#and a bunch of stuff got spilled on the carpet today

[rongzhi]

Announcement!!

I think I’ll be taking a short hiatus from posting. Work and searching for videos/translating/queuing posts has me stretched thin lately.

Not sure how long this break will be—maybe a few days, maybe a week, maybe more. Maybe it’ll just be me slowing my roll for a while and posting less per day! Idk! Maybe it won’t even be noticeable but I just thought I’d give notice anyway~

:)

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Begrudging Allies (Aaron Hotchner x Trans!Male!Reader)

Summary: Aaron and Y/N's marriage is suitable enough, given that Aaron secretly loves men and Y/N secretly is a man. When the one year anniversary of their amicable nuptials brings forth correspondence from their estranged families, Aaron takes the opportunity to potentially make something more out of their arrangement.

AN: This is one of my entries to the "Enemies 2 Lovers" challenge set by @imagining-in-the-margins​ on Tumblr!

Reader is trans male and uses he/him pronouns. 

WC: 2.4k words

Content Warning: References to era appropriate homophobia/transphobia but nothing actually mentioned. Two dumb fucking gay men trying to flirt.

Photo Credit // Masterlist // AO3

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Aaron Hotchner and Y/N L/N were served breakfast together every day they were in the house together. They sat not at opposite ends, but the seat left adjacent to them. That way, they did not have to look at each other whilst they ate. Breakfast was the only meal with which they shared each other’s company. Why make it unbearable first thing in the morning? They read the morning paper - and any post - while eating. Only the scrape of their plates and muted chewing was to be heard before the chairs scraped across the floorboards and both men departed.

Today they both received a note from the L/N household back in their old country.

“I assume your letter reads the same as mine,” Y/N dropped his beside his plate before pushing it further away.

Hotchner raised his eye from the headline that had been mildly entertaining him, “It does.”

In cursive flicks, the usual complaints of their emigration had reached his eyes not moments prior. The closing of his family’s letter however broached a new request: a photograph of the happy couple on their first wedding anniversary, specifically a recreation. The ungrateful bunch, the only remaining wedding photographs of the wedding were in their hands.

“I don’t have the dress,” Y/N scoffed and looked aside. Even from this end of the table, Aaron could see that he was trying to mask his tears from the dawn. The wedding day was the culmination of their greatest shames.

At least Aaron had tried to make the best of it, but there was no relief for Y/N until they were in their separate chambers and free from all betrothment attire.

“Suppose we should arrange for a fitting. Though how we’re going to do that without arousing any suspicion here is beyond me.” “Perhaps we can go north, find a seamstress and a wigmaker there.”

Aaron did not patronise Y/N by pretending he understood his plight. He himself had never pictured himself with a wife; worse was that Y/N had never pictured himself to be a wife.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to remain a woman?” He had said after Y/N had confessed during their third arranged rendezvous.

With venom spitting from each syllable, Y/N’s reply was one that he remembered vividly: “I was never a woman to start with.”

They were not friends, they barely spoke, but the enemy of the enemy is a friend. This sentiment made Y/N a begrudging ally.

However it did not make the occasions they had to pretend to be a happily wedded couple any simpler. Y/N did look most becoming in white, but Aaron knew that there was no worse day for Y/N than that day in the church. Any reminder was like a stake through the heart.

“I’ll arrange for the fitting,” Aaron quietly volunteered.

Y/N was quick with a brusque reply, “I can organise my own affairs.”

“Of course, but perhaps it would lighten your load if I took on those responsibilities.” Aaron paused as Y/N pushed aside his breakfast plate, his eggs now making his stomach turn. He used his newspaper as a shield, “And as your husband, I give you permission to dress how you please.”

Y/N blinked then nodded. He did not ever say thank you. That was his problem, Y/N, too proud. Too nervous to admit that he had been graciously allowed to exist like this because of his marriage to Aaron. As if that was ever any part of their agreement, both of them had blackmail worthy material. Y/N just seemed to forget that, or at least he was not the type of individual to dangle Aaron’s secrets before him like a carrot on a stick. Why Y/N thought that Aaron was that type though, he had some idea.

“A member of the bar?” was the response Aaron got from Y/N, disgust thinly veiled, upon their first chaperoned walk through the L/N estate. It must have seemed contradictory later down the line, to be a protector of the laws that criminalised his very own existence. It was not as uncommon as Y/N believed however, and there were much worse laws to break between trials than being attracted to men.

A man of his word, Aaron prepared for a fitting in the comfort of their own home. A friend of theirs was a tailor; accommodations were no economic issue. Of course, this friend did not know either of their secrets, but other than that, he was a companion who would be greeted warmly into their home.

Y/N watched the tailor from the chaise whilst pretending to be interested in a book. His eye would raise itself to see each adjustment made to Aaron’s wedding suit, which he had surprisingly kept – folded in a box at the farthest corner of the house. Then Y/N would go back to the page and reread the top few lines. Every time, Aaron would pretend not to notice. But the jiggle of Y/N’s knee, the absence of progression through the book’s narrative, taught him that Y/N was anticipating this fitting with something more positive than last time.

“All done, thank you, Aaron!” “Y/N, your turn.”

His book snapped shut and Y/N stepped up to the podium. Aaron swapped places with him without acting out the role of an aloof reader. As expected his expression was well disguised as neutral, but Aaron’s practice in law gifted him with a pair of spectacles into the soul. Y/N’s glee of the tape measure taking in his proportions was masked so that only his eyes smiled. Once or twice, the corner of his mouth ticked up, only to iron its creases out when the tailor moved into his eyeline. When asked what colour he would consider, Y/N mulled deliciously his options before selecting a gentle blue. His fingers were cautious but as soon as they touched the royal fabric offered, they fanned out and welcomed it for his new suit.

From the moment they broke apart, his hands were restless. Ticking against his teacup or tapping against his legs were two of their new favourite hobbies. Even when the suit arrived, Y/N could not keep himself still. His beautiful face was scrunched up in the mirror as he attempted for a third time to make the right knot in his cravat. The photographer was waiting for them downstairs.

Aaron sighed and knocked one knuckle to the door, “Allow me.”

Y/N rolled his eyes, “I can do it myself.”

“I know. But this knot will look better.”

Their eyes locked in the mirror, before Y/N turned around and released his tie. His chin pointed parallel to the carpet. His neck was still so as not to drop the breath he was holding. Aaron flicked with the tip of the cravat as his hands slotted it through, his focus on the column of Y/N’s throat, because meeting his gaze now was an impossible feat. They were too close for that. He bent the stalks of his collar into place then stepped back as if to admire his handiwork. But that was not at all what he really regarded.

He cleared his throat, “There.”

As Aaron removed his hands, Y/N spun to face his reflection head on. “Adequate. You’ll have to teach me that one.”

Finally, they greeted their photographer, who had set up his camera in their garden. It was a lovely day, not to be wasted inside. At least that’s what the photographer said as he unceremoniously ushered them into place and posed them to his liking. There was no instruction for how to position their faces so Aaron kept his the same as their original wedding portrait.

His plan for relaxed facial features hit a bump in the road. As the photographer ducked beneath his sheet, Y/N snorted. His hand was quick to follow and it clapped over his mouth. The photographer emerged with concerned curiosity. A strand of his combover was standing on end.

“My apologies, there was a tickle in my throat.” He pressed his lips together and ducked his head, his feet scuffing one inch’s worth of dirt before he regained composure.

The photographer tried again. Aaron could see, in the corner of his eye, that Y/N’s corners of his mouth weighed down to prevent a break but it was unsuccessful.

“Do forgive me,” He said, his voice quivering, “I remembered a jest from last week. It isn’t even worth the laughter it brings.”

Despite his detractions, Y/N kept guffawing to himself as the photographer kept dodging about his cloth and camera. It spilled from between his pressed lips like an overflowing goblet. Aaron had not heard such delight before. He would describe it as infectious if the joy in Y/N’s notes was comparable to a plague. No, this was intoxicating, a mead he would heartily drink until he too was giddy on the stuff. Y/N, clutching Aaron’s arm to stay standing, almost stumbled as Aaron bent over with equally bashful laughter.

“It would possibly suit you better if you sat,” said the photographer through a faux smile. He then ushered over to one of the benches, the one amidst the tulips, before he wrangled with his camera after them.

Seated on the cool marble, Aaron kept a few inches between himself and Y/N. Their hands took that space but waited to hold hands. Y/N was still shaking but his smile was minute now, replaced by mild embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that funny,” He said. But there was a twitch in his voice, a breath that indicated otherwise.

“No, not at all,” whispered Aaron, his head tilted against the invisible line between them.

Y/N turned, his nose pushing their boundary and almost brushing against Aaron’s cheek when he too turned to face him.

“At long last, we agree.”

Y/N’s lips betrayed him again. A bubble of laughter popped between them, letting out the smallest of smiles. Yet it shone through with such luminosity that it almost outdid the flash of the bulb as their photograph was taken. There was delight at the absence of the melancholy pose that a long exposure wedding portrait promised. Oh, the wonders of new technology.

As was with his new suit, Y/N practically waited by the door for the photographs. His hands were beyond ravenous for them by the time they arrived. They snatched at the envelope and tore with as much care as he could muster, his voice catching in the roof of his mouth as he called for Aaron.

On the chaise together, their knees were brought in close to rest the papers upon. Their faces looked as though they were carved into the paper with charcoal, smudged by an artist’s thumb. That radiant smile among it all was the centre of the photograph. Aaron noted the distance between them was mirrored in their past selves as they sifted through their options.

Then Y/N held aloft the ones for their respective families, “Sit with me while I pen the reply.”

Aaron was not usually welcome in Y/N’s study. Yet, as he pulled up a walnut wood chair with red velvet seat beside the bureau, behind Y/N’s matching one, he felt like he was in place. With anticipation, he watched the most passive aggressive comments that had ever been put to paper. All bar one was spun from Y/N’s inspiration. Aaron had but one to add and it took some convincing for Y/N to put it in his family’s correspondence – he was writing since his writing was far neater. Even so, there were a few loops of the ‘l’s that slanted when Y/N was particularly amused by something that Aaron had commented on.

“There,” Y/N said as he closed the second of two envelopes with crimson wax. As he lifted the seal, he spoke quieter, “Just a thought, nothing more, but I almost wish I could see their faces. Only the first second though.” The seal was placed in his drawer and the letters were left in the centre of the desk while one remaining photograph was selected by Y/N, “I want to keep this. In the drawing room.”

Aaron’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead, “You do?”

Y/N nodded once with finality, his broad smile returning, “It’s the first time I was myself in a long time, the best I’ve ever looked! Besides, I am your husband and I say it will stand above the fireplace by the end of the week – once I find a suitable frame.”

He held it up, squinting to imagine what frame might work best with the décor. His chair itching to be closer, Hotch leant over and cupped his hand over Y/N’s so that he could see the photograph too. It stayed there, and perhaps it was his imagination, but Hotchner could have sworn that Y/N’s back slacked and swayed to the right an inch, almost resting against his shoulder beside Aaron’s.

Y/N’s quiet voice was back, “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You do not have to say thank you.”

“When are you going to stop telling me what to do?”

There was no accusation in it; it was asked as simply as one would ask for another napkin. But Aaron did not quite know how to answer.

“I don’t mean to come across as a drill sergeant,” He said softly.

“Aaron,” Y/N lowered their hands but kept them together beside his lap, “You don’t have to worry about me and what I’m going to do, just like I don’t have to worry about you.”

And what Aaron thought about being ignorant of an answer before, that became a lie. Aaron wanted to worry about Y/N, and he did worry. Not for himself or his identity being exposed, but because he did care for his husband. He didn’t want to worry or have Y/N be worried about control in their home. They should exist as equals, not in blackmail but in respect. Maybe one day, in love.

Aaron settled instead for: “My apologies. And I thank you too. It was the first time I was myself as well.”

Y/N blinked, then avoided his stare. It was a revelation therefore when he laced his fingers with Aaron’s for the briefest of squeeze and replied, “No thanks necessary. It was my pleasure.”

Then the bell tinkled for breakfast and the two men were up on their feet. Y/N was in the dining room first. He sat two away from the head of the table this time. With enough care to drag his chair loudly across the floor, Aaron mirrored that seating, dragging his cutlery and crockery into place. As they were served, Y/N swiped the newspaper before his husband could with a smirk hidden behind the pages. Hotchner poured his coffee and smiled into the brew. He was, for once, thoroughly glad that they had breakfast together.

----> ----> ----> ----> ---->

Tagging

Aaron Hotchner fics: @averyhotchner​

[quickspinner]

Guard My Heart - Ch 1 Daylight’s Wasting

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Read on AO3 

Written for @livrever​ as part of the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers​ Secret Admirer Lukanette Exchange!

Happy LBSC Exchaaaaaaaaange and I'm the one who gets to write for @livrever​, who's been doing so much heavy lifting making sure everything runs smoothly this year! Because I am a sucker I decided to combine her prompts (I should have known better, since the last time I combined prompts from Mal I ended up with Killer Combo) soooooo today you get a first chapter instead of a completed story. I'll reveal the second prompt when it is time, but the first one was neighboring shop owners. I opted for slightly different than the traditional take for Reasons.

I love you to pieces Mal and I really hope you enjoy the journey!

Marinette is moving out on her own and starting her own shop, where she can be the boss and responsible for no one but herself. The years have taught her that for Ladybug to do her job, Marinette has to maintain a certain amount of distance in her personal life...but how's she supposed to do that when a blast from the past is moving in next door? Especially when she's got a box full of nosy kwamis cheering her on...This was not the new beginning she had in mind!

Rating: M, Implied sexual content in later chapters

“This is the big day,” Tikki crowed from Marinette's shoulder, and Marinette tried to smile as she carefully maneuvered her rented van around all the other vehicles crowding the back alley. “Come on, Marinette,” Tikki said gently, nuzzling up against her cheek. “It’s okay to be excited.” 

“I am excited,” Marinette told her, putting the vehicle in park. “This is a big deal, Tikki. It’s just that there’s a lot of work to do and I need to be focused on that right now.” 

“I wish you didn’t have to do all of this alone,” Tikki fretted. “It’s a lot to do by yourself. Are you sure you don’t want to call anyone?” 

“I’ll manage,” Marinette smiled, flexing her arm for Tikki’s benefit. “Besides,” she sighed, opening the door as Tikki zipped into the purse at her hip. “Who would I call?” 

Tikki didn’t have a chance to answer as Marinette jumped down from the van. She glanced around the alley at her fellow business owners who were also moving in. Some of them looked almost finished; some, like her, were only just getting started.

Marinette tried not to feel a little irked at the people who were already almost done. How early had they gotten here? Maybe their renovations had been finished earlier and they’d gotten a head start. Marinette pouted for a moment, and then tried to put it out of her mind. It wasn’t a competition, after all. She just needed to focus on her own work. She had a strict schedule written out and taped to the inside of the van that would have her moved into her new shop and the apartment above it, hopefully in time to make a quick run for groceries before it got too late. 

Besides, the other shop owners probably had help or had hired people, whereas Marinette was depending on nothing but her own muscles. She couldn’t afford to hire anybody, she didn’t want to wait until her parents were free, and her friends...well. She had her life and they had their lives and other than a few friendly texts now and then, their paths didn’t really cross anymore except for major life events. Despite Tikki’s hints that opening her first boutique should have fallen into that category, it just didn’t seem worth the effort to push the issue. Marinette could do this alone. She was used to it. 

A smile grew on her face as she pulled the shiny new keys from her pocket and unlocked the back door of the shop. Marinette couldn’t help a muffled squeal and a hop of excitement as it swung open wide. She kicked down the doorstop to hold it open, and went inside. 

Marinette passed through the back room that would serve as storage and workshop, and into the small storefront. She stood there for a moment, suddenly feeling shaky and a bit short of breath. She swallowed. “This is a really big deal, Tikki,” she said, dropping unceremoniously to the floor. She ran her fingertips over the rough texture of the commercial carpeting she had picked out. “I can’t screw this up.” 

“You won’t, Marinette,” Tikki assured her, peeping out cautiously. “It’s going to be okay. One step at a time, remember?”

“Right,” Marinette agreed, still breathless, and she pushed herself back up. “Time to get to work.”

She got to her feet, and went back through the shop and then upstairs to the apartment, propping all the doors open, mentally reviewing her plan and where everything would go. Marinette felt both excitement and relief at the thought of finally living on her own, with no one else to make excuses to. Starting tonight, no one would be monitoring her coming and going, or asking where she’d been, or complaining that she’d left her share of the chores undone. No one to report to, no one to worry, no one to disappoint. As nervous as she was about the risks of this new venture, that alone would be a weight off her shoulders.

Doors open and empty rooms ready, Marinette went back outside. She threw up the gate on the back of the van, pulled out the ramp, and took a deep breath as she surveyed the contents, nervousness suddenly threatening to overshadow her earlier confidence. “Okay,” she murmured to herself. “It looks like a lot, all stuffed together like this, but I can do it. Somehow.” 

Marinette had packed the van carefully, and her boxes were meticulously labelled and color coded with stickers, so that she knew as soon as she picked a box up whether it was for the shop interior, the back room, or the apartment upstairs. Her world narrowed to the task before her, and she didn’t even notice the looks she got as she hauled box after box and pieces of disassembled furniture into her new space. Her muscles burned, but it was a familiar sensation, a normal sensation. Marinette had learned to take comfort from anything normal, especially on a day like today, when so much was changing. The burn was a reminder to pause and stretch and take a moment to breathe, and that helped keep her focused. 

When it started to verge on too much, Marinette sat down on the ledge of her propped-open shop door to rest and drink a bottle of water, mentally assessing her progress and comparing it against her schedule. She was doing pretty well, she thought, although the hard stuff was still to come. 

“Marinette?” 

She jumped, nearly spilling her water all over herself, and looked up to the man who had spoken to her. Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “L-Luka?” she gasped, scrambling to her feet. “Is that you?” 

He grinned, and there was no mistaking it. His hair was a little bit longer, still streaked with blue but tied back at the nape of his neck, and his bangs were clipped back away from his sweaty face. His dimples were more prominent in his leaner face, his jaw more defined, but his smile and his eyes were the same. “Hey,” he said, as calmly as if they’d last seen each other yesterday instead of almost ten years ago, as he adjusted the box he was holding. “Wow, what a surprise, meeting you here.” That was putting it mildly, and Marinette almost laughed at the typically Luka understatement. His eyes flicked to the propped open door and his eyebrows went a little higher. “Are you...moving in?”

“Yeah,” Marinette said, running her hand through her sweaty bangs, and trying to find the ground again. She hadn’t expected to run into anybody she knew today, let alone Luka. She hadn’t even known for sure that he was back in Paris. Marientte felt a pang looking at him, something between guilt and grief, and she suddenly didn’t know what to say.

Luka shifted his box again, drawing her eyes to both the box and the bunched muscles in the arms holding it. Her eyes snapped back to his face. “Wait,” she said incredulously, “Are you—” 

“Yep,” he grinned, and nodded at the next door down from hers. “I’m on the corner, so...looks like we’re gonna be neighbors.” He groaned and hiked the box up again. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta put this down, but—when we’re done, maybe we could grab coffee or something, catch up? If you want to?”

“Sure!” Marinette smiled brightly. “I’d love to.”

The slow grin that spread over his face made her insides wobble a little. Wow, she thought, he really grew up. That smile had been intense enough when they were younger; with the sharper features of his more mature face it was devastating. “Okay. I’ll come over when I’m done and give you a hand if you’re still working. See you later.” 

“Bye.” Marinette waved weakly, as Luka went to his own door, propped open like hers was.  “Oh my God, Tikki,” Marinette hissed, and heard a giggle near her hip. “This isn’t funny, Tikki, what am I going to do?”

“Just go with it, Marinette,” Tikki advised cheerfully. “I know you’ve been lonely, and Luka was always a good friend to you. Maybe this is fate bringing you back together!” 

“Tikki,” Marinette sighed, and leaned back against the building behind her, tipping her head back to knock gently against it. She paused, and then opened her purse to look down at the kwami and give her a look. “Fate, or luck?”

“Does it matter?” Tikki asked, shrugging. Her big eyes softened and she reached out just enough to pat Marinette’s hand. “I know you feel bad about the way you two left things, but Luka was always good for you, and you could use a friend like him right now. It doesn’t have to be romantic, Marinette. Don’t overthink it. It’s not good for you to be so alone, so just give it a chance and see what happens!” 

Marinette rolled her eyes and sighed, and then checked the time. She needed to get moving if she wanted to stay on schedule, and people were going to think she was crazy if they saw her talking to her handbag.  

She had to wait a moment, though, when she got back to the van, for her legs to steady. Luka Couffaine...she hadn’t seen him since he left to tour with Jagged Stone when they were kids. She bit her lip hard. Ugh, how could Luka even want to be her friend now after the way things had happened back then…she’d been so confused, and trying so hard to manage her life and her feelings, and she’d been failing so miserably. Luka had been so kind to her, and tried to help, and she hadn’t even kept in touch with him when he left. If anyone had genuine reason to call her a bad friend, it would definitely be Luka. 

Marinette swallowed and took a deep breath and climbed up into the van. Focus, she told herself. Just focus on what you have to do.

She grabbed the closest box and hauled it out blindly. She risked a glance over as she walked by, and saw several young men and a woman, all with multicolored hair, carrying furniture from an even larger moving van into Luka’s place. Then she put her head down and went to her own door, determined. 

Marinette did her best not to look towards Luka’s van again, telling herself it would only distract her, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted if she wanted to get this task done. 

Everything went according to plan until she got to the wrought iron headboard of her new bed. She’d been able to lift it on her own before, but she realized now, as her arms trembled, that she should have placed this a little earlier in the unloading order. Well, she was going to have to make it work. She got it down the ramp of the van, and had to stand for a moment, bracing it as her muscles twitched and trembled, as she looked at the distance she had to cover to get to the door and thought of the stairs after that. She swore softly, and leaned her forehead against the frame as she tried to muster the strength.

A hand squeezed her shoulder. “We got it, just tell us where you want it,” Luka said, as Marinette looked up at him in surprise. 

“Oh,” she said reflexively, “I can—”

“I know you can,” Luka grunted, grabbing one end of the headboard as one of his friends got the other. “But something like this is easier with two people.” He grinned. “Upstairs, I assume?”

“Y-yeah,” Marinette stammered weakly. “The bedroom. Um—” She ran back up in the van and grabbed the first pink-stickered box she came to. “This way,” she smiled at the boys, and went ahead of them, face burning. 

“Dude, this is so much easier than all that heavy shit you brought,” Luka’s friend groaned, and Marinette giggled in spite of herself when Luka cheerfully told him to kiss his ass. The boys carried her headboard in and leaned it against the wall where Marinette directed. 

“Thank you,” she told them sincerely, and Luka winked at her as he followed his friend out. 

“Let us know if you need a hand with anything else,” he told her, and they were gone before Marinette had a chance to say anything else.

She ended up not having to ask him for help at all, because anytime she was struggling, either Luka or one or more of his friends would pop up to help her. Marinette was both touched by Luka’s concern and willingness to help, and angry at herself, for planning so poorly that she needed the help in the first place—no matter how much his friends joked that hauling her stuff was a nice break compared to hauling Luka’s.

Stupid, she scolded herself. Took on too much, as usual, and what would you have done if Luka hadn’t been around? Poor guy, he wasn’t expecting to have to haul extra stuff today, either. We’re back in touch for one day and he’s already having to bail me out. Just like old times. Nice to know I haven’t grown in the least in the last ten years. She kept working with grim determination, trying not to look like she needed more help, and getting angrier at herself every time one of them stopped to give her a hand.

Finally, she was done. She locked up the van and the apartment, and then went to stand once again in her shop front. There was still a lot to be done to it over the next two weeks before the big grand opening event, but now that the move-in was done, she could finally get started. Some of the fixtures she had negotiated with the leasing company, like the carpeted pedestal in one corner where she could do fittings and the full-length three-way mirrors. She’d created the countertop for her register herself, but the company had built the counter and installed her custom top on it for her. Marinette drifted over to it now and ran her fingertips over the resin surface with her monogram M and real pink flowers embedded in it. It turned out really well, she thought to herself, and smiled. That was one thing that went right, at least.

“Marinette?”

She jumped, but then remembered she hadn’t closed the back door yet. “I’m in here,” she called, and a moment Luka came through the door of the workroom, looking around. He grinned, seeing her stand behind the register. “Making yourself at home?” He moved around the front as if he were a customer, and Marinette giggled.

“Something like that,” she said with a shrug. “How goes the unloading?”

“I’m sweaty and filthy, but at least we’re done,” Luka grinned, leaning both elbows on Marinette’s handmade custom countertop. She resisted the urge to shove him off it. “How about you? Need anymore help with anything?”

Marinette shook her head quickly. “No, thank you. I’m done, and I feel disgusting.” She grinned weakly. “To be honest, there’s nothing I want less right now than coffee.”

“Agreed,” Luka chuckled. “I’ll buy you whatever you want, as long as it’s cold.” He winced slightly. “And cheap. This place kinda cleaned me out.” 

“I hear you,” Marinette laughed, coming out from behind the counter. It felt too weird, having it between them. “I’m in the same boat. The only reason I could afford this at all is because my grandpa passed away and left all his things to me. Turned out there were a bunch of companies waiting for the old man to die so they could make a bid on his house. They’ve been trying to get the property for years but Grandpa wouldn't sell.” She folded her arms and leaned back on the counter next to him as Luka straightened to face her. 

“I’m sorry about your Grandpa,” Luka said, putting his hand on her shoulder. The hand was bigger, but the gesture was the same, and Marinette felt a tender pang for the boy who had loved her. “I know your relationship with him was complicated.” Marinette nodded, but she didn’t really want to talk about it. Luka dropped his hand and gestured towards the door. “Listen, I still owe my friends Chinese and beer for helping me move—and before you say anything, I budgeted for that in my moving expenses.”

“You sound so responsible,” Marinette giggled, and he made a face at her before continuing.

“Why don’t you join us, if you feel up to it?” he suggested. “If not, that’s cool, I can bring you back something and we can catch up some other time when we’ve had a little more rest.”

Marinette hesitated a moment. She wasn’t sure she was up to meeting new people, and a shower would feel awfully good right now, but...they had helped her, and she felt like it would be rude to turn down their company. She bit her lip and glanced at Luka. 

He smiled. “No pressure. If you just want to relax after all this, that’s okay. I can’t believe how much crap you moved out of that van all by yourself.” His brow creased for a moment, but he seemed to change his mind about saying anything else, and just waited.

So Luka. Marinette smiled suddenly. “Papa’s going to help me with the one or two really big things this weekend, and the rest I figured I could handle myself. I guess I overestimated myself a little bit. I really appreciated your help, though. I do want to relax, but…it has been ages since we could hang out. If you don’t think your friends will mind—a cold beer sounds awfully good right now…”

Luka snorted. “Since I’m buying, they’re not allowed to mind,” he said with a grin.  

Feeling daring, Marinette linked her arm through Luka’s. “Tell you what. Since we’re both on the verge of broke right now, how about we each buy our own drinks, and I pay for my share of the food plus a little bit to cover you guys helping me out,” she suggested, “and the first one to hit the black owes the other dinner?”

“Deal,” Luka grinned, and warmth fluttered in Marinette’s stomach. 

“So, um,” she said, looking away as they walked back out of the shop. “Music shop?”

Luka chuckled as they paused by the door so Marinette could lock up. “You’d think, but, ah...actually, it’s antiques and collectibles. And uh...curiosities.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not allowed to say junk, but you know Mom. Her taste is...weird.” 

“Really?” Marinette looked back at him, shocked. “You’re kidding.” 

“Nope. Mom’s been on her world tour, sending home crap from all over, and finally there didn’t seem anything else to do.” He gave her a sideways grin that told her there was probably more to the story than that, but he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. He offered her his arm again as she turned away from the door. “I talked to her about it and we went in on the shop together. She’s going to be my buyer and I’m going to run the business. A lot of what I’ve got is music related, though,” he admitted. “And I’ve maybe started a little collection of my own. I still love playing, but I like small audiences anyway, and well...if the shop does okay, then I’m hoping I’ll have a little more freedom to pick and choose my gigs without worrying about whether I’m going to eat that month.” He winced. “We’ll...see how that works out for me. Mom’s pretty gung ho, but...” He shrugged. “She never really was one for practicalities. I mean, I know I won’t starve if the place fails, she and...and Jagged would bail me out if I were really in trouble, but I really don’t want to have to fall back on that.” Marinette nodded sympathetically at the expression on his face. It seemed like he still had mixed feelings about Jagged, even after all this time, and Marinette could hardly blame him. “To be honest,” he went on, “this whole thing is kind of a gamble and I’m nervous about it, but it beats working for The Man, right?” 

“Tell me about it,” Marinette sighed.

Luka put his hand over hers where it rested on his arm and she looked up at him. “Hey,” he said, in the same gentle way he used to when they were kids. “We got this. We’re gonna kick ass and be living in luxury.”

Marinette laughed. “I’d settle for being able to afford pizza.”

Luka groaned. “Please don’t mention pizza, I’m still traumatized.”

Marinette laughed again, and leaned into his arm, and he leaned back, chuckling along with her, and...it was like nothing had ever changed. Marinette felt her breath catch and a sudden lump in her throat, and Luka paused. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked softly, looking down at her.

Marinette nodded quickly, blinking back the tears that wanted to come out. “Sorry, I—I’m just glad to see you again, that’s all.” 

Luka smiled at her, and maybe it was just the heat but she thought he was blushing slightly. He took her hand off his arm and moved it down to his own hand, and threaded his fingers tightly through hers. “Likewise,” he said, squeezing, and Marinette smiled, squeezing back.  She was selfishly glad to find he hadn’t changed too much, deep down. His hand dwarfed hers the same way it always had, but it gave her an odd little flutter now to look at her fingers between his. They stood for just a moment, and then Luka started walking again, tugging her along with him. He let go of her hand just before they reached the group of his friends standing around and put his hand on her back instead. “Hey, guys, this is Marinette. We’ve been friends for a long time and I haven’t seen her for ages, so she’s coming along with us.” 

Marinette gave an awkward wave. “Thanks a bunch for the help,” she said, “I told Luka I’d help pick up the tab as thanks.“ They all grinned at her. 

“Congrats, you’ve just won their undying loyalty,” Luka commented dryly. “Bunch of mercenaries.” He put just a little pressure against her back and gestured vaguely. “There’s a place a couple blocks over, we were just going to walk if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course,” Marinette agreed, and the small group shuffled off. Luka let his hand fall once she started moving, but he stayed beside her, which she secretly appreciated, since the others were strangers. They seemed perfectly comfortable with each other, though, joking and shoving and teasing. Marinette found herself smiling as she watched them. This was what she was fighting so hard to protect, after all, even if it was something she couldn’t really have anymore. 

Luka touched her arm lightly, and when she looked up at him, he raised his eyebrows at her slightly in silent inquiry. She smiled at him to let him know she was good. He relaxed a little, and turned back to the conversation.

There was some friendly chaos as everyone ordered their food and Luka and Marinette negotiated the split, but finally they all had their dinners and enough chairs to seat everyone. Marinette hadn’t realized how hungry she was until her food was in front of her. 

“Ugh, I’m so hungry,” Luka moaned beside her, and there was a chorus of agreement that made her chuckle. The chatter didn’t exactly stop, but it slowed down considerably as they all applied themselves to their food. 

Marinette focused on her plate and just let the talk flow around her, thoughts drifting again to all of the things she needed to do between now and the grand opening. 

She only realized she had lost the thread of the conversation entirely when Evan’s words caught her attention again. 

“I dunno, man, this neighborhood’s had bad juju since Ladybug and Chat Noir took down Hawkmoth,” he was saying, shaking his head slightly. “The whole area was levelled. Even though Ladybug fixed it, people don’t seem to stay and businesses don’t stay open. My sister said that’s why they shut everything down and redid all the buildings. One last-ditch effort at trying to revive the place. Turn it into artisan shops, make it attractive to tourists and hipsters.”

Luka shrugged. “I feel a lot better about my chances now that I know Marinette’s next door,” he said, nudging her with his elbow and grinning at her when she swatted him. “She’s got a great head for business and marketing. It can’t be a lost cause if she’s here.” 

Marinette snorted. “Maybe it’s just all I could afford,” she said, making a face at him. 

“The price was right, that’s for sure,” Luka admitted. “Either way, it can only benefit me to have you attracting traffic next door. Although maybe I’m assuming too much, are you still doing fashion?” 

“Yes,” Marinette confirmed. “I graduated from ESMOD last year. I’ve...well, I decided the regular industry jobs aren’t for me, and that I’d be better off working somewhere where I could be the boss.” Also I can’t stay employed when I have to run off to akuma attacks constantly.

“I’m just surprised you picked this spot, that’s all,” Evan chuckled.  “I thought sailors were superstitious.” 

“We’re also cheap,” Luka snorted. “This was the best option I had that didn’t involve going to the old man, and—” 

“And that woulda been fireworks,” Dingo laughed. “I almost wish you’d suggested it so I could’ve watched the Captain freak out about it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it would have been fun for you. ” Luka threw a peanut at him. “Since I’d be the one in the blast radius, I don’t think so.” 

“Well, just so you know, I’m gonna laugh my ass off if Harvester levels this neighborhood the week after your grand opening,” Evan cut back in. 

“Unlikely,” Marinette said without thinking, and everyone turned to look at her. She blinked, and then shrugged. “Hawkmoth caused damage on purpose, to lure out Ladybug and Chat Noir because he wanted their Miraculous. Harvester doesn’t seem to care about the Miraculous; she’ll take them if she can get them, but she’s just...I don’t know, greedy. She causes plenty of damage on a small scale, but she doesn’t usually destroy whole neighborhoods. There’s nothing where we are that’s worth her targeting, though. Besides, her targets tend to be in the wealthier areas of town.” She made a slightly sour face. It was bad enough that they hadn’t managed to recover the butterfly with Hawkmoth’s defeat. It was worse that it fell into the hands of someone as selfish and greedy as Harvester. She was barely more than a petty thief, and it was a burn to Ladybug’s pride that they hadn’t been able to catch her yet. 

Trouble was, because Harvester lacked the kind of focus that Hawkmoth had had, she was less predictable, and more ruthless. There had been a certain rhythm to Hawkmoth’s attacks that Ladybug and Chat Noir had learned to work with over time to minimize damage. Harvester was much more random. She didn’t care what kind of damage she caused, she didn’t care if people got hurt—she just didn’t care, period. She wanted attention, and she wanted expensive things, and she didn’t care who suffered if she didn’t get her way. 

Scratch that. She did care about one person’s suffering—Ladybug’s. She didn’t seem to care about their Miraculous, but she wanted Ladybug. Alive if possible, but she’d shown more than once that she wasn’t opposed to Ladybug very painfully dead, either. 

Marinette shuddered.

Luka’s hand fell on her shoulder and she looked up at him, startled.

“You okay?” he asked softly, leaning in a little. 

“Yeah, of course,” she lied automatically, with a bright, extremely fake smile. “Just tired.” 

She’d forgotten how good Luka was at seeing lies. She could see in his face that he didn’t believe her, but he gave her a small smile that said it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me, and turned back to the table. 

Marinette took a breath and tried to tune back into the conversation as Dingo, Evan, and Marcie continued their good-natured ribbing over Luka’s new enterprise. 

“So how do you two know each other again?” Marcie asked, and Marinette froze, her mouth full of noodles. She glanced up and saw Marcie watching her with slightly narrowed eyes. 

“Marinette went to school with Juleka,” Luka replied easily. “We got to be friends right before I left with Jagged.” His tone was pleasant, but he cut his eyes up at Marcie in a sharp look that Marinette didn’t quite understand. Marcie clearly did, though, because she said something inane and changed the subject. Dingo and Evan exchanged a look, and then Evan looked down at his plate and Dingo looked at Marinette with a thoughtful expression—or at least she thought so, but it was hard to tell because he was still wearing his sunglasses.

She was having trouble getting that mouthful of noodles down with him looking at her like that.

“Ding,” Luka said mildly, without looking away from his own food, and Dingo huffed, shook his head, and went back to eating. 

It still took effort to chew and swallow, and Marinette shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and began trying to think of a way to make her exit. Before she could, Luka put down his chopsticks and started closing the containers nearest to him. “Well,” he said, “I’m really grateful for the help today, guys. You guys can all consider one favor knocked off the big stack that every single one of you owes me.” 

There was laughter and protests, and Luka raised his voice to be heard over them. “But I’m exhausted, and I still have to shower and get at least enough of my stuff unpacked that I have somewhere to sleep tonight, so I think I’m going to head back. Are you still eating, Marinette?”

“Oh, no, I’m good,” Marinette said hastily, recognizing the out as she began packing up her own containers. “Mind if I walk back with you?”

“Sure,” Luka smiled. 

“Hey Lu,” Dingo called after them, and Luka looked back as he opened the door and held it for Marinette. “Don’t be a dumbass, man.”

Luka just flipped Dingo off with his free hand and followed Marinette out of the door. 

“They know, huh?” Marinette muttered as the door fell shut behind them, and Luka sighed. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Not the details, but...enough. I’m sorry they made you uncomfortable.” 

Marinette shrugged. “Not like I don’t deserve it.” 

Luka put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed in a light half hug, turning her in the right direction as they started walking. “I forgave you a long time ago, for what it’s worth. We were just dumb kids. Not to say the feelings weren’t real, but let’s just say we hadn’t exactly reached the age of sober judgement yet and leave it at that, okay?”

Marinette shook her head. “I still feel like I...owe you an apology for all that. I wasn’t very considerate of your feelings. If...if it hadn’t been for Adrien…” Marinette began, and trailed off as Luka’s arm tightened around her. “It’s just,” Marinette tried to control her breathing, and blinked quickly to keep the tears back. “I tried so hard to keep everything together, and it all kind of fell apart anyway, and looking back, I just...wish I’d made some different choices about my priorities. About which people I put my energy into. I’m just...I’m sorry I didn’t choose you, Luka. I’m...sorry I didn’t stay in touch after you left.” 

Luka blew out a slow breath. “It was a crazy time for both of us. That year with Jagged, it was...it was a lot. I’m honestly not sure I’d have been able to keep up my end, so. Don’t worry about it.”

“You...still don’t get along with Jagged too well?” Marinette ventured.

Luka rolled his eyes. “Having one parent constantly acting like a child was more than enough, I really didn’t need a second parent to take care of.” He winced. “Sorry, that came out a lot more bitter than I meant. It’s not like I expected him to act like a dad, but…” Luka shook his head. “Anyway, a year of that lifestyle was enough. I finally told him I was going home. I’m not interested in anything he can give me. Maybe it would have been different, if I’d done it on my own, but...there is no on my own anymore. I can’t make it in that industry without being attached to him, and I just...don’t want that.” He gave her a rueful grin. “Is that stupid?”

“No,” Marinette said, reaching up and curling her hand around his where it rested on her shoulder. “No, not all.”

He smiled at her, and she dropped her hand. They walked in silence the rest of the way. 

“Well, home sweet home,” Luka said, letting his arm fall as they walked up the steps to the balcony that ran along the back of the buildings, providing outdoor access to their apartments. “This gonna be weird,” he admitted, as they paused in front of his door. “I’ve never lived alone before.” 

“Me neither,” Marinette admitted with a nervous giggle.

Luka smiled at her. “Well, if you ever need anything, or you just want to talk or hangout or whatever.” He nodded to his door. “You know where to find me.” 

“That’s a dangerous promise,” Marinette tried to smile, but she wasn’t sure it worked. “You did so much for me before, and never got anything back for it. I feel like I took advantage of you.”

“You didn’t,” Luka replied immediately, like she should have known he would. “Marinette, even if that were true, and I really don’t think it is...I never did any of that for...payback, or something. I wasn’t expecting anything out of you. I just wanted you to be happy.”

Marinette couldn’t think of anything to say to that. It was true that everything he’d done for her, he’d done voluntarily, and that she had done some things for him, although they were more really for Kitty Section as a whole, but...it didn’t change the way she felt. She’d failed Luka, just like she failed everyone that cared about her. 

She jolted slightly when she felt his hand on her shoulder again. Luka let go quickly, his hand hovering there as he looked over her face. She started to open her mouth to apologize, but Luka let his hand drop. “I’ll see you soon, neighbor,” was all he said, and then he turned to unlock his own door. He gave her a smile over his shoulder, and though it looked different on his adult face, it was the same smile he used to give her, the one that said he had faith in her, no matter whether she had any in herself at the moment. 

Then his door closed with a quiet click, and she was standing there alone.

“Marinette,” Tikki whispered after a moment, reaching out of Marinette’s purse to touch her hand.

Marinette jumped slightly, and then turned to her own door, fumbling her keys out. She unlocked it and went inside.

“Marinette?” Tikki zipped out of her purse to float at eye level, her expression sympathetic and concerned. 

Marinette gave her a weak smile. “I can’t decide if I’m glad he’s there, or if I’m upset about it. He’s always been so observant. What if…” She trailed off, and folded her arms uncomfortably. 

Tikki tilted her head slightly. “Is that really what you’re worried about?” 

Marinette bit her lip. “Not really,” she admitted. “It’s just…” She folded her arms and chewed her lip, trying to find a way to articulate her feelings. “Luka’s easy to depend on,” she said softly. “Having him right there...I’m not sure it’s good for me. I’m afraid I’ll...I don’t know. Be tempted to lean on him more than I should, and end up hurting him all over again. Not that—not that he feels the same as he did back then, but Luka’s still Luka, he just...he’s a helper, and I’ll end up asking too much and he’ll resent me and he’ll end up selling his shop just to get away from me and—”

“Marinette!” Tikki waved her arms to catch her attention. “Okay, I get it. But Luka does live next door and there’s nothing either of you can do about that now. So what can we do?” 

Marinette sighed. “I just have to be careful,” she decided. “I have to make sure I don’t ask him for too much. For...for some things, maybe, because Luka’s discreet and he doesn’t ask questions so there might be times when I can ask him to cover for me and stuff...but not too much. Only when I really need it.”

“Okay.” Tikki flew in close and laid a paw on Marinette’s cheek. “That sounds like a good plan. We just take one day at a time, right?” 

“One day at a time,” Marinette agreed, and then smiled. “And we still have to get this apartment fit to live in, so let’s let the others out and get started making this place into home. We can do the groceries tomorrow.” Dinner with Luka had not been in her schedule, after all, but...this once, she didn’t mind.

“That’s the spirit!” Tikki cheered, and followed Marinette towards the bedroom.

It was weird, that first night, with the smell of fresh paint and cardboard, and all the noises from outside that were so different than the ones she was used to. It was hard to go to sleep, especially when there was so much to do, but the kwamis finally bullied her to bed, and their presence tucked in all around her gave her enough comfort to doze off. The same weirdness woke her early in the morning, and she wandered around her apartment like a zombie in her striped pajama pants and tank as she waited for her coffee to be ready. 

She was halfway through her second mug, still staring blankly at the pile of boxes and making absent noises of agreement now and then at the chattering kwami perched around her, when a knock on her door made her jump and sent the kwamis scattering for cover. 

Frowning, Marinette padded to the door in her bare feet, coffee cup in hand, and stood on her toes to peek out of the slightly-too-high peephole. 

“Luka?” she said in surprise, and opened the door.

“Hey,” he smiled at her. “I was going to do a grocery run, and I saw you didn’t have a car, so...I thought maybe you’d like a ride with me?” He held up a motorcycle helmet. “Not exactly the same as my old bike,” he grinned, “But if memory serves, you can handle it.” 

Marinette burst into giggles. “I can handle anything you can handle,” she said when she could control herself, folding her arms and cocking a hip. 

Luka’s smile warmed, and he winked at her. “Finish your coffee and meet me downstairs in ten.” 

It took most of that time for her to dig out her riding gear; she hadn’t expected to need it anytime soon, so it wasn’t particularly accessible, but thanks to her overly detailed box organization system, augmented by a little kwami assistance, she found the right box and got it open, pulling out her black padded jacket with pink panels on the sides, and her carefully-packed black and pink helmet with her flowers stenciled on the side. A little more digging found black motorcycle boots with pink hardware up the side to hold the lacing. She put it all on over a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and hurried for the door.

“Wait!” Kaalki cried, bursting out of another box, towing something sparkly. “Don’t forget these! You haven’t seen him in years, so you simply must look fabulous !” 

Marinette giggled and took the glasses Kaalki held out to her. “Thanks, Kaalki.” 

“They’re not as good as mine,” Kaalki huffed, fluffing her mane. “But they’ll do.” 

Luka did a double-take when he saw her, his eyebrows practically flying off his forehead they shot up so fast. Marinette giggled at his reaction. “Grandma,” she shrugged with a grin, and slid the chrome riding glasses with pink lenses and rhinestones lining the frame. Luka burst out laughing. 

“You look amazing,” he said, trying to stifle the laugh. 

“Thank you,” Marinette sniffed. “She decked me out so she could take me on a road trip for my eighteenth birthday.” 

“Nice,” Luka grinned, zipping up his own padded jacket and swinging one leg over the bike. “I want to hear all about it later.” He jerked his head. “Come on, hop aboard. I hope your list isn’t too long, we can’t carry too much on this thing, but we should be able to get the essentials.”

Marinette didn’t bother answering, putting on her helmet instead and then climbing aboard behind Luka. Her list had been long, but she could live without most of it for a few days. This might actually work out better, giving her a chance to get the essentials so she’d have less to carry when she went back for the rest. 

Luka showed her where to put her feet, and grinned back at her before he strapped on his own helmet. “Just like old times.”

“Not quite like old times,” she giggled, putting her hands on his waist. “I’m really glad to have you back though,” she said quietly, not sure whether she wanted him to hear her or not. 

He must have heard though, because Luka put one gloved hand over hers for just a moment, and then started the bike. “Tap my shoulder twice if you need me to stop,” he called back as he backed them out of the space. He blew out a breath, and then flipped down his helmet’s visor and took off. 

It had been a while since she’d been on a motorcycle, so she tried to concentrate on moving with him as they rode. She was rewarded by a smile when they dismounted the bike and Luka pulled his helmet off. “Your grandma’s a good teacher,” he said. “You’re easy to ride with.”

“Thanks,” Marinette smiled, letting him stow her gear with his. “Don’t buy any bread,” she warned him as they walked into the store. “My parents are going to be by sometime today or tomorrow I’m sure, and as soon as they hear you’re my neighbor I know they’ll bring extra.” 

“I’m not going to say no to that,” Luka chuckled. “Anything your dad makes is going to be way better than anything they’ll have here.” They shared a smile, and a slightly awkward silence fell between them as they each picked up baskets and started walking through the store. Marinette wondered if she should go off on her own, but the store wasn’t that big and she’d probably keep bumping into him and then that would be weird and she couldn’t just ditch him— 

“How are your folks doing these days?” Luka asked, picking up a box off the shelf.

“O-oh, they’re...they’re good. Well. I mean, pretty much the same as always, you know?” she said, flustered. 

“How are they handling you moving out?” he asked, smiling as he put the box in his basket and then stuck his hand in his pocket as they strolled forward. 

Marinette let her head drop back and gave a sigh of longsuffering. “They’re...doing their best,” she giggled. “They’re very enthusiastic, but…”

“Holding a lot back?” Luka smiled. 

“Not very successfully,” Marinette giggled. “What about you, how’s your family doing? How’s J-Juleka?” she asked, and tensed when Luka gave her a sideways glance.

“Pretty good,” he said, selecting a box from the shelf to put in his basket. “I haven’t told her yet that I ran into you.” He glanced at her again. “You want me to, or should I not? I know you girls lost touch a while ago.”

Marinette shrugged without looking at him, blushing faintly. “I don’t mind. We didn’t have a falling out or anything, just you know...time, and stuff. She probably doesn’t want to hear from me, maybe you should just not mention it.”

Luka smiled, eyes on the shelf as they strolled. “I don’t know. Juleka and me, we were always taught that people have to live their lives, you know? You appreciate them while you have them, and you let them go when your paths drift apart. You were always going places, Marinette, everybody knew that. I don’t think Juleka will hold it against you.” His smile broadened, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “She’s been doing some dream chasing of her own, after all.” 

“Really?” Marinette said, taking the phone when he handed it to her. She looked at the image and her mouth dropped open. “Oh my gosh, she really did it? She’s a model?”

“Cosmetics mostly so far,” Luka told her with a smile. “She’s trying to get into clothing and runway but she’s done really well with the cosmetics companies. Her eyes are so amazing and her skin’s always been flawless.”

“She looks beautiful,” Marinette sighed, handing the phone back. “Is she happy?”

“She seems to be.” Luka pocketed the phone, and went back to shopping, giving a pointed look at Marinette’s empty basket. She hurriedly turned to the shelves too, trying to make herself focus on her list. “Anyway, she’s had to let a few things go in the process, so I think she’d understand. She did have to get a new number a while back, but I can give her yours if you want me to.” 

“Well…” Marinette still felt a flutter of nerves, but she pushed it down. “Sure.” She smiled weakly. “You always make everything so easy.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Luka chuckled. 

“It is,” Marinette smiled. 

“It’s the same for me, you know,” Luka said, and Marinette blinked at him in confusion. “About the friends coming and going, I mean. It’s just a part of life, Marinette. It’s not something you should be embarrassed or ashamed about. It’s just the way things are.” He gave her a kind smile. “There were a lot of friends I left behind that year with Jagged. I wasn’t kidding about how busy I was.”

Marinette smiled, though she kept her focus on the shelves. “You’re still friends with Dingo.”

“Don’t remind me,” Luka chuckled. “I can’t get rid of him. There’s some people, you know, where no matter how long you go without talking. With Dingo, no matter how much time passes, it’s like we last talked yesterday. Besides, he knows all my secrets. I can’t afford to cut him loose.” 

Marinette sighed. “That must be nice though. Having someone who knows you that well.”

“Sometimes,” Luka agreed. “Though mostly he just uses it to make my life hell. Thank God he’s still chasing Brielle or I’d never get rid of him. He has to pretend to be an adult at least half the time to convince her he’s still worth wasting her time on.” 

“Wow, they’re still together?” Marinette giggled. “That’s impressive.” 

“They are, they aren’t, they are again. It’s…” Luka shook his head. “Not my idea of the ideal relationship, but it works for them—well, most of the time—so…” he shrugged. “I’m chronically single, though, so who am I to judge.”

“Really?” Marinette finally looked up at him. “Why? I mean—” she turned red and spluttered, and Luka had to dodge her flying grocery basket as she tried to frantically erase the question with her flailing hands. “Ooooh, I’m sorry, that was so nosy.” 

“It’s okay,” Luka laughed. “Relax, Marinette. What about you? Anyone special in your life?” 

Marinette’s face heated, but she figured Luka was the last person on earth likely to judge her relationship history. “Me? Oh, no. I had a few flings in high school and uni, but…” she shrugged. “They never lasted long. I’m...not very good at casual, but I don’t have a lot of time to give a relationship. It seemed like no matter how hard I tried it all tended to fall apart sooner rather than later. Eventually, I just stopped trying.”

“Timing,” Luka sighed sympathetically, shaking his head, “Timing is a bitch, no doubt.” 

Marinette hunched her shoulders a little. “You can say that again.” 

Luka touched her arm gently, and they finished the rest of their shopping with lighter small talk, mostly about all the crazy shenanigans Anarka was up to now that she was free and unfettered with both of her children out of the house. 

It took some ingenuity to get their purchases loaded on the bike, and Marinette had a few things precariously wedged between herself and Luka, but they made it home without losing anything, and that was what mattered. 

Luka stopped at his door, while Marinette kept walking to hers. She was still trying to get her keys out of her pocket when Luka got his door open. 

“Marinette,” he said, and she looked at him in surprise. “If you need anything, let me know, okay?” 

“Oh...um, sure,” Marinette said as brightly as she could, remembering her vow the night before not to ask him for anything more than necessary.

“I mean it.” Luka held her gaze for a moment and grinned. “Because I have like a million favors I’d like to ask, and I need to start stockpiling on my end. I could use some help with branding and advertising, for starters.” 

Marinette blinked, and then laughed, and she saw his shoulders relax a bit. 

“You can just ask, you know,” she told him, and Luka shook his head. 

“Nope. Fair’s fair. Every artist deserves payment for their work, I just don’t have the cash handy for it. So if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. It’ll be a down payment on designing my new signage.” He grinned at her one more time, and then opened his door and was gone. 

That was...so Luka, she thought affectionately, coming up with a way to put the offer of his help out there in a way she couldn’t refuse. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be mad at him for daring to see through her so easily.

Well. She definitely didn’t want a repeat of last time, where she was constantly taking from him and giving nothing in return. But surely, an equal trade would be okay? She could do that without making it weird. 

She opened her door and stepped inside, and was immediately swarmed by kwami hoping for a snack. “Only one each!” she scolded them all, making her way to the kitchen. “We’re never going to make this work if you’re constantly eating me out of house and home.”

“Did you enjoy your trip?” Sass asked her, and she met his knowing smile. 

“Yes, I did,” she said, lifting a finger to poke him in the belly. “It’s good to see him again.” She smiled. “He’s doing well, Sass.” 

Sass chuckled, still giving her that same look. “That isss good to hear.” Marinette narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Are we ssstill painting the shop tomorrow?” Sass asked innocently. 

“Yes,” Marinette said firmly. “We have a lot of work to do before the grand opening.”

Fiction Master Post | LBSC 2021 Exchange Collection

[imnotwolverine]

The good, the bad and the parents

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: There’s a lot of ups and downs when you live your life in the spotlights... Gosh this chapter got so long. OOPS. I hope you Henry-bear lovers can endure. 

Word count: 4.918

Disclaimer: fluff

--

This is part 11 of the Tea for Two story. 

Find the Masterlist here. 

--

< Go back to part 10

The cab rocked over the cobbled stones as it moved at a snail’s pace through the narrow London streets. I wasn’t even bothering anymore to check what time it was, but it was dark and it had been raining for hours. Prejudice confirmed: England stands equal to rain. Blergh. I really hadn’t missed this moody European weather.

I looked over at Henry, whose baritone voice hummed through the cab as he was making a phone call. He was rubbing his temple in annoyance, his whole body silently screaming: Fuck this phone conversation. Poor bear. 

I felt my heart ache for him, but it didn’t seem like a good moment to bother him with well-meant cuddles. I looked back out of the window, trying to find any street signs. Were we almost there? The thick water drops on the window made it rather difficult to decipher anything and I soon enough gave up, sighing softly.

This had been one shitty journey. Excruciatingly long, with lots of bad weather, endless delays, some trouble with Kal’s traveling papers and as a cherry on top: lost baggage. Sometimes travelling was fun. Sometimes it wasn’t. Today it was definitely the latter.

‘Madam, sir, looks like the road is blocked. I could drop you off here. It’s a 5-minute walk to the address if you take a right turn here.’ The cab driver pointed at a small alleyway between the sloping brick buildings. Henry looked up from his call, moving the phone from his ear and covering it with his hand. ‘Alright..’ He nodded, before looking at me with a defeated smile. ‘Let’s go home.’ He said, the fatigue evident in his voice. I nodded in turn, sitting up and paying the cab driver while Henry quickly finished his phone call.

—

After what seemed like the longest suitcase walk from hell, including freezing cold rain, uneven cobblestone roads, a very impatient Kal tugging at his leash and a tired-to-the-bone Henry..we arrived. Finally! For heaven’s sake!

Henry was busy digging up his keys, so I took the moment to look around, the rain having thankfully dimmed down to a light drizzle. I wiped the wet strands of hair out of my face and peered through the dimly lit street. I could distinguish a small courtyard, surrounded by a dozen small Mews houses laid out in pretty red brick. This is rather cute. I didn’t know what I had exactly expected from Henry’s house. I guess probably something more modern. Something like a Hollywood bachelor pad with large windows and clean white walls. Now…this was anything but that. This was actually really quaint and romantic.

I felt Henry’s hand on mine as he took my suitcase, awakening me from my silent observation of the neighbourhood. Our eyes met. ‘So..’ Henry started, moving my suitcase inside, being immediately interrupted by Kal who’d walked up to Henry, shaking off the rain from his thick fur coat. ‘KAL! Come on man.’ Henry wrinkled his nose as the drops flew around, his one arm trying to shield himself, while the other pushed Kal to the back of the hallway. I chuckled softly. ‘Try two.’ Henry sighed, stepping back towards the door and gesturing me to come inside. ‘Milady. I’d like to welcome you to my..humble abode.’ He said, politely nodding his head. I smiled warmly at him, quickly shrugging off my coat as he took it from me, placing it on a hook near the door.  

The house oozed “Henry”. Be it the slightly musky smell, the coatrack full of discarded jumpers and coats - all his - or the gazillion dog toys that were strewn over the floor. Okay, maybe the house was 50% Kal, 50% Henry. I smiled at the thought as I heard Kal’s nails happily ticking on the old oak floors. I looked over my shoulder, seeing Henry still standing near the door. What was he up to? His large blue eyes looked back at me quietly, expectantly. Was he nervous about my first impression of his house? I smiled a reassuring smile before peeling off my wet shoes and joined Kal in what appeared to be the living room.

Henry followed close at my heels as I started to look around. A small living room with a soft grey corner sofa, shelves filled with movie paraphernalia, fantasy books and pictures. And of course Henry’s trusty treadmill, that was placed in the far back corner - used whenever he didn’t feel like doing his morning cardio outside. ‘This is so much homelier then I expected.’ I smiled, looking for Henry over my shoulder, but instead being greeted by his whole body as he pressed himself against me.

‘Hmmm.’ Henry hummed, his wet hair dripping on my cheek. I chuckled softly, leaning into his broad chest as he wrapped his arms around me, his hands folding around mine to warm them back up. ‘You’re freezing.’ He whispered, pulling me even closer. I nodded in silent agreement. I was too tired for polite conversation and just wanted to enjoy his hug, allowing my eyes to fly back to Kal who was zooming around the house happily, a toy squashed in his large muzzle. ‘Well at least ONE of us still has some energy left.’ I groaned. ‘Yea..I probably should walk him soon before he breaks the whole place down.’ Henry said, pushing his nose into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. ‘Probably.’ I smiled, enjoying his hot breath as it made my skin tingle. I had long forgotten the cold and rainy weather outside now my personal body heater had pressed himself against me. I hummed happily, turning around in his arms and looked up into his stormy blues. ‘Welcome home.’ I said, earning the first real - albeit tired - smile from him in hours.

——

The next morning I decided to give myself a little house tour. Henry had of course shown me some essentials last night. Essentials like the toilet and the bed. And…well..okey..maybe that was actually all. We simply hadn’t made it much further than the bed since we had been too tired. But.. the good news was that it had left me a whole 2 bedroom house filled with Henry’s stuff to explore now Kal and Henry were out for a quick morning walk, picking up some breakfast for the three of us. Perfect timing for some snooping around.

One shower later, my body now wrapped in some comfy dark blue palazzo trousers and a big beige sweater, I decided it would be the upper floor first. A floor that was covered in such light beige carpet that it was an absolute no-go-zone for Kal and his mess. No dog toys to be tripped over at night. The master bed room with its four poster king size bed was simple yet effective. There was a large closet with Henry’s clothes on one end of the room and it connected directly to a good sized bathroom with his and hers sinks, a toilet, shower and bath. Quite the luxury for London standards. On the landing there was another huge built-in closet running the whole length of the wall. I opened a few doors. Gym clothes, neatly stacked. Of course. Another door. Leather jackets, at least 20. Goodness..me. I don’t think I ever met a man with this many clothes. The closet door at the far right however proved to be the most interesting. Oh yes! Costumes! I let my hand glide over some of the materials. Movie costumes. Hmm. I had been aware of the fact that only one set of each costume was saved when a movie production was wrapped up. But I had never really thought about what happened to the other costume sets. Well. Apparently they were all stored here by Henry, as this closet was about to burst with the many costumes it contained.

My fingers drifted over the fabrics, before halting when they touched a supple deep red fabric. Hmm. Intriguing. Very different from all the medieval-like browns and greys. I pulled it out. A cape. Oh. OH! Superman’s cape! Well how about that. It was surprisingly light, flowing effortlessly through the air as I moved it around. Pretty.

‘Honey, I’m back.’ Henry’s voice sounded from the bottom of the stairs. DARN! I hadn’t even heard the front door. I swallowed my surprised gasp as I quickly pushed the cape back in between the costumes. ‘Coming!’ I chanted, struggling as this darn closet was way too closely packed. Hmmpfff. ‘GET BACK IN THERE.’ I muttered under my breath. ‘Want some tea?’ He asked, still at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Ye..DARNIT,’ A few costumes fell off their hangers, now causing a whole avalanche of clothes to spill out. ‘YES.’ I exclaimed, perhaps a tad too loud. I heard Henry’s chuckle come closer as his feet moved up the creaking stairs.

‘Ah, so that’s what you’re up to.’ His chuckle turned into a laugh as he saw me struggling with a bunch of costumes in one arm, Superman’s cape in the other. ‘Oh..’ My eyes got big with embarrassment. ‘Sorry…’ I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. ‘Me and this closet were just having a little…disagreement.’ I said while Henry took over some of the costumes, his big blue eyes giving me an amused look. ‘I see.’ He grinned, looking back at the closet. ‘I guess I really should get a bigger closet for all of these, hmm?’ He smiled, his body turning towards the closet to put back the costumes one by one. Inadvertently my eyes caressed his tall frame as his arms flexed under the soft material of his grey sweater. So hot. Wew.

He turned back around, making his stubborn curl fall back over his forehead as he reached for the cape in my arm. He rubbed his thumbs over the fabric, gingerly smiling. The sudden realisation came over me I was right now looking at Superman. The Superman. Especially with that darn curl tumbling down his forehead..he sure was the spitting image of the superhero. I felt another blush creep up my cheeks and was more then glad that Henry didn’t notice as he finally reached back into the closet to squeeze the cape back in there.

And…another few costumes fell out again. He sighed, letting out a dry chuckle while looking down at the costumes that had tumbled to his feet. ‘See!’ I exclaimed, laughing at the fact that Henry was failing to do the exact same thing I had tried. He raised a handsome eyebrow, shrugging. ‘I guess Supe’s doesn’t want to go back in there.’ He pulled the cape back out and placed it carefully back in my arms. GOSH, stop blushing girl. I felt my cheeks burn as he moved back up from picking up some of the fallen down costumes. ‘What is it?’ He asked, half-knowing the answer, a humoured glint in his eyes. ‘Oh..nothing.’ I breathed, quickly lowering my eyes at the cape. ‘So where do we leave this..?’ I said, trying to sound casual about it, shrugging slightly, still feeling the slight blush burning on my cheeks. ‘Just put it on the bed. We’ll find a place for it later. Let’s have breakfast.’ He said, cupping my cheek and placing a chaste kiss on my lips.

How in the hell did I ever get to date Superman? Life’s so weird.

——

It was the night of the London premiere. I was fidgeting endlessly while waiting for the cab to arrive. I walked back to the mirror in the hallway, checking my hair and make-up for the gazilionth time. It was fine. I looked fine. Pffft. E-very-thing would be fine. Keep it together girl. I straightened out my thick winter jacket, again, and paced back to the living room. Kal was fast asleep on the floor, the lights were dimmed down and the house was quiet. Oh how I wish I could just stay at home and get comfy on the couch with a cup of tea. But avoiding challenging situations was not my thing. I best just get this over with, right?

A car approached and I felt my heart jump again. That must be it. I felt my phone buzz, alarming me the cab had arrived. Okey. Let’s go. Let’s..let’s meet the parents.

——

I entered the gallery of the movie theatre while the interviews were being held on the red carpet outside. Already there was quite a buzz and it took me a good moment to find the cloakroom where I could drop off my jacket. Alright, what’s next? I let my eyes travel through the crowd, trying to find any familiar faces. Some hair- and make-up ladies…nahh..I barely knew them. Anyone else? I looked further and further until my gaze reached the far back corner. And sure enough - Thank the gods! - I noticed a few of the sound guys from Poland and my uneasy heart calmed down. Friendly folk. I picked up a glass of white wine at the bar and made my way to them, earning praising looks as they noticed me appearing from the crowd. The black and white dress was working its magic.

‘Not too bad looking yourself gents.’ I winked, stepping into their little circle and clinking my glass with theirs. ‘Ah..it’s at least an attempt.’ The Sound 1 guy smiled, shrugging. I believed his name was Jack, but everyone always called him Sound 1 so I wasn’t completely sure. I nodded at him and Jack sighed, his suit jacket barely holding on as the button strained under his bulging belly. And do I spy he is still wearing his usual dark blue jeans? I quietly chuckled, taking a sip of my wine. Nerds will be nerds.

‘So now it’s just waiting for your prince charming, huh?’ Jack asked, looking around the room. ‘Worse even. I’m about to meet…the parents.’ I muttered quietly, taking another large sip, hoping the wine would further calm my nerves. ‘OH! Well ain’t that exciting. Surely they are friendly folk.’ He smiled, his gruff moustache curling up. He reminded me somewhat of a chubby Jack Nicholson with beard. Yea..surely his name was Jack. It fit him.

‘Hey,’ Sound 2 interrupted us. ‘I think that’s them.’ We looked at the direction he was pointing at, seeing a small blonde lady with neatly coifed hair followed by a bear of a man. Oh my. That looks like them. They look just like the pictures Henry showed. I quickly turned back, seeing the men were making no attempt to hide their stares. ‘Don’t stare.’ I admonished, patting Sound 2 - Alex? was it Alex? - on his arm. He grinned, his eyes meandering through the room before finally looking back at me. ‘Well..no worries. They’re off to the bar. I think you’re safe for another few minutes. So.. the first time meeting them..and it’s right here at the premier, hmm?’ Alex / Sound 2 said, raising a careful eyebrow before turning to one of the others who asked him a question.

I hadn’t quite heard what they were discussing, so I just decided to smile before taking another sip of my wine. These silly nerves! How bad could it really be? I quickly glanced over my shoulder, noticing Henry’s father leaning over the bar to order a drink. Hmmpff! When would Henry be here? There was no sighting of him yet and with my current drinking speed I sure would be hella drunk by the time I’d finally get to shake hands with his parents. I looked back at the group, noticing Alex was looking back at me. His big grey eyes were looking even bigger through the thick lenses of his glasses, enlarging every movement of his eyes. Alex was your typical “grey mouse”, currently wearing a dull grey suit which was perhaps a size too large for his slender frame, his long fingers wrapped around a nearly empty glass of beer. I smiled awkwardly at him, taking a shallow breath.

‘So ..eh…what have you guys been up to? Got any projects going on right now?’ I asked. Alex shrugged. ‘Oh just some small projects. Nothing real interesting. Just waiting for the new season to start.’ Alex said, rolling the last sip of his beer around in his glass. ‘Going to get another drink. Can I get you folk anything?’ He asked, looking up at the others, whom were quick to order: three more beers and a soda. His eyes fell on me, before looking down at my nearly empty wineglass. ‘Another?’ He smirked. ‘I guess so…’ I sighed, looking down at the glass. Was it smart to get hammered? Probably not.. ‘You know what. I’ll follow you there. Might as well get this over with and “accidentally” run into his parents.’ I said, downing the last bit of wine and turning towards the bar. I couldn’t see them right now since the room was too crowded, but surely they were still there. Alex nodded. ‘Fair enough. Grab the bull by the horns!’ He smiled. I rolled my eyes at him, immediately feeling that nervous flutter in my guts.

Oh Henry. Please be here soon.  

——

I had ordered my wine and found Henry’s parents standing just a few meters away. I took a deep breath, nodding at Alex who had placed the other drinks on a tray, before heading over.

I squeezed through the crowd and quickly swallowed my nerves. ‘Hi there.’ I said. The man and woman immediately looked up at me, their faces telling me they were definitely recognising me. Had Henry shown some pictures? Probably. ‘Henry’s parents right?’ I smiled. ’Oh! Oh yes! Sorry dear. Hello. You must be Lisa. My my you are SO tall! My name’s Marianne…’ The woman reached out her small warm hand, eagerly folding it around mine and shaking it. ‘..And I am Colin.’ The man spoke in deep english accent, also shaking my hand. Henry obviously got the tall genes from his dad, and the good looks from his mom. Her greyblue eyes sparkled through thick long lashes as a kind smile made her cheeks dimple. A pretty woman for sure.

‘Nice to meet you Marianne..Colin. I’m sorry for the intrusion. I guess I was getting more nervous to meet you with the passing minute..’ I smiled awkwardly, not finishing my sentence. Marianne laughed, sounding like chiming bells as she squinted her eyes. ‘Oh how darling! Well it is nice to finally meet you.’ She peered into my eyes with something that could be best described as motherly love. Okey. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad. She seemed nice.

‘I can remember when I got to meet Colin’s parents. I was absolutely terrified!’ She winked, eyeing her husband as he shrugged, unimpressed. ‘It wasn’t that bad dear.’ He said, before taking a better look at me. ‘You are..dutch..right?’ He asked. I nodded. ‘Yes. Born and raised, then moved to Los Angeles when I was 27, for work.’ I answered, trying my best to curl my tense lips in a soft smile. Oh these darn nerves. I took another quick sip of my wine, while Colin continued. ‘All praise for the dutch. I had some dutch colleagues during my time in the navy and they sure were good folk. Straightforward, hard working..and dare I say perfect company for a game of cards.’ He winked. Marianne quickly poked him in his ribs. ‘Colin! Don’t make her another victim of your card games.’ She huffed, earning a shrug from her husband. ‘She doesn’t like it when I joke around.’ He said a touch more softly while slightly leaning into me. I rolled my eyes. ‘I highly doubt it.’ I smirked, seeing Marianne’s mock-annoyed roll of the eyes. We all laughed.

‘But I do think the rest of your description is quite fitting. We are straightforward and hard working people, the dutch. I remember that moment when I got to LA. My team was super apprehensive of having this “european chick” joining their team, but thankfully they soon warmed up to me. So much so, that I now lead the team, which is super cool.’ I smiled at Colin. He nodded. ‘A career woman!’ He laughed. ‘Sort of..’ I shrugged, ‘..Though I have more to live for than just work.’ I said, taking another quick sip of my drink. ‘Hmmm..that reminds me of..’ Colin started.. ‘Oh! And Henry told me you are a fantastic cook!’ Marianne interjected, quickly stopping Colin from bringing up fuzzy old memories. We shared a mutual smile as I answered. ‘I guess so. I don’t like to boast, but..yes.. I guess I’m a pretty good cook..And it’s especially fun since Henry is into cooking as well. It’s good to have a shared hobby.’ I spoke, noticing Colin’s gaze had moved to something happening at the other side of the room.

‘But you are a quite phenomenal cook too, aren’t you?’ I winked at Marianne, turning a bit so I could also take a quick glance at the commotion near the entrance. All I saw was lots of flashes. ‘Well that’s what you do when there’s six hungry men to feed!’ Marianne laughed, moving to her tippy toes and craning her neck in an attempt to see anything. The crowd was too tall, completely blocking her view and she soon sighed in defeat. ‘If only I would grow a bit more in height from all that food!’ She exclaimed.

‘There he is! The man of the hour.’ Colin boasted proudly, wrapping an arm around his wife. Marianne smiled up at him, before looking at me, giddy excitement sketching her face. ‘Is he coming our way?’ She asked, peering in the direction of the flashes. I looked back at the cloud of flashing cameras, only seeing the top of his hair as he ever so slowly coasted through the crowd. ‘..Eventually.’ I shrugged, amusement in my voice. I turned back towards them.

‘So do you also live here in London?’ I asked. Colin shook his head, his eye occasionally flying back to Henry’s direction. ‘No, no, we’re just here for a few days. Visiting some family and friends before flying back to our beloved Jersey Islands on Sunday.’ He said. Marianne shrieked and folded her hand around my arm, eagerly pulling it to turn me around. ‘LOOK!! I see him! There there!’ She squealed. Me and Colin shared a knowing look, both amused at her excitement. Such a proud mom. Colin winked at me before squaring his shoulders with pride as “the man of the hour” finally neared us. ‘Moms will be moms.’ He said airily.  

Henry wore a dark grey suit, his black blouse buttoned open to show a smattering of chest hair. Gosh. He looked so handsome. I squeezed my knees closer together, feeling my core burn up for him. Okay Lisa. Focus. Calm down. Act normal. Just act normal. I looked back in his direction and our eyes interlocked for a brief moment before he accidentally bumped into some people, immediately offering his profuse apologies. I smiled, not being able to tear away my eyes from him as he moved his attention to closing the last bit of the distance between us. My silly, far too handsome man.

While Henry tried to move to us, it seemed to get more and more crowded. There were so many people trying to get a look at Henry that we were soon finding ourselves trapped in a pushing and pulling mayhem of fans and press. Oh man. This is not cool. I looked down at Marianne, who was so very small compared to all these tall people around us. She looked at me with a slight shade of concern in her eyes, her tiny figure leaning heavily into Colin’s broad chest. This is so not cool. I looked back at Henry, whose eyes were now piercing mine as he was just an arm’s reach away from us. His eyes spoke a thousand words. I’m so sorry. I hate this just as much as you do. I want to get out of here.

At long last the path was cleared - apparently Henry did have two bodyguards with him that finally managed to control the crowd. He first wrapped his arms around his mother, pulling her in for a big hug, before shaking hands with his father. They exchanged a word or two before he turned around, smiling at me. Oh my dear Henry. We looked at each other like two puppy dogs in love. ‘Hello beauty.’ He whispered, leaning in to press a chaste kiss on my lips. Flash flash flash. ‘You’ve already met my parents, I see.’ He winked, turning back towards his parents. ‘My my. Mom you look great!’ He complimented, a broad smile on his face. She poked him in the arm. ‘Oh stop it you.’ She cooed. ‘Shall we..find somewhere more quiet?’ He asked, looking around to signal his bodyguards before looking back at us.

Yes. Oh please! I thought, feeling myself getting more and more annoyed as someone was continuously poking me in the back. I looked over my shoulder and immediately a wild flash burst right in my face. HMMPFF. blinked my blinded eyes a few times, grasping Henry’s arm to steady myself. These people! Have some mercy..please! Fucking hell. I felt a protective hand fold over mine. ‘You okay?’ He breathed, pulling me closer. I nodded quietly, feeling slightly disoriented as the lights danced in front of my eyes. He nodded once my dazed eyes looked back at him, his brows slightly furrowing. ‘Let’s go.’ He muttered, clearly not amused by the whole thing.

We moved our drinks to the bar, not wanting to spill them, before a new path was cleared and we finally managed to move away. No more blinding camera flashes. No more posters and Witcher paraphernalia that were shoved in our faces, to be signed. And no more gossip that was spoken just a tad too loud - ‘Look at how flat she is. She definitely needs to eat.’ - ‘Did you see that? She’s sooo ugly.’ - ‘PSSSTTT! Snake! You’re a snake!’

I clung to Henry’s arm as if he were my life buoy. Sure I had gotten a thick skin throughout the years of working in the movie industry..but still.. it stung when people spoke like that. I felt my heart sink with every word and a silent tear burned in my eye as I crushed my teeth together, trying to keep up good appearances. By the time we arrived at a more secluded area where we could sit down, I had almost squeezed Henry’s arm to mush. 

‘You can relax now.’ He whispered, laying gentle fingers over my hand. I let out a shivery breath as our eyes met. Those knowing blue eyes. I felt my lip shiver as the unshed tears burned. He looked at me with question and all I could do was shake my head, a hot tear moving down my cheek. Within an instant he had wrapped his arms protectively around me, hiding me from prying eyes. He leaned his head down, quietly nuzzling my hair. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He whispered quietly. ‘This was not okay and I’m sorry.’ We stood there for a quiet moment, embracing each other, while my tears dried. I couldn’t even care that much for whomever saw me. Or what his parents would think. I was just glad Henry was there. Glad I could at least hide away in his big bear-arms.

‘I…I need a drink.’ I said with shivery voice while slowly untangling myself from his arms. He looked at me, his calm blue eyes studying my green ones. ‘Do you want to go home?’ He asked honestly, no judgement in his voice. I shook my head, quietly smiling. ‘No..no. It’s fine. It’s just..the nerves kind of got to me. And now I finally get to meet your parents and I’m a crying mess…’ I spoke, feeling one of his thumbs rubbing my cheek. ‘Do I look like a raccoon now?’ I asked, seeing him smile down at me. ‘No. No, you look perfect.’ He said. ‘Somehow I doubt that.’ I raised an eyebrow, shaking my head softly. ‘I swear it! Scout’s honour! You look beautiful and your make-up is where it should be and…’

I gasped, quickly swatting his arm. ‘My make-up is where it should be, huh?’ I huffed, quickly retrieving my phone from my handbag to check it for myself. Hair. Make-up. Okey, fine. He was right. I was looking surprisingly fresh and my make-up was indeed still looking alright. I looked back at Henry who was looking at me with such awkward desperation, he sure as hell was expecting to be dragged to hell and back. ‘Okay, it’s fine.’ I shrugged in silent defeat. He sighed and immediately his face lit up as he hummed in delight, quickly placing a kiss on my cheek. ‘Pfieww! Got me worried there. I would not want to get in your bad book.’ He smiled. I rolled my eyes, wrapping an arm around him and looked to the corner where his parents had taken a seat. They had squeezed themselves in a corner of a large fluffy purple couch, currently having an animated conversation with one of the waiters.  

‘Okay.’ I nodded with a determination in my voice. ‘I’m okay. Let’s join your parents.’

‘Okay.’ Henry smiled, offering me the warmest of smiles.

--

Part 12 > 

[sweetcatmintea]

A Stranger’s Stress

Flash fiction Friday! :D Remember way back when I said A Stranger’s Kindness was a stand alone? And then went and made a bunch of discount continuations? We’re at it again folks!  I hope you enjoy another day with the stranger and the kid (and aren’t getting sick of them yet <u<;;)! Feedback is appreciated ^u^

Thanks again for organising and hosting @cawolters!

Prompt: We Are Not Alone

Words: 1499 orz

Previous parts: 1, 2, 3

----------

          Sometimes you have a bad day. Just a heaping pile of unwanted events. You get up, three new rejection letters. You boil the kettle and the milk’s gone bad even though you know you only bought it last week. Your awful bitter coffee spills down your shirt – your favourite, naturally – after you trip over a toy that you specifically remember having asked the night before that it be put away. There’s a notice that the rates are going up again and now the window’s broken thanks to a bored kid losing control of a ball. Thoughts nag at you that the kid should be in school or something. You know this but you don’t know it it’s safe yet and you haven’t worked out a cover for why you have a kid who, for some reason, has missed a lot of class time. No pressure but if you botch up, it’s yours and the kid’s necks on the chopping block but how are you supposed to be able to work that out and maintain your late grandmother’s cottage and look after Sudden Child and find a job and those rejection letters aren’t going to read themselves and that takes time. You know, just your run of the mill stuff. It might just be me. It seems unlikely that these experiences are universally shared. Although, I am sure that a lot of people have been in a similar situation as me now, kneeling over broken glass, duct taping it out of the carpet. I guess you can say I’ve been a little … tense lately.

          The kid’s settled in well. His nightmares haven’t been so bad since we put up those stars. He’s really taken to gardening as well which, I’ll never admit out loud, is somewhat touching. We haven’t heard anything from his folks or the police. It should be singing and smooth sailing, but I feel paranoid. Like disaster is looming over us while we carry on, oblivious. There’s no way it was that easy. It’s in every story. The instant the villains..? heroes..? Characters, breath a sigh of relief, crunch! Beartrap. I’m serious about schooling as well. I’ve got to sort it out, I want to, bit damn if it’s not nauseating to think he might be recognised.

          “I’m really sorry.” He’s not as whistley now his front teeth have grown back in. Unfortunate buck teeth until the rest of him catches up. He’s been hovering – figuratively, those wings are still too small to be more than decoration yet – the entire time I’ve been cleaning. Of course I’m not letting a seven year old pick up glass. How stupid do you think I am?

          “I know. It’s fine.” I think I’ve got all the pieces. Another tape canvas to be sure.

          “I tried to stop it, but it was too fast.” His fingers worry the fraying hem of his shirt. I’ll have to get him new clothes again soon. More money.

          “Look kid, accidents happen. It sucks that the window broke, but no one was hurt. That’s what matters. Now you know to be more careful next time. You can help me put the new panes in when I get them. Fair?”

          He nods eagerly, brightening despite my frank tone. At least he’s gotten used to that.

          I get up, bones creaking in protest. I feel old. Tired. It was lucky I didn’t break my ankle on that damn toy. Kid follows me to the kitchen. Might as well get a start on lunch. Paper catches my eye when I get the bread from the pantry. The calendar month is wrong already. Where has all the time gone?

          “Could you fix the calendar?” Probably better to get that sorted before I forget again.

          “Yep!” He’s as zealous as ever. Why do kids love doing all those little mundane things? Y’know, pushing crossing buttons, taking tickets from the deli dispenser, pulling sticky note sheets off, that sort of thing. Weird little goblins.

          “Guess what!”

          “What?”

          “It’s my birthday month!” He thrashes his tail, nearly sending the trashcan flying in his excitement.

          Already? I don’t let my hands slow. One small act of keeping it together. My mind races on. Stars above. The window wasn’t enough? I have to get him something, obviously, kids deserve birthday presents. And a cake. Would he want a party? How am I supposed to facilitate a party of one?? I’ll run out of money soon. I thought this would be a whole ‘new leaf’ situation. But if I keep getting rejections, I’m going to have to start stealing again. At least it’ll get those guys off my back. What about giving the kid a decent role model? I can’t give him much, but I thought I could do that for him. If I go back to my expertise and get caught, that’s it. All anyone will hear is that some crazed thief kidnapped a little boy. He’ll get shoved straight back into their hands no questions. A pat on the back to his rescuers and I rot. I can’t let that happen. I’m trapped. I’ve never been trapped before. Not like this.

          He’s still waiting for a response. The enthusiasm draining from him the longer I delay.

          “You… You’re not cancelling my birthday, right? I’m really, reaalllyyy sorry about the window..”

          “ENOUGH ABOUT THE DAMN WINDOW!” I regret it immediately. He cowers, stumbling over apologies.

          A second to breath.

          “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” This time, I do stop. Giving him my full attention, crouching to look him in the eye. “I’m not mad about the window. I told you, it’s fine. I was… feeling stressed and snapped. It was wrong for me to take out my feelings on you. Can you forgive me?”

         He pauses. This is not something he’s gotten used to. I wonder how many time’s he’s been given an apology. He considers my words, then nods.

          “I forgive you.”

          “Thank you.” I finish up the sandwiches. “What do you want for your birthday?”

          “Um!” Another pause. Faux thought. He already knows what he wants. “Can we go fishing? I’ve always wanted to try!”

          “Fishing?” That wasn’t what I expected.

          “Yeah! You know, on a boat, catching fish with strings! You’ve got a boat, right?”

          “What? Why do you think I have a boat?”

          “Well, you do live near the water and, you know, you kinda have lots of things that maybe you shouldn’t have…” Not wanting to commit to the accusation, he trailed off, twiddling his thumbs.

          “Do you think I’ve stolen a boat?”

          “Mayybee…”

          “Do you know how hard that would be? You can’t just decide to acquire a boat for the fun of it. You have to sell those things.”

          “Is that a no..?”

          I sigh. I don’t fish but it is his birthday. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises but I’ll try.”

          “Really!?” Stars, his eyes shone. “Thank you!” He launched a hug at me. Kids.

          “Okay. That’s enough. Take your lunch and off with you. Go do whatever it is gremlins do. I’ve got a call to make.”

          He gave a final squeeze before running off, giggling. I flip open my phone, plugging in the one person who may be able to help. She answers on the third ring.

          “Hey Grace, it’s me.”

          Quiet laughter. “I know who you are dummy. Caller ID.”

          “Right. Uh, you remember Grandpa’s old boat?”

          “The one Gran left me? Yeah. Hard to forget when I can see it now.”

          “How would you feel about going fishing with me and someone?”

          “You hate fishing.” There’s a note of accusation in her voice. I hope this is the right decision.

          “I do. It’s cruel and unnecessary. But that’s a rant for another day. See, there’s this kid…”

          “What kid? Why do you know a kid?” She doesn’t leave room for an answer, barrelling on. “Wait! I swear to god, if you tell me you stole a kid –“

          “First of all, there are a lot of unfair accusations going around today. Second, I’m deeply offended that you think the only way I’d know a kid is through dishonest means. Third, you’re right, I did.”

         “What the actual – actually, never mind. Two minutes then I’m calling the cops.

         “The long and short, he’s Tainted and his parents were pretty much torturing him. I’m trying to help him, I swear.”

          Grace was silent for a long moment. We’ve had our differences. Bridges a patchwork of scorches and repairs. I don’t know how she will respond but I hope she can at least sympathise. She was always the one to bring home injured animals when we were young. If she wants to cut ties after this, that’s fair. As long as she doesn’t rat me out, it’ll be okay.  Finally, she sighs.

          “That sounds like the sort of dumb thing you would do. Alright. What can I do to help?”

          I guess we aren’t as alone as I thought.

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Tag list

@cawolters,  @inkovert, @snobbysnekboi, @kainablue, and @i-rove-rock-n-roll

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Sorry if this one isn’t at my usual quality. My brain’s kinda fried today :T Hopefully things’ll be running smoothly again next week ^u^

[deathbyvalentine]

Prompts

Antigone and Behemoth go to a bar

Antigone pulled a lace handkerchief from her pocket, passing it over the bar stool a few times before climbing on, crossing her legs at the ankle and tossing her long hair over one shoulder. As she pursued the menu, a tiny furrow between her eyebrows and lips slightly pouted, she pretended not to notice the men looking at her. Posing without seeming to pose was an acquired skill and one she had in abundance. 

She didn’t jump when Behemoth arrived, tapping her on the shoulder. She didn’t even look up, much to the other nephilim’s disappointment. With a huff she threw herself on the stool, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. Antigone, still studying the menu, pushed over another copy with perfectly manicured fingers. Behemoth snorted and simply called the bar tender over, ordering a whiskey straight. She threw it down before ordering another, intending to take her time over the latter. Antigone finally made her mind up and ordered a drink that came with thinly sliced strawberries she could eat one by one, letting them melt on her tongue. She was unable to resist complimenting the barman on his skill, smirking as he suddenly set his shoulders, pleased. “Are you done?” Behemoth cut across. “I’m not particularly eager to have a bar fight with Michael.” “Relax. I’m not going to do anything.” It was a force of habit, the same as the way she tossed her hair. Inspiring pride was second nature. Or, more like first nature. Only nature. She sipped at her drink. “So, progress report.” “Nothing.” Behmoth clicked her tongue. The lack of action was clearly rubbing along her nerves like a grater. “Nada. No retribution, no nothing.” Antigone tilted her head to the side, considering. “He doesn’t want the other angels to know we know.”  “Wouldn’t he just kill us then?” Antigone had a brief flare of gratitude that she had worked quickly enough that she wasn’t sure Michael had any idea who she was. She would like to keep it that way. “He’s a clever little thing. I’m sure he’s realised it’s not just you who knows. He’ll be looking for leverage at the moment. Planning his next moves.” “And what’s ours?” Behemoth looked at her expectantly. Antigone felt the joyful rush that came with collecting chess pieces.  “First, we figure out what’s with the other angels. Knowledge is power and I like being powerful. Then we start to make a few tactical sacrifices to get our ducks in a row - Yes, Behemoth, you can be the one to sacrifice them.” She sighed, pretending that not getting her own hands dirty was such a chore. “For the moment though, do what you do best.” She slipped off the bar stool, straightening her jacket. “Make us angry. Make us realise that we don’t want to live like this. You know your talents work on humans. Why not try something a little harder?” “Challenge fucking accepted.”  Antigone blew a kiss, ignoring the returned grimace from the other woman and slipped away towards the pool table, no doubt to flatter and hustle the small group of men gathered there who immediately hushed at her approach. Behemoth spotted a tense conversation one push away from becoming a fight. Tonight would be a good night for both of them.

____________________________________________________

One thing goes right, three things go wrong.

She held the veil in her two hands. Small flecks of ashen fabric broke off and floated gently towards the hotel carpet. Without thinking, she ground it in with her slipper. Altogether, the veil was about a foot shorter than it should have been. Holding it up to her head, it just brushed the tops of her shoulders. She wasn’t sure if it was actually worse than having no veil at all. Could she pretend the tapering dark was a fashion statement? Or should she send a bridesmaid out to the local fancy dress shop and hope for the best?

She slumped back into the dressing table chair, drumming her perfectly manicured nails on the upholstered arm. She had always thought she wouldn’t get hung up on the small stuff when she got married. She considered herself a fairly chill person after all. She didn’t mind cancelled plans, spilled drinks or missed busses. She would take a breath, count to ten and then the world was fine once more. She had counted to a fucking hundred and this fucking veil still seemed like the biggest fucking deal in the world. She leaned forward to clutch at her glass of prosecco, taking a fortifying sip. 

If she was a superstitious woman, she might be inclined to believe her wedding was cursed. This morning one of her heels had snapped off, making her wedding shoes a pair of converse one of her bridesmaids had in her car boot. Then they discovered that  the cake had been delivered too early and the icing had slowly melted in the heat of the building. Now this. With no time to fix any of it properly. Bad things always came in threes. She stood up, inspecting herself in the mirror and placing the ashen veil on her head. Well. At least the converse were white. There was a soft rap on the door and her best man looked in, letting out a low whistle of appreciation. She pretended that his eyes did not linger on her shoes. She picked up her bouquet (wilted, obviously, also because of an early delivery) and linked her arm through his. In silence they walked to the aisle.

Her future wife waited at the altar, looking like an image of an ancient goddess. Her smile was not just beautiful, it was radiant. Of all the things that went wrong today, saying ‘I do’ would not be one of them. Even if everything else was wrong, this love was right. 

_______________________________________________________

Paris. 1933.

It was one of the days where he was more Sam. There was a softness in his shoulders, a familiarity in his eyes as he looked around him at the marvel that was Paris. He had walked here once, the same streets but different buildings. The same country but different people. He was a soldier then. He was a god now. There was something that was the same however, and he was not the only one that could feel it. There was a current running under everything, sharper than electricity. Tension lay in everyone’s shoulders. It felt like even the buildings were holding their breath. The country was looking towards Germany and praying not to believe its eyes. War was in the air, unmistakable in its stench. Sam had hoped never to feel its like again. Not for the first time, it occurred to him what a fool hope made of all soldiers.

He hoped they moved the art. The Court had come here ten years ago, when everything was waking up, coming alive. Jazz would float out from darkened cafes, poets would pin their papers to anything that stood still enough. Every author and painter worth knowing talked in bars into the early hours and The Court was amongst them, their beauty mingling so to make something transcendental. Sam, finally, understood art. Not just understood it. Loved it, venerated it, worshipped it. It settled into the part of his hungry mind that was always searching and never satisfied. The need that was both Sam and Paimon. 

How would they find it in ten years more? Another revolution? Another revelation? The church dominating, or the socialists, or the nobility once more returned to their marble thrones? All seemed equally as preposterous and as likely as each other. Would France even still exist? Empires rose and fell but The Court would be eternal. The last true enemy had been conquered by the three of them. Death itself. How lucky they all were. 

Sam was not sure he could ever love France, not what happened in the trenches and fields here, and indeed in the blue skies above. He wished he could save her though, from whatever was about to happen. They had failed once, all of them - the clever men in their government buildings and regal kings in their palaces and millions had died for it. Part of him was glad he no longer felt things the same way. Paimon had little idea of what life was worth and cared even less about the scale. Humans were almost ideas to him and definitely were things. Interesting, exciting, amazing ones but objects nevertheless. It had dulled the pain of loss into a sort of numbness, had melted his nightmares into abstract shapes. When you see eternity and give your memories and self to it, you become small.  He let out a long breath and stubbed out his cigarette, noting the smudge of red on the filter. Blood would always follow him, even if the horror didn’t.

_________________________________________________________

Egregore discusses the "incident" last night with the 4 kohan, a hakima and a unreasonable amount of oranges.

“Okay.” Matthias said, massaging his temples with both hands and closing his eyes slightly. “Let’s go over this one more time. What exactly happened?” The briar looked over anxiously at their changeling companion, who was looking stoically forward, her jaw set. Ploughing bravely on, they started. “Right, so our hakima had to go sort out some snit with a bunch of family mages and corsairs right?” Their tone clearly indicated they didn’t particularly consider any of these professions laudable in the slightest. “And the corsairs didn’t have any coin, so they asked if they could pay in cargo. Our hakima is pretty loaded so said yeah, that’s fine. Their cargo was fruit, taking it up to people who don’t have our sun. So our hakima got - how much was it?” They broke off, looking at the still-silent changeling.  “Five crates.” “Five crates! Anyway. So they come home to us with these crates and give us two of them. They tell us that oranges are really good for scurvy, and we should eat them because we ain’t been eating so many vegetables because we’ve been roving. But Calio, our brother, hasn’t eaten an orange before. Used to be a Marcher.” They said this significantly, raising an eyebrow. Matthias nodded to show his understanding and gestured for them to go on. “So uh, me, her and Tomere eat a crate between us. But Calio didn’t know how many to eat so he...well he eat the entire thing.” Matthias paused in his massaging. “He... eat an entire crate?” “Yes.” “Of oranges.” “By himself.” “That’s what I said ain’t it?” With a tone of annoyance the briar clicked their tongue. “But then our hakima comes and says we have a fight like, right now, some dickhead orcs trying their luck. So we spring into action. Except Calio collapses in the middle of battle and because they were druge, the hakima thought he’d been poisoned.” “Right.” “So did this spell to like, cleanse his body of toxins. But there weren’t any toxins to clean out.” “Okay.” “So Calio sort of... Well he...” The changeling cut in. “He threw up on the druj squad leader.” Matthias blinked, a sudden look of delight coming into his face. “He didn’t.” “He did! And then killed her, obviously, but it wasn’t the most dignified death. Anyways, now he’s claiming he did it on purpose. It’s not quite a lie because he definitely aimed but we think he’s still on shaky ground. Which is bad enough but -” “He’s asking for recognition from the Courage assembly.” The changeling deadpanned, a look of great resignation crossing their face. Matthias groaned and fell back onto his pile of cushions, muttering something about not being paid anywhere near enough for listening to this shit.  “Okay. Send him in. I’ll have a word. Or a hundred. Most of them curses.”

_________________________________________________________ Thomas giving Sylvie a piggy back 

She fit perfectly, her arms resting around his neck, his arms crossed under her knees. It was no effort at all and he easily kept pace with their shared queen. The night sky did not glitter above them - the light pollution was too great, but the moon watched them from her seat. Thomas whispered a blessing under his breath - a habit, still ingrained. He was finding a great many habits Audra had instilled in him had become part of him, as essential as the curl of his hair or the poetry on his breath. He found an oddity in carrying Sylvie. A new feeling, one he had never had and certainly didn’t expect to surface while touching the brat. A real feeling, fierce and deep of brotherhood. He had never been a brother, not even when he was a lesser being. It didn’t mean that he found her any less ridiculous or any more likeable. But he knew that if someone wanted to hurt her without his sayso, he would rip out their throat with little hesitation. How curious the way hearts and minds twisted together. 

He shifted her slightly, chuckling at the squeak of protest about the lack of warning and gave her an elaborate apology. Quintus glanced over with narrow eyes, no doubt wondering what the younger man was playing at. That was of course the exciting part - Thomas had no idea what he was playing at either. That was his favourite way of being. No idea what he was going to do next, no decisions made, just instinct and reaction. He had been too guarded for too long in Liverpool, his plans meticulous and often years in the making. Audra brought him back to himself and out of his mind. Where he was best. Where he was the most terrifying. 

He bent his head to kiss Sylvie’s hand. This two years may not be as dreadful as he thought it would be. Or more accurately, it would. But it would also be fun.

_______________________________________________________

Lance and Anoretta, in the vents

He had no idea why so many of his friends liked it in here. His knees were pressed up, his back was bent and he could find literally no comfortable way of sitting. He would go right ahead and assume it was a hive thing except Astrid loved them too. It was ridiculous and also coupled with a deep fear he would find Mr Krushev��s nest. He took a long drink and closed his eyes, listening to the rumbling of the ship, all the little sounds that were like a second heartbeat to him. 

He wasn’t quite sure how long he had been in there before a clatter made him jump, banging his head on the top of the vent. He squinted at the intruder before realising a moment later it was Anoretta. They regarded each other for a moment.  “Are you looking for me?” “No. I just wanted to... sit.” “Right.” “So can I?” “If you promise not to talk and to drink.” “Done.” She finished clambering in and he threw an arm around her shoulder, bringing her in close. He remembered times spent hiding in grand wardrobes, giggling children hiding from parties or tutors. This was not so different. Even if they were. Even if the sector was. His arm fit around her as though it was made to. Silently, he handed her the flask. Misery loved company and Anoretta had known both his misery and his company for a long long time.

_______________________________________________________

Thomas and his Mama

He curled up in the armchair, book spread open in his hands. He was only pretending to read it. In truth, he was watching his mother. He loved to watch her move, the elegance in her every step, the swish of her long blonde hair. He longed to be able to brush it, to touch it, but every time he touched her she shook him off like a restless horse. Some women weren’t made to be mothers. He wished she had figured that out sooner. 

At the moment she was pacing, holding a letter in her perfectly manicured hands and clicking her tongue in annoyance. He knew better than to ask her what was wrong. She would either tell him or she wouldn’t, and he would have to snoop around later to put together the pieces. After a moment she delicately folded up the paper and threw it onto the (heavily guarded) fire. 

Then she approached him, cupping his face in her hands and looking deep into his eyes. Hers were blue and as unforgiving as the ocean. Like chips of ice set into diamond. They were hard to look away from and harder to keep contact with. As always, this was a test so he told himself not to blink, to keep the connection. “I need you to promise me something darling.” He nodded, knowing in that moment he would agree to anything she asked. “Never forget that this is our world. Do not fall for being the puppet of something you cannot see. People will seek to control you through threats of something more powerful than us. There is no such thing. We are the gods here, understand?” He didn’t, but he nodded all the same. Her nails were digging into his cheeks. He still did not look away. “Promise me you’ll never abandon our covenant. This is how we become royalty again. Not through anything else, not through whispering words and worship. Say it back to me.” “I won’t abandon our covenant.” “And what is our covenant darling?” “Invictus.” Her hands released him and she gently patted his cheek. “Good boy. I knew we were on the same page.” Deep in his chest, the beast stirred in it’s sleep. He prayed it stayed that way. His mother did not approve of losses of control. Neither did his court. The creature would have to stay asleep, no matter how much he longed to loose its chains. He picked up his book and pretended to focus on the words. His mother watched him for a moment longer, then swept from the room. He raised his eyes and watched the letter turn to ash.

_____________________________________________________________

We have to tell everyone what happened in Vegas. 

Vegas reminded her of what the pyramids seemed like when she was a child. A forgotten graveyard, filled with monuments to gods she could not name. Dust and sand blew easily through the streets, tumbleweeds joining them in a solemn dance. It could have been beautiful, if it had not been so horrible. Willa leaned out on the balcony, resting her arms on the hot metal. Each morning she took a moment to look out over the boulevard. For a moment, she could pretend she was a tourist, awake before the city was. For a moment, she could pretend not everyone was dead.

Solitude no longer cut like a knife. Live with any pain long enough and you could get used to it. It was just the way things were, like the sun beating down above or the hot wind. She lived alone in this grand place, the city her palace. She would strap her rifle on her back and go for long walks. The rifle was unnecessary - she had never encountered a living creature bigger than a scorpion. She kept it on all the same, the weight a comforting reminder. She liked the theatres best, getting to clamber onto the stage and look out at the sea of seats. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine them filled. Arcades were good too. The power was still on, somehow, so if you found a quarter you could put them in and waste an hour or two. 

When you were alone, the main priority after food and water became occupation. Boredom could drive you mad and it was always waiting, just over the horizon. Will went to air-conditioned gyms, running on treadmills playing music videos she had seen a thousand times. She swam in pools starting to turn a little green. She curled up in movie theatres and watched the same films until she could recite them by heart. She broke into a new house every week, walking around and trying to imagine what sort of people lived here. She took any toys and games she found, though she rationed her playing of them. She didn’t know how long she would live. How long she’d have to find amusement for herself. Jigsaws had become a precious commodity. 

As she walked the streets, she wondered if the rapture had happened and god had simply forgotten about her. A bunch of people had went to heaven, a bunch had went to hell and now earth was just purgatory, with her stuck here. Not bad, not good, just average. The knowledge it could be worse was for once, not a comforting one. Worse would be interesting. This was an eternity of nothing.

At least, it was. Until she saw another girl at the end of the street, carrying a katana across her back and swinging a bag full of what seemed to be pop tarts. Willa paused. Had the isolation finally made her crack up? Was she hallucinating? Or was there somebody else on the earth average enough to be forgotten by god? 

______________________________________________________________

Zeus and Hera 

Zeus put his hand on Hera’s lower back. She rested her head on his chest and slowly, they began to dance. Her white heels clicked on the floor with every step and he exhaled, as if he had been holding his breath until she was in his arms.

Marriage, Hera thought, was not always staying. It was always coming back. And he always came back. She knew the steps by heart by now. They’d been dancing this dance for centuries upon centuries after all. He would break her heart, she would burn his kingdom down and he would come back, singing her praises and kissing her hands. He made such pretty promises - who cared if they were lies?

He loved her. That’s what nobody else understood. He loved her and that’s why he was like this. It was the only way he could think of, the only way he could pretend she had no power over him. Zeus was a king. A king who wished he had no weaknesses, let alone one sitting on a throne beside him. He would raze the earth for her, kill his children, give up everything. And that scared him to death.

Hera would take him back into her arms every time. What he didn’t know is that he was her weak spot to. The only thing stronger than her pride was her love for him. All these silly girls and boys could come and go. She’d destroy them all. She’d be the only pillar left standing in his temple, the only altar for him to worship at.

She couldn’t even hear the music anymore, but still they danced.

_____________________________________________________________

Accidents happen.

One swipe of the hand and the demon fell to the ground, escaping the host body in wisps of black smoke. Ash steadied herself against the wall, one knee braced against the floor. Catching her breath, she raised a hand to her face and felt the warm blood of a nosebleed. She was lucky she was spending so much time hunting alone. She didn’t want to imagine John’s face.

She struggled to her feet, feeling her hands trembling slightly with exertion. She hadn’t taken the demon’s power. Just sent it back to hell. No blood drank, not even any blood truly spilt. That counted for something, right? She was trying. She just wasn’t sure it looked like that from the outside. She wasn’t sure what it looked like from the outside. Something feral. Something uncontrolled. Something to be put down.

The body on the floor stirred and Ash remembered why she allowed herself to slip in the first place. This form of exorcism didn’t hurt the host. No tying down needed, no capture. They’d still be fucked if the demon had broken all their bones some other time, but that chance was much slimmer. She better get out of their house though, before the police were called and she had to explain that she hadn’t caused blunt force trauma leading to amnesia.  Outside it was almost dawn. Birds stirred themselves and a few streaks of red were appearing on the horizon. An ill omen. Ash couldn’t help but be superstitious in this job. You never knew what was watching, waiting for an excuse. She frowned at the bloody sunrise, lighting a cigarette and tasting copper in her mouth. Bad weather had seemed more common lately. More storms, more thunder. She wondered what it meant and if it meant anything at all or if once again she was seeing signs where there was only empty space. Who knew? There was nothing she could do about it either way. The storm would hit or it wouldn’t. You just had to wait.

__________________________________________________________The Final Fall. 

The cave had paintings in it older than civilisation itself. Flickering torch light made the portraits almost seem to move, switching between snarls and smiles. Long ago, God had sat here with his only children and watched them paint the walls. The cave had been undisturbed since their infancy, forgotten. Now some of those same children cowered for shelter here, their halos broken and smashed, their backs wingless. It was all falling apart. 

The angels would be here soon, that seething mass of light and purity. They could cover ground in seconds, if in speed or numbers. Like white blood cells rushing to a wound, to rinse out the infection. The infected sat around the small bonfire and waited to be removed. When looking out of the mouth of the cave, in the distance there were fires too, clinging to swords. 

The smallest of the demons crouched close to the flames, trailing its fingers in the ash. Around it, the elders were packing a bag. They didn’t expect to survive so they would ensure at least something did. Someone. A spark of rebellion. They put the pack on it and told it to hide. The circle would not hold for long. The last five minutes of peace was as precious as gold. So they sat, lived and waited.

[paradisobound]

I Want It, I Got It: Chapter 7

Summary: Phil Lester was a worker for the BBC in London. Working in the advertising department, he was content being alongside his friend and fellow coworker PJ during every shift. However, the BBC is temporarily being used as a film set for a new movie staring Hollywood ‘It’ star, Daniel Howell. Being stuck as an extra on the set, Phil finds it’s hard to ignore the famous star. And maybe, just maybe, Dan finds it hard to ignore Phil as well.

Word Count: 1.4k (this chapter)

Warnings: Occasional swearing

Rating: Mature (for right now)

Updates will be every Wednesday at 4pm and Sunday at 1pm EST

**MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3**

Phil arrived to the BBC the next day for his normal work schedule.  He managed to get his assignment done for the BBC radio one and he had sent it in the night before after sleeping off his anger at the day. 

He got to his office with a sticky note on his desk to go to his boss as soon as he arrived to pick up his next assignment. So he sighed, put his stuff down, and headed off  to see his boss. 

He didn’t get to see his boss often, namely because he never had any problems arise where he particularly needed to see her. Her name was Louise and all her knew about her was that she was a blonde who died the tips of her hair funky colors. 

He made it to her door and knocked twice before a “Come in” rang out and Phil pushed down the door handle. 

Louise was sat at her desk, her hair put half up and a blazer buttoned tight around her waist. She was scribbling something onto a pad of paper but Phil just quickly took a seat and waited. 

“Oh, hi, Philip.” Oh right. He’d forgotten. She called him Philip. 

He cringed internally. 

“We have a few options for your next assignment and if you give me two minutes I can print them off and give them to you to read over. One is for next weeks episode of the BBC London Podcast and the other is that we need a new snazzy looking logo to go with the BBC Radio website.” 

Louise tapped away at her keyboard and Phil waited patiently. Somewhere in the distance, Louise’s printer whirled and she stood up, walking over to it, and picking up the papers. 

She flipped through each paper and then handed them to Phil to look over. “Just so you know, you can choose any one of the assignments but the one for the BBC website is a little bit more in demand.” 

Phil looked at both of the pages and decides he’d rather do the BBC website first anyway since it’ll take up less of his time. “I think I’ll work on the BBC website this afternoon and then begin the one for the podcast as soon as I’m done.” 

Louise smiled. “Have fun.” 

Phil just gave her a cut nod and grabbed his papers as he walked out of her office and down the hall back to his own. PJ was just setting up his desk with todays work when Phil walked through the doorway. 

“The tube this morning was worse than usual.” PJ griped as he undid his scarf from around his neck and drooped it off the back of his chair. “I swear there was no standing room and no one knew how to let someone on. Missed two trains and had to wait for the third.” 

Phil stifled by a chuckle. “Should have taken a taxi at that rate, mate.” 

“And pay 30 quid?” PJ laughs. “No thanks. I’ll be late.” 

Phil laughed to himself and plopped into his desk chair, ignoring how it creaked because it was slightly old and way too overused. He opened his laptop and opened up Illustrator as he prepared to begin the new logo. 

He was already into gradient coloring a circle when PJ interrupted him. “How did yesterday with Dan go?” 

Phil felt his shoulders tense and he looked up from his laptop, his teeth unintentionally grinding together. “It didn’t.” 

PJ adjusted his glasses on the edge of the nose and then looks at Phil with furrowed brows. “What do you mean?” 

Phil shook his head and reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We met up like planned and I took him to the eye. He was very nice and kind and I really enjoyed the little time we spent together. But then when we got off, the paparazzi and a bunch of teens and adults were waiting for us and he asked to go back to the hotel.” 

PJ spun in his chair and took off his glasses. “Wait, what happened?” 

“Exactly what I just said.” Phil commented, feeling his stomach begin to knot. 

PJ opened and closed his mouth softly before he remained silent. He looked between the floor and Phil. “Did...did he just like...not want to be around you anymore? I don’t get it.” 

“No, Peej...nothing like that.” Phil says, his voice softer than before. “Dan was very overwhelmed and I think he just needed to be alone.” PJ nodded once and then gave him a soft smile. “But he texted me after and I think it’ll be okay.” 

PJ began to speak again when the sound of footsteps behind them grew louder and Phil turned. He sighed quite loudly when he saw Gemma walking their way, her heels someone still sounding loud on the carpeted floors. 

“Phil Lester!” Gemma called out as he approached his desk and yanked an empty chair up to the side. She fell into it and settled at his desk. “What did you have to do to get a Daniel Howell follow and why didn’t I know about it?” 

Phil rolled his eyes and sat back. “It’s nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing, Phil!” Gemma pushed. “Daniel Howell followed you and I want to know how you managed that.” 

Phil shrugged. “We met on set.” 

“On set?!” Gemma exclaimed. “Oh why couldn’t I have been on set and maybe I would have gotten one.” 

“Hey!” PJ called from the side. “I didn’t get a Dan follow and I was on set.” 

Gemma looked at Phil with big eyes. “How did you manage to get one then, Phil? Spill your secrets.” 

“We talked, he asked for my Twitter and Instagram and I gave it to him.” 

“He just asked for that?” Gemma asked, her voice incredulous. “You’re acting like this isn’t a big deal. Phil, you got a Daniel Howell follow.” 

“It’s really not.” Phil said back. “There’s nothing to really even say about it. Dan’s a nice guy.” 

Gemma sat back. “Have you been speaking with him?” 

“A little bit.” 

Gemma’s eyes bugged out of her head. “A little bit? How is this not a big deal, Phil! You’re talking to a literal celebrity.” 

“It’s not a big deal.” Phil reiterated. “It’s not a big deal because it’s just Dan. He’s a normal guy.” 

‘Wow, you’re getting a little aggressive, don’t you think?” 

Gemma cut off her words before shooting him a side ways glance. Phil let’s out a breath and looks up just in time to see PJ staring at him with a look of what are you doing? 

Frankly, Phil doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore when it comes to Dan. 

All he knows is that Dan’s been messaging him since Tuesday and everything seemed to be better. But Dan was returning back to the USA to finish filming as they speak on his fancy private jet. According to Dan, he wasn’t even a fan of a private jet but everyone told him how it was essential for travel.

He feels like it’s stupid but Phil honestly would kill for a ride in Dan’s private jet with him. 

Phil shakes his head and looks back at Gemma with a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a long few days. I know it’s not an excuse to be a dick but―”

She flashed him a wide toothed smile and stood up from the chair she was sat in, brushing down her dress back to laying flat against her thighs. ‘That’s okay, Phil. I understand it. We all have those weeks.” 

She flashed another quick smile at him and then left the office, her heels still managing to make a noise against the carpet. Phil turned his attention back to his laptop and saw a new message on his Instagram…that he wouldn’t admit that he had open just in case Dan messaged him. And this time, he did. 

It read: 

danielhowell: what’s your number? Texting will work better for me when I’m in the states. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s reacting to it until PJ scoffs. “What did Mr. Howell send you now?” 

“He wants my number.” 

PJ cocked and eyebrow. “Really moving fast, don’t you think?” He joked. 

Phil laughed and finished typing out his number to Dan. “Dan’s a nice guy.” 

And really, that’s the complete truth. 

[twodaysintojune]

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

Supernatural, Debriel, Warnings-None

Find me at AO3

If Dean had an equivalent of Sam’s Halloween hate, more often than not that hated event was Christmas.

And to be fair, growing up listening to joyous songs of peace on earth right after cleaning your father's wounds from a salt and burn, watching movies of people sharing gifts under a massive Christmas tree in a dingy motel room whose only pristine asset was the sink he had just cleaned himself and then growing up trying to make it up for Sam and give him some sort of celebratory feeling…

Yeah, that could definitely make Christmas a detested event for anyone.

Which is why he thought it was kind of stupid to be out here on December 23rd in the mild Kansas cold, waiting for Sam and Jack to finally pick up a tree. Not that he complained about it, with time he had learnt to tone his feelings down and go along everything his people said. He was watching them, hands in his pockets, listening to the jarring Alvin and the Chipmunks styled carols booming out of a speaker that he was sure he would utterly destroy if he had the chance to get anywhere near it when he felt more than saw Gabriel approach him.

“You look like you're having as much fun as a man picking up his last meal.”

Dean snorted, count on Gabriel to be able to tell his mood swings. He had become even better than Sam on it and that was saying something.

“Naw, I was just thinking how on earth I'm gonna tie that monster to Baby without giving her a scratch.”

Cas had joined the other two with an assistant of the lot to help them wrap the tree up. After some struggling by all of them, Jack approached Dean beaming.

“All set?”

“Yeah”

“Well then, let's go kid.”

The trip to the bunker had been good, changing the background music to the good ol’ Zep definitely did wonders to his mood so when he helped everyone get the tree and all the other decorations they had bought into the bunker’s library, Dean was smiling once more. Still, he managed to leave everyone there to hide in the kitchen and prepare some mulled wine for the first time ever.

Doing a new recipe helped him focus his attention on anything else than more bitter than sweet memories but first he had to open the bottles and pour the wine into a pot. After finishing the first task, he saw a sachet of spices he had been about to prepare appear out of nowhere on his hand.

“Thanks Gabe.”

He dropped the sachet and proceeded to add less cups of sugar than what the recipe claimed, knowing that it was easier to add on than to take away. Gabriel, who was suddenly by his side, moved to turn on the oven while Dean cleaned the few instruments he had used and then went to the counter to finish preparing the turkey that was already lying on a cooking pan. Curious, Dean glanced over him and took a look at the humongous bird he definitely didn’t recall buying.

“Where did you even get that from?”

“I may not have much grace but I can spare a bit for the good stuff.”

Dean just snickered while he moved to take the eggs and milk out of the fridge and add another big pot on the stove for the eggnog, nudging Gabriel to leave some space on the counter for him. It was odd, this homely feeling he was getting dancing around the kitchen with Gabriel. It was almost like this was the way things were always meant to be. It took Dean a while to notice Gabriel was humming ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ but when it finally hit him he couldn’t help but laugh a bit.

“Were you ever even jealous of your half brother?”

Gabriel turned to look at Dean a bit startled and stopped his turkey filling task for a moment.

“Not really... I was kind of curious and a bit upset you know, since dad had forbidden us to bang with them and then he shows up and tells me I gotta give this girl Mary the news ‘cause he was being too much of a coward to show up himself after she told him she was not gonna give up on Joseph...” Gabriel paused for a long enough time fiddling with the spoon in his hands “...that should have been a dead giveaway about what he would do after Lucifer’s fall”

Dean moved to place his hand on the archangel’s shoulder.

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault that he left.”

If he didn’t know better, Dean could have sworn he had seen Gabriel’s eyes glisten for a second.

“Anyway, all that stopped after JJ was born, he really was a cute baby… Too bad he had to grow up.”

Dean laughed heartily.

“Yeah, I get you on that. Sammy was the cutest when he was a kid. If you think his puppy eyes can kill you now you should have seen him then.”

The rest of the day went by with the bunker filling itself with the delicious scent of baked goods that Gabriel naturally did for Dean’s delight and the mulled wine. Despite not feeling like it, Dean had helped hang out the leftover garlands and was preparing some of the open bedrooms for Jody and the girls, who were invited for the celebration by Sam when he stepped into the library with some dusty rags at the same time as Gabriel, who was bringing snacks for everyone.

“Stop!”

They halted when Jack placed his hand in front against them.

“You’re under the mistletoe! You have to kiss!”

Both men looked upwards to find that, indeed, there was a small bundle of mistletoe hanging from a decorated red ribbon right over them. Still confused for the abrupt interruption of their activities, they turned to each other before going back to Jack.

“Uhm, I don’t think this is the way that works kiddo.”

“No, you have to do it! Sam and Castiel already have.”

Dean and Gabriel groaned while glancing their respective brothers, who were now sheepishly hiding behind some of the tree’s branches. Dean could have sworn Sam’s ears were three shades redder than what they should’ve been.

“Seriously? You had to go there now? On Christmas of all times!?”

“We had to! It was the mistletoe!”

Both Gabriel and Dean looked at them in judgemental disbelief for just a second. Then Gabriel sighed and placed the tray with sandwiches and beer on the table before turning towards Dean.

“Don’t worry Dean-o, this ain’t gonna hurt a bit.”

Dean was about to retort when Gabriel’s hands found his neck and pulled his face closer. He felt Gabriel’s lips closing on his with a softness he never would have expected of the guy. Dean knew little about love but he was certain that there had been something more caring in that brief connection than what the occasion would have required.

Gabriel parted almost as fast as he had approached him.

“There, happy now?”

Jack just beamed at his uncle, like he had done tons of awesome things to make the world a better place. Swiftly, both men made way to keep on with their own tasks. When the night arrived and Sam had disappeared with Cas in his bedroom, Dean gave a last round on the library, where he found Jack sitting in front of the tree on the carpet and a bunch of floor pillows he suspected Gabriel had magicked looking in awe at how the lights turned on and off in random patterns.

“You gonna stay here all night?”

Jack turned to Dean with eyes shining in glee. Dean just sighed and went to grab one of the comfy lap blankets, throwing it on Jack’s shoulders.

“If you go back to your room remember to turn off the lights.”

“I will.” The kid stared a second at the man “Dean...? I love you.”

Dean smiled gently and made way to fuss Jack’s hair.

“Love ya too kid. Good night.”

“Good night.”

On his way to his bedroom he was joined by Gabriel.

“Sooo… I got this xxx-mas video right here, you wanna watch it at my room?”

Dean grabbed the case of the video, a latina, an asian and a redhead posing with the mandatory red sheer babydolls trimmed in white faux fur and santa hats. It was funny how even after watching the same shit again and again he always came back to them.

“Sure, why the heck not?”

They played the video after throwing themselves on Gabriel’s bed, filled with multiple silk cushions. Dean had to give it to Kali for teaching her man how to decorate in opulence. He accepted gratefully the whisky he was handled and went to focus on the video. There were no guys in the video, it was just the girls, opening presents that held dildos and vibrators inside and playing with each other. After a while, Dean just sighed frustrated.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean chuckled “I was kinda hoping for an idiot dressed as Santa I guess.”

Gabriel looked at Dean for the longest time and paused the video.

“Not that, Dean, something’s wrong with you today, all these days since Sam pitched in on doing Christmas.”

Dean turned to look at the archangel feeling clearly betrayed for being called out by the only person he would have expected never to be confronted about anything considering how well he was known for running away from facing stuff. And the worst was that he was unable to give a single pretext to get away from the interrogation. He tried, he knew he had tried his best to get around the issue but Gabriel had pressed on and on until Dean spilled it all out. All about the winter days spent in a room without heating, holding Sam closely wrapped in a blanket, the gift giving watched from outside a living room, all the Holidays his father had been out doing only god knows which hunt. He didn’t know when he had started crying in the middle of his rant. Why was he even talking? Why was he allowing anyone besides himself listen to all of this? It’s not like Gabriel would actually care. Heck, it’s not like he still cared about it so why on earth was he tearing this way?

“I’m sorry, Gabe, you don’t even need to listen to this.” Dean grunted softly in the middle of his frustration, looking down onto his already empty glass. Gabriel went to level his sight up by pulling Dean’s chin upwards softly.

“Maybe I don’t need to but I want to.”

Dean looked at him shocked for a second. Who on earth would actually want to listen to him rant about his past? Gabriel moved closer to Dean, overcoming the mountains and valleys of coloured fabric and laying by his side.

“You don’t believe me.” Before Dean could even admit or deny the fact, Gabriel magicked out a small giftwrapped box, the size of a kid’s toy and gave it to Dean. Dean looked the object curiously but didn’t make a move to open it.

“Shouldn’t you have waited until tomorrow?”

“I didn’t get to be your Secret Santa.”

Dean eyed his friend suspiciously but relented and began to tear down the paper. He would never admit it but he actually gasped when he finally found out the small Chevy ‘67 Impala model in front of him. It was just like his Baby, all the way up to its original license plate. It was a silly gift, really, nothing too awesome to think about, and yet he clearly remembered he had been wanting this particular model ever since he had seen it at a mall, ages ago. His father obviously not buying it because there was no reason for Dean to have it knowing they already were riding a real one. Deep down, Dean knew it had never been about the car.

It had been about his father doing something only for him.  

“I know I shouldn’t be peering on your thoughts but you’ve been sending away this image strongly all these past days, I thought it was something you really wanted.”

And now, after so many years there was someone paying attention to him, maybe cheating a little bit but hey, nothing was perfect in this world. Dean could feel more tears welling up, he had to talk before his voice was stolen.

“Thanks Gabe”

The archangel smiled at Dean warmly. There was a myriad of things going through his amber eyes, lighting them like he was able to hold galaxies inside.

“Don’t sweat it kiddo”

Dean snickered softly “I gotta admit I always thought of you as a conceited brat”

Gabriel just raised his eyebrows and smiled as well. “Well, I cannot deny that I have been quite the hedonist my entire life”

“Then what happened?”

“You.”

Dean turned towards the archangel in shock, clearly he must have listened wrong but Gabriel was just there looking at him in earnest. After what Dean thought of as an eternity in silence, Gabriel broke it one more time.

“I know you only see me as a friend. That’s alright. I’m good with the way things are… but I’m not glad if you’re not glad, so if something goes around your head; I’ll be there to listen. Okay?”

“...Okay”

Jody and the girls arrived the following day around five, making everything more chaotic and fun. They had dinner after seven and then watched a silly Christmas movie. Dean found it funny that none of them even imagined for a second that Gabriel was indeed the Gabriel, archangel, messenger of God. They all assumed he was a fellow hunter and Gabriel, well, he didn’t really mind clearing that particular misunderstanding.

Well past midnight they did the Secret Santa swap. Dean had somehow found a plush for Castiel online that according to him was called ‘Sammy Moose’ so it was perfect for him. Sam bickered about it but Cas didn’t put the plush down for any reason other than hold the real Sam close. Gabriel had received from Claire three pairs of silly Christmas socks with googly eyed elves that he immediately wore and some chocolates and Dean received in awe a guitar from Jody who only said she had traded from a colleague that never stuck with any hobby. By the end of it all, they were all singing Christmas carols and finishing all the dessert they could.

Maybe he was being hopeful, or maybe he had had a bit too much spiked eggnog but Dean finally felt like this was a holiday he could actually enjoy.

[spideybitey18]

Not What I Had In Mind - Part 3

Hey guys! After a few months, i am finally back with part 3!!! This is quite angsty and not a happy ending, but please let me know what you think! I LOVE YOU <3 <3

Harrison x reader

WARNINGS: Angst, Heartbreak, Not a Happy ENding, NOT EDITED

PART 1  PART 2

~~

Not What I Had In Mind - Part 3

You slowly carried yourself up to the apartment you shared with Harrison, your legs weak and frail as you held the railing for support. You were drunk and off your head, all of your emotions having been released from the bottle due the amount of alcohol you have a consumed in the last hour. You were now left feeling numb, and void of any emotions. Tom was following behind you, a little less drunk but not in his right mind.

You were both tired after the events of today, it was supposed to be perfect, a picture perfect dream but it turned out to be what was your worst nightmare. You finally reached the end of the staircase, where your small apartment was at the top of the building. It was nothing special, just a two bedroom apartment that was a little rundown, but had everything you and Harrison wanted to start your journey together as a married couple. You unlocked the door, pushing it open to reveal the darkened living room, where all of your wedding presents have been delivered, and scattered all over the room. A lump was formed in the back of your throat at the reminder that it will now only be you to send everyone not ‘thank you’ cards, but ‘I’m sorry that you had to spend and waste your money, but now I wont be needing this’ card. 

As if all the anger came rushing back, you strided towards the presents picking up random ones and throwing them around in frustration. How dare he, If he wanted to leave this way, the least he could do is fix up his own mess instead of leaving it with you.

Tom stood by the door, his blurry eyes watching your every move before he stumbled towards you. He grabbed a hold of your hands which was holding a very expensive vase. It had a beautiful pattern that would complement a nice bunch of sunflowers, you thought. Your eyes widened as he shook his head, his hands softly grabbing it out of your shaky grasp. You sighed, your eyes watering once again. Tom smirked down towards you, his hand gripping the vase tightly before he threw it against the wall, the glass breaking into millions of pieces like your heart. You gasped, your hand moving to cover your mouth. Without realising, a small giggle left your lips before you started completely laughing, your head thrown back. Tom soon joined in, both of your laughter joining together and bouncing of the walls of your empty apartment. You both kept laughing almost like you were insane, masking the true feelings that you held behind the happy façade.

A light knock from the door, interrupted the laughter. Tom and you both shared a look before walking towards the front door, curious as to who would come here at 2am in the morning. You weakly twisted the knob open, before opening the heavy door to reveal the last person you would think would show up after everything that had happened.

“Harrison?” You mumbled, your eyes widening at your fiancé.

He gulped, his eyes puffy and red. You took a good look at him, noticing that his expression held exhaustion, and his hair was dishevelled and out of place. He still wore his wedding tux, the tie undone from the constant pulling at it. You remembered how Harrison used to complain about how tight the tie would be, before pouting your way, asking you to fix it. It was annoying, but you loved doing it.

 Your heart pounded against your rib cage as he looked dashing and handsome, like always. He looked just like your Harrison, the love of your life. Minutes passed by as you both continued to stare at each other, basking in each other’s presence.

“I-I’ve come to pick up some clothes I’ve forgotten”

You slowly nodded in understanding, your eyes moving to look at the floor nervously. You still made no effort to move out the way, too stunned to even believe that Harrison was here, but not in the way you were hoping. Secretly, you wished he came back to apologise and beg for forgiveness, and you would’ve in a heartbeat, your love for him overpowering any other emotion.

“Y/N?”

You flinched at the sound of his voice, before slowly retracting back into the room, your dirty torn up wedding gown following behind you. Harrison’s eyes widened at the sight of your tattered dress, even though it was ruined beyond repair, you still looked beautiful, like a broken beautiful queen. He slowly stepped in to his apartment, noticing glass shards all over the carpet, a few opened presents thrown across the room and some still kept in their packages sitting by the couch, untouched. Tom cleared his throat, his brows furrowed disappointedly at his best friend. Harrison gulped, his eyes refusing to meet his best friends face.

Harrison quickly disappeared into your shared room to gather the rest of his belongings without another word or explanation. Your knees buckled beneath you before collapsing onto the carpet, your knees red with carpet burn. Your dress surrounded you in puffs, the waist feeling tight as you struggled to breathe, your throat closing up as tears threatened to spill.

He’s actually leaving me, you thought.

Tom watched as you struggled to get back up before joining Harrison in your room.

“Why do you have to leave?” you mumbled, your voice hoarse.

Harrison jumped, his back facing you as he continued to pack his clothes in his suitcase.

“W-what did I do wrong? Please tell me so I can fix it baby please”

Harrison still kept quiet, a sigh falling from his lips as he moved towards the bathroom to grab his toiletries. He wanted to make this quick, so he could leave as soon as possible. He was hoping that when he turned up here, you and Tom wouldn’t be here yet.

He came back into the bedroom, his hands full with his stuff before placing it into the suitcase. Out of frustration you came up behind him, your voice coming out with desperate with pleads.

“Harrison please I beg you, please don’t leave me.. I don’t know what I will do without you”

He slowly zipped up the suitcase, his eyes downcast.

“Please..”

He picked up the suitcase, before brushing past you without a word.

“Wait.. where are you going, please stay so we can talk about this..” You hiccuped.

You followed him out, your hand grasping his bicep to make him stop, but he was too strong. You didn’t notice, but he had tears in his eyes as well, ignoring you was the worst thing he could ever do, and it was hard.  

As the front door came into both of your view, Harrison sped up to escape. You became more desperate, stumbling over your dress as you cried, begging him not to go. Tom watched the scene unfold with a heavy heart, his gaze locking with Harrison’s. Harrison’s eyes were begging Tom to help, his crystal blue eyes more prominent with the tears. Tom nodded in understanding, knowing that this must be hard on his best friend too, even if he didn’t know the real reason. Tom met up with your pace, just as Harrison spun the door knob, ripping the door wide open to reveal the staircase.

You throat was raw from sobbing uncontrollably, your hands reaching for Harrisons suitcase in his hand as if that would stop him from leaving. Tom wrapped his hands around your waist, his strong arms pulling you back and away from fiance. You yelled in protest, your tears drowning your cheeks. You kicked and screamed, your arms grasping the air towards Harrison as Tom kissed and whispered comforting words into your ear to help calm you down. Nothing helped, your eyes watching as Harrison spun around to give you one final look, his own heart clenching at the sight of you in such pain.

“H-HAZ please don’t leave me” You sobbed, your tears mixing in with your mascara.

A tear fell from Harrison’s eyes as he watched your heart break even more.

‘I love you so much’, he mouthed watching as your face faltered and your cries subsided. He knew you got the message, his eyes watering further as your face scrunched up in further pain.

He turned around slowly, taking large breaths preparing for what was about to come. You watched him descend down the staircase, your body shooting forward in an effort to follow him, but your body was caged in Tom’s comforting arms, his grip tight and secure.

“Tom! Let me go! I-I need to follow him, please! I-I love him, I need him please let me go!”

You continued to sob, every cry begging Harrison to come back, but he never did.

Minutes passed and Harrison still hasn’t come back. Your body fell against Tom’s in exhaustion, your throat throbbing with pain. Tom whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his lips moving to press a kiss against your forehead. 

“I’m here darlin’, I’m here and im not going anywhere” He whispered.

You nodded limply, an occasional hiccup leaving your body. Your hand grasped a hold of Tom’s shirt, as you placed your head against his chest, listening to the beats of his heart, the sound oddly comforting you.

A stray tear fell from your eye, descending its way down your cheek before finding its destination on top of Tom’s hand that was holding yours. 

His hand flinched. 

“I’m not going anywhere” he repeated.

 ~~

HOLY SHITE! i wonder what the reason is, as to why Harrison has left!? Tell me what you guys think, and what maybe the reason he is leaving? Hope you have enjoyed part 3 :))

TAG LIST:  @allforholland @typicaltrashbagg @sweethosterfield @dottirose @madisonpillstrom

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!! <3

[gothambatsnews]

[Podcast Ep 2.1: Wayne Halloween Party Information]

[“Spoiler Alert Podcast” theme song plays. There are three taps of the mic before Steph clears her throat.]

[Stephanie:] “Hello students of Gotham High School, and welcome to Spoiler Alert! I'm your host, Stephanie Brown, and I'm with my partner in crime...”

[Dick:] “Dick Grayson! I hope you’ve all had a lovely day, I know I always do. Steph? Did you have a nice day?”

[Stephanie:] “Ahh, I got a D on my math test?”

[Dick:] “Aw, I’m sorry to hear that.”

[Stephanie:] “No no, that was more than I thought I’d get, today’s a fantastic day!”

[Dick:] [A chuckle] “I’m certainly glad to hear that then. So, today we'll talk a bit about the next event to take place in Gotham, that you probably all already know about.”

[Stephanie:] “Indeed, I mean, it’s always the buzz around here, we’ve got ten days left for it after all. But for those who don’t know, the annual Wayne Halloween party is an event that occurs every year on every Halloween and everyone is invited.”

[Dick:] “Yep, it always takes place at the manor, 1007 Mountain Drive, Gotham. Dress code is always in costume, there’s no theme this year so you’re welcome to wear whatever costume you want. There are a few new rules to be followed this year, unlike the three previous ones. It’s very new, but Alfred insisted to set those. It’s really meant to make sure that no one will get hurt and to ensure that everyone has fun. Seriously, please don’t break these, they are ALFRED’S.”

[Stephanie:] “I mean if anything, you still got the Black List, right? It’s easy to add new people on it.”

[Dick:] “Not really fun though, I hate excluding people from events. But sometimes it’s necessary. At the moment, there’s like 12 people on it, I’m sure they all know who they are.”

[Stephanie:] “Dick, care to tell us a little bit more about that list?”

[Dick:] “Right, but firstly it’s available on the public board at the entrance of the library. Please, if you’re not quite sure or if you’re paranoid that you might be on it you can always check that out.”

[Stephanie:] “Wait so, there’s already twelve people up on the list and it’s literally only been the fourth year you’re doing this. So, what does it take for your name to be added on it?”

[Dick:] “Well, the very first person to be put on the list tried to steal from the manor, so that was already a big no. But I mean, it’s general common sense, right? Don’t swipe things when you’re in someone’s house. That’s absolutely rude and very much so illegal and yes, we will not hesitate to call the cops.”

[Stephanie:] “Yeesh. And there’s the stalkers too, right? And we aaaaaall know who were talking about.”

[Dick:] “Yeeeeeeep. Anyway, getting onto the actual new rules, but for those who don’t know the current rules, I’d be happy to refresh everyone’s memories.” [Sound of paper being tapped on the desk] “Originally, there were a few rules, set and made sure it was enforced, but because of the events of last year’s party, a couple more have been added. But we’ll go down the list. Numero uno, do not take off your shoes.”

[Stephanie:] “Oh god, yes please, don’t take them off. Last time was…” [gagging noise] “Yep, don’t, otherwise you’ll be thrown out barefoot in the street.”

[Dick:] “Steph… I don’t think we’d actually keep the shoes. But.. erm, yeah no. Number two, please avoid spilling blood on the carpets and the curtains. Obviously it goes for both real and fake blood. Heck, just avoid spilling anything on the carpets and curtains in general.”

[Stephanie:] “Except if you’d like to get a very pissed off Alfred and in that case, have fun. I’ll make sure to bring flowers for your funeral.”

[Dick:] “Aaaactually, the third rule, we, the children of Bruce Wayne, have added by ourselves this time, is do not, I repeat, DO NOT piss off Alfred. He’s already doing a huge job to make sure we’ll have a very cool party and this year he’s making cookies. A lot of cookies. That plus making sure the party is running smoothly, we don’t want him to work even more than he needs to.”

[Stephanie:] “Bless Alfred, that man is a saint.”

[Dick:] “I know. We love you Alfred. Fourth rule is don’t throw up anywhere but the toilets. At worst, the sink. Sometimes things get a little crazy and yes, you feel the need to throw up, but please, do so in the toilet. Spare Alfred.”

[Stephanie:] “Bleh, gross? But it’s totally better than on the floor or walls I guess. You told me something about sweets?”

[Dick:] “Yeah, we got a bunch of specific sweets for vegans or other people following specific diets or who have allergies, like peanuts for example. It’s all in different containers, labeled and everything, so if you can eat regular sweets, please don’t take any of those. That is rule five, don’t take the vegan sweets. Otherwise you’ll probably be stabbed by Damian, that kid always has a sharp pencil somewhere. So this is already a forewarning and know that if you do take the risk, we’re not responsible for anything he does.”

[Stephanie:] “Yeah, please be cautious. He’s a bit extreme sometimes but it’s for the best in this specific case. Everyone wants to enjoy the party, that includes food and avoiding to call 911 for a stab wound.”

[Dick:] “Moving on to number six. As for those who went to previous parties, you may already know that we’ve got a cow at the manor - well, not in the manor, but she’s got a barn in the garden. Rule six is DON’T TIP OVER THE COW. LEAVE HER ALONE!”

[Stephanie:] “That animal deserves to have a quiet evening. What’d you guys name her? Batcow?”

[Dick:] “Yes, Damian named her Batcow. Don’t laugh.”

[Stephanie:] [Laughs] “Is that rule number seven? Don’t laugh at Batcow?”

[Dick:] [Some laughing] “It may as well be. But moving on, the next rule… There’s a few designated party areas, which by the way doesn’t include the barn, so for everyone’s safety and for the comfort of the Wayne Family, please do not leave those areas. Surveillance and booby traps, courtesy of Jason, will be set up. Seriously, we don’t want any of our rooms to be snooped in and messed up. That’s our private quarters, have some decency people.”

[Stephanie:] “Unlike last year.”

[Dick:] “Correct, unlike last year. That’s one instant way to lead yourself on the Black List. Rule number eight, please make sure you’ve got parent permission, or at least leave a note at your place to tell your folks where you’re at. Every year we always get cops showing up at our door because your parents can’t find you, so please make sure tell them where you’re going. Leading to number nine, if you think you might crash at the manor for the night, take a bag of fresh clothes. There’s a designated room to keep everyone’s stuff safe, so don’t worry about theft.”

[Stephanie:] “Yeah, no one wants to get breakfast with someone smelling like sweat and booze, that’s disgusting. Bring fresh shirts and pants, guys. Hey, didn’t you mention something about booze?”

[Dick:] “M hm, yep. It’s right here.” [sound of paper being shuffled again] “Number ten, do not, I repeat this with an utmost urge, do NOT bring booze. No booze, don’t bring any, we don’t want cops rolling up on our doors again because they catch intoxicated kids in the streets and tell them they’ve got it at our party.”

[Stephanie:] “But we aaaall know Jay’s gonna bring some anyway.”

[Dick:] “I can neither agree or disagree with that statement, but what I will say is, he can’t get any from the manor supply anymore. But yes, he does find booze from god knows where.”

[Stephanie:] “Sometimes I really wonder where he finds it. But he’s a tomb, he doesn’t spill anything. It’s really annoying, I can’t even get him to spill tea at any time.”

[Dick:] “...Steph he can most likely hear you.”

[Stephanie:] “AH! I mean… It’s really nice to know someone doesn’t spread rumors in the school, yep, really refreshing.”

[Dick:] “Suuuuuure, we all believe you. Totally. There’s a last rule, newly added too. As per the events of last year, do NOT climb on the chandelier and use it to swing-”

[Stephanie:] “As we all know who did.”

[Three seconds of silence followed by Dick, clearing his throat, and Steph chuckling.]

[Dick:] “...Moving on, do not climb onto the roof and jump into the pool. Do not climb on anything that isn’t meant to be climbed on as a matter of fact, because if this continues, we’re literally about to pass out forms and disclaimers to get you and your guardians to sign just so we can get angry parents out of our butts.”

[Stephanie:] “God, seriously??”

[Dick:] “Seriously.”

[Stephanie:] “Forms are the tickets to get in?”

[Dick:] “EXACTLY!”

[Some laughing from Stephanie.]

[Stephanie:] “That’s ridiculous!”

[Dick:] “I know! So please abide by the rules and I know some of ya’ll are gonna be ‘Aaaahh screw the rules.’ Don’t bother coming then.”

[Stephanie:] [Unintelligible sound coming from her, she sounds far away] “FUCK THE RULES!”

[Dick:] “Oh my god Steph please sit down, don’t let Alfred hear you say that.”

[More unintelligible sounds coming from Stephanie’s end and she clears her throat.]

[Stephanie:] “Hello.”

[Dick:] “Got that out of your system?”

[Stephanie:] “...Yep.”

[Dick:] “...Okay. Well, we’ve got a couple questions we’ve received from all our lovely listeners out there.”

[Stephanie:] “Aaand we will answer those questions, riiiight after our break.” [Increases the speed of talking] “This podcast was brought to you by the DramaClub,weneedmorepeopletojoinpleasejoinusOKAYIGOTTAGOUSETHEBATHROOM-”

[End of Episode 2.1. There’s elevator music being played.]

[inklingleesquidly]

The Bravery of Janine Squidly

Chapter 1

Janine Squidly is many things; a mother, a broadcast director for a major TV network, one of the greatest Turf Wars in the history of the entire world-- but would you ever guess gang member?

In this tale looking back at her teen years, see what lead to the decision that nearly destroyed Janine’s entire life.

Word Count: 6,104 words

Janine Squidly was finally going to accomplish a task she had been putting off time and again for ages. Today’s the day, she thought, I’m finally going to put that trophy room together! The spare room in the Squidly’s hi-rise apartment had been relegated to a storage closet stacked to the ceiling with cardboard boxes, barren shelves, and other pieces of furniture that were left to collect dust in darkness. She had the day off from her demanding job as Broadcast Director for the Sucker Bros. Studios TV network. No other chores or obligations meant she  could devote the time to assembling the room as the testament to her days as The Boss of Turf Wars and Freshest Inkling of the Decade. She wasn’t alone in this endeavor though—

“Lee-honey, thank you so much for wanting to help me set this room up.” Janine clapped her hands while expressing  her gratitude.

Her son, Lee stood up from crouching on the floor and balled his fists. He smiled from ear to ear; a hearty display of excitement as he replied, “No problem Mom, I’m super excited to get this done.”

Janine giggled. “Ara ara, I am to Sweetie.” She turned to the other occupant of the room, rather concerned about them. “Callie-dear, I know your busy and you don’t get a lot of days off, are you sure you want to be here doing chores?”

Joining them was Lee’s best friend; none other than one-half of the pop idol sensation the Squid Sisters, Callie Calamari. As she set a box down on the floor she replied, “Don’t worry about it Janine, I’m glad I can be here, I get to hang with Cutie and you!”

Both of them were so spirited and lively, Janine couldn’t help but feel invigorated herself. “You’re both the best, I’m gonna go get us some drinks, will Iced Tea do?”

“Yes Mom,” Lee accepted the offer.

“I’d love some,” Callie politely and eagerly acknowledged.

The two young squids returned to moving and opening boxes as Janine left but just as she was out of ear shot, Callie gave a cheer. “O-M-G Cutie your mom is the coolest ever!”  Her hands trembled as they hovered over the unsealed boxes. “I mean it, look at all of this amazing stuff!” Her eyes darted back and forth between them all; unable to focus on which of the seasoned pro’s treasures she wanted to unearth first.

The idol had been hiding her excitement out of politeness but she could no longer contain it. To Lee it seemed funny that a star could be star struck but he remembered just how much of a celebrity his mom used to be in the world of Turf Wars and still kind of was.

Callie seemed to bounce between boxes, staring in awe at literally everything she found. “Look at all these trophies,” she found boxes full of golden trophies, all of them depicting the number-1.  “So many awards and certificates.” she lost count of how many framed documents, badges, and ribbons celebrating victories, new records, and various other commendations she found.  

Coming upon a crate full to the brim with old periodicals, Callie gawked, “Ooo check out all these old magazines, you mom is on the cover of every one!” All of them were sports themed with Janine as the featured model. Plucking one at random from the stack, she didn’t anticipate a poster unfolding from within its pages. Stretching the poster out to get a good look at it, she suddenly gasped and her cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink.

Lee looked over his shoulder. “Did you say something, Callie?” He queried.

“Umm, n-n-nothing,” she stuttered, stuffing the spicy centerfold back into the magazine before shoving it back into the container with the others.

They found more trinkets and goodies, all of which Lee appraised as he had years of experience rummaging through the mountain of collectibles. At one point they came upon a box of video cassettes which Lee revealed to contain reels of commercials and other television appearances Janine made. From the sheer number of cassette tapes Callie said in admiration, “Whoa, I think your mom might’ve had more public appearances than me and Marie combined.” Lee was unsure if that was true but before he could answer Callie plucked out a framed photo and gasped again, marveling at what she saw. “Is this your mom with the president?!”

Lee eyed the picture and confirmed, “Yep, that’s her.” She was in front of the presidential house at Washinkton D.C., shaking hands with the President at the time she was active in Turf Battles.

Callie’s mouth hung open and she struggled for a moment to form a sentence. “Your mom is so  cool!” She gasped. “I think she might be the single coolest, freshest Inkling to ever live!” With a modest grin and shrug of his shoulders, Lee felt a sense of secondhand pride at hearing such praise for his mom.

Even though he couldn’t put together the words to say what he thought, he agreed with Callie entirely about her. She was unlike any other squid in the world, utterly perfect in his eyes. That’s why he felt as though his greatest motivation was to become the son she rightfully deserved.

Callie stumbled upon something else next; she opened a seemingly random box and asked, “What is this?” in her hands was a  black leather jacket, a rather old and ratty looking one at.

“I-- huh-- I don’t know,” Lee stammered, “I’ve never seen that before in my life.”

He had seen everything else in this room but had never come across that. Callie on the other hand eyed it with particular interest. “I think it looks cool,” she said, deciding right away to slip it on. Inside the box she unearthed it from was a pair of matching gloves which she wore as well. “Hee hee, look at me!” She snickered before holding her arms out and curling her lip into a sneer. She started to speak in the most exaggerated tough girl voice she could muster. “’Ey yo, you lookin’ f’trouble you little punk, I’ll splat yeh so hard y’mother n’ your grandma are gonna feel it.”

She had a laugh and even Lee couldn’t help but chuckle at her antics. Just as she continued her fun of playing out a silly stereotype, Janine returned with a tray of drinks. “Sorry that took awhile Loves, I didn’t realize we were out of tea so I had to make--,” her eyes focused in the dim room and she finally caught sight of what Callie was wearing.  

CRASH!!!

Lee and Callie nearly jumped out of their skin. They whirled around to see glass shattered on the carpet and freshly brewed tea spilled everywhere. Lee babbled in surprise, “Dahh—M—Mom, what happened?!” Looking up, he was met by her horrified expression; eyes as wide as dinner plates and jaw hanging open.

“Where did you find that?” Janine nearly screamed, pointing at Callie.

Realizing what she was referring to, Callie answered, “I—I found it-- in a box,” she paused between her words, still alarmed by Janine’s actions.

“Take it off.” Janine growled under her breath.  

She stomped into the room. “Take it off  now!” she repeated.

Much to Lee and especially Callie’s utter confusion she grabbed the collar of the jacket while Callie still wore it and began to wrench and pull at it.

“Janine—oww, please—eee, you can have it just let me—oww, stop it, that hurts!” Callie pleaded as her head and arms were caught thanks to Janine’s unimaginable behavior.

Lee made similar cries and asked the same questions, “Mom what are you doing, you’re hurting her, Mom, what—Mom, stop!” He begged for an explanation and tugged at the hem of her blazer as the woman desperately tried to pry the jacket off the girl's back.

Finally, she got what she wanted but didn’t stop there. She ripped the gloves off of Callie’s hands; finding that easier as she was getting one away, Callie shook the other off of her hand and let it drop on the floor. Lee went to Callie’s side to console his frazzled, frightened friend; all the while he questioned, “Mom, what the heck is wrong?”

Janine bunched the jacket up in her arms and mumbled just loud enough for the two teenagers to hear. “I’m going to throw this nasty thing in the dumpster.”

“Mom….”

“Janine…”

Both whispered as the older woman had her back turned to them; neither one could imagine what it was about that frayed, ripped leather jacket  that caused her to behave in such a way. In his entire life he had never seen her so provoked and anxious. He never even imagined something could cause her to act that way. In truth, it scared him.

After what seemed like an eternity of unnerving silence, Janine turned around. Solemn and regretful, she apologized, “I’m so sorry kids, especially to you Callie, I-I hope I didn’t hurt you, Honey.”

“I’m fine.” Callie simply answered.

Janine seemed to loosen up and relax. “I just—I thought I got rid of this a long time ago, I have a lot of bad memories attached to this stupid thing.” Her fingernails dug into the leathers, I looking as though she wanted to rip them to pieces right then and there.  

“What about them?” Lee asked, still wanting an explanation.

Janine hung her head low, staring at the floor. “I wore this when I made the worst decisions I could’ve ever made in my entire life.” Her bottom lip trembled as she inhaled a deep breath. She exhaled, “I did some things that I absolutely regret.” Another bout of silence filled the room as Janine sat down in an office chair that they kept in the room. She said with a gravely serious tone to her voice, “Lee, there’s a story about my life I never told you but you deserve to hear it.”

“I—okay, please tell me.” Lee nodded and sat down on the floor, all too curious about this experience that seemed to have such a profound effect on his mother.

“Callie-dear, do you want to hear it as well?”

A rarity for her; Callie was absolutely focused as she said, “Yes I do,” and joined Lee, ready to listen to the deeply personal tale of the squid she admired as a competitor and as an older, wiser woman.

Janine began. “It all started years ago, when I was only 17—“

In almost 30 years, Inkopolis hadn’t changed much but in the time period affectionately referring to as the 80’s you could see a star walking around in broad daylight.

“Hey it’s the Boss!” A wide smile came to an Inkling teen as did the friends he was congregating with as well.

Janine strolled through the front doors of Seaside Hill High. “Good morning.” She greeted the boy and his possee who all continued to grin and nod in acknowledgement of her.

“Hi Boss! Tee hee hee,” a crab girl vicariously giggled as Janine passed her by.

In reply, Janine gave a jaunty tilt of her head as she waved at her with her fingers. This made the crab girl shyly bury her head in the chest of a lobster girl she was with who laughed along with two crayfish girls who were with their group.

While on her walk to her locker, Janine was then approached from the side by an Inkling girl. “Boss, Boss, Boss,” she said excitedly, “I can’t thank you enough! That advice you gave, I’ve been getting so many more Splats!”

“My pleasure,” Janine replied, keeping her stride but looking her way. “We’ll have to do it again sometime. Just remember to keep both eyes open, you’ll shoot twice as better that way.”

The girl clenched her books tighter against her chest and gave a short little hop of excitement. “Will do!” She said before she broke away to walk to her class.

Just after, Janine was stopped by a boy who was rather demanding of her. “Hey Boss, 1v1 again today, I can totally get you this time.”

She stopped and reminded, “Again? Ara ara, well you did clip one of my tentacles last time so you are getting better. Sure thing, how does Moray Garage sound?”

“I’ll be the new Boss, you’ll see.” He was so overconfident despite having lost to her fifteen times already, but hey, who was counting?

Janine didn't want to crush his enthusiasm though so she continued to encourage him. “I’m pulling for you, Honey.”

With him gone she was almost to her locker, only to be stopped yet again by a nervous looking anemone girl.

“Boss, Boss, I need your help! Which of these do you think would be better for the Junior Dance?” She held up two pieces of paper in her hands; they appeared to be sketches depicting themes for decorations.

Instead of a decisive answer, Janine merely shook her head in disapproval. “Cynthia, please, you’re the class president, you should be able to make those decisions on your own.”

“Well-- I only am thanks to you and your endorsement.” She seemed to mumble that admission in shame as she angled her head down.

Janine, however  wasn't having any of that. “Ohh come on that’s not true at all, you have so many great ideas, whatever you pick I’m sure everyone will love.”

“Hmm,” she hummed unsurely, “I kind of do like this one the best.” She gestured to the concept in her right hand

“There you go, it’s perfect!” Janine congratulated in hopes of stoking the fire of her confidence.

It seemed to work as Cynthia raised her head, biting her lip to hide how wide she smiled. “Thanks Boss.”

“Just so you know, that’s what I would’ve picked too, ara ara.” Janine gave a wink as the class president left to attend to her duties, finally giving Janine time to reach her locker.

There, waiting nearby with a knowing grin on her face, was another Inkling girl, but this one was more familiar to the young celebrity. She stepped away from the line of book compartments and gave a joking laugh. “Ooo hoo, typical morning as ever, huh Janine?” She was Rena Squidosawa, close friend and squad mate.

“Almost,” Janine admitted, twisting her combination lock. She pulled it away in one swift move and the locker's door flung open, causing a waterfall of envelopes and loose stationary to fall out onto her feet. Rena stepped back in surprise but Janine stood firm. Doubtlessly there were challenges, confessions, and declarations of admiration written in neat, and messy handwriting alike, on lined school paper, and even fancy letter paper. “Now it's a typical morning.” She said in observance of all the mail.

The rest of the school day went about as normally as normal got. After the final bell sounded, Janine collected her things and made her way to the regular meeting place for her and her squad. Just near the school parking lot with the stadium a short way beyond she saw them; waiting along with Rena was Betty Pistolblatt, and Lucy Squidmont. All together, the four of them made up The Jammers.

Spotting her first, Lucy teased, “Well well look who decided to grace us with her presence.” After they all welcomed Janine back into their ranks, Lucy continued to joke in a feisty way. “So Boss, you make any promises to your adoring fans on our behalf?”

“Ara ara,” Janine chuckled, “Not a whole lot for today, later this month though.”  

Hearing that, Rena chimed in on the conversation. “Umm-- actually I made plans for us. One of the other Squads in the school wants to practice with us for the Rainmaker Rollout.”

Janine snapped her fingers. “Ohh yeah, that’s next Saturday after this one.” She reached into the breast pocket of her varsity jacket to produce a planner that she wrote in with a pink pen.

Betty suggested, “Before we head to practice let’s go to my parent’s place and get something to eat.” Rena and Lucy readily agreed while Janine continued writing in her book, absorbed in her planning as Betty added, “Hopefully we don’t run late, I really need to study for that ionization test.”

“The one in Mr. Cichlid’s class?” Lucy wondered? “I’m so screwed in that, I’m hung up on how electrons are effected--.”

The rest of the conversation went unheard by Janine as she scribbled in the last note she needed to make for herself. “There, finished,” she said aloud, closing the little book. She peered up, only to catch a rather foreign sight off in the distance.

There, hanging against the fence beyond the fields was a group of noticeably rough and ruddy looking men in ragged, baggy clothes. She couldn’t make out much  else about them or their dispositions from this distance. Maybe she was imagining it  but they seemed to have jeering sneers permanently etched on their faces . Could they have seen her? Who knew since they began to walk away moments after, leaving the questioning young woman staring off into space.

“Hey Jan? Jan? What's going on with you?”

Hearing Betty's voice brought her back to reality. She babbled, “Huh? What?” Collecting her thoughts, Janine asked, “Say Betty did you see those guys over there? They look kind of… wild? I want to say.”

The smaller girl didn’t understand so she simply shrugged. “They’re probably just some kids from the city now come on, get those ostrich legs of yours in gear, I'm hungry.”  

There was this unshakeable feeling of dread in Janine's heart, but she couldn't help but respond, “What? Ostrich legs?” As she was pushed along by Betty into rejoining their group.

A short train ride from Seaside Hill High School put the girls within spitting distance of Inkopolis Square in the heart of Shee-Booyah but they weren't going there just yet. Nearby the square was the quaint Pistol Bodega; a mini-market belonging to Betty's family. As per usual the market side was packed with afterschool visitors grabbing a quick packaged snack from the shelves, or bottled beverage from the cooler. To anyone it could seem like an overwhelming business but not Betty's dad who waved to the girls from the register as he bagged groceries for a jellyfish boy.

For those seeking something more substantial like Janine and her Squad were, there were meals to be had at the bakery & sandwich shop manned by the rest of the Pistolblatt family. The fine divide between the stores was felt by the replacement of the smell of cleanliness with the scent of fresh bread and cooked meat.

They were quickly pounced upon by a waitress, Betty's most excitable youngest sister, Madelin. “Heeeey Betty-detty, you guys are late!  I gave away your favorite table twice already.”

The Shrimpling girl replied with an understanding, “That's fine Maddy, you know we're not picky, we're--.”

“--Psych,” the cheeky youngster giggled, “C'mon, take a seat.” She ushered them over to a cozy booth with pleather seating. “What would you like today?”

Rena ordered first. “I'll have a Number-2 with a pink lemonade.”

“Ohh, same here,” Lucy added.

Betty pondered for a moment. “I’ll just have a grilled cod wrapped in lettuce instead of bread, no chips please, and some sparkling water.”

Finally, it was Janine's turn to order. “Ooo, I'll have a Number-4, two Number-3's, a Number-7 with a side of dip, some tea, ohh, ohh, and if your mom baked more of her cake today, I'll have the biggest piece of that you got!”

“Coming right up Boss,” their middle school age waitress excitedly proclaimed before rushing to the kitchen, paying no attention to the stares and the team threw Janine's way.

Lucy questioned, “I hope you know we’re not gonna split the bill evenly, right Jan?”

“Nope,” their Captain answered with a giggle. “Ara ara we're all gonna need the energy if we're gonna have a good practice today.” She took out her little appointment book from her breast pocket and began to read their itinerary. “Let's see today, we got a match against the Ultra-Rare Holofoils, the Brickboys, and the Crash & Burners want a game with us too.”

Everything seemed exactly as it should be, not a thing out of place—until suddenly the double sliding doors to the bodega were forcibly thrown open. CRANG. The entire population of the establishment jolted at the sound of the metal & glass doors hitting the concrete walls.  

In walked a group of men, five of them, all Inklings, and they seemed to be wearing matching clothes; ones Janine recognized as being the same colors, and tattered, grungy style as the ones she saw previously at the school. They began to make their way inside, one of them callously slapping the tentacle of a random Octarian patron. They all laughed in unison as his basket full of chips fell to the floor. After that they seemed to make themselves at home at the bakery, stealing chairs and sliding two vacant tables so they could all sit together.

The spectacle they made of themselves didn’t end there; they began pounding their fists on the tables, demanding service. The Jammers noticed the only waitress available was Elaine, Betty’s second youngest sister. She was nervous when dealing with customers as it was, but with a rowdy bunch like this, even looking at them made her knees tremble and hold up her notebook as a flimsy shield.

It seems she wouldn’t have to deal with them as one of them raised their hand to silence the group. A crude smile came to his face and he made another gesture that signaled for them all to rise from their seats and approach none other than the table of Janine and her friends.

They each struggled to find something to make it look like they had something to do. Lucy was the first to grab the assortment of sweetener packets and condiments to read from. Rena was fortunate enough to have already had her nail file out so she kept tending to her fingernails. Betty chose to stare at the window while Janine held up her appointment planner to look like she was intently reading it. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the ruffian and his cohorts from all crowding around them, effectively trapping them in their booth.

“What’s up sexy ladies.” The apparent leader of the group greeted them with wide gestures of his hands and arms, using a buttery smooth voice that the girls could tell was utterly insincere. “What’s a bunch of fine girlies like yourselves sitting over here all alone?”

Laughing quietly, Rena answered the question. “We’re not alone, we’re with each other, and we’d like to keep it that way.” Lucy and Betty both zealously agreed, a move that only earned them a sneer of ire from the leader.

He changed his tune soon after, shrugging off their denial. “That’s fine, why mess with the stuck-up hanger-ons when the big fish is the real catch.” His palm landed squarely on Janine’s shoulder, much to the dismay of the rest of the girls and her herself. “Hey Hot Mama, we seen you on T.V. Word is you’re the most famous squid in this whole town. You’re perfect material for the Rockfish, whaddya say?”

Janine contemplated what was the politest way to reply not a chance in hell but just as she was about to open her mouth to reply, the hooligan’s hand was forcibly lifted off of her.

“Hey pal, keep your hands to yourself!” It was Betty’s elder brother, Victor, stepping in from out of nowhere to try and help the situation.

The ringleader snatched his hand back and clicked his tongue in offense of those actions. “Chyeh, you got some sort of problem?” He asked?

“Yeah I do,” Victor bravely replied, “You’re making all this noise, a-and harassing other customers including--.” He was a large boy who played sports, and was hearty being part-crustacean but he couldn’t compare to the bulkiness of the largest member of the gang that silently stepped in front of him.

The gang leader paced around before he grabbed a metal spoon off of a table that two Inklings quickly vacated.  “I feel like we’re being unfairly treated here, like you snobs think you’re better than us.” There was anger stewing in the roots of his voice. He then bent the spoon with his thumb before he declared. “Let’s show these smug preps what happens when people think they’re better than us!” Right away the group all sought whatever was in arm’s reach; chairs, glasses, plates, and the largest one even grabbed Victor by his shirt collar, hoisting him up into the air.  

Things could’ve gone incredibly bad. The Jammers stood up to try to stop them when suddenly everyone was halted. “HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” It was none other than Betty’s father standing strong and firm between the store and the bakery.

“Who’s this fool?” A member of the gang demanded.

Despite being quite a feeble looking older pistol shrimp with gray whiskers, Mr. Pistolblatt stepped forward with a purpose. “I’m the owner of this establishment.” He informed. “I’ll thank you to put my son down and to put down my property this instant.”

With a wave from their leader, the group did as the old man said, setting everything down back where they found them. He then stepped forward, nearly chest to chest with Betty’s father as a show of intimidation. “So you own this place huh? Great little joint but you outta get better staff and customers who don’t look down on other perfectly friendly people.”

The crustacean proprietorwasn’t having any of it. “My staff and I will gladly serve you hand and foot any time, any day of the week but we don’t take kindly to those who think they can just do whatever they want. That includes people like you who harass other guests, especially my daughter and her friends.” That seemed to catch all of the gang by surprise, but he wasn’t done there. “I don’t ask this very often but you young men have to leave.”

“You’re kicking us out?” The leader gasped.

Mr. Pistolblatt corrected, “I’m asking you kindly, man to man to exit my store before we start having problems.”

Despite his age and size compared to them, somehow that got through to the five ruffians. Their coarse commander finally gave in. “All right, all right, we’ll go, let’s get out of here boys, the vibe here ain’t working for me.” They all began to quietly follow him but the leader had one more thing to share. “You know old man, you better be careful how you treat people.” As if to prove some ominous point, he snatched a milkshake from a table. “Or accidents can happen.” He let it fall from his hand. The glass hit the floor, spewing sharp shards mixed with blended ice cream everywhere.  

Victor tried to race forward but his dad raised a claw to halt him in his tracks. Mr. Bistolplatt repeated his order. “Get out of here, now.”

“Sure old man, sure,” the leader replied. “We’ll be in touch,” he whispered as they all finally left Pistolbodega.

Some days had passed since that incident. Everything seemed quiet so the Pistolblatt family banished the incident from their minds and continued their lives as normal. The Jammers all did the same; all together they exited the player lobby out to the main grounds of Inkopolis Plaza.

There, Lucy proudly declared, “I didn't think it was possible but I swear I'm getting better than great!” She twirled her N-Zap in her hand only to receive a reality check from Rena.

“Then you got run over by a roller, the same one, four times in one match.” There wasn't time for the group to share a laugh at her expense as she urged Lucy along. “Now come on, my mom's gonna take us both home and we're late. See you guys in Home Room tomorrow!”  

With that, half the Squad left, leaving Janine and Betty alone to discuss the rest of the evening.  Betty made a suggestion. “So Janine do you want to come over to my place for dinner? There's a new episode of Squister, Squister on tonight.”

“I think I'll pass,” Janine replied. “I still have some matches I scheduled in. Bobby Riptide wants another shot and this time he brought his Squad along. I’ve also got Cecilia Squidmere who wants pointers on Brush maneuvers, and the Magical Possibilities want help getting organized for next month’s tournament.”

Betty reminded, “Don't you have a test tomorrow? And what'll you do for dinner?

Janine shrugged before she replied. “I'll study before bed tonight, and I'll get something on my way home.”

“No, no, no,” Betty fired back, “You're not having a train station hotdog and fries again for the 1-2- third night in a row.” Concerned for her friend, the shrimp-Inkling hybrid pulled at her arm. “My mom is making Flounder Piccata tonight, I'm sure you'll--.”

She was suddenly silenced as none other than Elaine came bounding up to them. “Betty! Betty!” She repeated, her voice caught between gasps for breath as she held herself up with her hands around her sister's waist.

“What's going on?” Betty asked right away.

Elaine seemed to have trouble speaking as she answered between gasps. “Th--the—the-- you gotta come quick! It's-- it's just awful!” Without a moment to lose, Janine and Betty followed her straightaway, arriving on the scene at Pistolbodega.

Once  there they were first met by a blockade of police cars scattered around the strip mall parking lot the minimart resided in. Edging closer, they found the shattered automatic glass doors were but a small window into what awaited them.  

Inside they found nothing short of utter destruction. What was normally a market so bright, clean, and inviting was a shell of its former self. The floor was positively covered with shards of glass mixed with discarded food and drink, busted and barren shelves, and turned over displays just to start. Overhead lights that hadn’t been broken hung by their wires, flickering with all the strength they had. There was a nauseating smell of chemicals made from drying soda breaking down processed snack foods.  

The restaurant area didn’t fare any better with broken furniture, plates, and crockery all over the place. As dismal as the scene was it wasn’t half as heartbreaking as the sight of Betty’s mom in the corner of the room, hugging her two youngest daughters close to her. The girls had their faces buried in her waist, emitting quiet sobs as it took everything for their mother to not do the same. Their whimpering and the matriarch’s tearful muttering could be heard loud and clear, even over the sound of the officer’s discussions with Mr. Pistolblatt, and a camera snapping photos of the scene.

The old pistol shrimp explained, “--And we had only been at home for an hour when I got the call a-an--.”

“Dad!” Betty raced to him, in her flurry of thoughts, questions, and fear she couldn’t piece them all together. “What happened here?” She dumbly asked what first came to mind as a bewildered and dumbstruck Janine joined.

He grimly relayed the event to them. “We were robbed, Darlin’. Someone busted into the store and completely trashed the place. They took everything!”  

“Someone?!” They heard Mrs. Pistolblatt call out. “It was those Rockfish thugs, I mean they left their calling card all over the place!” Sure enough they did; along the walls vandalized with graffiti there were tags depicting their group name clear as day. “I want every single one of them locked up for the rest of their lives for what they did to our family, I ju--.”

Her husband held her clenched fist and attempted to ease her rage. “--Sal, please calm down, everything’s gonna be fine. We had those cameras installed for this exact problem. They’re gonna find out exactly who did this and they’ll get what’s coming to them.”

“Actually, it’s probably not going to be that easy,” the officer he had been speaking with revealed.

“What? What do you mean?” Mr. Pistolblatt quizzed.

The uniformed peacekeeper had grim news to share. “You’re not the only place that’s had a run-in with these gangbangers and every time they’ve made it a point to completely hide their faces so we can’t identity a single one of them.”

Not content with that, Mrs. Pistolblatt  said, “Why not just arrest all of them if you know they’re the ones causing trouble?”

The answer from the Inkling cop was a dissatisfied huff. “It doesn’t work that way. Every time we try to make an arrest, someone their gang cooks up an alibi for their friends and they’re right back out on the street.”

Mr. Pistolblatt let out a gasp. “You’re kidding?” He was baffled in trying to imagine any sense in this. “So what, you’re just gonna let them roam free and do whatever they want?”

The policeman shook his head. “We have rules we need to follow. We can’t just go and arrest people willy-nilly; we need proper evidence.”

The collective grief of the Pistolblatt family at hearing that could be seen across all of their faces, Janine could see it.  Wanting to do his best for his family, Mr. Pistolblatt tried to express. “Well at least we have insurance so we’ll get back on our feet and at least nobody was hurt.”

“Mom. Dad.”

As if by some morbid, horrible cue, Victor shambled in through the busted door. Deep bruises were visible on nearly every exposed part of his body, made more apparent by his clothes ripped and torn to shreds.  He was barely able to stand as he limped on one foot and could hardly talk as one side of his face was deeply bruised and swollen. Betty clasped her hands over her mouth in horror, followed by the shrieks and cries from the rest of the family.

Mrs. Pistolblatt let out a sickened gasp. “My baby!” She nearly cried.

Mr. Pistolblatt stuttered in horror. “Vic, wha—what happened to you, boy?”

He struggled to explain. “I was on the way home from college prep when I got jumped by them. It was the Rockfish, three of them, they pulled me around somewhere and I don’t--.”

Janine could only stand by in silence, watching as the family she was so close to struggle to deal with this sudden plague of violence upon them. The tears of the three daughters, the uncertainty of the adults, the pain of the eldest son, and the alarmed trepidation visible in her best friend.

Before she could say anything, Betty stepped away from her family to speak with her. “Janine,” she solemnly mumbled. “I think it’s best if you go home. I—my family and I need some time alone.” Her voice choked, it was a struggle to say those words.

Janine whispered in reply. “I understand, if you need anything call me, okay?”

“Yeah.” That answer was so deprived of thought and feeling but Janine didn’t pursue it any further.

Even though she left just as she was instructed, the thoughts of what she witnessed didn’t leave her head.  

In the early evening people were rushing to return home for the day. This time of day was so noisy with impatient drivers blaring their car horns, and tired commuters clogging the streets but to Janine it was all a quite murmur to her. All the way to the train station she thought about the violence they faced. She also thought of what she heard the police weren’t going to do even with the unequivocal evidence at hand.  

Then there was how they weren’t the only ones to be harmed by the Rockfish gang. How many other families already had their effected already by them? How many of them did she know? How many of them had kids that she went to school with? Who was she even going to see at school?

The more she thought of it, her fist tightened. It got tighter and tighter until her nails dug into the skin of her hand. Justice needed to be served for the Pistolblatt family and anyone else they hurt.

They’re not going to get away with this. They’re gonna pay for what they did. I'm going to make them pay.

[heather1815]

My little test subject: Chapter 12

Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, and chapter 11

Angsty Tomtord fic with slight Paultryk on the side.

Warning! This fic contains: Foul language, scenes of torture, use of medical tools, drug use, self-harm, suicidal tendencies, violence, self-neglect, blood, and a little bit of stockholm syndrome and force feeding. Viewer discretion is advised.

Done with his exercises for the day, Tom finished his shower and put on a new change of clothes. He was happy to see his old hoodie back, neatly folded over the sink, clean and fixed; good as new. It's been ages since he'd last seen it, when he was forced to take it off in favor for his new uniform, and Tom thought Tord had gone back on his word after their fight and threw the flimsy thing away.

It seems he was proven wrong about him.

After questioning, Paul explained to him that Tord wanted to have him accustomed to the uniform since that's what he will be wearing for most of the time during his permanent stay in the base. But because of his good behaviour during the Red leader's absence, Paul and Pat decided to give him his hoodie back. They figured Tom would want it, since it's the last thing he had to remember his past.

As he put it on, Tom couldn't be more thankful for the kind actions of the two soldiers. He was, quite frankly, tried of wearing the same boring uniform every day. The numbers that were engraved on the tag above his heart always made him feel like a prisoner, or someone inferior to everyone else around him.

Nevertheless, as Tom dressed himself he realized with a start that his hoodie felt somewhat tight on his form. Did they shrink it by accident? The two soldiers, although very nice and polite once he got to know them, weren't always the sharpest tool in the shed. Tom wouldn't be surprised if they did make some sort of mistake when washing it.

However, Tom quickly figured that, it wasn't the hoodie who had shrunk. He's the one who grew into it.

The last time he wore his old hoodie, Tom had been severely malnourished. His clothes hanged loosely around his frame, and hadn't been washed in a while.

Since then, Tom has been kept in a pretty strict diet, done various forms of exercise throughout his stay, and his form is in a much healthier state. Now his hoodie is clinging to his shape quite nicely, and Tom couldn't help but wrap his arms around himself; wistfully recalling his good old days.

"Tom, are you nearly done?"

A knock on the bathroom door, followed by Pat's voice, snapped him out of his brief moment of nostalgia.

"Yeah, hang on!"

Passing a towel through his hair to give it one last dry, Tom quickly adjusted to give off his usual spiky appearance, and walks out.

"Was I in there for too long?" He blurts out, nearly bumping straight into Patrick as he exits the bathroom.

"It's fine." The Polish soldier states, leading them out of the gym and into the hallways. "We're still within our schedule. After all, you must've been pretty tired after the bout of exercises you just did, so I wasn't going to rush you out of your shower." He continued. "Paul told me you did very well on your performance today. He was impressed."

Tom perked up a little. "Really?"

As his condition improved, so did the difficulty of Tom's exercises. At first, he started out with only simple stretches and some warm up rounds; nothing too hazardous for him at the time. But now that he is faring better, Paul would have him run laps around the gym, do pull ups, lift weight, and all kinds of workout tactics that took a lot out of Tom, and by the end he would be completely spent.

Tom wasn't entirely sure why he was expected to do all of this. Sure, to be in perfect condition for the experiments that he dreads so much, that's the main reason why he did these in the first place. But now that his condition is better, how come the exercises are a lot more intense? Tom's best guess is that they don't want to underestimate his improvement and want to keep him as best fit for the experiments as possible. But even that line of reasoning has flaws. His initial exercises were fine enough on their own, especially with the diet he's been kept on.

So why put so much emphasis on physical activities?

Tom tried straight up asking Paul, but the usually carefree soldier avoided his question and just dumped a bunch more exercises for him to do instead.

That certainly did its job in putting Tom off. He sure won't make the same mistake twice and ask him that again. Tom isn't keen on exerting himself more than necessary.

He decided to try his luck out with Pat. It can't possibly end worse than it did with Paul, and it is worth a shot.

"Oh yes!" Patrick nodded, continuing their conversation. "Although he admits you run out of breath quite easily, and you still struggle with some of the exercises, he told me that you have a lot of endurance and what you lack for in stamina, you make up for it in speed. Not bad if I say so myself." He went on. "With a few more weeks of practice, I am sure you'll be more at ease."

"Yeah, that's kind of what I wanted to ask about." Tom broke in, choosing his words so he won't set the Polish soldier off in the wrong way like he did with Paul earlier. "Why am I required to go through all of this? I get that's for my condition and all, but I feel this is all much too complicated just to keep me in shape."

Pat's demeanor changed, and his expression darkened slightly. Tom watched him wearily, waiting for a response and somewhat unsettled for the sudden mood reversal.

Patrick sighs. "I wish I could tell you, honestly I do." He shook his head. "But Red Leader would not share with us the reasoning behind this decision." Glancing back at Tom, he continued. "We send him updates regarding the improvement of your condition while he is away; his orders, you know? When we agreed that you were suitable enough to try out more complicated activities, Red Leader issued an order for us to do so until his return."

Tom frowned. "Seriously?" He asks incredulously. "Doesn't that seem kind of shady to you? Keeping secrets and sh#t?"

"Well, he is our leader." Pat points out with a matter-of-fact tone. "Although I agree that we should've been consulted before making a decision regarding this project, or whatever it is he has in store for you, as his loyal soldiers we must trust the judgement of our leader. He isn't stupid, after all. A bit rash at times, and reckless; certainly! But he knows what he's doing most of time."

"I wouldn't trust Tord so much if I wer-"

Tom's words died out as he broke off into a coughing fit. Pat stops and glances at him in concern.

"Thomas? Are you alright?" He approached the Brit. "I hope you're not getting sick again, or that'll be terrible." He placed the palm of his hand over his forehead, checking for his temperature.

Tom brushed him away. "I'm fine- it's just a sore throat."

Pat stared at him and then nodded his head in acknowledgement. "I'll make you some tea when we reach my study. That should fix it."

Tom glanced up at him with disappointment. "Tea?" He echoes. "You mean, no more of that juice I like?"

"Just for today." Pat suppressed a chuckle of amusement as he observes Tom pout, reminding him of a child who's been denied having ice cream before dinner.

Before long, they had reached the familiar oak wooden door. Patrick twisted the knob and stepped aside, letting Tom enter the cozy study first before following him in.

They made some small talk as Pat prepared their tea, mostly chatting about their drinking preferences, which progressively escalated into other topics; mostly morning routines and breakfast.

"No way!" Tom laughed, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Are you serious?"

"Trust me, sometimes I wished I was making this stuff up, but I'm not." Standing next to him, Pat shot him a glance while rummaging through the cupboard for teacups. "I swear, when those two are off-duty they behave like a pair of toddlers." He continues. "Thankfully their antics often fall more in the cute category rather than obnoxious. However, I admit it's difficulty at times to take their ranks seriously when I know what they're really like behind the curtains."

Chuckling, Tom swept a hand through his semi-dry locks. It's so odd to think just how much he's gotten used to the presence of the two soldiers, his environment, and day-to-day basis in general. It all felt natural to him now.

Tom theorized things would be a lot more different if Tord hadn't left, but he isn't going to contemplate what it could've been and instead he'll just enjoy what he got. Tom hopes things stay this way for a while longer, with Tord as far away as possible.

When all was set and done, Patrick handed him his tea and they returned to the study. Tom settled down on his usual leather seat, careful not to spill any of his beverage on himself or the expensive looking carpet. Across from him, Pat sits down on his own seat and pulls out his tablet and the delicately, thin glasses that he keeps in his breast pocket.

"So Tom, how are you feeling today?" He began.

The eyeless test subject sipped on the blue teacup; filled to the brim with steaming hot tea laced with honey, gently blowing on it so he would not accidentally burn his own tongue.

"I'm fine, I guess…" Tom muttered between the tiny sips he took from his tea.

"What about your withdrawal? Have you been feeling nauseous lately, or any other symptoms?" Patrick prompted, sitting back in his recliner chair with his reading glasses on, and typing on his tablet.

"A little. I haven't puked in a long while, so there's that." Tom shrugged, placing the tea down over the glass table that separated him and the Red Army General.

"How would you describe the overall experience?"

"Would not recommend." Tom jokes with a slight chuckle. He then paused. All traces of humor gone from his features, as his expression grew somber. "It was terrible." He answered quietly. "For the most part, it felt like someone was scraping my bones constantly or something." He murmured under his breath, his gaze drifting downward. "Or like, I don't know… spiders crawling through my veins, that have been simultaneously set on fire." He stopped, reframing himself from getting too carried away and spill unneeded information on his condition.

The worst sensation by far, is when that same fire goes out and leaves Tom with an empty, freezing feeling. It's what he'd imagine dying must be like. And just when he thought he'd gotten used to the cold, the fire ignites once more, and the process starts all over again. Going in and out of death repeatedly.

Living and dying…

"Don't get too ahead of yourself now…~"

A dark haze suddenly surrounded his mind and tainted his vision. Breathing out a tired sigh, Tom mustered all of his self-will to not flinch or react in any way at the unexpected, intrusive thought.

No. Not a thought…

But a voice.

The voice.

He was wondering when it would show its ugly presence back into his messed-up life. It would've been a matter of time anyway. Since he no longer has access to alcohol or anything sharp on standby, of course the voice would show up again sooner or later. Tom just wished he had more time to brace himself for this occasion.

Not now.

A cold, and yet amused chuckle echoed throughout his head, sending shivers down Tom's spine.

The voice is just that. A voice. It has no form, shape or appearance. However, it still feels very physical. Tom has gotten so used to its antics that he could detect its presence whenever it starts to act up, mostly because the atmosphere around him immediately gets tense until the voice quiets down again. It always gave Tom the impression that it was lingering somewhere behind him, hovering just a bit over his shoulder to whisper nasty remarks and sweet nothings into his mind; like a thought, drifting in the back of his head. And it sounds very reminiscent to the hiss of a snake, with poison dripping from each word it utters to burn, and brand onto his skin. The volume constantly fluctuates as well. A mere hushed whisper and a loud, booming shout at the same time. Not to mention that every word spoken by it felt like a different sensation running through him each time; ranging from the feeling of cold hands with sharp nails roaming along his body, to various methods of injury being inflicted on him. The amount of pain he would receive usually depending on what exactly the voice says.

It is a painful process that usually takes a lot out of him, especially back in the first few incidents. Now days, Tom barely reacts, if at all, when being administered with this mental torture. On the outside, he may be calm and collected. But on the inside, Tom felt he was cast in a dark room, strapped to a chair and relentlessly tortured. It's been a while since the last time he went through with this, sure, but a few months of its absence in his life is nothing compared to the years he had to endure with it in the first place.

And Tom has tried to get rid of it, in non-harmful tactics that is, before going to more extreme measures.

He knows it is not real.

There is no one behind him.

Nothing impaling or stabbing through him.

And there's definitely no intrusive, probing hands roaming over his body.

It's all just a figment of his head. Nothing more than a trick, crafted by his broken mind to play a sick joke on him. Of course he told himself those things!

But the comments the voice makes just get to him, growing increasingly more excruciating than the last.

After a while though, Tom just had to face the fact that the voice, whatever it really is, just isn't going away by mere use of logic, reason, or even wishful thinking.

Back to reality, Tom watched Patrick type something down in his tablet through half-lidded eyes, doing his best to ignore the mocking presence currently looming over him.

It's a shame that; whatever trace of good humor he had acquired during his previous talk with Pat, or even his earlier run of exercises, as tiring as they may be, with Paul, has been completely ruined by the voice's arrival.

"That was kind of a… morbid way to put it. But somewhat poetic as well." Pat commented, slightly baffled. "Are you a fan of poetry by any chance?"

"Me? Nah! Not really my thing." Tom shook his head. "But musician on the other hand-" He snapped his fingers. "That is more my area of expertise." He leaned back on his chair, deep in thought. "Back when I was in early high school, I used to write some tunes on my notebooks during class; mostly out of boredom. Then I would later play them with Susan."

Patrick continued to type as he talked. "Susan?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow and shooting him a curious glance. "Your girlfriend by any chance?"

A small laugh escaped the Brit. "My bass guitar." He corrected.

"My apologies." Pat bowed his head in understanding, typing another bullet point. "So you play the bass. And those tunes you mentioned, do you still play them?"

"On occasion." Tom replied with a shrug. "Susan is unfortunately kind of old, and has definitely seen better days. But I still love the old babe."

"How ironic! ~" The voice exclaims with a taunting tone. "You claim to love it, and yet you still let it get all broken up and mangled; not even bothering to properly repair it afterward. ~" It hissed harshly into his ear. "Is that any way to treat the ones you value? Use them however you want and then leave them broken? Like how you did with your friends…~"

Clenching his jaw so tight he was sure his teeth would shatter, Tom inwardly flinched at the remark.

Shut up!

"Did I touch a sore spot? ~" The voice continued to mock. A cold, phantom and yet tangible hand trailed upwards cross Tom's back. "Ops~"

His fingers curled inward until his knuckles turned white from the pressure.

"So you like music." Patrick commented, adjusting the glasses on his face and completely oblivious to Tom's discomfort. "When do you think this interest first developed?"

Tom wracked his brain for memories. "I think I might've been six-ish?" He replied, not too sure of himself. "My dad took me to see a music festival that was happening near town. Everything was so colorful, bright and loud back then it ended up making an impression on me." He recalled fondly, too busy remembering the details of his past to mind the lingering voice at the moment. "Ever since then, I wanted to get a guitar of my own really badly. But my parents weren't the best ones off financially, and dad dying worsened things…"

"His death is on you. It should not have happened. ~"The voice butted in to comment absentmindedly. Spectral limbs roamed along Tom's back and arms, tracing over his scars with pointy-sharp nails. Tom suppressed a shiver from rippling down his spine. "That was your fault. If you hadn't insisted on going fishing that day, your father would still be alive. It's your fault he is dead! ~" The intrusive hands did not halt their actions when Tom held back from crying out at the sudden, excruciating sensation of getting impaled through the chest.

"It wasn't until years later I finally managed to save up enough money to buy Susan." Tom went on, nearly choking in the process but managing to hold himself together despite the burning pain he felt in response to the voice's harsh remark. "And I practiced with her ever since."

"Interesting." Finishing his last bullet point, Pat clasped his hands together. "Now Tom, I would like to go a little off topic for a moment. If you wouldn't mind, I think discussing this next issue could be beneficial for you."

Tom raised one of his eyebrows quizzically. "Okay?" He grew even more weary when more phantom limbs joined the first pair and massaged his arms. Tom tried his damn hardest not to shiver, but the hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms stood up uncomfortably. If the voice had a shape, Tom suspects it would be grinning insanely right about now.

Patrick sighed. Here goes nothing.

"Let's talk about your friendships."

Tom's reaction to the request was immediate. At once, Pat noticed Tom's feet tap anxiously against the carpeted floor. The Brit had folded his arms; a sign of defensiveness, and his black sockets looked at anywhere but him. Patrick noted down these reactions, filing them under a separate bullet point.

"Thomas?"

"Is that really necessary? I mean, what benefit will that give you in your experiments? Absolutely nothing in the end, let's be real here." Tom began to argue, feeling the presence lurking up behind him grip his shoulders tightly with a different set of hands. "Not to mention that I don't wanna talk about it." He mumbled that last part quietly.

Pat had expected this would happen. "Tom."

"And while we're at it, what is the point of this mental evaluation business?" The Brit continued, going on a rant. "I highly doubt you gave the previous test subjects that kind of treatment, so what makes me so special? And I am positively certain that, whatever my state of mind is, it won't affect anything in the experiments so it just seems like a gigantic waste of time and effort on your part." He argued defensively, attempting to evade the brought-up subject.

"I am simply heeding Red Leader's orders." Patrick responds calmly, looking at Tom with patient eyes. "I know how hard all of this is for you." He gestured to his surroundings.

Duh! Tom narrowed his eyes. You don't even know the half of it! He felt the tight pressure build on his shoulders as the presence continuously towered over him.

"But I need your collaboration here, for your own wellbeing."

The voice barked out a cruel laugh. "Wellbeing? That's just a cute way of saying that they need you to be their obedient little subject for the sake of their world domination plans. ~" As it spoke, Tom felt it grip the back of his scalp tightly, and pull, creating an awful pressure in his head. Tom did not have much time to dwell on it, when he sensed another phantom hand snake around his neck and repeatedly tap the side of his throat with sharp nails. "After all, why would anyone in their right mind care for whatever happens to you, unless it benefited them? ~"

Tom took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm and ignore all the uncomfortable sensations running through him right now. "I just- I really don't wanna talk about this."

"Is this about Tord?" Pat's question cut through him. "If that's the case, you can leave him out-"

"No! It's not about him!" Tom protested, and then paused. "Well, it kind of is. But that's not the point I'm trying to make here!"

Leaning forward in his seat, Patrick stared at him from across the coffee table. "Then what is?" His honeyed green eyes blinked sympathetically.

Glancing away and still fidgeting in his seat, Tom breathed out an exasperated sigh. "Just- just everything!" He cried. "I miss them a lot, Pat. I miss them so much, and it hurts to even think about them, let alone talk!" Tom blurted out, using every ounce of strength within himself to maintain calm. "How can you possibly expect me to just forget everything that happened so far, and just talk about them as if there's nothing wrong?" From behind, he practically could feel the entity smirk. "Aww, are you about to cry? ~" It mocked him. Something pointy and sharp wandered over his shoulder blades. "You're so weak, and pathetic! Can't even handle your own problems properly! ~" It continued to hiss into Tom's head. "But I admit; It is highly amusing to watch you struggle. ~"

Patrick blinked perplexed. He'd already guessed the Brit's feelings on the subject, but to hear them being confirmed out loud by Tom himself was an improvement. It was clear that Tom has grown to trust him, and Paul as well. Of course, it's not all sunshine and lollipops for the three of them; Tom tends to argue with them once in a while, but Pat and Paul have spent far too much time with their leader to be troubled by Tom's stubbornness. Still, the last thing Patrick wants to do right now is break this carefully built trust.

Pat's gaze softened, sensing his discomfort. "Keeping these feelings to yourself won't do you any good either." He murmured, choosing his words carefully to gently coax the eyeless man to follow his line of thinking. "I am by no means demanding you to outright tell me everything. It is only natural to keep things to yourself in an environment such as this, and in your situation. I understand, believe me I do. Take your time, and go at your own pace." Pat reassured him. "Speak what you can, even if it's the tiniest detail or seems to be insignificant to you. Trust me, by the end you might feel a little more relieved."

"I- I can't."

"You won't know for certain unless you give a try." Pat added.

Before Tom could fully process his words, he felt the pressure on his scalp be released, and the spectral limb move downward to grab a firm grip of the back of his neck, while the other hand that had been poking the side of his throat went unusually still. Tom knows all too well at this point that this is a warning sign to watch for what he is about to say next.

Breathing in a shaky sigh, Tom composed himself. I-I can do this. He echoed, already beginning to feel upset at the mere idea of what he is about to reflect on.

Tom hasn't spoken one word about his friends since his first day in the facility. But perhaps Pat's words hold some truth to them? Maybe he can relieve a little bit of the burden haunting him by calling out to fonder memories? I can do this! He thought decisively."W-we met in kindergarten."

"Uhum?"

"I think it might've been one of my first days." Tom recalled. "I was really nervous and excited, but mostly terrified."

"Any reason in particular?" Pat questions, not looking up from his tablet.

The Brit shrugged. "I was a tad bit shy in my younger years. I wanted to make friends really badly, but I had no idea how to do it." He replied. "I didn't go out a whole lot before starting school, or had much contact with the outside world; so to be suddenly thrown in a strange environment with lots of other kids was overwhelming at the start."

"I see." Pat murmurs with a tiny nod. He was surprised by the Brit's statement. He would've never suspect Tom of ever being shy. "Please continue."

Tom sighed, flexing his fingers to relieve his hold on the chair's arms. Images flashed in his brain, reminding him of two very important people he was forced to leave behind. Pain stabbed Tom's heart; for once, not induced by the voice, but homesickness. It hurt nonetheless, far more than any blade could possibly inflict on him.

"We were in the classroom, just messing around doing kid stuff…"

(Flashback!)

Inside a colorful classroom, various children played together. Shrills of excitement filled place as the young toddlers participated in different activities. Some played tag, others played with dolls and toys, and a few other kids were quietly scribbling on a blank sheet of paper with crayons.

Among the group of quiet kids, a boy with spiky hair and black, empty eyes, furiously scrawled on a piece of paper he grabbed from the teacher's desk. His brows are furrowed and his tongue is subconsciously poking out of his mouth in deep concentration.

He pauses to admire his work, nodding in silent approval at his progress before resuming. "Something is missing…" He observed with a pensive hum, looking at the crude drawing of him and his family, smiling together as they skipped around in a meadow. "Of course! It needs more colors!"

He stretched out his hand towards the red plastic crate, stocked full of various art supplies, next to him and randomly grabbed any crayon he could reach. Adding it to his drawing he quickly switched to a different one, swapping colors repeatedly throughout the whole process.

Blowing away the tiny specks of crayon that lingered on the paper, the child picked up his drawing. "That's better!" He exclaims. "Now I just need one more color…" He reached for the crate again, expecting his fingers to wrap around the familiar, small object of his choosing.

Imagine his surprise when his hand met something warm and clammy instead.

The child jumped in his seat in surprise at the unexpected contact. He whipped his head, his gaze landing on a boy, looking as equally as startled as he is, standing next to him by the crate of art supplies.

"Sorry!" He blurts out, tearing his hand away from the other kid with a small tinge of crimson coating his cheeks in embarrassment.

The other boy looks down at his hand, curious more than anything. His gaze swerves back to meet with the child's eyeless ones. "It's ok." He answers softly.

The kid in question is a tall boy with brown hair, brown eyes, round facial structure, and fair white complexion. He's wearing a short-sleeved, bright green shirt, with a dark shirt underneath with longer sleeves poking out, beige shorts, and green shoes.

They stared shyly back at each other.

The boy in green rocked on his feet. "Can I take a few things please?" He asks, fumbling with his hands and briefly motioning toward the crate.

"Sure!" The eyeless child nodded toward the crate. "Just- please don't take any of the crayons. I'm using them, ok?"

"I won't." The brown-haired boy nodded, and started to rummage through the art supplies. With that out of the way, the spiky-haired boy turned away and resumed with his drawing; watching the other boy leave through the corner of his vision. He thought that was the end of it, and he would just go back to his not-so-quiet solitude.

But that was not the last he'd seen of him.

Throughout the whole course of the day, the boy clad in green kept returning to take something else out of the crate; looking increasingly more chipper each time he did. The eyeless child at first simply tried ignoring him, but his curiosity increased, and every time he dropped by, he would find himself peaking at the other boy. Strangely enough, he noticed overtime that the brunet was getting messier with each visit. Colourful smudges stained the boy's hands and clothes.

It was when he returned again, this time with a purple stain on the bottom-left of his cheek, that the eyeless child decided to quell his curiosity.

He pretended to be drawing, busying himself as he watched the brunet sideways. The boy was rummaging through the crate again and picked out two jars of paint, before hurriedly leaving the room; occasionally shooting worried glances at the teacher, who was too busy settling a quarrel between two crying girls to really notice him sneaking out.

The eyeless child seized the chance and followed suit. He stored his drawing away in his bag before heading out of the room.

He stepped out of the classroom and found himself in a dim corridor, just in time to see a pair of green shoes disappear around the corner and into the boys' restroom. He hurriedly toddled after, both eager and curious to see what the brunet was up to. Of course, he could just be doing what any other sane person does when going to the restroom. But if that's the case, why was he bringing a bottle of paint with him? Something fishy was going on…

The eyeless toddler grew even more confused when he heard laughter and voices coming from the other side of the restroom door.

Opting not to beat around the bush any longer, the unusual looking toddler pushed the door open.

Truth be told, he wasn't sure what he was expecting to find in there. Was the brunet pulling some sort of prank with the jars of paint, and was anticipatively waiting for some poor fool to wander into the stalls? Just when the eyeless child seriously began to consider in turning back, he froze on the spot; stumbling into the scene before him.

Colourful splatters of paint tainted the white tiled walls, even the floor and mirrors. The giggles are louder now as he stepped farther into the room, until he came across the brunet at the end of the bathroom hall, accompanied by an accomplice. A boy with pale skin, round blue eyes, and bright, well-groomed ginger hair, wearing a baggy purple hoodie, jeans, and purple sneakers sat next to the brunet; looking just as messy as him with stains all over his clothes.

Jars of paint littered by their knees where they sat. The spiky-haired boy watched wide eyed as the brunet dipped his hand into one of the bottles, scooping a handful of blue paint before splattering the white walls.

"See this?" The boy in green pressed his against the wall and smeared the paint all over it. "I'm making the sea!"

The ginger boy clapped excitedly, bouncing on his knees as he watched the display. "Oh! I know! I'm going to draw a huuuge mountain over here!" He proclaims, folding back the sleeves of his hoodie to dip his hand into the jar of black paint. "And with a beautiful forest at the bottom too! Lots of trees and pretty flowers-"

"And animals too! Don't forget about the animals!" The brunet piped in, wiping the paint off his hand on his own shirt.

"Of course n- oh!" The ginger boy stiffens mid-dip into the green jar, his eyes fixed on the peculiar child just standing there, mouth agape in awe as he watched them.

The brunet noticed his companion's reaction and halts. "What?" He turns around, following his line of sight. He perked up in surprise when he saw who it was, and smiled. "Oh hey, you're the kid with the crayons!"

With a tiny, barely audible gasp the eyeless boy steps back and adverts his gaze, fumbling with the straps of his overalls.

"Hello!" The ginger boy waves at him, bursting with glee in an over-exaggerated manner.

The child with spiky hair shyly waves back. "H-hi." He slowly lifts his head back up. "What- what are you doing?" He stutters quietly, almost hesitant to get the question out.

"We're painting!" The brunet replies, gesturing to the smudged wall behind them.

"In the bathroom?" The eyeless boy cocks his head to one side. "The teacher has lots of paper on her desk. If you want I could go and get a few for you-"

"No thanks, we're ok with the wall. There's plenty of space to draw this way!" The child in green responds dismissively. "Hey! Do you wanna paint with us?"

"M-me?!"

"Yes you!" The brunet laughed. "Come on, there's lots of colours to go around and a bunch of space to use."

"And it's real fun too!" The ginger kid added with a wide grin.

Shuffling his feet, the peculiar looking child silently contemplated. These two boys seem very nice and friendly so far, and he'd never been invited to participate in any of the activities by the other kids. He didn't show it much but he was legitimately excited to join them. And the white wall behind them does look very tantalizing to paint on.

"Ok!" He smiles, all previous signs of shyness gone, and he skips over to join the others.

Together, they began to paint the bathroom walls, turning everything from top to bottom into a ginormous mess. An explosion of colours blended into a deformed rainbow of sorts. The three young boys giggled and laughed along with their fun, occasionally showing off their artwork to one another. Various bottles of paint were left open, some even tipped over and scattered all over the floor.

The eyeless child scooped up a load of red paint into his hand, and using just one of his fingers, drew a long line into the white tiles; doing countless swirls, loops, dips, going up and down, left and right, and all over the place.

"Woah!" The brunet watched in awe, kneeling next to him with a dumbfounded expression. "What is it?"

The eyeless boy stepped back with a grin. "A rollercoaster!" He states proudly. "I'm making a theme park!"

"Cool!"

"Hey guys, check out my drawing!" The ginger child calls out to them, gesturing towards his somewhat crummy drawing of a castle.

"Neato!" The bright, eyeless child commented.

"Is there a princess that lives there?" The boy dressed in green prompted.

"Nope! But there is a very beautiful prince!" The ginger goes on, puffing his chest and striking a pose. He raised his chin with a grin. "A wonderful, charming, and very handsome prince-" As he ranted proudly, he lifted one of his hands up to his hair to run it through his striking ginger locks, forgetting that his hands were stained with fresh paint.

"Wait!"

"No don't-!"

The boys tried to stop him, but it was too late. The grimy hand swept through the ginger's hair, tainting it in paint.

"-Who was loved by his, uh, what are they called again? Subjets? No, that's not quite right. Hm." As he continued to contemplate his words, he just kept fumbling with his own hair, creating an even bigger mess. The brunet boy bit his lips, trying to hold in a giggle. The eyeless child stifled a gasp and watched the mess unfold with a gaping mouth. The ginger snapped his fingers, recognition flashing in his blue eyes. "That's right, peasants! He was dearly loved by his peasants!" He paused, taking notice of his friends' reaction. "What?"

"Uhh-"

The ginger rubbed his head in confusion, staring at his companions until reality finally hit him. His eyes widened with shock at the realization, and he stiffened. Slowly he brought his hand down, his hand trembling, looking almost like a scene from a horror movie as he looked back at his paint-tainted hand with despair.

The brunet and the eyeless boy exchanged a worried glance.

"Are you ok-?"

In a fraction of a second, the ginger child rushed past them, heading toward the nearest mirror. He froze once his eyes landed on the dark, smudgy mess that were once luscious orange locks and he shrieked in horror.

"My hair! My beautiful hair! What have I done to you?!" He cried out, grasping the sink with desperation. "Oh no what am I going to do?! My mom is going to kill me!" He gasps, dropping to his knees. "What if I have to cut all of my hair off?!" And with that, the waterworks let loose and he started to cry. "I don't wanna be bald!"

The two boys stood there and watched the ginger sob to his knees, looking concerned but unsure of what to do in this situation.

The eyeless boy rubbed one of his own shoulders, shuffling on his feet. "Should I get the teacher?" He offered.

The brunet's brown eyes brightened and a smile etched onto his face. "No. Stay here with him, I'll be right back!" With no further explanation on whatever it is he's got planned, he bolted out of the bathroom, the door swinging close behind him.

Left alone with the sobbing child, the eyeless boy nervously approached him. He shakily places a hand on the ginger's shoulder and started to pat him in a soothing motion. "It's ok. Everything is going to be ok, don't you worry." Rather than calming him, his words had the opposite effect and the boy clad in purple sobbed more. The eyeless boy stared at him in dismay. "C'mon don't be like that. Your hair isn't even that bad. If anything, I even think it looks cool on you."

Sniffling, the ginger kid risked a glance at him. "Do yo- do you really mean that?"

"Well yeah, of course I d- ARGH!" His words died out when the ginger suddenly enveloped him in a tight hug, his face buried into his chest as he continued to cry. The peculiar looking child wasn't used to hugs, let alone coming from people he hardly knows. Still, he tried his best to console the sad kid dressed in purple. He slowly wrapped his arms around him and patted him on the back. "There there."

The bathroom door swung open as the brunet returned, smiling widely from ear to ear. The eyeless child's expression turned from relief at the sight of him, to confusion when he noticed what he was wielding in his hands.

"What are those for?" He asked quizzically, nodding toward the set of tools the brunet brought with him. A mop. A plunger. And a broom.

Rather than answering him, the brunet threw the items onto the floor, keeping the plunger while he twirled it in his hand. The eyeless boy's furrowed further in confusion. Just what is this guy up to? Even the ginger halted his crying to peek at the scene.

The brunet shot them both a wink, and cleared his throat. "Hear ye hear ye, tragic has befallen the beloved prince!" He announces loudly, as if he were revealing news to a big crowd. "The handsome prince has been cursed by an, uh-"

"An evil witch!" The eyeless boy exclaims, catching onto the brunet's antics and going along with his act. The ginger looked at him with teary blue eyes. "An evil, and very ugly witch!" He went on. "Who was jealous of the handsome prince's beauty."

While he spoke, the boy dressed in green scooped up a bit of red paint and started to doodle on one of the mirrors. "That's right! And now it is up to us-" He backed away, showcasing his exaggerated drawing of a witch. He gestured toward the boy with spiky hair. "-the knights, to defeat the evil witch and break the prince's curse!"

Jumping into action, the unusual looking child pulled away from the still visibly upset ginger kid, and grabbed a hold of the broom. "You'll pay for what you did you mean, old thing!" He vows, aiming the broom at the mirror.

"I'll- I'll fight too." Sniffling, the ginger cracked a small smile and rose to his feet, clearing away the remaining tears clouding his vision. He grabbed the mop.

"Attack!"

With a battle cry, the boy dressed in green charged. Plunger in hand, he stabbed the rubber head onto the mirror, directly onto the witch's face. "Take that!" He laughed victoriously. He tried to pull the plunger out but found it firmly stuck onto the reflective surface. "Oh no, the evil witch set up a trap! And I fell for it!" He cried out, gripping onto the plunger and trying to pull away.

It released with a loud 'pop' sound, making the brunet stagger back in surprise with the force of the pull. In doing so, his feet slipped over the paint drenched floor and he fell onto his back, staining himself in various colours of paint, mixed together.

"I've been hit!" The brunet boy cried out. "Avenge me, friends!" With his last words, he closed his eyes and played dead, sticking his tongue out for dramatic effect.

"No!" The ginger wailed in distress, seeing the body of his fallen companion. He whipped around to face the witch in the mirror. "You may destroy my good looks, but no one hurts my friend and gets away with it!"

Using all his strength, he swung the mop toward the mirror, hoping to strike a hit on the mirror witch. However, it missed its mark a few centimeters too short and hit the sink instead, knocking the tap off and causing water to erupt. The ginger yelled in alarm when the water splashed him square in the face, the strong torrent forcing him to back away.

"My face!" He gagged through a mouthful of water.

"I'll save you!" The eyeless child shouts, running up to the mirror which now contained the deformed drawing of the witch; smudged due to previous attacks. Wielding the broom, he swung it down hard with all of his strength, smashing the mirror with the blunt end of his weapon. The glass shattered into various fragments, distorting the reflection.

The child grinned. "I did it! I got the witch!" He cheered victoriously.

"My hair!" Whirling around he saw the ginger, completely soaking wet, standing before the untouched area of the mirror with relief and admiration in his blue eyes. "My beautiful hair is back! Look!" Running his fingers through his wet hair repeatedly, he appreciated the vibrant soggy orange locks, now spotlessly clean from any evidence of paint. "Woah, I forgot how beautiful I looked." He grinned and cupped his own cheeks, peering into his reflection.

The brunet staggered to his feet, his clothes entirely smudged in paint. "We did it! We broke the curse!" His green eyes gleamed with triumph. "And we restored the prince's beauty!"

"Hurray!"

They cheered simultaneously, celebrating their success.

But it was short lived.

"Uh guys? What are we gonna do about all of this?" The ginger points out hesitantly, gesturing towards the ruined bathroom.

There is paint splattered all over the walls and floor, water gushing out of a broken sink, a shattered mirror, and their own dishevelled appearances.

"Oh." The trio stared at the results of their mess with wide-eyed blank faces.

The eyeless boy turned toward the two. "That was a lot a fun though!"

"Yeah."

Almost before they were done speaking, the sound of low giggles could be heard. The boy with spiky hair whirled around in confusion, only to realize that the brunet was shaking next to him with suppressed laughter, which he tried very hard to keep down. But his chuckles increased to light-hearted chortling that filled the room. The ginger and the eyeless children shared mutual expressions of bewilderment. But the brunet's laughter was just so contagious and enjoyable that, in the end, they couldn't help but laugh along with him. And looking back at the mess they created, it was kind of hard to stop it.

Their laughter abruptly came to an end when a shrill of absolute horror rang throughout the room.

"What have the three of you done?!"

Immediately the three boys snapped their gazes toward the bathroom door, where the teacher stood, completely dismayed at the scene. "The bathroom is in ruins! Just what do you think you're doing?!"

The three of them looked at one another with smiling faces.

"Painting!"

"Fighting off an evil witch!"

"Washing my hair!"

The boys got into a whole lot of trouble.

They were taken to the principal's office immediately after the scandal, where they were forced to wait after class for their parents to come and pick them up.

The eyeless boy fumbled with the straps of his overalls anxiously. How will his parents react to the mess he made? Will they get mad at him? They aren't the type of parents who get angry very easily. In fact, he doesn't even remember the last time he'd seen them angry. At most he fears they will be more disappointed in him more than anything for getting into trouble so soon after getting into Kindergarten.

He sat between his accomplices, the brunet to his right and the ginger to his left. The brunet was unusually quiet, staring at the ground and whistling a soft tune, but not looking particularly upset. The ginger was looking upbeat, fidgeting in his seat and rocking his legs back and forth with a grin. He looked so untroubled despite their situation, even though his mother is already inside at this very moment talking to the principle.

"So, is this a normal situation for you two?" The eyeless child spoke up, attempting to make a small talk to relieve himself from the tension.

The boys dressed in purple and green reply. "Yup!"

"But it's not just the two of us." The brunet continued. "We have another friend who participates on our games as well. He was supposed to be here for the bathroom painting, but he got sick and couldn't come. I think you would've liked him! He's pretty quiet, but lots of fun once you get to know him!"

"He talks a little funny though." The ginger added.

"But you are pretty fun to play with too!" The brunet commented, throwing a brief glare toward the ginger before turning back to the eyeless boy. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new?"

"Ye-yeah." He stammered shyly, fumbling with his own hands.

The ginger emitted a loud gasp, his hands rising up to his own face cupping his cheeks with wide eyes. "Does this mean you got no friends?" He asks with shock on his face. Before the eyeless boy could answer him, he was enveloped in a hug and had his face shoved against the ginger's chest. The arms wrapped around him tightly and he suffocated rather quickly. "Oh you sweet poor thing!"

"I-I can't breathe!" The eyeless boy choked, trying to pull away from the ginger.

"Matt, let him go. You're squashing him!" The brunet scolds.

"Oops! Sorry!" The ginger quickly lets him go, throwing him an apologetic look.

Right at that moment, the door to the principal's office swung open. A tall woman with dark ginger hair, wearing a purple dress and high-heels strolled out with her hands on her hips. "Unbelievable! Never have i heard such audacity!" She rants angrily. "My sweet little angel would never do such a thing! Isn't that right, Matthew?"

On cue, the ginger boy threw a cheeky little grin, and made the cutest face conceivable to mankind. His mother instantly fell for his act of innocence, and she grabbed his hand with a smile. "See? I knew you were a good boy."

The eyeless boy watched perplexed. No wonder the ginger wasn't afraid of getting a scolding, he got his parents wrapped around his finger!

"Now, let's head home sweetheart." The woman cooed. "It's getting late, and I'll prepare your favourite meal for dinner."

"Hurray!" The ginger cheers with glee. As he walked away with his mother, he glanced back over his shoulder and waved at his friends. "Bye guys!"

"Bye!"

"Goodbye Matt!"

"Matt?" The eyeless boy cocks his head, echoing the name.

Just then it suddenly dawned on the brunet that they forgot to introduce themselves to each other, despite their amazing adventure today.

"Yeah! His name is Matt. And I'm Edd!" The boy dressed in green, Edd, finally introduced himself. "What's your name?"

"It's Thomas."

"Thomas, I'm calling you Tom for short. Is that ok?" The peculiar looking toddler nods with a grin. "We had great fun today, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but the principal does seem awfully mad at us for what we did." Tom murmured, hugging himself.

"You'll get used to it. He is always a grump." Edd reassured him dismissing any worries. "Wait until our next big adventure!"

Tom blinked at him, genuinely taken back by his last comment. "O-our bi- our next big adventure?" He stuttered confusedly, as if the words had gotten stuck in his throat and he choked to get them out. "As in, you guys… and me?"

Edd laughed. Not a mocking type of laughter, but more like a light-hearted chuckle. "Of course!" He nudged Tom. "You are one of us now!" He suddenly turned serious, and grabbed a hold of Tom's face; squeezing his cheeks. "And don't think about getting out of it. There's no turning back now. Ok?"

"Ok?"

"Good!" Edd brightened up again, as if nothing happened.

Right at that moment a couple walks out of the principal's office, and without a word the woman beckons Edd to come along.

"I gotta go now." Edd jumps from his seat, grabs his bag and hurries off after his parents. He glanced back at Thomas over his shoulder and continuously waved him goodbye. "Bye Tom!"

"Goodbye!" Tom waves back.

"I'll see you Monday!"

"See yah!"

Watching his new-found friend leave from a distance, Tom breathed out a sigh and slumped against his chair. Despite being nervous for landing on the principal's office so soon after he just started kindergarten, and how his parents might react, Tom couldn't help but feel content.

He found friends! Sure they are a little weird, but they're also so energetic, cheerful and creative.

He can't wait to see them again! Who knows what kind of trouble they'll get themselves in next time?

A comfortable silence fell over the study as Tom finished telling his story. He kept his distant gaze fixed intently at the ground. A sad little smile on his face as he slowly fumbled with his own hands, trying absentmindedly to distract himself from the overflowing emotions coursing through him, however pointless it may seem.

On the outside, Tom appeared to be calm and collected, doing his best not to shed any tears as he recalled on the fond memories of his childhood. However, on the inside is a different matter altogether.

Tom felt shackled, his movements restrained as the sensation of various cold, spectral hands holding on to him in a tight grip, and keeping him down. What once used to be at least five hands grabbing him at first, now seems like hundreds. It felt hard to breathe. Tom could never tell if this was consequence of the overwhelming emotions he'd repressed for so long consuming him as he acknowledged them out loud, or the many hands constricting him all at once. As if all of that wasn't enough, there are blades littered all over his backside. Plunged deep and sticking out of his body like a set of spikes; courtesy of the voice's many words of wisdom. Each new wound added to the collection whenever the voice would make a nasty remark or impute a hurtful comment in the situation.

Tom is in a lot of pain. Emotional, but painful nonetheless. As much as he is writhing and crying out in pain on the inside, Tom could never show it on the outside. Tom doesn't want to appear weak in front of others, especially his captors; no matter how friendly they may be. But most importantly, it was mainly about Edd and Matt.

I don't want to worry them. Is always his reasoning. They have other stuff to worry about, they don't deserve another burden to take care of. Tom has had a lot of training in the past, controlling his facial expressions and behaviour to never let show any obvious signs of discomfort or pain. No one should know.

Across from him, Patrick quietly typed on his tablet. Tom tried to read his facial expression through half-lidded eyes, but couldn't decipher what exactly the soldier was thinking at the moment.

"I see." Pat murmured quietly. His tone of voice is soft, while his eyes held a glint of humour in them; possibly entertained by the story he just witnessed. "The three of you definitely sound like a handful!"

"Yeah, we sure were." Tom spoke softly under his breath as grief stabbed his heart. Memories flooded Tom so powerfully that he could hardly breathe, and guilt seared his body.

Taking off his glasses, Pat put the tablet down on his lap. "How do you feel now that you let some emotional baggage out of your chest?"

Well, ain't that the million dollar question of the day. Although doubtful at the start, Tom did feel relief once he started talking about Edd and Matt, how they met, and the impact that it had on his life. However, the whole experience and meaning behind the moment was completely tarnished by the voice relentlessly torturing him. Sure it felt good to talk about what's on his mind aloud, but to keep remembering the awful things he's done in the process made it difficult to balance an exact emotion.

"Good." Was what Tom went with, nodding his head slightly with his lips pursed in a thin line.

Patrick's eyebrows furrowed in suspicion, staring back at Tom through narrowed eyes. "Is everything alright? You seem pretty quiet." He observed.

Tom suppressed a shiver as anxiety spiked through him. "I'm okay." He replied as casually as possible, ignoring the pain he felt rippling on his side. "Just uh- It's just hard, you know, to get so much out of my chest like this. Especially after everything that's happened."

For a moment he believed he managed to fool him. Patrick's expression softened and he regarded him with sympathy. However, before Tom was even given the chance to sigh in relief, Pat spoke up again.

"I can see you are bothered by something. Clearly in discomfort. You know you got nothing to worry about in here. I won't tell anything of this to Red Leader, not even to Paul."

Tom blinked in bewilderment. "What do you mean? I already said I'm fine. It's just the topic that's a little hard to get through, that's all-"

"Tom."

He flinched at the sound of his name. Afraid where this conversation could potentially lead up to, Tom stared at the ground and shuffled his feet around in apprehension, unable to meet Pat's gaze which he could feel borrowing into him.

"Is something going on with you, that you're not telling?"

Tom took a deep breath at that, attempting his best to keep his composure calm at the face of near-revelation. He numbly shook his head with a tiny shrug.

"You know if there's anything wrong you can tell me, right? Or Paul if you are more comfortable with." Patrick's words were so soothing, Tom couldn't help but to flicker his gaze back up to look at him. He was startled with the amount of patience and understanding he found staring back at him from honeyed, kind green eyes. "Despite what you may believe, we do really care about you. So if you are having problems with anything at all, we will do our best to help you- within reason, of course."

A flush of warmth washed over Tom at his words, genuinely touched by the offer. Something flourished inside of him. A small speck of light ignited; bright and warm, that relaxed Tom's tensed muscles and soothed his soul. Hope.

It seems so easy- so within reach. To finally confide in someone of all his problems, his fears, what he's been enduring on his own this whole time, and just how there is something seriously wrong with him. Tom longed so much for the chance to finally admit his problems, but dreaded all the same. How would they take it?

Patrick seems like a trustworthy guy, he hasn't done anything truly harmful to Tom since his arrival. Not once has Pat ever lost his temper when dealing with him, he's a good listener, and seems to know exactly what to do in most situations. He'll understand him, surely? Pat already appears to be so insistent in helping, maybe he can find a solution to Tom's problem.

He won't have to keep quiet about this anymore. He can be free of this burden!

With hope soaring in his chest, Tom felt a burst of determination to speak.

"You don't honestly believe he cares about you, do you? ~"

At once, Tom stiffens and his muscles tensed with apprehension. His words died instantly in his mouth. He'd forgotten that the voice was still active. The phantom arms that still encircled him tightened their possessive grip, while three others slithered upwards; two of them constricting around his throat until it became impossible to breathe, while the other one latched over his mouth, as if to stop him from speaking.

"Have you forgotten who this man is? What his motives are? And more importantly, who he works for? ~" The voice reasoned harshly, as if scolding a petulant child. "He doesn't care about you. This little therapy-play the two of you put up is nothing more than his job. Don't you think he would rather be anywhere else other than stuck here with you, hearing you moaning about everything? He probably has better things to do with his time. If it weren't for Tord ordering him so, he wouldn't waste his time with you. ~"

Tom trashed wildly under the constraining hold on him trying to bury him alive, desperately tugging on the limbs wrapped around his neck to free himself. You're wrong! He objected futilely. Why would he bother hanging out with me then? Commie wouldn't have ordered that!

The voice tutted with mock sympathy. "You poor fool, that's only to gain your trust. ~"

Tom stopped struggling.

"If you trust them, you'll be more willing to abide to their commands. They are using you. ~"

Chilling cold claws gripped his insides and twisted them hard. Tom doubled over and clutched himself in pain with a startling cry. Amidst his suffering, Tom tried to cast a glance at Patrick through the thick, darkened haze that surrounded his vision. He seems so innocent… Could it be he's been playing him all along?

Tom doesn't wanna believe it, but he can't deny the possibility sounds plausible.

"Besides, if this man truly does care for you, why would you freely dump all your problems onto him like that? Hasn't it occurred to you that he already has his own problems to deal with? ~" The voice pointed out casually. "The world doesn't revolve around you. People have issues they got to deal with on their own, and it's not fair for him, or anyone else for that matter, for you to throw your baggage at them! ~" A spear stabbed through Tom's back, poking out of his chest. The scream that ripped out of his throat was drowned by the spectral limbs clamping his mouth shut. The agonizing sensation of fire, static, and ice shot through him all at once and left him nearly breathless against the tightness still wrapped around his throat.

"Are you selfish enough you would willingly cause another person to suffer for your problems? ~"

Back in reality, Tom stared at Patrick with hidden dismay while in an inner conflict with himself. The determination he once had was annihilated by the voice, along with the spark of hope that it brought. It would be so easy to blurt out something- anything in regards to his situation. But Tom couldn't get the words he needed out his mouth, try as he might. The invisible hand lodged over his mouth refused to let him speak up, and the other two around his throat just tightened even more until Tom was out of oxygen.

Breathing out a tired sigh, Tom accepted defeat. "There's nothing wrong." He replied solemnly, his gaze cast downwards. "It's been a long day, that's all."

Tom felt a cruel hand comb through his hair with sharp nails. "Good boy! ~" The voice praised him with a mocking purr.

The dark haze in his vision cleared away, returning to normal. The various limbs wrapped around his body, holding Tom down, released him. Tom's shoulders sagged, relieved that the voice finally quieted down and that the horrible experience was over.

For now, anyway.

"Then I guess we can conclude our session for today." Patrick put away his glasses and placed the tablet down. He stood up from his seat, and made his way toward Tom. "I have to return to my duties now. Will you be fine heading back to your quarters on your own?"

"I'll be okay." Tom nodded numbly.

Patrick followed him out the study. "I'll have Paul bring your dinner later. Do you want anything in particular?"

Tom shrugged. "Not really. So as long there isn't any meat included."

"Fish or chicken, I know."

The two briskly parted ways; their interaction vastly different from what it once was earlier. Tom made the long walk back to his quarters in silence, practically dragging himself along with sluggish movements and a bleak expression on his face. His head is pounding, and he felt drained of energy. I'm so tired…

The immense, empty corridors of the lab level seemed to stretch on forever; when really, all it takes is a few turns to reach his destination. And yet, Tom struggled along his journey with some difficulty. The voice consumes a lot of energy out of him in order to manifest itself. Although neither it or any of the phantom limbs are around to bother him right now, the mental wounds left behind are still fresh and stinging.

Tom almost felt like a warrior, and not in the glorious or courageous type. He felt as if he just went to fight in a huge war, but instead of slaying his enemies he was the punching bag- a distraction to advert all the fire toward himself and getting most of the damage out of it. Now here he is, dragging himself pitifully back home, littered from top to bottom with wounds, and he is bleeding all over the place; leaving behind a trail of blood wherever he went.

The walk back to his quarters was painfully long and slow. The door slid open with a hiss, and Tom dragged himself in before immediately falling over his bed with a tired sigh.

"What are you waiting for? ~"

Just as Tom was getting ready to take a nap, the haunting question announced the voice's return. The dark haze back to taint his vision. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the chilling sensation of something breathing down at him. He isn't surprised that the voice was so quick to return after manifesting mere minutes ago. Being gone for so long, it's to be expected that it would become sporadic.

Tom slowly sat up, blinking tiredly.

I'm waiting for the right time.

Tom sensed the voice shift agitatedly around him.

"And when will that be? ~" The voice challenged. "You should've ended your existence long ago. I can see through your memories; you had plenty of opportunities to off yourself. And yet you didn't. I wonder why… ~"

It's not as easy as you say it is. Tom argued defensively. I can't just go crazy and kill myself like that. If I get caught in the act, or use a not very effective method to do so I won't have another chance. Tord and his soldiers will do whatever it takes to keep me alive for the sake of their plans.

An uncomfortable stinging sensation rose from his cheeks, and Tom could imagine the voice ripping into the flesh of his face with sharp nails.

"You're hoping that they fix you, aren't you? ~" The voice howled in an animalistic fashion, barking with laughter. Tom did not cower at the harsh noise in his head, but he remained stoically still. "You're such a coward you can't even own up to your own troubles! It's so like you to leave your problems for someone else to solve. Even when they are blatantly not doing it for your sake, but for their own benefit! I don't think you realize just how truly damaged you are. ~" It went on, the nails trailing down Tom's face to pierce his shoulders. Tom flinched with a hiss, wishing he could swat the cruel hands off his person. "It seems I missed a lot more than I thought while I was away. But what an interesting development do I find here? Our former red accomplice is still alive! Guess you can take that one out of your consciousness. Not that it matters much in the great scheme of things; you still killed plenty other innocent people. ~"

Tom bristled at the comment. Commie is far from innocent!

"And you who are you to judge? As far as I'm concerned, your number of confirmed kills is much higher than Tord's. You are dangerous, and that's all there is to it! ~" The voice hissed scornfully. "What makes you so especial you should live above all those you killed? They had hopes, dreams, ambitions- lives worth living. You are absolutely worthless! Nothing more than a burden. It's not fair on them that they should be robbed of their lives in such a brutal manner while you are still living. You are practically mocking them with your continuous existence, you know? ~" Tom's heart sank at the harsh words spoken to him. He sat in silence while listening to the voice's angry rants, not making much of an effort to defend himself; feeling much like a child receiving a scolding.

"But now we got a situation in our hands. Tord intends to use you in order to conquer the world. Unless you want to be responsible for more deaths, I suggest we stop him from achieving his goal. ~"

And what do you want me to do? I can't stop the commie from doing what he wants. Tom reasoned with blatant contempt. If I keep on defying him and refuse to collaborate, he'll turn his eye back on Edd and Matt! I can't let that happen either!

There was a moment of silence that followed, so quiet even his heartbeat became inaudible, and stretched on for a while. Breaking the wary silence, the voice murmured. "You know what you have to do. ~"

Slumping back with a sigh, Tom did not respond. He didn't need to. He knows what the voice is talking about. How couldn't he? For countless months, it's the only thing running in his mind! And yet, the idea filled him up with dread whenever it popped into his head. His throat clogged, and the lump bobbed uncomfortably as he tried to swallow it down. His mouth felt dry; tongue like sand paper. Tom slowly convinced himself that it's the right thing to do, and a sense of peace would be instilled in him.

That's how it works.

"You have to die. ~"

Tom choked back the tears that rapidly welled up in his eyes. His mind betrayed him yet again, flashing images of happier times in his life against his better judgement. Memories of his friends were the first thoughts he conjured up, and Tom felt the overwhelming sadness that came with it. They already believe I'm dead. Dying for real won't change anything. He told himself, completely dense to the truth of his own feelings. Then his mind flashed to the two soldiers he befriended through the course of his stay. He recalled playing video games, cooking, and laughing with them. Was that all just for show? Did it mean absolutely nothing to them? As painful as it was to admit it, Tom could see the soldiers pull something like that on him. They work for commie for crying out loud! Did he really expect anything good to come from people associated with him?

And to think Tom once believed that out of all of them, Matt was the easiest to fool. Evidently not.

Emotions running rampant, Tom hunched over and curled himself into a tight ball. He hugged his knees to his chest, trying to hide his face and pretend he wasn't sad, or about to cry. The familiar set of feelings he'd gotten so used to, courses right through him again like jab of electricity.

"Fear. Regret. Helplessness. Despair. ~" The voice surrounded Tom with a resonating echo, giving a name and face to each emotion as it fed off of him. "This is what you spread. If Edd and Matt had never befriended you, they would've never felt any of these emotions so strongly. ~" It continued, casting a bleak shadow over him. The voice paused in contemplation. "Perhaps, Tord wouldn't have changed either, and the three of them could've been happy together. But you took that away from them when you decided to stick around. ~"

Tom listened to the voice with anguish, feeling like he just got kicked repeatedly in the gut. He took deep rhythmic breaths to stop himself from having a major breakdown; his head pounding, and his energy draining fast. Tom slowly untangled himself from his position, and fell back on the bed. He could barely muster up enough strength to grab the Dreamcatcher from his bed stand. It was only thanks to his fear of the dreadful nightmares that awaited him otherwise, that granted him sufficient strength to make the extra effort.

Grabbing the device and putting it into place inside his ear, Tom curled up on his side and waited for his energy to deplete entirely. Even the simple act of thinking has become too much of a struggle. His breathing slowed down, body shutting down, and the haze in his eyes turned foggy with tiredness. Tom released a faint sigh, and progressively drifted off.

His eyes closing, the voice had one last comment to make before he fell asleep.

"Wherever you go, you always bring misfortune with you. ~"

(Meanwhile…)

Despite the beautiful, sunny weather and clear skies that had blessed the town, a chilly breeze blew through the trees, rattling the branches and sending a few more dead leaves to whirl through the air. Dusk light filled the sky, and one spot on the horizon was flushed with pink and gold, showing where the sun was setting.

Watching the pretty scenery, Edd let out a soft sigh; shoulders sagging. He sat on a bench by himself a few feet away from a large pond, with a packet of seeds in his lap to which he uses to occasionally feed the ducks that swam around in the area. He'd been sitting in that exact location practically the whole day, doing nothing but lollygagging, just waiting for time to go by. At this point, he feels like he's become one of those crazy bird ladies with how long he's been sitting there; and rubbing his sore backside, Edd is pretty sure is ass just turned square shape.

Edd's shivers increased as hefelt pricking cold sensation sinking through his skin, and he snuggled deeper into his jacket. He rubbed his hands together against the freezing wind, and let out a breath to warm them further. With night fast approaching, the temperature will be dropping considerably. It's going to be a real hassle to sit out in the cold for much longer.

Stretching his limbs, Edd gathered his belongings and slowly rose to his feet. He threw away the last remnants of seeds into the pond, where the ducks happily gobbled it all down. Edd shoved his hands in his pockets with a tired sigh, and then looked around the park. There weren't many people out and about at this hour. A few couples with their kids, and some old folks strolling around, most likely ready to leave the park as well.

Choosing a random direction, Edd started to walk away, head down and hands in his pockets as the grass crunched beneath his shoes. He pulled out his phone to see four missed calls from Matt, and a few text messages, all of which say relatively the same thing: Where are you? When will you be back home? And the most frequent one, are you okay? Edd rolled his eyes and stuffed his phone away. He knew Matt was only trying to help, but sometimes he wished his ginger friend would realize he needed some time alone to clear things up; and being alone wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Ever since Edd was forced to accept the truth about Tom's passing, Matt has been constantly fussing over him. It was grating on his nerves to say the least.

He checked the time, and was somewhat relieved to learn it was only 6 PM. Edd knows he should be heading home straight away; but he isn't quite ready to go back to his apartment yet. He'd been sitting outside in that bench the entire day, trying to avoid his involvement in whatever fate is to be bestowed to Tom's vacant apartment and the rest of his belongings. Edd couldn't bear to witness the end, the true end, of Tom's existence. To stand by and watch whatever traces of Tom were left behind to be wiped away.

He managed to salvage Susan, at the very least. No way would Edd allow Tom's most prized possession to be taken away.

In any case, sooner or later Edd would need to return home. He was bored of sitting outside anyways. He even brought a notepad along with him to draw and pass the time, but Edd had no luck when it came to inspiration. All he could do was mindlessly doodle random things; which oddly enough, resulted in various drawings of pineapples and bowling balls.

Strolling out of the park and heading onto the street, Edd turned right and continued to walk, opting to take the long way home. He knew by now where this path would take him, but he doesn't intend on stopping by Winchester Park this time. Edd had promised he would move on from his grief, and it wouldn't do him good if he kept visiting the grave site every chance he got, so he started to lessen his visits to a minimum.

Edd walked, and kept on walking for a while. The places he walked past all seem like a blurry mess in his vision. Unfocused and unimportant. Edd barely paid his surroundings any mind, keeping his head low and his gaze fixated on the ground in front of him. However, once in a while Edd would break out of his trance-like state whenever he passed by something that stirred fond memories from within him.

A camera for sale that's on display in the window of a shop across the street caught Edd's eye. Instantly he remembered the time when Tom spent all of their savings into purchasing a video camera for them to create a film of their own. The film may not have been all that great in the end, and the camera proved to be more trouble than it's worth, resulting in them returning it; but they had so much fun with the project that it hardly mattered. Edd sighed wistfully. There won't be any more of that now.

As he walked, Edd continued to head down memory lane, both literally and figuratively; unaware that the path he walked was far more familiar then he first realized.

Months may have passed since Tom's passing, but the tightness in Edd's chest hadn't eased. Along with the good, fond memories of the times they spent together on crazy adventures, Edd often recalled the last time he saw Tom. Strong waves of guilt and sorrow would always take hold of him then. Edd couldn't forget how he had failed to save Tom. I feel as if nothing good will ever happen again. He lamented. His heart was so heavy he could barely carry it. Had I known that was the last time I would ever see him, I would've never tried pressuring him into talking. I should've trusted him to confide in us when he was ready.

Deep in thought, Edd had hardly noticed his surroundings have changed as he kept walking through town. Now he realized that he had left the busier side of town behind him and was trekking past a roll of houses in a quaint suburban area with a grass field stretching beyond.

Edd stopped in his tracks at the sight of the familiar neighbourhood. He didn't mean to end up here, but his feet had other plans in mind it seems. Edd's heart started to race. Just a little farther he could glimpse the scorch marks and charred remains of a house that is no longer standing.

Edd contemplated turning back the way he came. It wasn't too late to change his mind and race straight home, make some popcorn, and sit on the couch with Ringo to watch a film or something for the rest of the evening. He avoided coming to this place since the day they left it, and the memory that came from it was still too painful to recall.

However, even with that line of reasoning, his feet were still in motion; albeit at a slow pace. Something was luring him closer to the charred ruins. Morbid curiosity, perhaps?

Edd drew closer to the wreckage. Despite having been a whole year since the robot incident happen, he could pick up traces of the terrible smell of burning lingering in the air. Edd flinched, needing to pause for a moment with his eyes tight shut, as all the memories of that dreadful day came rushing back. He could hear Eduardo's anguished cries as he held onto Jon's body, and almost see Tom's scared face through the smoke as he shot him with a missile.

Forcing himself into motion again, Edd could see that most of the debris from the explosion had been cleared away, probably by the authorities. All that remained were a stretch of earth where the grass had burned away, broken bits and pieces of debris, and a crater where the house used to be.

Even though Tom was buried at Winchester Park, Edd felt closer to him here, the place where they shared so many fun moments together.

Unfortunately, it also carried the terrible reminder of his betrayal; though Edd tried not to think about him right now. Heck, to be completely honest he wasn't even sure if he is even alive. For all Edd knows, he could've perished in the robot crash after Tom shot him down, so Edd really has no idea what became of him. But it's not like he was ever curious enough to find out the answer anyway, even after Matt suggested they should check out the crash site. Edd preferred to keep his fate a mystery.

Edd raised his face to the sky and closed his eyes. It was as though he were drowning; it was hard to breathe. Something that felt as heavy as a stone sat in his chest, where his heart had once been.

I'll still mourn Tom, and I'll never forget him, but my life must go on.

Edd opened his eyes, and looked again at the leftover wreckage of their old home. "Stay safe." He murmured. "Wherever you are now."

As Edd turned away to leave this place, and go back home, a rumbling sound reached his ears. Edd froze, trying to identify the noise and the source of it. It sounded like a low pitched groan. Edd turned around, attempting to pinpoint where it was coming from when a slight movement among the wreckage caught his eye.

"Huh?" Curiosity pricking him, Edd kept his gaze fixated on the spot.

The pieces of debris and charred stone shifted aside, only to reveal a strange man lying among the ruins. Edd gasped in surprise. "What the-?" The question died away on his tongue, and he hurried over to help the stranger. He shuffled and side-stepped through the torn up wood pieces littering the place, watching his step as he reached the man.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Edd inquired worriedly, tugging one the stranger's arms to help him to his feet.

The strange man coughed, and a small cloud of dust and ash manifested around them as the shifting debris settled. "Y-yeah, I'm fine." The man looked up at him. "Thanks for helping."

Adjusting him to his feet, Edd gave him a good look. He didn't look like your average homeless man taking shelter. The stranger is a lithe man, with dishevelled blond hair, a stubble, chiselled jawline, and the greenest shade of eyes Edd's ever seen. The man in question is wearing a long, dark grey overcoat, jeans, grey fingerless gloves, and black shoes.

The stranger yawned, throwing his arms out in a long stretch. "Man, what time is it?" He asks, blinking blearily. His voice is slurred, and laced with what sounds like an Irish accent. He paused, looking at his surroundings. "Wait- Where am I again?"

Edd stared at the man in dismay. "Are you drunk?"

The man turned to face him. "Maybe." He drawled out.

Edd fixed him with a look of suspicion and placed his hands on his waist. "Right. Do you at least remember what happened before blacking out?" He asks, already used to being in this situation. Edd failed to not reminisce helping Tom out of the same predicament, and a pang of hurt stung his chest at the memory.

The stranger shook his head. "Last thing I remember was leaving the bar." He scratched the back of his head. "I thought for sure this was the way back-" He broke off into a coughing fit.

Taking pity on the disorientated and clearly hung-over man, Edd placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Here- I'll help you." He proceeded to sling one of the man's arms around the back of his neck and over his shoulders. He adjusted the man's weight, letting him lean against himself. "Alright, do you remember where you live?"

"I'm staying in a quaint, little hotel. Uh, Harrybrook I think it's called?" He replied sluggishly, his eyebrows furrowed as he wracked his fuzzy brain for details.

"Ah, I know where it is." Edd nudged him forward. "Come on; I'll take you there."

"Thank you."

Together, they left the semi-peaceful neighbourhood behind and made their way back to the busy streets. It was silent between the two of them. Edd threw occasional glances at the man leaning so heavily on him. The familiar action of supporting a half-drunk person with his own body as they walked through the bleak streets had Tom flashing in his mind. Edd recalled fetching his eyeless friend from bars after drinking too much with fondness. He remembered the countless times he had to practically drag Tom home and scold him for his reckless drinking. A sad smile formed on his face at the memory. At the time he'd always been irritated and worried. But now, helping this stranger, as weird as it is, made Edd realize just how much he missed doing this.

"So, you're staying in a hotel uh?" Edd began, unable to stay silent for a moment longer. "I take it you're not from here then?"

The man chuckled. "You got me."

"What are you here for anyway? This town isn't exactly known for its tourism." Edd prompted curiously, a glimmer of humour in his eyes. When was the last time he joked so freely?

"I'm here for business, actually." The stranger replied. "Things are looking up pretty great for my life."

"By getting completely plastered and passing out in a pile of ashes?"

The man paused for a moment, fixing him with a steady gaze. "Are you criticizing my life's choices right now?" His voice was deadpanned, but clearly not offended.

Edd shrugged with a cheeky grin. "Well what else am I meant to say to someone who is supposedly "working"?"

Now it was the stranger's turn to shrug. "Fair enough." He admitted. "But beer is too good to quit. Business or no business."

Edd chuckled, but then his expression turned sombre. "You should really be more careful of how much you drink; especially if you are in a place you are not completely familiarized with." He murmured. "This town is far more than dangerous than it may seem. You never know what can happen to you out here if you aren't in the right state of mind." Tom's death flashed in his head, and Edd had to stop himself from physically flinching.

The stranger scoffed. "Oh c'mon, how bad can this place possibly be? It's not even that big of a city-"

"Just take my word for it." Edd cut him off. He took a deep breath and sighed; exhaustion from the past few days taking a toll on him. "You could be killed when you least expect it."

The stranger eyed him with a mixture of weariness and curiosity. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but one look at Edd told him there wasn't much room for arguing, so he simply settled with: "If you say so." And left it at that. They returned back to silence for a brief while before the stranger laughed unexpectedly. Edd stared at him perplexed. "You know; you went so far to help me, some random drunk stranger, get back to his hotel room and yet we haven't even introduced ourselves!"

Edd realized with a start that the stranger had a point. "Guess you're right." He adjusted the stranger leaning against him. "I'm Edd Gold."

I know. "Fitzroy." The man introduced with a cough. "Reagan Fitzroy."

The sun has long since disappeared from the sky by the time they arrived at the hotel's foyer, and the moon and stars took its place in the pitch black night up above them. Reagan recovered half-way to their destination and insisted on walking the rest of the way; arguing Edd helped him out way too much already. Still, Edd hovered close to him in case he needed assistance again.

They climbed the steps to the main entrance, and the blond man turned to face Edd, breathing out a relieved sigh. "Well, here we are at last." Reagan extended his hand out to shake Edd's. "Thank you so much for the help. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it." He grasped the blond's hand in his own, and was surprised by the firm grip he was met with.

"No, really- I am super grateful for your help." Reagan insisted, his tone of voice deadly serious. "If it hadn't been for you, I might still be buried under all that pile of rubble. Heck, who knows? I might've gotten even more lost, and even mugged!"

Edd shook his head, beginning to feel flustered at Reagan's intense gratitude towards him. "It's fine, just, be more careful in the future okay?" He pulled his hand back and turned away to leave. "See you around!" He threw a little wave.

"Wait, Edd!" Reagan called out, halting Edd in his tracks. The brunet faced him with a raised eyebrow and a quizzical expression. Reagan shuffled in his feet, as if hesitant to continue. "I was wondering . . ." He paused, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"What?" Edd asked.

"Well, I've been thinking about what you said. How wandering around at night can get you killed if you ain't careful." Reagan replied. "I don't know this town all that well, so that got me thinking- Could you possibly be my guide during my stay?"

Edd was so surprised by the blond's unexpected suggestion, he couldn't speak.

Reagan went on. "I admit I've had trouble finding my way around ever since i got here. I won't stay in town for very long, and I could even pay for your troubles. If you could, I'd be eternally grateful for your kindness."

It was strange, but Edd felt an odd connection to this newcomer. Reagan had been found lost and alone in the place where his home once was. The same location that once held so many joyous memories, but now serves as a painful reminder of what was lost in that one, fateful day. His betrayal had put a bigger dent on Edd's relationship with his friends than he cared to admit. Things were shaky between the trio after that day, and Tom's death only worsened the condition. Perhaps, if Edd had been a better friend, both Tom and Tord could still be here with him today.

A sudden compulsion to help pricked every hair on his skin. Somehow, Edd thought, it would be like second chance at helping Tom, and this time, he could succeed.

"Alright, I'll do it." Edd said decisively, giving a curt nod.

Reagan perked up with a bright smile. "You will?" When Edd confirmed with another nod, his eyes blazed with glee. "Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You won't regret this, I promise! I will make this worth your while!"

Watching the ecstatic Irishman practically jump up and down in front of him, Edd had to stifle back the laugh of amusement that bubbled inside of him. Afterwards, they handed each other's contacts and went along their separate ways.

As Edd walked down the street and made his way back to his apartment, he reflected on the events that just took place. He felt good about his decision of helping Reagan. He felt better than he had in a long time. The short time he spent aiding Reagan made Edd realize just how reclusive he has become as of late. He doesn't remember the last time he genuinely laughed, or felt happy with anything. Sometimes he would smile or chuckle, but it has always been rather forced in an attempt to fool Matt into thinking he was fine. But what he felt back there was real.

Hanging out with someone other than Matt for a change might lead him toward the path of recovery. Edd felt a prickle of doubt and guilt nag at him at the idea. Matt is a good friend, and he is doing his best to console and support him; however, Edd can't deny that the ginger wasn't the best at subtlety. Matt tries to pretend things are alright when they really aren't, and when he senses Edd's overall mood, he tends to become overly "mother hen-ish". Most days Edd can handle, but other times, when he didn't feel particularly well with life, that kind of behaviour got under his skin.

Nearing his home, Edd braced himself for the earful he will undoubtedly hear from Matt; wondering where he'd been all this time, why he hadn't answered his text messages, and will probably try to lecture him in some way. But for once, Edd threw any worries he had out the window. His encounter with Reagan was invigorating in a way, and he wasn't about to let Matt dampen his mood. He shouldn't feel guilty about this! He is finally moving on!

After bidding goodbye to one another, Reagan remained on the steps of the foyer and watched Edd's retreating form fade in the distance. The friendly smile on his face slowly shifted into a sly grin. "So gullible." He chuckles under his breath.

It greatly amuses Reagan to no end how people can be so easily fooled by a pitiful individual in need; even if they are a complete stranger. No one would suspect a lost, semi-drunk outsider of having any ulterior motives. Admittedly, Reagan hadn't intended to make contact with his target this soon. It was by complete coincidence that he passed out in that wreckage after a night out drinking, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Reagan would take the opportunity presented and make the most of it.

Second step of the mission is completed- First interaction has been made. Reagan thought with satisfaction, taking out a notepad from his pocket and making a tick on it. Now it's time for the third step- Fully integrate myself into target's life.

[unholyhelbiglinked]

The Attic | Oneshot [1/4]

CHECK OUT THE FULL ONESHOT HERE

The flashlight was weighted against her grasp, a heavy mix of metal and plastic with a slowly flickering bulb that would buzz to anything but the naked ear. It cast an odd circular glow, one that was a golden sliver of daylight in the musty old attic.

Chloe hated the attic; a small space that could mostly be avoided, but in today's heat, it seemed blunt and unwavering- it’s scent like mold and sweat. Maybe she had been up there too long, the slowly climbing temperature doing nothing for her standards, or maybe she was just dehydrated. But her focus didn’t deviate from the flashlight in her grasp.

She let out a shaky sigh, condensation slowly pooling against her chest and curved collarbone. Chloe was a lanky girl- the first to sprout a few inches in her eighth-grade class, but the last to realize that height didn’t really change the fact that she had bright red hair that would always deem her the title of an evil demon. She had grown into her feet and her stature, earning looks from the very people that doubted her in high school.

Now the pediatrician was beyond sure of herself and her abilities as a Ph.D. None of that old stuff seemed to matter- not the yearbooks, the teasing, the horrid fluffy dresses she wore to prom… or at least it didn’t matter until she had crawled her way back into the dusty clutches of this place.

There was supposed to be an estate sale later- one that finally cleared out her mother’s old Victorian house for good. This place was supposed to stay in the family- to garner hope for future generations of Beales. The job offer in New York was calling the young doctors name, however, one the made it near impossible to keep this place in her name.

“Are you admiring the view up there?” Her girlfriend's voice echoed from the small hallway that gave the only access to the upper part of the house. There was nothing much to see, nothing other than some bare wooden walls and a bunch of pink siding that was unusually tempting to the young woman.

A simple smile moved across Chloe’s lips as she flipped the flashlight off, pressing a small rubber button that got rid of one of her only lights sources. It plunged her into a warm darkness. She blinked a few times, shoving the flashlight into the edge of her belt loop as she breathed in the musty air.

“I’m coming down now,” She announced, testing out the top rung of the wooden ladder, listing to the aged surface creak and groan as she hung onto a piece of paneling for dear life- nails splintering wood. She heard Beca shifting against the wooden floor below her, biting the inside of her lip as the smaller girl stared at her. She stepped down a few more rungs before meeting stormy blue eyes at level, her hand still grasping one of the edges. “Who’s admiring the view now?”

Beca threw her head back and groaned, scratching slightly at her dirtied cheek as she stared at the inky black opening that was left above them. “It’s your fault for wearing yoga pants, Chloe. Not mine.”

“God, you’re like a dog in heat.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” She kicked sheepishly at the floor, the taller girl shook her head slightly as she listened to the springs creak and groan once she lifted the ladder into the very secret hiding place on the latch. She cringed as the rope that hung from the ceiling burned against her palms.

“I would like to call it unfair.” Beca continued, snaking her arms around Chloe’s waist as the girl let out a small yelp- both parties ignoring the balky flashlight that hung lazily against a belt loop. “I have been moving furniture all day.”

“So, you must be tired then,” Chloe pointed out to her, adjusting her arm around the woman’s shoulders. They were aching, her own exhaustion creeping in. “Baby, even if I were comfortable having sex in my childhood home, Aubrey is going to be here any minute with the papers.”

“She can watch.”

“Beca.”  

“Fine.”

It wasn’t a normal conversation the two would share- but Beca had been on edge lately. Her own career plowing forward in the Big Apple as well, the small DJ traveling home every other weekend for the past six months in order to get some face to face time with Chloe. It had been scarce and getting on a plane just to clean up an old house wasn’t on her to-do-list, especially if Aubrey Posen was involved.  

As if on cue the swift three toned knock on the mahogany door. It echoed against the nearly empty corridors, traveling up the staircase as Chloe didn’t waste any time pulling away from her girlfriend. Her very defeated girlfriend who let out a soft groan and willed her legs to follow Chloe down the carpeted steps.

Even Beca had to admit, the house was beautiful; it was large and whimsical, something that was made out of a children’s book or maybe even a vintage dollhouse. Even the front door had a red and orange stained glass window that outlined the blurred silhouette of Aubrey’s straight-laced persona. She stopped halfway down the staircase, leaning against the banister while Chloe pulled open the creaking hinges to get a good look at the lawyer.

The blonde beamed, her deep olive eyes flicking momentarily towards Beca before focusing on her friend instead. She didn’t mind the dirt covered girl as she wrapped her in a tight hug, Chloe never one to turn down an embrace, closing her eyes as she breathed in the lemon scent Aubrey always seemed to carry.

“uh,” Aubrey pulled away, wrinkling her nose “You stink.”

“You’re telling me.” Beca mumbled scratching her neck as she put on a fake smile “Hi, Aubrey.”

“You try getting a whole house ready for an estate sale and then we’ll talk Posen.” She chided jokingly, turning around to face Beca with an accusatory finger point. “You hush,”

“Hi, Beca.” Aubrey chuckled slightly, closing the door behind her with a soft thud. “Someone is grumpy today.”

“I am grumpy every day.” She drew out her syllables with every passing second, letting out a huff as she flopped down onto the step directly under her- it pressed against the middle of her back but she stifled a wince- instead playing with the hem of her shirt.

Chloe rolled her eyes and turned back to her friend, stare flashing close to the documents that the woman held in her hands. “Are those them?”

“Mm,” She hummed, waving the packet around slightly “The biggest part of this is your on-site. You can keep all of the money you get from this, but anything that’s left behind has to be donated to HFH. But we can always wait a few days and change up the contract-“

“No, that’s fine.” Beca said from her curled up ball on the steps, earning an accusatory look from Chloe, causing the restless girl to backtrack “I mean, it’s charity, right? Habitat for Humanity?”

Aubrey nodded pensively as she ran her fingers over the edge of the paperwork. Beca swears this type of legal work was a turn on for the young lawyer. Well, any type of legal work was a turn on for her. She would get off on the different type of highlighters she needed to use and the scent of freshly changed toner.

“She’s right, Chlo, eager, but right.” She shrugged “This would be your easiest route, it’s how most estate sales go in the first place. What doesn’t sell get’s donated, but with the type of stuff your mother kept around I’m sure you’ll have no trouble clearing it up.”

“It’s fine,” Chloe confirmed with a nod of the head. “I just don’t know how all this stuff works. The cleaning I can do… the legal-“

“Is why you have me,” Aubrey finished her sentence, boasting a smile that could blind the gods. “I just need you to sign a few things and you’ll be all ready to open the doors tomorrow.”

Chloe wrapped her fingers around the fabric of her shirt, white knuckling the bunch of threads as her hand rested on her chest- it was rising and falling with upmost rhythm. She was staring at the ceiling in what used to be her parent's room- the only four post bed that was still in this place. Others were around, but they were covered in white sheets, white sheets that had dust coating every inch of the place.

This place had been her home. For the longest time, it was where she would curl up after a rough nightmare, or a horrible date. She would cuddle into her mother’s side while she stroked her hair and whispered things in her ear to calm her heart rate.

Now it was cold and desolate. Nothing was in the room except for the queen-sized mattress and an old television that only got three stations. It was sitting on the floor now- turned off because there was no point in flicking it on. A floor length mirror was propped on the parallel edge of the bed, Chloe wanting to cover that too.

Chloe didn’t bother crawling under the blankets. It was too hot in the room, the flashlight heavy in her other hand as she balanced the cool metal weight in her grasp. She ran her fingers along the beaded edge, pressing her fingers into the indentations.

“What are you thinking about?” The muffled voice from the bathroom doorway caught Chloe’s attention. Beca was leaning heavily against it, a toothbrush shoved into her cheek as she struggled not to let the frothy mint spill over her lips.

“Who said I was thinking at all?” She pondered, lifting her eyebrows as she settled In the plush bedding and flicked her stare back up the ceiling.

“Well, you only get that look when you’re thinking,” Beca said, her voice echoing as she walked back into the bathroom, spitting the contents that filled her mouth into the sink with a small grunt. “Or when you’re climaxing, which I certainly hope you’re not doing without me.”

“Beca,” Chloe groaned as her small girlfriend walked back into the room. She nearly dodged a pillow being chucked at her head, instead, she clenched onto the fabric. She let out a small grunt as she flopped down onto the bed next to the taller girl.

“I’m sorry, I know.” She grumbled, running her fingers over the sheets. Her stare moved back up the Chloe’s as she propped herself up on her elbows. “You uh, you’ve had this kind of sick look on your face since this morning… I thought it was the heat, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

Chloe let out a thick sigh, not pulling her eyes from the ceiling.

“I’m usually the one to shut myself out, you know?” Beca said, adjusting her position to face the ceiling as well. She let her hand fall close to Chloe’s fingers playing absently with her girlfriends. “I’m used to talking about feelings and-“

“I grew up here.” Was all Chloe said, voice cutting through the room, “It’s not like I didn’t do everything to get out of this place once I had enough money to go off to college I did. And I didn’t look back- not on this house, this town, or my mother… but now that I’m here…”

She trailed off, drawing in a sharp breath. Beca didn’t need her to continue to come to the sudden realization that this was painful for Chloe. She was never good at reading social cues, so she pushed herself into her work and followed every order that Chloe barked out until her arms begged for mercy.

Beca warped her arm around Chloe’s waist, pulling her head onto the girl’s chest. The redhead let out a content sigh as she pulled her girl closer to her side, breathing in the scent of mint and ginger that Beca carried.

“Tell me about her,” Beca said, breath hot on Chloe’s skin.

“Hmm?”

“Your mom, tell me about her.” the smaller girl whispered. “If uh… if you want.”

Chloe didn’t say anything for a few long moments. She drew little patterns on the small of Beca’s back, her heartbeat and breath almost lulled the girl into a light sleep. She didn’t want to push Chloe, not now. When she felt a sharp intake of air, she knew she was ready to talk.

“We never really had much money, so she worked two jobs.” She spoke, voice a low murmur. “Most of the time she was a librarian, it didn’t pay much but she loved it. She loved the smell of the books, and the way people would just share a newfound form of peace whenever they walked through the doors. Other than that, she worked at a grocery store. Never really had a day off.

“She took care of me and Annie though, she did… and she kept this house too. For as long as I can remember she always wanted me to keep this place. It was part of the family history, I guess. My grandparents had it under their name before hers, and their parents before them. It’s always been the Beale’s place.”

“Chlo,” Beca started to protest. She didn’t want to push them into this argument again. Even before Beca flew in she had suggested Chloe keep this place. She was so fast to dismiss her, so fast to say that this was holding her back in Georgia. At the soft look she received, she dropped it, though.  

“I don’t feel guilty about selling it,” She said, voice a low grumble “I feel uneasy. But I don’t feel guilty.”      

[lendingamachete]

My sister bought herself a trailer and moved a bunch of her stuff into it. My dad said “she’s not here, take back your bed” so I did. This mattress was bought FOR ME 4 years ago (because the old mattress was disgusting and old and covered in dog poo/pee). I haven’t even gotten to sleep on it a full year myself. My sister moved back home while I was away and took it. She’s a firefighter so she’s gone half the year so she bought herself a trailer to stay in while she’s working.

My dad encouraged me to take back this bed because I have been sleeping on a roll away bed every night for the past 2+ years (That’s not good for sleeping and it’s not good for my back). And she’s only here 1 MAYBE 2 nights a week- if at all.

I cleaned this mattress. My sister drools in her sleep and she lets her dogs run around in the creek and roll in goose poop and sleep in the bed with her. The mattress looked disgusting and smelled like wet dog and it’s a pillow top so I couldn’t just flip it over. So I spent 2 days cleaning and deodorizing it.

Then I took all of her stuff and put it away in a way that no liquids would spill and no important things would get lost. I put any money I found into the little cup where she had other money. I put her perfumes away standing up. I put all of her papers and little odds and ends in a shoe box and I fixed a drawer and put her little jewelry boxes in it so nothing would get knocked over or lost.

She walked in and IMMEDIATELY blew up at me about how inconsiderate I am and how she “was going to clean the bed” and “Give” it to me this weekend. Then she accused me of “losing” her “really important” and “really expensive” things before I even got a chance to say anything about where I put everything. I did not throw away a single thing. I put everything into a shoe box or a drawer. Then I told her I put her jewelry boxes in a drawer and she said “they’ve been peed on now” because she says the cats open the drawers and pee on stuff.. the cats cannot open those drawers.. plus, how can they ALREADY be peed on if I just put them in the drawers today?

Then she got mad because I didn’t roll out a red carpet and make a bed for her.. I didn’t know she was coming home tonight until AFTER I had folded the bed up. Then she got mad that I had left the plastic on that bed for the last two years to prevent it from being peed on, which she said “this is probably covered in cat pee!” (I can assure everyone, no cat has ever peed on that bed, and IF they had, it had the plastic on it to PROTECT IT from that very thing..) So she angrily ripped the plastic off the mattress and threw it at me. Then she walked over and tried to throw my iPad across the room. I’ve never once tried to break anything of hers out of anger (or otherwise) but her GO TO is to throw things at me, or throw things that are mine away from me/try to break them. She also appears to have attempted to accuse me of stealing her pillows.. there has been only 1 pillow on this bed since she left which I put on her pile of clothing next to this bed. She insisted there were more pillows.. the only other pillow was the one she left on the ground that she had deemed “the dog’s pillow.” Then in her last angry act of revenge she said “I’m taking my lamp” and she turned it off and got into bed... I have a lamp too. I only left her lamp because it was already plugged in...

So basically. I’m the worst most foul person to ever walk the earth now.

When I wasn’t here she moved EVERYTHING I own and put most of my stuff in storage or threw it away entirely without consulting me and I’m still missing expensive items she moved/threw out.. I didn’t take anything of hers out of this room. All of her stuff is still in here. She’s lucky that bed was still in a space that was accessible. Our dad was encouraging me to move it out of the room entirely.. She’s 34 and having a temper tantrum and accusing me of things when she doesn’t even know/have proof if they’re true yet.

But with THAT reaction I know she’s going to SAY something is missing even if it’s something that was missing BEFORE I moved anything. She drops things where she’s standing and blames anyone but herself. She just drops things on the ground and gets mad if anything happens even tho she’s unwilling to clean anything up.

So long story short my sister is super hypocritical and I tried to do things in the most respectful way possible and I’m still the worst human to ever walk the earth when she hasn’t even looked at anything, just exploded and tried to throw things at me.

Boy do I love sharing a room with her.. she has a trailer, why does she HAVE to come home??

[wordsbetweenthelines]

hey there self

today was thursday

it wasn’t supposed to rain. it rained. you got thoroughly wet trying to walk keita without a brolly

but you started wizards unite!!

and you baked cookies. they are very flat and sad. your theories are that either the butter was too soft, the baking soda was stale, or they needed more flour than the recipe called for, or some combination thereof. still, they’re cookies and they’re yummy, and you have already begun sharing them around

and erin passed, which is sad. you and ma talked to rosy’s mom for awhile, not just about cat stuff, but also about elder care and house stuff and such. and she gave you another bundt pan, and you gave her cookies

and then you had a clumsy ass evening. dropped the laptop, spilled grapes in the couch, missed the nightstand and spilled water on the floor, broke the sucky tube of the carpet cleaner. 

but also you shredded a bunch of toilet paper rolls for the worms, and peeves thought that was terrific fun

tomorrow

mom leaves

wake up

clothes

teeth

breakfasts all around

walk

bins in

laundry

dinners all around

[manuelclapid]

April 28, 2019 AsktheBuilder Newsletter

If you're a brand new subscriber, I need you to realize this issue of the newsletter is extraordinarily special.

I've NEVER produced an issue like you're about to read.

So hang in there and don't unsubscribe. You'll see a normal issue next week.

The Story of Stain Solver

First and foremost Stain Solver is a certified organic multi-purpose cleaner made here in the USA with USA ingredients. If you can wash the item with water, Stain Solver can be used to clean it.

A special promo code and sale has been set up just for you for this newsletter issue. You'll discover it below.

My wife Kathy and I own Stain Solver. Ellen and Roger are two long-time team members who have been with us through thick and thin. Oh, the stories Ellen and Roger can tell you about how we used to mix, package and carry Stain Solver up from our basement!

"Tim, what's in this for ME? Why should I care about your Stain Solver anyway?"

Oh, that's a great question and I'm about to answer it. Don't bail on this newsletter. I GUARANTEE you'll be able to get something of yours clean that no dry cleaner or other product has been able to do.

It's important to realize if you've never used Stain Solver before, you've never experienced a truly remarkable cleaner that exceeds all the claims we, and happy customers, make about it.

The Column

Stain Solver was born out of research I was doing for a deck cleaning column back in 1994 I believe. It was a long time ago.

I was interviewing an innovative small deck sealer company based in the Midwest. I asked the owner, "I imagine you recommend a 50/50 mix of chlorine bleach and water to clean the deck before using your product."

That was, and to this day, the common advice given to clean decks. Yes, TOXIC chlorine bleach is still promoted by many to clean wood decks! It's a very bad idea to use it.

Many deck-cleaning products sold today at the big box stores you shop at are just chlorine bleach. If it says sodium hypochlorite on the label, it's NASTY chlorine bleach!

The owner of the sealer company replied, "Oh no, never use chlorine bleach. It removes the natural color from wood, it KILLS all the vegetation around the deck, and it's very corrosive to all the metal fasteners that hold the deck together. Chlorine bleach also destroys the lignin that holds the wood together. You want to use OXYGEN BLEACH."

I had never heard of oxygen bleach! The deck sealer company owner said, "Here, call Jef Morgan, the chemist and head of marketing for the chemical company that distributes the BEST oxygen bleach in the USA. He'll tell you all about it."

I called Jef. We had dinner the next week and he told me all about oxygen bleach and how it worked on wood. As we were about to order dessert, I asked, "So Jef, does oxygen bleach work to clean ANYTHING ELSE?"

The floodgates opened. We spent another ninety minutes at Montgomery Inn as Jef went down the list of ALL THE THINGS you can clean with oxygen bleach.

The Sack

Jef wanted me to try it out. He sent me a 100-pound sack of the pure oxygen bleach. "Tim, go ahead and start experimenting with it. Share a bunch with your friends and neighbors. Give them this small booklet to help them understand how to use it. See what kind of feedback you get."

The booklet had a page devoted to each common thing you might try to clean. The instructions were pretty much always the same: Mix 4 tablespoons of the oxygen bleach powder with a quart of warm water and stir until dissolved.

You'd then apply this solution to a dirty object or soak a soiled garment in the solution. The point was to just get the item WET with the bubbling solution and let the oxygen bubbles start to clean.

After the solution would work on its own, you'd then scrub or agitate the item as you might in a washing machine and magic would happen after you rinse away all the grime, dirt and stains!

The Feedback

Kathy and I did what Jef recommended. We shared at least sixty pounds with my friends and neighbors.

Within a week, many were calling us back saying, "Holy crap! Where did you get this stuff? It's AMAZING!"

How amazing you ask? Here's my all-time FAVORITE before and after photo sent in by a customer. These have NOT been photoshopped:

CLICK or TAP HERE to read Georgia's unbelievable story about her son Curtis' baseball cap.

Our friends and neighbors would share a story of something that was ruined, or they thought was ruined, and how the magic powder had restored it.

A bank teller I saw each week while making deposits used it to clean up the rear seat in her brand new car. She had brought a tupperware container of beets to work and it leaked on the seat.

Beet stains are TOUGH to remove! They're like red wine. (Did I mention that Stain Solver gets out red wine stains?)

"Tim, I mixed up some like it said in the booklet and the beet juice stain DISAPPEARED in just a few minutes! Can you sell me some extra? I want to try it on a bunch of stained blouses of mine."

I just gave her some for free. She later told me Stain Solver restored ALL of her stained blouses that dry cleaners had been UNABLE to clean!

More and more stories came in from my friends and neighbors. I was STUNNED at all the things they were cleaning.

The Library

At that point, Kathy and I decided to start to sell this magic cleaner.

But we needed a name. This was 1995 and I knew it was a great stain remover so I went to the main public library in downtown Cincinnati with a friend, Nick Motz.

At that time, that library was a branch depository - or some other designation - of the US Patent and Trademark Office. They had these giant books of registered trademarks.

Kathy and I had come up with several names and I started to see which ones had already been trademarked.

Stain Solver withstood that challenge, we applied for the trademark and got it.

Shopping Carts

You may feel really comfortable buying things online now. But back in 1995, it was the Wild West. E-commerce was brand new. Shopping carts on websites were basic.

Many people were TERRIFIED to enter their credit card information on a website. Convincing them to buy online was not easy.

But we did it and still do it to this day. CLICK or TAP HERE to see our current shopping cart.

What Does Stain Solver Clean?

You already know it cleans wood decks - and all composite decking material too.

Stain Solver also cleans:

patios

vinyl or wood siding

driveways

deck furniture

boat hull scum and mildewed cushions

patio table umbrellas

hammocks

deck furniture cushions

kayaks

canoes

oil stains on concrete

the list is ENDLESS - if you can wash something with water, you can almost always clean it with Stain Solver

Here's a SHORT LIST of things Stain Solver can clean INSIDE your home:

pet stains and pet ODORS

ceramic tile floor and wall grout - Watch this video

carpet stains - look at these photos a professional sent to me

tough stains in clothes and furniture

baked-on grease on oven racks

heirloom quilts and fine fabrics - LOOK at these photos!

coffee and tea mug stains

I could go on and on and on and on.

There are HUNDREDS of things in your home you can clean with Stain Solver.

Once again, if you have a TOUGH STAIN on something and have tried other cleaners that delivered disappointing results, Stain Solver very likely will restore it.

CLICK or TAP HERE to watch my favorite cleaning videos.

CLICK or TAP HERE for the full Stain Solver Use Instructions.

Are You Still Skeptical?

Are you a subscriber who's been with me for years? You've seen all the past Stain Solver mentions and sales and ignored me, right?

You've never bought Stain Solver because you feel I'm making insane claims or it's too good to be true, right?

Tens of thousands of customers have trusted Kathy and I and are now REPEAT CUSTOMERS.

A very good customer in California buys Stain Solver in 50-pound buckets. Due to a serious and complex illness, she can't be around any toxic cleaners. Stain Solver is just about the ONLY THING she can use that doesn't bother her or make her sick. She is a big fan of Stain Solver and I'm a big fan of her!

Here's a proposition for you. Go ahead and buy some now. Use the following promo code below.

Ellen or I will personally answer any questions you have about how to use it. I will GLADLY call you on the phone and answer any questions you have if you are on the fence about buying.

If Stain Solver was a crap product, do you think in this day and age with social media we'd be able to survive? Bad products are beat to death with complaints and bad reviews.

This is why Stain Solver has SURVIVED. It's a fantastic product that really works so long as you follow our use instructions.

Schools, Motels & Office Buildings

Here's where Kathy and I need your help.

Do you work in a school, motel, an office building, an auto repair business, a daycare center, a restaurant, etc.?

We've sold Stain Solver to the above businesses for YEARS and want to grow the B2B business.

A school in California buys SEVEN 50-pound buckets at a time from us to clean their school floors. CLICK or TAP HERE to see the order form.

A giant company in Cincinnati uses it in their tall office towers to clean up coffee spills in cubicles each night. They also use it on their bathroom tile floors.

A motel in West Virginia uses it to clean oil-stained carpeting in rooms from contract workers who work in the field on oil rigs.

Restaurants buy Stain Solver to deep clean greasy kitchen floors and to deep clean all the cutlery overnight so it's like brand new for the customers the next day.

I could go on and on and on about all the businesses that buy Stain Solver.

Can you help get the word out? Can your business try it?

Do you have QUESTIONS about how to use it at your business?

The Promo Code

Okay, go ahead and try some Stain Solver now.

CLICK or TAP HERE to order Stain Solver.

Here's a promo code for 10% off and FREE SHIPPING to the lower 48 states here in the USA.

19SPRING

The promo code works on any purchase GREATER than $25.00.

This sale will last just ONE WEEK. Don't worry, I'll remind you in a few days.

If you've not used Stain Solver before, I GUARANTEE you'll be blown away. I WILL CALL YOU if need be to help you get the best results. Ellen or I will answer your questions.

Call this number M-F between 9 and 2 pm ET to get in touch with Ellen: 513-407-8727

That's quite enough for a Sunday morning.

Do you have questions about Stain Solver?

Reply to this email and I'll do my best to get back to you right away.

Tim Carter Founder - www.AsktheBuilder.com Co-Founder - www.StainSolver.com

Do It Right, Not Over!

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