#and i sure recall them to varying degrees....like sure i stared at the cover for that one book but did i ever actually read it? it's a Maybe

[unproduciblesmackdown]

fr brian is so funny for his whole deal being like remarkable nervousness & that he ends up dragged along with the two jokes pranks horror drama menaces that are brooke & zeke who are ricocheting around while brian is head in hands bringing the “pleeease let this be a normal field trip.” and of course shoutout to how every character has their own unbroken chaos going on, brooke & zeke especially, not only their Both pulling antics & liking to joke around & indulge in horror but like, that they do also have this constant siblingesque tendency in their dynamic to like on a dime go into [throwing a notebook at the other’s head flipping them off kicking biting] teasing to exasperated mode for a whole ten seconds before then both immediately being back on task, regular mode, like And Anyways. & brian naturally does not jump right into this sort of rapport, but shoutout to his like natural beleagueredness allowing him to still occupy a niche here & be outright going Oh No with brooke about zeke Getting A Zeke Idea. everyone’s trading off in being the most elevated person in any given moment is fun, this is just How It Is, and i really enjoy again how scenes operate where like, again, everyone has their own thread of chaos consistently winding (or unraveling. whichever you want) and the way the writing jumps between these simultaneous & overlapping goings on and the characters naturally do as well is lively & humorous. i also love this scene where brooke & zeke are both ruminating hard but somewhat separately despite having an exchange, while brian enters just fully preoccupied with the trial of having paint on himself & his just openly inserting himself into this exchange by being like do you think it’s permanent :( and that despite zeke likewise being so preoccupied as to miss an entire remark of brooke’s or else simply fail to give any response indicating otherwise, he happens to immediately reply to brian’s paint tragedy on its terms. that tina then comes by and has half her understudy buddy moment (she also actually calls brooke in another scene) with some pointed critical remarks towards brooke, only for brian to Also just totally in stride ask her about the paint, to which she also gives a seemingly earnest & matter of fact response about it lmao. and brian just being so absolutely beset by things like getting paint on himself, and the way the books are written with the vivacious characters & inherent comedic type framework alongside the horror and the humorous voice of the actual author coming through in addition to the pov narration involving bonus funny asides about everything all really gets me, and brian being a ghost also and knowing it and being so down to earth like, this play sabotage mystery is also entirely relevant to him, all the more so as the person who exists for this role very literally, and he’s just totally consumed by being bothered by getting paint on himself and worrying about it. it keeps Especially making me laugh like getting a bit teared up about it, but i think the entire book is Like That in both the very dry inherent humor and how these tiny moments of idiosyncratic flair that Could be stripped out are not, and there’s all these little momentary two line aside exchanges or internal remarks that add some damn texture and give everyone both more Character and Presence and sort of unfiltered “i’m like eleven”ness than if everyone was always sitting quietly while the Important part of a scene unfolds uninterrupted, but instead everyone can both be very absorbed with different things while also being able to spontaneously bounce off of someone else’s preoccupation for a moment. and things are just fun and funny. and i suspect that say, having been a theatre & horror appreciating oft intensely preoccupied but also bound to spontaneously ricochet off of goings on kid, i enjoy everyone bringing that energy here lmao. but i also enjoyed goosebumps books as a kid & i had a whole kick out of reading this one now, in a straightforward way even though i hardly could have the straightforward [i’m reading this as an elementary schooler] style of experience. you go r.l. stine. i could not give a single direct quote from the “the ghost next door” book but i’m already humored by the entire back and forth that is the narrator again befriending this new guy but she suspects something’s up with him such as that he might be the ghost next door, while he keeps being all the more suspicious in turn when she’s most suspicious, just this back and forth of it. and it’s again all the funnier that in fact the narrator is the ghost, unknowingly this time. and there’s also like this shadow self who keeps lurking ominously & perhaps tries to kill the friend to take his place in the living world or something and i remember that in fact coming across as ominous and intense when eleven. but it’s also intense anyways b/c our narrator unknownst to herself and thus us did in fact die partway through. like, brian only tried to take someone’s place in a living world theatrical production, at least, however he has to keep falling to his doom, sorry man. he’s fine though i guess. and in the meantime he was like oh my godddd paint on my clothes oh my god why do i let you two drag me into scary situations i don’t like horror we’re gonna get in trouble stop talking about ghosts aaaagh. and then he gamely goes along anyways despite needing to complain, thank you hero. bolstering everyone else’s nerves b/c they’re trying to cheer you up

[bramblie]

Amai x Shoku fanfic

I translated a part of my fanfic for you poor non-Russian speaking shippers to read.

Rated T for a k*ss, 100% Fluff

BIG GIANT THANKS TO @sakis-sweets​​ FOR EDITING

Recently, his soft voice had begun to sound deeper in her head. The way he leaned over to her to ask for advice, his habit of smoothing out that one lock of hair that never laid flat when he's deep in thought, his dimples, created by a natural smile - all of it seemed somewhat brighter, like they were important moments.

Every now and then Amai recalled the feeling of his coarse and thick hair between her fingers from that time she pretended there was a crumb stuck in it. Perhaps, this urge to touch Shoku was born from the devastation of losing Yamada-senpai.

Aishi-san gracefully pushed the right buttons, convincing Amai that "giving" Yamada-senpai to her was a fair price for her help. "Giving"... it hurt Amai's ears to think of him as an object like that. After that, Aishi-san had stopped greeting her, let alone talking to her or asking to spend time together. Amai didn't realise her good will had been taken advantage of until it was too late. Yamada-senpai looked happy with her, and he didn’t evoke any flutter in Amai's chest anymore. Tsuburaya-senpai, on the other hand…

Even pronouncing his last name in her mind was kind of embarrassing. After his name, his facial features came to mind, as well as his thin, long palms and quiet giggles...

"What’s on your mind, Odayaka-san?"

"Oh! Oh, nothing. More precisely, this problem.”

It was hard to focus on numbers when a handsome guy was baking amazing dishes a few meters away. Other members of the Cooking Club had already gone to share their food. Shoku achieved excellent results, but cooked slowly and had a habit of leaving varying degrees of mess. Amai had decided not to cook today and study for an upcoming algebra test instead. Club members periodically came to her for advice - inequalities were hard to grasp - and she couldn’t help but constantly raise her eyes to Shoku. In short, not the best conditions for studying. Shoku washed his hands, leaving bowls and measuring cups on the table. Amai would have immediately reminded him of it if he hadn’t sat next to her. Was she delirious or was he actually emanating with warmth? He looked in a problem book and slightly nodded to himself. What a beautiful profile...

"Hm, I think I remember this. Look..."

He took out a pencil and began to solve the problem, explaining the method along the way. Amai tried not to look in his eyes and focus on what was being written but she kept noticing his glances at her with her peripheral vision. Did that mean something? No, it seemed like Shoku was just estimating if she understood the solution or not. He put the pencil back.

"You’re so smart, senpai!"

"Haha, don’t mention it. Try it yourself now."

Amai read the next problem. It seemed completely different. She took a pencil in bewilderment, hoping for comprehension to strike as she began to write. It didn’t strike. She shot a glance at Shoku and he made eye contact with her. And then he let out a small laugh. The pencil reappeared in his fingers and he started explaining that the formula would be the same, but instead of integer values, there were fractions. After three indents «х ≥ а-b/3» was written. Shoku giggled once more when Amai stared at the notebook and shook her head.

"Maybe you should take a break? The cupcakes are almost done; I can make tea for them."

Amai needed to distract herself from all of these «x≥» and «a±b», so she volunteered to make tea herself. Amai recalled that Shoku liked black tea with ginger and two tablespoons of sugar. She put a spoonful of honey and a slice of lemon in her own mug. Shoku’s cupcakes seemed to be made with orange peels, so the combination would be excellent. Amai looked at Shoku and realized he was looking at her, resting his chin on his hand. Maybe not even looking, more like observing… She brought mugs, looking down at them as if she was afraid of being caught in eye contact again.

"Thank you, Odayaka-san."

"The pleasure is mine, senpai. Judging by the timer, the cupcakes would be ready in five minutes."

"Wonderful, just in time for the tea to cool down."

Shoku brought the mug under his nose to check the aroma and lightly nodded. He knew that Amai knew his favourite kind of tea, so what was the point of being surprised and thanking her each time? She felt his gaze on her face again. Damn it, why did it take only one glance for him to make her head spin and her chest burn, but it seemed she couldn’t make him blush even if she would grab his collar, draw him to herself and- Oh, what the hell!

"Odayaka-san, how’re you doing lately?"

"U-Um, everything is fine. Except for upcoming exams, of course."

"Is it fine in the bakery too?"

"Of course! Business goes smoothly."

"What about your private life?"

"U-Um, mhm, uh, w-what? W-What do you mean?"

Shoku ran his finger along the rim of the mug and took it away as it started to burn.

"Lately you seem... how should I say it… melancholic."

"Oh."

"You were in a similar state a couple of months ago when you fell in love with my classmate. You couldn’t focus and lowered your head just like that. So, I’ve come to the conclusion that you… Ahem, yeah."

Amai hadn’t been aware of that at all. Yamada-senpai had haunted her thoughts as well, but did he cause such inner trembling like Shoku? Are the excitements in her heart that noticeable?

"I don’t even know what to say… F-fine, yes, I guess, yes, I admit, I’m lost in all these thoughts. But don’t worry, I will return back to normal soon!"

 Shoku took his mug, made a little sip and whispered something above the surface of a drink. 

 "I didn’t hear you."

Shoku whispered a little louder, and Amai barely made out his words from his breath.

"Who is it?"

It’s you. Come on, say it. It’s you. A split second will pass soon. It’s so hard to breathe. It’s you.

"I can’t tell."

I’m afraid to tell. It wasn’t Friday, and they were not under the cherry tree behind the school; she couldn’t confess. Amai at least knew she wouldn’t be rejected under the cherry tree. She could soothe herself as much as she wanted with thoughts of all his glances and gestures, but it was not enough for full confidence. Her bravery was limited to “accidental” touches and compliments to his dishes. Shoku sipped his tea again and looked at the window overlooking the corridor.

"Well, I wish you good luck."

 Amai grabbed the chance to gaze at him. So many times now, she couldn’t lift her head because he had looked at her. He was so unbearably close all this time. Thick brown hair, folds on his shirt, emphasizing the thinness of his arms, long neck… Amai noticed a flour stain on his neck. He must’ve scratched it with floury hands, washed them, and forgotten about his neck… The urge appeared, and didn’t leave any seconds for hesitation. 

 Shoku jerked his head towards Amai. She held her gaze with all her might on her fingers that were stroking, that is to say wiping his neck. Still, she gave up in his trap. She needed to explain he had a stain there. She needed to, but… Those half-closed eyelids… Cheeks, covered with pink… Lips, opened in silent question… It seemed like Amai forgot her words. Shoku too, apparently, because instead of asking any questions he tilted his head.

 It seemed like Amai had forgotten what she was doing. With her thumb, she slid under his jaw line and slowly ran it along his neck. Shoku closed his mouth with the back of his hand and looked out the window again to make sure no one could see them. Amai ran her palm up his neck and felt the texture of his hair. Yes, memories can’t be compared to an ongoing feeling. Her fingers were lightly playing with small strands while her palm kept stroking his neck.

 Shoku suddenly straightened up. Amai was in such trance, she forgot about the eye contact, so he caught her with her guard down. She immediately seemed to sober up. What was happening right now? Why did she stroke his neck? Why did he hold her hand in place when she tried to pull it away? Why did Shoku’s face become closer?

 Amai felt an exhale on her lips. She exhaled too, and the hot air between her and Shoku caused such a strong pressure in her chest she squeezed her shirt. And then there was a touch. Soft and hot, with a taste of ginger which made Amai squeak. Or was it something else? Shoku gently nipped her bottom lip a few times and breathed out without breaking contact. But, after slowly moving away, he stood up.

 Amai opened her eyes. Shoku went to the kitchen and behind the partition she heard the sound of him opening the oven.

“The cupcakes are ready.”

Five minutes had passed.

[welcometohashihigh]

Deja Yu: Yu

The teacher had been going through the rules at Hashi when an announcement came over the speakers. Yu relaxed in his seat a little. 

“All students and teachers please report to the auditorium for an emergency assembly. I repeat, all students and teachers….” Yu tuned out the rest of the announcement. He turned to Yosuke with a slightly puzzled look. “It’s oddly similar to my first day at Yasogami…” He recalled the first day he had transferred, when there was the horrible murder. 

“Oh, I was thinking the same thing.” Chie chimed in. “It’s so weird. Like bad luck follows us wherever we go.” They all stood and walked outside of the room. Yu ended up falling in pace with Kurusu, the slightly shorter boy keeping his eyes ahead. He had seemed friendly back in the room, but now the boy had this odd air of seriousness and determination. What a change in personality!

The students all filtered into the auditorium. There was some chaos, so while Yu wanted to sit next to Yosuke and Chie, he ended up between Sakamoto Ryuji and Takeba Yukari. Takeba looked a little uncomfortable next to both Yu and Niijima Makoto, and Yu couldn’t blame her. All of the group, Thieves, they called themselves, gave off powerful energy, but Niijima seemed as if she could kill with a single glare. Yu heard Takeba ask Niijima a few awkward questions before the gray girl shook her head. 

“Thank you all for coming so quickly.” The headmaster was standing on the stage, gesturing for the students to quiet down. “I hate to start the school year off like this, but we must warn you to please stay out of trouble with these rumored cult members. If you see anyone suspicious, report it to the police immediately.”

The students buzzed with conversation, but the headmaster held up his hand again. “The reason we have brought this to your attention is because a first-year was found dead this morning.” 

The auditorium exploded with varying degrees of wails, anger, and shock. Yu himself felt numb. His head spun with this new information. Why did it always happen to me? God, he hoped that he wouldn’t have to go through this school year like last time. Sakamoto beside him seemed to be one of the angry ones, though Yu noticed with some suspicion that small sparks of electricity were bouncing around the boy. How odd. Yu shook his head. Must be an illusion from his crazy thoughts.

“Please return to your dorms for the time being. You will have tomorrow off as well, while we work on fixing this issue.” The headmaster bowed, and the students were released.

Yu could feel the waves of anger washing off of Sakamoto as the transfer students walked back through the hallways. Kurusu could too, since he finally turned around to stop the boy when all the other students were gone. 

“Ryuji-”

“I can’t understand what’s happening, Akira!” Sakamoto stopped, slamming his fist into the wall in rage. “What did we get, four months of peace before trouble returned?!” His voice was filled with anger, yes, but there was a deep note of fear. Yu stopped behind them, watching this all play out. 

“We got what we could, ok? We just have to deal with life as it is right now.” Kurusu was trying hard to soothe the anger, but his own voice was tight and controlled. Why were they so angry? “We have each other and that’s what matters.” 

“It just feels like all that we did was for nothing. We beat Yaldabaoth, so what?” Sakamoto instantly covered his mouth with his hands. Yu felt confused. Who the hell was Yaldabaoth? Did it have something to do with why they were so mad? True, Yu felt upset himself. The Investigation Team had already solved the case of murders back in Inaba, and he wasn’t keen on having to do it again. But this behavior was odd. 

“What are you guys talking about?” Naoto spoke up, their sharp blue eyes casting a cold glare on the Thieves. “Yaldabaoth? The God of Control?” God of control? Yu felt a shiver run through him. The Thieves had defeated a god? He was impressed, though by no means would he be starstruck. The Investigation Team had taken down gods as well and they didn’t receive so much as a thank you. 

Kurusu rested his hand on Sakamoto’s shoulder, squeezing it in a tight grip. “We should take this elsewhere. I don’t like talking about this here. There’s a sealed planning room on our floor, it should be good enough.” He was firm. Clearly, he didn’t intend to deny the fact that this group of seven teenagers had somehow taken down a god. Yu felt that such a feat would have been impossible….unless….

There’s no way they’ve got Personas too. But he didn’t want to deny them the possibility. Yu gestured to the Team and followed Kurusu back to the dorms. He walked with Yosuke, gently resting their hands together. 

“Do you really think they killed a god?” Yu wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I mean, we did, but it took our Personas to do so.” Yu looked at Yosuke. 

“What if they have Personas too, Yosuke?” Yu didn’t look up to see Yosuke’s reaction. The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. The sparks he had seen around Sakamato made more sense too. He himself did that when he got angry. Yu sighed and squeezed Yosuke’s hand. “We’ll get through this like we always have.” 

The three groups sat down around the large table inside the planning room. No one said anything for a bit before Arisato spoke up. 

“You seven have all died, huh?” His voice was cold and stiff. Arisato glared at the seven Thieves as they stared at him in awe. “There’s this gleam in your eyes. You died, but here you are.” Yu gave Arisato an odd glance. If he was right, then he was standing in a room full of dead people. 

“Twice, actually.” Kurusu looked almost sheepish. Arisato’s eyes went wide. So not only had all the Thieves cheated death, Kurusu had done it twice? It seemed so surreal. “So… Great segway into the main topic. Do you guys remember the news last November, when it had been announced that the leader of the Phantom Thieves committed suicide?” Yu remembered clearly hearing it on the news. The Phantom Thieves had caused such a stir in his hometown that it was impossible for him to ignore it. 

“I remember. The police said they caught a young man, a highschooler even. One with a criminal record.” Chie spoke up, not one for really holding her thoughts back. “Why do you ask?”

“That was me.” Shock registered on everyone’s faces, excluding the Thieves. Wait, so that meant that the group really was the Phantom Thieves! And Kurusu had a criminal record? “Though I don’t have that record anymore, if you’re wondering.” Yu pondered this. The way that the Phantom Thieves operated was a complete mystery to everyone. Could it have something to do with the power of the Persona? “I feel like we should all really introduce ourselves. The rest of you didn’t seem too shocked to learn we had defeated a god.” 

“I suppose you’re right. No use in hiding secrets.” Kirijo sighed and stood up. “Those of us from Gekkoukan High are members of S.E.E.S., or Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad. During our school year we fought to eliminate a hidden extra hour after midnight called Dark Hour.” Yu watched the formal woman speak. She seemed to be the leader of S.E.E.S., despite Arisato looking like he’d fit better. He and Arisato had explained to each other some stupid reason why each group was called so, but this was completely different. “We used a power called a Persona to fight beasts called Shadows.”

“Hold on!” Both Yu and Kurusu interrupted. The two looked at each other before Kurusu backed down. Yu cleared his throat. “You guys used Personas? And fought Shadows? How did you do it?”

“I was going to ask the same thing.” Kurusu looked at Yu with an intrigued look. So the Thieves knew about Personas and Shadows too. 

“By accepting mortality and pointing our Evokers to our heads.” Arisato spoke up. “When we pull the trigger, we summon our Persona. Normally I’d explain what a Persona is but you seem pretty understandable.” Arisato looked between the Investigation Team and the Phantom Thieves. “You’re up, Narukami.” 

Yu looked awkwardly at his friends before speaking up. “Right. We’re the Investigation Team out of Inaba. Last school year we worked to solve the mystery of a string of odd murders, as well as the Midnight Channel.”

“Whenever it rains and you’re home alone, the Midnight Channel comes on at midnight! People used to think it showed their soulmate, but it turns out, it showed people who were thrown in.” Yosuke piped up, trying to help explain. Yu nodded at him in thanks.

“We all have the power of the Persona too, but instead of whatever you guys do, we make peace with the shadow, er, our other self within.” Yu looked to Kurusu, who seemed rather impressed. They all did, though Arisato seemed sour as always. 

“We’re the Phantom Thieves. We stole the hearts of people with twisted desires to make them pay for the sins they committed. Using a place called the Metaverse we were able to summon our Personas.” Kurusu didn’t touch upon their deaths at all, and Yu couldn’t blame them. 

“By maintaining a strong will of rebellion in our hearts, we could rip off the mask that disguised our true self and bring forth the Persona.” Niijima had a rather soft voice for such a dangerous looking girl. Yu wondered if her Persona was just as dangerous. 

“Does anyone else find this weird?” Naoto stood, looking around. “We have three groups of students who dealt with the supernatural and can use Personas. All of us are in the same class for the cultural exchange program. It just seems to be more than coincidence.”

Yu looked at Naoto with surprise. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but it really was weird that the three groups were here. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it all being planned though. It seemed so… insane. 

Sakura Futaba, a first year student from Shujin spoke up in a slightly tremulous voice. “I searched into it more, and apparently there’s been a string of mysterious deaths in Shibuya lately. There was hardly any media coverage since everyone was still recovering from the Phantom Thieves. But there’s so much information here…” She groaned, leaning back. “If only I had Mona to help me….” 

“There’s a cat at the door!” Iori Junpei leapt up to open it. The cat was black with white socks, as well as oddly intelligent eyes. It meowed loudly, and looked at Sakura. She responded by sticking her tongue out at it. The Phantom Thieves seemed to be in shock, especially Kurusu. 

“I said no such thing about you, Mona. But while you’re here…” Sakura jumped up and scooped the cat into her arms, resulting in a loud, angry wail from the cat. Yu watched it all go down, extremely confused. Did… Did she just talk to the cat like it talked back?

[theguardianangel-fanfiction]

Once Bitten, Twice Dead

Summary: It’s been two years since the beginning, and only five days since Clementine met them. But somehow, things got so much worse, and Carver was just the beginning. [Season 2 AU/canon divergent. New situations, characters, etc.] 

Chapter 28:Turning Her Up In Her Nest Author’s Note: Enjoy! [Main Blog] [AO3] [FanFiction.Net]

If there was anything that the woman could say that would keep Kenny from immediately shooting her, then Clementine supposed that it was her begging for food.

“Are you okay?” The words came not from the woman, but from Walter, who stepped forward past Kenny. Without looking down, he pushed the barrel of Kenny’s gun down once more, as if it were a sign of pacifism to the woman. “Are you hurt?”

Clementine saw no wounds on the woman, though she noted that the woman was rather thin. Her sunken cheeks and the small but loose vest that exposed prominent collar bones made this quite obvious. But there were no wounds covering her.

Backing up, Clementine brushed against Kenny.

“I saw the house…” the woman stammered, her eyebrows knitting together. Her gaze turned to the ground. “And… I have a family. We’re starvin’.” She turned, gesturing to the woods in the distance, past the old ski lift, “We live down there.”

“Of course,” Walter took another step forward, as the woman took one backwards. “Why don’t you come in, miss…?”

“… Bonnie.” the woman spoke in a low voice, her eyes flicking between him and Kenny.

Between all four of them, there was a brief pause. Kenny leaned forward, his glare fixated on Bonnie as he whispered to Walter.

“Walt, I don’t know.” Clementine watched Kenny’s grip on the gun increase. “You’re just gonna let her in like that?”

“It’s fine, Kenny.”

There was an edge in Walter’s voice that Clementine hadn’t heard from him before. She backed up, once again looking up to Kenny. On one hand, Walter had allowed her group in, and he hadn’t known them. On the other hand… well, this woman had no link to them.

“We don’t know this girl.”

“Then I suppose we’ll get to know her.”

“Walt.”

“How much damage can this poor woman do?”

At Walter’s words, Clementine looked back to Bonnie. Walter had a point. From what she could tell, Bonnie didn’t seem to be carrying even a gun. She was taller than the average woman – maybe five-six – but she was still skinny, and probably wouldn’t do too much harm.

“Do you have any weapons?”

The words came out without thinking, and Clementine wanted to smack herself the moment she spoke.

To her surprise, however, Bonnie’s hands trembled as she reached towards her pockets. She looked from Kenny’s gun to Clementine’s face as she suddenly turned out both of her pockets.

“I got nothin’ on me.” Bonnie whispered, and then pushed her pockets back in. She looked back up at Walter, her face dropping. “Look – thank you, really – but that storm’ll be on us soon… I gotta get back to my family.”

“I’ll bring something out to you, then.”

Clementine watched as Kenny’s hand clenched.

Bonnie put her hands up. “You don’t have to do that.” By the looks of it, the pink tinge on her cheeks was from a little bit more than just the cold.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Walter assured her. He bumped Clementine’s arm with his own as he backed up. She wondered for a moment if he was trying to get her attention, and she stared up at him to watch his facial expression.

“What about your people?” Bonnie asked, gripping her shoulder. She looked down at the ground.

“We’ve got plenty. You stay put. I’ll be right back.”

With this, Walter backed up and turned, heading around the corner and towards the door. In that moment, Clementine thought of about a hundred things, if not more, that could go wrong. She and Kenny exchanged a glance, and then Clementine turned her attention back to Bonnie.

Bonnie took a few unsteady steps forward, and brushed away a loose strand of hair that had fallen from a messy ponytail. She smiled, just enough to show some form of happiness, and peered down to Clementine.

“I have… a little girl,” she stated, her voice barely above a whisper, “Like you.” Bonnie slowly crouched down to Clementine’s height. “How old are you, sweetie?”

Clementine was silent for a moment, the suddenness of the question having caught her off guard. For a brief second, she considered lying, but there really was no point to it.

Instead, she crossed her arms. “I’m eleven.”

Luke had stated several times that he thought she had a baby-face, and that she looked closer to nine years old than eleven years old. But Clementine, as bad as she was at it, knew how to do simple math. She knew her age, she was just tiny for her age.

Bonnie smiled again, nodding. She let out a chuckle. “I’d have thought older.”

Clementine nearly rolled her eyes. If this was the kind of thing an adult wanted to use to break the ice, it clearly wasn’t working. Especially because she honestly did agree with Luke’s words from before; she could barely pass any older than ten.

Without a response, Bonnie stood back up, her small smile slipping into that of an expression that seemed much more worried or bothered than happy or grateful.

The silence between them lasted only a few seconds before the front door opened and shut once more, revealing Walter, who held in his arms a cardboard box. Just from the sound of it – from the movements that Walter made as he brought it around the corner, Clementine heard the sound of several heavy cans moving around. Her heart sank as she thought of the loss of a steady supply of food; her stomach only growled more.

Bonnie’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“Here you are, miss,” said Walter as he passed the box to her.

With slight hesitation, Bonnie, her eyes still widened and her open in shock, took the box from him and wrapped her arms around it tightly. She repeatedly glanced from the box to Walter as she seemed to struggle to form a sentence.

“This-this is too much!”

Clementine took one step forward, peering around Walter to see that he simply returned her sentiments with a smile.

“Don’t mention it.” he said, his voice gentle as he did so. He stepped back from Bonnie, who’s hands were now trembling as she grasped the box.

She averted Walter’s gaze and murmured, “I don’t… know how to thank you.”

“Just help someone else down the line.”

“… Thank you so much. I’ll… I’ll be goin’ now.”

“You stay safe.”

“You… you too…”

Within a few seconds, Bonnie and the box of cans were gone.

“Go on inside and get to bed, Clementine.” Kenny said, his tone firm, once Bonnie was far enough away. He nudged her with his elbow. “Walt and I gotta talk for a second.”

Clementine nodded without speaking, cautiously turning and heading back up towards the front doors. She didn’t stick around long enough to hear what she was sure was going to be Kenny tearing into Walter; instead, she thought to herself that this was going to be Kenny’s attitude towards multiple things.

She thought of herself. She was – objectively – the only reason that she and the others were allowed into the lodge, because if she was correct, Clementine guessed that Walter, Matthew, and Sarita rarely got their ways against Kenny.

But maybe he was right in this instance; Walter was awfully quick to trust Bonnie. For all they knew, Bonnie could’ve been lying, or any other variation of things. Clementine recalled Walter’s words from before, however, and thought to herself that, if anything, she could believe and take someone at face value just this once.

Clementine stopped at the front door, grasping the handle as she peered over her shoulder towards the direction of Kenny and Walter. She could already hear the warning in Kenny’s tone. Glancing back, she tugged open the door and was once again greeted by the heat against her icy cheeks and the banter at the dinner table. Clementine wrapped her arms around herself and then looked back to the dining room.

They hadn’t noticed that she had come back in, but from the tones that she heard from Luke, Clementine knew that they were either talking about her, or they were discussing something else in a varying degree of severity.

She walked past the Christmas tree and began a climb up the stairs. Either way, Clementine didn’t want to be involved.

Once again, she felt her cheeks burn; the pounding in her head and the sickness in her stomach came back, now that Walter was no longer giving her the strangest cross between a pep talk and a lecture that she had had in quite a while. The distraction was gone.

Hurrying up the stairs, she found herself back in the same loft from before, with the same empty chairs and the same full bookcases and the same empty hallway. The box with the star decoration remained.

Clementine peeked down the empty hallway; she recalled Alvin going down there before and coming back with Rebecca’s water, but she hadn’t seen which room he had gone into before. Instead, she found herself entering the first door.

The bedroom was small, somewhere lingering in limbo between tidy and lived-in. A decently sized bed, fully made (how many people even bothered with it before the outbreak?) with a book lying discarded at the end of it. A pile of books found their home in a corner. There were no windows, and only a gas lamp sitting on a dark bedside table provided light.

She took a shaky step in. Obviously, this wasn’t the room that Sarita was talking about for them to sleep in when she mentioned it earlier, and Clementine almost wished that she had bothered to pay any attention to anything that wasn’t her reunification with Kenny so that she would know what the hell Sarita was referring to.

Clementine stepped lightly – if they heard her moving around downstairs… well, she had a feeling that no one would be happy with her nosy intruding. But there was really nothing else to do. She couldn’t go downstairs. She couldn’t talk to Sarah to pass the time. Her heart beat too hard and her stomach growled too much for her to go to sleep. And so she peered at the other objects sitting around the room, trying to determine for herself who this one belonged to.

A framed photograph sitting on the bedside table gave away the owners; Clementine gazed down at the photographed, smiling faces of Walter and Matthew, their arms around each other. In the dim lighting, they didn’t appear to be any younger than they were now.

For a moment, Clementine paused, watching the body language between the two of them. They looked… happy. Comfortable.

Clementine glanced over to the bed, and then back down to the photograph. In the back of her mind, she remembered Matthew’s words from earlier, about how Walter hadn’t allowed him to keep a certain, large bookshelf in their bedroom. It would explain the books littering the room.

She placed the photograph back down, and wandered over to the foot of the bed. With Matthew’s apparent literature collection and Walter’s constant references to Steinbeck, Clementine wasn’t surprised to see the book on the bed, or the large piles of books in the corner.

A door downstairs slammed. As she turned, Clementine gritted her teeth.

Time to leave, she thought, stepping lightly towards the door.

Carefully, Clementine closed it, turning her attention back to the other doors. She found her way into the room next to Walter and Matthew’s bedroom, and cracked open the door just enough to see inside of it.

The room, just as Walter and Matthew’s bedroom had been, was lit by only a gaslight that sat on top of a bookcase. She spotted several familiar belongings; this must’ve been the room that Sarita was talking about.

She opened it up wider and left it open. It was a clean room, and quite empty. A pile of several blankets and pillows had been left next to the door. The bags had obviously been moved from downstairs into this room, her own included. Clementine took a seat next to the bookcase, bracing her back against the solid wood. With a sigh, she pulled her bag into her lap and stared up at the ceiling.

Her stomach growled for the umpteenth time, leading Clementine to hug her bag tighter to her chest as a distraction. She closed her eyes, joining the dim room in the dark, and bit her tongue. There was absolutely no way that she was going to go downstairs for food.

The strap of Clementine’s bag slipped through her fingers as she felt shakiness in her fingers and hands.

The urge to go downstairs was strong.

Peering over to the bags of the others, Clementine stood on her knees, placing her bag against the wall. She pulled Alvin’s bag towards her and slowly unzipped the largest pocket.

Clementine looked up at the doorway, adequately confirming that there was no one standing there. She looked back down to Alvin’s bag and pushed aside a pack of some kind of ammo, a book, and a can as she dug into the bottom.

She smiled, her hands closing on a cellophane wrapper as she pulled out a discarded granola bar.

“Oh, thank God.” she murmured to herself.

Peering up once more, Clementine checked the doorway again. She rezipped Alvin’s bag again and tucked herself back into the corner with the bookshelf and her bag, the granola bar unwrapped.

Clementine took a bite out of the granola bar, looking up for a third time at the doorway before she turned her attention to the bookshelf’s contents. She squinted, cocking her head to the side as she attempted to read the titles; Sarah would at least appreciate any books that Walter and Matthew were willing to part with.

The name Steinbeck caught her eye. What on Earth had this man done to become so famous, other than write books? Clementine knew of famous authors, but Steinbeck had never been one that came up before Walter’s lecture.

She examined the cover of Of Mice and Men and the book that previously sat next to it, that came out with it when she pulled it out, Gathering Blue by another author that Clementine didn’t recognize. As she set Gathering Blue aside, Clementine set her eyes on Of Mice and Men. Sighing to herself, she decided that, maybe, it was a good idea to get some perspective on Walter’s point of view. After all, it would be enough to distract her from the anxiety that continuously came and went. Hopefully.

Well, Clementine debated with herself, looking from the cover of the book to the doorway, it could provide entertainment while her brain dissected her previous interactions and situations in the background.

She flipped to the first page.

Immediately, Clementine knew that she wasn’t going to be able to finish the first page. Maybe it was her lack of vision, or the lack of good lighting, or simply her terrible reading skills. On the other hand, maybe it was the language used.

Still, however, she trudged on, attempting to read the small font as she scrunched her eyebrows and clenched her jaw; but as the words – descriptions of what she thought may have been a forest – continued on, Clementine clenched her fist. She started the paragraph over again, her focus slipping through her fingers.

She read the same paragraph again, blinking several times, and then attempted to read the next sentence.

The next thing that Clementine knew, she flung the book across the small room, where it skidded to a stop next to the doorframe.

Clementine looked up at the sound of footsteps. Despite the pounding in her head, she gave a small smile to Sarah, who looked down at the discarded copy of Of Mice and Men.

“Steinbeck?” asked Sarah, picking the book up. She also stared at the cover and then turned it over to read the back of it, her expression lighting up. “I’ve been looking for this!”

“That book?” Clementine rubbed her temples as she spoke.

Sarah nodded, not looking up from the back of the book. She grinned. “It’s a classic. I’ve been wanting to read it for a while, but I couldn’t find a copy!”

She approached Clementine and then sat across from her against the wall, to the right of Alvin’s tampered-with bag. As she put the book back down on the ground in front of both of them, Sarah looked back up and asked, “Are you okay?”

The sudden whiplash in Sarah’s mood caught Clementine off-guard. Sitting up from against the bookshelf, Clementine opened her mouth to reply, but she faltered in her words. Briefly, the two of them locked eyes.

“You were crying.” Sarah said, her voice hushed.

Clementine looked away for a moment, her head continuing to pound. She had. But it hadn’t been intentional – it was about the last thing that she wanted. But, Clementine supposed, it was in Sarah’s nature to be sympathetic in that form.

“And…” Before Clementine could speak, Sarah spoke up once more, her eyebrow raised, “You… you had this look on your face… It was like –”

Sarah imitated a face that looked somewhere stuck between scared and excruciatingly uncomfortable. This only made Clementine grimace in response.

“It doesn’t matter.” Clementine grabbed the copy of Gathering Blue from the floor next to the bookshelf and replaced it, and then turned her attention to Of Mice and Men. She pushed it towards Sarah. “Do you want this?”

Without answering, Sarah took the book and bit her lip. “Clem, it matters if they did something that made you upset.” She messed with the first page of the book. “Just because they were mad doesn’t give them an excuse to make you cry.”

“Don’t remind me,” Clementine muttered, opening her bag. She pulled out her half-filled water bottle and took a sip of it. Lowering the bottle from her mouth, she snapped, “Look – it doesn’t matter now.”

Sarah was quiet for several seconds, but then shook her head. “Did your friend start it, or did Luke and Nick? Do you trust him?”

Clementine glowered, narrowing her eyes. This wasn’t what she needed right now – she needed to be alone, or to have a pleasant distraction with Sarah. But Clementine was silent, thinking about the words that she had been asked so many times that evening.

Do you trust him?

Of course she did. Kenny was a good man. He took care of the group in Georgia, no matter how much he fought with Lilly. They both did. She thought of the man who she could only refer to as The Stranger. It was the same then; Christa and Omid said that Kenny fought like hell to help Lee get her back from that monster.

She had to trust him.

“Did Carlos tell you to ask me that?” Clementine snapped, the edge in her voice apparent.

“Wha – no!” Sarah shot back, the book falling from her grasp. “No. No, I just – I just wanted to know. It –” Sarah shook her head, “I just don’t like listening to people fight like that. And… I don’t know. I just don’t want this to turn out like everything else has.”

“He’s not a bad person.” Clementine assured, sitting up on her knees. She tried to look Sarah in the face, but Sarah looked away instead, her cheeks flushing. “Kenny’s a good man. He just… he gets angry a lot. You trust Walter and Matthew and Sarita…”

From that moment, Clementine trailed off. Sarah slowly nodded.

“They seem nice. I like Sarita.”

“And I like Kenny.”

They room went quiet as Sarah crossed her legs, opened Of Mice and Men to the first page, and began to read it. Clementine turned again to the bookshelf and debated with herself on reading another book – maybe one with a lower reading level than that of Steinbeck’s genres.

“That’s The Outsiders,” Sarah suddenly spoke, drawing Clementine’s attention. Sarah looked up from the book and nodded towards a book that stuck out from under a pile of other stacked novels. “We had it at the cabin.” She frowned as she spoke. “Pete liked it.”

Clementine felt a tugging in her chest as she thought about Pete. She pulled the book from the pile and turned it over, attempting to make out faded, white words against a lighter gray background.

“His name’s Ponyboy?”

Sarah smiled. “Well, yours is Clementine.”

Clementine let out a soft laugh, and set the book aside. If she could recover from the headache that John Steinbeck had given her, then maybe she would take a gamble at S.E. Hinton.

The floorboards creaked, and both girls looked up to see Nick standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

“What?” he asked, his voice hoarse, as he glared back at Clementine and Sarah.

“Nothing.” Sarah said quickly, looking back down to the book.

Nick pulled a blanket and a pillow from the piles in the left corner of the room, and then trudged to the other side. Clementine watched as he laid both of them down, and then laid down on his back.

“Nick?” she said, her voice low.

Nick turned on his side and pulled his baseball cap against his chest. “What do you want?”

Clementine paused. “Um… are you going to sleep?”

She chastised herself for not following through with her original words. If she were any braver, then she would ask him if he was okay. If he was angry at her. If he was angry at Kenny.

She would have asked if he really did want to leave in the morning.

“Yeah.”

With this, Nick turned over on his side, facing the wall.

As Clementine took another bite of the granola bar, she held the empty cellophane in her hand and wordlessly glared at it. Her stomach rumbled with the same cold hunger that she was no stranger to at this point in her life. She balled up the wrapper and hid it in her pockets.

For a moment, she debated going back to Alvin’s bag to steal more food, but the presence of Nick and Sarah put a damper on her pan.

This would’ve been much easier a week ago when she hadn’t eaten in two days – save for the beans – and the hunger pangs hadn’t been this regular. She could say a lot about Luke’s group, but they kept her fed. Even the processed shit in a can kept her fuller than the half of the squirrel that she and Christa had managed to cook a few days previously.

Unless…

Clementine stared at her knees, debating with herself; surely, someone hadn’t eaten her dinner in the few minutes that she was outside. But then again, she thought of Alvin – he didn’t get to his size eating just his own portion.

She stood, casting her bag aside, and headed towards the door with what she could only describe as an internal sigh.

“Where are you going, Clem?”

“The bathroom.” Clementine lied, and then she left the room without a second glance behind her at Sarah.

As she neared the stairs, Clementine stood at the banister once again, her feet seemingly glued to the spot, and surveyed the downstairs. Walter and Matthew were at the kitchenette now, and only a few of the others remained in the dining room.

Maybe they wouldn’t say anything.

Slowly, Clementine made her way down the stairs in an attempt to stay as quiet as possible; she set her sights on the dining room, where Kenny and Sarita were seated again, and Rebecca, two bowls in front of her, was seated a few feet away.

Clementine clenched her jaw, and figured that there had to be at least a seventy-percent chance that the second bowl in front of Rebecca had to have been her own, and not another bowl that Walter gave her.

“Hey, Clementine.”

Matthew spoke first to her as she neared the kitchenette, and leaned against the JOY decoration as he said this.

“Hi,” she replied, her gaze focused on the dining room. The bowl from her spot was gone. Her shoulders sagging, Clementine knew that, even though she didn’t care for the meal, it could’ve done something to keep her full. But before either of the two men asked her about it, she began to speak. “I found Of Mice and Men. Upstairs. On the bookshelf.”

Walter turned to Matthew, nudging him by his shoulders. “Watch out, Matt,” he teased, a grin coming to his face, “You’re going to have a little reading prodigy catching up to you soon. She’s interested in Steinbeck.”

Clementine wouldn’t have called her curiosity interested, but she appreciated Walter’s support as it was.

“Pshh -- I’m not worried,” Matthew leaned back against the kitchenette, grinning, “Because unlike you, I don’t start competitions with nine year olds.”

“Eleven.” Clementine corrected, crossing her arms.

“Now, don’t ever look down on the intelligence and curiosity of a child, Matthew. They do more than you think.”

Walter stepped to the side as he spoke, crossing his arms in a similar manner to Clementine, though his expression remained kinder on Matthew’s part. Behind him, Clementine spotted the pot of what she was beginning to hope was leftovers from dinner. He peered down to Clementine.

“Did you find The Grapes of Wrath, too?”

Clementine shook her head, and then thought about the title. Maybe a little bit too hard.

“Wrath means… ‘anger’, right?”

Matthew suddenly looked as if he were resisting the urge to laugh. Walter on the other hand, cut his eyes at Matthew and then nodded in response to Clementine’s question.

“It does.” he told her, his gaze sliding to her from Matthew.

“So…” Clementine trailed off at first, but then regained her composure, “Is… is the book about an army of angry grapes?”

Matthew snorted, and Walter simply chuckled.

“No,” said Walter, continuing to watch Matthew out of the corner of his eye, “It’s… actually, I’ve not had the chance to read it. But from listening to Matthew, I can promise you that it isn’t actually about angry grapes. Matt, where does that title come from? You’ve read it a few times, haven’t you?”

Matthew’s laughing ceased. “Yeah, I’ve read it a couple of times. It’s a… a Biblical reference. Maybe. I don’t remember exactly. But Steinbeck took it from a poem called – and I quote – The Battle Hymm of the Republic. That’s way too fancy of a name for me.”

Walter’s lip twitched. “I think that I prefer the poem that Of Mice and Men comes from.”

“Ah, yeah, I forgot about that – Turning Her Up In Her Nest.”

“It’s To a Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest.”

“To a Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest –”

“—With a Plough.”

Matthew stopped, raising his eyebrow. “’With a Plough’?”

“’With a Plough’.” Walter parroted, nodding. He looked back to Clementine. “Steinbeck originally wanted to call it Something That Happened.”

“Well, everything is ‘something that happened’.” Clementine pointed out, a small smile coming to her face as she continued to speak with them, “Why would he call it that?”

Matthew simply shrugged in response. “To make a long story short, Steinbeck was an interesting man.”

“I guess,” Clementine murmured, her gaze beginning to fall on the pot of leftovers again. “You’d have to be.”

All three of them were silent for a few seconds, Clementine continuing to feel the pangs of hunger in her stomach. Her mouth couldn’t seem to work; her idea of asking for more food hadn’t been well thought out.

“Are you hungry, Clementine?” Walter asked, the small smile returning back to him from earlier. He leaned in close to her and whispered, “Rebecca took your bowl, unfortunately.”

“I noticed,” Clementine whispered back, “It’s okay. She can have it.”

Walter stood to his full height and walked behind the kitchenette, where he produced another bowl from one of the cabinets underneath; he grabbed one of the larger spoons, and then suddenly stopped before he stuck the spoon inside of the pot.

“Is something wrong?”

Clementine hadn’t realized that she had pulled the face that she had; her memories of earlier that evening were beginning to repeat. Once again, offending Walter was one of the last things that she wanted to do, and so was the act of wasting food, but… she had very strong opinions about beans and about peaches.

She shook her head. If it was between this and going hungry, she supposed that she couldn’t turn it down.

“One moment,” Walter put the spoon down and then reached underneath the counter. From it he pulled a small, opened box of crackers, and set it down in front of Clementine. “It’s nothing fancy, but it might suit your palate just a bit more.”

Clementine’s eyes widened on the box of crackers; it wasn’t a full on meal, but she hadn’t expected it to be. An almost full box of crackers was a hell of a lot more than she had had to herself within… what, at least the last year?

“How –” As her stomach seemed ready to eat itself, Clementine still had to restrain herself, and prevented herself from snatching the box up right then and there. “How many can I have?”

Walter smiled and pushed the box across the counter. “Keep it. But be sure not to make yourself sick off of those.” He leaned down and closed what Clementine thought must have been the cabinet door, and then placed his palms flat on the counter. With a glance at Matthew, he spoke again.

“Did you and Kenny ever bring the rest of the wood back in?”

Matthew was quiet for a moment, not meeting Walter’s gaze, and suddenly appeared deep in thought. Slowly, he began to shake his head.

“You know, I don’t think we did – uh, the roof’s shielding it though. You think I should get the guys back out there with me?”

“Nick’s asleep.” Before Walter could answer, Clementine pulled the box of crackers off of the counter and hugged it to her chest. “I don’t think he’s getting back up.”

“After the events this evening, I wouldn’t expect it.” Walter placed a glass cover over top of the pot. “You all must be exhausted.”

Clementine wanted to refute this, but she knew deep inside that she would yawn in the middle of her sentence and ruin any credibility that she had. Instead, she simply shrugged and began to slide her hand into the cracker box.

“I think Luke’s still awake, isn’t he?” asked Matthew. He began to toy with the collar of his hoodie and pulled a string away from the strings. “Your medic’s fairly built. Could get him to do it. Or that other guy – the fucking big one?”

“I have arms, Matt. I can help if you ask.”

Clementine shoved a cracker into her mouth as she began to brainstorm ways to excuse herself from their conversation.

“I mean, if you want to.” said Matthew with a shrug. “Don’t feel like you have to.”

Walter’s expression was incredulous. “I live here.”

“Yeaaahhh,” Matthew dragged out the syllable, and then shrugged. “But you cooked dinner, so I’ll get the wood.”

Walter grinned. “I cook every night.”

Matthew leaned over the counter so that he and Walter were physically closer. Clementine backed away and leaned against one of the room’s wooden support beams, hugging the box of crackers to her chest. Maybe, if anything, she could share them with Sarah; no one could call her greedy or gluttonous in that case.

“Look –” Walter stated, picking up the now cooled down pot by its handles. “I’ll come outside and help bring the supplies in.” He opened the refrigerator with one hand and slid the pot into the bottom of it. He turned back to Matthew.

“No – just go to sleep.”

As Matthew spoke, Clementine remembered the fact that she herself was supposed to be asleep, at least at Kenny’s orders. She allowed herself a small smile as she glanced towards Kenny and Sarita, who sat at the table having a quiet discussion. They didn’t seem to be paying any bit of attention towards Walter and Matthew.

Matthew took Walter’s hand in his own the moment that Walter returned to the counter.

“Come on,” whined Matthew, squeezing his hand around Walter’s, “It’s late.”

And maybe it was. But of everything that they had in the lodge, including the power, there was not a working clock.

“Matthew.”

“Shhhhh –” Matthew let go of Walter’s hand and instead placed his own hand over Walter’s mouth; the grin suddenly slipped off of his face. “Ew! Gross! Walt, don’t lick my hand!”

Clementine tried to prevent herself from laughing, and only just barely managed to avoid choking on the cracker she was eating.

Matthew pulled his hand away and wiped it on the sleeve Walter’s sweater, his hyperbole of a physical response only making it harder for Clementine to avoid laughing. Walter’s soft chuckles didn’t help either.

“I didn’t lick your hand, Matt. I’m not a dog.” Walter smirked. “All I did was kiss it.”

“Kiss my ass, old man.”

There was a brief moment where Walter opened his mouth, as if he were about to reply, but then closed it and instead nodded as he seemingly attempted to wipe the grin from his face.

Clementine looked down into the box of crackers, but only because she had nothing else left to do as she pondered to herself why Walter would kiss the palm of Matthew’s hand – especially after what he had been digging around in outside. But more than even that, she wondered why it was a kiss at all.

By watching them and the body language, Clementine had… questions. She thought about the photograph that she found in their room, and while she in no way wanted to give away the fact that she had been snooping, she couldn’t deny the fact that she had questions. Walter and Matthew, in the way of their body language, were beginning to remind her a bit of Nick and Luke.

Slightly, she mentally corrected herself.

Luke liked having his arm around Nick back in the woods, when everyone else was asleep and they were all alone. Sometimes, Clementine was there keeping watch with them at night – most of the time, she was supposed to be asleep, but spent a few minutes stuck in-between full consciousness and sleep spying on them instead.

“So… Nick and Luke, right? … You two sure do look like a match.”

Kenny’s words stuck out in her mind, for more reasons than one.

Clementine hesitated for a moment as she watched the two men joking and laughing with each other, and waited until their laughter died down. She held onto the cracker box tightly, and then took a few steps forward towards the counter.

“Walter?” she spoke, raising an eyebrow. “Can I ask you something kind of personal?”

Immediately, the atmosphere melted away. The laughter and grins from both Walter and Matthew slipped away as Walter crouched down to her level, his eyes wide with the same kind of concern that he held outside.

“Of course.” he said, his voice quiet. “Is everything alright?”

Clementine didn’t meet his eyes as she spoke, her cheeks already feeling as if they were burning. Quietly, she asked, “Are you and Matthew married?”

For a moment, she thought that it was wrong to ask such a question; in that brief moment, she thought of Nick and Luke and Kenny’s words and Matthew’s words in response. It was personal, she knew that. But how personal… well, she didn’t know. Christa and Omid talked openly about each other, and so did Alvin and Rebecca. Kenny and Sarita did.

Matthew laughed, and for a split second, the horrible thoughts that she had offended them dissipated, only to be replaced with that of confusion. Why was he laughing? All she’d done was ask a simple question.

“Don’t laugh at her question.” Walter scolded, though he seemed to maintain his smile as he did so. “You never know if you don’t ask.”

Clementine simply shrugged in response. He was right; it was a valid question.

Walter didn’t stand from his position, and there was something about it that Clementine liked. They were eye-level, just as they had been briefly outside. He was a teacher through and through, but he knew how to be approachable. He turned from Matthew and smiled.

“To answer your question – no, Matthew and I aren’t married.” Walter’s voice was quieter than before; Clementine assumed that he didn’t want to wake anyone who may have been trying to sleep. He looked over his shoulder before he spoke again. “But we would like to be… are you okay with that, Clementine?”

Clementine stared blankly back at him; she’d had a similar reaction to Steinbeck, but this… well, had Rebecca said nothing to her, then she would have never expected anyone to ask her for her opinion on their relationship. Maybe Sarah would, but Clementine was at least ninety-percent sure that Sarah was more interested in books than boys.

“Why do you care about my opinion?” she asked, shifting the cracker box to be held under her arm. “You guys are the ones who are gonna be stuck together for the rest of your lives…”

Matthew shook his head and then patted Walter’s shoulder. “My God, she’s so innocent.”

Clementine glared. She had had this same conversation with Walter while he was still cooking about her perceived innocence.

“There are a lot of countries and states where Matthew and I wouldn’t have been able to get married. We lived in Virginia,” Walter explained, his voice still low. “And it was illegal there, too.”

“Why?”

Walter’s face fell; in turn, Clementine’s did the same, but she watched as he seemed to force himself to smile – to look hopeful.

“Some people can be intolerant of things that they don’t understand. But, like I said before, the best thing that we can do is educate each other. And show each other kindness. We just have to be smart about it.”

Clementine was silent as she took this in. There was still something missing…

Walter seemed to take notice to this. “Something else on your mind?”

“I think…” She hesitated, and then looked over her shoulder. “I think Nick and Luke are like you.”

Matthew sighed, but then nodded in response to Clementine’s words.

“I think they are too.”

Walter turned to the kitchenette counter and used it to help him stand to his full height; Matthew’s little taunt was right. Walter wasn’t an old man in the way that Pete was, but he was probably older than Alvin and Carlos. Maybe in his fifties. He showed his age.

Kenny’s voice rang out from the dining room, and Clementine turned to see that he had turned around from his place on the bench.

“Clementine,” he admonished, as Sarita peered around him to see her. “Thought I told you to get to bed?”

“It’s okay, Kenny. I’ve been keeping her.” replied Walter. He turned back from Kenny to Clementine and patted her shoulder. In a low voice, he teased, “That’s your cue. Time to get your beauty sleep, madam.”

And so Clementine left, the cracker box grasped in her arms, and headed towards the stairs. She was no more exhausted than she had been before, but now, she had both Kenny and Walter telling her to go to sleep.

Upon returning to the room, the first thing that Clementine did was offer a cracker to Sarah, who declined it.

“I’m still full, Clem. Thanks though.” She returned to Of Mice and Men shortly after this.

The moment that Clementine took her previous seat against the book case, she hid the box of crackers on the side, and eyed Nick as he seemed to sleep – or at least rest in the other corner of the room.

Clementine couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt in her chest as she thought of her conversation with Matthew and Walter; maybe… it wasn’t worth having her questions answered if she was going to feel that she had information that they didn’t.

“Y’all in here?”

Luke poked his head in through the doorway and panned the room.

“You comin’ to tuck me in?” asked Nick, turning back to look at Luke. He smirked, and Clementine disguised a light chortle with a cough.

The slightest tinge of pink appeared on Luke’s cheeks. “Yeah,” he murmured, stepping into the room, “Somethin’ like that.”

Clementine looked down at her bag, feeling her cheeks heat up. Secondhand embarrassment, she thought, fucking sucked. Out of the top of her vision, she peeked up at Luke, who made his way over to Nick and sat down next to him. She rubbed her eyes as she looked into her bag, placing the half-full water bottle back inside of it and looting around to look for something to do with her time. Her hand hit a crayon; the waxy residue of it and several other broken crayons coated her fingers as she pushed them aside. The only other thing of importance in there was a lighter, one that she really only liked because of the butterfly design. But she had no paper to entertain herself with the crayons, and there was little an eleven year old girl could do with a lighter that didn’t involve arson.

She supposed that she could read the labels on the cracker box.

“You should pro’lly get some sleep, Clem.”

Clementine rubbed her eyes again as she shook her head; one of the shitty parts of the apocalypse was the lack of working clocks. Her inability to tell time based off of the shadows outside gave her little leverage against Luke’s friendly suggestions on a bedtime. She didn’t need Kenny, Walter, and Luke on her about going to sleep.

The rumbling thunder outside took away Clementine’s attention from Luke and Nick; Sarah tightened her grip around her book. Joining the rumbling thunder was the gentle pattering of rain, the warning of a harsher storm. She shivered as she thought of the cold rain nipping at her skin, as if she were the one sitting outside in the storm. And, Clementine thought again, if they left the next morning…

This rain will turn to sleet, then ice, then snow. It won’t be easy.

Christa’s words rang true. Virginia was the south, but it wasn’t Georgia. It was

… Maybe it was a good idea to go to sleep, Clementine thought, watching Luke out of the corner of her eyes. He and Nick were now speaking in low voices. Maybe they did have the right idea.

Thump!

Clementine slammed her head on the bookshelf, crying out in pain as something both soft and hard slammed right into her face. The pillow and her cap fell down into her lap, tears of pain stinging in her eyes.

“Luke!” she shouted, her hand flying to the back of her head. As if she hadn’t hit her head enough within the last few days, Clementine thought as she grit her teeth and stared daggers in Luke’s direction.

He held a second pillow in his hands from his space next to Nick, his eyes widening as the realization seem to have hit him, just as hard as the pillow had hit Clementine’s face. And then he laughed.

“Y’alright?” Luke asked, putting down the pillow. He stood, obviously trying to hide the chuckling at Clementine’s expense and walked towards her.

“Don’t laugh!” she cried, feeling the tender bump already forming on the back of her head. “You almost took me out with a pillow!”

“I thought you were payin’ attention!”

Clementine huffed as Luke knelt next to her and reached his hand around the back of her head to feel the bump. She shifted away from him, pushing away his arm with one hand and the pillow with the other.

“Luke, stop, you’re making it hurt worse!”

Outside, the thunder clapped, its sound as full as the sound of Clementine’s skull colliding with the wooden bookcase.

Luke pulled his hand away, his face still holding on to the ghost of another laugh as he chuckled, “Sorry, kid. Honestly – I thought you were payin’ attention.”

Nick scoffed, and laid back down. He murmured, “You knew damn well she wasn’t payin’ any attention.” His voice, while quiet, betrayed some of his own amusement at the situation.

Clementine glared in response, pushing Luke’s arm away again as a clap of thunder shook the floor. It was followed by a high-pitched whistling, and sudden shouting from downstairs – a voice that sounded suspiciously like Kenny.

Luke drew his hand away, cutting his eyes towards the door.

Sarah froze, putting the book down, and then immediately looked to Luke for some semblance of an explanation.

All of them quiet, Nick’s voice rang out.

“What the hell is that?”

[maniacalmachinist]

Predator/D&D (pt 5)

CHAPTER 5:  DINNER AND COMPANY

Hach was uneasy in the odd vehicle, called a “cart,” pulled along by what Gyremar called a “Yak.”  It was interesting listening to the odd banter, some of which was translated by the Cold One per request . . . learning that what he thought were oomans, or “humans” as they pronounced it, were a variety of beings that simply shared the bipedal trait.  From what Gyremar had told him, even the Yautja would be considered “humanoid” simply due to the similar traits:  bipedal legs for travel, hands with opposable thumbs, and the ability to speak some language while handling tools and weapons.  The small one with the ridiculous facial fur was called a Dwarf, named Durgo . . . though there were several other humanoids of similar stature that varied region to region.  The one with the tusks was called an Orc, but it seemed they weren’t very graceful or noble to one degree or another.  He asked about the one that turned into a bird, and Gyre informed him that if he looked at her, a female elf, their ears were slightly elongated and came to a point, with sharper features that most considered attractive by most.  The ones called Lars, Sven, and Jessica were the only actual humans of the group.  He found that even in his hunts, he probably would never have learned anything that distinguishes one from another.

[Oh they have several differences, but with so much variance, the identifying features can become subtle . . . moreso if there’s magic involved, but that’s a cautionary tale for later.]

[What’s this m’gic you keep speaking of?]

Gyre made an odd sound, and spoke the other human, who was identified as female.  She nodded as though given an instruction, made some gestures with her hands while chanting something.  Eventually her hands raised over her head, and there an orb of light coalesced between her fingers, illuminating the woods.  Hach tilted his head, fascinated by such a display, and clearly baffled.

[Magic is hard to explain . . . think of it as forcing your will upon reality itself to change something in that said reality, or instant thereof.  It can be used to dominate minds, shatter material, and as you’ve seen create light where there is none.  It’s not even limited to those actions alone . . . as I told you before, even a word can destroy a nation.]

Hach rubbed his neck with this information, [The closest we have is a burner . . . it fires a bolt of energy at a target, making a small explosion on impact.]

Gyre chuckled, [Sounds like a spell we called ‘Magic Missile,’ and it has a similar effect, but a good spell caster can launch several bolts at a time.  Granted, it may not be as quick to handle as whatever apparatus you have for it, granted we do have devices that contain spells for quick use . . . but only an informed mind would know how to use them.]

[An informed mind . . . ? What do you imply?]

Gyre ponders a moment, [Magic is an art unto itself . . . you either have a natural affinity for it, you study it for most of your life, or you’re granted powers from one source or another.  It gets more complicated since there are so many schools of magic, each with their own perks and pitfalls. The biggest lesson in magical arts is that most everything has a price.]

[What do you mean ‘price,’ and ‘dominate minds’?]  Hach’s tone showed both fear and concern.

[Most spells are indiscriminate . . . they’ll harm friend and foe alike if your position isn’t considered.  Some spells drain your life to compensate their usage.  Others may require a sacrifice of some sort, and that alone gets messy.  And dominate minds does exactly as it sounds . . . you bend the wills of sentients and animals alike to your will, forcing them to do what you wish.  There’s ways around it, but it’s still wise to train your will against such things.] Gyre sighed, [Didn’t expect to have to teach someone the basics of the world . . . most understand these notions well within some years of learning how to walk, race pending.]

Hach canted his head, taking in this information, looking at his weapons and for the first time, considering it nearly inadequate for the needs of this world.  He glanced at the oomanoids, taking note of the equipment they wore and how they wore it.  The d’orf carrying his lopsided “axe” with a U-shaped hook, attacked to a series of straps looped around it’s shoulders. One ooman didn’t seem to have weapons strapped anywhere, but rather a pair of shaped metal bars over it’s knuckles, but the other had opted for a pair of small bladed weapons attached to it’s hips, holstered in straps of what appeared to be animal hide.  The ooman female, as he learned, when not carrying her staff, it rests in a harness similar to the d’orfs’, the odd decoration of the weapon’s head seemed a bit too ornate for combat. He glanced at the U’rc, puzzled by it’s composure . . . while Gyre kept saying it was a “simpleton,” Hach suspected it had better combat skills than communication.  It’s weapon seemed to be little more than a stick, thinner than it’s forearm, with a solid mass at one end with various ridges and spikes covering the surface.

***********************************************************

The group arrived a bit later, Gyre having to dismount first, talking to the entry guards, making a few gestures at Hach’s general direction.  He remained quiet and immobile, looking around and wondering what the discussion was all about.  After a moment, Gyre waved the group forward, [Well, we do have lodging for you, Traveler, and until you get the translation necklace, you’ll be operating close to me for a while . . . oh, and we’ll be having a discussion with the elders of this village to decide the best course of action for your stay.  If anything, they’re mildly grateful . . . the creature you killed, a wyvern, had been a thorn in their side for some time.  However, you’re still unknown to them, and will likely be the object of suspicion for a while.]

[You said Elders?  Are they this village’s strongest warriors?]

Gyre tilted his head, baffled, [Not sure what you mean . . . Elders in the villages are usually those too old to do much more than manage the goings-on of locale.  Some are retired soldiers perhaps, others are merely those who have ages of experiences doing various tasks and keeping things running.  Some are merely handed their position as a form of family tradition, usually based on the deeds of a predecessor.]

Notably confused, Hach responded, [Do not the strongest rule these lands?]

[Strength comes in different forms . . . not sure what kind of society you hail from, but these people are more akin to a mix of pack hunters and herd animals.  The many as one, so to speak . . . in hopes that every able-bodied individual is able to be productive and aid the village, city, or whatever passes for a civilization.  Here, as is often seen, the frailest bodies often contain the strongest minds and wills . . . and sometimes, even the most dangerous.]

The notions presented were like a backhand to Hachende . . . strength in one aspect could be a weakness in another.  Recalling the fight with the lizard, he now wondered how many stronger than himself could have perhaps fallen to such a beast.  Lost in thought, he snapped back to the now, the oomanoids having hopped off while he remained a moment.  Some of the village members came out, talking to the ones from the cart, pointing at him often, while talking among themselves.  He then hopped off the edge of the cart, keeping a hand close to his minimized spear, uncertain of Gyre’s planning . . . there was a tap on the wi’vern’s skull from behind, spinning around to see what had happened.  He looked around, at eye level, then dropped his gaze; a smaller ooman had crept up on him.

[That’s one of their young, Hachende . . . it would be wise to just let it inspect you. Curiosity is usually one of the more endearing traits of their species . . . and that one is braver than most from the look of it.]

Hach nodded, watching the little one circle and inspect him.  He could admire bravery, though one of his own kind would have known better, but it seems for oomans, this sort of this is encouraged to some degree.  It was patting his armor, he made a little growl, hoping it would understand that he doesn’t take pleasure in this.  It then stepped back under his gaze, and he canted his head.  The small creature made a gesture, placing it’s hands on it’s face, pushing them over . . .  he pointed to his biomask in response, the youngling nodded.  He grunted, unplugging the life supports, their tell tale snap-hiss startling the small creature a bit, but it stood it’s ground.  He popped the mask off, resisting the urge to shiver in the chill, revealing his face in it’s entirety to the creature . . . he flexed his mandibles, glad to have no restriction and room to move.  The youngling stared up at him, then brought it’s hands to the sides of it’s mouth, it’s index and thumb making motions akin to Hach’s mandibles.

There was a low chuckle as Gyre made his way back, [Well, seems you’ve been accepted by the youth of these people.]

The youngling seemed openly started by the Cold One speaking Hach’s language.  [Are they usually like this?]  The boy looked startled, then looked at Gyre, saying something unintelligible.  Gyre snorted, [Some are . . . the little girl is asking about what you call your people, and wants to greet you properly.]

[This one is female?  I should have guessed . . . males are rarely this brave.]  Gyre laughed, and Hach brought his hand on the girl’s shoulder in greeting.  It tried to mimic the gesture, but it’s small arms had a degree off difficulty with his size.  When it managed to touch just below his collarbone, he nodded.  Her mouth spread, then she darted off with that odd chuckling sound the oomans made.  [What happens now?]

[They are interested in the event that took place between you and the wyvern, and will be inviting you to join them in dining.  You are, for all intents and purposes, their guest this evening]

A human in more “ornate” attire approached him, but stayed near Gyre’s side, “We welcome you, Traveler, to the village of Crosslight . . . how might I address you?”  

Hachende placed fist to chest, [I am Hachende, warrior of the Yautja,] Gyremar translated. [I was traveling to my homeworld after a hunt, when some anomaly threw my ship into this world.]

The human made a slight bow in greeting, “I am Mayor Halfpine, and your story fascinates me. We thank you for ridding us of the wyvern, and hope that our hospitality will compensate your needs.  You mentioned a ship?”

Hache tilted his head, glancing at Gyre, then back to the human, [Yes . . . it’s a few days further east from what wyvern’s den.]  Gyre blinked, translating.

“Do you require assistance moving it here, or do you intend to make it’s location your home for the time being?”

[I honestly doubt your kind could bring it here . . . and it’s among our laws to keep our technology out of the hands of others.  To let it go like that is criminal to say the least.]  Hache hissed and clacked in warning.

“Oh, don’t mistake me, it was an offer of assistance.  Though I’d imagine Steward Gyremar might help in relocating it for convenience.”  Gyre shot him a warning glance, his look saying, “Don’t overstep yourself.”  

Hach canted his head, confused by the shift in Gyre’s tone, [Very well, you may move it here with my direction . . . however, any of your people get too close, their lives are forefeit!] He growled.  

Gyre sighed, [About how large is this ship?].  Hach pondered a moment, looking around, then pointed to one of the lower lying buildings, a single level stable.  [Hmmmm, I might be able to carry that then . . . ] Gyre noted, then conveyed this information to the Mayor.

Halfpine paled a bit at the threat, but sighed in agreement, “Very well, we’ll find a location close enough to the village, but secluded enough to prevent local curiosity.”

Hach clicked in agreement, [Very well.]  he then stood straight, and planted his claw on the human’s shoulder.  Gyre stated the response, then the human attempted the same gesture.  He hissed in amusement as it almost looked like the youngling’s attempt.

***************************************************

They Mayor guided the group to the village’s Main Hall, tables lined with plates and mugs to accommodate the guests, Gyre and Hach at their own table, and room for 20 others stretched down from their position.  [They’ll likely have questions for us while we dine . . . it’s an odd custom of theirs, but they are social creatures.]

[I doubt I will be getting used to this any time soon . . .] Hach grunted.

[Ah, you are a warrior indeed . . . and I share your disdain, but they do like to stand on tradition when it comes to “diplomacy.”]

[Dipl’massy,] Hach inquired.

[Diplomacy . . . it’s a method of social interaction meant to improve relations between two or more groups involved in something.  A kind of formality, as it were.  On the bright side, they’re feeding you, and providing shelter . . . best to humor them.  At least their food is good . . . I always enjoyed their roast boar or yak.  They have cooking down to an art.]

Hach blinked, about to inquire just as the villagers started to join.  Gyre informed him of the hosts; there were the four fools and Jessica, Mayor and his adviser, the Orcen Blacksmith Blade’s Edge, Druidess Sedira Daybreak, Alchemist Primrose, Ranger Derrick Harringer, and a  host of six villagers and three guards.  There were various servants preparing the tables, and setting out the main dish, sections of “yak” as Gyre informed, as well as an assortment of nuts, fruits, vegetables, and what was called “bread rolls.”  Hach was wary, but oddly intrigued by the smell coming from the selection.  Half a yak’s ribcage was placed on their table, so they may dine in their own manner.

“Please, everyone be seated . . . our cooks have been at this all day, and it would be a disservice to let the main course get cold . . . well, colder.” There was a light chuckle, even from Gyre as he translated for Hach. The yautja was perplexed, but guessed that cooked foods was a requirement by the local diet as opposed to a luxury.  The servants continued on their work, bringing rounds of drink and food while the locals talked among themselves.  The random ones would steal a glance at their village’s guests amid their discussions, Gyre translating every so often.

Hach grunt, then tried the local food . . . biting in, he could taste the juice and the spices. He remembered eating a creature of similar taste on another hunt, but this added flavor was beyond his comprehension.  He tasted the local drink as well, a thick red substance that had the sting of c’nthlip, though it was weaker than he was used to but the flavor again was beyond words.  During his feasting, some of the locals coughed a bit as he ate, apparently unused to how his mouth and mandibles worked, but they resumed as he noticed how it was similar to the Orcs present.

“Hmmhmmm, well, the food here is always grand . . . but, onto business,” grunted the Orc blacksmith.  He turned his attention to Hach and Gyre, “So tell us traveler, where do you hail from . . . and what sorcery brought you here?”

Sven chimed in while Gyre translated, “Oh cmon ol’Ashtusk . . . you just wanna ask about his weapons . . . you’re practically oozing with questions.” Gyre snorted, translating Sven’s comment as well.

[I’m not sure of this thing you call “src’ery,” as I was traveling between systems at the time . . . ] at which point he brought up his wristcomp, and displayed a projection of events over the tables, green beams of light forming a visual display of events.  The locals were stunned, watching events unfold from this device, from when the ship slipped through a seeming black vortex amid the stars, combat with the wyvern, to following the four fools and their antics back and forth from the cave, examination of the corpse (which made a few in the room queasy from the look of it), up to him introducing himself to Gyre.  Though some of the events were present in high speed, intentionally skipped.

“Fook me wit’ a gor’gn’s lock . . . !” grimmaced Durgo, almost dropping his mug.

[As for the weapons, I’m afraid I don’t know how to make them . . . just how to maintain and, if needed, repair.  The Fabricator caste keeps to themselves, and covets their creations.]  He pulls out his spear, flicking the contact and expands it to full length.  The soldiers appeared startled by the display, but the Mayor intervened and calmed their reactions.

Blade’s Edge was agape at the display, “By Reorx’s Forge . . . this is beyond compare!”

[Ror’x?] Puzzled Hache, [It’s one of the deities of these lands, a god of Forges and Creation, usually worshiped by craftsmen.] explained Gyre, chewing on a rib.

The discussions went on, questions darting from side to side . . .

[What do you mean “make something of my trophy”]

“I said if you wish, I can reforge that wyvern skull into a suitable helm or mask for your future travels.  Materials like that are rare!  Some of it’s strength can be added to your own.”

Hachende pondered the implications of this . . . the Yautja did something similar, but to actually adorn one’s self in such a way is a far-flung notion. Even He Who Stalks the Serpents only dressed his equipment to look like the Kiande Ahmeda, but gaining such strength by forging the remains into equipment?  [I will consider it . . . I assume such practice is common?]

Lars held up his knuckle bars, “Damn straight . . . why let a corpse go to waste, especially from a powerful creature?  What I wouldn’t give for raptor claws.”

“No kiddin’ lad . . wha’ I would’nae give to have dragonscale armor.” He laughed, downing a drink, before coughing while Gyre gave him an unnerving look, “Oh, uh . . . err, no offense Stew’rd!”

[I keep hearing this term “dragon,” and you said you were one Gyre.]

Gyremar snorted, [Imagine that wyvern you fought . . . but four times the size, far older, far more powerful, and likely smarter.  Hmmmm . . . I wonder I recall seeing the magic ring in your light display, towards the back of this building when you were observing us, yes?]

Hach tilted his head, bringing up the image, [I could see little through the blizzard.]

[Can you adjust the image to see what you might have missed?]

Hach raised a brow, then made adjustments, shifting visual modes and detection capabilities from the recording.  Then there it was . . . a massive creature with a long neck and tail, powerful wings and a spinal flair that ended in a crest atop it’s head.

Gyre looked at it with a smirk, [Hmmmm, looks like I put on more weight than expected.  I’ll have to get out more.]

[You’re mocking me?]

[Hardly . . . you remember the female who turned into a bird?  You’ll see it tomorrow when we go to find your ship.]

Hach glared at him, unsure how to react with such a claim.

[overdrivels]

Spook

There were uncomfortable rumors about Gibraltar Watchpoint since its untimely abandonment during the fall of Overwatch. The citizens of Gibraltar would often whisper about it: a ghost lurks within. Rumors of this ghost and respect for what it once stood for kept most citizens away and the unbudging doors forcibly rejected the rest.

When Recall was issued, each agent heard of the ‘ghost’ the supposedly haunted this place, but all were quickly assured that it was Winston, who had taken up refuge in these abandoned halls. Some of the younger agents took great joy in contributing to the rumor, flicking the lights at night when the residents of Gibraltar could see, occasionally abusing a loudspeaker system to let out a haunting noise. They had to stop after a while because the police were becoming suspicious (and not because Soldier: 76 had revoked their access to the base’s controls when a badly timed prank made a couple fall off the cliff--they were fine).

But the rumors persisted, this time, from some of the agents themselves who have claimed things like:

“I heard footsteps! And they didn’t sound like anyone’s I know!”

“Food keeps going missing from the pantry.”

“Do you ever feel like there’s someone here with us?”

Eventually, the base was firmly split on the rumors (or at least, they were, outwardly).

Team No-Ghost: Hanzo, Soldier: 76, McCree, Pharah, Winston, Angela, Roadhog, Satya.

Team It’s a Ghost: Hana, Lucio, Zenyatta, Genji, Mei, Junkrat, Zarya, Lena.

Everyone else were either undecided or uninterested in how this would turn out.

Hana could not believe the members of Team No-Ghost, and that Hanzo would dare even be a part of the team. “How could you not believe in it? You have dragons!”

“Dragons do not prove ghosts exist.”

“Stop trying to save face, brother.” Genji leans over to stage-whisper to his team. “Hanzo used to pray a lot to our ancestor’s gravestones so they would not haunt him.”

“Genji!”

“Seriously? Weak.”

The look on Hanzo’s face is so very dark and for a moment, everyone remembers that this man was--is--an assassin who would not, even when faced with hardened soldiers, hesitate to silence them permanently.

“Mei, you’re a scientist,” Winston says disbelievingly.

She looks just a bit abashed.

“Well, you never know,” Mei says hotly. “What if they do?”

Tracer puts her hands on her hips. “Yeah! Don’t take the mick out of us!”

“Take the mick?”

The conversation quickly shifts from the topic of ghosts and the supernatural to slang and the complexities of language that lasts deep into the night.

Hanzo, deeply invested into the intricacies of linguistics and explaining Japanese idioms, is one of the last people to leave, wandering the dimly lit halls back to his room. The rumors of a ghost haunting these halls does indeed send a chill up and down his spine if he thinks of it, but he steels himself, knowing that it’s childish to think of things that likely do not exist. (Though, there’s no denying that Genji is right, not that he would ever tell anyone that.)

He’s almost back to his room when he stops, squinting into the darkness. Someone’s there. He approaches, thinking it’s just one of the other agents, but stops dead when he realizes that he does not recognize that silhouette and every alarm bell goes off in his head. He has no weapon, but he has more than enough physical strength to take on most men. He approaches just a bit more until he can see you clearer and realizes: he really does not recognize you.

“Who are you?!”

You blink at him slowly and then yawn, nice and slow. He could only stare as you go through the exaggerated motion of covering your wide mouth, tipping your head up to the ceiling, and just letting out something akin to a shaky wail that bounces off the walls and brings goosebumps up his skin.

You turn for a bit and then with some movement of your arms, you’re swallowed up into nothing.

You’re gone.

He stares dumbly at the space where you once were. There’s no trace of you anywhere. The silence in the halls and the utter feeling of the unknown crawls up in waves of chills up Hanzo’s back and neck and arms, and he stumbles a few steps back before breaking out into a full sprint back to his room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him, heart thudding in his chest like it wants to burst out and fear scrambling his thoughts. If this ghost tries to eat everyone else, it can.

He stays up all night, Storm Bow in hand and ready to kill. (There’s no guarantee his dragons can kill a ghost, but he’ll die trying.) There’s nothing for the rest of the night, not until he goes into the meeting room where everyone else is.

“There was a ghost.” It sounds unbelievable coming out of his mouth, even to his ears, but even more so to everyone else in the room who stares at him with varying degrees of skepticism.

The bags under his eyes barely give any validity to his words. “I saw. And then didn’t. I saw...someone. Yawning. It looked like a person, but then it just disappeared.”

“Yawning?” Mei asks.

Lucio seems very interested. “Do ghosts even yawn?”

“Horseshit. Ghosts don’t exist. Y’all just bein—”

“Hey, Shimada.”

Hanzo looks up at Torbjörn. The man is squinting, seemingly focused on gleaning an answer from his face alone.

“You sure this thing just disappeared?” He nods shakily. “How?”

“How, you ask?”

The engineer makes an unspecified gesture with his hands. “Details! How? Did it go ‘poof’ or did it fade away?”

Hanzo describes the way you just slipped into oblivion like the scenery around you swallowed you up, the memory of it makes gooseflesh rise and his voice tight. Everyone seems rather interested in this description, probing and asking questions that may or may not be related. Torbjörn, however, remains surprisingly thoughtful, eyes flicking around. 

“You sure it wasn’t an invisibility cloak?”

Everyone stares at Torbjörn. The man frowns at him, his beard and mustache dipping down as he scrutinizes everyone’s face before bursting out into loud, obnoxious laughter that made Hanzo feel a hundred times more irritated than it should.

The engineer wipes tears out of his eyes. “One of the teams created an invisibility cloak years ago.” He taps the orange glass over his eye. “Come out here! I see you.”

The whole room whirls around when a loud and familiar yawn draws their attention. Torbjörn laughs anew.

Behind them, you stood, or at least, partially. Only your shoulders and part of your face appeared, giving the impression that you’re just floating pieces of anatomy. You yawn once more and blink slowly at the room. The hairs on Hanzo’s arm and back stands up again at the familiarity of the scene, the dragons beneath his skin rolling and reacting to his trepidation. Lazily, you give everyone a little wave.

“Good morning.”

“It’s noon,” Torbjörn responds and then shouts, pointing a claw at Jesse, “don’t say it!”

Jesse shrugs helplessly and Mei gives a nervous giggle. All of these antics at miles and miles away from Hanzo who looks just a little closer and studies a little harder at you. The edges of where your body ends seem consistent with fabric, he cannot see through you, and while he can’t see your legs, he notices the beginnings of a slipper and with that, all the fear and anxiety leaves him in a rush.

An invisibility cloak. Of course. Of course, there’s no such thing as ghosts. A laugh threatens to bubble up from deep inside, tinged with relief and embarrassment. Of course. It’s just superstition.

“What can I do for you, Torbjörn?”

“These fools thought you were a ghost.”

Hanzo knows the statement was directed at him and feels the heat of his annoyance and anger warming his skin, urging him to put an arrow through the man’s head. You tilt your head to the side, still a little tired-looking. It’s not endearing, not when they all need clear answers and a clear head to answer them.

“Oh, I’m not a ghost.” Yes, they could all see that and Hanzo feels a little smug knowing that he has dragged out the mystery of this false ghost. Problem solved. You raise a finger. “Oh, but there is one here. Her name’s Alice.”

The whole room goes cold and Hanzo feels that chill go down his spine and the dragons thrashing beneath his skin. There’s no sign of a joke on your face as you say, “She likes to open doors and steal food and watch people as they sleep. Might be a demon, actually.”

Ghost-believer or not, everyone stays in the common room that night, lights on, and oblivious to an extra presence in their peripheral (except Zenyatta, who greets this entity with a small, circular wave of his hand).

[laurabelle2930]

It Was Always You ~ Olicity Fic Part 8

So....

I started this fic last year and as one does I lost my way. I recently pushed through my writer’s block and chose to revisit this fic. 

If you haven’t seen this one before read it on AO3 from the beginning. If you have then you can skip to chapter 8 by clicking the link below. 

Thanks again for all your continued support it means the world to me!

Chapter 8

Facts 

1842

Truth and trust both take time, that’s the moral of any long lasting story; in Oliver’s case murder and marriage were arranged events. He stood there near the aging stone frame; his broad chest sloped inward with each exacerbated sigh he managed to create. Moira’s eyes fell over her son’s troubled brow with varying degrees of concern. Their circumstances were grave, their blight was bleak and, her options were few…

“Oliver would you please just reconsider what we’re actually asking you to do...She’s at least an attractive woman so bedding her shouldn’t be completely stomach churning.” 

Oliver glanced over at her with anger and hatred coursing through his darkened glance. “Mother I don’t care if she’s breathtaking I won’t marry that man’s daughter...I won’t bed the daughter of the man who killed my father and put us into this situation...I don’t care what impact it will have on the lower cities...” 

He knew the battle he was fighting was a losing one but, he’d fight nonetheless.  The marriage was an arrangement born out of obligation and limited options. Moira knew it and so did he; Thea was too young to be sold like chattel on the open market and, Moira was the grieving widow. She’d gone through most of her mandatory mourning period and, still she had another six months to appear shattered and, distraught. Oliver on the other hand was a male in his mid to almost late twenties. His refusals of other eligible women within the ten neighboring kingdoms was legendary, his stubbornness was as well. The truth of the matter was simple. Oliver’s family was a dying breed. His father had been born a nobleman and his mother was a duchess from an equally noble household.

They’d been wed to unite a nation at war... 

They’d been married to stop him....

Quentin Lance. An odd man to be sure, with a name that even the history books would someday mock, was born to a household with no name, no claim, and no lands to speak of. His kingdom had been won by violent acts of war and bloodshed with the body count rising by the day. He’d sliced through the elder Queen’s neck as if it had been made of melted butter. He’d fallen to the ground at his son’s feet; his bloodied neck seemed to stare grossly at his disgusted son. Oliver still felt sick when the memory of his head rolling down the dampened, blood tinged streets crept into his nightmares. Those horrific images had played on like an endless symphony since that stormy night less than two moons ago. The sting of that memory haunted Robert’s son both night and day.

“Oliver, he’ll come for us next. He's already made alliances with every household that had been loyal to ours.” She came closer reaching out to gently apply her hand over his thin white tunic. Her hands were shaking as they’d been since he’d come through the family gates...his father’s dead body laid over his aching, blood soaked arms. “This is our only way out...Oliver please I’ve already lost my husband, my good name, and our families lands, please don’t make me watch as he kills you and Thea both.” Her voice was on the edge of pleading at this point so Oliver turned into her light grasp and looked into her worried eyes. His stomach knotted when he recalled a time when her gaze showed nothing but, a mother’s unconditional love. 

“Send the courier...I’ll marry the whore one moon cycle from now.” She smiled tightly. It was her silent way of thanking him for his sacrifice. She left him soon after she lowered her slight hand and, moved with an unshakable grace towards the darkened candlelit hall. 

She’d sent the message with Abraham that night...

By dawn only his horse with a simple message was returned. The offer was accepted but the price for making them wait was Abraham’s life. Oliver shuddered to think about what he’d have to endure once Quentin’s rail thin Princess was his lawfully wedded wife. 

Oliver being pragmatic waited for the few remaining candles to flicker before slowly going out; it was ten when he quietly crept down the long stairwell that lead from his room down to the stable yards. Abraham had been a good friend...but he’d also been a good man. Oliver tried but failed to close his heart to the soft cries of Abraham’s wife and daughter. He’d held their shaking white hands while the words of their loved one’s fate fell numbly from his tongue. The words he recalled fell forth like lava from a volcano. The gnawing guilt made Oliver’s heart bleed. The memories of the entire scene left him cold and alone in a world that was set to destroy him. He’d taken on the task of telling them to ease his conscience but, all it did was make the suffering worse. Oliver felt his death was his fault, he died Oliver believed because of foolish, stubborn pride. The guilt from that knowledge alone had Oliver pacing the halls once the castle around him finally met the angels of dreams and sleep; for him those angels never came… 

To divert his mind he often visited the stables. He found peace in the presence of those whose souls had yet to be tainted by shed blood. He was about halfway to his own horse’s padlock when he heard a small and very feminine voice speaking from mere inches ahead. He slowed his usually fast and rugged steps then leaned further into the wooden walls of the various empty padlocks. Standing just out of sight of the faint glow from the half lit torches he spotted what was possibly the strangest but, also the sweetest exchange he’d ever have the chance to see. 

“Don’t worry, you’re master won’t leave you alone forever...well I hope not at least I mean he’s under a lot of stress right now you know with the wedding coming up and all...” She was thin but strong with a stature of about 5′5 or maybe 5′6 if she stood on her tiptoes. Her dark tresses flowed freely from around her shoulders in light soft looking waves. Her face was hidden by an endless veil of darkened curls but, her voice allowed his mind to wander as she stroked her small delicate hands over his horse’s strong sturdy neck. “Don’t worry boy he’ll come soon...He wouldn’t leave you behind I promise...” 

Oliver was so enraptured with the small beautiful creature before his very eyes that he’d failed to notice when her melodic voice paused...

“Your...your highness?” His eyes snapped forward as she attempted to lower her lithe form to the ground. Her knees were almost to the ground when Oliver finally regained the used of his voice. 

“No...NO you don’t have to do that...” She quirked her head at him slightly but still remained in her crouched position as she hovered dangerously close to the ground. “Please...you don’t have to bow...please just...” he sighed as his hands slicked over his head. “Just get up, there’s no need for you to get all dirty on my account.” She looked at him curiously while she slowly stood; her body sadly started going backward until she hit the door of Goliath's stall. 

“Ouch...”  he chuckled by mistake making she mutter, “How gallant the future king scoffs…”  Her back had hit the door with quite a bit of force so the ouch wasn’t exactly unexpected, but her forceful whisper was. Oliver feeling off kilter managed a slight, “You’re the one that decided to back into a hard wooden door not me.” 

She huffed when she reached behind her frame and, rubbed gently along the small of her now slightly bruised back. “Well you’re not the one who was just caught talking to a horse by none other than our future King now were you?” 

Oliver couldn’t help but smirk, she was funny...although he wasn’t sure if she was even vaguely aware of it. “Do you do this often?”

She quirked her head while she began gently patting down her black now dust covered pants. His humor filled gaze watched her with vague amusement as her hands came up to the black and red tunic that all the stable hands wore. He kept his face passive while she again attempted to remove the dust and debris. In a moment of silence he wondered if she’d even heard the last comment. His answer came when she finally responded with her face pointed down toward her feet. 

“Do what exactly? Talk to your horse or just talk to horses in general?” She’d found a spot of something on her black boot so she was leaning down to remove it. 

Oliver remained still but continued leaning further into the lone wooden pillar along the front edge of the stables entrance with his arms folding across his chest. “Take your pick.” She glanced up and to his utter surprise gave him a slight smile. 

“I talk to Goliath every night but only to him.” She stood up to her full height as she brushed her hands slightly together. He saw her lithe body tremble a bit when her hands fell together gently across her lower stomach. “May I ask you a question, Your Highness? Her tone he could have sworn was a teasing one so Oliver moved a bit closer. She to his utter surprise didn’t take a single step back. 

Marveling at her apparent disregard to his rank he teased back. “Yes...but on one condition...” 

She smiled gently again and advanced forward with a few timid steps. Her hands were now joined behind her back, he was marveling at her bravery when she slowly gazed into his darkened eyes. “Name it...” she implored softly with humor.

“My name is Oliver, use it please.” He answered with an odd sense of fear. He stepped forward once more; her eyes were close enough for him to see the bright blue that glowed beneath the low glow of the fire just above their heads. 

Her small reply sounded affected but also a bit intrigued. “Fine,” she agreed while her skin flushed. “ Oliver, may I ask you a question?” Her smile was still small but perfect since he could fully see her pale cream colored skin. Her lips were full and pink as they shifted from one surprised emotion to the next. 

“Ask away...” He started before his mind blanked at this charming woman’s name. He grabbled for moment, his eyes danced from one edge of his vision to the next. She let him falter until it dawned on him to ask, “What’s your name?”

Her eyes were lit from within. Oliver felt his shame ebbing when she politely answered, “Felicity, my name is Felicity.” Her sweet, innocent smile shifted into one of danger and intrigue, “Now Oliver,” she queried gently, “what are you doing down here in the middle of the night?”  Oliver’s smile was growing wider and wider with each passing minute as he stepped closer and closer. He didn’t even realize he hadn’t stopped until her body was just within his aching fingers reach. 

“Well I was thinking about taking a midnight ride but now...” he paused wondering if he could truly answer her question honestly.

“Now what?” She pushed lightly with her body inching closer to his. Her hands were still tightly bound behind her back as she swayed from foot to foot in smooth easy motions. 

Oliver licked his lips and, breathed deeply. Felicity too took a long breath and waited for his next foolish choice. He reacted slowly with care as he leaned forward. He felt her soft breaths over his rough skin, he could smell the light scent of hay upon her skin, he could feel her surprise at the unexpected moment. He moved until their noses could practically touch before responding; “Now I’m talking to you...” 

Oliver didn’t know it then but within a few short weeks his entire life was about to drastically change. 

The memory for both would be hard to endure but, time as always for the two of them once again was not on their side. She pushed for separation but, Oliver had endured enough emptiness to beg for her soothing touch. She relented of course; he smiled and laced their fingers while he chose were they would be when the truth was revealed. She would have opted for the kitchen stools; he however wanted a space for them to touch as they talked. The couch wasn’t what he hoped for when he daydreamed of this moment but, he marveled that the reality of her touch was so much better than the dream. Both were seated against the back of the couch. He unlaced their fingers; she in turn shifted along the cushions until her legs were over his lap. He grinned in delighted shock, “I thought you were opting for distance?’

She let her soft lips curve, “I changed my mind,” she giggled softly in reply. His smile grew when her fingers were tangled in his close cropped hair; his own drew small patterns along her bent knees. He was leaning into her soft touch when she broke the small moment of silence. “When did your visions start?” 

Oliver hesitated and she of course noticed, “I can go first if that’s easier?” she offered as she had when they were children.

“No…” he frowned then continued softly, “I’m just scared to break through the magic of it all…”

Felicity knew exactly what he meant, “Like if we find the source of the connection we’ll shatter the beauty of our enduring love story?”

“Exactly,” he agreed quickly with the innocence of a man who’d just realized he’d fallen in love.

She rubbed her steady fingers along the nape of his neck before again pushing them both into a very uncomfortable subject, “You know if we don’t figure this out in six months we’ll both be dead…”

His heavy sigh made his own heart bleed, “Well that answers that…” he croaked.

She nodded grimly, “When did you realize that time was against us?”

Oliver kept tracing along the soft lines of her skin, I’m not sure I want to answer that question yet,” he admitted a bit too eagerly.

She respected his fears as she always had and, slowly withdrew her fingers from his skin. Oliver recognized her patterns and, showed her the same courtesy in return. She mumbled, “Thank you,” when he wordlessly placed his fingers along her ankles.  

His chest faltered when he sighed heavily, “I’m scared of being alone again…”

She nodded in solemn agreement, “Me too…”

Oliver felt the comfort of ignorance sweeping over him. The past was hard, it was messy and, most importantly it was the key to their survival.  He managed to croak first, “I don’t know when my visions started exactly but, if I had to guess I’d say it was around the second or third year...what about you?” Oliver watched her closely; her body teemed with raw nervous energy. She bit at her bottom lip and, gulped fearfully.  

“I’m not sure either.” He was about to accept her words but paused when she began tapping her fingers along her wrist.

“Baby you wanted honesty,” he reminded her softly.

She gulped roughly, “I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

He stayed his hand and let her decide how much physical contact she wanted. Her eyes blazed with worry, “What if we can’t accept each other?” Oliver remained frozen; she’d done this for years. When she panicked she began to question everything including them. He knew she’d work it out but, still at times the process could be daunting. Thankfully tonight she’d decided to move forward. She prattled on with frozen lungs, “If I was with you physically…” she swallowed roughly, “Like you know “with” you,” she clearly emphasized. “Then the visions would be painful, and I don’t mean like a toothache.”

“So when we had sex…” he gulped almost uncomfortably, “then…”

“Yes,” she nearly screamed. “I would relive one of our previous moments.”   He nodded understanding that while they’d both been keeping secrets they were now finally willing to be completely honest with the other. 

“What if we just talked?” he asked quietly.

She hid a small smirk, “Normally nothing traumatic, I might see something but nothing that left a lasting mark. How about you?”

Oliver bit his tongue until his mouth filled with rust, “Same we had sex and I saw our history; we didn’t and I generally saw nothing too detailed.”

“You’re biting your damn tongue again aren’t you?” she asked when his face wrinkled in preventable pain.

His glare was meaningless against her soft, concerned gaze. “This is hard,” he countered. “It’s hard accepting that once we have sex we’ll probably both die from the damn memories.”

Felicity’s eyes fell in shame, “We won’t die Oliver…” she whispered.

He mumbled, “We both know more than we’re admitting don’t we?”

She kept her blue eyes frozen on her knees, her small frame shook, “We can’t just blow past this Oliver, we have to do this one horrible step at a time,” she sadly confessed. “We have to…” she repeated before brushing her fingers through over his cheek.

He leaned into the timid touch. His skin burned with both happiness and instant regret, “I love you…” he breathed painfully.

She shook her weary head and echoed the sentiment, “I love you too but…”

“But we have to do this,” he replied with ice forming through his breaking heart.

He felt her fingers over his three day old scruff, his eyes crinkled at the sides when he finally opened his heart, “My memories go back to our very first day…”

Her fingers froze along his upper cheek, “Tell me?” she whispered euphorically.

He smiled with his eyes before they slammed shut, “I’d accepted my mother’s plea…” he felt his entire world expanding around him as his mind pushed the dormant memory out into the vastness of his battle weary heart. “We met in the stables I was there trying to escape my obligations and you were there talking to my horse.”

Felicity’s thumb brushed against his skin, “You were supposed to marry Laurel?” she queried as he breathed slowly.

“I was but that night I met a stable hand who stood her ground and made me smile.”

Felicity trailed her fingers along his jaw then gently requested that he open his eyes. He did as asked; she smiled and cocked her head until her blonde hair was resting over the couch’s edge. “I can get to corsets,” she started earnestly, “but not much further and even then the images are hazy like my mind is distorted or the full image is blocked.”

Oliver grinned, “You were awfully tempting in a corset I’ll admit…”

She grinned and brushed her thumb over his smiling upper lip, “Yeah, yeah…” she laughed honestly before sobering enough to ask, “So how did you get to our first moment anyways?”  

“Well you won’t like the direction this goes,” he teased as her pale skin flushed.

“Oh…” she mouthed.

He nodded in reply, “Yeah our first time actually is what allowed me to reach that moment.”

She flushed even more, “So…” she coughed almost uncomfortably, “When we have sex you get to see a collection of our greatest hits?”

“You have a way with words,” he chuckled.

Those blue eyes rolled, he tapped his fingers along her ankle bone while she moved her roaming fingers down to his shoulder. He felt her picking at an imaginary thread when she asked, “What else have you seen?”

He heard the wonder in her voice; but he also heard the resentment as well. She’d been tortured and he made it sound like he hadn’t. He brushed his thumb over her ankle and placed his lips over her knuckles, “It wasn’t all sunshine and roses Felicity. I have one memory that left me broken for days.”

She inched closer while he placed soft kisses to her blanched skin; “Care to share?” she pried with interest glowing in her bright eyes.

He smiled over her skin then whispered into a soft kiss, “I thought for a moment that I wasn’t asleep…”

“Oliver you can’t save me...it’s too late...please it’s too late....” 

Her voice was becoming weaker and weaker as the blood began to pool around the cheap white dress she’d borrowed for the day. Laurel had stormed through the front doors screaming and wailing with the gun held tightly in her right hand. I tried to shield her from the impending strike of the hot metal as it screamed through the chapel’s expanse. Sadly she’d had the same thought. She’d grabbed the lapels of my jacket and pulled me toward her shoving me out of the bullet’s path as it found a home within her chest. 

Shocked and dazed I stumbled over on my hands and knees to gather her shaken form into my lap, my hands were brushing rapidly along the sides of her pale face.”Why...why did you do that?” 

She coughed suddenly...small specs of bright red blood came forth as they lightly stained her rapidly paling lips. “Because I love you...I’d do any...any...” She began to cough even harder as her words became caught in the blood that was rising from her chest. 

“Felicity please rest...we’ll find help...you’ll be fine...baby you’ll be fine do you hear me...”

She attempted to laugh but her condition was getting worse as her body slowly began to give way. “If I die protecting you then it was worth it...” She coughed up more blood as she reached for my hands...

“Promise me...promise me you won’t die with me...not this time please not this time...” 

“Felicity it doesn’t work that way, your heart stops, my heart stops you know the rules...” Her eyes were beginning to slam shut. I feared for the last time so I leaned down placing my lips to her chilled sweat laden brow kissing her skin before I uttered what would be our last thoughts. “I’ll find you...It’s always been you...from that first day in the stables it’s always been you Felicity only ever you...” I brought my lips down to hers as she found the strength to kiss me one last time. 

“I love you...” she whispered like a prayer, “I’ve loved you since you asked for my name,” she declared with her last breath. Just like the many times before her words were said over my lips. I felt the familiar pull of the noose upon my neck. The rope practically burned along my trachea as the building around us burned. I heard the cracked bells in the rundown church, the flames licked our skin and, just like before moments after her heart stopped mine followed suit. The last person I saw before my vision went black was Laurel’s tear stained face. She fell to her knees and placed her gloved hand lightly against Felicity’s face. “Figure it out before it’s too late next time...please stop me before I have to kill you both all over again...save me...Felicity save me...” Her words were the last one’s I heard in that life as I clung to Felicity’s limp hand, the pressure of our wedding bands left my heart aching for just a few seconds more...

“Wow...” she lowly exclaimed. “So you’ve seen one of our wedding days...”

Oliver laughed lowly, “Yes I’ve seen about three and each time they end quite poorly.”

Felicity seemed to sober a bit but she continued her questioning nonetheless. “Do we ever make it past the I do part?”

“I think maybe once but, I’m not sure,” he breathed honestly with his chin over her knuckles.  

She remained mum for mere moments before her confused voice echoed throughout the room, “So if I’m understanding this correctly then whatever happened in our first life is what cursed us in our next ones?”

Oliver chuckled briefly then asked, “Now that I’ve shared a moment can I hold you now?”

She nodded eagerly, “Yeah I’d say revisiting one of my deaths earns you a cuddle.”

“Thank you,” he teased as she inched herself fully into his lap. She nestled beneath his chin; her nose was pressed along his shirt collar while he found his fingers ached to be tangled in her hair. He slowly undid the high ponytail then slowly used his fingers to separate the bunched tendrils. Felicity shook her head lightly while his other hand drifted slowly up and down the length of her arm.  He felt her fingers along his chest before her voice made his lungs vibrate, “So again we always die?”

He chuckled sadly then pressed his lips to her temple, “Yeah we always die…”

She seemed to accept their fate but, he knew her body language better than that. Her fingers rolled along his shirt with fretful movements, her lips brushed over his collar as she sighed heavily. He soon couldn’t resist the urge to break through her not so silent musings. “Felicity just ask your question before we both bust…”

His light request was honored by a dull, “Why would Laurel ask me to save her?”  

He lowered his chin to her crown and sighed heavily, “You’ve hacked your way into every one of my systems and this is what you don’t understand?”

“We’ll cover Julie and Digg later on don’t you fret but for right now I’m more interested in why Laurel wants to be saved,” she countered with sarcasm dripping through her steady tone.

If he wasn’t so content he would have raised his arms in surrender. “How far did you get into my business dealings?” he asked in evasion once more.

“Some of your earnings are deposited to the families of the men you killed in service of the Bratva as you already know and yes I’m aware of your other issue with Alexi.” He kept his thoughts on pause because once she’d taken a deep breath she added, “Now answer my question so we can drudge up other uncomfortable subjects.”

Her voice felt strong even when her tone was light. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze while the hand he had within her hair trailed down to rest upon the nape of her slender neck. He queried once more, “Are you sure you want the truth?”

She nudged his collar bone with her cheek in silent reply. He took another of many deep breaths and spoke tenderly, “Once I saw how we met I became fascinated with the time period. I visited an older library in Moscow when I had time during a business trip and found about three books…”

Felicity’s low smirk of humor made his chest burn, “You willingly read a book?”

Oliver pinched her elbow but, all she did was snuggle closer. He massaged her neck slowly and continued in earnest. “So… as you can imagine I was dismayed with the books were all written in Gaelic.”

“Please tell me you tried to translate it?” she snorted loudly.

“Are you going to let me finish or not?” he scolded lightly with no intention of ever seeing the threat through.  

She pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat and mumbled, “So once you had some very kind person translate the books what prey tell did you find?”

“Quentin had three daughters, and my would be wife was the oldest….” He let his tone fall flat when her body suddenly went ice cold.

He could hear the cogs in her head moving, hell he could hear her heart beginning to break when she lightly babbled in complete shock, “You said I was a stable hand…”

He felt her hair rustling over his chin when she moved her forehead back and forth over the line of his trachea. “This isn’t possible…”she rambled, “This can’t be true…” she exclaimed. “This….” She again sputtered, “This has to be a mistake!”

Oliver moved his hand to her spine, “Sorry honey but Laurel in 1842 according to the books was your sister and, according to the books we took off the night before she and Quentin arrived for the wedding.”

If his heart could have broken for her he would have ripped it apart himself. He felt her shudder in his arms while her soft whispers fell over his shirt, “We left and somehow ended up cursed because you what married the wrong woman?”

“No I married the right woman…” he protested almost angrily.

Felicity’s soft snuffles made his stomach ache, “Then why did this happen? Why did we end up cursed to find each other just so we could die?”

“The books didn’t go that far, hell they didn’t even get past the night we ran,” Oliver swore, “but we both know how to find the answer…” he pushed perhaps a bit too soon.

He felt her pushing him away but, it wasn’t the way he thought she would. He felt her slide her forehead against his parted lips, he kissed her skin almost involuntarily while she pressed her palms to his chest. He adjusted his stance so she still felt comfortable within the tender embrace. “While I personally can’t wait to actually have sex with you we both know there’s another option…” her suggestion made his body freeze.

“No…” he glowered darkly. “You almost died the last time you let her put you under Felicity…”

“Yeah but I also found out that Laurel was alive,” she countered quietly with her forehead still placed along his parted mouth.

“You say that like I should already be aware,” he muttered contritely.

She simply whispered, “Julie and I’ve hacked your servers so don’t think I didn’t see the note to Diggle about my condition after the accident that night.

Oliver paled, “I’d rather discuss that at a later time…”

She mimicked his tone, “Fine we’ll discuss sex then…”

He gulped but whimpered, “Fine…” knowing he’d have to discuss both Julie and Laurel before long.

Felicity’s skin brushed his lips each time he spoke but, he didn’t count on how he’d feel when she confessed to knowing he’d been there all along. “Well you know what happened after we had sex I assume?” she broached uneasily since they technically hadn’t been together in this life.

“Yeah after that night I woke up enraged because I’d woken up at all,” he confessed quickly. He felt her lean into his touch, her forehead slid back down to his throat as her lips traveled down his bobbing Adam’s apple. He gulped greedily when her lips fell over his pulse point, “I spent three days tracking down anyone crazy enough to listen…”

“Yeah I can only imagine,” she giggled when she once more snuggled deeply into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her happily while she pressed her fingers between the folds of his shirt.

He laughed softly, “Anyways once I’d exhausted the nearby options I turned to the less logical ones…”

“Yeah Julie having her medical license being suspended would make her an easy target,” Felicity agreed quickly.

He replied sharply, “Exactly so swaying her corporation took no time at all. Anyways once I explained our situation and she confirmed I wasn’t insane she agreed to contact me if you ever became endangered by your efforts.”

He felt her pulling away again so before she could squirm free he quickly added with a note of shame, “My life wasn’t stable, being with you then would have gotten you and possibly your family killed.”

He felt her relax within his arms once more. He shrugged off the feeling of fear when she murmured, “You’re going to explain that fact at a later date sweetheart…”

“I planned too,” he allowed before his story continued. “Anyways  when you came to her home with bloodshot eyes she of course felt compelled to help.

Felicity rolled her tongue over her lips and sighed, “I’d been dreaming about Laurel…”

“Yeah but it was the wrong Laurel,” he interceded.

She huffed, “I wanted to feel peace and since I couldn’t bring her back I guess I wanted to solve the mystery of us.”

He allowed her grief to consume her then but he’d be damned if he let it happen again. He swallowed his pride and nearly wept with guilt when he said, “When Julie told me you’d taken the cocktail for deep hypnosis I’ll admit I was scared. I’d been tortured, destroyed and made into a killer but none of that compared to how it felt when I heard her stammering voice over the phone. Nothing in my life prepared me for seeing you lying on the ground with Laurel’s slim body shielding you from an oncoming car…”

“You were the one who kissed my forehead weren’t you?”

“Again I couldn’t risk being seen outside of Russia so once the EMT’s arrived I forced myself back into the shadows, he mumbled swiftly to plead his case.

She patted his chest lightly, “Oliver remember I’ve hacked your system I know more than you think I do…”

He bit back a sharp reprimand and let his feelings cloud his judgment, “Then I’ll cut to the chase.” He felt his heart shattering within him as she remained almost frozen in his steel like arms. “We had sex and after that I moved heaven and Earth to find you…” he felt her lips move so he spoke first. “You remember my training and you’ve seen my files.” She nodded but remained quiet as he continued to weave his tale. “I took the life of my trainer; I took his home, his business and his seat among the other Bratva Captains. I became the monster I feared as a child…I became the hatred he hoped to install within my heart but you were the flickering candle in the window of my soul. You were my salvation and, the very idea of exposing you to that darkness made my soul darken.”

She spoke swiftly, “You were in town because of Victor’s son weren’t you?”

“I was,” he answered blandly. “He’d come to form an alliance with the lone American family. I came to prevent that alliance and, that’s when I got the call…” he finally admitted. “I was outside the warehouse when my phone buzzed. They were simply talking so I checked the ID, I listened to her frantic words on the message and, seconds later I was hopping off the window ledge until my feet were on the ground.”

“You’re still evading my real question,” she realized almost silently. “You saw her in that room with Victor’s son didn’t you?”

Oliver swallowed a gnarled plea, “Felicity please don’t make me say it…”

She gulped but remained snuggled to his chest, “Then I will. My mother married the Bratva captain in the states and, that means he’s allied with Alexi, which means…”

“I have to kill him yes.” he interceded coldly. “I have to kill him and if Laurel was with them then…”

“Then you’re going to kill Laurel too,” she whispered with ice in her voice.

He expected her to run, hell he wanted her to run but she stayed, she did what John had claimed….

Felicity stayed but her faith came with conditions.

“When is there next meeting?” she asked suddenly as Oliver refocused his addled brain.

His eyes fell to the ceiling of the hotel room with exhaustion, “Seven days from tomorrow why?”

Felicity began push away, he panicked until she whispered, “Relax Oliver you’re story just reminded me of something…”

He released her somberly as she stood to retrieve her planner. He sat there with his palms over his weary face. He could almost feel the tension of his body flowing through him until her soft voice broke silence around him. “You said seven days right?”

He mumbled against his palms, “Yeah why?”

He heard her footfalls over the area rug; he felt the air around him shift when body pushed the stale around his broad shoulders. He parted his fingers and glanced down when he felt her planner land open faced over his lap. His lips twitched with the beginning of a very broad smile. His rough voice sounded almost joyful when he mumbled, “It’s a full moon…”

Felicity nodded in complete understanding, “Yeah and since we’re together I think we should use that to our advantage…”

He lowered his palms until his fingers were along the edges of the small book, “Did you explain this particular theory to her during a therapy session?”

He saw her bite her bottom lip at his posed question, “No but I think it has merit,” she boasted proudly. “Think about it,” she implored with raised arms. “Our visions are stronger during full moons, our encounters were always deeper, and our impulses stronger so now that we’re in the same place why don’t we try out our theory?”

His mouth fell, “You mean the dream sleep thing don’t you?”

She nodded energetically, “Julie has access to the drugs and you have the money if she can’t get them…”

Oliver blanched, “You almost died…”

She brushed it aside with a hand wave and flippant tone, “Almost and this time we’ll be together…”

He cocked his hand and traced along the nearly empty page, “We still have a lot of ground to cover Felicity. We still haven’t discussed how I know Diggle and even the facts surrounding Laurel or Alexi,” he gently noted with concern. “We still don’t have all the facts,” he stated, “We still are getting to know each other,” he admitted even though deep down he knew her better than himself.

She dismissed him easily, “Yes but we also have a death sentence so what’s more important playing twenty questions or saving our lives?”

He eyed her cynically as she stood before him with crossed arms and a glare. “This could end badly,” he offered cryptically.

Her glare deepened, “Worse than death?” she questioned tightly.

His eyes swept around the room looking for another source of inspiration to strike. She remained steadfast as his heart pounded. The time table was set, the task was simple, and the players were known. He sighed then cleared his throat, “All for one?”

She smiled at their old parting sentiment and sighed, “And one for all…”

Tagging: @emmaamelia95 @pleasantfanandstudent @coal000 @memcjo @lesanchea @mrsbubblelee @olicitylovemaking @miriam1779 @love2luvyyou @almondblossomme @diggo26 @rivaroma @cjjingram @vaelisamaza @befitandchase @pimsiepim @andjustforthismoment @anonymiss118 @thelockpickingvictorian @yet-i-remain-quiet @lexi9515 @kathrynelizabeth89 @marniforolicity @marytagus @myhauntedblacksoul @myuntetheredsoul @blondiegrl00 @independent-fics @felicity-said--yes @relativelyobsessedfangirl @i-m-a-fan-world @mel-loves-all @somewhatinvisible @danski15 @stygian-omada-fan @malafle @emilyp05 @oliverfel4 @alemap74 @vicky-vale @charlinert @hope-for-olicity @missafairy @arrows-4ever @jaspertown @sweetzcupcake @captainolicitysbedroom @nalla-madness @smoakingarrow19 @bwangangelic @ccdimples88 @lalawo1 @yespleasehawkeye @ireland1733 @quiveringbunny @scu11y22 @detbensonsvu1 @tdgal1 @cinfos @xxliveyourlife @onceuponarrow @supersillyanddorky06 

[dothewrite]

Can I please request a scenario where yachi gets a boyfriend and the volleyball team get all protective? Thank You!!

What is this even. How the heck did this get so long. I have no idea what happened here, Karasuno just showed up and literally ran this whole show by themselves- I hope you forgive me. Thanks for waiting so long, and I hope you enjoy!

It’s been awhile since she’s been so eager to be anywhere at all. Thesun is shining, the birds are chirping and honestly? Everything is greatbecause Yachi feels like this is her first breath in a whole new world. Whoknew that coffee dates could be so exciting? It was really nothing, she recallsbashfully as she involuntarily covers her cheeks with two palms, it’s not as ifthey were in a big city with exciting animal cafes or anything, but she can’tget over the soft trembling that courses through her limbs with each step- oh,how he had looked at her! For someone who’s surrounded by men all the timeyou’d think she’d be a little better with interacting with one, but he didn’tmind. He just smiled at her with those lovely dimples and half-moon eyes untilshe stopped stammering, and he even held out a fresh napkin for her to use whenshe’d inevitably spilled some cocoa powder all over her lap, and even then,Yachi’s not even embarrassed about her blunder because she’s too embarrassedabout being on a date. An actual date!

It’s getting a bit late, however, since she’d lost track of time soeasily- but who could blame her? Even though the city center is a bit out ofthe way from her residential district, it was worth it. For the first time inher life, the couples that buzz around during dusk don’t seem to be so enviableanymore, their hands clasped tightly in each others’ don’t seem like fantasy,and the way they whisper into each others’ ears- well, she could do thatanytime she liked, couldn’t she?

Still, Yachi Hitoka is still Yachi Hitoka, and her face reddens almostimmediately after imagining herself doing something so bold in public. Sheguesses that her mom wouldn’t be so against if she found out- in fact, she’dprobably be teased until next year, but it’s alright, this is beyond hercomfort zone but what a wonderful place it is indeed.

Well, it would be, if it weren’t for her above average hearing and alittle band of misfits that she calls Karasuno Volleyball Club, and if it wereanyone else, anyone bolder, they might have actually called the police if theyfelt at least twelve different pairs of eyes fixed on her every moment. Now,she’s shy, but she’s not that shy.

They seem a little bit confused when she suddenly turns into a largebookstore that seems rather crowded for this time of day, but they follow heranyway, winding through the different shelves of fiction, boy’s love, ecchimanga… good lord, Yachi feels like this is an adventure all of its own, butthis is the one place where they wouldn’t be bothered- where even shopattendants try to avoid bothering their customers. She stops in her tracks onceshe’s reached a relatively empty corner surrounded by handrawn pictures ofbulging boobs everywhere and with her hands on her hips (she’s trying to not beso nervous, she really is) she spins around with her best impression of Kiyokoas possible.

“Guys, really?”

It was a good choice of words, because she thinks that ‘excuse me, butcan you all please come out?’ might not work so effectively when it comes totelling people off. True to form, they slink out from behind the tentaclesection one by one, each with varying degrees of guilt on their faces. Somewith none at all- thank you, she thinks dryly at Nishinoya’senthusiastic detective face.

“We must have been pretty annoying, I-I’m sorry-” Asahi speaks up first,his hands wringing in front of him, but he’s quickly cut off by Hinata’sexcited cry.

“I didn’t get to see! Everyone was blocking the way, was he cute?Hitoka-chan, was he? Was he?!”

Kageyama’s arm materializes from behind a bookshelf and whacks theorange ball of energy on the head, and Yachi stammers because that’s got tohurt. Hinata ignores it however, a pouty ‘aw, that’s mean!’ slipping past hismouth before he’s shouting about something again. Still, it’s not as noisy asit could be, and Yachi’s eyes wander up to one of the more silent member oftheir band of misfits to find Ennoshita, to his credit, holding Tanaka and Noyaback by the scruff of their shirts.

“Sorry,” he offers with an apologetic smile, but it looks a little toodark to be of any comfort to her. Yachi just nods quickly before his mooddecides to change. She starts to feel a little sorry for the second years, butit doesn’t last too long when she takes a quick glance at her surroundings toremind herself of why exactly they were all there.

Narita, Kinoshita and Tsukishima hover around the edges, looking bothawkward (or in Tsukishima’s case, long-suffering), but there’s no doubting thecurious twinkle in their eyes that border on nosey. Her view of them is quicklyblocked, however, by Suga’s slim frame suddenly appearing very close toher face. Yachi can’t help but jump back a little at the proximity, but she’simmediately trapped in her place by a pair of extremely concerned hands on hershoulders. There’s no escaping the silver-haired demon. Yachi thinks that hemight do a better job of being a mother than her own mom, sometimes.

“We saw him, Hitoka-chan,” Suga says seriously, those large, auburn eyesboring into her soul like some sort of criminal investigator, “was he too closeto you? He was smiling the whole time- how can anyone smile for so long? Areyou sure he was nice to you?”

“Koushi,” Daichi’s sagely voice floats in from surprisingly near, “weweren’t even close enough to hear.”

“I knew we should have put a recording device on her,” Sugadeclares with a snap of his fingers, and Yachi’s face pales. She’s not quitesure if she should be upset that they’re considering it, or relieved that theyhaven’t already. Maybe this is stockholm syndrome from too much volleyballpractice. “Isn’t that what I told you in the first place, Daichi?”

“I’d rather not get arrested for invasion of privacy,” comes Asahi’snervous sounding voice- somehow Yachi can tell that it’s not because he’s beencaught, but rather because he’s rather anxious at being in such a suggestivesection of a bookstore. She catches Daichi nodding out of the corner of hereye. Suga, however, does not seem to waver.

“That’s only if we’re caught!” He leans in closer, and their foreheadsare almost touching, Yachi feels the beads of sweat starting to rollunattractively down the side of her forehead. “Hitoka-chan, you know we’re justconcerned, right? We want the best for you, and to think that we had overheardsome first years talking about it instead of from you- we were devastated!”

Hardly, she thinks, because she can see the excitement brimming in theback of his stare and right now, Sugawara Koushi is having a whale of a time.Kageyama pipes up, much to her surprise, “it’s one of the popular kids. The onewith the KAT-TUN hair- I can’t remember his name.”

“You did well, Kageyama-kun,” Daichi reaches over to pat the younger boyon the back and Kageyama looks strangely gratified. Hinata, however, looksextremely put out. “I tried to listen too!”

“How can anyone hear anything over the sound of you existing,”Tsukishima sneers from the back, and Yamaguchi throws him a horrified look. Notin front of Hitoka, he seems to hiss, but Tsukishima just throws her aconsidering glance and then shrugs.

Too indignant for works, Hinata starts squawking, and Noya ends uphaving to wrap a sturdy arm around his junior to keep his feet firmly on theground. Surprisingly, neither Noya nor Tanaka has said anything yet, butthere’s a terrible feeling that washes over Yachi that tells her that it’s notgoing to be over yet- once Ennoshita’s let go of them, she’s probably going tobe followed around for days.

“Um, you all,” she finally chokes out, her voice a little too high outof nervousness and exasperation, “he’s… h-he’s just a first year like me, andI’d appreciate it if you didn’t follow me around-”

“But how will we know?!” Suga demands, shaking her a little, “will youpromise to update us? Tell us everything that happens??”

“Koushi,” Daichi cuts in again, and Suga releases his grip a little.

Yachi needs only to take a look around at the unrelenting faces of herteam to know that their stubbornness didn’t just end at the court. She nods.Very, very reluctantly, but that’s more than enough. Everyone seems to sag withrelief like their only daughter’s promised to save sex for after marriage,and Yachi sighs.

She prays quickly to Buddha and hopes that, at this rate, she’s still in a relationship by the end of the week.

[presumenothing]

From the author of Steeplechase: "For the record, Chikage’s lie in this chapter, about Kaito falling down the stairs and Hakuba catching him and getting help, would make an excellent H/C fic with the canon versions of the characters. It’s officially up for adoption, if anyone wants to write the thing."

(prompt me anytime!)

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aww look, @ninthfeather​! and it turns out I do want to write 2k+ words of the thing, hope you enjoy 8D

(chapter in question – again, throwing in a rec for the RiR/Steeplechase series, because it is awesome, ‘nuff said.)

also disclaimer that the author is an engineering nerd who knows nothing about fall injuries or treatments beyond cursory google searches, please suspend your disbelief, and apologies in advance to any medicine-savvy folks out there

.

on balance

Fools don’t catch colds, as the saying goes.

(AO3)

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It isn’t even a conscious set of decisions, images and realisations flickering past too fast to be called thoughts –

(On reflection, Saguru will think later, regular appearances at Kid heists have clearly trained his reflexes considerably beyond the norm. It’s a… fortunate, if ironic, twist of events.)

– but in the moment, this is what it adds up to: 

Kuroba falls down the stairs, and Saguru catches him, almost too late but not.

.

They’ve both been eyeing Kuroba with suspicion since this morning. 

Granted, this in itself is not unusual for Saguru, but today his reasons are quite different. He watches out the corner of his eye, between quick glances from his notebook to the blackboard and back.

Aoko, on the other hand, hasn’t even bothered with such pretensions. (And not for a lack of an ability to multitask, as Saguru and the rest of the class can attest to.)

Her textbooks are out on the table, yes – not that the teachers would likely have reprimanded her otherwise, since Saguru is fairly certain that the first two rules of teaching class 2-B involve basically leaving the pair to their own devices – but by the last lesson of the day she’s staring at Kuroba outright, worry clear on her face. 

A worry well-founded, as far as Saguru is concerned.

Aoko had managed to get Kuroba to leave school early three days ago, when she’d realised that he was running a fever high enough that he was having dizzy spells – or, more precisely, having trouble concealing his lightheadedness.

(When Saguru asked, Keiko told him that this wasn’t the first time, either; apparently Kuroba had a proven track record of hiding illnesses, and Aoko had put herself in charge of getting him to rest, with varying degrees of success.)

Kuroba was absent for the following two days, but had turned up again this morning, doing his level best at appearing fine while ignoring all rules of human physiology. And well enough that, though Saguru was loath to admit it, even he would’ve been inclined to believe it if the subject of discussion hadn’t been Kuroba, expert gymnast and disguise artist, among other things.

Aoko stands and rounds upon Kuroba’s desk the second the last bell rings, her expression stern enough to rival Baaya nagging Saguru to eat his meals. “That’s it, you’re going home, Kaito!”

Kuroba blinks up at her innocently. “No way, Aoko, or did you forget that we’re supposed to be on cleaning duty today?”

“Oh, Aoko definitely remembers, but did you forget how you were literally running a dangerously high fever just three days ago? You’re not fine!” Aoko snaps back, and Saguru doesn’t think he’s ever seen her this agitated, ever.

Kuroba deftly dodges her attempt to take his temperature – Saguru catches a well-hidden wince at the motion, which is the biggest evidence of Kuroba’s current state of wellbeing that he’s managed to see all day.

“I agree with Aoko-kun,” Saguru says as he walks over. “You might be immune to colds, Kuroba-kun, but that doesn’t exclude fever.”

“Maybe I’m a bigger fool than you think, then,” Kuroba retorts, crossing his arms almost petulantly.

Saguru exchanges a look of frustration with Aoko – any fight against the stubbornness of one Kuroba Kaito doesn’t exactly have the best odds.

“All right,” Aoko says finally, looking back at Kuroba. “You stay here while Aoko and the others clean the classroom, and then we’re going straight back home. Hakuba-kun’s housekeeper can fetch us, right?”

Saguru nods in confirmation at her glance. He and Kuroba are both assigned to clean the hallway outside their classroom today, and while it is a large area for Saguru to cover by himself, it also means that there isn’t any need for the magician to do anything but wait.

Not that Kuroba agrees, of course, but Saguru goes to pack his bag and retrieve the cleaning supplies, leaving the two of them to bicker.

The sooner he gets started, after all, the faster they can get Kuroba home, and if Aoko can’t get the magician to listen to common sense Saguru doesn’t exactly stand a chance either.

.

It’s half an hour later when Saguru opens the hallway closet to put the supplies back, and – he doesn’t know if it’s coincidence, or whether he saw something in his peripheral vision without fully registering it, but he turns towards the staircase at the end of the hallway just in time to see –

Kuroba trips over the top stair, and Saguru feels a jolt of cold horror. 

He hadn’t known that Kuroba had left the classroom.

The next few moments are disjointed flashes even in his memory. He recalls taking off at a run, the broom falling with a loud clatter – remembers the leaden realisation that Kuroba wouldn’t be able to catch himself in this state, and Saguru must have taken the stairs two at a time himself, because –

He catches Kuroba not quite halfway down the stairs, holding grimly onto his upper torso. The magician is unconscious, a dead weight in Saguru’s arms.

Thoughts run rapidfire through his mind: he can’t carry Kuroba down himself, not without the risk of aggravating any injuries, and (perhaps more importantly) given the high likelihood of disorientation from the fever and fall combined, Saguru needs someone at hand that Kuroba implicitly trusts. He’s keenly aware that he doesn’t count.

He does a quick mental tally of the group – a total of six students, but Aoko had gone to sort the recyclable trash with two others, which left –

Saguru takes a deep breath, and shouts, pitching his voice to carry. “KEIKO!”

Sure enough, there’s the sound of running footsteps several seconds later, and his other classmate rounds the corner. “Hakuba-kun, wha– oh my god, Kaito-kun!”

“Call Aoko-kun,” Saguru says tersely, cutting Keiko off before she can do anything further. “Hurry!”

That startles Keiko into action, and she nods frantically before dashing back towards the classroom – where she’d left her handphone, presumably.

(Saguru’s own phone is in his pants pocket – he’d taken it automatically upon leaving the classroom, a longstanding habit from needing to be contactable by the police at all times – but he can’t reach it without dislodging Kuroba from their already precarious position on the stairs.)

A small eternity seems to pass as Saguru waits on the stairs, holding himself still while he catalogues Kuroba’s injuries – the magician’s shoulder is a mess, and Saguru is fairly certain that the bruising is going to be extensive, but by some unlikely miracle he seems otherwise uninjured.

Externally, at least, and Saguru is only partly successful in not thinking about the number of possible internal injuries that he can’t see when Aoko runs up to them, slightly out of breath.

He isn’t sure if it’s because Keiko had mentioned the situation over the phone, or whether Aoko is just that level-headed in crisis – either way, her face is pale but remarkably composed as she slows to a stop, several steps below them. “What do you need Aoko to do, Hakuba-kun?”

“Help me get him to level ground,” Saguru answers immediately. “I need to examine his injuries properly, but we shouldn’t risk moving him too far. Is there anyone we should call?”

Aoko bites her lip as she moves to take Kuroba’s legs, and together they manoeuvre him carefully onto the hallway floor before she speaks. “Kaito’s mum – Chikage-san – but she might not be home right now, and Aoko doesn’t have her handphone number.”

Which meant that she was in Las Vegas, probably – Saguru had found out that much about the elder Kuroba during his investigations. He stands up and takes out his own handphone instead, already going to speed dial. “Try to wake him up. I’ll ask Baaya to drive the car over, it’s faster than an ambulance.”

Aoko nods, the same determined look still on her face as she crouches down beside Kuroba’s unmoving form, careful not to jostle his shoulder.

Saguru steps away, checking his pocketwatch as he puts the phone to his ear – four and half minutes since Kuroba fell, to his best estimate. 

Baaya picks up on the third ring. “Saguru-bocchama?”

“Can you drive over to the school?” Saguru asks. “Bring the first-aid kit and ice packs too, please.”

“Of course,” she says briskly, in her usual efficient manner. “Should I call the doctor as well?”

Saguru looks over to where – he sees with a rush of relief – Kuroba is slowly stirring, though Aoko appears to have stopped him from moving. “Possibly, but later. We’ll meet you at the gates.”

Baaya agrees, and Saguru ends the call as he walks back, crouching down as well. “How is he?” 

The question is directed at Aoko, but Kuroba answers instead, which Saguru should really have expected. “Well enough to – ” he grimaces, breathing shallowly, “ – to answer by myself, thanks.” 

“Stop talking!” Aoko says, voice wavering for the first time since her arrival. “What next, Hakuba-kun?”

Saguru evaluates his options quickly – Kuroba seems lucid enough, and he’s probably out of immediate danger. “Can you get something to elevate his head and shoulders for now, Aoko-kun? Baaya’s on her way with a first-aid kit, and we can get him proper medical attention afterwards.”

Aoko heads back towards the classroom, and Kuroba waits until she’s out of earshot before speaking. “You know that I can’t go to a hospital, Hakuba.”

“Did I say anything about hospitals?” Saguru isn’t sure what exactly prompts the objection – most probably some previous injury that Kuroba would have trouble accounting for as a civilian – but he’s prepared for it anyway. “Fortunately for you, I have the Hakuba family doctor at my disposal, and non-disclosure agreements covering any patients I bring in as well.”

The magician would probably have rolled his eyes, if he had been capable of it. “It was just a fall, I don’t need a doctor.”

“I beg to differ,” Saguru says sharply. “You were unconscious for almost five whole minutes, Kuroba-kun, this isn’t something you can brush aside.”

Kuroba blanches a little at that – he hadn’t realised it himself, apparently – and Saguru presses his advantage. “So either you see this doctor, or I tell Nakamori-keibu that you fell down the stairs, and you know how he’ll react to that. Your call.”

That gets a look of mulish defiance in return, but Kuroba finally relents with a stiff nod as Aoko returns, carrying a rolled-up bundle of towels. 

Saguru sends a text to Baaya, asking her to call the doctor, before helping Aoko to arrange the towels under Kuroba’s head and shoulders. 

She glances at him when they’re done. “Are you alright, Hakuba-kun? You’re a little pale.”

The unexpected question startles Saguru, and he belatedly registers the muted roar of a pounding heartbeat in his ears. 

He sits down and forces himself to relax, breathing evenly until the buzz of adrenaline fades and leaves him completely exhausted in its wake. 

Aoko is still watching him with concern, though, so Saguru manages a weak smile despite the feeling that he’d really like to sleep for ten days straight, yes and thank you. (Saguru is a detective, he isn’t exactly cut out for these kinds of emergency situations, honestly.)

“I’ll be fine. Just a little shocked, that’s all.” His expression is probably more wan than reassuring, but it seems to satisfy Aoko, at least. 

She turns back towards Kuroba, who is – falling asleep, Saguru notices with some alarm. Before he can say anything, Aoko pokes the magician, hard. “Wake up, Kaito.”

“Go ‘way, Aoko,” he mumbles, though he does open his eyes again. “Can’t you let me sleep in peace?”

“Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to sleep for the next few days, if Aoko has any say in it.” She leans forward to glare at Kuroba. “Aoko will skip class if that’s what is necessary to make you rest, Kaito, so don’t you dare argue!”

Saguru’s phone buzzes at that moment. “Baaya’s here,” he announces, interrupting what is quickly looking like the start of an argument. “Can you walk, Kuroba-kun? We’ll take the staff elevator down, I hardly think anyone’s going to reprimand us for it right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, no need to bring a stretcher,” Kuroba mutters as Aoko helps him up, and Saguru moves to support him under his good shoulder.

They move down the hallway at a slow but steady pace, and Aoko makes a detour back to the classroom to grab all their bags.

The familiar car at the front gate is an unusually welcome sight. Baaya helps to settle Kuroba in the back seat while Saguru goes to the passenger seat, retrieving two ice packs from the glove box and passing them to Aoko.

“Those should help with the bruising,” Saguru says, somewhat unnecessarily – Aoko is already wrapping one in a clean towel and pressing it gently to Kuroba’s shoulder, eliciting a soft hiss of pain from the magician.

Baaya gets into the driver’s seat, starting the car before glancing over at him. “There’s tea in the thermos if you would like some, Saguru-bocchama.”

Saguru very much does, after the day he’s had, so he goes straight for the silver mug nestled in the console cup holder. The scent of green tea alone – his favourite blend, as expected – is invigorating.

He drinks a third of the not-quite-scalding liquid as they drive towards the Hakuba estate, already feeling considerably more like himself. “You’re a lifesaver, Baaya.”

“Nah, that’s you,” comes a reply from the back seat, and Saguru glances up to find Kuroba looking at him in the rearview mirror. “I owe you one, Hakuba.”

Saguru raises an eyebrow in response. “Indeed. Do me a favour and stay away from stairs, will you?”

“Right.” Kuroba looks away with a chuckle. “That’s probably too much to ask, even for you.”

.

(It isn’t, as it turns out – Saguru doesn’t know how Aoko manages it, but class 2-B gets temporarily shifted to a ground-floor classroom for the next month while Kuroba is on crutches.

Aoko also sends him a photo of Kuroba’s expression when he finds out, and it’s priceless. Saguru still laughs every time he sees it.)

.

.

.

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…um yes I hope nothing here is too unrealistic? it probably is lbr but shh

anyway somebody’s a terrible patient, as far as I’m concerned, in case you were wondering why Kaito comes off as… well, distinctly off… here.

mostly follows the events outlined in the prompt, except Chikage is absent here bc I want more of Saguru and Aoko okay? just them working together and deferring to each other automatically at various points, because Saguru is the one with more experience of trauma injuries, while Aoko is the resident expert at Kaito-wrangling.

for those unfamiliar with it, Saguru alludes here to a Japanese saying that “fools don’t catch colds” (バカは風邪をひかない), which fits the situation perfectly, unarguable fact. also, each class is usually assigned to clean some shared locations in addition to their own classroom, hence the hallway for plot reasons. one of my schools had a “staff elevator” that was supposed to be for teachers only, which probably isn’t a practice in Japan but just roll with it k?

[exosmuttytalk]

Stories of my downfall - Kaisoo One-shot

Chatacters: Kaisoo (from Ksoo’s point of view)

Genre: Fluffiest of fluffs

Word count: 3100 approx.

Summary: This is just a simple story about how I fell for you learning to love myself in the way.

Comment: I was kinda getting inspired by KaiSoo day even though I’m a shipper of none and all of the ships at the same time.

“Hyung, hurry up, we have to get everything inside before the weather gets worse!” Baekhyun shouted from the threshold of the main door in the house we were to share from now on, covered head to toe in an oversized and completely over the top yellow raincoat.

It was definitely easy to say for him, he had adjudicated the only wheelbarrow there was to himself, and when he was done with it, Jongdae was the next in line to use it. The rest of us were just carrying our things from the moving van to the dry, warm inside of the building. Meanwhile, the merciless rain normal in that time of the year poured down from the sky directly on top of our mostly unprotected heads.

Your appearance was actually more than a blessing for me in that moment. Tomorrow was the first day we would be officially rehearsing together, as a group, and I didn’t want to be the one to mess it up by being sick.

“Hey, do you need help with that?” You offered.

You were well covered under a red umbrella, only a sports bag hanging from your shoulder; while I only had a denim jacket on and a huge box full of many books I surely needed between my arms.

“That looks heavy,” you tried to intervene again.

“Yeah, but I’m strong. I can carry it on my own.”

To be honest, I don’t recall whether I shot one of my signature death stares at you or didn’t look at you at all.

“Okay, let me at least cover you from the rain. It’s raining buckets.”

You came closer to me an attempted to put the umbrella over my head, but I avoided the gesture as much as I could considering the box was considerably blocking my view of the way.

“It’s a one-person umbrella; I don’t want you to get wet.”

“Ahh, hyung, just come here already.”

You put your arm around my shoulder and pulled me towards your body. Inside your arms it felt warmer than the environment and indescribably uncomfortable for me in that time period.

“See? We can fit together. Now, remember to walk at my pace so none of us gets there soaking wet.”

By the time we arrived at the house, all the rest of them were already there, having finished carrying their belongings; all of them sported varying degrees of wetness in their bodies and hair. When you closed the umbrella and turned to set it aside, I could see your left arm, most of your back and your sports bag were completely drenched in water.

**********

“That was great, Jongdae, thank you,” our vocal couch smiled at him and ran his eyes over the rest of the people in the room. “Who wants to be next?”

“Kyungsoo hyung didn’t sing yet,” you said from the spot you were sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Oh, yes, I really like Kyungsoo’s voice,” Luhan agreed.

I had no other choice but to stand up and take the place in the middle of the room. There was no point to be shy around them if we ever wanted to fill stadiums together, right?

But first times are usually oblivious to whatever plans you may have for later, and that was the first time I ever sang in front of the whole group. The vocal line had had rehearsals together, but not all of us were part of the vocal line and that included you.

I took a sip of water before taking the music sheet our coach handed to be. I quickly read through it and started singing a capella without much problem; it was a fairly easy song that I already knew.

The coach roamed around me correcting checking and correcting my posture. He made me raise my head by pulling upwards from my chin. The first thing I found when I looked forward was your eyes fixed on me, and the second one was your encouraging smile.

It didn’t seem to matter that much how many times I’d sang in front of whole audiences whether it was when I was still acting at school plays or auditioning for the different companies, because that single moment led to the biggest voice crack I’d ever had in my entire life.

I completely shut up in shock afterwards, not daring to look at the in fear he decided I was still not stable enough to be part of an about to debut group.

“It’s okay, hyung,” Junmyeon tried to reassure me. “We all can have bad days.”

The couch patted me in the shoulder and asked me whether I wanted to go out of the room to clear my mind a bit or to try again. I brushed it off and attempted to look confident when I chose the second option, but I avoided looking at your for the rest of the day.

**********

A screech as if someone had been cut in half filled the second floor of the house, where all the rooms were located. It was one of the few free days we got from the company and I had decided to stay at home reading, watching movies and generally relaxing, but the scream completely snapped me out of my daydreaming. I thought all the other members had left, so I was very cautious when I left the room; I didn’t know what I might find. I walked through the whole second floor searching for the source of the noise. What I wouldn’t have ever expected was to see you hopping around in your room, barefoot and holding one of your feet in your hand, letting out loud groans as your eyes scrunched in pain.

“Jongin, what happened?” I asked you quite startled.

“Ow, ow ow ouch,” you continued moaning. “It’s my toe!”

“What’s wrong with your toe?”

“I just, ugh, stubbed against the leg of the bed!”

You threw yourself down on that same bed to examine your foot up close. My face obviously must have shown my incredulity.

“What?”

“Really? You screamed like you were dying!” I sat down and looked at your toes too. “You scared me.”

“Aww, you thought I was in danger?”

“No, dumbass. I thought I was all alone and didn’t expect anyone to be screaming at the top of their lungs!”

“Okay…”

I remember seeing your face sunk a little, not just because of the pain, but because of my response.

“Which toe did you hit?”

“The pinky one…”

“Okay, just stay here. I’m going to find some bandages to immobilize it. I don’t know if it’s broken, but it’ll be better if you have a rest today,” I told you once I had looked for what I thought was long enough. “I’ll be back in a second, just call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Back then I had already started avoiding your face in what I could sense were significant moments, but I couldn’t help it that time. The look of gratefulness and affection in your eyes as if I was worthy of the Peace Nobel Prize would’ve made me cringe had it been in other eyes, but coming from you, it only made me feel uncomfortably warm inside.

**********

I remember the day I walked into the kitchen, very angry. Most of the time, for some reason, my anger intimidated the other members enough, so they knew when to leave me alone to solve things on my own before being hyper around me. But that never seemed to be the case with you. You either didn’t feel the signals or just didn’t care.

“Is everything alright, Soo?”

You were sitting there, next to the kitchen isle, having a bowl of cereals in the middle of the day. You were going to burn it off in practice later, so why not.

“Yeah, why?” I answered as I sat on top of the isle, drinking from my juice bottle.

“You look a bit moody.”

Although I shot you many death glares in the span of a few seconds, you seemed unfazed.

“I failed at doing the choreography today. Again.”

“You always have problems with that one,” you nodded.

“Geez, Jongin, you’re supposed to cheer me up.”

“Everybody has problems with different things, Soo. You can’t expect to be the best at everything.”

“Yeah, right,” I answered sarcastically. “As if I was good enough at something.”

You then woke up and headed to the sink to leave the bowl inside before turning around and leaning back against the counter.

“What do you mean?” And you looked truly curious.

“What’s the point of me being here? I’m not the best singer and I’m never going to be. I’m definitely not the best dancer. I can’t rap even the simplest lines. I’m not charismatic, I’m not funny. I don’t have a great body and I’m not the most handsome either. I’m not even tall enough!”

“Wow, where is this all coming from?”

“That’s always been there. It’s just that now I work and live with another eleven people and they’re all obviously more talented than I am.”

You shook your head from side to side and your eyes travelled down as if you were suddenly very interested in the look of your footwear.

“I really can’t believe that’s how you feel about yourself…”

“Why? I’m here just like, wasting everybody’s time. The coach was really mad at me before, I’m just too frustrating…”

“Okay, Kyungsoo, lay that off and listen to me, okay?”

“There’s nothing you can say that’s going to change what I think, Jongin.”

“Alright, then.” You leaped on me and covered my mouth with your hand, pushing the back of my head forward so I couldn’t escape. “I’m sorry to be doing this to you, but sometimes you won’t just shut up. Listen to what I have to say and then I’ll let you talk.” You waited until you saw the surrender in my eyes to speak again. “You are completely important and completely necessary here. Just like everybody else is, okay? First off, how are you not the best singer? You have the soft voice of a freaking angel. Or a classical jazz singer. I wish I could sing like you. You can’t rap and that’s okay; most of the rappers can’t sing for their lives! You’re not good looking, says who? Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and you look awesome to me. Anyone who isn’t able to see that must be blind. And who cares how you look! You’re really talented. Do you need help with your dancing, I’ll help you. I’ll take time off my day to help you; I want you to feel right! But please, don’t ever think you’re less than the rest of us are.  You’re just as good in many things, if not better than all of us.”

I had been just listening to you letting your speech out; I had stopped resisting almost at the beginning. So when you stopped and looked at me, there was no anger in my eyes, nor any particular desire for you to let go of me. But you did and I kinda missed the warmth of your hands.

“Do you really think that?”

“I do! Besides, I believe comparison kills the confidence. Just don’t compare yourself to anyone, accept we’re all different and have abilities, there’s nothing wrong in that…” You trailed off to think. “And if you ever find yourself stuck in the middle, think of you as part of the glue that holds us together.”

“The glue…?”

“Yeah. Someone who is multitalented and stands right in the middle and can make other people compromise. Don’t you think that’s an awesome thing to be?”

I shrugged. The truth was, I had forgotten what was bothering almost the next second you had laid your hands on me, but I wouldn’t be the one to admit that. Also, it had been nice to hear you telling all those nice things about me; it didn’t really matter if those things were true or not. You had tried to make me feel better and I liked that. Kind of.

Your smile was the brightest when I then asked if you’d really help me learn the dance.

**********

Those noises were audible in the whole house. It was not a continuous sound, but it was definitely there. I can perfectly see Chanyeol looking at me and I remember looking at him and not knowing what to say. I mean, those sounds. We knew perfectly what they sounded like, but none of us wanted to say it.

In a moment, there was a tacit agreement and we both stood up at the same time from the couch we had been sitting at for the last half hour to find out where the noise was coming from. We didn’t know who was or wasn’t in the house, so it almost turned into a fun game right away.

But all the fun vanished in a second when we climbed up the stairs. I heard the noises again, and now it was clearly your voice producing them. I didn’t even need to see Chanyeol mouthing at me “is he moaning!?” to know that’s what you were doing. By that time, my heart had already sunken three floors under the ground.

As we approached your room, we realized your door was open. Whatever it was what you were doing, it definitely didn’t fit with open doors. We looked at each other, puzzled. Chanyeol pushed me forward and I really couldn’t fight him.

I found you sitting down cross-legged on your bed, not facing the door, but alone and completely dressed.

“Mmm, what are you doing?”

You jumped on your bed startled by my voice, and it would have been the most comical scene I’ve ever seen in my life if you hadn’t been carrying a bucket full of battered and fried chicken that dropped to the floor when I scared you. Looking in retrospective, it probably is the most comical scene because of the chicken.

“Soo! Look at what you’ve done!”

“Were you eating fried chicken?”

“Yeah! It’s not that strange, okay?”

“But why are you here?”

“I didn’t want to share. Now I couldn’t if I wanted to,” you looked at me, frowning.

“Seemed like you were enjoying yourself a little too much, Jongin,” Chanyeol added.

“I was until you two came to kill my vibe.”

“Why are you always so extra…?”

But, to be honest, my heart felt like doing a double flip when I saw there was no one else in the room.

**********

“Hyung, let’s take a picture!”

“Now?”

“Yeah, why not.”

“We just finished dancing, Jongin. I’m sweating and I look disgusting. There’s no way that picture is going to come out good.”

“First of all, that’s not true. Second of all, can’t you ever do something without thinking about every possible outcome?”

You were surely completely convinced of the irrefutability of your argument, because you walked up to me and, as if your height gave you any right over what you can do to me, you spun me around, pulled me closer to you and rested your chin over my shoulder, pressing your cheek against mine as you smiled towards the phone in front of us.

I never really got to see that picture, but I can more or less guess how it is. I’ve been living with my face for twenty three years now, I’ve had plenty of time to get to know how it behaves under certain circumstances.

That particular circumstance being you pressing your whole body against my back, your face next to my face, feeling your breathing travel down the skin of my neck. Even though I could distinctly feel the heat creeping up my cheeks, your presence so close to me managed to feel even hotter. I’d never felt something like that before and being me, I would’ve worried had it been any other moment, but right then, I just wanted to fall asleep in your heat and the musk in your scent.

But you pulled away once you took the photo and the world seemed such a cold place to me.

“Soo, are you alright?” I looked at you like a deer in highlights. “You’re really red, maybe you have a fever?”

**********

“Is it good?”

“Rweally good!” you answered with your mouth full of whatever experiment I was cooking that day.

You weren’t able to give what can be called an “unbiased opinion”. Even when it was Sehun cooking his yucky food, you had no problem in eating it all, as your hyung had cooked it for you with love. But it’s also true that you ate whatever I prepared seemingly with a lot more pleasure. Also, I was always the first person you resorted to whenever you felt hungry and didn’t want to cook something yourself, which was around 95% of the time. But I didn’t really mind doing it for you.

“You have a tomato stain here…,” I reached your face to wipe off the spot of sauce in your cheek. “How do you manage to get tomato in the middle of your face?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged and then went on eating like there was no tomorrow, making me laugh because you sometimes could be adorable.

“I really love you,” I mumbled, without really noticing it slipping between my lips.

“Sorry?” You asked.

“Nothing. I was just singing to myself,” I answered way too quickly and looking way too nervous to be believable.

“Come on, Soo. I know what you said, I just want to hear it out loud.”

I looked at you, shocked. You didn’t divert your gaze and you had a confident expression in your face. I wondered whether I was having hallucinations.

“I said that I love you,” I repeated louder and more clearly.

“Hmm?” you replied, slurping on the sauce off a spoon. “What was that again?”

“I love you! I, love, you! Is it really that hard to understand?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” you had a smug smile on his lips, but approached me a pressed a quick peck against mine. “I do too.”

Masterlist

[anavoliselenu]

Heart of stone chapter 23

Justin and I stepped out of my apartment building and into the foggy night. The storm had fully passed, leaving a damp feel to the air in its wake.

 “You were really great with my mother and Allyson tonight. Thank you for that,” I appreciated. “Those two can be tough. The fact that you got them laughing within twenty minutes was no small feat.”

 “Piece of cake, angel,” he told me with a wink. “Besides, Allyson made it easy when she spilled her drink all over your stepfathers lap.”

 “That was funny,” I agreed. I was grateful for Justin’s ability to diffuse the precarious situation with my mother. He even managed to put Allyson’s watchful eye at ease.

 However, none of it negated the fact that my head was still reeling from what I had discovered earlier in the day, and I contemplated how or if I should bring up what I had learned of his mother. I had hoped to figure out a way to approach Justin about it when I got home, but in all the chaos with my mother I never had the chance.

 Justin opened the passenger door for the Tesla. Once I was securely buckled, he went around to the driver’s side and got in.

 “Do you have any preference in music?” he asked, navigating expertly through the elaborate touch screen of the car.

 “No, you pick,” I told him absently.

 “Uh-oh,” he said shaking his head. He stopped tapping on the screen to look at me. His face appeared troubled. “You’ve got that tone.”

 “What tone?” I asked defensively.

 “The tone that says you’re thinking seriously about something.”

 “No, not really,” I lied, but only because I hadn’t had a minute to process my thoughts.

 “Is it the club?” he pushed. “I thought that you wanted to go, but if you’re having second thoughts then we can always do something else.”

 “No, I want to go. But I have to ask – what made you change your mind about taking me?”

 “A couple of reasons actually,” he admitted. “For one, you seemed like you could use a distraction. I’m not sure what was going on before I arrived, but it didn’t look pretty.”

 “It was just my mother being…well, my mother. I don’t feel like rehashing it.”

 “That’s okay. I’d rather you didn’t, at least not tonight anyways. I don’t want to see you get all worked up again.”

 “So what’s the other reason?”

 He sat back in his seat and stared thoughtfully out the windshield.

 “You gave me a lot to think about last night. Your opening up made me realize that I needed to give you something in return. And while I can’t give you the truth that you’re after, I can give you this. You were right, Selena – there is a lot that we don’t know about each other. If going to my club gives you better insight into my life, then we’ll be better off for it.”

 I sat there quietly and contemplated his words. My instinct was to confront him about what I heard his sister talking about at the Mandarin, but what he had to say made me think twice about doing it. In his own way, Justin was trying. It may not have been in ways that I envisioned, but it was something at the very least.

 Respect his limits. Let him be the one to tell you.

 However, there was another thing that left me wondering as a result of my eavesdropping.

 “Who is Suzanne Jacobs?” I asked.

 Justin turned to look at me peculiarly.

 “She’s a friend of my sister’s. Why do you ask?”

 “I stumbled upon an article about you and the redhead online,” I told him, deliberately evading the whole truth.

 “Oh, yes. That’s right. I remember you bringing this up once before,” he recalled with a frown. “I can’t imagine that the article was very lengthy. There isn’t much to tell. She accompanied me to a couple of political functions a while back. Long story short, she read too much into it and wanted things that I couldn’t give her.”

 Justin turned his attention back to the car and started the ignition. The car hummed quietly to life.

 “So that’s it?” I pushed.

 He pursed his lips in mild annoyance.

 “That’s it,” he said, looking pointedly at me. “Now, we can do one of two things. Either remain sitting here at the curb so that you can continue with this unwarranted cross-examination, or you can pick out music for the drive. You choose.”

 “I didn’t mean to sound like I was giving you the third degree. Just go ahead and pick out a song. Something upbeat,” I conceded. Until I could wrap my head around the events of the day, it was better to just let it go.

 A punchy drum pattern combined with a bluesy guitar riff filled the quiet space of the car. Justin tossed me a roguish smile before pulling out into traffic.

 “You can never go wrong with The Black Keys. Cause, baby – I’m howlin’ for you!” Justin said and then followed up with a long wolf cry.

 I busted out into a fit of laughter.

 “You’re crazy!” I exclaimed. Justin grinned and rapped his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat of the music.

 “Angel, you bring out sides of me that I never knew I had.”

 I laughed again, and then sat back to appreciate the tune that was sure to lighten my dismal mood.

 When the car came to a halt a short while later, I was surprised to see that we were in front of Justin’s penthouse.

 “Why are we here?” I asked in confusion.

 “You’ll need to change. You can’t go to the club wearing jeans and a sweater,” he paused to give me a devilish look. “And I have just the thing for you.”

     ****

     Selena looked nothing short of amazing in the outfit that I had bought for her, and I was glad that she didn’t protest over wearing the black leather pants and emerald green silk halter. The thin top was cut low in the back, forcing her to go braless. When she moved the right way, I could see just a hint of her nipples swaying beneath the shirt, something that was sure to drive me insane with lust for the rest of the night.

 She had taken it upon herself to touch up her makeup, darkening her eyes and donning siren red on her lips. Although the shades were darker than what I was used to seeing on her face, I couldn’t say that I didn’t like it. In fact, she was downright sexy as all hell, with her mane of curls cascading down her back. I had half a mind to turn the car around and bring her back to my place.

 However, I noticed the way she kept looking at her reflection in the side view mirror as we made our way to the outskirts of the city. It was if she wasn’t confident in her appearance. Her hands hadn’t stopped fidgeting since we got back into the car, and they would move up to needlessly rearrange her hair every thirty seconds. She seemed nervous.

 “You look beautiful, angel,” I told her. “Just relax.”

 She gave me a small smile.

 “Am I that obvious?” she asked wryly.

 “You can’t seem to sit still.”

 “I’m just anxious, that’s all,” she admitted. “I’ve been pushing you about this, but…”

 “But what?”

 “It’s nothing. My imagination gets the best of me sometimes. I’m just hoping that this place isn’t too terribly scary,” she admitted with a halfhearted laugh.

 “You’ll be fine.”

 I hope.

 We pulled up to a black iron gate, and I lowered the car window to insert my key card into the access slot. The gate opened and we drove through.

 “What’s with the key card?” Selena asked.

 “It keeps out voyeurs.”

 “Voyeurs?”

 “Yeah, you know – Peeping Toms. Everyone who comes here has to go through screening in order to be allowed admittance,” I told her.

 “What about me? I haven’t gone through any sort of screening process.”

 “You’re with me. That’s all the screening they need,” I said, not bothering to disguise any arrogance in the matter. I flashed her a cocky grin and circled the car around a long and winding bend.

 When the massive stone building that housed Club O came into view, Selena gasped in astonishment.

 “Wow!” she said in awe. “From the view of the street, I would never have thought that this would be hidden here. You weren’t kidding when you said that a person couldn’t accidentally stumble into one of these places.”

 I pulled into a parking spot and stepped out of the car. I surveyed the lot as I walked around to the passenger side of the car, and took note of the long line of expensive cars that filled the parking spaces.

 It’s a full house tonight.

 It wasn’t unusual for the club to busy on a Saturday night, but the number of cars in the lot was well above the norm. It had been a while since I had last visited the place, and I wracked my brain trying to think of a particular event that may be going on. Considering that it was nearing late October, there was a good chance that the club was hosting its annual Halloween party. Uneasiness seeped into my bones when I thought over the potential risks with that.

 I stretched my neck from side to side in an attempt to shake off my apprehension.

 Selena’s nerves must be wearing off on me.

 I opened the car door and made room for Selena to step out.

 “You ready?” I asked, extending my elbow to her.

 “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

 She took hold of my elbow, and we made our way up the stone walkway to the mansion. Pushing through the massive wooden double doors, I motioned Selena inside.

 Here goes nothing.

Justin stepped aside so that I could enter into an elegantly decorated vestibule, complete with a breathtaking rock garden and tranquil waterfall. It was not at all what I was expecting. I had envisioned pulsing neon lights for a place like this – certainly not the aristocratic interior that was before me.

 The walls were covered with varying shades of blue and green mosaic tiles, giving the entire entryway an almost underwater effect. Next to the waterfall, there was a marble statue that looked as if it had been transported in time from two thousand years ago. The statue was of a woman wrapped in a loosely draped cloth, with one breast revealed. Her sculptor was able to capture an alluring expression of mystery, presenting a certain degree of erotic beauty.

 “That’s a beautiful statue, Justin.”

 “It’s a rendition of Venus, the goddess of sexuality,” he told me.

 “I thought that Aphrodite was the goddess of sexuality.”

 “Aphrodite is a Greek. Venus is Roman, even though some people consider them to be virtually the same. I prefer Venus because I find her attributes slightly more appealing – beauty, persuasion, seduction, and sex,” he explained.

 “That’s interesting. I didn’t know that,” I mused, reaching up run my fingers over the cool marble arm of the statue.

 He chuckled at my fascination and took hold of my elbow.

 “This way, angel.”

 He ushered me ahead into another room, where the old world feel flowed seamlessly from the entryway. Except in here, it looked like a Halloween cocktail party was taking place. Everyone was stylishly dressed in costume, conversing casually and sipping fancy colored drinks.

 “It looks like a Halloween party in here.”

 “That’s because it is. I had forgotten that tonight is Club O’s Annual Halloween Masquerade,” he paused and frowned. “But even if I had remembered, I’m not into the costume thing. Come on. Let’s go get a drink.”

 Justin led the way over to a long mahogany bar at the far side of the room. While he worked on getting the attention of the bartender, I surveyed all the people that were present. Every last one of them was in a costume of some sort. It made me feel self-conscious about my very normal, yet extremely provocative attire.

 “Are you sure that we won’t stand out? I mean, look at everyone,” I whispered.

 “Grey Goose with a splash of cranberry and a glass of Chateau Ste. Michelle Riesling. I’ll also need a red bracelet.” Justin told the bartender before turning back to me. “Don’t worry about it, Selena. This is only a small part of the club. I’m sure that there are people without a costume downstairs.”

 “Downstairs?” I asked.

 “Yes. Now here, put this on your wrist,” he told me, handing me a red silicone wristband that the bartender had passed to him.

 “What’s this for?” I asked.

 “The red signifies that you are strictly here for observation and that you are not available.”

 “Available for what?” I asked in confusion.

 “For another Dom. The club utilizes a color system as protocol for their guests. Red means that you are only available to me, and will prevent any unwanted advances,” he explained. “If you were wearing blue, it would mean that you were available with my permission. Those wearing green send the message that they are free to any Dom.”

 I considered his words as he handed me the drink that he had ordered.

 “Would you ever have me wear another color?” I asked in honest curiosity.

 “Let’s just get through tonight, shall we? I know you have questions, but be quiet for a few minutes. Right now, I just want you to just watch.”

 “What am I watching?”

 “The people.”

 I scanned the room. There was a soft, almost whimsical, sort of music playing overhead. Some people were standing and talking, others mingled together on various settees and chairs.

 My gaze moved to the right and settled on three people sitting on a leather couch. There were two women dressed as sexy felines and they sat on either side of a man dressed as a vampire.

 His costume was fitting for him because he looked as though he wanted to take a bite out of one or both of the women. I watched him place a hand on the side of one women’s neck, while the other woman ran a hand suggestively up his thigh. She didn’t quite reach the mark, before moving her hand back down towards his knee. I felt myself blush, suddenly realizing why Justin told me to watch. The scene that played out before me was one of seduction.

 I brought the glass of wine to my lips and took a long swallow.

 I could feel Justin’s eyes on me as I watched them. After a moment longer, the three people got up and left through a side door.

 “Where are they going?” I asked.

 “Either upstairs to the common room and private suits or down to the dungeon.”

 “The dungeon!” I exclaimed. I had read about what went on in BDSM dungeons. Images of women and men dressed in skintight vinyl, all tied up and gagged in cages popped into my head.

 “Shhh, Selena! Lower your voice. It’s not what you think.”

 “Well then, what is it?” I hissed.

 “It’s like a dance club down there. Sort of. Come on, I’ll show you,” he said, taking hold of my hand.

 He led me to the door that the three people went through, taking me down a long narrow corridor. The lighting was dim, but I thought it was meant to give a cozy and inviting feel to the hallway. I knew that the sinister feel was strictly conjured up in my own head.

 We rounded a corner and I stiffened in my tracks. The hallway had split. To the left, there was a staircase that I could only assume led up to the private suites that Justin had mentioned. Several people were traveling up and down the wide set of steps. To the right, there was a black door with a massive gargoyle head above it. A sign that read “The Dungeon” hung over the monster’s head.

 I was seriously starting to get creeped out.

 “Do you want to go down, or do you want to go back to the lounge?” Justin asked.

 “What about the common room that you mentioned?”

 “Oh, no. You’re not ready to go up there,” he paused and looked thoughtful. “Actually, I don’t think you’ll ever be ready for that.”

 “Why not?”

 “Trust me on this one. Unless you have a sudden interest in orgies, I don’t think you’d like it.”

 “Ah, no…um, we can go on ahead…to the Dungeon I mean,” I stumbled in my attempt to mask the hesitation that I felt. I didn’t want him to think that I was a chicken. After all, I was the one that pushed to come here in the first place.

 “You’re awfully skittish tonight, but there’s nothing to worry about. I’m here with you,” he said reassuringly, rubbing my shoulders. “But I have to warn you, just about anything goes down there. I’m not sure what we’ll find here tonight.”

 “I’m good. Let’s go.”

 He opened the black door and a set of long winding stairs came into view. The pulsing base of house music assaulted my ears. It was shocking loud actually, as I hadn’t heard a single trace of it when we were in the hallway or back in the subdued lounge area.

 When we reached the bottom of the staircase, an entire new world opened up before me, revealing a twisting sea of dancing bodies. Some were in costumes and, just as Justin had predicted, some were wearing normal attire. I saw a few individuals dressed in leather and studs, but I knew enough now to know that those people were not dressed for Halloween fun, but for the lifestyle.

 My gaze traveled up from the dance floor to the high vaulted ceilings. The ceilings were extremely high for a basement, easily eighteen feet tall. Around the edges of the room, there was a caged platform that was filled with more dancing men and women. My foot started tapping in time to the pulsing music. The urge to dance swelled in me and I reached for Justin’s hand.

 “Let’s go dance,” I said, urging him towards the dance floor.

 “Definitely not. You are not going out on that floor to dance.”

 “Why not?”

 “A girl like you won’t be doing much dancing out there,” he said dryly, nodding towards the dance floor. I pinched up my face in confusion.

 “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “Never mind. We can go up there instead,” he said, pointing to the caged platforms.

 We made our way up the short metal staircase that led to the platform. Justin elbowed his way through the crowd of dancing people until we reached a place that was a little more secluded. He turned me around, and pulled my back close to his chest. I thought he wanted to dance with me from behind, but when I started to grind myself against him, he made me be still.

 “Hang on. I want you to see something first.” I could barely hear him over the music and I reached a hand up to my ear, gesturing for him to talk louder. He leaned down closer and said, “Look down there. Do you see why I didn’t want you to dance there?”

 I looked to see where his finger was pointing. I couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped me. Down below, in the middle of the dance floor, there was an elevated stage of sorts that I hadn’t noticed before. A naked woman was being strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross by two men.

 Once she was secured, one of the men leaned in to say something to her. Whatever it was, she nodded, and the man stepped back to speak with the other man. They moved out of my line of sight for only a second or two before the crowd separated to create a large circle around stage and the woman on display. The music was suddenly lowered to a dull background noise, and replaced by a booming male voice.

 “Ladies and gentlemen! In honor of the Halloween festivities, Kendra’s Master has decided to grant her wish of a public flogging!”

 What? Is this actually for real?

 The crowd cheered, while I stood there feeling like I had just gone back in time to Colonial America. I scanned the room, half expecting to see stocks and pillory at the ready.

 “Justin, this is really messed –,”

 SMACK!

 I jumped mid-sentence, as the first lash of the flogger reined down on the woman.

 “It’s all just part of the show, Selena.”

 “Yeah, but…” I trailed off as another thought occurred to me. “Have you ever participated in something like this?”

 “Me? No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I told you – I’m not an extremist. Some people get off on public displays. To each his own, I guess. But that’s not my style.”

 “Then why do you come here?” I asked.

 “I come for the social aspect of meeting like minded individuals. Dramatic scenes of this magnitude don’t happen that regularly. The club usually reserves them for special occasions, like tonight for example. If I had realized that today was the Masquerade, I probably wouldn’t have brought you here. It can be a little intense, especially for a newcomer.”

 SMACK!

 The sound of another lashing forced me to look back at the bound woman. I was curious to learn why someone would want to be whipped like that in public. I tried to keep an open mind rather than view it as nothing more than a crude spectacle.

 After every few lashings, the man that I assumed to be her Dom would pause to massage oil over her reddened backside and limbs. She would thank him profusely, and then he would resume again with the flogger.

 SMACK!

 The woman threw her head back and let out what I had initially thought to be a cry of pain. However, after seeing her expression, I realized that the woman was actually crying out in pleasure. It was fantastically absurd, in a twisted sort of way, yet there was something unbelievably erotic about it as well. Eventually, I lost count of how many lashings she took, but by the way she writhed on the cross, it was apparent that she was desperate for release. I wondered how long the man would make her wait.

 “How long will this go on for?” I asked Justin.

 “It depends. Only her Dom knows her limitations. Although, I expect that he’ll most likely push her close to her breaking point.”

 “And then what?”

 “If he thinks she’s earned it, he’ll either allow her to orgasm in front of the crowd, or he may choose to take care of her in a private suite,” he told me with a shrug. His indifference to the scene baffled me.

 Heat moved into my cheeks.

 “In front of everyone?” I asked incredulously.

 “You’re blushing, Selena. Are you enjoying this?”

 “I don’t know…I mean, an orgasm is so personal and intimate. I can’t imagine having one in public,” I said honestly. “And I can’t say that a public display of dominance does anything for me either.”

 I heard the woman cry out again, and simple curiosity had me turning to see what was happening. She had been repositioned while I was talking to Justin. She was no longer strapped to the cross, but bent over an elaborate spanking bench of sorts. Her ass was high in the air, exposing her sex for all to see. I should have felt embarrassed for the bared woman, but the reverence that her Dom showed her made me feel differently. It was if he were worshipping the sexuality of the female’s body.

 He ran the flogger up and down her back, slowing over her sweet spot to graze it softly. Occasionally he would lean down to whisper words that only she could hear, and her body would twitch in response. This went on for what seemed like eons, but it was probably only a few minutes before he finally showed her some mercy. For when he leaned down to her ear for the final time, he reached beneath her to pull at her erect nipples. That simple action sent the woman reeling.

 Her orgasm rocked her entire body, and the air seemed to hum. Every individual that was present in the Dungeon could feel the sheer magnitude of her pleasure. My surroundings seemed surreal. I looked back to Justin only to see his eyes full of concern.

 “Are you okay, angel? You have a strange look on your face.”

 I wasn’t sure what to say, unable to find the words to describe what I was thinking. The scene that I had just witnessed left me feeling relatively stunned. Yet, I was turned on in the most indescribable way. The intimacy and trust shown between the couple on the platform was at a level of epic proportions. She was the definition of the ultimate surrender, and had given complete charge of her body over to the man in ways that I had never given to Justin. And for the first time, I realized what Justin meant about trust being the root of BDSM.

 “Honestly, Justin? I think it’s just the environment that we’re in. It’s muddling my thoughts. The whole place reeks of sex.”

 He laughed and wrapped his arms tightly around me.

 “I was a little nervous, but you handled that better than I thought you would,” Justin admitted. He pulled back to look at me, only a slight hint of concern still visible in his striking blues. “Why don’t we get down from up here and go grab another drink? You look like you could use one.”

 The loud music of the club returned, the sound almost deafening compared to moments before.

 “That sounds like a good idea. I think one show was enough for me.”

 We headed down the steps to the ground floor of The Dungeon and made our way over to the crowded bar. There was a wooden sign above the bar that read “Obsequious Cantina”. However, we bypassed that particular bar and went on to the next. This area was by far the more swank of the two, with plush furniture and mini tables that were cordoned off into more private sections with billowing black sheers. This bar had a metal sign that read “Sovereignty Cocktails”.

 I snickered after realizing the meaning behind the signs.

 “What’s so funny?” Justin asked.

 “The names of the bars in this place,” I told him and laughed again. “They have one bar for the master, and another for the servant. I just find it funny.”

 “Don’t forget that one over there,” he said, pointing another bar across the way. I looked over and saw a sign that read “Queen’s Landing”. After looking at the patrons, it wasn’t hard to figure out why it was called that.

 “You don’t want to go over to that one?” I asked with a wink.

 Justin mouth turned up in a crooked smile at my teasing.

 “Angel, there are just certain things that I don’t do. Now, go see if you can spot an open table while I try to track down a bartender.”

 I scanned the area for available seating, but given the crowd in the club, there didn’t seem to be anything open.

 When Justin returned with our drinks, I told him as much.

 “We can go over to the VIP lounge?” he suggested. “It’s a bit quieter in there.”

 “That’s okay. Standing is fine with me. Besides, this way I can dance with you.” I wiggled my eyebrows and swayed closer to him. Placing one hand on his hip while balancing my drink with the other, I moved my hips in time with the music. “Thank you for bringing me here tonight. This place is definitely…well, different. But I think I’m starting to understand what you mean about trust being the foundation for everything.”

 “Hmm,” Justin murmured into my ear. “I’m glad about that. But personally, I can’t wait to get home and get your swivel hips tied down.”

 I shivered in anticipation.

 “I hope you don’t expect me to call you my Master,” I joked. “We still have a long way to go before I can do that.”

 Justin’s hand suddenly stiffened on my shoulder, making me thing that I had said something wrong. I stopped dancing to look up at him. Whatever was behind me had caught his attention, and his eyes flashed angrily. I turned to see what it was that he was looking at, and saw a beautiful red head walking towards us. I groaned inwardly.

 Ugh! Another redhead?

 “Hello, Justin,” she purred when she reached us.

 “Beat it, Sasha,” Justin snapped. I could feel his tension mounting, his grip becoming tighter on my shoulder.

 The girl circled slowly around me, sizing me up. I felt like I was being stalked. Her hand reached up and wrapped around my neck, taking me by surprise. Her grip was soft, yet firm at the same time.

 She’s a Dominant.

 I stood frozen, not sure what to do. I wanted to slap her hand away, but I certainly didn’t want to make a scene. From what I saw on the dance floor, it was quite possible this was just another normal behavior in The Dungeon.

 “That’s enough,” Justin said, pushing her hand away. “We’re not here for this. We are only here as observers.”

 “Justin, don’t be rude. She’s clearly your Sub. It’s only polite for you to share her with a fellow Dom,” she said sweetly, reaching to cup my breast. I let out a gasp of surprise when she pinched my nipple through the thin material of my blouse.

 My breathing sped up and my cheeks flushed, shocked by her brazenness.

 “No,” he reaffirmed through clenched teeth.

 I looked back and forth between the two of them. She looked like the cat that swallowed the canary, while Justin looked as though he might rip the woman’s throat out. I had never seen him look so visibly angry.

 “Why don’t you let her decide? Look at how flushed her cheeks are. She seems to be enjoying herself,” she challenged.

 Justin looked at me, his blue eyes silently questioning. I wasn’t sure what to do. My sudden arousal was unexplainable. Maybe it was from watching the woman on the cross. Or perhaps I was hyped up from the blatant sexuality that was prevalent in every corner of the club. Whatever it was, there was no denying that Sasha’s touch was a complete turn on for one reason or another.

 I returned Justin’s stare, trying to decipher what he was trying to tell me, when I suddenly remembered a certain word that I had once highlighted in red.

 Threesomes.

 It felt like a lifetime ago that Justin and I had sat in his office and went through a list of limitations. Having a threesome was among my list of hard limits. But then again, so was anything anal. It was unsettling to realize how quickly I changed my mind about things that I had once said I would never do.

 “Have you shared a submissive with others before?” I asked. His eyes seared into me, but I could feel his hesitation. He looked conflicted, as if he were deciding on how much to reveal.

 “Yes,” he finally responded.

 I took a closer look at Sasha. She wasn’t as pretty as I had initially thought. Her natural hair color was blond, as I could see the roots beneath the artificial fiery red. Cold gray eyes sat too small in her face, and were smudged heavily with liner that was black as midnight. Her mouth was turned up in an arrogant sneer, giving her an air of malevolence.

 I turned back to Justin, conflicted about the unexpected and not so welcomed proposition.

 “Do you want me to do this?” I asked him. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. I could see the burn in his eyes.

 “Since this is her first time, I’ll go easy on her,” she said smugly to Justin. She grabbed hold of my shirtfront and pulled me close. I briefly caught the triumphant gleam in her eyes, before her tongue swiped up my neck. Her teeth grabbed hold of my earlobe and her breath was hot in my ear as she whispered, “So fresh…what shall I make you do?”

 Suddenly, I was afraid. Very afraid.

 Oh my god. I didn’t agree to this! How did it get to this point?

 It had all happened so fast that I had little time to process the situation, but I knew that this woman was not messing around.

 Before I could even think of how to react, she was abruptly pulled away from me. Justin stepped between the two of us.

 “Get the fuck off her, Sasha. You’re not going taint her with your twisted ideas about domination,” Justin growled ominously.

 “Such a spoil sport,” she pouted and tsked at him. “And here I thought we could have a little fun with this one.”

 “Go find someone else to harass. We’re done here.”

 “Oh, Justin. Haven’t I taught you anything?” she purred.

 “You taught me enough,” he spat out. “And some lessons I’ll never forget.”

 What are they talking about? Who is this woman to him?

 A knowing smile was plastered on Sasha’s face. I, on the other hand, felt like my head was spinning and I could barely keep up.

 “Oh, come on now!” she went on. “Don’t tell me you’re still sore over that whole thing with Will.”

 Will?

 Justin took a step closer to her. He was mere inches away from her face, jaw twitching and fists clenched tight in anger. His eyes flashed with pure loathing, and for a moment I was scared. I thought he might actually hit her.

 “Don’t push me,” he hissed. “I told you to get lost. I’m not going to say it again.”

 “Very well then. It’s your loss. Maybe next time,” she stated matter-of-factly.

 Seeming completely unruffled by Justin’s wrath, she easily sauntered away with her hips swaying seductively in her wake.

 “What in the hell just happened here?” I demanded, alarmed after witnessing Justin almost lose total control. He was raking his hands through his hair, appearing thoroughly rattled by the confrontation.

 “I’m sorry, Selena. Sasha’s a sadistic bitch and I shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

 “It’s not hard to imagine that woman with whips and chains. With all that leather she was wearing, she looked like she could be the poster girl for Dominatrix R Us,” I said sarcastically.

 “Actually she’s a flipper.”

 I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

 “I don’t even know what that means!” I shouted, completely incensed over everything that had just happened. I lowered my voice to a level that could be barely heard over the loud music. The last thing that we needed was to draw any more unwanted attention. “Explain please.”

 “It means that she can play both. I told you about my first submissive. Well, Sasha was the one that filled the role.”

 “Okay, so what does that have to do with Will? I’m assuming she was referring to Will Murphy.”

 “Yes,” he said in a resigned voice. “Will used to be her Sub, at least until she got bored. Then she planned a little ménage a trois, completely without the knowledge of Will or myself.”

 My eyes grew wide as the pieces of the puzzle began to come together.

 “You and Will? Did you…um, you know,” I started.

 “Hell, no!” he exclaimed, sounding completely aghast. “It never went that far. Didn’t I just say that there are certain things that I don’t do?”

 “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I apologized quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

 “Yeah, well…William Murphy on the other hand, he’s a switch hitter. And I also happen to know that his Irish family is hardcore Catholic. His bedroom antics are not something that he wants made known. Needless to say, things have been very awkward between us ever since. Plus, he blames me for Sasha leaving him.”

 “Gotcha,” I said, having a better understanding as to why things between Justin and Will had been so tense.

 Justin pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his had back and forth in aggravation.

 “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough for tonight. I’ll be right back. I’m just going to hit the restroom and then we’re leaving,” Justin announced.

 I couldn’t agree more as I watched him walk away. The atmosphere had become strained, and I grappled with trying to absorb the completely obscure turn of events. I was beginning to question why I ever wanted to come here in the first place.

 I looked around at the people in the club. Some were dancing, mingling, and talking, while others groped and fondled. Most were scantily dressed. Whether they were in costume or normal attire, there was no modesty whatsoever amongst the crowd.

 I noticed a man seated with two women at a table that was not more than ten feet away from me. One of the women wore a masquerade mask and corset that left her breasts completely exposed, showing off nipples that were pinched tight by jeweled metal clamps. The other woman wore devil horns and sat with her legs apart. The table hid very little, and I was able to see that the man had his hand shoved up her tiny excuse for a skirt. Having noticed that I was watching them, the horned woman’s eyes locked on mine and she smiled suggestively.

 I quickly turned away and began to feel sick to my stomach.

 Why am I here? This is not who I am.

 “Well, well. This is the last place that I thought I would see you,” said a familiar male voice from behind me. I froze at the sound.

 It can’t be. No…please no.

 I turned around, praying that I was mistaking the cocky, assured voice. But I wasn’t mistaken.

 It was Trevor.