. Doesn’t change that Bianchi has seen.

With her heart beating in her throat, Bianchi reaches up, wraps her arms around Chrome’s neck and pulls her down to kiss her.

It is soft. It is warm. It is beautiful.

It’s all Bianchi ever needed

~~

The cooking together becomes a regular thing, but with a lot less coldness, more talking and a lot more kisses sneaked in between passing each other cooking utensils. There is laughter and love in the halls of Chrome’s dark castle, and even the bare stone doesn’t seem as cold as before. Bianchi catches Chrome humming a cheery tune in the hallways when she thinks no one is there, and the whole thing is so sweet she has to kiss her for it.

Bianchi has started growing flowers, both of the poisonous and the non-poisonous varieties, and they brighten up the gloom of the castle. Were the shadow’s whispers used to be haunting, they are now almost never found without their giggling. This is both wildly annoying and pretty endearing, the exact same category as Bianchi knows from experience little siblings fall into.

She’s thinking of inviting Hayato to the castle. She writes a letter, with a proper map and all to the castle, sending it his way. Do NOT enter through the main entry has been underlined twice, despite the fact she knows Chrome removed the geas sometime ago. There are undoubtedly still spells on it, though, so she doesn’t want to take the risk.

Another new addition to her and Chrome’s daily routine are the walks. The moonlit walks, where they leave the gate and roam the land. One of these days, Bianchi wants to take towels with them and go skinny dipping, though she hasn’t quite told Chrome that yet. Perhaps it will be a surprise.

How far can she tempt Chrome before Chrome devours her alive? A year ago she would not even have thought of such a thing, especially not in combination with a vampire. But Chrome is her vampire, and that makes her giddy and happy and oh-so reckless.

Just how reckless is clear when they are ready to depart on their walk for the night and the beating against the castle gate starts.

Bianchi startles. ‘’What- What’s going on?’’ But she hears the voices outside the gate and she knows. ‘’Oh my god, they’re here. My former colleagues- the hunters, they’re here. How?!’’

Chrome stares up at the gate. ‘’I smell the blood of your hawk.’’

Bianchi presses her hand against her mouth as if to keep herself from vomiting as her stomach begins to roil. ‘’Oh my god, I sent Hayato instructions as to how to get back here to visit. They shot Queen down and found the fucking map. This is my fault!’’

The banging upon the gate is like a heartbeat. It’s so consistent, the battering ram colliding with the wood and steel, the precision almost inhuman. It would make Bianchi laugh, if the fear didn’t close up her throat. She reaches down, taking Chrome’s hand, not taking her eyes off the courtyard before them. ‘’They won’t take you.’’ She says it with desperation colouring her words. ‘’They won’t take you, I won’t let them!’’

She promises it with all that she has in her. It has been so long since she’s felt actual happiness. Now she has it, she won’t let go of it so easily. She’ll fight to the death to defend it, to defend Chrome, if she must.

Chrome laughs and it startles Bianchi. She’s so much older in soul, and yet her body seemingly younger than Bianchi’s. Her gothic dress swishes around her feet, showing her pale, naked feet as she lets go of Bianchi’s hand and begins to circle her, as if taking her in.

Bianchi feels naked. She hasn’t worn her armour in almost a year now. It hadn’t exactly been meant for anything more than hunter raids, far too stiff for the necessities of daily life. It had to be, in order to be strong enough to defend against the monsters of the night. The dresses that Chrome had stored in the castle weren’t exactly the kind that could be worn to battle, but they’d been good enough for a quiet life here. Good enough for spars with Chrome and writing letters to her brother.

God, Hayato. What is she going to tell him if she dies here tonight? He won’t understand. He never did.

Or, perhaps, he is the only one who can understand. Nobody loves monsters as much as her brother, after all, and even if it landed her here, in this moment, she can’t resent him for it. She loves him. She loves him, just as she loves Chrome. Tears well up in her eyes. She hates herself a little for that. This is no time to cry. This is the time to fight.

Chrome quits circling around her, to stand on her tippy toes to reach up to her. ‘’The thing you keep forgetting, Bianchi,’’ Chrome breathes into her ear, a hand creeping up her sides, caressing her chest, ‘’Is that before there can be hunters, there must be prey.’’

And with the soul of a hunter far older than any kind of human hunter, she pounces as the gate breaks apart in pieces.

Their enemies never even make it past the threshold.

~~

There are, Bianchi muses later that evening, definitely perks to having a vampire girlfriend. One of them is her tearing apart your enemies, which is way too hot and probably also illegal because of the murder. Not like anyone’s going to be able to tell, though. The castle is hidden far too well for that.

Chrome returns to her, dripping in guts and all kind of gory bits, but Bianchi doesn’t mind. She leans down and kisses her, deeply and with tongue.

Chrome laughs when she lets go. ‘’What did I deserve that for?’’

‘’Being amazing!’’ Bianchi smiles back.

‘’We’ll need to get the location of the castle to your brother,’’ Chrome says, leaning her forehead against Bianchi’s. Bianchi sighs and leans into it, closing her eyes. ‘’After all, I can hardly marry you properly if I don’t even know your family.’’

Bianchi’s eyes fly open, meeting mischievous eyes. ‘’You!’’ she slaps her arm, but the pleasure in it is evident.

‘’This time,’’ Chrome states, ‘’We’re bringing him the letter ourselves, though.’’

Bianchi fully agrees with that.

Hayato and all his monster friends come to the castle for the wedding.

[boat-full-of-lotus-pods]

MDZS Chapter 103. “A Hatred for Life” Part 6

But that was all a lifetime ago

Sect Leader Jiang’s words were usually laced with sarcasm. Yet this time, and this time only, he wasn’t mocking anyone but himself.

Suddenly, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Wei WuXian froze, then said, “……You don’t have to say sorry.”

After everything that had happened between them, it was impossible to tell who was the one most at fault.

Wei WuXian continued, “Consider it as my repayment to the Jiang Family.”

Jiang Cheng raised his head and stared at him with swollen, bloodshot eyes. He said in a hoarse voice, “……Repaying my father, my mother, my older sister?”

Wei WuXian massaged his own temples and said, “Forget it. It’s all in the past now. Let’s not mention it anymore.”

It wasn’t a subject that Wei WuXian liked to dwell on or reminisce about too much. He didn’t want to be forced to recall the experience of having his core severed from his body while being fully awake. Neither did he want to be forced to remember how grave and heavy of a sacrifice it was.

Had the truth been revealed in his last life, he probably would have consoled Jiang Cheng a little while laughing, saying, ‘It’s not actually that big of a deal. Look, I’ve been without a golden core for so many years and I still survived and got by fine. I can still beat up who I want to beat up, and still kill who I want to kill.’ Now, however, Wei WuXian had no energy left to casually brush the matter aside with an air of effortless generosity and pretend that everything was alright.

Besides, he wasn’t actually so easy-going to begin with.

How could he easily let go of something like this?

It would be impossible.

The seventeen-to-eighteen-year-old Wei WuXian hadn’t been any less proud or competitive than Jiang Cheng. After all, he had been a prodigy once, gifted with exceptional talent. He could fool around all day, break curfew all night, and still perform way ahead of everyone else, including those who’d practiced and studied in earnest all day long.

But whenever these thoughts plagued him during sleepless nights—that he would never again rise to the top using righteous, conventional practices, and that he would never again stun the world with his swordsmanship—he would instead imagine what would happen if Jiang FengMian had never brought him back to the Lotus Pier. Then, he might never have brushed shoulders with cultivation at all. He might never even know of the existence of this mystical, surreal world, and remained a street rat who only knew to run from dogs. Or he might have become a cattle herder who played flutes all day, stealing vegetables to scrape by. Either way, he wouldn’t have been trained in cultivation, and wouldn’t ever have formed a core to start with. Whenever he thought about it this way, he would feel much better.

Just pretend this to be a repayment, or an atonement. Pretend as if he never had the golden core to start with.

Once he’d said these things to himself enough times, he’d actually start to almost feel as unaffected about it as he was pretending to be. He could then even secretly praise himself a little for his at-least-half-genuine magnanimity.

But that was all a lifetime ago.

Wei WuXian said, “Um, you……. don’t have keep reminding yourself. Even though I know that, with your personality, you’ll always remember it, but, how should I put it……”

Tightening his grip on Lan WangJi’s hand, he said to Jiang Cheng, “I honestly feel that…… it’s already in the past now. It’s just been too long. Let’s not get caught up over it anymore.”

Jiang Cheng viciously wiped away his tears. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes.

Just then, Nie HuaiSang slowly rose to consciousness underneath Lan XiChen’s outer robe. Wincing and whining, he reluctantly pushed himself up and asked in a dazed voice, “Where am I?”

Who knew that he would be greeted by the sight of Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi sitting on the same cushion, all plastered on each other, with the Yiling Patriarch just shy of sitting on HanGuang-Jun’s lap? Nie HuaiSang let out a terrified shriek and looked ready to faint again. Simultaneously, a series of strange noises came from the back of the temple, like the whistle of gas leaking. Immediately after, the cultivators digging at the back started screaming.

Everyone’s expression changed at once. A light but sharp and stinging smell drifted to the front of the temple. Lan XiChen raised his sleeve to cover his nose and mouth, consternation knitting his brows. Soon, two figures bumped and limped their way to the front.

Su She was supporting Jin GuangYao. Both of them were ashen-faced. Meanwhile, the back of the temple was still howling with screams. Su She asked, “Sect Leader, are you alright?!”

Beads of cold sweat lingered over Jin GuangYao’s forehead. He replied, “I’m fine. Thank you for earlier.”

His left hand lay limp by his side, trembling, seemingly enduring some tremendous pain. His right hand retrieve a small bottle of medicine from his robes, but found it difficult to open it single-handedly. Seeing this, Su She took the bottle, shook out a pill and placed it in Jin GuangYao’s palm. Lowering his head, Jin GuangYao imbibed the pill. After swallowing, his knitted brows finally relaxed.

Lan XiChen asked after a moment of hesitation, “What happened to you?”

Jin GuangYao froze ever so slightly. Colour at last returned to his face. He forced out a smile. “I was careless.”

He sprinkled some medicinal powder over his left arm. From the back of his hand all the way to his elbow was a red patch of skin. Upon closer inspection, the patch of skin almost looked like cooked meat with the entire skin surface fried and destroyed beyond recognition. Tearing off a corner of his snow-white sleeve with trembling fingers, Jin GuangYao said to Su She, “MianShan, tighten this around my wrist.”

Su She asked, “Is it poisoned?”

Jin GuangYao, “The poison gas is still traveling up my system. But it won’t get in the way. I can force it out of my system after some rest.”

Once Su She finished treating his wound, Jin GuangYao turned to check on the back of the temple. Su She hurriedly volunteered, “Sect Leader, let me!”

As the stinging smell gradually dispersed, Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi stood up together as well. At the back of the temple was a deep hole with a mound of dirt beside it. A delicately crafted, refined coffin laid with another black box on top of it, both of which were already open. Thin, white trails of smoke wafted out from their openings. The stinging smell in the air must have came from the white smoke, no doubt lethally poisonous. Corpses laid all over the floor around the coffin. The cultivators who had laboured for the excavation were now nothing more than cooked, dead meat. Even their robes of Sparks Admist Snow were reduced to blackened, charcoaled pieces, proof of how deathly corrosive the poison truly was.

Jin GuangYao was the first to reach the coffin, dispersing the residual poison in the air with his spiritually charged sword. With the tip of his sword, he flipped over the black box. The metal box crashed to the ground, empty.

Jin GuangYao finally hit his limit. Staggering to the edge of the wooden coffin, the colour that had only just returned to his ashen face moments ago was gone again without a trace. It was easy to deduct from his expression that the coffin was empty too.

Lan XiChen went over. Stunned by the horrid sight at the back of the temple, he exclaimed, “What exactly have you buried here? How did it become like this??”

One glance at the scene was enough for Nie HuaiSang to drop to his knees and start dry-heaving on the ground. Jin GuangYao’s lips trembled but made no sound. A flash of lightning illuminated his ghastly white face. The expression on Jin GuangYao’s face was so terrifying that the sight of it made Nie HuaiSang shudder, and he didn’t dare to make another noise even as he continued to dry-heave. Covering his mouth, Nie HuaiSang retreated behind Lan XiChen. It was hard to tell whether he was shivering from the cold or from fear. Lan XiChen turned to give him a few soothing words. Meanwhile, Jin GuangYao seemed to have no energy left to even bother maintaining his pleasant and courteous attitude anymore.

Wei WuXian said, “ZeWu-Jun, you are being unfair to Sect Leader Jin. Whatever that was here wasn’t buried by him. And even if he were the one who had originally buried it, it was probably swapped by someone else long ago.”

Su She pointed his sword at him and shouted in a harsh voice, “Wei WuXian! Did you have something to do with this?!”

Wei WuXian replied, “I’m not trying to brag here, but if I really was the one behind this, I’m afraid that your sect leader wouldn’t be losing just an arm. Sect Leader Jin, do you still recall that letter at the Koi Tower, the one given to you by Qin Su?”

Jin GuangYao’s gaze slowly moved towards him.

Wei WuXian said, “The one who had told Qin Su about all those nice things that you did was the handmaiden of Madam Qin, Bi Cao. Did you really believe that Bi Cao had just decided to tell her all that, that she wasn’t pushed by someone behind the scenes? And that Maiden Sisi who you’d imprisoned, who was it that really saved her? Who was the one that had told her and Bi Cao to go to the Yunmeng Jin Sect and unveil your secrets in front of everyone? Someone who could investigate your full background and all your secret doings without fail. Is it so hard to believe that he could also have reached here one step ahead of you, swapped what you wanted to unearth with poison, waiting for it to be delivered to you when you got here?”

Just then, a monk said, “Sect Leader, the earth here show traces of having being moved before. Someone had dug a path here from another end!”

Someone had indeed reached here before they did. Turning, Jin GuangYao slammed a fist against the empty coffin. No one could see his expression. They could only see the slight tremor in his shoulders.

Wei WuXian smiled. “Sect Leader Jin, did it ever occurred to you that tonight, you’re not the hunter, but the prey[1]? And that the one who’s been watching you all this time might be right here, right now, watching your every move from a hidden corner. Maybe, it’s possible, that it’s not even human……”

Outside, thunder roared and rain poured. At the words “not even human”, for a fraction of a moment, something akin to fear flashed over Jin GuangYao’s face.

Su She sneered, “Wei WuXian, stop trying to instill fear with your baseless bullshit……”

Jin GuangYao silenced him with a gesture of his right hand. The flash of fear quickly subsided from his face. Every complicated expression became buried once more as Jin GuangYao regained control of his face and said, “Don’t waste time on pointless banter. Tend to your wounds. Once I dispel the poison, we’ll do a headcount of who’s left and head out immediately.”

Su She asked, “Sect Leader, what about the thing that’s been stolen?”

Lips turning pale, Jin GuangYao muttered, “Since it’s already stolen, it’s unlikely we’ll ever find it. It’s unwise to linger here any longer.”

Su She replied, “Yes sir!”

During the messy brawl with Fairy earlier, Su She had been clawed in numerous places. The robes over his arms and chest were all scratched, especially over the chest region. Claw marks deep enough to reach the bone ran over his chest. Blood was stained in bits and patches all over his white robes. If he didn’t tend to his wounds now, they might get worse in the near future. Jin GuangYao retrieved a parcel of medicine from his robes and handed it over to Su She. Receiving the parcel with both hands and a, “Yes,” Su She really did stop arguing with Wei WuXian. Turning, he untied his robes and started tending to his wounds. Jin GuangYao’s poison-seared left arm still wouldn’t respond, and so he could only meditate on the ground to focus on forcing the poison out of his body. The remaining cultivators patrolled back and forth in the temple, carrying their swords and on guard. All the blades flashing within his sight was making Nie HuaiSang’s gaze rigid with fright. Without any personal guards by his side, he didn’t even dare to breathe loudly. Crouching behind Lan XiChen’s back, he sneezed quite a few times.

Wei WuXian thought to himself, ‘Su She never had a nice attitude towards anyone. Even Lan Zhan has him seething with rage. But he’s actually quite respectful towards Jin GuangYao.’

As he was thinking, he couldn’t help but looks towards Lan WangJi. He hadn’t expected to see the cold glare in Lan WangJi’s eyes.  

Lan WangJi said to Su She, voice chilly, “Turn around.”

Su She was busy tending to the clawed marks over his chest with his head lowered and halfway turned away from them. At Lan WangJi’s sudden words and commanding tone, he actually obliged without thinking.

Now that Su She was facing them, Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling’s eyes both widened. The smile immediately disappeared from Wei WuXian’s face as well.

He muttered, astonished, “……So it was you!”

-

Footnotes:

[1]: You’re not the hunter but the prey: The original phrase in Chinese was along the lines of “you are the mantis tonight, not the finch”

[jemej3m]

to the moon and back (p2)

:))

tw: murder and corpses, aftg typical stuff (no violence or graphic depictions, just some teen boys finding out more than they bargained for

part one | part two | part three

When Kevin saw Andrew leaning against the lockers, he floundered. Wymack was right behind him, spotted Andrew and huffed loudly.

“I’d ask how you got in here, but I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Why are you here?” Kevin spluttered. “Are you watching the game? Do you want to play?”  

“Fuck off, Kevin.” Andrew said calmly.

He forgot Kevin’s blubbering when Neil rounded his much taller position partner, only mildly surprised that Andrew was there already. The call had been twenty minutes ago: He’d been out the door in ten, and swerved into someone else’s parking spot seven minutes later. Now he was here, watching the Palmetto High Foxes come off after warm-ups to gear up.

“Where will you be?” He was flushed and sweaty, eyes bright and aware.

He gestured around him with a weak wave of his hand. Neil nodded and moved to change. He, strangely enough, wore a full-sleeved shirt under his padding.

Aaron made a startled noise, seeing his brother in the locking room. “What are you doing here?”

“Rude.” He answered. His avoidance of the question made Aaron nod simply, understanding the underlying message of later. He ignored Matthew Boyd, Seth Gordon and the other freshman sport junkies as they changed.  

Neil lingered until they’d all vanished and he had thirty seconds to get on court.

“Thanks,” He tried. Andrew shoved his shoulder lightly, wishing that he would stop looking so haunted. He much preferred his snarky Neil; this withdrawn, uptight boy wasn’t who’d caught his eye, but who now kept him curious.

“Hurry up, junkie.” He crossed his arms again and leant on the lockers. “Won’t wait around for you forever.”

He nodded, complacent, and ran off to join his team.

*

Neil Josten looked unfairly good in Andrew’s passenger seat. He was anxious, fingers rubbing over his hidden wrists, shoulders drawn up and chin tucked down, but the further they drove, the more the tension eased. He sent Andrew hesitant glances, waiting for Andrew to ask him the question.

The thing was, Andrew wasn’t sure what to ask. Why was he here? Where did he come from?  What gave him those scars? Why has he become so skittish over the past few days? What did he think about Andrew? What did he know about Andrew?

The right question would unlock all these answers. Andrew spent agonisingly long minutrd torn between trying to figure Neil Josten out, whilst denying that he remotely cared.

They were circling Palmetto city, until Josten made an advance for the cigarettes in Andrew’s drink holder. He hesitated, rising up an eyebrow with question. Andrew motioned for him to wait. He nodded.

The decrepit park they arrived at had a rusted seesaw, a pair of swings and a slide with all the paint peeled off its worn metal. There was no one around except for a man and his dog, a few hundred feet away. They sat on a bench and lit up two cigarettes in silence.

“Betsy will whoop my ass if she figures out I still smoke.” It was an explanation, but also an offering.

Neil sat in silence, watching his cigarette wither away. “She’s your mom.”

“Adoptive.” He corrected, watching the reaction on Neil face. He merely nodded.

Andrew decided to give up figuring out the key that would unlock all of Neil’s secrets. They had time. “I’m asking my question now.”

“Shoot.” He mumbled.

“Why do you let your cigarettes burn to the filter?”

Unbeknownst to Andrew, he had figured out the key question.

“My mom was killed today, six years ago. When I was ten.” He looked at Andrew.  “She was murdered. By my dad. Does that scare you?”

Andrew wanted to say that nothing scared him, but that wasn’t true. He was scared of heights. “No.”

“Thought so.” Neil huffed. “He murdered her, never went to prison. He’s too successful to let that happen. Bought out the investigation.” He took a slow drag from his cigarette. “Mom smoked. It reminds me of her.” Then, he looked up. “I thought you’d ask about why I called you, today. Or why I’ve been acting strange. Or my scars, or —“

Andrew waved him off. “You called me today because your mom was murdered six years ago by your father. Makes sense that you wouldn’t want to be at home. Makes sense that you’d choose to call me, because you know that I wouldn’t be scared about the idea of murder.”

“Aaron said you bought the car with your mother’s blood money.” Neil shrugged. “All I asked was why the fancy car, and he said that your mother gave both of you up to the foster system, then died in car accident when you were 13. You thought it was ironic to buy a car with her life insurance, considering how she’d died. No one thinks so lightly about death like that.”

“She meant nothing to me.” Andrew waved him off. “Don’t be so afraid to die, Josten.”

He was quiet at that.

“I never believed that these were surgery, or acne.” Andrew’s fingertips brushed over the cheek with knife marks. “It was your father, wasn’t it.”

“I thought we were doing one question.” Neil said drily.  

“You got free answers from Aaron.” Andrew pointed out. “It’s only fair.”

“You wont go to child services, will you?” Neil hesitated. “If you go to authorities, you’ll get nowhere, and put yourself at risk. I don’t—“ He coughed lightly. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Andrew, momentarily, thought he was talking about himself. It only took a moment for him to realise he was talking about his mother. Of course Neil would be the self-sacrificing type. Idiot. 

“I was a foster child for the first ten years of my life, Neil.” It was the first time Andrew’d called Neil by his name. “I’m not going to go to child services. Was this your father?”

Neil nodded slowly. “It was last time he came into town. He stays up in Baltimore, where his business is. I didn’t—I didn’t do anything to make him so angry, but he did it anyway.”

Then he pulled up his sleeves and stared blankly at the grotesque scarring on his wrists, forearms and hands. He yanked the sleeves back down and looked at Andrew with worry. “Why am I trusting you with this? He killed mom because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. He’s going to kill you and me, too.”

He was clenching shaking fists. Andrew thought it was ridiculously unfair that a 16 year old was trying to balance school and homework, sports teams, friendships and not being murdered by a seemingly psychotic father. But Andrew wouldn’t be helpful to anyone if he just wallowed in how unfair life was, or let Neil wallow either.

Andrew made a decision. “Not if we get him locked up.”

Neil looked at him with wide eyes. Wide, terrified blue eyes. Andrew stared back, challenging him.

“I—“ He looked away. “I don’t know.”

“Surely you have some evidence.”

He winced. “I watched it. But if I put myself forward as a witness, he’ll kill me.”

“So we need irrefutable, physical evidence and we’ll leak it to the police.” Andrew decided. “Then you can’t be blamed for a reinvestigation and if he kills you then it’ll go against him.”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, I don’t—“

“Hey, Neil?” Andrew leaned closer. The boy looked at him, terrified. “Shut up.”

He swallowed thickly and nodded, closing his eyes. Against better judgement, he fisted tufts of Neil’s soft hair between his fingers and pulled gently.

They said nothing else. Andrew finished another cigarette before putting the pack aside. They sat for a little while in silence, Andrew drinking water and letting the breeze steal the remnants of ash from his skin.

“Will you let me drop you home?”

He hesitated. “The street corner.”

Andrew was fine with that compromise. He was also fine with the way that Neil let his eyes close, head fall back against the headrest and hand hang out of the open window. Andrew didn’t tell him to get his foot off the dashboard, like he usually would. He also found himself looking, too often, at Neil’s relaxed figure. It caused him to swerve and speed unintentionally, the honking almost disturbing the junkie.

His heart rate sped up.

Weak. Stupid. Remember what happened last time you let your guard down?

It cooled him right off. He stared straight ahead and refused to think, knowing it’d lead right down a spiral he was all-too familiar with now.

They arrived at the corner of Neil’s street. He remembered the house, even if he couldn’t see it: It didn’t look large, but once Neil mentioned he hated how empty it was, making Andrew suspect it was larger than it appeared. The high fences and locked gates made the grey paneling and box-shaped architecture look like a prison. It wasn’t out of place in this expensive area of Palmetto, but it looked more untouched than the brand-new houses on the market. Neil existed within it alone, that Andrew knew, and it seemed as though he was practically squatting in the place.

Neil’s shuffling drew Andrew out of his thoughts. He dug out a black scarf, but Andrew would recognise the Evermore crest and red-and-black theme of the Ravens anywhere. Before he got out, he offered Andrew a plastic bag. It was filled with orange.

“What.” He said, unable to form a question.

“My father thinks I go to Evermore. I moved to Palmetto without permission and reroute the funds into a separate account that he doesn’t know about. I said I was going to watch their game this morning. Oh, and I’m not allowed to play Exy, so I need to give my things to you.” Neil admitted.

“Why?” Andrew demanded. For someone terrified of tempting his father’s ire, he sure was stupid. “What made you think that was a good idea?”

“I hated Evermore.” He said quietly. “I really, truly hated it.”

“I hate you,” He said, taking the bag of Fox gear and chucking into the back seat. As Neil clambered out, he said, “Think about my offer.”

He paused, toying with the end of the Raven’s scarf. Then he nodded. The door slammed closed. Neil Josten disappeared from Andrew’s view.

Part of him was irritated at being dragged into — or dragging himself into — such a mess. The other half was desperate to kiss Neil’s pretty face.

He ignored that little voice in his head and went home.

“Are you sure?” Andrew questioned.

Silently, Neil nodded. He had pressed in the gate’s code and pushed it open for Andrew to enter.

His father had left three days ago, and Neil had spent those three days overriding the security system of his home: All the cameras and microphones were blanked out for half an hour, being posed as a minor blackout if his father looked into it.

It wasn’t much of a window, but Neil said it was all he needed to show Andrew something — what exactly Andrew was being shown, he had no clue.

The gardens were manicured, every surface of the house polished: As if hearing Andrew’s observations, Neil gazed around him with distaste. “The house keeper and gardener keep an eye on me.” Neil then paused with a small frown, before deciding to hook his fingers into the sleeve of Andrew’s shirt. It was short sleeved, no where near the scars, so Andrew didn’t react with anything but a delighted shiver.

Stupid teenage boy hormones stupid gay ass stupid stupid.

Neil pulled him through angular corridors and lifeless decor. The only signs of life was a cereal bowl by the sink and a solitary picture on the living room mantelpiece. It was of the three of them: Neil had to be ten or younger, because his mother was standing behind him, hands on his shoulders. None of them were smiling.

Neil pulled back the rug in front of the fireplace: Almost unnoticeable was a little latch: He pulled on it and the wooden planks lifted to reveal a ladder downwards.

“Sick, isn’t it?” He commented lightly.  “He keeps the only photo of her in front of where he killed her.”

Andrew was infuriated. People suffered in a lot of different ways: Not many like this. No one deserved this. No one.

“What’s down there?”

“Wine.” Neil shrugged. “Old business stuff. Mom’s stuff. Probably the murder weapon.”

Andrew swallowed. “Let’s go check.”

Neil chewed nervously at his lip. He didn’t give Andrew an outright no, so he clambered down the ladder into the darkness. The mustiness of the cellar was enough to momentarily hide the unlaying stench from the din below. When Andrew was on his feet again, he felt along the walls to find a switch: When he flicked it on, Neil coughed, unsuccessfully masking how he choked on his own inhale.

He’d been right; there was a lot of boxed storage. But the overwhelmingly pungent smell of rotting flesh made Andrew gag. He pinched his lips shut, squeezing his eyes closed as he swore to himself not to throw up.

“Is that your mom?” He managed. They were looking at a body on a blue tarp, naked and decaying. With walls of concrete, nothing had been able to infiltrate the cellar in order to clean up a decaying body. It was naturally decomposing, skin peeling and yellow, blood blackened with oxidisation.

Neil shook his head violently. They turned to switch off the light and scramble up the ladder. Neil slammed the cellar cover shut, tugged the rug over it and ran: Andrew followed, only to witness him throwing up into the kitchen sink. Andrew, instinctively, held his hair out of the way as he grabbed a mug from the nearest cabinet and filled it with water.

Neil slid onto the floor when he deigned himself finished, taking the mug of water and washing out his mouth. Andrew sat in front of him, looking at his sickly pale skin and gaunt cheeks.

“At least we have our evidence?” Andrew said, weakly.

Neil glared at him. Beyond that, Andrew saw the sense of relief. He tugged on Neil’s curls until his head dropped forward, onto Andrew’s shoulder.

They stayed there for so long that Andrew couldn’t feet his legs where Neil had relaxed his whole body against him.

He couldn’t, however, say that he minded.

we love some aftg typical murder worked into an innocent high school au

[atenementfunster]

all the more reason, chapter 5

ao3 link here!

Roger Taylor, dead as a doorknob, and his best friend John Deacon (also dead) meet some blokes who are decidedly NOT. Dead, that is.

(aka that ghost au that no one asked for, featuring Gay Panic™, John’s sass, and Brian being too endearing for this world. the overall vibe of the fic is not sad, if that’s a concern for you!

They leave the cafe as dusk fades away to night, and Roger is glad to escape the bitter familiarity of the shop’s evening scene. Coffee to beer, murmurs to raucous laughter, Roger has spent many nights there when he could still taste and smell and touch.

Tonight isn’t without its own brand of excitement, though. Brian is at his side, several inches taller than him as he cranes his neck to eye the stars, though his words are for Roger.

John’s on his right, slightly begrudging in a show of slouched shoulders and pocketed hands. He hadn’t wanted to come, but Roger made a face that made it clear that he had no intention of going without John; maybe he’d seen the fear and uncertainty in Roger’s eyes, because he’d agreed after only a moment of silent arguing. Roger, to his credit, does feel somewhat like shit for it: John’s essentially his security blanket, and being around Brian means Roger can’t talk to him, and since Brian can’t see him at all, it makes for a pretty dull and infuriating night. All the thanks won’t pay him back, but Roger’ll find a way to make it up to him.

“You can’t really make any of them out here, though,” Brian is saying. “Light pollution and all.” Glancing down at Roger, he has the audacity to look embarrassed. Roger wants to take his hand and make sure he knows that no one is more beautiful than when they’re talking about something they love, but that seems pretty forward, so he settles for grinning at him.

“You ever go out to the country, get a better look?” Roger thinks he knows the answer.

“Yeah, sometimes. Projects and stuff.”

If he doesn’t see a hobbyist star chart somewhere in his Brian’s flat, Roger will eat his own shoe. “Cool. Back home, I used to have a great view,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets.

A surprised “oh?” comes simultaneously from both Brian and John, followed by a surprised little laugh from the latter. Roger turns to glare at him, crazy appearance be damned, but turns back to Brian when he asks, “Where’s home?”

It doesn’t take much to sour his mood. “Cornwall,” he supplies, trying for aloof and failing. John is giving him a funny look so intensely that Roger can pick it up in his peripheral, and he can understand why - he’d told John he was born in Norfolk, back when they were still getting to know one another. Frowning down at his feet, he tears his gaze upward back to the blanket of night, where two or three stars blink above them, determined to beat the haze over the city. “You?”

“Hampton, Middlesex,” Brian says easily.

The silence that sits between them isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it grates on Roger all the same. Small talk has never been a strong suit; he’s used to it being tempered with alcohol and the hint of a lay afterwards. It’s always a casual affair, the means to a different end, and it certainly never entertained reminders of his childhood, the ups and downs laden there. There’s nothing casual about the way Roger is handling Brian May, though. He's clinging to the idea of him like a piece of glass: pain, if he holds on too tight, reduced to dust if the pressure’s wrong. Beautiful in the right light, but with the potential for danger. He doesn't want to let go, would rather the pain of it than not having it at all.

“I’m from Leicestershire, if anyone cares,” John declares to his audience of one, looking far too aloof for his own good. Roger would trip him if he wasn't so endeared.

Glancing at Brian, Roger notes he looks content enough, though his shoulders are hunched in a way that makes Roger think it’s a regular occurrence. “You in a band, then?” He inquires, because he's genuinely curious, and he likes the look that Brian gets when he talks about music. It’s clear neither of them want to talk about their childhoods - to be fair, who ever does, let alone to a stranger - so Roger is all to willing to claw his way back to safer ground. Brian’s smile goes a little crooked.

“Sort of, yeah. Me and two of my mates, we’re working on fleshing something new out. We both used to be in another band together, but I left to keep at my studies. Miss playing, to be honest,” he says, tone wistful as he looks down at his feet. Roger thinks, for the first time in a long time, that things might happen for a reason. Maybe if he’d been more into his older band, Brian wouldn’t have been at the library for him to find, or walking near the school for him to walk into in the first place. Dwelling on all the quirky circumstances of existence has never really been his style, especially now, so Roger chalks it up to a very happy chance and leaves it at that.

“What'd you play?”

“Bit of this, bit of that.” Brian shrugs, in a statement that means he didn’t love all the music they made, but was proud all the same. “I like a heavier sound.”

Roger grins at him, and remembers his espresso. “At least we agree on that.”

Curls tossed about in a light breeze, Brian’s lips quirk up at the corners. “You in a rock n’ roll band, then?” Roger's hair, naturally, is motionless.

“Been in a few, before,” Roger mutters, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“Before what, Roger,” John says quietly at his side; it isn't a question, but a reminder, and he sounds sorry for it, too. Roger frowns and looks at the ground, avoiding both John’s and Brian's gaze as he fights the burn behind his eyes.

“I moved,” he adds dully, when it's clear Brian was going to let the awkward half remark hang between then.

Fairness is never something wisely dwelt upon, especially when you're a literal walking corpse. Some people might have deserved to die, yeah - Roger certainly can name a few - but the reality is a complete lack of discrimination. Few choose it, but it happens all the same, and to all kinds of people. Roger's made his own brand of peace with it, but walking slowly beneath a blanket of hidden stars and street lights has never felt so painful. Brian is the worst kind of reminder that he'll always have regrets, will always feel that sense of loss burning a hole through the middle of him. It's no one's fault, except maybe Roger’s, for not cutting his losses while he still could, while he had the heart to think of what could be best.

He's going to regret this, he knows now. And yet still he walks, Brian at his side, unknowing, and Roger isn't sure he's ever hated himself more.

A cool set of fingers slides between his, jolting him back out of self-loathing and into the reality he's brought on them, eyes wide and breath caught in his throat. John squeezes once, eyes wide with concern as he says, “you're alright, it's okay.”

The eventuality of consequence is smothered like a bonfire under rainfall, John's soft eyes catching and holding his gaze, pinning him without remorse. Roger nods, a slight thing, and John nods right back but doesn't let go. The pressure's off, but it's familiarity, and Roger holds tight.

Brian’s either chosen to ignore his silence or didn't notice it as a peculiarity. “That happens. If Tim and I ever get this off the ground, you should definitely bring your kit by. If you're interested, that is.”

Salt, meet wound. John squeezes his fingers again, and Roger exhales through his nose.

They come up on a rather scrappy looking flat in a neighborhood Roger's never been to. “This is me,” Brian says, hand back at the base of his neck as he looks up at a second story window. “It isn't much, but,” he adds, his smile all lips as he looks to Roger for something Roger isn't sure he can give.

Nevertheless, he tries. “Hey, it's better than what I'm working with.” It's not a lie.

Brian still looks a bit bashful, but he gestures for Roger to follow him up the cracked stone steps.

The flat’s interior is nicer than its exterior, and Brian’s immediately shucking his coat and asking him if he wants anything, but Roger’s too busy making eye contact with a red and black beauty in the corner by the sofa. “That the fireplace?” he asks in lieu of answering the question. John lets go of his hand, which makes Roger frown at him, but John just nods to the guitar like he’s giving him permission to scamper off and inspect it unattended. Roger shoots him a quick smile before kneeling, making sure to look with his eyes and not with his hands. As much as he wants to pick it up and inspect the craftsmanship, he has a feeling that sort of behavior will get him yelled at at best, kicked out at worst.

“Well, it’s a guitar now, but yeah,” comes from the kitchenette, accompanied by the sound of a fridge opening. He sounds smug, and Roger grins, sorely tempted to twang a few strings in retaliation.

“Hmm, wasn’t obvious.” Rising from his crouch, Roger pivots and falls on the sofa, limbs akimbo as he eyes Brian. Probably remembering Roger getting sat on earlier in the evening, John decides to stand behind the sofa, back bent and elbows behind Roger’s shoulders, chin in one hand.

“Been calling it the Red Special,” Brian says, steamrolling over his attitude with a raised brow, toeing off his shoes as he walks from the stove to the sofa. “I got you a beer, if that’s okay,” he adds, holding it up in demonstration.

“Thanks,” Roger murmurs, resisting the urge to purse his lips and cross his arms over his chest as he watches it sweat in Brian’s grip. Said urge is mollified a bit by Brian picking up the guitar after putting both beers down and hitting a few chords with ease to check the tune. Roger eyes the neck, the frets, the pickups with a critical eye, and finds nothing lacking. There’s a little spot that’s covered with a bit of tape, and Brian must see him puzzling over it, because he says, “decided I didn’t need the fuzz box,” by way of explanation. Something crosses his face, some sort of decision being made that Roger can’t decipher, but whatever internal dispute Brian is having seems to settle quickly, because he’s shifting the guitar so the body is in Roger’s lap.

He has a split second to focus, and good thing he does - the guitar sits heavily over his thighs instead of sinking through to the sofa, and John breathes a sigh behind him, sharing in his relief. “It’s gorgeous,” Roger says, smiling down at it before turning and batting his eyelashes at Brian. “You’re sure I can’t give it a go?”

“Pretty sure,” he replies with a chuckle, lips pursed in an amused smile over his teeth. Roger is, quite frankly, exhausted with bouncing between existential dread and boyish fondness.

A chime sounds above their heads, sudden enough to have Roger jumping a bit from his cushion, pinned as he is. “Oh, completely forgot,” Brian says, apology thick in his voice as he looks up at the culprit, a clock above the door. The beer continues to sweat tauntingly, condensation running down the neck and onto the coaster beneath it. “So sorry - one of my mates was coming over, if that’s alright? It’s one of the guys I told you about, the singer who wants us to take up a band.”

If he was standing, Roger’s sure he would have fallen over. Fear runs from his head down to his toes, so immediate and visceral that it takes the proverbial breath from lungs. Yelling no, that’s not exactly ideal would make him look like a right prat, and it’s not like he can explain why this is the worst thing Brian’s ever said to him. Dumbly, Roger turns to John as Brian lifts the guitar from their laps and moves to place it back on it’s stand.

“Well this isn’t good,” John says, and Roger feels nausea curls in his gut, anxiety cutting through him like a knife. To his credit, John’s eyes are wide and his shoulders are tense, even though he’s largely unaffected by the goings-on in the room.

Roger’s panicked look must not show on his face, because Brian seems unperturbed when a single loud knock echoes through the flat. Making himself as small as possible on the sofa, John behind him looking grim, they must make quite a sight.

Well, they won’t to Brian’s friend, and that’s the whole miserable point.

The door opens with a flourish, and in steps a man with shaggy black hair, bangs windblown over his forehead. He’s got a strong jaw and a stronger set of shoulders, and he flounces into the flat like he’s the landlord. “Brian, dear, turn on the heat, it’s absolutely frigid. I’m going to freeze my balls off in here.” He sets his coat on the counter and turns and gives Brian a hug, all in the span of two seconds of entering the room. Roger would be impressed if he didn’t feel seconds away from collapse. Good thing dead blokes can’t throw up.

Freddie Mercury turns to the sofa, catches Roger’s eye, and says, “hello, there, darlings. Brian didn’t say we’d be having guests.”

[wanderer-of-sol]

Wanderer of Sol - Business Chapter 2

Chapter 1 here

Chapter 2

The loading ramp dropped it's last foot or so with a thump and a small cloud of dust. Robin said she'd get around to fixing that, but the crew had been strapped for cash. As Gomez and his men walked up the ramp, the idea of their deals on Mars going well crept into Robin's mind, and she thought to make good on fixing that door the next time they docked for more than an hour. Wanderer was flanked by the two girls he flew with, Gomez by two men who were big enough to be two men a piece. A little overkill, honestly.

“How you doing Jon?” Gomez reached out to Wanderer's waiting hand as they shook. His men rolled large containers behind them, filled with the objects of Wanderer's desire.

“I'm doing good Gomez. How's business?” Wanderer inquired, as Gomez's goons opened the containers for Wanderer to inspect.

“Eh, it could be better honestly. I'm running low on inventory, low on credits. I can't find buyers the way you can. I don't even know who would be interested in this crap. But they pay top dollar for it, if you manage to find them.” He explained while Wanderer rifled through the boxes.

“Hey, careful what you're calling 'crap', Gomez. We both know this stuff is premium, to the right clients. You'll find them, with experience, and making new connections.” Wanderer responded, hefting a tome, bound in some kind of unidentifiable skin, encrusted in empty sockets, the gems that once adorned it had been pawned long ago, leaving behind nothing but vellum and ink to be appraised by those who knew it's true value.

“Very true, Jon. And that reminds me, I wanted to ask. How do you not have any security, hauling valuable antiques all over the system? Don't you have run-ins with the pirate federations?” Gomez asked while watching Wanderer sort the goods into piles that only he understood.

“We've got Security. Head Security Officer Munin's right there. You've met her, before.” Wanderer pointed over his shoulder lazily with this thumb. Gomez smirked a little until he realized she was leaning on a long club with nails driven through it in odd and crooked angles. She just shot him a look that could kill and he turned away from her, back to Wanderer. “And I've bought favor with a few pirate fleets over the past few years. Anyone who's terf we pass through, at least. Decent people, pirates. That and they're terrified of me. This all looks pretty good, everything I asked for is here. Let me show you what I've got and we can get this trade underway.”

Wanderer lead Gomez past Munin, who looked like she was ready to swing her bat as his head, to a large cargo container. “Everything in this container is in the price range you specified and is more or less one to one with everything you've brought to trade” He explained as he popped the lock on the container, showing walls of books surrounding boxes and crates full of strange statues, antique swords and rifles, and bones from unspecified creatures any would be hard pressed to identify. Gomez could only let out a “Wow” as Wanderer continued. “If you're looking for something in a higher or lower price range, I've got other containers.”

“That's a lot of inventory, Jon.” Gomez said, taking off his sunglasses, and replacing them with prescription reading glasses to skim over the contents. “I'll take all of it.”

“I donno if you heard me correctly. Each item in here is worth the same as one of your items. Now, if you've got enough credits for a few thousand books and everything in these crates then-” Gomez put his glasses back in his pocket while interrupting Wanderer mid-sentence.

“No, I heard you. I said, I'll take it all. Jon, I hate to do this to you, but this is a robbery. You honestly can't expect one girl with a bat to be a real deterrent when dealing with something of this value. I have word that there's a new buyer entering the market and I have to establish a name for myself in this trade, and you've got a collection worthy of making a name for anyone.” Gomez explained, pulling a gun from his coat and pointing it at Wanderer's chest. Wanderer raised his hands slowly above his head. With Gomez standing in the entrance of the container, it would be difficult if not impossible for Wanderer to safely disarm him, or find a way past him, to his security officer, and there was no way he could move fast enough to get behind one of the boxes. For the moment he was a hostage in his own ship, at the gunpoint of someone he had hoped to do business with in the future. Unfortunate.

“And not to be unprofessional...” Gomez continued “But we can't have anyone knowing where my new inventory came from. It might tarnish the name I'm trying to make. And thankfully, 'Jon Dillir' doesn't exist in any citizenship records, so no one would miss you, or your ship. So Jon, or whoever you are, if you have any last words, or prayers, I'll give you the chance to say them, then I'll make it quick and painless. Though I can't say the same for the girl with the bat” He said, aiming the pistol between Wanderer's eyes. With a crack, the two goons approached Munin slowly, extended taser rods from their coats, igniting them into a shower of sparks and arcing electrons. Munin was more than ready to throw herself at both of the mountains of muscle stalking up to her, one step at a time, but she knew she had better let Wanderer say his prayer first. And he did.

Wanderer closed his eyes and began to whisper. The words were so soft, even Gomez couldn't hear them at point blank. Not that he would know the ancient words that lifted from Wanderer's lips. They weren't for him, and they certainly weren't for any god. “Alright. I'm ready if you are.” Wanderer said, staring into the eyes of the man who would kill him.

“Thanks for letting me know you were done. It's been good doing business with you, kid.” Gomez replied. He pulled the trigger only to hear an empty click. He pulled again, and nothing. A few more times and nothing. Cocking the gun again ejected a dud round, and another click, and another. “The fuck?” Gomez asked aloud just before there was the first and only bang. He dropped to his knees and held his leg. Robin was standing off to the side, brandishing her pistol in his general direction. That shot was like the signal to start a race, as Munin leapt at the closer of her two attackers, never even looking back to see if Wanderer was alive. She brought the bat across his face in a gorey eruption of red and sparks, as the side of the mountain caved in like a defunct volcano. The look on her face was manic and blissful as the brute's cybernetic implant got tangled in the nails of her bat, and came out with a swift yank and the spurt of more blood.

Wanderer casually walked over his would be killer and snatched up his pistol, ejecting the remainder of the clip onto the floor, before pushing out a pin and pulling the slide off the top. The whole time, walking out of the container and towards Munin, he resumed whispering at a fast pace, his arm extended to the remaining attacker. As the other man brought his stun baton down on Munin, the spark fizzled and died with the completion of Wanderer's prayer. He had just hit a murderous anarchist with what was little more than a plastic rod. She pulled a knife from her boot and swiftly jabbed it between his legs, as he promptly dropped to his knees and bled for her.

Wanderer turned his attention back to the crippled Gomez who was muttering something to himself, now that the threat was taken care of.

“Where the fuck did that bitch who shot me even come from?!” He screamed loud enough for her to hear.

“I'm wearing my gray glamourred overalls. The second you guys started paying attention to Munin you totally forgot I was even here.” She explained before returning a question. “Don't you read the stuff you sell? It's like one of the most basic of the basics.”

“That bullshit about magic? It's all bullshit that rich gullible fucks buy.” He replied while clutching his bleeding leg and cursing.

“Sure, man. Did you see what just happened to you? I mean, fuck. Munin's turning your boyfriends into soup as we speak.” She said walking across the room to confront Gomez up close, and to put her back to Munin's repeated bashing of the corpses laying near the loading ramp. Gomez had actually already forgotten who he was talking to until she was standing right in front of him.

“It's true Gomez. I wasn't telling you I was ready to be shot, I was telling her that I had successfully jinxed your gun and she was clear to take the shot. Then I turned off your goon's cattle prod with the same kind of jinx.” Wanderer wanted to be clear, this all went according to his plan, not Gomez's. “Now I've indulged you with one truth. Your turn to tell me everything you know about this new buyer in the system.” Wanderer thought his proposition was fair, but Gomez was still sore about the happenings as he promptly told everyone there to go fuck themselves.

“You don't know shit, 'Jon', or whatever the fuck your real name is.” Gomez was fuming that he had gotten his ass kicked so hard.

“Gomez. You're real name is Francisco Mortim Santos. AKA, Frank, Mory, Mort, Fred, Mark and like a dozen other boring names. Your family are immigrants from the Beja-Faro Republic of Lesser Portugal on Earth. Moved to Mars when you were 6. A few years ago your dad died and you actually sold your own mother for medical testing. That's fucked, Gomez. You're also wanted on several planets, moons, and satellites for everything from blackmail to murder. Eh, you've probably done worse, huh?” Wanderer had began to reveal some of the research he had done going into the deal, but Gomez was just saying “fuck” over and over again with every fact dropped in his lap. “So how about this. You tell me everything you know about this new client you want to impress so much, and I don't drop you off at the nearest police station with all the files and identification documents I dug up on you? You can just hobble out of here, scot-free.”

“Go fuck yourself, Jonny.” Crept out of Gomez's mouth between waves of pain. Robin was pretty sure her bullet was lodged in his shin bone.

“Let me make him talk.” Munin said, prying her bat out of the puddle of gore and machine near the loading ramp. “These guys are fuckin' cheap androids. I need some real blood before the day's over. Not this synthetic shit!” She yelled, hitting the bat into the side of the container housing Gomez. Wanderer wasn't sure if the bloodlust in her eyes was real or if she was putting on a good act to scare him. He was pretty sure, before the fighting broke out, that those guys were androids. Robin thought it was obvious. Regardless, she was getting blood all over the container, and it was probably best if Wanderer tried to keep her calm. “Munin, chill. That's not very professional of a Head Securi-” She brought her bat down on Gomez's hand with a audible crunch. Robin winced and turned away as Munin twisted the nails embedded in his hand and he let out a drawn out scream.

“Alright, Gomez. I'm a pretty busy lady. We've got two more deals after this. I have to go clean all this blood off and do laundry before that, and adding your brains to my coat won't take any more detergent. Tell the man what he wants to know and I'll only brake one of your legs. I'm feeling nice, so the one that's already fucked. Sound good?” Munin thought her ultimatum was completely reasonable, but the  next words that came out of Gomez were “What the fuck is wrong with you?” and that was not the correct answer. Wanderer had already turned his back to Munin, knowing how into her work she can get.

After that, Gomez was ready to talk.

“Ceres! The planetoid just changed hands, and word has it, fuck, word has it that the guys who bought it are really into this shit. They're loaded, but they won't deal with just anyone. They said they want people who can prove they're passionate about the product. Fuck me. I think I'm gonna puke.” Gomez spilled his guts, both figuratively and literally.

“Huh, well, that's the first I've heard of this. Gomez, today's your lucky day.” Wanderer explained to him. “I'm keeping this small stack of books that interests me, as compensation for all the emotional distress you've caused me and my crew. And I'm keeping this container to pay for the damage you've caused to my cargo with all the bleeding and vomiting and stuff. The other container of yours is still yours to keep. If you pawn it off you should be able to afford medical attention for your leg and hand. Munin, you want to show Mr. Santos the door, and I'll start getting laundry together and request launch clearance?” Wanderer stated in a pretty matter of fact tone. Munin was already picking Gomez up by the back of his shirt and dragging him towards the loading ramp. She passed Wanderer with an affirming “Sure thing, Captain.”

He responded with a casual “Awesome, thanks. I'll get the hot water started for a shower too. I really don't want you tracking viscera all over the ship again, and you need to be presentable when we land in Sacra Fossae.”

“Sweet. That's kind of you boss.” She replied, throwing Gomez the full length of the loading ramp onto the pavement, then kicking his container at him. “I'll clean up this mess, then I'll be up.”

Wanderer made his way back towards the common area and hesitated outside Robin's room. “Hey, Robin. How you doing?” He asked, shouting into her room through the door. The door slid open and Robin appeared. She had changed out of her work clothes and into something more comfy.

“I'm good, Wanderer. That got a little rough, and I threw up on my enchanted overalls when Munin went all blood lusty. But I'll be ok. Just another day in the life, when you're a boat full of mages dealing with criminals and miscreants.” Robin was a little shaken. She didn't have a problem shooting someone, she'd done it before, but she preferred quick and painless, non-lethal if possible. This was the opposite of Munin in every way.

“Well, I'm about to do some wash, if you want to throw you're overalls in there. I'm using the enchanted soap, so you don't have to worry about all the blood on Munin's stuff staining.” He explained. Making casual conversation was probably the second best way he knew, excluding casting a spell on her to keep Robin relaxed and not over thinking the ordeal they just had. The first best way was to keep her mind preoccupied, which is why he then handed her a book he had taken from Gomez. “I thought you might find this interesting. Thanks for having my back today.” He gave her a smile as his grasp left the book.

Robin's eye's lit up. The book wasn't nearly as old as most of the others from the collection, but it was exactly the kind of thing she would enjoy. An old programming text book, maybe only a couple hundred years old, still in decent condition. Flipping though it's pages, it was littered with loose leaves and notes in the margins, all about technomancy. It was so hard for Robin to find research material on her unconventional school of the arcane arts, but somehow Wanderer always found exactly what she was looking for.

“No problem, and thanks man. This is awesome.” She had already cracked open the cover to give it a proper read. Her eyes were transfixed as they followed line by line.

“Hey, I'm going to get air traffic control taken care of, then laundry. Don't forget your overalls. Robin, I can see you're already in a trance. Witch, you in there?!” Wanderer tried for a moment before giving up, walking into the bathroom, to turn on the water heater, and heading to the pilot's cabin to call in their refueling and launch request. Soon they would be back in the air, but if Wanderer managed his time correctly, it would be just enough time to get some chores done and resupply before having to pay any additional parking fees.

Chapter 3 here

[longforgottenunofficial]

Here Comes the Bride, Part Two: “Beating Heart”

That was her name, or title, I suppose you'd say.  "Beating Heart."  It's on all the blueprints and on the schematics for the figure herself, but somehow it never made its way into public usage.  Oh well. This and the next post have been extensively rewritten several times over the years as new evidence has continued to come to light. With this topic in particular, sometimes we feel like we're barely treading water around  here. The blog format proves extremely useful sometimes. In our last exciting episode, we traced BH's roots from the Brown Lady of Raynham Hall to the red-hearted candle bearer in the attic.  The project had proceeded to scale model phase, and still the attic ghostette wasn't clearly recognizable as a bride.  This final touch to the character was probably added in 1968.  The script for the "Story and Song" album refers to her as a bride, and this script in turn closely follows a '68 show script by X. Atencio.  Whose idea was it to turn this ghost into a bride, anyway? Ken Anderson makes a modest contribution, early in the process.  He wrote four show scripts in 1957-58 (essentially four; some of them have alternate ideas already included in them).  The first script in particular (Feb '57) is often cited as the beginning of our attic bride.  In it, Beauregard the butler directs our attention to a painting and tells the sad story of Captain Bartholomew Gore (aka Gideon Gorelieu) and his young bride Priscilla.

When Priscilla discovers the horrible truth that her husband is, in fact, a bloodthirsty pirate, he kills her.  Her ghost comes back for vengeance and eventually drives Capt. Gore to suicide.  Now the place is haunted.  Bingo, haunted house. Okay, that seems clear.  A tragic bride haunting the house, looking for revenge.  Case closed.  They just borrowed an old Ken Anderson idea.  Well, not so fast.  First of all, there's nothing associating Priscilla with the attic, and more importantly, she's a "bride" by definition b, not definition a.  A bride is a woman soon to be wed or recently wed.  The former wears a bridal gown; the latter wears a purple dress (or jeans, or whatevv), like our poor Priscilla.  Aside from the bare fact that she exists not too far distant in time from her wedding day, Pris really has nothing in common with the familiar attic bride of the finished ride.

Which one is naughty and which one is nice?  I'm not telling.

Anderson's other three scripts don't get us any closer to the attic bride.  Two of them do organize the present day's ghostly activities around a wedding feast.  In one, "Monsieur Bogeyman" is planning to marry "Mlle. Vampire," and all kinds of famous spooks and monsters are showing up (Dracula, Frankenstein, etc.).  She jilts him at the altar, and things get ugly.  (Truth be told, I'm very thankful that one ended up on the cutting room floor.)  In another, the narrator guides you through the house toward a wedding reception.  It seems the ghosts of the luckless Blood family have been trying to complete the tragically-interrupted marriage plans of one of their daughters, and sure enough, you do eventually see a ghostly wedding banquet of sorts taking place. Anderson can be credited with the notion that a wedding gone awry would make a good basis for a haunted house, and notice that in that last scenario, an actual ghost bride would have been represented. This might be a good place to ask the question: "Do we ever encounter a ghost bride in popular (or unpopular) culture before now?" Somehow she feels familiar, or at least not odd, but examples of ghost brides are hard to find. Hard, but not impossible:

From Judy, Or The London Serio-Comic Journal, 1876. Hat tip Craig Conley

Dude, we've even got cobwebs. Okay, so when do we get to see a ghost bride in Haunted Mansion artwork? Well, inMay of 2014 a never-before-seen Marc Davis sketch was published showing a ghost bride on a stairway landing.

D23/Disney Unfortunately, we have no date for this sketch. It does look like it may have been inspired by the old Ken Anderson sketch based in turn on the Brown Lady of Raynham Hall photo.

If it's one of Marc's earlier sketches, it may represent a sort of turning point,as Anderson's creepy ghost is transformed by Davis specifically into a bride. Whenever it was done, it isn't Marc's only ghost bride artwork. One of his many, many unused ideas for a changing portrait involved a forlorn-looking bride corpsifying before your eyes.

(Artwork ©Disney.  Animated gif by Captain Halfbeard)

This gets us even closer to where we will eventually end up. Obviously, Davis liked the ghost bride idea, and we may speculate that one day the light bulb clicked on, and he realized that his rather fierce-looking attic ghostette would actually be a perfect vehicle for the corpse bride concept.

And so it was.  At last our elusive ghost has donned a wedding gown.

They put Beating Heart in exactly the spot occupied by the maquette figure in the scale model; that is, on the left side, and a little ways to the left of the spot where today there is a ghostly piano (I'm talking DL, of course).  For you young'uns with short memories, her heart glowed red and visibly pumped back and forth, while the sound filled the attic:  Lub dub.  Lub dub.

That's where BH was on opening day, and that's where I remember seeing her on August 14th.  New info: A large plastic sheet (called "nylon 6") was in front of her, stretched from post to post and floor to ceiling, probably with the intent of making her appearance fuzzier.  That too jibes with my memory.  I remember her slowly rocking back and forth in an area that reminded me of a door frame, and she was definitely murky. She was only there a few weeks tops.  When the (infamous) Hatbox Ghost, which was located near the exit on the right, failed to perform as hoped and was removed, BH was transplanted to his old spot.  There she remained from Aug-Sept 1969 until May 2006, when she jumped the track to the other side and became Constance, that zany hubby-whackin' axe murderer. What did that original "Beating Heart" bride look like?  She bore a strong resemblance to the corpse phase of the Marc Davis changing portrait above, and so that version of the bride has picked up the name "Corpse Bride." For the Disneyland original, we have a number of good photos of the figure, from pre-opening photos of the figure before installation, down to 1975. Here's a montage of those:

We also catch a fleeting glimpse of her in the background of a scene from the March 1970 Disneyland Showtime episode, which featured the Osmond brothers and showcased the new Haunted Mansion.  The program was filmed in January or February of that year, so we're mere months past opening day.  If we shrink the 1975 CB photo down (center in the montage), blur it, and fade it, it bears an uncanny resemblance to the Osmonds bride.  That's 1970 on the left, 1975 on the right.

However, even that is not the oldest photography of the original bride standing in place in the attic. One day in June of 2011, Disney fan and historian Todd J. Pierce was going through a box of old home movies and photos he had acquired, and there he found a small reel dated August 1969.  To his astonishment, this one-minute film featured a rare glimpse of the Hat Box Ghost, as well as about three seconds of murky footage of the bride, the only known photography of the original bride in her original position.  An edited version of the film was posted at the Disney History Institute on July 9th.  Not much of the bride is visible, but you can see the red heart, beating back and forth, the tip of her glowing candle, and a number of large white smears and smudges.  Occasional details like her hair are visible only in a frame or two here and there.  Here's a GIF with a picture of the Corpse Bride superimposed on a combined still from the film.  The candle tips don't line up, because she's holding it at different points in the arc of movement up and down.  With some other bride photos the alignment is exact, so between that and the heart it's possible to place her pretty accurately in the frame.

The eyes of the Corpse Bride were never very bright, so they don't show up except very dimly in one frame:

Exactly when the Corpse Bride was replaced is not known, neither for DL, nor for her twin at WDW.  Based on what evidence I have, the latest possible date would be the late 80's. There is some evidence suggesting that the Corpse Bride was still in use at WDW in the late 70's, so "sometime in the 80's" cannot be far off. Speaking of WDW, unlike the situation with regard to Anaheim, photos of the original WDW bride are extremely rare. One surfaced in February of 2013 and showed up at the irreplaceable Daveland site. It's the Corpse Bride, all right, but her face in Orlando was never painted with the same amount of detail as the DL version, especially in the lower part of the face.

Remarkably, there exists also a film clip of the original WDW bride from 1976:

[Visit original post to view video clip.]

"Long-Forgotten" threadster Michigan Guy has put together an artist's conception of what the Disneyland original looked like, and based on available evidence I'd say it's pretty accurate.  Kids, hide your eyes!

Starting with that, here's my conception of what she looked like.  I mean it, kids: don't look!

Okay, fine.  Not my fault if you have nightmares.  Where are your parents? ☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆ Before we bring this episode to a close, I suppose that something needs to be said about the photo below. It's sorta well-known, and it's often presented as the original 1969 bride.

There are enough idiosyncrasies about it that at least one intelligent observer has argued that it is a pre-opening prototype and not a production figure.  The most glaring problem is the slit-like eyes.  No other bride photo shows anything like that.  Highly suspect. In fairness, those eyes might be a conservative hold-over from the design you see in the maquette figure, which also has slittish eyes:

Not only that, but as it happens the mechanical design of the lighted eyes would allow for any amount of manipulation of their shape.  You just mask the WALL -E eye box in her head (well, that's what it reminds me of) in any way you think appropriate and get any shape eye you want.

So yeah, I suppose it's theoretically possible that the slit-eyed bride was there as a short-lived experiment, but it's extremely unlikely that she was the original.  Like the round-eyed, dark-faced version that eventually replaced the Corpse Bride (seen above on the left), the slit-eye version has very bright eyes. They would certainly have been visible in the August '69 film footage if she were standing there, but the eyes are only visible in one frame, and even then just barely. I'm pretty sure the mystery photo is either a picture of the second version of Beating Heart (with the eyes narrowed), or it's a prototype.

Next up:  Ol' Round Eyes and the "middle" brides.

Originally Posted: Tuesday, May 18, 2010 Original Link: [x]

[kashmiresims]

Baking Bad

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“Home baked cookies! We also have brownies, scones, and muffins too!” Alanna called down the main street of midtown Isla Del Kashmire. She was trying to drum up interest to any passersby on the street. They’d made a few sales since they first set up the bake sale that morning. Saturday mornings were a bit slow in the sleepy island town but now that it was nearing afternoon, more people were up an and about. Franz left the sales to Alanna. She had the natural enthusiasm, charm, and plus she didn’t scare customers away. Unlike Franz, who seemed to whenever he stood up to try and help her sell. He didn’t smile or say anything so all anyone judged him by was his intimidating height. So after a few failed attempts, he ended up sitting off to the side behind the farthest table and continued to read a book. He’d help if Alanna if she really needed it but his contribution to this project was mainly the baking. And since it was her idea, it was her turn to take the lead. Two little girls heard Alanna’s call and approached the table and looked over the sweets with hungry eyes. “Can I have all these chocolate chip cookies?” the little blonde girl asked and gestured to the cookies set out at the end of the table. There were more in the canisters but those had the pecans in them. “Uh…” Alanna seemed to be thrown off at the large request, “They are 3 simoleons a piece, do you have enough for all of them?” “Of course I do,” she seemed offended, “I’m not poor.” Franz glanced up from his book briefly with a frown. The way the girl had said it was in such a way It reminded him of when he was a boy and children had taunted him for not having a lot of money. What they didn’t realize was that even though his mother had owned the bakery, all their revenue would go back into it, leaving very little for personal luxury. Alanna held up her hands in apology for any miscommunicated inference, “It’s 30 simoleons total,” she placed the baked goods for the girl into a plastic bag. The little girl held out her hand and dropped the exact amount into Alanna’s palm and smiled. She put it in the money box behind her next to her bicycle.

“Make sure to tell your friends; we’re here until 4:00!” Alanna said as the girls walked away with their cookies. Alanna turned to Franz with a slightly disheartened look, “Franz, they took all the plain chocolate chip cookies!” Franz shrugged, “Maybe you should have bought them earlier if you wanted some.” When she didn’t respond, he ripped his concentration from reading and saw she was slightly pouting. He let out a sigh and a half smile, “Maybe I can make you some later tonight, if I have any ingredients left.” His answer made her grin again and his half smile spread into a full one at seeing it. He went back to reading. “What business do kids have wandering around with all that money though?” He wondered aloud. His eyes scanned the page but he wasn't taking in the words anymore, reminded of the insults kids taunted him with. “It’s the weekend. Parents probably give their kids spending money and let them loose on the neighborhood. Isla Del Kashmire is a safe enough place. I bet most kids spend more than half the cost of all those cookies at the arcade,” Alanna explained, “didn’t you ever do that?” “No,” he answered. He didn’t really discuss his past to anyone, not even Alanna. She had gone to school with him, though was not in his classes and she knew he wasn’t wealthy but didn’t know the extent of how dirt poor he was as a child—his entertainment options were very limited. He instead, went to the public library because it was free. He could spend all weekend holed up in a quiet corner in that old building where no one could bother him and read to his heart’s content. Speaking of such an activity, Franz continued to read his current book and didn’t discuss the subject further. It was a book that was listed as a ‘classic’ but one he had never yet gotten around to read—but he knew why, because it was an old book–set in history not the imaginative futurescapes he was accustomed to with science fiction. “I loved ’War and 'Peace’,” Alanna mentioned, referring to his book as she leaned against the small planter underneath the coffee shop window.

Franz took a moment to finish reading the paragraph he was on and then retorted as he turned the page, “You love every book; just like you love every person you meet.” She seemed to think about it and then shrugged, “I don’t think that’s true so much on the people part but so what if I love every book I read?” “Customer,” Franz nodded as he saw movement above the book spine without focusing on it. Alanna straightened up and started to greet them. Apparently, they weren’t actually interested in buying, but only had paused at the bake sale table before going on their way into the coffee shop. “You sure you want to miss out?” Alanna asked, trying to make them reconsider. “Why should I buy overpriced brownies here when there’s a bakery a few blocks down the street?” they asked and made a nod in the direction of the old building. “All proceeds go toward helping a woman afford medical treatment, every bit helps! Plus, you get something delicious out of it,” She replied. The way she explained it–on the right note between sad and yet optimistic–was enough for the stranger to hand over the amount they had considered to be too much a few seconds ago in exchange for a brownie. Franz was sometimes in awe of how Alanna could handle people she had never met before. She treated them as if they were old friends that she just hadn’t seen in a long time, which blew his mind since they hadn’t existed in her life until that moment. It was her superpower. “Tell your friends! We’re here till’ 4:00!” Alanna waved goodbye as they entered the coffee shop; their intended destination. “If you love all books, then there’s no room to compare good from bad,” Franz continued to converse on the topic they had started before the last customer. “They all have their merits,” she continued on with him, “Maybe I’m just not picky?” “You don’t like raisins,” he reminded her. Though he knew comparing her pickiness for food to books was like apples to oranges. She gave a playful scoff and slid her index finger into the valley between the pages of his book and pulled it downward to cause him to make eye contact as he had only continued to read the entire time during their conversation. He met her gaze and she had one brow arched indignantly. “Raisins are the mummified corpses of grapes and taste like the inevitable fruit-death that they are. They have no business being in anyone’s food, least of all something as delicious as a cookie.” He had to crack a smile at her annoyance because it was so rare and it was terrible of him but he had intentionally encouraged it by bringing it up. It was all in harmless fun, though. Raisins were the only thing he’d ever see her get somewhat judgmental about in the times since they had become friends. Even when he’d snack on them she always had to make a disgusted face or comment on how unappetizing they were. He’d been unfortunate enough to share a bag of trail mix with her that contained the little pieces of dried fruit and that was the day he discovered her hatred of them. “So, if you read a book with raisins in it, would you still love it?” She seemed a bit taken aback and had to think on the hypothetical, “If the book discussed the truth of it—that raisins are disgusting—yes, I would still love it.” “...But otherwise?” “I don’t suppose I would.” Franz nodded as if though he had made a point, though neither of them were arguing a point, and went back to reading. Alanna managed to sell a few more baked goods to interested people passing by and it was nearing late afternoon. When she wasn’t selling she would try to engage Franz in conversation and he wouldn’t have minded usually but it was slightly annoying to continually be interrupted in the middle of it. He didn’t want to snap at Alanna and potentially make her displeased with him, so he would always just read to the end of the page and then participate in whatever she wanted to talk about—usually about where he was at and what he thought so far of the plot. His nose was buried in his book, his brain half-concentrating on Alanna and half-reading which made for a disconnected experience.. But Alanna knew not to spoil it for him, and she was excellent at talking about books without giving away the plot points, which he appreciated anytime they discussed books he hadn’t read yet. “Another customer,” he mumbled, noticing some incoming movement. He could tell from listening they were most likely a woman because there was a distinct click of heels on the sidewalk. “Good afternoon Ma'am!” “Afternoon,” the woman said while continuing to pass. Maybe not a customer after all. Her voice was only vaguely familiar to Franz’s ears. He assumed he’d heard it before from a bakery patron. “Could we interest you in a muffin? We did have chocolate chip cookies but they sold out.” Alanna said. Franz didn’t see the point of her even bringing up the cookies unless it was to subtly remind him to bake more. “No thank you, I’m actually on my way to…” the clicking of her heels halted, “…the bakery.”

That was odd. Why would she have stopped if their destination was not here at the bake sale? Franz suddenly felt like he was being watched; he glanced up. The woman was looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes as if trying to recognize him. He knew who she was. He had her business card. “Aren’t you the baker’s son?” Shelby Barnett asked. Franz set his book in his lap and crossed his arms. He nodded. “Well, perhaps you can save me a trip,” she opened the side of her leather briefcase and pulled out a paper. “This is the last paper I need your mother to sign to complete the sale of the property.” Franz prickled with immense agitation. It wasn’t just 'property.’ It was his childhood. It was the legacy of his family that was on the table for sale. Nothing as impersonal and simple as 'property.’ “No,” he replied and picked up his book, flipping through to last page he could remember. Alanna was staring at them wide-eyed, not having even expected this was the woman who represented the impending end to the bakery. “Excuse me?” Shelby Barnett was taken aback by his recalcitrant response. “Do your job and deliver it yourself. After all, you are head of development,” Franz elaborated slightly and didn’t look away from the pages as he flipped through them. He really ought to have brought a bookmark. He didn’t sound particularly angry but his delivery of the words oozed with resentment.

“It’s one document!” Shelby frowned and held out her index finger to emphasize that fact. Her voice began to rise with irritation and her brow plummeted at his non-compliance. She seemed used to having her requests fulfilled. How could she not, being someone that made deals to buy up others’ cherished businesses? “If it’s too hard of a task for you to comprehend, you must be some kind of…imbecile!” Franz slammed his book on the table face-down and stood all in one swoop, anger erupting through his usual placid features and creating quite a scary visage instead. His arms lashed out and he made the same gesture of his index finger on one hand while the other curled into a fist, and he growled, “If you can’t deliver your one document then I doubt I'm the imbecile here.” Alanna had crossed her arms and her usually friendly demeanor had turned cold as soon as the woman had insulted Franz. Shelby Barnett flinched and took a step backward, suddenly showing a hint of fear at the beast she had awoken with her insult. She took a breath and kept her glare, “I take it back, you’re not an imbecile, you’re just an asshole.”

“He is not!” Alanna made an outburst of anger before Franz could respond. It surprised him momentarily because he’d never heard her shout like that before. Alanna picked up a frosted cupcake and hurled it at the Cosgrove Collective’s head of development. It grazed the woman’s work blouse, leaving a trail of chocolate across her shoulder. “Now get out of here before I throw another!“ Shelby Barnett kept a nearly incredulous yet contemptuous glare and stuffed the document back into her briefcase as she turned to get away from them. As she walked away she called over her shoulder, "You better get used to selling your goods on the street because you won’t have a bakery by next week.” Pompf. Another cupcake hit her in the back, this time it was thrown by Franz and it was a harder hit since Franz had a more powerful arm. She turned around with a scowl of pure hatred and then moved quickly to put distance between herself and the bake sale before either of them could throw another cupcake at her. Alanna popped a giggle and Franz looked to her in bewilderment. What about that exchange was humorous? He didn’t have to voice his question before she answered, “I don't think she's going to tell her friends we're here 'till 4:00.” "How could she? You didn't let her know," he shrugged, but he still felt very riled and on edge. It wasn’t often people stoked the flames of his temper to a level that caused him to react. Franz had been taunted before with the same caliber of name calling—because he took his time to speak, because he had been held back a grade, and because he didn’t often make eye contact with those that spoke to him. He hated it and thought he was done with that juvenile behavior once he graduated high school. “Thanks,” he said and sat back against the planter. “For what?” “For standing up for me,” he answered. Even in grade school when he was teased, no one ever contradicted the name-calling. Most of his schoolmates believed he really was all the unkind names he had been called. Alanna smiled with a small spark of sympathy in her eyes; she understood. It was one of a hundred reasons he was grateful to be her friend. Some more people were coming. They both looked forward and saw Reggie Orbinson sauntering along, across the street and clearly smiling at the sight of Alanna. Franz felt his arm muscles involuntarily contract in anticipation of use at the sight of Reggie approaching. Alanna quickly put herself in front of him so he had no choice but to listen to her and his view of Reggie was obstructed since he was still leaning on the planter and not at full height. “I invited Reggie to come check out the bake sale. He might buy a good amount and we need to sell. Whatever there is between you two, let it go and please do not make a scene.”

Alanna was the thing between them. Now, literally and figuratively back when the friendship went south. It wasn’t the typical guys-fighting-over-the-same-girl trope either that was so common in young adult novels or 'love triangles’ as people called them. Franz only defended his right to be her friend and Reggie was always the one insisting there was more to their relationship. Maybe because Reggie was selfish and entitled enough to think he was the only one who deserved Alanna Thackery’s attentions, romantic or otherwise. Franz didn’t have the energy to argue, but gave a small nod of agreement since Alanna’s gaze was so adamant. She smiled in thanks and turned around to greet Reggie. “Hey there,” Reggie said, not paying mind to Franz, who was just sitting there with his eyes narrowed to near slits and filled with pure animosity. He didn't mind, he was used to not being noticed or acknowledged by most people. “Hey Reggie. Thanks for coming, let me know if you see anything you want to buy,” she said with a warm smile. “No problem, I said I would come,” he said and looked over the treats displayed on the table. He brought his hand to his chin, “Any recommendations?” “Well we sold out of my favorites—the chocolate chip cookies—but these scones are pretty scrumptious. They are made with honey and pecans. Or the muffins, they are slightly crispy on the tops and then soft as clouds in the center.” Franz ripped his gaze away, noticing that some red-headed kids were observing the table of goods as well. One was photographing the muffins. They didn’t seem familiar at all, which was uncommon for a small island town. “What are you doing?” Franz asked in a low, near-threatening voice. “Taking pics, what does it look like?” The teenage boy said. His voice was irritating, and made Franz want to punch him just for talking. The girl, who stood next to him and must have been his twin sister–since they looked so very similar—flipped her hair as the boy stood and took another picture. “Don’t mind him, he’s hopeless. We’re from Memosa Bay High School; we're on the newspaper staff and I have an assignment to write about the charming things that go on in Isla Del Kashmire. This bake sale looks cute enough so I thought I’d write about it. Can I get some more information from you about this?” Franz heaved a deep sigh–he hated talking to people and this seemed right up Alanna’s alley–but when he glanced toward Alanna, he could see she was still occupied with pointing out more of the edibles for Reggie’s consideration, “Sure.” “I think you’ve sold me on the muffins,” Reggie finally picked something. Alanna gave a little yip of encouraging glee and asked him how many he wanted. To her surprise, he wanted the whole baker’s dozen! “And throw on that row of scones for good measure. Mom will love them,” Reggie added. She took his cash and bagged him the whole amount of goods. That was one heck of a sale! She stepped out from behind the bake sale table and thanked him profusely for his patronage before giving him a hug of gratitude. He gladly received it and then asked, “Are you still able to come with me to check out what I’m working on for the robotics group?” “Yeah, it’ still on my schedule.” “Great, that’s…so great,” he smiled in relief and swapped the bag from hand to hand with a bit of awkwardness, “Do you want to me to pick you up?” Alanna seemed to think about it and then nodded, “Yeah it will save time I think. Are you coming back to Isla Del Kashmire after?” “I can if you need me too. I can drive you anywhere,” he replied. “Yeah, just pick me up whenever you are headed out then and I’d like to come back here if it’s not a problem, thanks Reggie! ” Alanna confirmed. She gave him another hug in farewell. Franz's attention had been split trying to listen to Alanna's conversation and answer this girls’ questions about the bake sale. He also name dropped his mother’s bakery in case it could help in anyway–increasing business or adding to the customer base. The girl finally seemed satisfied and took her brother away from the bake sale. They hadn’t even bought anything which annoyed Franz. What annoyed him even more was how Alanna kept embracing Reggie the whole time. It wasn’t that he was jealous, but in Franz’s opinion, Reggie didn’t deserve to get the same warm and welcoming treatment she gave to nearly everyone else. She didn’t know him like Franz had.

“You’re hanging out with Reggie again?” Franz asked. He felt a bit sour because she never seemed to have the availability to hang out with him most of the time yet she went and made time for Reggie. “Yeah, he invited me to see the robotics group at Sim State,” she answered as she was looking at her cell phone. She was checking the hour. It was almost time for them to pack up. They agreed she would take any extra baked goods to her parents’ home because if Franz did, it would arouse suspicion from his mother. He couldn’t fit them all in the kitchen of the community college, that was for sure. Alanna glanced up and saw Franz’s frown of obvious disapproval, “What’s the matter?” “Nothing,” Franz bit his tongue and relaxed his expression to it’s usual impassiveness. He wasn’t going to badmouth Reggie because that was something Reggie would do to him behind his back, and he didn’t want to be the type of person that Reggie was, “Just be careful.” She knotted her brows with slight confusion, uncertain if Franz was making a general statement on her well-being or referring to the mayor’s son, “I will, thanks.” In a half-hour’s time they started to pack up the remaining cookies and muffins. Overall, they had sold more than not, so that was good. Alanna gave Franz a hug goodbye and wished for his mother wellness. She put the box of Tupperware containing the leftover baked treats in the basket of her bicycle and pedaled off toward her parents’ home. Franz knew that Alanna could see and hang out with whoever she pleased. It was her decision, her life. However, he was still bothered at the thought of Reggie being the one she did want to spend time with. Reggie had wanted to ‘start over’ and be friends but Franz saw through that motivation just the same as he saw through his sister’s explanation of a ‘friend’. Reggie wanted more from Alanna, and always had. What did she see in him? What did Franz ever see in him? Maybe it was because they were a matched pair as children–a quiet and awkward set of boys who were teased that had no business being friends unless Reggie was being physically bullied and Franz was a convenient friend to scare those other kids away. Maybe the real reason Franz was so bothered about them hanging out was because he had let himself be used by Reggie and didn’t want Reggie to do the same to Alanna. It wasn’t a long walk back to the community college. Leaves were starting to change colors and it was peaceful, yet Franz’s heartbeat was quick and he didn’t feel at much ease after the days’ events. What he felt like, was hitting the gym–hitting something–to give the punching bag a bit more wear and tear. Hopefully, Illyana Sanchez, the person who he had relinquished the bag to the week before was out of town for fall break and not in the same mindset. He had listened to her rant that day–it wasn’t pleasant, being yelled at–but as long a he understood it wasn’t at him or about him, he was more apt to lend an ear. He reached the entrance to the community college, taking long, hassled strides down the brick walkway when he unceremoniously stopped in front of the community campus shelter that posted ads, notices, and had a phone for emergencies. He took a breath and wiped the hair out of his eyes and towards his ear though the strands were too short to actually tuck them behind it. He had been walking fast while furiously thinking, a result of Shelby Barnett and Reggie Orbinson and the threats they posed toward his family business and the best friendship he'd ever had. A new poster had caught his attention hanging among the others—it was mostly red but what made him stop were the words 'fight’ and 'reward’. Maybe if he weren’t in such a state he would have shrugged it off. Maybe he would have stayed in and baked Alanna those cookies she had wanted so much. But Franz was in a foul mood and his mind was running on that fierce sliver of anger that was yearning to be released—so he had no hesitation pulling out his phone and texting the number on the poster for more information. If Illyana was in town, she could have the punching bag because Franz was going to find something a bit more challenging and satisfying to raise his fists at.