#and now i can pay them back a tiny bit by having them experience europe with me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

medical-gal · 3 years

Text

Death by a thousand cuts

I have been thinking about writing this for months now. Even before I decided to quit the residency at my previous job.

COVID has been kicking our ass, true, but that was (is) true for most healthcare providers all around the world.

No, my struggle started a bit before that actually.

First some background, I have been working at one of the biggest most famous ID clinics in central Europe. The clinic is in a different country than I am originally from so there was a bit of cultural accommodating at the begging. But we were a big group of ID interns/residents/fellows and specialists.

I don't actually remember that much from my first year working there. And I couldn't figure out why, but then I read in some study that when u experience a high dose of stress and/or sleep deprivation for a long time, your brain kinda stopps being able to transcribe short term memory into a long term.

I was working 100hours/week, sometimes less, sometimes more. After a year and a half, when the last half I worked in the ID ER for five months, I always stayed after working 24 hours, sometimes over 36hours, and I would see and treat 70ish patients. Nobody from the older docs would help me out, nobody from other interns either bc usually they would have their own kind of hell to take care of.

The fact that basically, inexperienced doctors are taking care of patients never really phased my ex-boss. Her mantra was that if there was a problem that you cannot resolve, you can call her and she would advise you. Which most of the time was true, I must say that.

But we all have been young docs, barely out of our medical school garments, and sometimes as it happened, we could not recognize there IS a problem that maybe needs a more experienced opinion.

I am often confronted with this idea or more like a culture, of pretending that once you are an MD you don't need help and asking for it is a kind of weakness and that then you are forever on the list of WEAKLINGS.

And let me say this only once.

That's absolute bullshit.

Anyway, the first time I decided to quit I worked there for about a year and a half, I went for a long-expected holiday, I took three weeks off, had interviews and talked with my bf about my options.

Second thing...my man, bless his beard, would support me no matter what. He is almost 10 years older than me, so he has more work experience and I find it reassuring to discuss stuff like this with him bc I know he will not sugarcoat it. He said that I should dig my heels in and last at least one more year till the end of my "internship". As a "resident" who worked at this specific department, I wouldn't have a problem finding another job. We r basically the equivalent of a french legion of medical professionals (when u work in this specific department and everyone knows it, I will come back to that later).

So I took his advice. Thankfully as a part of our training, one of those parts is a year-long internship at the internal medicine department, which I did shortly after we had that conversation and guys, that was a revelation of how medicine and just...work and life can be experienced. There were enough docs for a floor, an attending who had the time to manage and advise us. I´ve grown that year as a doc so much. Other internships were mandatory so I could have become (equivalent of) a resident, and it was a general surgery, anesthesiology, radiology, microbiology etc. But I did them all and became a resident.

The moment I came back to our clinic, my boss would put me in our outpatient department. Which I have never worked on before. The head of the department has quit a few months before, and I had no idea what to do there, bc it's a very different type work. The only thing my boss told me when I spoke of my concerns were "you will learn".

Thankfully the previous head of the department was a good friend of mine and she would always answer my questions and requests. Suddenly I no longer had to deal with the hectic life of an ID floor or ER, no sepsis, meningitis, etc.

Most of my patients were the chronic type...Lyme, chlamydia, mycoplasma... let's say it literally drained the life out of me. But I managed. Also, I started to work for their outpatient office which takes care of patients with chronic hepatatis. That I enjoyed more.

I also started to dip my toes in vaccinology, either planned like for travel but I started to be more interested in preventive care in the immunocompromised and my own phantasmagoria was to make a palliative care team in our hospital. Bc, we had none. And then a wonderful thing happened, other docs, older experienced, great at their work, started to refer their patients to me specifically.

There were more examples of the utter a complete FUCK U(s) which were kindly provided either by the system or by the head of the department or the hospital.

Then covid hit and the shit hit the interstellar space.

I still can't make myself remember the first few months bc it actually causes me to go into a rage fit, and honestly, I am done with that kind of negativity.

I hold out for a year. Year of such shitty treatment from the chief and our hospital head. No thank you- s or you are doing a good job or we r all on the same ship.

No.

People will say that I quit bc of the money. And that's not true, tho it did irk me a bit. All the other ID specialists working at different hospitals would get covid bonuses every month. We got jack shit. Again, the best biggest most know ID clinic. We were the first and oftern the ONLY ones who would test for/diagnose/hospitalize/treat a patient who had covid FOR MONTHS in the beginning.

I mean, the medical community is small, the ID community even smaller so yes, we were able to compare and contrast the work at different ID departments in other hospitals bc our friends worked there. And all of them would go speechless when they would hear from us what we were living thru.

At one point at the beginning of the pandemic, ALL the ambulances would go thru our ER department and we were supposed to decide where the patient should go.

AN EXAMPLE

Ambulance with a woman who has known colon cancer, had a fever, stomach as a rock and is projectile vomiting. I was supposed to decide where she should go and the surgeon would be super pissed when I said that I don't think she has COVID but without PCR I can't be sure but I think there is a bigger pressing issue. I remember him saying:

"well if anyone else gets infected at our department and dies, it's on you."

fun.

There were other examples of seriously stressful episodes which I and my coworkers lived thru, for which we were not trained for, advised, or properly supervised. At a certain point, I started to take anxiolytics before and during my all-nighters bc I didn't know what I would do with all that stress which was so callously shat on me and my coworkers.

For a few months, I stopped working nights, only thru the mercy of my coworkers who saw how exhausted I was and would take my shifts.

Anyway, after only two months I had to start working nights bc I needed the money. The basic pay for docs was just not enough without the extra from night shifts. Talk about exploiting.

The moment however when I decided to QUIT, when I was DONE, when I actually heard my heart break, was the moment at the end of the previous year. They decided to start vaccinating in our tiny small vaccination centre. Let's say a "shit storm" brewing is the light version of events that ensued.

But basically, as I was trying to discuss with my boss that we are all exhausted, that this wave is not slowing down and that throwing more work at us, the docs and nurses and other staff, who are overworked, is not a good idea,

What she basically said to me is that who says things like that is lazy and that if she can handle it everyone must be also.

The thing is..most of us were at the bring. Some would handle it with casual and calous sex, drugs (legal or not), a bottle of wine before sleep. A coworker ended up with antipsychotics.

But u know,

we were all lazy apperently.

I realized there is no way out of this other than quitting. I could not continue being so tired and sad all the time. I took two weeks off, really thought about it. Had diarrhoea and nausea for a week as I realized I will have to quit :D

On a Monday I came back, handed in my notice. Basically what she told me and how she reacted made me realized how right the decision was.

I had to stay there for another three months bc that's the law, but my mood changed significantly.

I got another job in a smaller ID department, working with amazingly kind people, but that's another story.

But that was the only interview I actually looked for and did. I, however, did get several job offers from different types of medicine. From heads of different departments in my old hospital to smaller general medicine chain offices who are looking for ID specialists, to insurance companies.

Like I said, french legion.

Or Runway and your boss is Miranda Pristley. Once u survive that, u survive anything.

But at my old work they would keep hitting you with wave after wave of passive agressive comments about how if u quit, u wont be able to find anything as"prestigious" as this.

There were many other exmaples of a shitty and questionable situations which were treated as "normal" but there is not point on getting on that rage train.

Contrary as it might seem, I am greatful I got to live thru this, good and bad, bc now I know what I am and am not willing to sacrifice for a job. No matter how much I might love it.

#sorry this is long #but goddammit it needed to be said #suzy's adventures in id

44 notes · View notes

wexhappyxfew · 3 years

Note

Shannon! I have a question for today, it might be a little broad, but how did you come up with Natia’s character? :)

AMY!!! hello! sorry that i have *just* gotten to this as my weeks have increasingly gotten insanely busy between my job starting back up, school, college stuff, and ap exam chaos as well haha! i did this at about 11pm(?) and i'll be queuing it up for the morning for you, but outside of tumblr, i've thought a lot about this question and what i really wanted to include in this question. having almost spent 10 months spent writing and developing natia to who she is today makes a whole lot of stuff move through my brain when i go back to my developing stages for her! thank you for the question (and the broadness, never fear, i absolutely love it!)

Natia's character really came from the idea of just wanting to really push myself out of the box and *out there* to see what I could do. And I will say Landslide is one of my most *out-there* projects in terms of content - I mean we have Death as a personified character, crazy Agent Mortem, all these past connections to Natia? It's chaos haha! But, I had experimented previously with a partly Polish-OC, Hazel Parker of "The Soldier of Stars", and from that, I went, well there's no centrally focused Polish OC yet that I have seen (this was back in like June-July 2020 mind you, so there probably has been Polish OCs created since this time!!) and I had always felt that the Warsaw Uprising was inherently important! I also read up on the Polish Resistance and how they were the most effective resistance group of continental Europe during the war, with ultimately the Warsaw Uprising being their last final push that did sort of end that.

Something I've really enjoyed about creating Natia's character was putting a great focus on her flaws. Now, her strengths are just as important - she is a great soldier in the field, she's highly intelligent and can make quick decisions on the fly, she withholds a lot of strength when it comes to situations where she needs to focus, she's observant, and she keeps herself fairly humble when not bursting at the seems. She doesn't let herself get stepped over very often (unless it's Mortem) and if anything she will insert herself, and show what skills she has, but she won't go overboard. She's also passionate about her country and her people and she always has something to fight for and even when she feels all hope is lost, she withholds a tiny little sliver no matter what, even if she doesn't feel it. But her flaws I feel are a massive part of her character. She's stubborn, she won't let people help her, she has trouble expressing emotion, she numbs herself more often than not to not feel the pain that she is supposed to feel, she blames everything on herself, she gets hot-headed quite easily, and grows to the point of nearly irrational at some moments in time and even will let her emotions get the best of her in times like this. But that makes up who Natia is as a character and who she is as a person in general.

But even with the strengths and flaws of her character, it makes her very much still a human being. And that was one of my main goals when creating Natia - make her human enough to make that angst HURT, but make her human enough that when you see her succeed or even the little wins here and there, you want to cheer. Because those are human moments. And I know this sort of character creation is not for everyone, but for me over the past near-year, this has been one of my favorite things about creating Natia because I've found myself able to relate to her even though I'm so vastly different from her.

I did some research on a British-Polish SOE Agent, Krystyna Skarbek otherwise known as her alias Christine Granville and I took a few liberties from this amazing woman and used it on Natia. But things such as Agent Mortem, Death/War connection and the eventual introduction of another character Solomon Campbell (who will be in Part 3), as well as the Resistance group of Part 1 and her siblings and parents, are all more of my own ideas and connections!

Something I have had a LOT of fun doing is showing that even though on the exterior Natia seems cold-hearted and dark and numb, and whatever other *cold+dark* ideas can be thought up, she is very much underneath -- not that. We can see how much evidently she cares for someone like George Luz; I mean even Joe Liebgott has pointed it out to her. She always is just trying to do her best and do what is best in the situation - no longer it is about what is good or bad anymore to her, it's about doing what's best in the situation for the time being, and I really love that aspect of her character a lot! We can see that when the war ends, she wants to live on the English coast, far away from war all alone with a dog and even a little goat in a seaside cottage. She grew so attached to the word AWOL after Joe Toye came and sat with her that night in Holland and they talked for once about something other than war. She even withheld her name, her nationality and just about everything else to keep the idea of the cold-face agent she thought she was up so the men of Easy Company don't have to know the real her. But -- was it to protect her...or to protect Easy? All these little ideas I threw in there to show that she is actually, very, compassionate in many ways, and caring and attentive and observant of the men and women she works with.

I really try to show that Natia listens when she listens to someone speak and she observes and she pays attention more than anything. And she ends up, holding information like that close to her and finding comfort in it.

My goal with Natia was to show that there can be a balance to "the bad-ass fighter" idea who fights for what she believes, but also remain human as well. We can see how much things affect her, especially the loss of friends. Of course, she doesn't show this to other people, but to use as readers, we see this and we see her occasional breakdown - and in a way, she continues living on their legacies because she listened to what they had to say. For example, Zdzich told her to not let the war overtake her, and throughout the story so far, we've see her sort of repeat this to herself in various ways. Because Zdzich meant that much to her. She's lost so much by this point in war that almost it's so sad to see that she, from what we all know of BoB, still has to go through so much, but at that point, she's fought so much, that all she can do it keep pushing on with it.

I think one of the most interesting moments from writing Natia was when the first few chapters were actually uploaded on platforms and there was someone really coming after Natia for her decisions and for this, that and the other thing (amy if i vaguely remember i think you remember who this person is as well because you clapped back at them once, and man your response was GOLD!!!). One of those things was Natia's approach with food (TW: mentions of struggling to eat with food, references of depression and struggling to eat, mental health issues relating...) and the person who commented would always be saying something about how she needs to eat, and she needs to remain strong and she needs to snap out of it with her depression and all this other stuff and to be honest, I sort of sat there for a moment like??? But there's reasons WHY she's not eating? Why she's holding back? (And of course ones I had mentioned so...) But let's move on.

Mental health was a prevalent thing in World War 2, though it was not looked upon fondly and Natia essentially does have depression as well as a border-line eating disorder. And so when the comment said that she had to snap out of it, I don't know it sort of off-put me because I have family with both those disorders and they've had treatment for it for years and you can't just snap out of it. I really tried to stress that 'the snapping-out-of-it" does not work, and the person kept firing back a bit at it, so I just moved on from it and ignored it. Natia's struggle with eating, as one can see, also comes from the heavy guilt and grief that is slowly uncovered throughout the story of what Natia has done and what has happened throughout the course of the war to her. Natia's number one thing she constantly does and has now become the focus of many character relationships with her (ie Doc Gene Roe) is the clenched fists, that she squeezes until they bleed and eventually need wrapped up by the Doc. Something she also refuses to accept she has a problem with. As we can see, acceptance is a concept she struggles with more than anything and something she will essentially have to learn to simply, accept.

That's just sort of one of the many bits of information about her character that I added, especially in society today as mental health is so important and so I just wanted to share a bit of the backlash I got from someone for it. But I guess that's life, but I'll continue to write Natia Filipska as an OC who does struggle with depression because of her life in war.

Natia's character and her story is probably one of the most complex characters and stories I've written and crafted and created and I'm just extremely happy with how she ended up coming out in the end! I'm about to go and do some writing and editing for her and it's just so exciting writing her because of all these various levels she withholds and she slowly lets uncover as the story unfolds! I just love it! OH - and we can't forget about the infamous mentions of the piano....yep that'll be coming up soon haha!! <3

THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTION AMY!!! IT MEANT SO MUCH!!!! just getting to talk about Natia a little bit and her character and what my mind set was creating her - it means so much. my mindset with her is somehow always changing and shifting as she goes through her character arc throughout the story and how her developmental shifts and it's just something i really love and enjoy more than anything!!! <3 so thank you for letting me just talk about it for a little while as well as my thoughts and opinions, it means a lot :)

#character analysis #natia filipska #agent fidel #landslide #bob fic #band of brothers #band of brothers fic #OC #band of brothers OC #thank you amy!#this was very fun to put together i will say!#tw: mentions of depression/slight eating disorder #ALL QUEUED UP !!!!

19 notes · View notes

imaginesbymk · 4 years

Text

“Sweet as Cherry Pie.”

Peaky Blinders One Shot

Summary: Y/n is Alfie Solomons’ younger sister who comes to Camden town & Small Heath. Why? She’s their secret weapon: sassy, unpredictable and insults their enemies to filth. Or maybe she’s just bored and needed the first enemy she sees to throw a comment at. Either way, Alfie couldn’t ask for a better sister.

Pairing: ---

Tags: swearing, mentions of violence, weapons, drug & alcohol use, smoking + s4 spoilers

Word Count: 1755 words

Author’s Note: sksmsksks this is based off a dream i had one night. it isn’t the best piece i’ve written but i love a sassy reader. one shots are not open, this is just a one shot for my 800 follower special - [milestone masterlist]

“GOOD MORNING, Alfie.” Tommy said, walking down the distillery. Well, it wasn’t that much of a good morning for Tommy, really. In fact, even though he’s very productive and professional most times, this time the man wished he was back in bed where he could be exposed in his shirtless self, waking up to see his boy with that bright smile, sharing his eyes.

Normally, he’d be drowning in family meetings back in Small Heath, but the atmosphere in Camden town begged to differ.

“Meh, not really,” Alfie Solomons glances up at the window- the dusty, stained window pane gave in the overcast weather. He turns back to Tommy. “Mate, I’m glad we’re right on schedule. I was starting to think you got shot in your own fucking office chair back home.”

Tommy stared at the Jewish-English man, knowing Alfie was from Camden Town, how outsiders would speak ill of such towns and vice versa.

Alfie shuffles over using his cane as support and hands Tommy the tickets. “Those are the tickets to the boxing match. And in that storage unit behind you is the gateway to the clouds.”

“Kind of you. But you know I have booze at home, stored neatly and safely. I can manage without your rum.” Tommy walked in, anyway.

“I’m not giving you my rum for free, Tommy. I’m not even selling it to you,” Tommy watched as Alfie made his way to the other room of his bakery, ready to check on the AM workers as they got to work right away.

Tommy read the front labels of the bottle he picked up from one of the barrels. This man has gone a long way in his business, he couldn’t deny that. Over a hundred barrels have been shipped to God knows how many speakeasies were in Europe and America, and when Alfie Solomons received his earnings, he holds it tightly and proudly, guarding it as he cherishes his success.

Taking a bottle wouldn’t hurt, it would please him knowing he is interested in buying his product. He could even smell it from the sealed caps. He could smell it from the barrels, residue on the floor, or even from one of the workers’ breaths. He could pop it open and take a quick sniff like playing in snow. Tommy dug in his coat pockets, pulling out a stack.

“Oh, so you are fucking loaded.” Tommy whipped around, his gun already pulled from his holster, gripped and pointed to the voice inches behind him.

The person- the woman, didn’t react, not a small gasp at the sight of the barrel of the gun nearing her face. Boldly enough, she reached over and grabbed the stack of cash from Tommy’s hand and walked away, not even remotely thinking if the man she startled would pull the trigger with her back turned.

“Thanks, Mr. Shelby. And Alfie thanks you!” the female voice calls out.

Con artist? Someone posing as a worker? An enemy? Tommy breathed heavily, swearing left and right in his mind that he could of at least stopped whoever that was from taking his money, or yelled at her the way he usually does to anyone who worked for him because he was the boss. He was loaded, but no one would just allow someone to take a loan like that without anything afterwards, unless they were a clerk in a bank robbery.

After feeling like he was glued to the floor in that tiny space, Tommy rushed out to find Alfie back in his office with his glasses on his face, jotting notes down on a piece of paper, noticing the stack of cash sitting near the cup holder.

“Who the fuck just walked inside that storage unit and grabbed the stash right out my fucking hands?”

Tommy’s outburst of his question didn’t send Alfie into a panic. “You mean my dearest sister y/n?” Alfie got up from his seat. “She gave me the cash so I didn’t have to do it, but she didn’t even bid me a goodbye afterwards. She just plopped it on my desk and went her way. It’s not like I died or anything. I’m not fucking invisible, Tommy. You can see me, right?”

Tommy let out a long sigh, dreading that there’s not one but two migraine-stirring bastards named Solomons, it’s enough for one he already wishes to throw a beer bottle at some times, but now another one probably much worse than if described. “You have a sister, Alfie? You never said anything about having a sister.”

“Yeah. But don’t worry, she’s sweet as cherry pie,” Alfie nods. “I brought her here, but she’s pretty homesick, so I would bid her warm welcomes if I were you.”

“Why should I?” Tommy says, frowning. “She just took my fucking money.”

“Oh, for sure.” Alfie waves the loan in front of Tommy, reminding him that y/n is no thief. “And because she knows about the vendetta between you, the Peakys and the Italians. If they come to her, she’ll roar at them, literally.”

“WHO the fuck is this, now?” Arthur stared at the woman stood next to Tommy at the foot of the small dining room where old memories held of their past meetings and heartbreaks.

“This is Y/n Solomons. She’s our messenger.” Tommy wished he never had to say that. He wished she would stop touching his fucking stuff, too. “Y/n, put down my fucking frame.”

“Oh fuck,” Polly blew out smoke from her cigarette. “There’s two of them?”

“And what is wrong with my brother?” Y/n places the frame back down on the mantel. “He’s a successful businessman. He beat a man three fucking times his size to gravel after he called me fat.”

“Y/n Solomons is our messenger. She’s also helping with updates from Aberama Gold once we get Michael out of Birmingham for now, because Luca Changretta is still out there, and he’s fucking pissed.”

“You can very hot headed sometimes, Mr. Shelby.” Later the brief introduction of their newcomer in their recent meeting was long over, she stayed back even though she was dismissed to do her work. “It’s probably because you smoke so much cigarettes that you’re starting to look like an ashtray, or of that heavy out-dated coat you wear all the time just weighs you down that your back and shoulders must hurt like hell.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Tommy said, irritated by her presence, even her just standing there at the table.

“Nothing.” Y/n sighs and heads out the door. “You know where I’ll be!” she calls.

Sweet as cherry pie, my ass. Tommy grunts and lights a cigarette.

“WHAT’S the matter?” Luca Changretta asks. “I said we had a deal.”

“Ah, you just made a deal without negotiation, now did ya?” Y/n’s brother sat on the chair, staring up at the menacing mobster holding one of the rum bottles given as a gift. “Yeah, Tommy Shelby was right about you. You plan to kill us all.” He spoke in Yiddish, and he mocks a tsking sound.

Luca smirks down, even though he didn’t know what he said, at least they both were aware of one thing; Tommy knows what kind of man I am.

“Mr. Changretta, may I speak freely?” y/n chimes in.

The Italian shrugs. “Mr. Solomons, I checked my calendar earlier and I did not read anything about today being Take Your Kid to Work Day,” and he laughs, his cousin as his henchman behind laughing along with him.

“Mate, I’d choose my next words very carefully if I were you,” Alfie says, stifling a smile. “This is my baby sister you’re talking down to, and she won’t tolerate one bit of it.”

“And I should be afraid?”

“Perhaps less afraid, more self-conscious, Mr. Changretta,” y/n replies. “Just a few minutes ago I was sensing the stench of failure, but then I saw you and your men walk in.”

Luca chuckles sarcastically. “Ouch.”

“And it’s not like we’re having a showdown right here, you didn’t need to bring your men with you unless you’re doubling their pay for just standing silently. I mean, they’re as important as Tommy Shelby’s evening sous chef.”

“Who?” Alfie had to ask.

Y/n smirks. “Exactly. Anyways, I just need to tell you that my brother’s business isn’t for sale. Alfie has worked hard and I’m proud to be his sister, supporting him. I’ll drink his rum like it’s mother’s milk if I had to. So, let my brother handle your men at the match, and you’ll take care of the two hundred barrels to be shipped to New York. Simple.”

“What do you know about business, Miss Solomons?”

“What do you know about combat, Luca? If you didn’t lack the experience, Tommy Shelby’s blood would spill fresh on your hands as we speak. How are you a soldier for the mafia if you hadn’t accomplish the vendetta yet?”

“Well-”

“Actually, don’t answer that. I’ll fall asleep.” Y/n took a step forward, lowering her smile up as his height overpowered hers. “My brother isn’t asking for much. He’s a good friend of Tommy Shelby, yet he’s helping you. You should be kissing his feet, Mr. Changretta, not abusing his generosity.”

Luca chewed the matchstick in his mouth. “Is that so?” he looks back at his men. “Porca puttana.”

“Vaffanculo, right back at you, mate. You just earned yourself another tonne to your bill. Bring tissues for both your lawyer and accountant.” Y/n turns around and grins at her older brother, who smiled warmly at her the entire time, feeling as though he was proud. If the Peaky Blinders were here, they’d share the same reaction as Luca.

“So you both know Italian?” Luca asked as he sighs in exhaustion.

Alfie nods at Luca, who was glaring down at him for an answer. You learn from your older sibling, you become as tough as bullets and the big help as the messenger, sending a telephone call or a letter mailed to Small Heath, saying Luca Changretta is six feet tall, but shrunk four feet down when y/n opened her mouth.

“Take it or leave it, Signore.” The Italians didn’t even need to ask where this woman got her attitude from. If you’re a Solomon, there’s perks. Y/n smiles to herself, Tommy is gonna hate and love me.

“I warned you about my baby sister, mate.” Alfie says. “Sweet as cherry pie... but with broken glass once you bite into your first slice.”

—

tag list: @ladyxblake @lotsoffandomimagines @amirahiddleston @thethyri @woahitslucyylu @myriadimagines @fangirlsarah16 @your-pixels-are-showing @lucillethings @sirkekselord @kaetastic

#peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #alfie solomons x sibling!reader #alfie solomons #fem!reader #reader insert #one shot #imagine

180 notes · View notes

cherriesink · 3 years

Text

Defrott - Murmurs

Murmurs are snippets of character reflection earned by increasing Explore Points during Exploration. They usually include 6-7 monologues about other characters and 3-4 monologues about things important to the specific character.

These lines are taken straight from the English translation of the game, so fair warning of bad grammar.

About Yatsufusa “Yatsufusa is also a new type of vampire different from Shutaro Kurusu. He enjoys plays, literature, and music... Rich slacker was the term, was it? It probably means that they are the wealthy enough so they can do what they want. Like aristocrats back in the days.

But that’s a suited way to live for vampires. Because the key to a long life is having a hobby.

And above all, Yatsufusa has a unique skill. It’s probably his ability to reason... but it’s as if he’s an actor acting on stage with a script in hand. He can reenact the crime scene just by looking at the remains. Very fascinating.

It’s also elegant how he uses his brains when fighting in a battle, unlike other vampires. I’m curious how he is 100 years from now, so I want him to live long. But from my experience... boys like him sacrifice themselves for somebody else and end up dying. Just like Mercutio...”

About Kurusu “Shutaro Kurusu... He’s not an exception, but Japanese people are interesting. Because they call themselves monsters. In Europe, we called ourselves God. Both humans and vampires will suffer if they cannot find their raison d'être.

Frailty, thy name is vampire. Vampires like Kurusu were mocked in the ages I’ve gone through. Being mocked is still cute... Worse case, you’d be killed. I wonder if his type are mainstream nowadays? It must be the age of time...

Things rarely surprise me since I’ve gone to different countries. But usually, A-Class vampires will become full of themselves. And... how do I say it- think themselves as God.

But I guess Kurusu is different. A vampire that fears his own powers... quite interesting. He is just like Hamlet. Because he is struggling how to utilize his own powers.”

About Maeda “Maeda from Code Zero... I don’t like him. He’s not elegant.

I think our time is coming close to an end. We do not belong anywhere in the future that’s filled with rationalization. We will become extinct...

So I want to disappear gracefully when my time has come. I want vampires to be spotless when we must go. But- he and his unit are treating vampires like toy soldiers for modern warfare. That is not how vampires should end their lives, absolutely not.

...But I can still tolerate with their nonsense. After all, they’re still a tiny unit with Kurusu, Yamagami, Suwa, and Takeuchi. If they grow bigger to the point where they look hideous, then I must crush and erase them from this world.

Yoshinobu Maeda will be the Macbeth... who goes first on the list.”

About Yamagami “Unranked vampires are no different from ordinary human beings. That guy in Code Zero- Yamagami was it? He always looks at me with frightened eyes, but he doesn’t interest me at all.

Everyone fears us, but S-Class vampires are apathetic about most things. We don’t fear people, we don’t get upset, and you even forget how to cry when you live as long as me.

So, unranked vampires arent that different from plants to me. I’d be interested in him if he was a really good actor, or something about him was elegant and beautiful.

I’ll tell him that he doesn’t have to be so scared of me next time. And that I’ll won’t kill him unless he coughs during my stage.”

About Takeuchi “Takeuchi makes me feel sad. The world should have mysteries that we cannot understand. Because that is how great poems are born. Beautiful Greek mythology or the story of Icarus wouldn’t have been born if people understood what the sun was.

Beauty lies within the darkness. Art forms through our imagination and what we find in that darkness. But the light of civilization swept that darkness and snatched away beauty from this world...

Takeuchi would’ve been dead a long time ago if killing him was my solution. But things are changing rapidly throughout the entire world since the Industrial Revolution. So in the end, the light will vanish us because we are vampires.

But I think science is dangerous in its own ways. Because you can die from getting too close to the sun just like Icarus did.”

About Suwa “Suwa- an underaged vampire that’s been living a long time. Just like me. He must be wise if he managed to survive this far being a C-Class vampire.

He also enjoys plays- so he’s checked off the list to longevity, I see. But he is too aggressive for a vampire his age. I think he can be a bit more laid-back.

But I guess the humanness left inside him is what keeps him going. Vampires that have a strong feeling towards something tend to keep up their sanity just like me. Although, that is the same for humans as well...

I heard he was attacked by a group of vampires disguising themselves as a missionary. If he has 11 sitgmatas in total, that means he was bitten by 11 different vampires. I heard the classless ones that got banished from Europe went to Asian countries east of India. So I guess they were some of them.”

About Tenman-ya “I must say that Tenman-ya is quite interesting. There was something similar in Europe called guilds. Although, it was a place where people paid their blood in exchange for getting rid of someone they loathe.

But Tenman-ya pays with blood if vampires help out with carpenters or craftsmen. I have never seen vampires work for blood until I ran into them. That is why I never get tired of this world. Is it a cultural difference? I’m sure vampires in France won’t use it even if a shop with the same concept opened its doors. It takes too much time. I am... an actor myself, but it’s more like a hobby to me.

To top it off, I heard their master adores vampires and despises humans... Different things pop up at different times and countries indeed. So it it very fascinating.

However, it seems my time is almost up. I can’t keep up with this era anymore.”

About Family “My younger brother is quite famous- but I do not brag about it in public. My brother is a hero. But it will only hurt his reputation if the world finds out that his older brother is a vampire.

A vampire named Clotide turned me into a vampire. She was someone who I used to call my sister... She mastered ancient Greek and, her abilities were top-notch out of all the vampires I’ve seen. Her levels surpassed the ranking system. I am one of the oldest vampires, but even those vampires called her the “Ancient Vampire” or the “Ancient Goddess.”

An ancient code of vampires goes: “Thou shall not breed children or animal vampires.” If broken, the new life shall be ended. My sister broke the code and protected me. She protected and hid me. We traveled the entire world together...

I did not hold a grudge against her for making me into a vampire... Yet, she never forgave herself. She never did... until the end...”

About Japan “I was always interested in Japan. It all began when I watched “Madama Butterfly” at La Scala. Puccini is fascinating. I do not agree with the ending most of the time, but his music is fantastic. It makes you forget that fuzzy feeling you get.

I have never been to Asia in my life even when being alive for hundreds of years. I had nothing to do... after losing my sister. So, I first went to Beijing where “Turandot” took place. I stayed in Shanghai for awhile, and I said to myself, “Might as well visit Japan since that’s where Madama Butterfly took place...”

But it was disappointing since it was nothing like the Japan depicted at La Scala. I was expecting something more oriental but the country was busy constructing western-style buildings. I should’ve come 100 years earlier...

But it ended up being a country that provokes my curiosity.”

About Vampires “Most vampires are terrified of me and stay away from my territory. Vampires rarely come near the Imperial Theater since they know that it’s my home. Excluding Code Zero and Yatsufusa... that is.

Those that hide in caves deep inside a mountain and come down for blood once in a while are the most dangerous vampires. Because most of their humanness has long been gone, and some of them have not spoken to anyone for hundreds of years. They forget how to speak. Not elegant at all. Plus, they are only a pain that calls for attention. So I sweep them up.

Vampires are not widely known because they are faithful to their principles to an extent. So boorish ones are even hated by their own kind... Why can’t we all live elegantly?”

#mars red #defrott

13 notes · View notes

pandawritesmanythings · 4 years

Text

Loki x Reader (Medieval AU)

Chapter Summary: Your adventure continues! But is the future as clear as it seems?

Warnings: None, I think!

Word Count: 2,2k

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry about not posting last week, I just needed to recharge and finish this chapter in a way that I was satisfied with. But I’m back. Don’t worry about it! Thanks for being patient!

Masterlist

"I do believe that I've never tried this type of food."

There was something that smelled awfully like fish but didn't look like it on a stick in your hand. It had been deep-fried, that was for sure.

"This is our typical street food, your majesty." Sigyn explained.

"Is it now?" You turned to Wanda who carried on her arms a basket of gifts for many of her friends, her boyfriend, and her brother. "Wanda, how much does it differ from the food of the streets of Europe?" You spoke referring to the territory that she was from.

"Well, our food is definitely more sophisticated. I would compare it more to the food of Southern America or Asia if I had to."

"You've traveled Midgard, m' lady?" Sigyn asked Wanda, her curiosity piqued.

"Yes, when I was younger we would get thrown around, me and my brother. Finally, we found a home in Northern America, where the capital is." She explained. "But I've seen most of our country!"

Sigyn was deeply invested. You could easily read it on her face. "Do you have a preference as to which place is better?"

Wanda seemed to think for a while... "Well, I am biased to say that the state of Europe is wonderful. After all, I spent most of my childhood in different provinces of the state, like Sokovia, Denmark, and Russia." She began, you rolled your eyes since you knew she was about to go off, "However, I must admit that the South is also quite lovely!"

"And what about the capital?" Sigyn asked, luckily, since it was sure that Wanda was about to go on about the South and they would be in town until sunset if that was the case.

She thought about it for a moment, hand on her chin thinking, wracking her brain for an answer.

"It is just a city. Nothing truly that magnificent."

Sigyn's eyes widened to a comical size, she then turned to look at you quickly, which made you burst into laughter.

"Do not worry my dear! Wanda has the tendency to speak her mind when she feels comfortable." You laughed, hand in your stomach because of Sigyn's bewildered expression.

"Oh.. Heh..." She chuckled and slowly relaxed. "Then, what do you think, your majesty? Do you agree?"

You let your laughter die down and answered with a teasing smile. "I do agree that compared to the luscious jungle of the south and the cold mountains of the north the capital is most underwhelming." You gently shoved Wanda's arm. "However, you sell us short Wanda! The capital is still a wonderful place! Especially during the season's festivals!"

You looked back down at your hand which held the snack you had bought for the afternoon and after taking a deep breath as you bit into it.

Yeah, definitely not ladylike.

However, the taste made up for your lack of manners. "This is fantastic! May I ask what this is?"

"Octopus your majesty."

"I've heard of it, but they only use it in some European provinces that are closer to Asgard." You spoke, the flavors of the meal still dancing in your tongue, making you take another undignified bite.

"Forgive me, I would have thought that you would have a large variety of supplies in the palace."

"Travel distances are too long. Uncooked food would spoil since we are in the center, we always encourage each state to instead give the food among the people. After all, as monarchs we are here to serve them, are we not?"

It was amazing to Sigyn how much you repeated that in the short time you had been together. Did you really believe that, or were you just trying to convince her? Corrupt monarchs were not something new for her. Could she believe the word of another one? Especially of the one who had been selected to separate her and her beloved?

"Princess, look!" Wand suddenly pointed towards a group of girls who were braiding ladies' hair with flowers in exchange for some coins.

"Ah! That looks lovely, shall we try?"

Sigyn looked unsure, but after pulling her along she had no other choice but to follow.

After a couple of minutes, her blonde hair had been braided with white and blue forget-me-not's. Wanda had a crown of Marigolds on top of her head. And the girls had made a crown of various flowers for you, including some very beautiful orchids. You completed your transaction and gave the girls a little extra, to which they squealed in joy and continued to call and attend customers.

The three of you continued your way downtown, the mood light from the darling experience. Your hearts felt light, and you spent the rest of the day running around and discovering the rest of the city.

"Oh my! I almost forgot something." Sigyn said while stopping in front of a small bakery. "Forgive me, your majesty, I must pick up an order here. Would you give me a minute?"

She knew that Kassian, the baker's son, would keep the bread for her family safe, but she really needed to take it back home. And for some reason, she felt like you wouldn't be rude about it.

"Of course! We'll wait out here!" You nodded with a bright smile while Sigyn rushed inside.

"She's very sweet," Wanda spoke as soon as Sigyn was out of earshot.

"Indeed. Quite the worker, and very attentive."

"Do you think it would be a good idea to bring her back to Midgard as part of the help?"

"As much as I'd like that, she must have family and friends here. I wouldn't want to impose anything on her, less on a warring country."

"Makes sense..."

"So, is Vision thinking about the next step?" You nudged her.

"Oh hush! We still haven't even told Pietro."

"I would have thought he knew!" You almost gasped, but it came out more like a laugh.

"Well, he doesn't. And until he does, I know Vis is too much of a gentleman to propose." She laughed, and in her eyes, you could see the wistfulness, the joy...

That feeling...

"Wanda?"

"Yes?"

"Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all..." She turned to pay full attention to you.

"How does it feel to be in love?"

Her smile dropped... She knew why you were asking. "Oh, my dear friend..." You felt her arms surround you in a hug. "I'm sorry..."

"It's fine. I ask because I wish to at least imagine... Now I know that I'll never truly be in love, so might as well get a picture of it, right?" You shrugged, trying to shake off the sadness that was in your voice.

"I suppose..." She paused, hesitantly, clearly at a loss for words. "Do you know when during a summer night we used to go out and dance with our friends? How our dresses would twirl and it seemed like there was nothing else in the world but our little group?"

"I remember... It felt like a high, a bliss. The warmth of the summer nights helped that effect..."

"I would think that being in love is similar... It is two people who when they are together nothing else matters. Because you two are so comfortable, and trust each other so much, that it seems like the world has frozen around you..." Her mind seemed to turn back to those years, an unspoken yearning palpable. "At least that's how I can best describe it..."

"Thank you, Wanda... That's a beautiful sentiment..."

The door of the small bakery opened and Sigyn came out carrying a basket with some loaves of bread. "Thank you, Kassian!"

"Wait, Lady Sigyn!" A young man handed her something and the blonde placed it on her basket and walked towards you and Wanda.

"Is that the baker?" You asked with curiosity.

"That is the baker's son. Kassian is a fine gentleman." She answered with her passive expression back on.

"Oh, he's fine alright. If you don't mind, what did he give you?" Wanda asked, teasing her.

"I actually don't know," Sigyn answered fetching the container that he had handed to her. She opened it and found pantries inside. Pastries she knew that she would never be able to afford on a weekly, maybe not even monthly basis.

"Oh my! So sweet!" You smiled at the tiny, but delicious-looking gift.

"Looks like you have an admirer Sigyn!" Wanda squealed playfully.

"Oh no! I already have my heart promised to... Someone else..." She said, her tone slightly embarrassed and hesitant.

"Alright Wanda, leave her alone." You nudged Wanda with a smirk after sensing Sigyn's discomfort. It was obviously a sensitive topic, so you respected her boundaries.

The golden rays of the sun began to lower, bathing everything with an orange glow.

"We should go ladies. Everyone will worry otherwise."

"Agreed." You nodded. "Let's make haste."

The three of you dashed through the crowded pathways all the way into the castle, and like it were providence, you found no one obstructing your way.

When you approached the back door to the kitchens, Sigyn stopped you.

"Yes, what is it dear?"

Although the last bit of your conversation had been sensitive, the look on her face at the moment was different from this morning, way more relaxed, a lot more carefree. "I just wanted to say... I understand why you're here. And I'd be glad to help you..."

"Really?" You wanted her to accept, you just didn't know if she would. "Thank you, dear. Do you already know what you want in return?"

"Not yet." She bit her lip, Sigyn's mind was going a mile minute without your knowledge. If her plan was going to work, she needed to still seem aloof about it. "But as soon as I can I will let you know."

"Remember, anything you ask for I will find a way and help you."

"Thank you..." she said, taking your hands on hers. "I really appreciate it."

The three of you sneaked into the palace, all acting like children who had gotten away with something. Which to be honest, you had.

The palace halls were surprisingly empty, which made sneaking back towards your room that much easier.

On the way, you found Astrid, the palace baker, whose face was relieved as soon as she caught sight of the three of you.

"Your majesty! You're back! And safely, thank heavens!" She whispered excitedly.

"You kept your mouth shut, right Astrid?" Sigyn asked, with a teasing smile.

"Of course! Well..." She nervously responded.

"Well?" Suddenly a pit began forming on Sigyn's stomach.

"I was beginning to get worried when the sun got so low... I was going to tell prince Loki, but..."

You and Sigyn both perked up at the mention of the man's name. And most worryingly, at the uncertainty of her tone.

"What is it Astrid, dear?" You asked softly, urging her to speak.

She took in a deep breath. "The court has been called to session. Apparently, Jotuns have been sighted near the junction border between Midgard and Alfheim."

It felt like your whole body had been frozen. The Jotuns had managed to sneak unsuspecting through the many provinces and border security? They were genetically taller than all of you were. The tallest man of Midgard only reached their shoulders! How were they able to sneak past undetected?!

"Do you think they'll allow me to be there?" The cogs of your mind were turning. With your brother coming soon, you couldn't spare his security while traveling.

"No. They will consider this an in-land security issue. They won't let a foreigner inside, not even if she is to be the king's daughter-in-law..." Sigyn replied, hand on her chin. Thoughts also swirled on her head, what could she do?

"I need to know what happens at that meeting." You said.

"Well, you could ask Prince Loki..." Sigyn began, "But if you are still unsure about his words being true-"

"I will trust what he says."

"However, just as an extra precaution. I could sneak in with a pretext and hear as much information as I can. After all, these meetings don't stop just because the staff is shuffling around." Sigyn insisted, taking advantage of the deal...

You gave it a moment, thinking in your head about the best course of action. If you asked Loki maybe he would tell you about it. But what if...

"Alright, do what you must, but do not take any unnecessary risks. Understood?"

"Yes, your majesty." She bowed and quickly strutted away towards the court hall.

"Let us go to your room, princess," Wanda suggested, unclasping the hood and taking it from you.

"I must take my leave too, your majesty. Forgive me." Astrid added, and you nodded your approval as she bowed and shuffled away.

The rest of your walk to your room was filled with tense silence. Your brain was working, and Wanda knew better than to disturb you with reassurance.

Your life had never been easy, and you were aware of that. The roughness of your hands was proof enough.

"Wanda?" You called as she helped you get out of your dress.

"Yes?"

"Do you think I...?" You wanted the words to come out naturally, but they had become stuck to your throat. Your insecurities, your fears, your past... All of it was like boiling water in a teapot. Boiling, hot, bubbling, looking for a way out... But finding none.

You knew that if you let it out too fast it would explode. And even if you trusted Wanda, breaking down in front of her wasn't top of your priorities list.

"Nothing... Nevermind."

TAG LIST (OPEN):

@chxrryycola - @midnightmystic - @deathkat657 - @thatonefangirl111

#loki of asgard #loki odinson #loki #loki fic #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x sigyn #steve rogers x reader #medieval!au #medieval au

35 notes · View notes

hypnoticwinter · 4 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 14

As the loud, clanging gunshot rings out again, Elena gives me a sympathetic look and leans in a little closer to me. I gingerly take my hands away from my ears, but when she speaks I still can’t hear her through the earplugs. I reach up and start to take them out but she gives me a look and smacks my hand back down, and then she is tucking my hair back behind my ear and fiddling with the plugs. She presses down gently and the earplugs slip in a tiny bit further and then I truly can’t hear; I guess I just hadn’t inserted them all the way. I flash her a grin and a thumbs-up and she smiles at me a little indulgently. My eyes linger on her a little longer while she crosses her arms again, leans up against the painted brick wall of the firing range.

Ahead of us in the central stall, the robot and the tall, slim man with the joysticked control box are looking for more targets. The robot is holding the biggest rifle I’ve ever seen, one-handed no less, and though the shells it spits out with each trigger-pull have got to be the size of Coke cans – okay, maybe not that big, maybe about the size of a mediumish pill-bottle – it handles the recoil without any strain at all.

Down further the overhead rack whines and sends a dinner-plate sized target whizzing across the line again. The robot’s head tracks it for a moment before with a single swift and precise motion it flicks the barrel of the gun to the left and pulls the trigger. I wince again, less from the sound of it now, thanks to Elena’s help, and more due to the resonating shockwave of it throbbing in my chest.

The man with the joystick toggles something on it and the robot racks the bolt of the rifle, tilts it skyward to check the chamber, and then ejects the massive magazine and puts it on the table before it.

“As you can see,” the man says, looking around at us, “this new model of armature skeleton is the most advanced yet. We’ve put absolutely everything into this bad boy,” he grins, slapping the chest plate of the robot; it doesn’t react. “Gyroscopic stabilizers, redundant systems in practically every area, newest cyborgnetic processors, the works.”

“You said you were from Europe, right?” Ellis asks, and the man nods.

“That’s correct. This is going to be a bit of a joint venture. As I mentioned before, I’m Max Euler, one of the scientists from Anodyne Berlin’s robotics department. We reached out to the administration here,” he says, nodding to Makado, “when we felt that the skeleton was in the final phases of testing and could really do with an…extremely adverse environment to put it through its paces. Then, when we discovered that you were facing a certain…difficulty retrieving an artifact, well, everything seemed serendipitous.”

“You don’t sound very German,” I observe. A few heads twist around to look at me and I can see Makado hide a smile. Euler doesn’t miss a beat, though.

“I actually learned English in America,” he tells me. “That’s why I don’t have an accent when I speak it. Deep-immersion in a culture is the best way to learn, I believe. Now, do we have any other questions about myself or the armature or has its performance spoken for itself?”

To be fair, the thing’s performance was very impressive. Over the past couple of hours we watched him demonstrate its speed, its agility, its coordination…everything that would interest the men and women on the team with ex-military backgrounds, which, from what I gathered from the past couple of days, was the majority. I think only Crookshank and another man I had met only briefly before he’d disappeared again, a short, sinewy, compact individual who introduced himself with a wide, flashing grin as Klaus, just Klaus, weren’t. Well, possibly Elena, actually. Is the Coast Guard part of the military? I don’t know. I think so but I’m not certain. I should ask her if I ever manage to get her alone again.

Alone. That’s a laugh. These past couple of days in the barracks have been a decidedly different experience than what I’m used to. I’m not a particularly shy person and I’m confident enough that I’ve never had any real reservations about my body, but the absolute lack of privacy is something I’ve never really experienced before. I got used to it quickly enough, changing in front of everybody. The first time I was motivated mainly because I knew for certain that if I made a big deal of it I’d be taken even less seriously. Aww, look at the little baby, wants us to turn around while she puts a new shirt on? How cute! She thinks we’ve never seen a pair of tits before!

I guess if I want to psychoanalyze myself I could ask why I want to fit in so badly with these people, but it’s obvious, isn’t it? Being the outsider aches, and even if you can fox-and-grapes yourself into believing that it’s okay because you’re “better” than them, you’re always going to know how much bull that is, somewhere deep down.

As far as becoming part of a team goes, you can either have it built in or have it be something you build up. If I came here and I was a male ex-Marine or even something like a paramedic, or perhaps even a lineman (power line lineman, not football lineman), I’d be much more easily accepted. Not that I think the fact that I’m a woman really has much to do with it; it’s about experiences. What the hell does a reporter know about Real World Things, like how to build a fire or pitch a tent or hide food where a bear can’t get it? Or how to fire a gun, splint an injured leg?

I know how to do some of those things, to be fair. But I don’t have the credentials. Instead I have to build it up, I have to be willing to learn, I have to put in work without complaining, I have to play ball no matter what. Challenging an institution, even a little one like a team like this, is impossible until you get inside of it. You say something like, ‘uh, I think I’d prefer to have all of you not stare at my tits while I change my shirt’ and boom, all the goodwill you’ve built up is gone. You have to play ball, even if it makes you uncomfortable.

“Roan?” Makado asks again, sidling up to me while Euler prattles on about something else up in front. I take another look at him and the robot and flick my eyes over to Makado.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. What’s up?”

“I want to show you the recording equipment we’ve got for you.”

We slip out of the firing range and head down the hallway, Makado’s heeled footsteps echoing off the tight corridor ceiling. She’s wearing her hair down today, with a broad headband resting high up on her forehead to keep those unruly curls in line. “Makado,” I say after a moment, “can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“How dangerous is this going to be?”

She stops, turns and looks at me. Her lopsided gaze is calculating. “Very, I’d imagine,” she says eventually.

“Mm.”

“Why, are you having second thoughts?”

“No,” I tell her, “not particularly. I just wanted to – mentally prepare myself.”

“You know,” she says after a moment, “I was pretty certain you were going to chicken out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I assumed, you know, throw you to the wolves for a day or two in the barracks with the team, you’d get scared enough to realize this is a bad idea.”

“They’ve been decent to me, actually.”

“As they would have been to anybody,” she smiles, guiding us around a corner. “But I think you might find that my, and apparently your, definition of ‘decent’ might not match with that of a lot of other twenty-something female reporters.”

“If I quit, who’d work the camera?”

“It’s a camera,” Makado laughs. “How hard can it be?”

“Show me the camera and I’ll tell you.”

She shows me the camera and then blushes after a moment. “Christ,” she says. “Stop laughing, it’s a camera.”

“This is what you’re going to use? Where’d you get this, Walmart?”

“Look, our budget isn’t –“

“How much did this cost? A hundred bucks?”

Makado looks at me for a moment. “Eighty,” she says finally. I knead the bridge of my nose.

“I literally have a four hundred dollar camera in my bag back in the barracks that could take better video than this,” I say, “and that’s my backup SLR.”

“SLR?” Makado frowns. I wave it away.

“It’s a kind of camera. Mine’s digital, it can take stills or video. I have…I think three or four memory cards left? So probably about 60 hours of video, I’d guess. More if you’re okay with thirty frames per second instead of sixty. What’s the video going to be used for?”

“It’s classified,” Makado says. “I can’t –“

“Do you want good video or not?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Look, I really can’t tell you. We just want you to record the operation, that’s all. You don’t need to give it an edge or a slant or an angle or anything, just record it.”

“Mm,” I grunt. “Alright, that’s fair. What’s the deal with the crystal? Why is it so important?”

“Don’t press your luck. This camera you have, how fragile is it?”

I laugh. “About as fragile as this one, relatively,” I point. “Maybe a little more. If it breaks down there I’ll want an assurance that you’ll replace it.”

“If it’s in the budget.”

“A personal assurance, for my personal camera,” I elaborate. She looks at me dubiously.

“You want me to buy you a new camera with my own money?”

“If it breaks.”

“When did this turn into a negotiation?” she asks. Her voice is exasperated but I can tell that she wants to smile. “Fine. How about this? If you break your camera but the footage is usable, I’ll get you a new one. No footage, no camera.”

“Alright.”

“And you’re taking this one as well, as a backup.”

“Fine. I’ll need to get my charger, though.”

“For the batteries? You don’t have it with you?”

“If you recall, I thought I was just going to be coming in and then leaving the same night. I didn’t plan on getting caught up in this adventure of yours. My charger’s back at my motel room in town.”

“Guess we’d better go get it, then.”

And then Makado is putting her arm around my shoulder and ushering me out of the dingy storage closet, and then out of the building entirely.

* * *

“You know,” I say as the little Volkswagen powers down the main road and out the gate, Makado giving a cheery wave to the guard in the gatehouse as she passes, “this really isn’t the sort of car I was expecting you’d drive.”

She laughs. “You and everybody else. See, this actually used to be my aunt’s car. She won the lottery, bought herself a new car, gave me this one, and I was like, ‘hey, what the hell, free car, might as well use it’ and from there it grew on me.”

“It’s so tiny.”

“If you turn that into a crack about my height, you’re walking back to the Flesh Pit.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I laugh. “Although you are kind of fulfilling the stereotype by being so touchy about it.”

“That’s it –“

“I’m joking.”

“I know,” she says, flashing me a quick grin.

The world outside is like a bright warm hug. I realized as soon as Makado lead me out of the squat, evil-looking concrete Security building that for the last three days in the barracks I had been suffering from a myopia of purpose; I’d done little more than work out in the gym, hang out with Elena, and play wallflower, listening to the team laugh and joke and riff off each other. If I were to close my eyes, here in the car, with the top down, trailing my hand in the breeze, I’d be asleep in five minutes.

“You look peaceful,” Makado observes, and I crack an eye open, fix her with what I hope is a sardonic gaze.

“Do I not normally look peaceful?”

“Well, considering I’ve known you for about four days now, and about half of those we were both wondering if I was going to have to send you to federal prison, I’d say that generally you haven’t looked very peaceful.”

“Fair point.”

We drive on in silence for a little longer. “You know,” she says, “there’s no shame in backing out.”

“If you didn’t want me to go you shouldn’t have offered,” I tell her. “It’s too late now.”

“If you want the truth, I did it more for Peter than for you.”

“That’s bullshit,” I tell her. She looks at me a little uncertainly.

“He likes you, you know,” she tells me.

I look over at Makado, really look at her. I look at the lines of the tendons in her neck, loose and ropy but ready to spring into life and brace at a moment’s notice. I look at her cheeks and her eye and her lips, at the way she grips the wheel loosely in one hand, the other hand draped over the edge of the rolled-down window. She glances over, catches me staring. “Have you told him yet?”

I let out a little burst of mirthless laughter. “I haven’t even been able to tell my dad yet.”

“Why not?”

“Why haven’t I told my dad or why haven’t I told Pete?”

“I meant Pete.”

I roll the words around on my tongue for a long, long time before I finally say them. “Because Pete might like me, but he still loves you.”

Makado lets out a breath like I’d punched her, and I look over at her incredulously. “Oh, come on,” I say. “You couldn’t tell? Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

“I don’t –“

“I don’t know what happened between the two of you, not exactly, but I know for a fact that he still has feelings for you.”

“I thought you and him…”

“Let’s just say I’m probably not going to be interested in men for a while,” I say. “Maybe for the rest of my life,” I add with a hollow laugh.

“That isn’t funny,” Makado says quickly. “And what do you – oh.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Hell, if I were in her position I wouldn’t know what to say about it.

It feels good to tell someone.

“Are you scared?” she asks, glancing over again.

“It doesn’t feel real yet,” I tell her. “I got the letter with the results about a week ago. They wanted me to come back in and ‘discuss my options’ but there aren’t any. Once I get sick I’ll be scared, I imagine.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You probably don’t want sympathy, but…”

“The only thing I don’t want is someone treating me differently, that’s all. Maybe I’m dying but this is going to be a long slow goodbye. And right now I still feel fine,” I say, wondering if I really believe it.

“I was meaning to tell you,” Makado says after a moment. “I think I can get you some ballast.”

I look at her sharply; she keeps her head still, eye on the road. “You’re serious?” I ask after a moment.

“Dead serious.”

“How?”

“The suits the team wears, the locator is in the helmet. At the end of the first day, you guys will make camp right near a ballast bulb. You do the math.”

I think about that for a moment, then shrug.

“Seems easy enough. Would it even help me?”

“It might. I don’t know, I’m not a scientist. Isn’t it worth a shot?”

“Sure. But what if…I don’t know, what are the side effects?”

Makado laughs. “Well, undiluted ballast…you’ll get really fucking horny. You’ll probably want to drink it right there so you don’t have to worry about hiding a fucking bottle of it from everyone. And it’s going to taste really, really gross.”

“I meant more like physiological stuff.”

“As far as I know it’s mildly addictive but nobody ever figured out if it was actually chemically addictive or if it was a mental thing. Like, the difference between coffee and cigarettes being addictive.”

“Speaking of,” I say. “You smoke?”

“I don’t.”

“Good,” I tell her. “Nasty habit.”

“Okay, miss two-packs-a-day.”

“Ouch. Low blow.”

“Did you always smoke that much?”

She pulls back onto the main road and then turns onto the side street that leads down to the motel. By daylight Gumption looks even sadder than at night. Fewer shadows to hide the cracks.

“No,” I tell her. “I used to smoke about a pack a week or so.”

“Let me guess,” she says. “When you found out you said ‘fuck it’ and started going all in?”

“Seemed like the thing to do,” I say. “I like nicotine, just not a fan of smoking, necessarily. Too concerned about my lungs’ wellbeing.”

“Right,” she agrees. “Alright, we’re here.”

The warm, dry air has sucked all the life out of me. “Alright,” I say, not opening my eyes. “The charger is on the nightstand, you can just run up and get it…”

“Go and get your damn charger.”

I groan, pop the door, stagger out of the low-slung Beetle. “Question for you,” I say, leaning back in.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you personally taking the time to drive me around?”

Makado laughs. “Do you know how busy I am as the Head of Security?”

“Very, I’d imagine.”

“I’m not busy at all. Place runs itself unless there’s an emergency. I do about two hours of phone calls and emails per night sitting in my quarters in my pajamas, rest of the time I just hang around and pretend to do something, anything, that justifies my salary.”

I can’t help but smile at her. “Glad I could give you something to do, then.”

“Go get your charger,” she repeats, reclining the seat backwards. She unclips her seat belt and shuts her eyes. “I’ll be right here.”

* * *

I can tell someone’s been in the room the minute I walk in. I’d left the do not disturb sign on the handle, they’ve taken it off, left it on the floor right in front of the door. I stare; then there is a soft, subtle sound from inside the room and I take a step back, reach behind me for the door handle.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Erica Walken tells me, stepping out from the bathroom. She has in her hand a small revolver, held about waist-high, barrel pointed unwaveringly at me.

It isn’t much to look at, that little gun, the barrel glinting in the low, warm light cast by the lamp over on the bedside table. The inside of the barrel seems like it must be the blackest, darkest, heaviest thing I’ve ever seen, and it draws my eyes to it like it were a singularity. Forget movies, forget books, if you have a gun pointed at you there’s no way to be cool, no way to just quip out a one-liner like in a movie. I an feel my hands shaking at my sides and if I don’t get a grip on myself my legs are going to follow suit. But I’ll be damned if I’m not going to at least try a one-liner. When’s the next time I’ll get the chance?

“Put the gun down,” I tell her. My voice almost trembles but I lock it down.

“No,” she says. “Did you come alone?”

“Y-yes. What the hell do you want?”

“You’ve been a hard woman to track down for the last couple of days. Sit down.”

She jerks the gun at the armchair in the corner and I move slowly to it, my back prickling with the knowledge that she’s still holding the gun on me, and sit.

She stares at me for a moment longer. “Are you working for the Company?” she asks me, and something in the way she says it, in the way she’s looking at me, makes me think that this is a capital-letter Very Important Question.

“The Containment Corporation?” I ask, trying hard to keep my voice innocent. She waves an irritated hand.

“The Containment Corp, Anodyne, whoever. You know what I mean.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why the hell are you back?” she growls. “I know you went with Peter, even though I told you not to, and when you and he disappeared I knew they must have caught you. What the hell are you doing back here?”

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” I snarl back at her. She tosses her head, looks down her nose at me.

“Looking for answers,” she says. “I have a right to know –“

“Lady, I don’t know who you think you are but if you think I’m going to overlook the fact that you broke into my motel room –“

“Answer the question,” she tells me. She moves her thumb and draws the hammer on the revolver back and it locks into place with an ominous click.

“No,” I tell her. “I’m not working for them.”

She stares at me for a long while and I stare back at her, keep my face carefully blasé. “Alright,” she says quietly. “What happened? Why haven’t I been able to get in touch with Peter? When my boy heard the alarms he tried to get out of the Pit. He told me that the ditch had been filled in with concrete, he was trapped in there.”

“Your boy?”

She waves her hand impatiently. “The young man who went in there with you. Marcus.”

“Oh. I didn’t know they’d filled in the ditch,” I say softly.

“Well, they did. He can’t get out.”

“Where is he now?”

“Back in the Pit, of course. He wouldn’t have lasted a day out there on the surface, he’d have been caught in an instant. What happened to Peter? Why can’t I get him on the phone?”

I must be very deliberate now, and choose my words carefully.

“They caught Peter,” I tell her. “I don’t know what happened to him. I only just managed to get away.”

Her eyes narrow. “Bullshit,” she says, the word sounding out of place in her small, elegant mouth. “You’re working for them.”

I can see her knuckles whiten on the grip of the pistol. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“I can get him out,” I say quickly. “Marcus, I mean.”

“How?” she asks.

Yes, Roan, how? the little voice asks somewhere from the back of my head, and I close my eyes. “They made me a deal,” I say slowly. Maybe it’s pathetic but I feel a little better not being able to see the gun. “I’m going into the Pit. Tomorrow or the next day. I can find him, get him out of there.”

“And turn him right in to the Company?” she snorts. “Fat chance.”

“If you shoot me,” I say with sudden confidence, “you’re never going to see him again. He’s going to die down there and you won’t be able to get him back.”

Erica’s mouth is a tight line. Her eyes are like chips of obsidian. “He’s down there for a reason,” she tells me. “Tell me about this operation they’re pulling. Have they found one of the crystals?” she asks.

My mouth drops open. “You know about those?”

“So that’s a yes?”

I snap my mouth shut. She leans forward, and the muzzle of the revolver snuffles forward. I have to stop myself from cringing back into the chair. If she were to pull the trigger, at this range the bullet would -

“I’m going to blow your fucking brains out,” she says, “if you don’t tell me what you know.”

“Okay,” I say, frantic now, “okay, Jesus Christ, fine, they found a crystal! Is that what you want to know so bad? Yes, they found one. They’re going down to get it and I’m going with. Fuck!”

“Do you know the route?”

“No! Look, I don’t know what the hell you want or what you’re planning, but -”

“Focus,” she says. “They have a crystal. You’re certain? You saw footage of it?”

“Yes,” I say.

Erica blows a breath out. She looks very tired suddenly; she leans back against the counter and the gun finally wavers away from me. “Alright,” she says softly. “It looks like I –“

“Roan? You okay in there?” someone calls from outside the hotel room, and Erica and I both jump. She hurls to her feet, giving me a murderous glare.

“You bitch,” she says. “You brought her with you? I should -“

“Roan, who are you talking to?”

Erica looks as though she doesn’t know what to do. She glances back at the door and then down at me. I can see her start to say something, but before she can get the words out, there is the soft snap of a card fitting into the lock and then the handle turns. My panicked eyes turn to Erica and I can see her raising the gun, mid-snarl. “Hide the gun!” I hiss urgently, and she stares at me for a frozen moment before the door opens all the way and Makado, holding a pistol of her own, a slim black automatic, peeks around the corner. Our eyes meet but she can’t see Erica, the woman is around the corner from her.

Erica is staring at me and I flick my eyes back to her; she hasn’t put the gun away and I try to implore her to with a look, but she’s having none of it. She moves to the wall and the floor creaks. Makado’s aim shifts up and over to the corner as Erica flattens herself against the wall, revolver extended ahead of her, head-height.

I feel as though I’m going to pass out but I know I have to do something, and finally after my anguished nerves have been screaming at me to move, to flex my muscles and move, goddam it, I rise lurchingly, a sudden motion that seems in immediate retrospect to have been a very bad idea. Makado’s gun wavers for a moment but Erica swings around almost immediately and starts to get a bead on me. Makado rushes forward and bursts around the corner, knocking me to the floor in the process. I land hard and lay there for a moment, then I roll over. I see Makado on the ground, Erica on her knees, the two of them struggling over the revolver, Erica trying desperately to stuff her finger back into the trigger guard. I snap out a kick and catch her in the side and she whoops out a breath and lets the gun go for a moment. Makado jerks it away from Erica and I finally, finally see the outline of Makado’s pistol, discarded on the floor right in front of me, blending in with the dark carpet.

Before I can snatch it up Erica bolts to her feet, stepping on Makado’s forearm in the process, a yelp boiling out of Mak’s mouth as she wrenches her arm out from beneath Erica’s shoe, but Erica is already sprinting out the door, slamming it behind her. “Mak,” I say urgently, trying to hand her the gun, but Mak sees it and freezes, and then her eye flicks up to mine, wide and scared, and then I realize I’m pointing it right at her. “Shit,” I say, jerking the barrel away from her. “I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry –“

She reaches out, grabs it and takes it from my nerveless hands. “Grip first,” she says, and then clambers to her feet and rushes out the door after Erica.

By the time I manage to get to my feet and stagger out of the room after her, Roan is there leaning up against the balcony, revolver and pistol both slung away into one pocket or holster or other, watching the big black car roar out of the parking lot fast enough to leave twin streaks of black rubber in its wake.

“You okay?” I ask, breathless still, and Makado glances over, eye wide and limpid.

“Yeah. You?”

“I think so.”

She blows a breath out, inclines her head forward until her forehead rests on the cool metal bar of the balcony. I think about it for a moment before I do it, but then I reach over and gently lay my hand on her back, and I feel her stiffen and then relax. She has a terrible knot of muscle just above her shoulderblade and I work at it with my fingers, run my thumb over it in slow, firm strokes. “That’s nice,” she murmurs after a moment.

“You’re pretty tense,” I observe.

“Well, we both almost died, so…”

“How did you get in?”

“Oh, I made a copy of your keycard when we took your stuff the other night,” she says. “Might have come in handy later.”

“Good thing you did.”

“Never know when you’ll need something like that. We got lucky.”

“Peter told me that Erica’s with the cult,” I say, and Makado nods.

“Yeah,” she says. “What the hell was eating her, did she tell you? She can be a bit of a loose cannon but I’ve never seen her pull a fucking gun on anyone.”

“I don’t know,” I frown. “She - she knew about the crystal somehow, she was asking me if I’d seen it, if we were going down to get it.”

“Ah,” Makado says lightly, “that would do it.”

She does smell like peaches, I realize suddenly, standing this close to her. Her back feels very warm beneath her thin shirt, and her skin has a muscley firmness to it that my fingertips find appealing.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask her. Her eye flickers open; I can see her glowering at me from beneath the crook of her arm.

“Mind your own business,” she says.

“This is all about the crystal, isn’t it,” I say thoughtfully. “It was just bad timing, our coming in when we did. You thought we were after it.”

She looks at me bleakly. “Yeah, I did. I didn’t know what to think so I made the call. Beginning to think it was a bad one.”

“Why can’t you tell –“

“Because you don’t need to know!” she snaps. “Because some things are supposed to stay secret.”

I take my hand off of her back. She shuts her eye. “I suppose now you’re going to be mad at me,” she offers, and I blow out a sigh, look out across the parking lot. I can see heat distortion off in the distance, out across the plains beyond the town limits, and in the distance I can see the electric fence.

“I’m not mad at you,” I say so softly that she has to ask me to repeat myself. I look down at her and give her a faint smile. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not – I’m not mad at anything, I guess, not the Pit, not the Corporation, not anything. I wish Rey didn’t have to die but if this crystal is so damn important then what else could you have done? He’d have thrown himself down that elevator shaft if you’d let him. Probably wouldn’t have done any damage, but -”

“A couple of years ago,” Makado says, straightening up, hands on her hips, twisting her back left and right, coaxing a deep crack from her spine like something heavy slotting into place, “we had someone get in with a bomb. He was schizophrenic. Convinced that the Pit was going to swallow the world whole. He sprinted for the orifice and if we didn’t put him down he would have dropped that bomb down there and it would have wrecked the gantry, would have hurt the Pit like fuck, maybe even gotten another choke response out of it. As it was it cracked the fuck out of the concrete exclusion plate, we had to put in a new one.”

I can see ghosts swimming in her eye when she looks at me. “I can’t let that happen again. Even if it’s, fuck, ten times less severe than 2007, there’s eight guys down there in that control room in the monitoring station at all times who are counting on me not to let something like that happen.”

“You did the right thing, then,” I tell her, wondering if I’m lying.

“I – what?”

“You did the right thing,” I repeat. “I don’t know if I would have done anything different if I was in the same position, because you’re right, you can’t risk it. You don’t know what Rey wanted to do, you don’t know who he was or whatever he was carrying. You made the call. As long as you make a decision you’re doing something right, even if it turns out to be the wrong decision. The wrong decision is better than no decision.”

Makado nods after a moment. “Yeah,” she says. She’s looking out in the same direction I am but I can tell from the way she’s staring off across the dusty plains that whatever she sees out there lives mostly inside her head.

“Now, to be fair, I don’t know how I’d live with myself afterwards, but in the moment I’d still make the same call.”

Her eye flicks over to me and then her lips split in a slow lazy smile. “Well aren’t you just a ray of fucking sunshine.”

I grin back, nod to the car. “You’re really not going to call the cops on her?”

“What’s the damn point? She’ll be out of the county by now. Tell you what, do you know her phone number?”

I start to say I don’t, but then I think about it and lead Makado back into the motel room, fiddle with the room phone until I can find a call history. “There,” I say, pointing to one entry. “That’s her. She called me about three days ago, before I came to the Pit. Told me not to go.”

Makado nods, takes her phone out, punches the number in. It rings and rings and then goes to voicemail. “Erica,” she says, once the tinny beep sounds, “this is Makado Veret. Look, I’m not calling the cops on you. I know you probably don’t believe me but as far as I’m concerned this is no harm no foul, alright?”

Her eyes meet mine. “We know about your guy in the Pit. Roan told me you were asking questions about the crystal. I’m only going to warn you once. Whatever you’re planning, call it off.”

Makado’s eye flickers over to me, then away again. I can see her throat bob as she swallows, then she continues. “You probably can’t reach him by phone but if you do get ahold of him, tell him to head to the main gullet and up to the monitoring station. I can’t promise immunity but I’d rather get him out of there alive than dead, and I swear to you I will try to get him off property without any federal charges. Call it good faith. But if you pull the shit you just pulled again,” she says, her voice cooling so quickly I can practically hear the snap, “or if you try to interfere with my operation, you’re going to be coming back out in a bodybag. Oh, and I have your gun. Call me back.” She rattles off her number and then hangs up, blows a breath out.

“Think she’ll call you?”

“Maybe,” Makado shrugs. She reaches into her pocket, pulls the revolver out, examines it. “Free gun, though, if she doesn’t.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“That was a joke,” she explains, and when I start giggling I can’t suppress it even though as far as jokes go that was fairly lame, but I realize that it’s just all the adrenaline from the fight flooding out of me belatedly in one long relieved flow and even as Makado cuffs me playfully behind the ears and tells me it wasn’t that funny, I manage to make her smile, and I suppose that ought to be enough.

When we get back, charger and a couple of extra half-full SD cards tucked carefully into my pocket, Elena is the only one who noticed that I’d been gone for long, but when she asks where I’ve been, rolling over on her stomach to peer at me from her messy cot, I just shrug. “Out,” I tell her, and content myself with a mysterious smile while she shakes her head and returns to her magazine, muttering something about fucking admin under her breath, but it’s with a crooked smile that I know is meant for me, and when I flop onto the cot next to her nobody gives me a second glance and I feel, for just a moment, like I am starting to belong.

Continue with Part 15

Back to Table of Contents

#mystery flesh pit #Michael Crichton #thriller #novel #writing #original writing #horror #caving #monster #writeblr #alt lit

19 notes · View notes

harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

Complicit // 8

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW (the kind that anon politely asked me not to write but I did it anyway -- this is your warning, sweet friend), alarming tenderness... and what comes after

WC: 6.9k

----------

S.M.: Can I ask you for something?

Penny wakes up to see a text sent at 2:30am on the morning of her day date with Shawn. He requested the day date specifically -- he’s been in Europe for a week for a festival in Helsinki and his body clock is so fucked up he feels sick when he tries to figure out what day it is.

He has the day to himself before he has a Bex outing planned for that evening -- drinks at The Nice Guy, some kissing and maybe a little minor groping outside the cars as they leave conspicuously together. He wants to spend those hours before, his hours, with Penny.

Orthodontist: You may.

S.M.: Can we be cozy? I want to see you but I’m fucking wiped out. Cozy sweats day?

Penny frowns at the frantic tugging in her gut, the one Silver trained to save her from something all escorts go through at one point or another, the one that should make her wary of the potential intimacy of something like this. Penny clears her throat and lets her thumbs fly.

Orthodontist: Of course. See you soon.

She’s paid to give the client what they want. If they want the girlfriend experience, that’s what she’ll do. It’s not unique to Shawn, anyway. Plenty of clients have asked for lower key dates once they get comfortable with her. She understands that, the need for that kind of comfort. She used to need that, too.

But the tugging reminds her of the other circumstance. Shawn requested a house call. Again, not unique to him at all. But she has this funny feeling that if Silver took a look at her schedule and saw the date herself, she’d make that carefully concerned-but-not-too-concerned-because-you’re-a-grown-up-and-my-business-partner face. She loves Silver endlessly, but that face makes her feel small.

Penny shakes her head, but just minutely in case he’s watching her walk up through the window. She focuses on the date, on being prepared for whatever he may need from her when she walks through that door.

Client’s needs. Client’s needs.

Penny lets it take over like a mantra as she parks her normal car, the leased white 2021 Passat, beside his Tesla in his driveway like she’s done it a million times. She walks up the steps and rings the doorbell, tucking her hands into the front pocket of her Ivy Park hoodie, trying to look anywhere but right at his front door.

When it swings open, she feels like her heart has spilled out onto her shoes. He’s in a pair of green and blue plaid pajama pants that are inexplicably a little long and pooling around his ankles, despite his impressive height, and a big, loose t-shirt. His hair is wet. He smells like warm soap. His smile is soft and flat. He stands aside to let her in.

“Hi, Penny.”

She hides the full body shiver by doing a quick turn like she’s interested in looking around his foyer. She plasters on a smile.

She’s in his house.

“Hi, Shawn.”

He reaches a hand for her. She knows it’ll be soft and hot from his shower. She braces herself to take it. He tugs her forward, the corner of his mouth lifting as he pulls her in for a kiss. She nearly trips into him, her Ugg moccasins bumping into his bare toes as his nose nudges hers and it’s so startlingly intimate that she purrs into his mouth like he’s not paying for her time.

He curls his hands around her hips and starts to lead her into the house. She follows, taking tiny steps between his feet as he continues kissing her -- quick, open-mouthed kisses.

“Can I just keep kissing you for a while?” he asks, his teeth clanging against hers as he smiles, his eyes shut. She gives him a breathy hum and a nod in response. He guides them through his house blind, ignorant of her curious eyes scanning the area as they go. Her hand rises from his shoulder to cup the back of his head just before it smacks into his closed bedroom door.

He grunts, reaching for the handle to let them in. It’s dark inside -- he’s got those good blackout curtains, the heavy ones that turn any room into a cave. It’s pleasantly cool with a haphazardly made up squishy gray duvet on the bed, nondescript but cozy. Shawn reaches for a lamp on the dresser and it casts the room in a warm orange glaze of light. He sighs contentedly on the way back to her lips. She feels it in her bones as she wraps around him.

She steps out of her moccasins to rise higher on her toes to meet him. His hands wander, curiously, not hungrily, over the worn cotton surface of her hoodie. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls her in, tucking her around him to straddle him. Penny goes willingly, settling low enough on his thighs that she’s not plastered up against him, but perched comfortably in his lap.

Penny gives Shawn a breather by tucking kisses down his jaw and into his neck. The marks she left last time have all faded back into lightly bronzed summer skin. She kisses and sucks gently, not enough to bruise. Shawn’s fingers twist into the ends of her hair, pulling more teasingly than desperately.

Over his shoulder she spies several ripped up citrus peels on his night stand -- tangerines, she thinks. They have extra bits of pith picked off and spread on top. They explain the bright fruity taste of his mouth.

Penny closes her eyes again and feels him shiver as her teeth graze his jugular. She thinks she could’ve lived without knowing he peels the extra bits of pith off his citrus.

Penny separates from his wet skin with a deep inhale, pressing her hands into his chest to push him back. He goes with a soft smile. Her good boy knows better than to grab at her to drag her with him.

She folds herself over him, gazing between his lips and his flooded brown eyes when he stops her, grunting a little as he raises his chin.

“Where did all these come from?”

He’s staring up at her in wonder, just below her eyes. Her brow furrows. She leans onto one hand to lift her fingers up to graze her nose.

“My freckles?

He beams so wide and lazy it makes her smile too without knowing what they’re grinning about.

“Yeah. You’ve been hiding these under makeup?”

She shrugs.

He lets his eyes trail over the course of them -- a heavy sprinkle over her nose and cheekbones, growing sparse and light down her cheeks.

Shawn closes his eyes and sighs. “Didn’t think you could get prettier.”

Penny dips her head to kiss the spot between his collarbones, tugging at the collar of his shirt to reach it.

“How was Finland?” she finally stammers, needing to put something between them and… this.

“Weirdly hot. And the food was really good.”

She doesn’t bother to point out that she’s been there with the Aston Martin guy. Instead, she nods and watches his blinks get slower and slower.

She wets her lips. “It must’ve been nice to have a break.”

His eyes refocus on her. He stares questioningly.

“From the American press, I mean. I’ve seen a lot of you and Bex lately. Which I guess means that’s going the way it was planned.”

She doesn’t sound bitter or flippant, just matter-of-fact. Shawn ignores the tiny voice that wishes he could accuse her of jealousy. He knows he wouldn’t like her response if he did.

“Yeah,” he hums, “Her album sales have gone up. Mine are projected to be… pretty good.”

He’s being modest. His album is one of the single most anticipated releases of the fall. But thinking about that makes him want to throw up so he chooses to suck on her bottom lip again, re-memorize the little dip in the middle where he likes to flick his tongue.

“It’s ok, you know,” she breathes after he pulls back, “That you don’t want to talk about it with me. I understand it’s… maybe confusing.”

Shawn shakes his head. “It’s not that. Honestly, I’m better talking about it with you than anyone else. I know you’d never judge me.”

She smiles, a little warm, a little sad. “It’s true. The prostitute can’t be throwing stones at any glass… anything.”

Shawn actually chuckles. It’s odd how quickly it happened, but he’s long since gotten used to the notion that she’s a paid sex worker. He probably got over it somewhere around the third orgasm. He knows what Niall meant now about it being like a form of therapy. The stigma doesn’t bother him like it once did.

He lowers his gaze to the strings on her hoodie. “I guess I just like mostly pretending it’s not happening. It’s not… it’s not like I’m miserable around her. She’s a nice girl, she’s fun. But I built a whole relationship with my fans on always being honest. I told them everything, I promised I always would. I gave them everything. Because they’ve given me everything.”

Penny nods. “You made those promises as a teenager. Your life hasn’t been simple in a long time, but it sure as hell was simpler then. You’re a grown man now. No real adult’s life is so easily lived in the spotlight. I know you know that, you’ve lived through some of that already. The rest of the world has to figure out how to deal with you now, how to approach you differently. I don’t think they’ll need much more time. The Bex thing, as much as I know it makes you squirm, it’s working.”

Shawn closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, feeling it rattle in his chest as tears threaten. He’s so fucking tired.

“It’s working,” he agrees in a croak.

Penny knows enough to move on now. She slides up his body so their heads are level. She teases his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

“Your bed is comfy,” she coos, rocking from side to side with a grin.

Shawn seems grateful for the distraction. “You like it?”

“I do. Your place is nice. It’s big but cozy, like you.”

Shawn smiles, releases a little chuckle through his nose. “It’s nice like this… with you. In sweats and t-shirts, just… y’know. It’s easy.”

Penny’s smile grows a little dangerous in that way he loves. “Who said I was gonna make it easy, baby?”

Shawn groans. “You never do. It’s what I like about you.”

Penny purrs, ducking her face back into his neck, on the other side this time as he cradles her. Her fingers sneak up under his shirt, teasing the soft hair on his stomach that trails into his pajama pants. He releases a breath into her hair as his muscles contract.

“What can I do for you, baby? What would you like?”

She usually chooses for them. He usually wants her to. But she must have sensed that he was holding back, wanting to ask. He sighs.

“In the shower I was thinking about… after the cock ring. What we did after.”

Penny’s eyebrows raise. Her heart picks up pace against her ribs. She stays cool and purses her lips.

“What was it we did after, Shawn?”

Shawn’s cheeks start to flush. He rolls his eyes. “You want me to tell you I want you to fuck me in the ass?”

Penny’s eyes go bright with delighted shock. She laughs, “That’s exactly what I want.”

Shawn, never one to deny Penny what she wants, manages to get his mouth around the words, his eyes sliding shut. “I want it, Pen. I want to take your cock like a good boy.”

Penny growls before he even gets the words out. She drops her weight against him, rocking her hips automatically in a way that gets him groaning into her plundering mouth. Before they can get too lost in their almost teenage humping, warmth trapped under layers of clothes, Penny straightens up on her arms, perched over him.

“Did you get ready for it in the shower?”

He nods and glances around his room like he’s just realized something.

“Where’s your suitcase?”

She grins. “I traveled light today. I brought a purse.”

He eyes her. “You… have a strap on in your Prada bag?”

Penny tilts her head. “I’m always prepared.”

She sits up in his lap and stretches her arms up, shedding the bulky hoodie, bare underneath. Shawn whines so loud his torso clenches.

He pants, “Can I touch your nipples?”

Penny nods, continuing her hips’ assault against his. She rolls against him, feeling him go fully hard under the thin flannel fabric of his pants, angling herself so his cock slips against her swollen cunt through her leggings. Shawn’s hands go straight to her breasts, cupping their fullness and positioning his thumbs right over her hard buds, the ones he treated so well he made her come without touching her perfect pussy. He smirks at the memory.

“Thinking about it, baby? About how hard you had me coming just with your pretty mouth on my tits?”

Shawn’s head falls back as he mewls. He loves it when she gets mouthy like this. She’s excited, he can feel it. He thinks maybe she likes pegging him as much as he likes being pegged by her.

Shawn scrapes the tips of his fingernails against her nipples like she likes and it’s like striking a match. Her back stiffens, she groans, loud and deep. He watches them go diamond hard between his fingers, squeezing a little just to get a last dirty thrust of her hips against his before she really goes to work on him. She knows his game and gives him a crooked grin.

“Are you gonna be a good boy or a brat?”

Shawn’s pearly teeth sink into his swollen, wet lip. He nods. “I’ll be so good, Pen. Gonna be your good boy. The best.”

Her lips twitch. She blinks quickly, startled with the words that almost come slipping out of her mouth.

You’re already the best I’ve ever had.

Penny lays her hands over his much larger ones on her chest and peels them away, dropping them beside his cherubic curls. She moves her hands down to rest against the firm stillness of his chest, his steady heartbeat singing for her. His fingers twitch but he remains quiet beneath her, watching her, wondering about her.

Her fingers stretch and relax, scrunching at the fabric of his t-shirt. He lifts his hips invitingly, just grazing her, offering himself to her. Like in case she forgot how much he wants her and needs her, he’s there to remind her.

Penny lowers herself against him slowly and flips them, his arm tucked beneath her, his knees bracketing her legs to hold his weight. She reaches down and lifts the hem of his shirt, wriggling him out of it. She’s hit with a wall of him, warm naked chest and the perfectly Shawn scent that comes with it. It’s the purest version -- devoid of cologne or weed or the incense Cez sometimes burns. It’s his soap, his breath, his shampoo, his skin. She gasps greedy lungfuls, sinking her hands into the easily defined ridges of his back as she grapples with a way to steady herself.

She closes her eyes away from his prying ones and pushes her hands down his hips to shove at the fabric of his pajama pants. With a few heavy grunts, he manages to slip out of those, too, his old plaid boxers going with them. He fights to keep himself from grinding down against her. He can smell how wet she is for him already through her leggings. He slams his eyes shut and struggles to breathe.

He opens them again when he hears her shuffling around beneath him. In a squirm of fabric and freckled skin, she sheds her leggings and whatever panties she had on beneath. For once, he finds he doesn’t care what they look like. He just aches at the sight of her bare and wet, her limbs threading around him like sun-darkened vines.

“How are you always so tan?” he breathes, his mouth tugging up at the corner. Penny grins lazily, her eyes heavy.

“I sunbathe naked on my patio while I listen to audiobooks.”

Shawn is seized by the image, at once so, so painfully sexy and somehow also domestic and warm, like if he spent a few seconds longer with it he could imagine being back there with her, sharing a bottle of wine, playing his guitar for her.

But he definitely doesn’t let himself get that far.

Instead, he buries his face in her neck and inhales. “Fucking gorgeous.”

Penny brings a hand firmly down his spine from his neck to his lower back, squeezing for his attention. “Hold on a second.”

Shawn eases back, blinking curiously. Penny slides out from beneath him. On little brown tiptoes, she hops to the window and peeks out curiously. Once she’s had a look, she glances back over her shoulder at him. His brow lifts.

Penny lifts back the curtains, flooding the room in midday Californian sun. Shawn winces and blinks, turning his cheek. She tucks the curtains back, revealing his view, the rolling, blank green of the Hollywood Hills. Shawn’s lips part like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. Penny turns to face him.

“I want to see you in the sunlight.”

Shawn trembles with a shiver as she approaches the bed slowly, perching on the end, cupping his cheek so her thumb runs along the lower edge of his cheekbone.

He can see every freckle. He can see every little smile line. He can see a little ridge-like scar on her temple that he doesn’t know the story of. He can see the way her skin glows like she’s absorbing the sunlight she craved for him. He can see everything.

And so can she. The only natural light she’s seen him in has been cloudy, dusky, early morning light that lovers sleep through, or shrouded by curtains that forgive the sharp edges of shadows and direct sun. She left no room for it here. She can’t believe she never noticed how pink he is, all over. She’s seen it in his cheeks and chest, and on occasion in the skin she’s abused to the point of sweet red welts, but never like this where she gets to see the true permanent almost-blush that sits ready under the surface at all times. It’s breathtaking.

They both know they’re spending too much time openly studying each other, but the opportunity is too tempting to ignore. It’s Penny that breaks first, dropping kisses into his shoulder as she crawls over him, pressing him back into the mattress with a deep sigh.

Through the soft graze of his chest hair, she flicks at his hard little nipples with her tongue, enjoying the way he arches into her with a little huff of air. She keeps on, nose brushing all the petal pink skin she finds on her way down, punctuating with wet presses of her lips until she reaches the dark swirls of pubic hair that trail from his navel downward. His chest shudders hard as her breath displaces the hair and her hands find the soft insides of his thighs to push them apart for her to settle between. His cock twitches with interest, just gone fully hard against his stomach. She brushes her lips along the shaft, lips parted in a curious smile. Her hand reaches back to the bench off the foot of the bed. Shawn’s eyes snap shut at the sound of the bottle of lube opening and shutting.

Penny’s lips are followed by just the tip of her tongue. Her tracing is gentle, intimate like the touch of a finger along the throbbing vein, then to the sensitive head of his cock. Her fingers warm the lube between them with audible wet strokes that make Shawn’s brows pull together in anticipation.

Her lips join her tongue again at the base of his cock. Her fingertips press gently against his perineum. His inhale sizzles through his nose loudly. She rubs little circles, firming up in pressure as her mouth moves in a wet pattern up to the head of his cock. It slips between her lips. Shawn’s fingers sink into the squish of his duvet.

“Fuck,” he breathes in disbelief, lifting his knees to plant his feet before she can ask him to.

She works her tongue in swirls around the head of his cock as her fingers draw the same motion around his hole. Just as she slurps at his tip, she sinks a finger in to the first knuckle.

Shawn sighs comfortably, less tense now than he was when they first began exploring this together. She slips it in and out a few times before burying it further. His head tips back and draws out a moan that’s as honest and selfless as she’s ever heard him. It urges her on.

As Penny curls her finger, stroking upward, Shawn loses himself further. He turns his cheek against the pillow, nuzzling as he presses his ass into the bed. His dark eyes fixate on her, on the way she watches him when she slides a second lubed finger inside him, moving so preciously slowly, treating him with so much care it sucks the breath out of his lungs into more breathy moans. She alternates attending to the head of his cock with her wet mouth and pressing kisses to his shaft, keeping the main focus on the talent of her perfect little fingers. She scissors them apart slightly, stretching him to get ready for the toy, grinning at the way his toes curl.

“Penny, baby, feels so good,” he grunts, shaking his head in disbelief. She hums her agreement. She has her own fondness for this, feeling the tight, welcoming warmth with him, feeling the trust grow ever stronger as he puts more of himself in her care with each breath.

Penny licks a drop of precome from his tip and watches her free hand spread to trail up his chest and rest over his heart. It’s thrumming hard, not too hard, not enough to make her back off for fear of ending it early. She wants to take this time nice and slow for him now that he knows how much he likes it and asked her for it. She focuses the press of her thumb into his perineum while her fingers flex and curl.

“Fucking… yeah, Penny, Jesus,” he pants slightly, fisting the sheets on either side of him. She can feel and see the sheen of sweet sweat on his chest and abdomen. He’s almost ready.

“Baby,” she breathes, her voice hoarse from disuse and the weight of her own arousal, “You want my cock?”

He’s not so bashful this time as the first time she asked. He nods first, closing his eyes to find his voice.

“Baby, Penny, please. Fuck me.”

Her toes curl in anticipation. She rolls her hips needily into the bed. Shawn watches with a growling moan. His body protests the careful removal of her fingers and she knows he wants his hands on his aching cock but one look from her reminds him she hasn’t given him permission. Instead he squirms against the bed watching her lift the strap on harness out of the pouch and step into it. Her wetness makes a sound as she separates her legs. She bites her lip at his eager gasp.

“Nice and wet, Pen? Gon-gonna come when you fuck me?”

She tightens the harness around her hips and thighs and considers him through heavy lidded eyes. She flips her feathery dark hair out of her face and cups her fist around the base of the dark green silicone toy.

“Would you like that? Wanna feel me come with you?” Her breath breaks off at the end. Shawn lifts his head and nods again, more fervently.

“Baby, I always want to feel you come. I need to make you come. Please.”

Penny feels his urgency and steps to the end of the bed, reaching for the bottle again. She slicks the toy down with a generous handful of lube. Shawn pokes the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he watches, knees still bent, legs still spread.

As she lifts a knee onto the end of the mattress, Shawn comes up on his elbows and readies to turn over. She reaches out and grabs his leg to stop him. The first time she took him like this, he was on his knees with her behind him. He’s surprised when she has him lift his hips to settle a pillow beneath them and angle him up toward her. She pulls his thick thighs over hers and nudges him with the head of the slick toy. He exhales slowly, nodding.

Penny goes perfectly slow for him, watching the flutter of his lashes as he adjusts to the fit of it inside him. She sinks gently until she’s buried, her hips snug against his thighs. Shawn focuses on his breathing and the way the ends of her hair tickle his chest as she leans forward.

Penny eases her hips through a circular motion that has the toy grinding into him a little harder. His eyes fall shut. He whines, high and sweet.

“Yeah, baby?” she coos.

“So good,” Shawn sighs, opening his eyes again when he feels her thumbs rubbing similar circles into the insides of his thighs. He’s noticed she has a thing for matching patterns in the way she touches him to heighten sensation. He offers her a lazy, fucked-out grin as she continues the slow sway of her hips.

“Have you ever tried this?” he whispers, nodding at her.

Penny bites at her lower lip like she’s not sure. The coyness is a reflex. She shakes it off.

“Yeah. I like it, too. With the right partner.”

Shawn smiles. His thighs tremble. Her hips have picked up their easy pace. She grips him a little harder as she rocks into a pulsing motion that has her sliding in and out a bit more obviously.

Shawn groans. “Holy… shit.”

He’s wordier when she’s inside him than he usually is. She likes that, makes it feel like he’s even more free than usual, like his thoughts come out through his mouth rather than the alternative of getting stuck to rattle in his brain.

Penny eases forward onto one hand by his head. Her breasts hang, her nipples grazing his chest as she strokes in and out more purposefully. Shawn’s eyes fall shut and his head lolls back. His mouth drops open in a low cry of pleasure.

“Shit… f-fuck,” he sobs, feeling the welcome heat of this with her singe him all over. He grips the sheets harder.

“Can touch me if you want,” she pants, her breath broken up by the strain of her thrusts and the way they bump right up against her swollen clit in the way she likes.

Shawn’s fingers are flushing red as the blood seeps back in. He lifts one to cup her shoulder blade and the other around the back of her head. The motion focuses her eyes down on his, up from where she’s pressing into him.

His eyes are heavily glazed and his lips are parted and wet. Before she thinks about it too hard, she dips down to lavish them with kisses. The change of angle has Shawn nearly purring into her mouth, his legs spreading wider to welcome her closer.

“Baby, oh my god,” he hisses, his curls shivering against his forehead as she mouths at the edge of his jaw.

“Like it like this?” she croaks, fucking in and out of him a little faster, “No one’s ever made you feel this fucking good.”

It’s not edged with the cocky lilt her words take on when she’s giving it to him good in bed. There’s a note of desperation. The need to praise and validate her roars up in Shawn’s chest so strong he gasps a breath to speak.

“No one,” he agrees in a rough sigh, “Fucking-- oh. No--nobody, baby, you’re the only one. Penny, you’re the only one.”

With a satisfied moan, Penny reaches between them and wraps her fingers around the head of his cock. Her hips swing harder, wringing a pretty gasping cry from him with each one. She pulses her fingers around him in time, ready to feel him come apart at the seams.

Shawn feels her lips brushing his. He blinks lazily, almost too far gone to speak, but the look in her eyes makes him whisper, “Come with me. Please.”

Penny’s responding breathy whimper sends him right over the edge. He stifles a scream as his entire body goes beautifully tight and he releases between their stomachs and into her small, wet fist. She breathes through it, right up against his lips like they should be kissing but breathing each other in is enough. Suddenly, with an erratic flick of her hips that has Shawn holding her a little tighter, Penny whines his name and it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever heard. She rows up against him again and again, riding through the orgasm he’d give her a thousand more times if she asked until she’s spent and collapsed against his chest, the toy still inside him.

Shawn lifts his heavy arms around her, smiling like a dope into her hair. He smoothes her hair down her back. It falls so far it brushes her cute round ass, so he massages that, too.

Penny peels up enough to look at him. She smiles and bumps her nose up against his lips.

“Wow,” she chuckles.

“Uh huh,” he grunts back, the same amusement in his voice. He cradles her between his legs, propping his chin up on the top of her head.

Penny starts easing her hips back to Shawn’s little noises of protest. She sheds the harness and grabs a wet washcloth to clean them both off. She tosses it in the hamper and crawls up beside him, still bathed in warm morning light, his arm open to the side to welcome her. She’s just settled up against him when she hears something.

“Hey now, hey nooooow! This is what dreeeeeeams are made of!”

Penny’s head shoots up. She always, always turns her personal phone ringer off when she’s on dates. She somehow forgot. Her head jerks as she looks to Shawn, who’s still wearing a look of dreamy calm.

“Nice ringtone.”

“Sorry, fuck-- I usually turn it off. It’s… that’s my brother’s ringtone.”

Shawn tilts his head curiously. “Answer it if you want. Does he know about me?”

The question is so shocking Penny forgets to think before she answers with a short nod.

“I mean… yeah. It’s-- I tell him everything. I mean not, everything everything. Obviously. But… he would die before telling anyone. I promise.”

Shawn’s face shifts at the look on Penny’s. He’s never seen her look so wide-eyed and sheepish. He strokes a hand comfortingly up her arm.

“Hey, it’s fine. I get it. Answer it, I really don’t mind.”

Penny hesitates a moment longer, then launches off Shawn’s chest to get to her purse. With impressive flexibility, she reaches off the end of the bed and hits the answer button before the ringer ends.

“Hey,” she pants.

“You know what absolutely blows?” Peter barks. He’s so loud Penny is sure Shawn can hear every word but he looks out the window politely.

“What?”

“Data structures and functional programming!” Peter wails. A clunk in the background sounds like a textbook falling shut.

“Don’t tell me you got a B+ on a test again,” Penny jabs, eyeing Shawn with a mischievous smile. His nose twitches over a shy grin now that he realizes he’s allowed to listen.

“No, god no, don’t joke about that,” Peter hisses, “Hot TA finally, FINALLY asked me out.”

Penny’s eyes pop. “What? That’s great! He’s so cute!”

“So, so cute,” Peter agrees in a strained voice, “But my data structures professor moved our test up because he got asked to speak at some conference in Bern. The summer semester break is about to start and hot TA is starting an internship in Hong Kong until September!”

Shawn’s eyebrows raise curiously. Penny bites her lip over a smile, her cheeks catching pink at this odd collision of her personal and professional lives.

“Peter, fuck the test. You have an A. Even if you fail it, you won’t fail the class.”

Shawn chuckles, sitting upright to listen closer.

“But--” Peter begins.

“No,” Penny interrupts sternly, “Don’t do the thing. Don’t use me as a way to argue with yourself. You’re in college, Pete. There’s plenty of time to take over the world with your impressive brain later. Go get laid, for the love of god.”

Shawn laughs, loud and delighted. Penny giggles.

There’s a pause. Peter says, “Who is that? Silver?”

Penny wets her lips and lowers her gaze to Shawn’s legs. “No.”

Another pause. “Oh my god, are you on a date?”

Penny chews the inside of her lip. Her silence is enough confirmation.

“Oh my god,” Peter cries, scandalized. There’s another crash -- this time it sounds like a computer chair smacking into a wooden desk, “You answered your personal cell on a date?”

Shawn looks even more intrigued. He leans further forward and bites his lip. Penny reaches out and plucks at a curl on his forehead.

“Shawn doesn’t mind.”

Peter’s overdramatics reach new heights with his squealing cry in reaction. Shawn laughs again, going pink from the chest. Penny crawls into his lap, feeling mysteriously smug -- perhaps at the disproving of her longtime theory that if ever her two worlds should meet, chaos would immediately follow. Shawn gathers her up on his lap and brushes his nose against her collarbone, sweeping his lips against her neck.

“Are you seriously post-coital with Shawn Peter Raul Mendes and taking a phone call from meeee?” His voice has gone all squeaky so the final drawn out vowel makes her cringe.

“Why do you know his full name?” she laughs. Shawn snorts a chuckle and it vibrates her throat. She hums comfortably.

“My god, my god, get off the phone. Bitch, I will hang up on you. Go get that mans. Get that good Canadian rock star dick, what the fuck.”

Shawn laughs harder and he’s close enough to the phone that Peter cries out at the sound.

“Shawn, for the love of all that’s unholy, do something to get her off the phone.”

Shawn lifts his head and considers the challenge. Penny is breathless, watching him lie back, taking her with him. He lifts her, scooting her up his chest until she’s perched over his head, her knees bracketing the pillow, phone still pressed to her ear.

“Hey, you’re still coming for that CalTech thing, right? I see you in a few weeks?” she breathes, gazing warmly down at Shawn as he tongues at the inside of her wet inner thigh. She sinks a hand into his curls to steer him. He goes willingly.

“Yeah, yeah in like a month,” Peter answers distractedly, “I put the flight on your Amex.”

Penny’s eyes fall shut when Shawn swipes his tongue up through her folds, flicking at her clit.

“Good boy,” Penny hums with a nod.

“Are you talking to him or me?!” Peter shrieks.

Penny grunts, glancing down at Shawn who locks his arms around her thighs and bears down. With a shaky inhale, she sighs.

“I don’t know anymore. Bye, Pete.”

She holds the phone away from her ear to hang up. She can hear more screaming as she hits the end call button.

Oh my GAWD! Shawn Mendes and Bex Get Hot and Heavy in Miami BETCH! -- Perez Hilton

Shawn Mendes and Bex Spotted Getting Steamy on Miami Beach -- People Magazine

Hottest Couple of the Summer! Shawn Mendes and Bex Making Waves In Miami! -- JustJared

Penny lifts her chin and controls her stride as she steps into the chilly hotel room at The Beverly Hills Hotel. With a nod back at Gus, the door shuts behind her.

He’s tall. Extraordinarily tall. He’s probably at least 6’5”. He’s a Nordic god with crisp blue eyes and a swath of blonde hair that falls shaggy but controlled around his shoulders. His body is lean and smooth, well trained but hard and a little unwelcoming somehow. Penny’s lips curl into a smile.

“Miss Penny,” he breathes in lightly accented English, “You’re a vision.”

Penny’s upper lip puckers. She tucks some falling curls behind her ear and steps closer, dwarfed but unintimidated by her new client.

“Mr. Larsen. You’re every bit as handsome as you appear in Forbes.”

He’s flattered by her easy softball of a compliment. She can tell by the way he preens for it that he believes her words. She looks down at the glass of gin in his fist. She looks back up at him and smiles again, walking around him to prepare her own.

“I was very eager to receive your recommendation from a colleague,” he says, easing around the chaise to stand behind her. He’s not hovering, exactly, or at least not close enough to make her uncomfortable. She’s aware of the shimmery body oil she rubbed on the bare skin of her back, accented by her low cut cocktail dress.

Aston Martin guy referred him, Silver told her. She knows the type. Elegant and refined. Not terribly interested in small talk before clothes come off. Gets called ‘daddy’ by the girls he brings home from bars and events but needs a strong woman to hold him down and ride him hard to feel balanced.

It’s easy. No challenge. No problem to solve. Penny sighs. It escapes his notice.

She turns while dropping a wedge of lime into her sweating glass. Her eyes rake him from head to toe. He takes it as an invitation to step closer.

“Good word of mouth is crucial to my business model,” she agrees coolly, taking a sip. It’s not as strong as she’d like.

His smile is vaguely unpleasant. He’s the kind of guy she’d tell the La Splendeur girls to avoid when out in the wild. He steps closer.

“I’ve heard very good words about your mouth.”

Penny’s low exhale takes the place of the eyeroll she’d give if she weren’t being paid so handsomely. She can’t blame his native tongue for the too-smooth, cheesy pun. This guy was probably Oxford or Cambridge educated. He speaks better English than she does. He’s just fucking boring.

Penny drops a finger into her drink, curling it slightly, watching his eyes follow the motion. Too easy.

She brings it to her lips and sips the gin off her finger. She doesn’t even like gin. He licks his chops like she’s a meal.

She puts her glass down.

“Get on your knees, Mr. Larsen.”

Whiplash.

It’s the only word for the feeling he’s had for days on agonizing days.

Penny crawled out of his bed and left her scent behind in his sheets after a few more traded orgasms and more shared kisses than usual. In a sexed out daze, Shawn heads into the lion’s den. He’s never seen so many paps outside The Nice Guy. The cold snapping of their shutters knocks him back into reality. The high he rides after a few hours with Penny is cut criminally short.

He cradles Bex close under his arm. He wets his lips and leans in when she whispers in his ear. He smiles, makes it melt like butter, and brushes his lips over hers. It’s stomach-turningly tender.

There’s more obvious canoodling outside the bar. Even with his eyes shut and her sucking on his lower lip in an objectively satisfying way, the flashes have him on edge.

He returns home to a bed that smells like something that feels imagined. It’s somehow even less real to him than the carefully orchestrated farce he’s been living.

Because it can’t be real. There’s no trace of her besides the sunny breath of perfume in his pillows that makes him choke up inexplicably when he buries his face in it before sleep mercifully knocks him out.

He can’t see her. He has trouble picturing her pretty face despite all the time he’s spent staring at it. He claws at it -- freckles. Tiny forehead scar. Slender ankles. Weirdly pointy but still cute knees. The laugh. He can’t remember the real laugh, the one that fizzes like expensive champagne, the kind he only drinks with her. He can’t hear it.

Even if he could manage to cling to all these pretty things, it can’t be real. What’s in the headlines is real. The album sales, the festival numbers, the hashtag stats -- those are real. As fake as it all is, it’s real. It’s more real than the nothing he has with a woman he pays to sit on his face.

His career is real. His album is real. His family, his life is real.

The rest of it is distraction.

-----------

If you’d like to buy me a Ko-fi and support my writing, the link is in my bio!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @tnhmblive @greedydevil @tamegray @meltingicequeen @havethetimeeofyourlifee @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @hannahlouiseee @sarahlauramendes @shawnsmoose @mendezlatte @1dbetch @graysonmendes @shawnsababe @ineffsi @ultradreamologistblog @bluerose711 @sauveteen

#shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fiction #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes smut #shawn peter raul mendes #sub!shawn #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes drabble #shawn mendes one shot

315 notes · View notes

admiralty-xfd · 5 years

Text

the whole truth

This is chapter 8, to go back to the beginning click here.

Diana “miraculously” recovers but finds herself in even deeper with the Syndicate. How does her presence affect the events of Fight the Future?

Chapter 8: The Turn

46TH STREET

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

JUNE 1998

Gibson sat alone in a small office that reeked of cigarette smoke and musty old furniture. His grandfather back in the Philippines smoked and that’s what the room reminded him of… the way old people smelled.

He didn’t belong here, but between his twelve-year-old self and escape was a room full of old men. Dangerous old men. He was terrified. Nothing any of them had planned was anything good.

“. ..We have an opportunity now, a good one, to get Mulder on our side... ” came one of the voices from through the door.

"X-Files shut down…”

“Agent Mulder…”

Agent Mulder. He was the guy with all the romantic drama going on. Gibson could tell from their single meeting he was a nice man, a decent man. In situations such as the one he found himself in, he was desperate to know who his allies were.

Gibson got up and went to the door, opened it a crack. He could see three or four men from this vantage point, but could hear several more. The cacophony of voices was easier to understand when people didn’t talk over each other. And it helped that these men did not interrupt. But it was difficult to tell which words were thoughts and which were voices because they all lied.

It was always difficult to tell with liars.

"...already separated them...”

“They’re not a problem for us anymore.”

“If you believe separating Mulder and Scully will diminish them, you haven’t been paying attention,” the tall man with the cigarette spoke up. “Splitting them up professionally hasn’t worked. Creating a real divide is going to take… a unique approach.”

Gibson opened the door a tiny bit wider and got a pretty good view of the dozen or so men in the room. Now it was much easier to distinguish the words in their minds from the words on their lips.

“And what approach do you suggest...” “...Wanker?” the British guy said. Thought.

“Agent Fowley will be quite useful to us in that regard,” the cigarette man said simply.

“She’s too smart for that...” “She’d never allow herself to be maneuvered in that way,” came the thought, then the voice of another man.

The smoking man smiled. “She won’t have to be maneuvered,” he explained. “Agent Mulder and Agent Fowley have a history together. I have a feeling all we’ll need to do is move the pieces into place.”

“Fowley’s circling the drain,” said another man. “Her doctors say there’s nothing to be done.”

"...Practically dead on arrival...”

“My man has excellent aim,” the smoking man declared. “Agent Fowley’s current condition was planned and executed perfectly. She’ll survive.”

Gibson wasn’t sure what he meant by that, how exactly he could know something like that. This man, the biggest liar of them all, was incredibly hard to read.

“I’ll take care of it,” the cigarette man said firmly.

“Like you took care of Mulder.” “Just kill him already,” one of the men said, then thought.

“Nuisance…”

“Nothing but trouble for us…”

“I have taken care of Mulder,” the cigarette man insisted. “The X-Files have been shut down and he’s been neutralized.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, why neutralize him? Why not dispose of him?” a man with a foreign accent asked.

The cigarette man took another drag. “Mulder is useful at best, a distraction at worst. His reckless actions with the attorney general have been his own undoing. Every time something like this happens he loses even more credibility. Mulder is not a problem, especially without his partner by his side. And like I’ve always suggested, he might be convinced, if given the proper motivation, to join our cause.”

“We do not have time for these games,” a big man with a raspy voice said suddenly. “We need to decide what is to be done with the boy.”

“There’s only one thing to be done with the boy,” the smoking man said. “Contact Dr. Openshaw. Prepare Cassandra for a new experiment.”

Gibson’s head ached in reluctant anticipation. More experiments. More tests. More pain. He just wanted all of it to stop.

“Cassandra Spender?” a voice came. “Your wife?” “Are you certain this is the proper course?”

Gibson didn’t have to see the smoking man’s glare. He could feel it.

“You’re asking me if I’m certain? Don’t ask me to repeat myself. Make the preparations.”

VIRGINIA HOSPITAL CENTER

ARLINGTON, VA

JUNE 1998

Diana jerked awake, her heaving, ragged breaths restoring her consciousness. Pain, then none, then she was staring up into the eyes of a hulking figure. The man had blond hair, a square jaw and a dead eyed stare. His hands were upon her shoulder, where the bullet must have gone clean though.

She knew immediately what this meant.

“You’re incredibly lucky to be alive, Agent Fowley,” a familiar voice came from across the room. She turned her head to look towards the source of the voice and even in the bright lights of her hospital room somehow Spender had found a place to sit cloaked in shadow. Hospital or no hospital, he held a lit cigarette in his hand. She knew better than to question it.

“Luck?” she scoffed weakly, as the alien bounty hunter exited the room. “Is it, really?”

“I was surprised,” he explained casually. “The man I sent is usually more...accurate. The bullet was meant to be a near-miss. A believable threat to get the child back into our hands. It wasn’t meant to hit you and it certainly wasn’t meant to hit a main artery. You’re lying in this hospital bed because of a simple mistake.”

“Some mistake,” she replied, wincing. “I can’t feel my shoulder.”

Her shoulder was completely numb. The pain was gone but she felt heat radiating throughout her body. She knew of the aliens’ healing powers, had seen it demonstrated before. But this was the first time she’d been on the receiving end.

“No, Agent Fowley. The mistake was putting you on this case at all. Thinking you could handle the responsibility. That you could handle Agent Mulder.” It was the first time he’d referenced her relationship with Fox, their connection, since all those years ago in Blevins’ office. “Far be it for me to interfere in your… personal affairs. But involving Mulder in this case has led to some unwanted attention.”

“If you anticipated this being a problem, you should have warned me he’d be here,” she pointed out. “Agent Spender told me he had specifically excluded him.”

“We weren’t expecting him to catch wind of this case. Our leak was AD Skinner and that situation is being… addressed,” he explained. “I have Alex Krycek handling it. But Agent Mulder has made the attorney general aware of this boy. ”

This surprised Diana. She shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t, I was trying to convince him not to.”

“I suppose he didn’t take your advice,” Spender said. “Fortunately for us, the Justice Department hearing ‘Spooky’ Mulder’s tale had the very effect I’d hoped for. They don’t take him seriously, they never have.”

Listening to Spender talk about Fox made her uncomfortable, so she changed the subject. “I didn’t realize you wanted the kid dead,” she said honestly. She felt foolish for not putting the pieces together that perhaps the Syndicate had wanted Gibson dead from the start.

Maybe she did know. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to believe it.

Spender shook his head. “I’m not in the business of killing children,” he countered.

She tried to ascertain if he was telling her the truth by looking into his eyes as she usually did but this man’s eyes were so difficult. Her talents were wasted on him.

“There are members of the group who would rather destroy him to eliminate the risk of exposure. But we’re different, Agent Fowley, you and I. There’s so much we can learn from the boy.”

She agreed with this. Gibson fascinated her: his abilities, his implications. Oddly she thought of Agent Scully’s comment on the matter, and how she’d been absolutely correct. Besides the obvious moral conflict, it would be a waste to kill him.

“So where this leaves us, Agent Fowley, is that the X-Files are closed. And it’s bought us some time.”

“Time for what?”

“To continue our work, without Agents Mulder or Scully getting in the way.”

“Have they been… reassigned?” she asked hopefully, but as casually as she could muster.

“Yes, but keeping them apart has been difficult. They’re… quite attached to one another, it seems.”

She’d suspected as much, but hearing it from Spender was like a punch in the gut. Hearing how “attached” he was to another woman only made her want him back more. This desire was highly inconvenient, given her circumstances. She had no choice but to continue to lie to Fox, especially now that Spender had saved her life. She’d always followed orders, but now she was particularly indebted to him.

She sighed, lying back into her pillow. She ached everywhere. She wished she’d never been asked to work this case. Inserting Fox back into her life was only confusing matters. Europe was sounding better and better by the minute.

“Are you sending me away, then?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. “No. You’re needed here. But while you recover, I have some reading material I think you’ll find quite illuminating.” He pulled a book from within his long trench coat, looked down at the cover and touched it admiringly. He handed it out to her, and she looked at the title, confused.

Native American Beliefs and Practices.

“Sir? What is this?”

“I want to remind you that what you’re a part of is bigger than anything you could possibly imagine. In these pages you’ll learn why.” He grinned. “It’s a story about the original shadow government.”

She flipped a few pages. What on earth was he talking about?

“You’re a believer, aren’t you, Agent Fowley?” he asked, sensing her confusion. Believer in what, he didn’t specify. “Read this, and you’ll know exactly why the boy is so important to our cause.”

She was completely confused, but she trusted him. Perhaps there was something she’d been missing, something important. And if there was something contained in these pages that could help make a difference, she wanted to know about it.

“I’ll be in touch.” He blew out a plume of smoke and put his cigarette out on the table next to her bed.

He stood up to leave, but she stopped him. “Sir?”

He turned around slowly, removing another cigarette from his pack that he certainly planned to light as soon as he left the room. She set the book down on her lap and asked the question that had been on her mind for a while.

“If Agents Mulder and Scully are such a problem, why have you kept them alive all these years?” It wasn’t that she wanted them dead: of course she didn’t. But she was well aware the Company would murder for far less. There must be something about Agent Mulder, or tangentially Agent Scully, that he wasn’t telling her.

He smiled. “It’s all a game of chess, Diana. You have to know when to sacrifice every piece. And Fox Mulder is a king. To truly capture him is a long, tedious process.”

She wasn’t stupid, she knew Fox was a threat to the work if they couldn’t get him on their side. But Spender’s words sent a chill up her spine. It was the way he always spoke, choosing words carefully, grinning as mysteriously as a Cheshire Cat. The edge in his voice made her nervous.

She wondered about this man often, about his life. About his childhood. Where had he come from? Why was he the way he was? And why was he so obsessed with Fox?

Most importantly, would she ever be able to get out from under him?

She closed her eyes in resignation, knowing any option she might have once had to remove herself from this situation was no longer tenable. He’d saved her life. She owed that life to him now.

The only way out is through.

He placed the cigarette between his lips. “Get some rest, Agent Fowley,” he said around it. Then he was gone.

***

It had been several days since the X Files office had gone up in flames. A wave of hopelessness had washed over Mulder in a way he hadn’t experienced before. He was feeling directionless, rudderless. Perhaps that was why he found himself on his way to see Diana in the hospital.

“Arlington, please,” he told the cab driver.

The driver nodded, adjusting the rear view mirror. Despite the fact that Diana was most certainly in no state for a visit, Mulder was determined to check up on her himself. He was honestly unsure if she would even survive; all the reports he’d heard so far had been extremely dire.

When he arrived at the hospital and peered around the doorframe to her room she was sitting up, which he hadn’t expected. In fact, he hadn’t expected to talk to her at all.

“Hey,” he said gently, entering her room.

“Hi,” she said. There was a look on her face that he couldn’t decipher.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake,” he told her. “The doctors feared the worst.”

Diana looked away, uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, I suppose my number wasn’t quite up.” He had the distinct impression she looked disappointed, but surely that couldn’t be the case.

He sat down in a chair by her bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, actually. Thanks for coming.”

He smiled. “Of course.”

“It’s… strange being back here,” she admitted.

“How was Europe?” He found himself making small talk with her, which felt odd. Other than a couple of conversations about Gibson Praise, the last time they’d spoken she was ripping his heart to shreds.

“I liked it there,” she said. “But out here is where I was needed.”

He wondered what she’d meant earlier when she’d said there were things at home she’d been wanting to get back to. From the look in her eyes he’d thought he was probably one of the ‘things’ she’d been referring to at the time. But perhaps he’d been mistaken.

“You’ve always been so dedicated to your work, Diana,” he pointed out. “It doesn’t surprise me in the least you’d follow it wherever it led you.”

“Even if it led me back to you?” she asked.

His throat constricted, and his eyes searched hers for her meaning. He wasn’t sure exactly what her intentions were with him but having her back in his world made him nervous.

He decided to make light. Chuckling, he answered. “Sorry about that.”

She smiled warmly but looked down, as if she were suddenly uncomfortable. No matter; he didn’t need another distraction right now. It was difficult enough trying to figure out her place in his life at all, let alone having to worry about navigating a romantic interest. He wasn’t sure how he felt at the moment.

“Have you… heard?” he changed the subject carefully. “About the X-Files?”

Diana looked blank. “No. What happened?”

It hurt to even think about it, let alone say it out loud. “Someone torched the office. Burned everything to the ground. They’ve shut us down.”

“Fox,” she said gently. She reached out and took his hand, not letting go. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve been assigned to domestic terrorism.” He shook his head. Bullshit.

“It’s not so bad,” she smiled. “I know it’s not exactly your forté, but you can still do a lot of good.” She looked away distractedly. “A lot of good.”

“I know that, but it’s frustrating,” he explained. “You have no idea how many times this kind of thing has happened to us. We get so close to something big… then, nothing.”

Her face changed just then, and he wondered if it was because he’d switched from I to we. Having his ex around was awkward enough without worrying about what she thought of Scully and their partnership.

“I suppose you can take some comfort in that, though,” she pointed out. “You must be getting close to something if someone is trying so hard to stop you.”

He looked up at her, serious. “I won’t stop, Diana.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

He chose his next words carefully because he didn’t want her to think he was only checking in on her for information. “Do you… remember what happened? To you and Gibson?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t see anyone. I’m sorry, Fox, I wish I could tell you. The shot came through the window. I woke up here.”

He nodded, and they sat quietly for a minute. Then he released her hand and stood up. “I’m glad you’re okay, I truly am. Do you know how long they’re keeping you here?”

“No idea. I’m at their mercy, unfortunately.” Her eyes flickered with meaning. He wondered what that meaning was.

His phone rang just then, and he looked down. Scully. “Hello?”

"Mulder, it’s me.” He held up a finger, hold on, and took a couple of steps away.

“Hey, Scully. What is it?”

"We’re being called to Dallas. There’s been some kind of a bomb threat.”

“This is a Bureau matter? Why us?”

“I don’t know, Mulder, but they want us out there. Flight’s at four thirty.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you at the airport.” He hung up. “I’ve got to go to Dallas. But can I visit again? Sometime? Would that be okay?”

“Of course, Fox,” she said. “Anytime.”

FBI HEADQUARTERS

WASHINGTON D.C.

JULY 1998

Diana’s recovery had been nothing short of miraculous, and that didn’t shock her, considering the method by which it had occurred. But she was fortunate. There were many at the Company, at Roush in particular, who hadn’t seen all of the things she’d seen. She was valued, and she knew she’d been spared because of that value.

Lying alone in a hospital bed day after day wasn’t the ideal scenario for her restless mind, however. She hadn’t wanted it to happen, but the fox had once again found its way inside, burrowing deep down towards her heart.

She wasn’t sure why, exactly; he was still the same Fox, chasing the truth from below the ground floor. And he was content that way. All the reasons she’d left him all those years ago still remained the same.

But she had changed significantly. She knew things now, amazing things, and although she could not share them with him his quest felt far more justified now than it had long ago. And she found herself having the same feelings she’d had for him then, only now she felt she understood him a bit better. It made her believe it was possible for them to try again, start over. Maybe fix what had been broken.

If only she could make him see the truth: if somehow he could come to that knowledge on his own, it would be a huge step in bringing him into her fold. Spender had told her Fox was playing an important role in his grand plan and the fact that the older man had kept the problematic agent alive all these years must mean killing him wasn’t necessarily part of that plan.

Perhaps she could be the one to bring him over. Then everything she wanted could finally come to fruition. She could tell him the truth. There would be no more secrets.

Maybe then they could be together.

It was her first week back at the Hoover Building and Diana stepped into an empty elevator. She was still settling in, and although she was working mostly for the Company, it was important she show her face at the Bureau as much as possible: be seen by her fellow agents. Keep up appearances.

But there was one agent she was not looking forward to seeing.

Diana had been so lost in thought she’d forgotten to press the elevator button. She watched the doors slide open to reveal Agent Scully standing in the hallway, apparently also deep in thought, who glanced up and registered her presence with surprise. Every time her face appeared it reminded Diana she had competition, and although she wasn’t exactly sure what was going on between Fox and his partner, she’d seen something that was utterly undeniable. A spark, a camaraderie. She’d be a fool to assume this other woman wasn’t a threat.

It was beneficial, however, being in Diana’s position. She knew the two of them had been in Dallas, what had gone on there, and that they were being split up, reassigned. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit it thrilled her.

Agent Scully pursed her lips together, appearing to debate entering the elevator at all. But she stepped in, pressing the ground floor button. “Agent Fowley,” she said. “Nice to see you’re back at work.”

Her voice was polite, but Diana wasn’t stupid. She could sense the diminutive redhead’s hostility every single time, like she was a dog with its teeth bared, ears back.

“Thank you, it’s good to be back.”

The elevator began its descent and Diana watched the smaller woman surreptitiously smooth her hair back and straighten her suit. Upon second look, she did look a bit disheveled and Diana wondered if Agent Scully had come directly to the Hoover Building from the airport.

“How’s Agent Mulder?” Diana wasn’t sure why she’d asked. Honestly, the only thing she and Agent Scully had in common was him, and this saddened her. Being a woman at the Bureau was difficult enough. It was unfortunate they’d become enemies by default.

“He’s fine,” Agent Scully said curtly.

“I heard through the grapevine you two are getting reassigned. I’m sorry to hear that,” she lied.

Agent Scully said nothing, and Diana wasn’t sure if she was being evasive, or if she just had nothing to say.

She decided to do a little fishing. Besides, how often was one presented the opportunity to get under the skin of a competitor for a man’s affections?

“It’s probably for the best,” Diana pressed. “From what he indicated, you two haven’t been seeing much progress.”

It was deliberate. She wanted to get a reaction out of Agent Scully. But it didn’t work. The other woman stared straight ahead at the metal doors, seemingly not acknowledging Diana. The elevator was taking a particularly long time today.

“But it must be hard, disagreeing all the time,” Diana continued, undeterred. “You both must feel such a relief to be free of that. To not feel… so held back.”

She knew she was being bitchy, but she was also dead serious. She and Fox couldn’t even have a successful partnership, and their minds were so similar. How on earth had these two lasted six years?

“We make it work,” Agent Scully said shortly.

Diana couldn’t help but notice she’d referred to their partnership in the present tense. She still thought of Fox as her partner, regardless of the fact they’d been split up. Diana found it extremely annoying.

An ugly jealousy rose up inside her, over their obvious bond, their closeness, but also triggered by the sheer audacity of her words.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve got it all figured out,” Diana scoffed. She couldn’t help it. Life with Fox had been impossible, despite her own desire to ‘make it work.’ “His passion, his drive. His mission. It’s all wonderful until you realize it’s not aligned with your own.”

The elevator light signaled they were about to reach the ground floor. Suddenly she was aware that an opportunity had presented itself. She might never get the truth from Fox but perhaps Agent Scully could be of assistance.

She only had one more second to deliver the fatal blow, and she was feeling particularly merciless today.

“Just be grateful it never went further than a work partnership,” she said, boring her eyes into the side of Agent Scully’s face. “He’s tough to shake.”

The shift was almost imperceptible but Diana Fowley was more perceptive than most. Agent Scully turned pale, even paler than she already was, and her body leaned ever so slightly towards the door.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, and Agent Scully stepped out more quickly than Diana thought her short legs were capable of.

“Goodbye, Agent Fowley,” she said without turning around.

Diana meant to get out at the ground floor, but instead let the doors close. Her lips curved into a smile. That tiny sliver of suspicion she’d had about the presence of something romantic between these two had completely disappeared.

Fox Mulder was indeed available. And Diana planned to make herself available, too.

2630 HEGAL PLACE

HALLWAY OUTSIDE APT 42

ALEXANDRIA, VA

Diana Fowley hadn’t even been on Scully’s mind. In fact, the events of Dallas and being wrapped up in yet another exciting mystery with Mulder had cast thoughts of the other woman out completely.

But their confrontation in the elevator had planted doubts in her mind about Mulder and how he felt about her value to their partnership. Had he and Fowley discussed Scully behind her back? She felt sick about it.

Diana’s words rattled around her brain. You both must feel such a relief to be free of that. To not feel… so held back.

Scully had allowed the words of this person she barely knew to put her so off guard, to doubt what she really had with Mulder. Words that had made her feel ineffective, unimportant. Devalued.

“You don’t need me,” she’d said to Mulder before she left his apartment approximately ten seconds ago. “I’ve only held you back.”

Maybe what Diana Fowley had said was actually true. Maybe he didn’t need her, after all.

Scully hated admitting that this woman had any kind of power over her whatsoever. But she did. Scully had never thought of herself as an insecure person. In relationships she’d been in before, she’d always felt as secure as she needed to be. And with Mulder, for five years they’d had only each other. Their unit had been unassailable, impenetrable. It was the way she liked it. And now she felt as if it were dissolving, slipping from her grasp.

She didn’t know what to do, how to react. She felt like she was losing Mulder, and the Bureau wanted to split them up anyway. Why did everything feel so hopeless right now?

She wanted to cling to him, to grab hold of him tightly and hang on for dear life.

But she also wanted to run.

She didn’t want to have to face any of this: that she wasn’t the partner he wanted or needed, and they both knew it. It was year after year of a never ending stalemate: not only in their work but in their inability to express anything real to each other. And as she walked away from him she had the terrible thought that she might never look him in the eyes again.

The thought was only fleeting, however, because she heard his footsteps approaching her. He wasn’t going to let her leave.

Why wouldn’t he just let her go? Why was he making this all so difficult?

She whipped around and he began to close the gap between them, between the door to his apartment and the elevator that would take her far, far away from him. Perhaps forever.

Mulder looked hurt by her declaration. She could tell he hadn’t wanted to hear it, to hear her put it out there: what had to be the truth. That he would go further without her. That maybe he needed someone who thought more like he did. Maybe he needed someone like Diana Fowley.

She hated feeling this way, so out of control. Mulder had always been the one constant in her life; his unpredictability and spontaneity as reliable as anything. And she expected him to lash out, to be angry at her for bailing on him; for leaving him in the lurch this way.

But then he spoke.

You saved me. You kept me honest. You made me a whole person.

He said things to her he’d never said before, the words coming at her almost too fast to process.

I owe you everything, Scully, and you owe me nothing.

She might never know if he meant what he said, if it was the truth or just something he knew would make her stay. But one thing was perfectly clear: he didn’t want her to leave.

I don’t know if I want to do this alone. I don’t even know if I can. And if I quit now, they win.

He was telling her exactly what she’d needed to hear from him all these years, something she’d always felt from him but that he’d never actually articulated. And he’d done it right on time. For once in their lives, just once, the stars were aligning.

She fell into his chest, helpless, as he wrapped his strong arms around her, anchoring her to him. And she held his neck with her hands and kissed him chastely on his forehead, a kiss that felt safe yet still so, so intimate.

But then he pulled back and looked at her, perhaps more intensely than ever before. He leaned in, slowly, and her mind reeled as she looked into his eyes; eyes once full of doubt and fear and uncertainty but which now told her that what he wanted was exactly the same thing she did.

This is happening, this is finally really happening, she thought, imagining the softness of his lips against hers, the heat of his mouth opening to her own. Her feet were planted on the floor, and she wanted to close the distance: devour him like her last meal, slam him against the wall of the hallway and give his neighbors the show of a lifetime. But she was paralyzed.

In the few seconds it took them to reach each other time slowed down, Zeno’s Paradox in action. The closer they got, the more space there was to travel, as if they’d never get there. As if five years wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for the two of them.

She could almost feel it, for a split second: the relief of sweet contact between their lips, when a jolt of pain suddenly surged through her body from the base of her neck. Her neck. The epicenter of everything that had ever gone horribly wrong: her abduction, her cancer, and now even her fucking love life.

This isn’t fair, she thought, and feared it may truly be the last time she looked into Mulder’s eyes as the blackness swallowed her. But when she awoke again, it was those very same eyes drowning in relief that she could see through frozen glass.

#the x files #txf #msr #fanfic #diana fowley #my fic

28 notes · View notes

simmingbee · 5 years

Note

Hello Bee! I have a bee related question. If one is severely allergic to bees and and wasps and now have phobias because of it. Is there a way I can safely change their minds about wanting to BEE near my favorite spots in the yard? I know they're important to the world, but I need to also keep my safety in mind. If you have some suggestions of plants or other things I can do to divert them to another area, I'd BEE forever in your debt. Thank you.

Hello! I love this question and while I’m no expert on the subject I can certainly offer some advice!

First of all- I COMPLETELY understand having a phobia of things that you’re allergic to, especially if it was a traumatic experience. My brother-in-law had a similar thing happen and he HATES bees bc of it.

My response is a tad long~ So I put it under the cut! Thanks so much for your question! 🐝

My recommendation is to find a part sun/shade spot in your yard, preferably away from the areas where you and your family spend time (like away from decks, porches etc.) Let it grow a bit wild and throw some wildflowers seeds down. Anything like coneflowers, bluebells, and other wildflowers native to where you live should be excellent bee-food. Bees like flowers with big exposed centers (Like a black susan) since they can roll around in the pollen and carry it back to the hive.

IF bees in your garden are a bit of a touchy subject- I recommend trying a Monarch butterfly garden instead! Monarch Butterflies are also endangered and have a huge migration over most of North America and even parts of Europe! butterflies like cup-like flowers like daylillies, asters, delphinium (a favorite of mine!) and larkspur. Butterflies like flowers where the nectar pools in the “pit” of the flower so they can stick their weird little straw tongue (proboscis) into the flower and suck it all up!

You can also plant things like Lemongrass, Citronella and even Basil and Chives- Those will repel bugs away from areas where you don’t want them without harming them! (I use lemongrass and citronella on my deck to keep mosquitoes away!)

To be completely honest- Planting a bee (or butterfly) garden will probably attract all kinds of pollinators to your garden, so you benefit them all! You might even see hummingbirds paying your garden a visit!

You can also try to help educate your loved ones understand the difference between bees, bumblebees and wasps! They are all important pollinators, just in slightly different ways! I made a lil guide below!

Honeybees are generally pretty docile and won’t attack unless you disturb their hive/nest or they feel threatened. Honeybees DO swarm though, and if you ever see a swarm of bees outside a hive- STAY AWAY. Keep pets and children far away- these swarms can be very aggressive! You can call local beekeepers and let them know- Swarms are great for beekeepers because it lets them start new hives.

Bumblebees are cute and fat and fuzzy. Unlike honeybees, some species of bumbles make their homes in the ground or in wood. They have a loud low buzz and usually fly lower to the ground. I personally love bumblebees, because they just seem kinda dumb and cute and I’m always happy to see them in my garden. Last year while I was outside on my deck a bumblebee got sleepy and took a little rest on my leg! Any bee that is fat and constantly naps is ok by me!

Wasps, while generally viewed as pests, are also important pollinators and should be appreciated just a little! They are more aggressive than the common honeybee. Wasps can sting a bunch of times and they really hurt! (I have been stung by one~ I even have a tiny scar!) I get lots of paper wasps where I live and they make paper-machete` nests that are made from wood pulp and spit basically. xD

This turned into Bees 101 by Katie- Hopefully I answered your questions and if not- Shoot me another message and I’ll do my best!

#Anonymous #simmerssavethebees #bees 101 with Katie #katie rambles #i could talk about flowers gardens and bees forever #simmingbee replies

19 notes · View notes

wardoftheedgeloaves · 5 years

Text

China Story Time II: Learn Programming and Epidemiology the Very Hard Way

I haven’t posted more than two installments of my promised series on Chinese historical linguistics and dialectology. In lieu of progress on it, please gather round the campfire and enjoy this entirely unrelated story about the time I taught the summer camp from hell in Shenzhen. (Dialectology tie-in: we once had a cabbie who only [?] spoke Canto.)

I wish to emphasize that this story has not been embellished.

Summer in China is a sultry and slow-paced affair for the private-school English teacher--you stop teaching seriously in late May, school gets out in late June, and you don’t have to be back until early September. Your pay is good enough that you’ve got savings to last you the summer, but you could always use a bit of spare cash. Unless your social situation is good, your isolation (and the weather) doesn’t help your work ethic too much. Your life is lived at tea houses, reading thinkpieces and books and procrastinating on writing more thinkpieces and working on your Mandarin and getting around to that damned monograph. (Alternative English-teacher mode: hit the bars prowling for locals who may or may not fit within the (n/2)+7 rule, demolish a couple of six-packs’ worth of alcohol, hit the hay at 2:30 in the morning, wake up at noon, repeat. I was luckily never this much of a degenerate.)

As in the US, the affluent Chinese parent often sends their offspring to summer camp for some educational enrichment and peace and quiet at home. So it was that a recruiter offered me, and another English teacher (we’ll call him...Nick) in Chengdu, the chance to earn 7000 kuai (~$1050) each teaching programming in Shenzhen. A class in the morning from 9-12, repeated from Monday to Friday, with a chance for a second week in Lu’an, Anhui. Plane tickets and accommodation included, other details vague. Technically illegal--you’re not supposed to do any work outside of the job sponsoring your visa--but nobody cares about summer camps.

To learn programming, the students (and we) are provided with little inch-by-inch-by-inch plastic cubes with wheels called “Pocket-bots” or something of the sort. These are actually rather nifty little gadgets. You connect to them with your phone or computer in a spacious computer lab (or so the brochures say) and click and drag instructions to create and run programs. E.g., you might tell the bot to go forward for 10 seconds at speed 10, then check to see if it was on white (rather than black) paper, and sing a little song if it is, then turn left and repeat. The software allowed you to do if-loops, for-loops, and while-loops at the very least, which is pretty good for small kids. Satisfied that we would have the equipment needed to teach the class, we packed our Pocket-bots and arrived in Shenzhen on a sticky, hot, sunny July morning.

Now, a word on Shenzhen. In 1978 when Deng took the wheel, Shenzhen was a sleepy little fishing village of thirty thousand people whose only interesting feature was that it was right next to Hong Kong. This made it perfect for the early-80s experiments in capitalism, and over the next four decades it exploded (it now has 12 million people and a standard of living on par with Western Europe). As a result of its early rise to wealth and power, it’s home to the first private school in China, founded 1994. However, private schools in China tend to be boarding schools, and boarding schools tend to be out away from the city center where land is cheap and distractions are relatively few.

So this place is in the middle of nowhere, or as close to the middle of nowhere as it’s possible to get in the Pearl River Delta. It’s surrounded by forested mountains (Guangdong is surprisingly hilly). It’s about 95 (35) degrees, humid as hell, and in direct sunlight--July, south of the Tropic of Cancer. We’re in the kids’ dorm rooms (luckily we each get our own private dorm room with a private, cold-running shower.) We drop our bags, wash up, and go meet the kids.

And it turns out that a fifth of them are Americans! You see, this wasn’t just a programming camp--it was also an English and cross-cultural experience camp. Approximately 15 high-school kids from Florida and California were being flown out, all expenses paid, to be big-brother/big-sister with the Chinese kids, who were in late elementary school. The chaperone (we’ll call her Margaret; in fact I can’t actually remember her name, but it definitely wasn’t Margaret), the mother of one of the kids, was thoroughly perplexed--but, hey, a free trip to China.

So Nick and I go and look at the teaching rooms (this is about one in the afternoon). These aren’t the sparkling, spacious computer labs we saw on the website, oh no. We have a couple of primary school classrooms no more than about five meters by six, with laughably tiny kindergartner-sized chairs and tables. There’s a smartboard, which we can barely get to run and which we can’t connect to our computers to show the programs the kids are supposed to run. There’s no free access to the wifi. Instead, we have to get our teaching assistants to put their login credentials on every single device that needs to connect to the wifi--and since you have to have wifi to connect to the robots, well. In other words, it’s going to be a s***show, and we’ve got five mornings of it ahead of us.

We know the inevitable talk/confrontation with our boss/program coordinator is going to be a disaster, so we leave for a few hours to try and find a six-pack of Tsingtao. Remember how I said this was in the middle of nowhere? It was in the middle of nowhere. We walk out of the gates for a full kilometer (possibly more; the road meandered, and the terrain was by no means flat) past construction sites and dense forest bordering on jungle until we finally, finally reach an air-conditioned convenience store nestled between auto-repair shops, low-rise tile-walled tenements, light industry and eight-kuai noodle parlors. (Those of you who have been outside of a major city center in China will know the kind of neighborhood I’m talking about--not dangerous, by any means (except for the traffic), but boring, sprawling and not overly prosperous.) But they have beer, and we knock back two each along with a good liter of water.

We have a chat with the supervisor at about 9 o’clock that evening while the kids are engaging in...god, I don’t even recall. I think the Chinese kids were in bed, while the Americans were playing cards and vidya. Now readers who have spent much time in China or with Chinese organizations will know that it is a faux pas in China to admit fault, and an even bigger faux pas to play hardball to get somebody to admit fault. The result, usually, is deflection--our supervisor didn’t know about any of this, it wasn’t her fault, she would ask her boss to try and improve things.

(I don’t wish to come across as too hard on Chinese culture here. I think this is really a situation where American and Chinese culture are doomed to clash, and clash badly. If you fuck up in the US, you’re supposed to admit fault and apologize, at least theoretically--deflection and white lies are infuriating on the receiving end and the natural reaction is to start tearing them apart to get an admission of contrition. In China, the convention is often that you tell a white lie or deflect to save face--and if the other person you’re talking to is Chinese, they’ll often accept that even if it’s not really believed. The result in Chinese-American communication can be an arms race, where the American will get ticked off at the deflection and perceived dishonesty and start playing hardball, which prompts more deflection. Looking back on it now, it was clear that trying to play hardball with our supervisor was pointless--we were never going to get good computer labs or WiFi, and the only thing to do was to figure out something to do. But knowing that we’d at least theoretically been hired to teach programming, we endeavoured to do our best. (Remember, between flying all the Americans over and the company’s profit, the Chinese parents were getting fleeced.) Nick had recently discovered the stern precepts of Jordan Peterson after catching herpes-type-2 (that’s the bad kind) of the mouth from a liaison with his dermatologist, and reminded me that it was our duty to do the best we could by the students.

Day one: Monday.

There are about 70-75 kids in the program between the Chinese and the Americans, so we have about 35 each at least in classrooms of about fifteen square meters, sitting on tiny little kindergarten chairs at tiny little kindergarten desks (not so much of a problem for the Chinese elementary-schoolers, much more uncomfortable for the American high-schoolers). Our teaching assistants spend most of their time in the back playing on their phones after they’ve set the WiFi on each device, which takes about an hour to get worked out. (Remember, three-hour class with a fifteen-minute break). Each room has an underpowered air conditioner which succeeds in reducing the temperature from the mid-30s C to the upper 20s (from about 92 to 78 in freedom degrees) if the windows are closed, at the cost of any breezes.

And we run into the first problem. Your device uses WiFi to connect automatically and effortlessly to a nearby Pocketbot. That’s not a problem when you’re in a spacious computer lab with ten other people and a strong signal. When you’re in a tiny little room with thirty-five other people and a network that wouldn’t have been out of place in the last years of the Clinton administration, well.

Some kids couldn’t connect to their bot at all. Others were controlling four robots at once with a single device. Some were able to stay connected through the session, others’ internet kept crapping out every ten minutes.

After an hour and twenty minutes of this, we call a twenty-minute break.

easternestablishmentarian: “What the fuck do we even do?”

Nick: “No idea. Start in on the basic ideas of programming. Have the teaching assistants translate.”

We do. The teaching assistants are not all that happy about having to play translator, particularly since their English isn’t very good and the concepts are, well, complicated! I had some success in doing the teacher-as-robot routine you see in intro programming classes, where you have to tell the teacher exactly what to do (Keep going! *teacher-bot crashes into wall*), and extended this up to about half past eleven by making it a group activity where the Chinese kids had to direct their American big-sibling robots around the room. We spent about another fifteen minutes trying to do something, anything, with the robots--remember, we couldn’t show our laptop screens on the smartboard, which didn’t work, so we had to draw the program with chalk. At about 11:45 we just call it quits and let them leave for lunch early.

Right after lunch (which, incidentally, was extremely strange--the cafeteria staff had been instructed to try to make some sort of Chinese-Western fusion, with results like spaghetti with both tomato and soy sauce. If only they’d just stuck to good local dishes, of which there are hundreds, but oh well...) we call an emergency meeting with Margaret.

Margaret: You guys aren’t going to bail on us, are you? I have no clue what’s going on.

Me: No, but it’s clear that there’s no way to do programming and the kids’ll hate it. Let’s just do a regular summer camp.

Later that day we go back out for more beer and sketch out a plan. We don’t have WiFi or devices worth a damn, so electronics are off. However, we do have a campus of at least twenty or thirty acres filled with small fields and six-story dorms and classrooms connected by a labyrinth of walkways. (During the school year, the school is home to about three thousand students, all boarding, so it’s the size of a couple city blocks at least.)

We call a meeting with our supervisor.

Nick: This isn’t working. We can’t do programming.

Supervisor: Well, do you have any other ideas?

Nick: We could do sports and games.

Supervisor: Oh, I think that will be wonderful!

(Nick, later: “How much are these parents paying again?”)

Day two: Tuesday.

We start with Sardines, which degenerates into chaotic hide-and-seek but keeps them occupied for a good hour and a half. The teaching assistants are sent to look for athletic equipment like basketballs, which they’re not too happy about. Midway through break we run out of cups.

Us: “It’s 35 degrees outside and we don’t have enough water. There are only two water dispensers for 80 people and no more cups.”

Teaching assistant: “Oh, well, we didn’t know we would run out. I don’t know where the water is, maybe they can bring some tomorrow.”

Us: *sigh*

We discover that some air-conditioned buses (dlory! dlory! hallelujah!) stop right in front of the school and run towards a major commercial center. We go out for hotpot.

Nick: “So, fun fact--I’m actually on a spousal visa. I married a local chick for visa purposes.”

Me: “Huh.”

Nick: “Yeah, we divorced, but the immigration department doesn’t have access to divorce records and my visas’s still valid. Can’t technically work on it, though.”

Day three: Wednesday.

Capture the Flag, followed by semi-structured time in which the Americans are divided into groups, assigned Chinese students, and instructed to create activities. We run out of cups again.

Nick: *drinking straight from the water dispenser tap*

Me: “Didn’t you say you caught...”

Nick: “Shut up, easternestablishmentarian.”

Me: “...”

Me: “There are seventy-five kids here.”

Nick: “Just shut up.”

I buy my own personal supply of bottled water that afternoon. He did agree to only fill up a bottle from that point onwards.

Us: “Supervisor, please tell us--will there be WiFi when one of us teaches programming with the robots in Lu’an in Anhui?”

Supervisor: “Oh, uh, I don’t know, I am not going to Anhui.”

Us: “Please find out.”

Day four: Thursday.

It being sunny and slightly cooler, we take the kids on a hike through a back trail that goes by a farm and into the woods. Guangdong proves to be home to some terrifyingly large arthropods, none of which are aggressive.

After lunch, we debate who will go on to Lu’an. Nick makes a good case for needing the money, so I cede it (in part because Anhui is a notoriously boring and underdeveloped province, and Lu’an is only its second- or third-biggest city).

Us: “So, supervisor, please tell us.”

Supervisor: “Oh, yes, there is no WiFi for the summer camp in Anhui, I asked.”

Us: “But Nick’s going to be teaching robots again?”

Supervisor: “Well, maybe he can also teach something else, like English, but yes, it’s a robot camp.”

Us: “But you need WiFi to work with the robots.”

Supervisor: “Oh, I’m not the supervisor in Anhui, just here in Shenzhen, so I didn’t know.”

Day five: Friday.

After a laughably pointless closing ceremony, we collect our paychecks (in cash) and head into Shenzhen, where Nick tries to send it out.

Bank teller: “So, uh, what are you doing in China?”

Nick: “I’m visiting family, it’s a spousal visa.”

Bank teller: “OK, so I don’t think this is possible, you have the tax form?” (note: this is quite common for foreigners, even those on legal visas--foreigners’ money has all sorts of systems and regulations surrounding it that most bank tellers don’t know how to handle (because there are so few foreigners), and to avoid losing face they will often just tell you that it’s not possible to do what you want to do.)

At this point, I’m starting to shake my head furiously in Nick’s direction--get us out of here before they start asking questions about where this money came from and call immigration. After two hours, we give up.

Me: “You could have gotten us deported.”

Nick: “Nah, man, they’re just clueless bank tellers.”

I fly back to Chengdu the following day seven thousand kuai richer, while Nick hangs on until Sunday and then flies to Lu’an with the Americans, where another group of Chinese kids get their parents fleeced for robots that don’t work (though, as he told it, things worked out fine, kind of.) The kids, incidentally, were great about the whole incident--the Chinese kids I think in part because their lives are so structured that just getting to run around was a breath of fresh air for them. The Americans were fairly willing to work around the absurdity. Nobody got deported and nothing’s appeared in the news about an epidemic of the sort of disease that schoolchildren aren’t supposed to get.

So we come to the moral of the story, children: all’s well that ends well, and buy your own water.

10 notes · View notes

orderoftheavengers · 5 years

Photo

Winter Sorcerer

Summary: Bucky Barnes died in the war against Grinderwald, and was resurrected by dark wizards as a vampire.

House: Hufflepuff

Species: Vampire (formerly human)

Blood Status: Pureblood

Wand: Plumwood, 13 inches, unicorn tail hair

Broom: Prefers flying motorbikes

Artificial Arm: Pullled from a suit of armor and enchanted.

Patronus: White wolf

Familiar: Rocket

Specialties: Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Pensieve use, Magical hat manufacturing, brooding

Sorting:

He has all the traits of Gryffindor, but is more defined by his loyalty to his country, friends, and sadly manipulators. He was friends with Steve back when Steve was a dweeb, and is overall a colossal cinnamon roll. While more than willing to fight for the right, Bucky always went into war like it was a duty that had to be done, not something he was particularly born to do. He did not admire pre-serum Steve's eagerness to get into fights. When he isn't needed, Bucky is glad to retreat into the safety and solace of his coffin. Finally, Bucky has a clear connection to nature, which is common in Hufflepuffs. For him it's not plants though, it's more animals. His nickname is White Wolf; he tends goats and thestrals in Wakanda; and he gets along with Rocket Raccoon.

Human Life:

Janus Ambrocius "Bucky" Barnibus was a middle-class, pureblood, American wizard at the time of Grinderwald. Bucky was a Prefect at Ilvermorny Institute of Magic, where he'd been in the Puckwudgie House--the House for "healers." Though Bucky never went into literal Healing as a career, his personality made him a good fit for the House. Bucky would later proove capable of healing himself, from wounds that would drive most wizards to permanent insanity or suicide.

Bucky looked out for his tiny Squib friend Stephanos "Steve" Rogers, who was rejected from all wizarding schools due to his lack of magic. Bucky once saved Steve from a literal troll, transforming the great horned, warted beast into a tiny flower-troll, and teleporting it to Central Park.

Bucky was drafted into the war against Grinderwald, before graduating school. He was captured by Grinderwald's followers, and force-fed vampire's blood, as part of their twisted experiments. After Steve became the Superwizard, he saved Bucky, and the two attended Hogwarts--the school where the most important Auror students were sent--while continuing to fight the war. Here, Bucky was sorted into Hufflepuff House.

Death and Dark Rebirth:

During a battle on the Hogwarts Express, Bucky fell from a train car as it was rolling over a cliff. Before hitting the ground, something stopped his fall, and he found himself dangling from his left arm. Thinking someone had rescued him, he looked up at his rescuer and breathed, "Thanks pallie--" then stopped, upon realizing his "rescuer" was an Irish Whiskeybreath dragon. The drunk dragon bit down, taking Bucky's arm clean off, and munched away, while Bucky went back to falling. Bucky presumed dead by all of his comrades. In fact, he was dead... for a time.

But the vampire blood his captors had forced him to drink caused him to resurrect as a Nosferatu. Vampirism often causes major loss of memory and emotions, turning victims into monsters almost overnight. The Dark Wizards collected their new vampire, and began training him as their personal assassin. Since his arm had been lost before his transformation, it did not grow back as lost Vampire limbs do, and had to be replaced. The Dark Wizards enchanted an arm from a suit of armor, and eventually stamped it with the Dark Mark.

Regaining Humanity:

Steve Rogers was the first one to recognize Bucky, and help him remember his life as a human. Steve did this by refusing to fight back, and letting Bucky suck some of his blood, knowing that sucking blood allows a vampire access to its victim's memories. Bucky was far gone enough that none of his previous victims's memories--even those of his old friend Howard Stark--stuck with him. But Steve made sure to think about all the times Bucky told him, "I'm with you 'till the end of the line," and that did the trick.

Bucky fled from everyone and got himself a small apartment in Europe. There, he taught himself how to use a Pensieve, and began sucking the juice from plums to help boost his memory. At times, he would also find himself creating strange Wonderland-styled hats with his wand; a side-effect of the confusion his brain was going through.

But then one day when Bucky came home to find an owl waiting for him with a letter. It read:

Dear Mr. Barnabus,

It has come to our attention that you are not entirely dead, and have not yet finished your magical education. It is highly encouraged that you return to Hogwarts and once and continue your studies, unless you wish to continue living as a crazy-haired hobo.

Sincerely, Headmistress Minerva McGonnagal

Upon returning to Hogwarts, Bucky was sorted back into Hufflepuff, and rekindled his friendship with Steve and a rivalry with fellow Hufflepuff Sam Wilson. But a drunken Quidditch brawl caused everything to go up in smoke, and Bucky once again left Hogwarts. He transfered to Wakanda's wizarding school, where King T'Challa offered the vampire amnesty, a new arm, a vaccine against the Imperius Curse, and a comfy glass coffin.

Tired of war and violent sports, Bucky took an interest in Care of Magical Creatures. He spent his summer vacation in Wakanda on a Thestral farm, bonding with these creatures of death. Princess Shuri made Bucky a new enchanted armor-arm, with the Hufflepuff emblem on it, so that when his former Hogwarts classmates saw him again, they and Bucky both would be reminded of who he really was.

Irony... so much irony....

Contrary to popular belief, not all vampires disintegrate in the sunlight. That only happens to the weakest n00bs. Bucky had long since been crafted into one of the most powerful vampires on Earth, by the evil wizards who made him. When Shuri cured Bucky of the dark magic in his head, she assured him that he would still do just fine in sunlight. . And yet, at the end of the Battle of Wakanda, Bucky was shocked to see his metal arm dissolving into ash.

"Steve...I think my powers are weakening. I've literally never disintegrated in the sun before."

"Everyone's disintegrating!" Bruce cried. "Not just vampires! Thanos got all the Infinity Stones into his wand, and this was his goal!"

Bucky bellowed, "Oh you have got to be shi--" he was ash before he could finish his sentence.

Relationships:

Like most Hufflepuffs, Bucky has a long list of strong relationships, including:

The Winter Soldier: An annoying Alter Ego that occasionally still interrupts Bucky's thoughts, despite Shuri's best efforts. No longer in charge of Bucky's body, at least.

Steve Rogers: BFF who helped him remember his pre-vampire life

Sam Wilson: Rival BFF for Steve

Helmut Zemo: A deranged squib Durmstrang reject, Zemo pitted the Order of the Avengers against each other by spiking their food with Firewhisky and Hobbitweed, and hexing all of their Quidditch balls into literal Idoit Balls. He also framed Bucky Barnes for a pumpkin bombing using a very blurry photograph, and naturally everyone was drunk enough to believe it. And to add insult to injury, Zemo used the Imperius Curse to make Bucky go on a blood-sucking rampage.

King T'Challa: Previously dead-set on killing Bucky, even when Bucky protested that he was innocent. But after coughing up all the alcohol and Hobbit hemp with a hairball, T'Challa sobered up, and felt horrible. He now provides for Bucky and pays for his magical education in Wakanda. Princess Shuri: Bucky's doctor, she created a potion for him to regularly take that would shield him from the Imperius Curse. She also made him his new Hufflepuff themed arm.

Mad-Eye Fury: Bucky tried to kill him, but that was before he regained his humanity. All the same, Nick can't walk past Bucky in the halls of Hogwarts without giving him some attention from his angry magical eye.

Tony Stark: Angst-bros, since Bucky was forced to kill Tony's parents, and Tony only found out when he was dumped head-first into a Pensieve with the memory playing on repeat, and then Tony tried to kill Bucky because he was standing right next to him and who the **** wouldn't, and both were already guilt-complex-driven characters, and so this relationship was obvious (whether canon addresses it or not)

Wanda Maximoff: Another former Hydra Death Eater, and one who specializes in mind-magic, she is someone Bucky has much in common with, and who could help him retrieve his memories. Very possible love interest; Bucky just has to wait for her to realize how boring Vision is.

Ava Starr: Another magical predator that used to be human, trained to help bad guys. Another possible girlfriend for Bucky.

Natasha Romanoff: Rumor has it they dated back when they were both villains, and many classmates are rooting for them to pick up where they left off

The Thestrals: Bucky fees, sheers, and snuggles with thestrals on his freetime in Wakanda

Rocket Raccoon: Bucky's love for animals doesn't end with Thestrals. He and Rocket--a raccoon/niffler hybrid--are badasses on the battlefield together. Being half niffler causes Rocket to be enamored with Bucky's shinny arm, solidifying the friendship.

Peter Parker:

"You have a robot arm? That is awesome dude!"

"It's not robotic, it's enchanted armor."

"You have an enchanted armor arm and you're a vampire? That is so COOL! Are you also a werewolf? Because your name is White Wolf. Are you a vampire/werewolf like in 'Underworld?' With a robot arm? Are you a vampire-werewolf cyborg? Can I base my World of Darkness character off you in my next campaign?"

"I'm not a werewolf. It's just a name."

"Cuz every night the whole Ravencalw commonroom does some tabletop games and Tuesday is World of Darkness Night, and I always try to come up with a cool character but I never can because I'm not really the creative type, except when it comes to science-stuff--"

"Parker I don't care."

Eddie Brock: Another Hufflepuff/Puckwudgie guy with a sinister alter ego that won't shut up. Eddie and Bucky frequently complain about Venom and the Winter Soldier, who likewise complain about their goody two-shoes hosts.

Notes: "Harry Potter" canon has little to no information about vampires, other than brief mentions that they do exist in the Potterverse. So I just chose some cliched rules that fit with Bucky's story. You can expect updates on this, and all the other Avengers' Hogwarts descriptions, as more movies come out.

33 notes · View notes

theartificialdane · 6 years

Text

Andromeda, chapter 2 (Vitan - Cassiopeia)

In this we check in with our love stuck fools, Violet works on a dress, Sutan tries to have drinks, we make a call to Manhattan and a surprise is waiting at the hotel.

In case you missed it, here is a link to chapter 1

Thank you to @veronicasanders for being my beta and cowriter on this <3

“Stand still please.” Violet spoke through the needles in her mouth, taking a step back to look at the clothes she was doing the final fittings of to Aja Rivera, Dior picking the Instagram influencer as one of the woman they offered to dress. Somehow, Violet had become responsible for the majority of the celebrities and influencers who came through their showroom. She wanted to believe it was because of her level of craft and the fact that she was one of the only ones that didn’t speak English as a second language, but the atelier premierés and her bosses Florence and Monique dashed pretty thoroughly by informing her, "We know you can handle prima donnas with your history. Bon chance.”

The dress was almost done, a stitch here, a stitch there and it would be perfect.

“I’m going to touch you now.”

“Touch away, sis.”

Violet placed a hand on the woman’s hip, Aja’s cotton candy blue hair a cloud around her head matching perfectly to the creamy white of the dress. Violet knew her, or, she knew off her. Violet had seen Aja perform once when Raven had dragged her out for a ‘super fun night out’, not that Violet would have used those adjectives to describe it, but Adore has seemed so happy on stage that it had almost, almost been worth it.

Violet started sewing, trying to keep her mind on the task in front of her and staying out of view of Aja’s team that was taking pictures and documenting her experience. But it was hard when her thoughts kept circling back to Sutan, back to the feeling of his lips, back to how she wanted nothing more than to be with him.

“There.”

Violet turned Aja, letting her look in the mirror.

“Wow!” Aja twisted, looking at herself. “I look totally fuckable!”

Violet smiled, this the first time she had heard anyone describing a Dior piece as something that made them fuckable.

///

“And then- Sutan, are you even listening to me?”

“What?”

“You’re too old to pretend you’re not using your phone.” Fame pursed her lips, looking at her friend who was sitting with his phone, tapping his fingers on the table while he was very clearly scrolling, his glasses giving him away. Fame put her drink down. “What are you looking at?”

They were all together at the Ritz hotel bar. If you asked Fame, it was a miracle that they had even had time for the drinks. She would much prefer a proper dinner for everyone, but her poor assistant Roxy had almost not managing to find time for this simple night of staying in and sharing a table.

“Nothing.”

“Sure you are, mate.” Karl smiled, taking Sutan’s phone.

“Hey!”

“Calm down you big drama queen.” Karl put Sutan’s phone in his inner pocket.

“I’m actually using that-”

“It’s fashion week! Spend some time with your friends, Sutan.”

“I am-”

“Leave him alone, Karl.”

“Thanks Raja.”

“If my brother wants to sulk, let him sulk.” Raja smiled lazily, sitting up from where she had been making out with Raven, her hand still in her wife’s hair. Raven was heavily pregnant, her big belly almost bumping into the table.

Bianca had snarkily asked if it was wise to fly with a whale on board the jet, but Raja had simply flipped her off and said that it would be exotic if their kids was born in Europe. Raja gave Raven one last kiss, before she finally turned her attention away fully, the two of them completely lost in each other. They’d been insufferable since Raven’s pregnancy had taken, Raja barely letting Raven out of her sight. Somehow, their utter bliss was incredibly irritating to Bianca, but she was doing her best to hide that.

“I’m sure he has a good reason,” Raja added

Fame rolled her eyes. “This is our one night all together, please pay attention.”

“Yes Blondie, because everything you say is so interesting.”

“B!”

“I only speak the truth.” Bianca took a sip of her drink, smirking slightly when Fame huffed and pretended to be offended.

“You’ve been such a beast ever since that last press release about Courtney. Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”

“I have moved on! More than our resident sad boy. At least I’ve been pulling some tail.”

“Yes Bianca, we all remember London.” Fame rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I wanted to do something nice for everyone.”

“Some of us appreciate your beautiful heart, darling!” Raven piped up.

“Yeah, and some of us think the nicest thing you could do for the group would be to smother Raven with a pillow.” Bianca emptied her drink.

“That’s nice, B. Therapy is really working for you,” said Raja.

“I didn’t say me!” Bianca cackled.

“So...” Sutan looked at Karl. “Can I have my phone back?”

“No.”

“Karl, I’m serious.”

“Be in the moment, Sutan.” Karl smiled. “It’s not like anything more important is going to happen tonight.”

“No... Of course not…”

“Garçon! Around round for me and my dumbass friend!”

///

“Did you get the earrings?!”

“Yes, I got the earrings.” Violet rolled her eyes, as she held out her phone, a small smile playing on her lips. She was on the metro, talking to Betty on Facetime. Violet hadn’t really enjoyed it at first, talking on her phone like this, but Betty had been enough of a force of nature that Violet hadn’t really had a choice.

“You’re a lifesaver Shitshcki.”

“I can’t believe you’re already this obsessed.. They were on the runway yesterday.” Violet shook her head slightly, still not believing that Betty had fallen so completely in love with something from the Balenciaga that she had called her and begged her to do everything she could to get her hands on the earrings.

“And it was love at first sight.” Betty smiled.

“Of course.” Violet had gone to their showroom, lucky enough to get in since one of the assistants there recognised her from the time she had been Fame’s assistant and shadow for two years.

“You can give them to Trixie.”

“Is he in Paris?” Violet looked at Betty, the other woman on her couch in the cozy Brooklyn apartment she still shared with Shane and now also a parrot, the animal the closest thing either of them ever wanted to a child.

“Yes.”

“Oh..” Violet hadn’t expected that at all. If she was being honest she hadn’t even thought to look for her old roommate, fully believing he would be at home since Katya had given birth to a tiny baby girl just the month before, little Svetlana Zamoldchikova, Lana for short, joining her big brother Ivan and her new family out in the world. Pearl had sent her photos of the entire thing, though thankfully not of Katya’s actual body during the birth though she wouldn’t put it past the blonde to attempt it if she ever got the chance.

“You look good.”

Violet smirked, surprised at Betty’s honest tone. “Are you sick?”

“Urgh. Just shut up and accept the compliment.” Betty rolled her eyes. “Are you going somewhere special? Fuck I wish I was there.”

“No.” Violet bit her lip, hoping her cheeks didn’t betray the embarrassment she felt as she knew exactly where she was going.

“You’ve always been a terrible liar Violet.”

“I’m not-”

“Just don’t do something I wouldn’t do, and don’t forget my earrings.” Betty hung up, and Violet shook her head fondly, the list of things Betty wouldn’t do very very short, though Violet was more than sure that she would not approve in any way of what she was about to do.

///

Sutan sighed as the elevator opened. He had been checking his phone all night, waiting for Violet to text him, for something, anything to happen. The night had been fine, spending time with his friends usually something that made him happy, but tonight he hadn’t been able to enjoy it at all, his thoughts all focused on Violet Violet Violet. Sutan turned the corner, ready to get into bed, when he saw someone standing by his door, the white fur coat one he recognised right away.

“Took you long enough.”

“... Violet?”

“Are you in doubt?” Violet smiled, taking a step forwards him. “As far as I remember, I’m not the twin here.” Violet gently grabbed Sutan’s tie, pulling him towards her. “You smell like beer.”

“Yes, I had a drink with everyone earlier, I- What are you doing here?”

“I told you I’d see you later.” Violet looked up at him. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” Violet bit her lip, for a moment looking insecure, and Sutan put his hands on her hips, not even thinking as he kissed her deeply, their tongues dancing together.

///

“Sit down”

“Violet-”

“Sssh.” Violet pushed Sutan back, his knees hitting the edge of the bed before he sat down, his eyes following her every move. He was gorgeous, his cheeks flushed. Violet felt hot all over, her stomach like bubbling lava, ready to erupt. The night before Sutan had been in control, pulling her around, Violet happily following, but that morning something had shifted when Violet had left the car. This was her choice as much as his. She had had other lovers while in Paris, Nate and Louis, Juliette, Franka and Benjamin, but none of them had ever felt like Sutan, had ever gotten anywhere near what they had together, and Violet had missed his touch, missed his cock, his mouth, missed /him/.

Violet took her fur off, throwing it at the chair in the corner, a gasp coming from Sutan. Violet reached under her skirt, knowing she had his full attention as she pulled her panties down, her heels still on, the green dress Sutan had picked earlier that day still on her body.

“Please-”

“Lay back.”

“What?”

Violet walked forward, sitting down in Sutan’s lap. “Lay back.” She smiled, giving him another push, Sutan following her lead and Violet crawled over his chest, Sutan groaning deeply when he realised what she was doing, his hands grabbing her thighs and pulling her down, his tongue finding her cunt and Violet grabbed the headboard.

Sutan dove right in, his teeth nipping at her and it felt divine. No one had been allowed between her legs, not like this, Nate trying a few times but Violet had pushed him away again and again. It was so intimate, too intimate to do with just anyone-

“Fuck!” Violet shook, her breath catching in her chest. Sutan was eating her like a peach, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, her hips thrusting down. She grabbed Sutan’s hair, pushing the man closer, Sutan moaning and she knew he had to be hard. He loved eating her cunt, had always loved it, would spend hours there if she allowed him, and tonight she was selfish.

She had followed his Instagram. Violet wasn’t proud of it, but it was hard not to keep an eye on Sutan now that she knew he was here, impossible not to look at what Fame put up, Karl catching him in the background several times, Raja posing with her brother in the hotel bar.

Violet felt Sutan’s hand on her hip, grabbing her, touching her, feeling her, his chest moving as his hips couldn’t keep still, Sutan thrusting into the air. She could feel his moans against her skin, knew she was soaking him, a deep groan leaving the man when she leaned back on her hands, giving him even more access to her cunt.

“Please, Sutan, please, just a little- Ah! More, please- I-”

Violet hadn’t known if she would actually come, had gone all the way home to Frida, taking the little dog on a walk as close to normalcy as she could get, but the knowledge that Sutan was there, so close, that he was maybe waiting for her to show up, waiting for her to make the next move.

“Ah!” Violet closed her eyes, cumming on Sutan’s face, her body shaking, the only thing holding her up his hands on her.

Violet knew he would leave, knew that she’d be alone again when this week was over. That nothing had truly changed. Sutan’s family was still the most important thing in his life. She knew that would never be any different, knew that she would always be his second choice, but tonight, he was hers.

#galactica #andromeda #paris au #my fics

19 notes · View notes

melonkooky · 6 years

Text

prince charming [kim jongdae]

requested

word count: 5367

genre: angst, fluff, knight!kim jongdae x princess!reader (royal!au)

author’s note: yeah this is long. and as usual, the ending is terrible. because it’s long, to the requester, it’s probably not what you wanted but i thought it was cute and i’m proud of this (mainly because of how long it turned out to be). everyone enjoy this long one shot!!!

please do not copy my work. but please like and reblog it. thank you!!!!

masterlist

yeah, you were a princess, but did you really have a choice? of course not. you were born into the royal life practically—or literally—handed to you on a silver platter. needless to say, you didn't want this life. if you were a peasant, maybe you would've wished for a life as luxurious as yours now. but since you were living this life, you wanted nothing more than to disappear. you hated royalty. it was full of corsets and huge, huge dresses that limited your movement. in addition to that, you weren't able to do anything without the assistance of a servant. "a royal lady mustn't do things herself,” your mother had told you as you grew up.

because of everything, you decided to do the unthinkable. no one would have dared to do such a brave thing. you wanted to leave your royal life so bad, even if it was for just one day. you wanted to experience the life of the common people, or peasants as they were called in your land. you asked a loyal and very trusted servant, minhee—who also happened to be your best friend because you didn't have any other friends—to go into the small town down below the castle. she bought you rather stylish commoner clothes, consisting of just a cream colored dress that ended near your ankles. it was simple and had some strings in front of your chest, strings to be tied when you were to slip it on. this dress didn't have a stupid, constructing corset or annoying crinolines. and not to mention the shoes were way more comfortable than your princess ones that seemed to always cut off circulation to your feet. lucky for you, it just so happens that your parents were far away in in the land of europe something along the lines of royal business. however, they had left your older sister behind in order to babysit you. this sister of yours had the unforgettable reputation of being a little snitch bitch. so you had to be extra careful with your plan.

you woke up rather earlier than normal. as a princess, you were allowed to sleep later into the mornings but this morning, you woke up early. (maybe it was the excitement that built up adrenaline in your veins that caused you to awake this early). it was still dark outside, but it was dawn as you could see the sun just barely peeking over the mountains on the horizon. as dawn appeared, the black sky slowly faded into a darker blue. you slipped out of bed and took a shower. then you tried on the new clothes minhee had bought you on her trip into town. the dress was a perfect fit, and you knew that minhee—being the exact same height, width, and all the same measurements as you—had tried it on to make sure that you would like them, and that they were the perfect fit for you.

now it was time to leave, the morning sky telling you that you should hurry. this plan had to be done before anyone else would get up. you began to sneak around the labyrinth of halls, ducking behind rather ridiculous decorations that your parents and ancestors had acquired over the years. you kept rounding corners in a quick manner as if you were playing hide-n-seek, and in a strange way, you were. eventually you got to the back entrance of the castle. the doors were open and they led into a courtyard. wait, the doors were open? why were the doors open so early in the morning? but, this was your chance. and this could be your only chance. so you started towards to the open, exposed entrance. your foot stepped over the threshold, so close, so close. so close to freedom. and then...someone stopped you.

this someone grabbed your upper arm, executing a rather painful grip. you gasped fearfully as you were spun around forcefully to face the person. you were expecting the face of a snitch of an older sister, but instead you saw an unknown face—with a tiny bit of familiarity, like you've seen him before. but you can't say that you have met him ever. this man was a knight, dressed head to toe in shiny, metal armor and had a sword at his side. his hair was a bit curly and was a blackish brown. his hair was parted and showed a bit of his forehead. if you had to be honest to yourself, this man looked exactly like the prince charming you pictured when your mom read you various fairy tale stories. his voice was smooth as he spoke, "where do you think—" he stopped, his eyes met yours and he instantly recognized your face like a snap of the fingers. his face showed regret and his hand immediately released your arm. "my lady!" he began as you remained silent. "what are you doing awake so early in the morning? and why are you dressed like that?"

you swallowed nervously as your brain fished for a good and believable excuse. "playing...d-dress-up...?" you said as you were well over twenty years old.

the knight pursed his lips, showing that he wasn't buying your lie. he was about to speak but a few servants came around the corner of the courtyard carrying small boxes. you glanced at them. ah, everything clicked in your mind. so that's why the doors were open in the first place. the castle was expecting new shipments of food and clothes and things meant for the royal family. and this knight was protecting the entrance. moments later, the servants disappeared inside the castle and the knight leaned his body closer to you, "or were you trying to leave the castle?" he whispered rather suggestively in a mocking tone.

your jaw dropped slightly and you felt your face heat up with embarrassment and anger. "what?! I would never do such—"

"your majesties warned me about this." he interrupted, speaking in a proud tone of voice with content written on his perfect face. he was obviously very proud of himself for catching the very princess of the castle red handed.

you gasped. "my...my parents warned you? how did they even know?"

this unknown boy, seeming to be around your age, smirked and shrugged his shoulders, his armor clanking together obnoxiously as he did so. you groaned and started to tap your foot against the cobblestone beneath you. then suddenly, a lightbulb...an idea. "what's your name, knight?"

"why do you ask?" he questioned.

you smirked. "so that i can report you to my parents for touching and very much inducing pain on the princess, of course."

the prince looked at you with fearful, wide eyes, color evidently draining from his face. he was at a loss for words, and very much scared for his life.

"how about this? you let me go right now and i won't say a word to my parents about this. of course you wouldn't say a word either. yeah?" you held out your hand as you offered a very nice deal to the knight in front of you.

"fine, but only if i get to accompany you to town, if that's where you're heading." he compromised.

you agreed, "alright." he gently took your hand and shook it, sealing the deal.

"let's go." he said.

the town was the best thing you've ever seen in your entire life. you've only seen it from afar, from your bedroom window. but up close, there was so much detail you were missing out on. the clothes, the cleanliness, the designs, the people. oh, the people were so nice. you couldn't see such unique and alien-like details from the castle. you loved how different everything was. although you got a ton of weird judgemental looks because you were in a heavy disguise and yet had an armored knight following you around. but that didn't matter to you. that couldn't stop you from enjoying your day away from the castle. however, your amusement came to an end when you weren't paying attention to where you were walking.

there was a particular store that caught your eye, just across the bustling road. you began to cross it. at that same time, a wagon carrying a ton of heavy-looking boxes full of who-knows-what barreling down the road. this wagon had a man who was stirring two heavy black horses, looking like he didn't want to deal with anyone's shit. perhaps he was heavily intoxicated.

you heard the horses' hooves clapping against the cobblestone road and turned. this man was going at a speed that wasn't safe for anyone, and going too fast for such a busy road while carrying a heavy load was just plain dangerous. the horses were galloping at an alarming speed and the man didn't seem to care. but just before the horses could push you down and turn your bones into dust, another, much lighter, impact came first. and impact that pushed you out of harm's way and saved your life. a knight, only doing his civil duty towards the royal family of l/n, had saved the princess's life.

your closed eyes opened ever-so slowly, revealing the ocean of fear in the beautiful color of your eyes. there above you stood your literal knight in shining armor. his strong arms were placed on either side of your head in a protective stance. his silky, curly brown hair hung off of his head in the slightest, perfectly casting a shadow over his dark eyes. and his perfectl, puppy-like pink lips were slightly parted. your knight's eyes met yours in a way that caused your cheeks to flush a pastel pink against your complexion. "are you alright, your majesty?" he questioned with the perfect amount of concern in his eyes.

you barely managed a nod of your head. you were still in a daze after what had just happened, and having such a handsome face so close to yours. "i'm alright. thank you...um..." but you couldn't properly thank your savior. what was his name?

"jongdae. my name is choi jongdae." he smiled sweetly at you.

You smiled back, staring into his eyes as if you could see an entire galaxy in them, "thank you, jongdae."

month have passed since your faithful knight, jongdae, had saved you from the clutches of death (not to be dramatic or anything). in those few months, your parents came back and you told them about what had happened. they didn't even acknowledge you disobeying them and going into the commoner town. all they could do was praise jongdae for saving your precious life. and because of that, jongdae was promoted from a general knight that guarded entrances and halls and doors to a personal knight, guarding the princess—guarding you.

moreover, jongdae also became your best friend during this wonderful time. he was always able to make you laugh simply because he was just being cute. in all honesty, you fell in love with him. but that was not what picked at your brain. it was the the fact that him falling in love with you was something that could result in him getting his head chopped off via the guillotine, and that was something that you most definitely didn't want to happen.

being so close to jongdae made you the happiest person ever. your life in the castle became more tolerable. and jongdae told you personal things that he would never share with anyone else. you found out that he grew up in the castle too, just like you, but he was an orphan. he also said that he didn't have any other memories of when he was younger, before he somehow got to this castle. All the more fascinating about such a perfect guy. he had a mysterious past.

it was midnight and you were cuddling with jongdae. yes, you claimed he was your best friend, but you and jongdae both knew there was something much more complex and deeper between you and him. there were feelings that were beyond friends.

midnight was the safest time of day...or night...to show each other love and to do things together. no one in the castle was awake at this time (well besides the guards outside of the castle) and no one was going to wake up anytime soon. there were no chances of being spotted together in a way that would be proved illegal. but previously, for the entire day, something didn't feel right in your stomach, and your feeling was about to be proved right.

nearly breaking down your wooden door, two guards pushed open and numerous knights suddenly flooded into the room. you and jongdae parted as quickly as possible, hoping that nothing was seen, key word: hoping. after the knights finished their rather dramatic entrance, your parents followed behind them, still in their daytime clothes as if they had been waiting for the perfect moment, a moment like this one. they had emotionless expressions on their faces, expressions as hard as stone. but their eyes showed anger and disappointment. you, for once in your life, felt fear of your parents.

the lead knight spoke in a deep voice, "choi jongdae, you are under arrest."

"arrest?" you spoke in fear and confusion. "why?" you were frantic, scrambling out of bed to speak with your parents. how could they have known?

your father spoke next with his chin held up high, "for falling in love with the princess, breaking the most important rule of being a personal knight."

you felt tears fall down your cheeks in an instant. you had feelings of regret and pain and anger. you turned around and watched as jongdae's wrists were bound together by a thin rope and was escorted by his fellow knights out of your bedroom. you turned and looked at your parents. "you can't do—"

your mother's next words absolutely shattered your heart. "you are no daughter of mine. my daughter wouldn't fall in love for a dumb knight."

you were at a loss for words. all the energy left your body, causing you to collapse onto the ground to cry your heart out, as if it would make the world seem better once more.

and now you were on house arrest. you were stuck in your room, having been locked inside for a week now. yes, a week has passed and you haven't talked or seen jongdae. you weren't allowed to leave or talk to anyone. well, only minhee was allowed into your room. someone had to bring you food and water—and news since she felt bad and wanted to help you. it was the nearing the end of the week and you had to beg minhee one final time. "minhee, please. let me go see him."

she sighed for the nth time, "y/n, i don't have the authority to do that. i could even get sentenced to death for doing such a thing."

you started to cry again. "but i need to see jongdae. i need to know if he's alright, at least."

she looked at you with sympathetic eyes and started to pace around your bedroom. you watched her impatiently, anticipation running through your veins. of all times to get her exercise in, she decides now was the best time? but then she stopped and looked at you, "fine. let's go right now while the majesties are in town."

you jumped out of your bed excitedly, tripping over your discarded blankets. you hugged your best friend/servant tightly, "i love you so much."

she smiled and patted your back. "just hang on a minute."

she left the bedroom with your old dishes from earlier that contained untouched soup. you haven't had much of an appetite so you didn't touch it. but minutes later, you heard minhee's voice on the other side of your door. you pressed your ear against the door to listen better. "guards! guards!" minhee yelled as if she was the damsel in distress.

"what is it, servant?" a guard questioned her.

"eight boys, all dancing on the kitchen tables while yelling." she explained in a frightened voice and sounding breathless. "they're screaming something like, 'it goes down down, baby'! i don't know, but they're causing a ruckus. hurry, they might be dangerous!"

heavy, pounding footsteps echoed down the hallway before fading out into the silence of the castle. then minhee's head peaked inside of your bedroom again, a big smile on her face, "let's go." she squeaked.

in a quick pace, you scrambled away from your bed and hurried to the bedroom door. minhee tugged on your wrist as you followed her throughout the castle, sprinting at full speed. finally, you arrived at the dungeon, underground, under the castle. you were out of breath but that didn't stop you from running to the jail cells, trying to find jongdae. And then, you saw the familiar head of hair that could only belong to your man. he must of heard you prior to this because he was already against the bars, only looking for you. you dropped down onto your knees, slipped your arms through the iron bars, and pulled jongdae into a hug. he hugged you back and as you hugged him, minhee shouted, "you have ten minutes. i'm not risking my glorious life of a servant." she yelled sarcastically.

you laughed quietly as you pulled away from jongdae.

"y/n," he began depressingly. "my exe-" he sighed as a tear fell from his exhausted eyes. "my execution is tomorrow.

you gasped, feeling tears to form in your own eyes. "what?! it's too soon. they...they haven't even sent you to court yet. what happened to your trial?"

jongdae shrugged. "like they would tell me anything. all i know is that apparently, the servants have many witnesses of us together intimately. your...your sister too. that alone is more than enough to prove me guilty."

"that damn bitch." you muttered to yourself. "well, either way i'm not leaving you. i'm going to get you out of here." you spoke confidently with eyes of determination.

jongdae stared at you. "yeah? and how might you do that, princess?"

you glared at the dirt-covered ground underneath your feet and cursed under your breath. "...i'll find a way."

jongdae gently reached through the bars to caress your cheek. "princess, i did do something illegal. i sinned. a mere knight fell in love with the princess when he swore an oath to not do that. i can't run away from this."

as pathetic and as pained as you sounded, you managed to say, "don't go. you can't leave me."

"i'm sorry." was all jongdae could say.

your mind began to race, thoughts spinning around and making your head throb. you began thinking, thinking of every damn detail that has happened. from the beginning up to this very moment in time. everything. any possible way that could help jongdae. and then, a breakthrough. "wait, jongdae. they said your last name was 'choi'."

"yeah, why?" jongdae was confused, not understanding where you were getting to. of all things to talk about, you bring this up.

"they called you choi jongdae, but that doesn't sound right. choi is a rare name in this part of the land. chances are close to none to meet someone with the name 'choi'."

jongdae's jaw clenched. you were saying nonsense in the little time they have together. "so? that's been my last name for as long as i can remember."

"that's the thing!" you gasped. "how long have you lived here?" you questioned suddenly, anxiousness and anticipation in your abdomen.

jongdae was entirely confused by this and was honestly slightly annoyed. you were using the last precious minutes of time to talk to him...about his last name. but he answered your question anyway, "i was around ten years old, i think." "hmm, so that means you were born...and then you came..." math was hard but it was a matter of life or death at this point. "that can't be!" you suddenly exclaimed. "my parents didn't hire any knights at that time."

"maybe they took little ten-year-old me in so that i would be their first knight." jongdae was irritated.

"maybe, but at that exact year, a prince named 'kim jongdae' went missing, being kidnapped. at at that same exact time, you arrived here at the castle. what if—"

jongdae's eyes widened and he cut you off, "don't tell me."

"what if you're the missing prince? what if you're kim jongdae?!"

jongdae stared at you in awe but then spoke in a voice of denial, "but there's no evidence of that. it can't be possible." jongdae leaned away from the bars and covered his face with his hands. he was losing all his hope now.

"tell me, kim jongdae? was it a coincidence that you arrived here, named jongdae, at the same exact time a kid named 'jongdae' went missing?"

jongdae remained silent as he stared at the wall in front of him. it did, in fact, all make sense.

"jongdae, don't you understand?! you're part of the royal kim bloodline. you're a prince, jongdae! you're innocent!"

jongdae locked eyes with you finally, his jaw hanging loose, "you're so smart." he was amazed by you. he had no other words to say. jongdae reached for your hand and grasped it, squeezing it lightly. be was going to tell you that he didn't want you to get your hopes up about anything. "look-" but he was interrupted.

"time's up, your majesty. your parents should be on their way home now!" minhee yelled from the top of stairs leading into the dungeon.

quickly, you stood up and smiled at jongdae, "just you wait, my prince!"

crowds were already gathering in the back of the castle, where the infamous l/n guillotine was located. the guillotine that hasn't been used in years...until now. everyone knew about the story of how 'the unfaithful knight fell in love with the princess', and they all felt betrayed and were disgraced upon hearing such news. they were angry at the knight for falling in love with you, making it seem like you were forced into this situation. they didn't even take into their consideration that you had returned his feelings, or that you had fallen in love with him first. you were disgusted by the crowd's feelings and behavior towards this whole thing, but you had a plan. a brilliant one, in fact. you just had to make sure it would work out in the end. although there was a high chance your plan would work, there was still anxiety in your stomach. all the doubts were rushing through your head. what if it doesn't work? what if the plan fails? jongdae would be... you didn't even want to think that in fear of jinxing everything. but those questions left a burning pain that lingered in the back of your head.

you had to stand on the balcony that overlooked the plaza of death, a perfect view of the guillotine. your parents showed no reaction or feeling, but your older sister was clearly excited. you kept quiet as you watched jongdae being escorted by two knights, making their way to the stairs leading up to jongdae's end. your jaw clenched and unclenched in anxiousness, your eyes searching the crowd for any sign that your plan was successful. your plan had to work. it just had to.

jongdae, his hands were bound behind his back by rope, was forced onto his knees and was bent over, his neck being placed over the slab of wood. another piece of wood was placed on top, locking his neck and body in place. you began to fear for the worst just as jongdae's death sentence was about ready to take place. minhee, who stood behind you, reached for your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. she was the only one who knew about your plan because she had done ninety-five percent of the work for you since you couldn't leave your room. you were simply the brains of the plan.

a broad-shouldered man gripped the rope that held up the blade of the guillotine. he was waiting patiently for your father's signal. your head turned, shaking a bit, to get a glimpse of your father. you watched in fear as your father began to raise his hand at a painstakingly slow pace. your breath quickened and your felt faint and dizzy, like the world began to spin around too fast. but, just as your father was about to give the signal, the screaming crowd silenced.

you felt the steady flow relief flood over you as your saw the familiar carriage, bearing the royal colors of the kim's. your plan had worked. the crowd parted and made way for the carriage, straight down the middle. the people were baffled. why would the kims make their appearance here?

then stepping out of the carriage, the kim king himself, followed by his wife, graceful but slow (as if they were hesitating). queen kim was anxious and was evidently nervous. she held onto king kim's arm tightly as they both began to walk down the path made by the people below. they reached the guillotine and queen kim bent down and studied jongdae's face. jongdae was as confused as the crowd was. and then, something amazing happened.

"my son!" the king cried. "dear, it's our son!" my father spoke up, his voice loud and clear, "king kim, this is your son? the one who disappeared eighteen years ago?"

"this man, who is about to be wrongfully executed, if my dear son, kim jongdae." the king confirmed.

"my son... my little jongdae." queen kim began to cry and wrapped him into a tight hug.

the broad-shouldered guy tied the rope down securely so it wouldn't chop any head off, and helped free jongdae from the guillotine. a smile grew on your face as you watched jongdae become freed, all while reuniting with his family. people began to whisper, "choi jongdae...is a prince?"

"it's kim jongdae! we were about to execute a prince."

"we were wrong. a knight didn't fall in love with the princess... a prince did."

you quickly ran back inside of the castle. you sprinted but had difficulty because of the crinoline of your dress. but soon, the crowd parted for you as your arrived to the plaza. you ran up the steps, slowing down as you saw jongdae hugging his long-lost mother and smiling at his long-lost father. he knew they were his parents, and he was happy...overjoyed.

king kim finally approached you and bowed his head, "i owe you everything, princess y/n. if it weren't for your letter and your faithful servant, i would've fully lost hope of never seeing my son again."

"it was my pleasure, king kim." you bowed politely in return.

then, jongdae's mother gave you and jongdae some space, both the king and queen stepping aside. you immediately collapsed into jongdae's arms and he held you tightly. it felt like you hadn't seen or touched him in many years. "i'll admit it. i didn't think you'd actually be able to get me free. how'd you do it?" jongdae whispered into your neck. you began to tell your story of how you saved him.

after seeing jongdae in his cell, minhee was able to get you back into your bedroom just as your parents arrived home. they had suspected nothing. you only had the rest of the night and part of the next day execute the plan after your theory that he was the kidnapped prince. after all he was to be executed at noon. so at midnight, when minhee came in to give you a snack, you had to ask her for one last favor. "minhee, i finally have a plan."

you had explained to her your theory of how jongdae was actually the 'missing kim prince' and all the evidence you thought of while you were with jongdae. she was shocked but believed it just as much as you did. "my plan is to tell king kim himself. ask him to come and claim his son before he is beheaded. i'll write him a letter explaining everything, and all you have to do is deliver it to him. can you do that? please?"

"as if sneaking you to the dungeon wasn't bad enough. sneaking out of the castle to stop an execution, i'm literally done for. my execution would come after jongdae's! i hope you know that i don't want to die either."

you groaned, rolling your eyes at her. "minhee, this is fucking important. this is about jongdae and not you. remember, you're just a servant."

she laughed sarcastically. she was hurt by your words. "oh, i see see how it is. i'm just a servant to you, nothing more."

"i'm sorry." you told her, "it just came out. i didn't mean it, really. but...please." minhee kept her back turned to you, her arms crossed over her chest. you sighed when an idea popped into your head. "you'll get to see your boyfriend at the stables." you grinned at her as she began to blush.

"he's not my boyfriend. we're just really, really good friends...who sometimes get caught together...intimately..." minhee and a stableboy of the castle had eyes for each other. everyone knew they were in love...everyone except themselves. "i guess you don't want to see him then. i could get him fired you know."

"fine." minhee gave in. "what's your plan anyway?" so that night, minhee carried a letter with your handwriting on it, explaining everything that had happened to jongdae, all while requesting just the king's presence at the execution in order to save jongdae's life. the very letter could possibly be the last chance he has.

minhee had come back around six o'clock am, since it was quite a long ride just by horse to the kim kingdom. but she said she made it, put up a little fight, and was able to give the letter to king kim.

you finished explaining what you had done to save your love jongdae. tears formed in his eyes as he held you close enough to rest his head on your forehead. at this point, you didn't even care that the whole l/n kingdom, along with your parents, were watching.

as jongdae's head rested against yours, he cupped your cheeks and you cupped his in order to wipe the steady tears off of his face. he spoke in the softest whisper, "not only did you save my life, y/n, but you also proved that i was, indeed, kim jongdae and returned me to my parents. how could i ever repay you?"

you grinned, "well, you could start by being at my boyfriend, right?"

jongdae smiled so widely, it made your heart beat quicker than ever before. "please...boyfriend?" he grinned mischievously, causing you to look at him with a confused expression. then, jongdae pulled away from you and stood up, pulling you up with him. standing next to him, he simply grasped your hand. with a crowd-worthy voice, a voice that boomed and echoed throughout the plaza so that everybody could hear, jongdae announced, "princess l/n y/n, will you marry me?"

tears brimmed your eyes once more. did you hear right? what if he actually said, 'will you carry me'? no, why would he even say that? so many questions went through your head. you were in utter shock but you managed to smile, smile crazily in fact.

"yes." you answered.

jongdae smiled and you wrapped your arms around him. jongdae's arms wrapped around your body, pulling close to him as much as he possibly could. your entire body was pressed against him, practically bending the crinoline of your dress. and then after pulling jongdae's face down to yours, you pressed your lips against his. a kiss that show the crowd what true love looked like. jongdae immediately kissed you back. the kiss told you and him how much you missed each other. so much passion and love and care went into a single kiss. you not only had a knight in shining armor...but a prince charming as well.

#exo #exo one shot #exo scenario #exo imagine #exo chen #exo jongdae #kim jongdae #chen #exo angst #exo fluff #exo royal au

42 notes · View notes

palais-soleil-blog · 5 years

Text

Problems You May Encounter Your First Week of Studying Abroad (Part 1):

AKA everything that went wrong for me

Studying abroad in Europe for a semester? Congratulations!! It will (hopefully) be one of the best experiences of your life! Ngl, that first week(s) is going to kick. your. ass. I SHOULD KNOW. So I wrote out LITERALLY everything that went wrong for me in hopes that you won’t make the same mistakes I did.

1. Your original packing plan is JUST NOT WORKING OUT OKAY

holy shit was this a problem for me. My initial packing plan was a massive checked duffel bag, a large-ish carry-on suitcase, and my backpack. That plan died quickly. ADAPT. Whether this means taking out some clothes and paring down the essentials even more, or you bite the bullet and fucking buy a bigger suitcase (aka me). Also, high-key recommend packing sooner than 2 nights before you need to leave; that way, if you do need to buy a bigger suitcase, you have the time to get a good and inexpensive one you like.

2. Your checked luggage is more expensive than planned.

This one was all my fault and could have easily been fixed by me checking the airline’s checked bag rates for INTERNATIONAL flights instead of DOMESTIC. In my defense, I was in distress because suddenly 1/4 of my clothes weren’t going to make it to Paris (see above problem). So either check the right fucking website initially (recommended), or swallow down the “holy-crap-this-is-expensive” vomit at the airport, pay for it, and learn from your mistakes. Or my mistakes. Either one.

3. YOUR CHECKED LUGGAGE GETS LOST

First things first: take a second at baggage claim to be pissed and frustrated and terrified. Then take a deep breath and go find an airline clerk who can help you and be nice to them. They did NOT personally chuck your bag out the plane as it was taking off. They will help you! Make sure you have your checked bag receipts with you, a description of the bag (hopefully you put a bright-ass luggage tag or ribbon on it), an ADDRESS it can be sent to, and a number they can call. For me, the address was my study abroad office and their phone number. My office did all the communicating with the airline, tracking it down and making sure it got to me. In the end, it took almost 5 days for me to receive the bag that contained literally all my clothes

Which brings me to my next point! Make sure your carry-on has AT LEAST 1 change of clothes, some underwear and socks, a pair of pajamas, travel-size toiletries of important things (like contact solution), and warm weather gear if necessary. Personally, I wish I had brought 2 shirts and one more pair of jeans. But I also went 5 days without clothes - most people get their bags within 24-72 hours (HA).

4. The drive to your study abroad office/home makes you nauseous and you don’t get to see any sites!

@me lol. First tip: don’t sit backwards in the vehicle if you have the option not to. Second, take some pepto-bismol or Tums or drink a sprite/ginger ale as soon as you can! Hopefully all your medications were in your carry on. I ended up with my eyes closed and head down for most of the ride, and I was pissed because I missed my first views of Paris! In the end, it didn’t matter. Walking Paris is a lot nicer than driving through it, and honestly I was so overwhelmed I don’t think seeing anything would have helped my inner navigator.

5. You can’t get into your apartment

You made it. You got out of the car with all your luggage, you have your keys, you made it up the stairs/elevator if you’re lucky. Now you’re at your front door and it. just. won’t. open. F*** this. First things first, take some deep breaths. Next, check your paperwork and make sure you are on the right floor and in front of the right apartment. For me, this meant checking that the doormat in the picture I was given matched that of the door in front of me. Now, be patient. Start with the deadbolt. In Paris, you’ll turn it at least 2 times, sometimes 2.5. Next, try the handle lock. Again, 2.5 turns and pull the door towards you a little bit to help it not stick. Doesn’t open? Check to see what’s going on. Does it seem to want to open by the handle, but not near the deadbolt? You may have accidentally locked the deadbolt. So turn the key the other way in the deadbolt, then try the bottom lock again. Still not opening? Turn the bottom lock the other way and see if that helps. KEEP TRYING. If you’re in front of the right door and just keep experimenting, it will open eventually. Also, I don’t know if it’s true for all doors in Paris, but mine unlocks with clockwise turns and lock with counterclockwise turns.

6. Your apartment is not what you were expecting

HOLY CRAP was this an issue for me. I had watched so many videos on Parisian studios/apartments, I thought I knew what was coming. The kitchen would be tiny, I wouldn’t have a dryer, I’d have minimal space in general. That was find. I was NOT expecting:

-the toilet to be separated from the sink and shower/tub by an entire room

-no drawers for clothes - all open shelving

-no oven, only a microwave

-weird pillows/comforters

So what do you do when nothing is how you like it? First you let yourself cry a bit (see the next item on this list) and call your mom if you can. Then you take a deep breath (are you seeing a theme yet?) and Figure Shit Out. How can you fix things and make them better?

-the toilet to be separated from the sink and shower/tub by an entire room: I bought a bottle of hand sanitizer to keep in the bathroom for emergencies, like if my roommate is using the shower. Otherwise, I just avoid touching door handles to go to the sink.

-no drawers for clothes - all open shelving: My issue with this? My panties and bras don’t need to be on display for everyone who comes over, spilling everywhere. Buy some baskets. There’s a discount store on rue de Rivoli called Tati that sells pretty inexpensive baskets and other organizational stuff. Get what you need and know that you can trash it or leave it for the next person. Display your prettiest stuff, like scarves or sweaters, on the more public shelves.

-no oven, only a microwave: I’m still figuring out how to deal with this. My main thing is toast. My roommate and I are not sure how to make toast without an oven or toaster. But otherwise, we have a pretty fancy microwave that we are working out how to use, and I’m going to get really good at pan frying things! (or just make a lot of pasta. Probably just make a lot of pasta).

-weird pillows/comforters - Buy another pillow. Monoprix had them for like 8 euros I think? And I had packed a pillow case from home. You can also buy another blanket, but I brought a blanket and top sheet from home. They will keep you warm, even if they aren’t a down duvet with pleating or whatever.

Have a problem and not sure how to fix it? Call your mom. Talk to your housing director. They probably have extra hangers, or can hook you up with that missing shower curtain.

7. You have a panic attack in the middle of the day and can’t call your mom because #time change.

This will only affect you if your flight gets in early like mine did. If you’re landing at like 4pm, your family should be awake by the time you get to your apartment. For me, I got to my apartment, freaked out, sat down on my bed to have a good hysterical crying session, and then 30 seconds later I heard my BRAND NEW ROOMMATE, whom I HAD NEVER MET BEFORE, trying to unlock the door. Talk about a bad first impression. I have never tried to clean up my face so fast. Meeting my roommate went fine, but I wish I had the time to cry it out. I think I would have been more willing to figure shit out. Instead, I took a 6 hour nap, woke up to eat dinner, and went back to bed. I was awake for a long time okay? But that’s the best advice I can give. Have your freak out, take a SHORT nap if necessary, eat a snack, and then figure shit out. Or play games on your phone until you CAN call your mom. Up to you. But you’ll scare her less if you can call her without crying.

This has become a long-ass post, so please see part two for everything else that can go wrong during your first week!

#study abroad #studying abroad #paris #study abroad paris #paris apartment #paris studio #first day #first week #stress #scared #france #french #program #travel #traveling #europe

3 notes · View notes