#but anyways being condescended to about ‘taking care of my space in [my new city]’ made me wanna cry a little lol

[deathxproof-archive]

today was going exceptionally well until I was once more solely blamed for the state of the second floor of my parents’ house when I was one of six (6) people who have occupied that floor. it’s fine. I’ll get over it. I’m already pretty over it tbqh but still fucking sucks yknow

[qlala]

Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s. 

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event. 

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets. 

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)   

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd. 

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.   

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth. 

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).   

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day. 

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat. 

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk. 

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin. 

“Snart!” 

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand. 

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives. 

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down. 

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes.   “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.” 

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile.  “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.” 

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up. 

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?” 

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!” 

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt. 

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…” 

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.” 

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look. 

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.” 

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.” 

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t. 

“You had a point, Barry.” 

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?” 

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him. 

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist. 

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.” 

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn��t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.” 

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.   

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people” 

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.” 

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.” 

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone. 

“You can barely stand.” 

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake. 

“Barry—” 

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop. 

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer. 

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again. 

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.” 

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard. 

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions. 

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address. 

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.” 

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion. 

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement. 

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.” 

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen. 

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch. 

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again. 

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.” 

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick. 

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass. 

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again. 

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.” 

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him. 

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile. 

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.  

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.” 

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them. 

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment. 

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway. 

[biggest-stupidhead]

Path Walker (Levi x OC)

Summary: Emory and Erwin butt heads

AN: In future chapters there WILL be mentions of sexual assault I will put a warning on that specific chapter and other future chapters that mention mature content. 

Word Count: 2.4K 

A grunt escaped my lips as I fell to the ground, Annie loomed over me her icy blue eyes burning into my own. I risked a glance at Shadis who lurked on the edge of the clearing with that brooding expression, those hazel eyes locked on Annie and I. Annie followed my gaze and smirked,

"Nervous Black?" Annie purred, leaning forward to hoist me up.

"Never." I snarled, swinging my fist in a wide arc, effectively clipping her chin. She stumbled backwards, surprised by my dirty attack. Shadis raised an eyebrow at this move, not necessarily an impressive technique but definitely unexpected. I gave chase, closing the space between us, forcing Annie to take a defensive stance. When I first started sparring with Annie she almost appeared bored, now she was wide eyed and very alert. I kept my elbows close to my chest as I scanned her small frame for an opening. Annie was about the same size as me, making us a relatively equal match. She danced back a few more steps, seemingly desperate to get away from my lightning quick punches. This time I allowed her to retreat, my cobalt eyes taking in the way her chest heaved and her hair was displaced and slipping from her low bun. The usually composed Annie Leonhardt was only slightly undone but all of your comrades took note. I allowed my eyes to scan the crowd that had gathered. Shadis had also snuck up on Annie and I, his features hard and unforgiving.

"Draw?" I asked, my voice coming out airy as I spoke. Annie nodded, her chest still heaving as she recovered from our tussle. The crowd let out some 'aws' and 'boos' due to our little show ending so abruptly. I dusted off my pants as the rest of the cadets dispersed as Annie and I recovered. Annie held her hand out and I took it, shaking it wordlessly before departing to find a new opponent. I halted abruptly when Shadis called out to me in that hoarse voice of his.

"Black! Your presence is requested in my office." he stood a distance behind me as I raised an inquisitive brow. Odd, sparring practice still had at least another hour. Surely he wouldn't leave the cadets unattended to hold a private audience with me? The thought made my stomach clench with dread, I learned early not to trust men. I paused before saluting him and giving a curt nod. I walked briskly over the training grounds, kicking up dust as I crossed the vast clearing. Finally I found myself in front of the small building that the superiors used to hold formal meetings and also were the few offices on the property were located. I paused, a carriage catching my eyes, a solider stood by the horses, holding the reins. I squinted trying to see the symbol on his military jacket. But he was too far away, and I wasn't very keen on getting caught staring at a stranger. So I walked into the building, heading straight for Shadis' office. I knocked on the door, not expecting a response since Shadis was supervising the sparring practice.

"Come in." I jumped at the sound of the deep masculine voice on the other side. My hand hovered over the knob, had Shadis set me up? Was I about to get thrown in jail? No I hadn't done anything illegal, at least not recently. Was Shadis conspiring with those notorious human traffickers? Was I being sold? No I need to chill the fuck out. I gripped the door knob and pushed the door open. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of Erwin Smith seated comfortably in Shadis' chair, although he rose as soon as I entered. I saluted him quickly, leaving my hand over my heart even though he had dismissed me.

"You gave me a heart attack, thought I was going to be sold into slavery." I sighed as I crossed the room and sank into the uncomfortable wooden chair across the desk. Erwin furrowed his eyebrows and fought a smile off of his lips at my words.

"Why on earth would you think that? Have you been so terrible that Shadis has resolved to slavery as a threat to make you behave?" Erwin asked raising a bushy brow. I scoffed and leaned forward in my seat.

"No, I've been quite good actually." I said proudly, a smile curving on my lips. Erwin smiled fully before turning his attention to a folder that sat on the desktop.

"I've come here today to remind you of the deal that you agreed to three years ago." straight to business, gotta love the guy.

"Yes I recall." I said leaning back in my seat. God has it really been three years?

"Your graduation is in exactly two weeks, and I am very pleased with your rankings." Erwin said as he flipped through the file, his blue eyes suddenly flickered to my face.

"Oh, well I wish I could've made top ten but..." I trailed off, a blush dusting my cheeks.

"Ranked 11th in your class, still an impressive feat, this is a very competitive group of cadets." Erwin said giving me a pointed look. I could only nod at his words, still confused as to why he had come all this way to visit me.

"Anyway, I just wanted to ensure that you would be joining the Survey Corps as arranged, I'm sure as you know our numbers have decreased significantly." he said, slowly standing up, his tall build did make him a bit intimidating. I lifted my head a bit higher in an attempt to meet the mountain of a man without standing. He placed a large hand on the back of my chair, I allowed my eyes to flit over his calloused hand for a moment before turning to meet his cerulean gaze.

"I am aware." I spoke curtly, growing tired of his condescending tone.

"We are in need of promising recruits like yourself and to see you slip into another regimen would truly be devastating. Besides..." his hand slid off the back of my chair and onto my shoulder. My blood ran cold as he leaned down to my level and tightened his grip on my shoulder.

"There's a certain someone who is expecting you." his words sent goosebumps up my spine. It had been three whole years since I had seen Levi. Now of course Erwin was using him as an incentive to stay true to my word. I tensed under his grip, but still managed to nod.

"Does he ask about me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"No... But I know he thinks about you." Erwin said, I nodded grimly, not really knowing what else I expected, he was kind to even add the last part. I laughed bitterly, "Why do I even bother." I cupped my face in my hands and slowly drug them down my cheeks. Erwin still held my shoulder firmly.

"Just uphold your end of the deal." he whispered, with a final squeeze he released my shoulder and returned to Shadis' seat, sinking into the back rest.

"Don't worry I will." I said, my own sapphire eyes narrowing as I spoke lowly. He waved his hand, dismissing me. I turned and quickly left without saluting him, a small act of rebellion. Gods, fuck that, did he really doubt my integrity so much to make a journey out here to ensure that I remembered the deal? Outrageous, I didn't even want this I never wanted to be a solider. I was only a child when this deal was made. By none other than Isabel, which is the only reason why I have decided to uphold my end.

When Levi, Farlan, and Isabel had been arrested Isabel begged Erwin to go back to the flat and bring me with them, at first he refused. But then when he learned that I was twelve years old he changed his mind. Why you might ask? Simply because he realized that he could make me a solider, a pawn in the fight for freedom. So exactly one year after my family's arrest he returned and gave me false documents, freeing me from the underground city. I stumbled, leaning against the railing of the dining hall, so engrossed in my memories that I failed to see a large rock in my path.

I blinked, the images of the dank city still dancing across my mind. I looked up at the sky to see the sun sinking lower, dinner would begin soon. But my stomach was churning with nerves as I thought about the place I had grown up and the people who had ensured my survival. Isabel, Farlan, Levi, they had saved me gotten me out of that hellhole. Now only two of us remained and he couldn't even fucking write me. I straightened up, pushing off the railing I stormed back towards the barracks, a new found rage instilled in my chest. Or maybe it wasn't new at all, maybe it had always been there, a nagging in the back of my head. Levi was never keen with me, but surely he cared enough to at least ensure that Erwin fulfilled Isabel's wish. But then again maybe he only enforced the deal to honor Isabel?

I frowned, Isabel was one of the few people who showed me kindness during my short life, she was like a big sister to me. I finally found myself struggling to open the door to the barracks, my hands shaking with emotion. With a final shove I pushed into the room, the bunk beds all made with care. I flopped onto my bunk and buried my face in the stiff pillow. I allowed a few small tears fall into the fabric before I finally pulled away from the pillow and breathed a heavy sigh. I looked down where my pillow once rested to see the carefully folded paper that I kept stored underneath the pillow. I gingerly unfolded the worn parchment with shaky hands. My shoulders sagged when I finished, the image that stared back at me made my heart ache. A drawing that Farlan had done only a few weeks before everything changed, a family portrait of sorts, you and Isabel between Levi and Farlan, Levi was drawn with a slight curl of his lip, his own way of smiling.

Isabel looked vibrant and full of life, Farlan looked cool as a cat, and I looked like a snotty brat with missing teeth and ratty hair. At the sight of my messy hair I recalled I memory of Isabel attempting to comb it to no avail, Farlan tried and also ultimately failed. But Levi pinned me to the ground and viciously raked the brush through my hair, and succeeded in detangling the mess. You didn't talk to him for a week after that. A shaky breath left my lungs as I focused on Isabel's wide eyes and the way Farlan's had an arm carelessly thrown over my shoulders. What I wouldn't do to feel his warmth by me again, admittedly I'd had an innocent crush on Farlan. It was only natural seeing as he was the one to take me in so graciously. I yelped when the door banged open, quickly stuffing my precious keepsake back under the pillow. Ymir padded in first, her arms folded behind her head, Krista followed closely after her. Mikasa wandered in after the odd pair along with Sasha and Annie brought up the rear. The lot of us occupied this small section of the barracks, Annie was the only one to spare me a second glance before tossing her jacket onto the bed above mine.

"What did Shadis do with you?" she asked indifferently, such an odd tone that made me think she didn't really care, but still bothered to ask the question.

"He did nothing, it was an old acquaintance of mine that requested my presence." I said throwing my legs over the edge of the bed. Annie raised a brow but didn't question any further, she set to work on unbuckling her harness, and shortly after, stripping her white jeans off. When she tossed the clothing onto the ground a strange scent washed over me. It smelled simply raw a foreign scent that I had never caught a whiff of before. Just as quickly as it had drifted under my nose it was gone, leaving an odd feeling in my stomach. Hm how odd, I thought as I watched Annie pull on a pair of loose pants. Just as I opened my mouth to ask her if she had found a new perfume or something Sasha plopped down on my bed.

"Sorry you couldn't come to dinner, I saved you a little something though!" she beamed as she pulled a half eaten loaf of bread out of her jacket pocket. I couldn't help but smile, in an odd distant way, she reminded me of my dear Isabel, kind and hard headed.

"Thanks Sasha, I appreciate that." I gingerly accepted the gift, and took a bite out of the loaf. Sasha looked pleased with herself, she got up and left me alone on my bunk, Annie crawled up onto the top as I dusted crumbs off my bed. Come to think of it, that scent from earlier was familiar, maybe she used the same soap as someone? No it wasn't a manmade scent, it was strange but somehow I knew that it was uniquely her. Like pheromones or some shit, my nose wrinkled and suddenly I felt over powered by the scent. I looked up to see Ymir passing, her shoulders pulled back proudly. What the fuck, man they reeked how had I never smelled it before? They smelled like sweat mixed with an earthy musk, my eyes watered as the smell continued to overpower my senses. I fell into a sneezing fit shortly after Ymir had walked back to her bunk, drawing some curious glances my way as I continued to sneeze my brains out.

"You alright down there?" Annie asked, her head dangling upside down to look at me underneath her.

"Fine, just.... Allergies." I sniffled, rubbing my arm discreetly over my nose partially to wipe snot away and also to protect it from her scent. Annie brushed her bangs off her face to get a better look at me, her brows pinched together and her mouth opened slightly as if she was about to say something.

"Lights out cadets!" Shadis banged on the barracks door loudly, shutting up every girl in the room. Mikasa got up and extinguished the torch, plunging the room into darkness. I heard Annie settle back into her bed, and I followed suit, my nose still burning from the stench.

[scandalousfemale]

Fall to Pieces

Rafe Cameron x Y/N

An unexpected and unnecessary part 2 to Lists, though it can be read as a stand-alone.

Y/N helps Rafe get sober after he told her what he had done. She’s conflicted because now she’s getting glimpses of a better Rafe but she can’t forget or forgive him so he makes it right the only way that he knows how.

WC: 5,308

Warning: smut, mentions of shooting the sheriff (but he did not shoot the deputy), mentions of jail, mentions of drugs and withdrawals, mentions of funerals (they think Sarah and John B are dead), spoilers, unprotected sex, mention of birth control, mentions of anger, mentions of parental unit dying/going to jail, mentions of PTSD, mentions of nightmares, y/n pulls a knife out on Barry and regrets it immediately, mentions of drugs 

A/N: Hello! Thank you for taking the time to even look at this fic, I worked really long and hard on it and I had a great time writing it. It was my first time ever writing smut so if it sucks, I’m so sorry. I’m also running on no sleep because I’ve been editing this all night. That being said, I tried my best to proofread, I’m sure that there are tons of mistakes anyway. Again, thank you for reading my fic! I ended it the only way that felt right to me. Oh, and it’s inspired by Fall to Pieces by Avril Lavigne

It’s been 7 months since Rafe showed up at your door and ripped your heart out of your now gaping chest. 6 months and three weeks since his family held a funeral for his sister in which he couldn’t attend because he was going through withdrawals. 6 months since his friends and family started asking you about his whereabouts. You’ve lied to everyone you knew back on the Outer Banks, telling them that you haven’t seen him since that summer.

You’ve convinced yourself that you were okay with taking care of him even if you weren’t together but for the first three weeks while he was at his worse, every time you had to touch him, you wanted to throw up (most times you did). You just can’t help but picture him killing Peterkin, sometimes you have dreams where you see it happen and you didn’t do anything to stop it, then you’d wake up next to him and have to move to the sofa just from the disgust. Though you’re not exactly sure what really happened that day, and he wouldn’t tell you, your overactive imagination filled in the blanks for you every night for those first few weeks.

The fifth week was better, in the sense that your disgust was slowly being taken over by hate. You hated that he had put you in this situation. You hated that you allowed yourself to care enough to take care of him. You hated that you love him but most of all, you hate his father for screwing up his children so much that one would rather die than go back to him and the other couldn’t stay sober long enough to know right from wrong.

You were also able to convince your parents to help you co-sign and move into a house near the school instead of staying in the dorms. You said that it’s because of all the teens partying around you and that you couldn’t concentrate on studying but really, it’s because of the noise complaints that you’ve been getting. It’s been hell studying for finals while sleeping next to someone going through cold shakes or nightmares. You’ve told yourself multiple times that Rafe was going through withdraws while also suffering from PTSD but it didn’t make you feel any better when you started missing classes or came home to your living room completely destroyed because he had a rage fit due to the cravings. You’ve offered to send him to rehab but he wanted no trace of where he could be so you complied.

A month after getting everything straightened out, you were finally moving out. You were happy that you could go further into the city where Rafe could go out more, spend more time around other people than surround himself with his mistakes, and four walls. Though the process wore on him, you could tell that he was becoming a better person. He was more patient and understanding. It would be a lie to say that his fuse wasn’t still just as bad when someone would trigger it but it seems you’ve been doing a lot of that anyway—lying.

  Seven months into living together and him finally being sober, you want to say that he reminds you of the old Rafe but he doesn’t. He’s much more mature, his sad eyes tell a story that he’s seen way too much, too soon. Some days, you wish that you could take his pain away. Other days, you wish that he’d drown in it…at least you wish you thought that.

Renting a U-Haul, and maybe to fill your own fantasy of moving in together like a normal couple in college, you had Rafe help you pack. Was it a good idea? Probably not. Most of the time you ended up yelling at him for packing the bedroom things with the living room items. When you saw him put the dishes in with the DVDs, you had banished him to the house for the rest of the day, telling him that you’d pack the kitchen away by yourself. You were happy that you’d actually done that though because it gave you the excuse to give the two of you some space. You had found yourself getting close to him again. Leaning in when you laughed, touching his arm to show him something on your phone or when you window shop. You didn’t want to give him mixed signals but how could you not when you’re confused yourself?

So, you left Rafe unpacking all the boxes of clothes and moving around the furniture while you came back and tackled the kitchen. You almost wished that you had asked him to come along just for his company but after waking up in his arms last night, groggy from being tired, you figured that it was best to put some distance between the two of you.

A soft knocking sounded from your door and the smile that appeared on your face should’ve been criminal. You were almost too happy to see him. You couldn’t—wouldn’t let yourself forget what he did, though it was hard to remember when you’ve never seen Rafe in that state. Pushing your thoughts aside for the millionth time, you yanked the door open, your smile immediately dropping. You tried to shut the door as quickly as you opened it but a hand lands in the middle of the door and pushes it open the rest of the way.

“Now, that’s no way to greet an old friend,” Barry said, as condescending as ever.

“You’ve lost that title the minute you started selling drugs,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

He was right. Barry and you go way back, back before you were considered a “kook”, before you even knew what it meant to be a part of figure 8. Well, technically your moms go way back. You two were destined to be friends since you’ve come out of the womb. You shared secrets, scars, heartbreaks, skinned knees, all the same. You held him when his mom died and invited him over to your place every single day, unknowingly introducing him to his future clients. Your mom loved him like a child and if you ate, he ate. Until, of course, you started dating Rafe at fifteen and Barry started finding new friends. About a year later, the friendship was over. One night you walked in on him selling drugs to Rafe. You told them both that you wanted nothing to do with either of them if Barry kept selling and Rafe kept distributing but neither of them listened. Barry continued selling but stopped coming around, breaking your mother’s heart. As for Rafe, well, we know that story.

“Yes, of course. Big, bad, naughty, Barry,” he rolled his eyes and though his words had a hint of humor, his eyes did not. He shoved past you and made his way inside your apartment.

“What do you want?” You said in a clipped tone, eyeing his figure to see if he has any visible weapons on him or not because last time he showed up at your apartment, he was not so kind.

“Rafe,” Barry said matter of factly with a bright smile. As if he wasn’t talking about someone who supposedly dropped off the face of the earth seven months ago.

You stared at him and shrugged, “your guess is as good as mine.”

“Y/n, I’m not going to ask you twice and I don’t exactly do well to being lied to, where is Rafe?” He leaned against the refrigerator with his arms crossed in front of his chest, eyeing you.

“I haven’t seen him,” you lied through gritted teeth. You backed yourself into your kitchen, feeling comfort that there was an exit behind you while Barry was in your line of sight.

“Baby, if you only knew what he’s done, you wouldn’t be protecting him right now,” Barry chuckled as he took a step towards you, “he owes me a debt and I’ve given him long enough. Now, I’m here to collect. Listen, it’s either me or the SBI, it’s your choi-,” he didn’t have the time to finish before you found your hand wrapped around your kitchen knife bringing the blade down on the sink beside you.

You tried to speak between breaths, “Stop it! Stop!”

Barry’s irritating smile has finally dropped from his face. His hands out in front of him as if he was prepared for you to lose it and charge at him...and maybe you might. At this point, you’re not really sure what you planned to do. You just needed to protect Rafe.

“He’s mine,” you breathe out a declaration you haven’t let left your lips since the night of Rafe’s confession, “you don’t get to take him, the SBI doesn’t get to take him, fucking death doesn’t get to take him from me without my permission. Now, get the fuck out of my apartment right now because I do not know where he is and if I did, I would never tell you,” you said with an eerie calm washing over you. You keep taking steps toward Barry who hasn’t moved back once.

“Come at me, baby, I have nothing to lose,” Barry said with his arms at his side, faking vulnerability while his shifty eyes were telling another story.

“Yes, you do,” you assured him, “We both do, but the difference between us is that I’m willing to lose it all. Are you?”

“You think I’m going to just forget what his little sister did? She stole from me. Now I have leverage over my best seller— my best thief, and you want me to let that slide because a chick with a knife who can’t even keep it steady enough to point at me wants to threaten me? I’ll come back every single day if I have to.”

“His little sister is dead, haven’t you heard? Her and John B got washed away in the storm and you still have the nerve to talk about her? You can come back every day if you want to. I’ll give you the keys to the place. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t live here anymore.” You gestured toward the empty living room and the boxes beside the two of you.

For the first time, Barry let his guard down long enough to take a look around the apartment.

“I left him,” you continued your half-lie. You did leave Rafe, at your new house, “when I found out what happened, I left him and I couldn’t handle being on campus where I knew he could find me,” where you knew anyone else could find him, “so I’m leaving.” You shrugged, feigning indifference. Setting the knife down on the sink as if that wasn’t the most insane thing that you’ve ever done. You dug into your purse. “Here’s something for your troubles, yeah?” Your mother always told you to have cash on you and finally, it has come in handy, you pulled around about three grand, almost 1/3 of what you got for selling your car.

“Take it,” you shoved the money against his chest. With no hesitation Barry’s clammy hands landed on yours, pressing both your hand and the money against his chest. The contact instantly brought you back from your previous panic. You couldn’t even believe that you had pulled a knife out on him, what were you even going to do with it? It’s not like you were…it’s not like you were Rafe. At the realization, you met Barry’s eyes with so much sadness, “this is the last thing I’m going to do for you, Barry. For your mom, I hope you can get a real job one day,” you said sincerely.

“Always had a thing for the bad boys, huh, y/n?” Barry said, the joking tone in his voice disappearing as he took the money from underneath your palm, letting your hand fall.

“Just the lost ones,” you admitted, “goodbye, Barry.”

He pocketed the cash, giving you one last look before turning around and leaving you to the boxes.

   The house was surprisingly mostly unpacked, except for the two new boxes that you had brought back with you, though in your defense, you didn’t have a lot of things to begin with. After a long-needed shower—more so on Rafe’s part since you left him to do the grunt work all day, you had fixed up dinner for the both of you.

Something had shifted inside of you since the talk with Barry. You could no longer ignore your feelings now that they’re right in your face but you’re still so conflicted. You love Rafe. You love him so much and he’s sober and trying for the first time. You’re seeing him in a new light but today, after picking up that knife, you can’t get over the horrible things that he’s done and it’s tearing you apart inside.

From the archway of the kitchen, you can’t help but look at the boy on your sofa. He’s probably watching some dumb show, his long legs stretched out in front of him while he’s nursing a bottle of water, the sadness in his eyes looking more and more permanent. Your fists clenched up beside you as tears threaten to fall as you made your way in front of him. You can’t count the number of times you’ve seen him like this, the number of times you’ve fantasized about him like this but with your children crawling all over him as you’d laugh and sip a cup of coffee. Now that’s really all it’ll be, a fantasy.

Rafe had set the bottle on the coffee table in front of him as if sensing a confrontation coming on and it fueled your anger even more. You hated that he knew you so well and that you two were so well connected that you could both feel the shift of the energy between the two of you without saying one word. You finally made it in front of him, your knees touching, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his.

He waited, looking back at you as your tears fell from your face and his hands twitched like he wanted to reach out towards you but thought better of it.

“I hate you,” you said pathetically as your shoulders slumped. You angrily wiped away your tears as you shook your head at him. The boy who once was your dream. Rafe didn’t even flinch at your words, he knew it already. He hoped that you’d change your mind about him but he knew from the very first night that things would never be the same.

Without saying a word, Rafe reached for your fists, kissing your knuckles knowing that you’d never use them against him. As if apologizing for even causing you to form them.

“I hate you so much and I can’t forgive you for what you did; I’ve tried,” you said through your tears, “but I also love you so much,” you whispered your confession. His head snapping up at you, searching for your lies and finding none.

Before you could even think, one of his arms snakes around your waist, pulling you down to straddle him as the other came up to your face, forcing you to now look up at him.

“You still love me?” Rafe finally spoke, brushing away a few of your tears with the pad of his thumb.

“I’ve always loved you but you make me hate you,” you said as you leaned your face against his palm, missing the feeling of intimacy with him.

It was almost like something had changed within him, as if he was arguing with himself and finally made up his mind when he leaned in closer to your face, his lips brushing against yours, “Don’t. Tonight just, just love me, okay?”

How could you say no to that? You nodded and it takes him all but a second for his lips to touch yours, knowing that the minute you gave him an inch, he’d take a mile.

The kiss was electric. It was something that you had no idea you were even craving until his were on yours and you couldn’t get enough. Your tongue swiped at his lower lip, taking it in between your teeth and giving him a soft bite, using his gasp as an invitation for your tongue to enter his mouth. Rafe didn’t deny you as his hands worked his way to your hips that’s been subconsciously rocking against his. You worked your hands up his shirt, lingering on his abs, feeling them expand and contract with every breath he takes before removing your lips from his just to pull off his shirt.

Heavenly. It was the only word that came to your mind when you looked at his body. Rafe didn’t give you much time to marvel at the sculpted figure that is his body before pulling your face towards his again, “fuck, y/n,” Rafe breathe and it sent a shiver down your spine. You can already feel the wetness pooling between your legs, knowing full well that the thin layer of your pajama pants is doing nothing but allowing him to feel it, too. Just like how you can feel him grow underneath you, making you whimper when you rock against him the right way. You made your way down his neck, kissing and biting him, marking him like you were teenagers again. Rafe growled at you when you bit a little bit too hard into his shoulder.

“Y/n, baby,” Rafe rasped, trying to get your attention but it was useless, “princess,” he said almost inaudible as you were about to rub out your own orgasm against him. Suddenly, his hand came down hard on your backside, and instead of yelping, you moaned for him to go harder which all but caused him to pull you away from him. Your arms suddenly empty and your chest heaving, you looked at Rafe’s plump lips and eyes that are dark with desire. He stood up and didn’t waste a moment, he allowed you to jump onto him, supporting your weight with his arms around you.

You quickly yanked off your top, allowing your breast to press up against him when you wrap your arms around his neck, “I need you,” you admitted against his neck. More than he knew. In more ways than he could give but for now, you could accept him like this. You felt your back slam against the wall as he fists your hair in his hands, forcing your head back so he could kiss your neck and leave some marks of his own. By the time he reached your bed, you needed your release. He had set you down on the bed, almost too gently. You reached for his pants but his fingers wrapped around your wrist, “I want to taste you first,” he said with what you thought was supposed to be a smile but he was already preoccupying himself with pulling off your shorts. You were almost sure that he moaned just by the sight of your spread legs as if he hadn’t already seen you like this a hundred times.

You laid back and spread your legs further, reaching for his head with his hand but instead he interlocked his fingers with yours saying, “don’t rush me, princess, I want to remember this.” It felt like an eternity before you felt his lips on your inner thigh, causing your body to shudder. Slowly, you felt his tongue delve into you, flicking your clit just right enough for you to buck your hips against him. He wrapped his lips around your clit as his tongue worked it just the way you liked until your nails are leaving marks on him as you scream, “Yes, Rafe, right there, please don’t stop!” Your words along with your moans, giving him the confidence that he still remembers how to make you cum; and you did. Hard. You could’ve sworn that you went cross-eyed for a moment as your thighs attempted to shut around his head. He brought his hands up to hold them back as he continued, bringing on another shaking orgasm.

“I need you in me, Rafe,” you said as this point, almost delirious but you needed the closeness. “I need you to fuck me like you just—like you hate me,” you said but you weren’t sure if you meant it. Granted, in your state, you’d take him any way that he’d come but you just thought back to all the times you’d slept with him in that last month before everything went to shit. When he was at his worst with drugs that most times, he couldn’t get it up, and when he could, it would be rough and fast.

Rafe crawled up your body, using his thumb to wipe his lower lip and then sucking it clean, causing your eyes to flutter. You pushed down his pants until they were around his knees and he kicked them all the way off himself but he didn’t pounce on you and started drilling you. He almost seemed…hesitant.

“I know you hate me but I don’t,” Rafe started, slowly as he began inserting himself into you, inch by inch, “I can’t fuck you like I used to right now. I can’t fuck you like I’m angry, I need to-,” he stopped himself with a moan as you clenched around him, “I just need you to fuck you like you love me okay?” He rasped, looking more vulnerable then you’ve ever seen him. You nodded, grabbing a hold of his hair as you wrapped your legs around him, you kissed him deeply before looking at him in his eyes, “I love you Rafe,” you breathe and that was all it took for him to lose his control.

After basically wrestling around in the sheets, you both came multiple times. Each time with whispers of promises of forever that you both knew was just something said in the heat of the moment. When you both felt spent, though not nearly having enough of each other, Rafe had gotten up to go to the bathroom and get a wet cloth to come and clean you up. You haven’t been this reckless since you two were sixteen and had a pregnancy scare, so you were thanking the heavens for your birth control right now.

Rafe had put the towel away in the bathroom again but didn’t bother to put on his clothes as he laid next to you in bed. You rested your head against his chest as his finger started trailing your spine.

“I saw Barry today,” you said suddenly.

“Yeah?” Rafe tensed, pulling you closer to him as if he could protect you, “What did he want?”

“Other than a trip down memory lane?” you offered, “you.”

Rafe didn’t say a word as he kissed the top of your head and you drifted off to sleep.

  The sun was evil, you were sure of it. The blinding light had awakened you and all you tried to do was burrow deeper into the hard body next to you. Only except, the body wasn’t there. Blindly, you reached out beside you, almost in a panic when you couldn’t feel anything other than the cold sheets, indicating that it has been vacant for some time. You finally opened your eyes and sat up; your body deliciously sore but you couldn’t even enjoy that right now. You walked into the living room, naked as the day you born, only to see a small duffel bag by the door.

“Rafe?” You called out, only to have him appear from the kitchen with an orange juice in his hand. He took a look at you and his eyes lingered on your body, the marks that he left on you. The marks you left on his neck and chest, obvious as well, but you couldn’t concentrate on that, “I can’t believe you,” you spat out as you turned on your heel and made your way back into the bedroom.

You didn’t make it past the door frame before Rafe’s arm snaked around you and pressed your back to his front, his lips coming down to your ear, “stop,” he said, his tone was almost like an order but you knew it was a plea, “whatever it is that’s going on in that head of yours, stop it.”

You turned around in his arms, willing yourself not to cave when his face was inches from yours. Willing yourself not to cry when his bag is inches away from the door, “you’re leaving me,” you stated.

“I’m not leaving you,” Rafe corrected, “last night was just…amazing but it did remind me that being sober isn’t the only thing that I had to get done. I have loose ends, y/n. I have things that I need to make right. So, yes, I am leaving but do not think for a second that I’m leaving because of you. I’m alive because of you.”

“Nice speech,” you said bitterly, crossing your arms across your chest as you stepped out of his grasp, “you’re leaving right after we had sex. It’s still a douchebag move to make.”

“Y/n, I told you. I had a realization. Trust me, if I didn’t-,” he stopped himself, watching you as you pulled his shirt over your head, “if I didn’t have to go, I wouldn’t but I need to like, I don’t know. Clear my head or find myself or whatever the fuck it is. I need to go back to my dad and show my face. Fuck, I need to visit Sarah’s grave.”

“And you can’t do all of that with me? Here I am again, re-arraigning my whole life for you and Rafe Cameron can’t eve-,” he cut you off by lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist. His kiss was hard and bruising.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe parroted the line he said seven months ago, only this time, he whispered it with a smile ghosting around his lips.

“I love you,” he said as he caressed your face with one hand, the other still holding you up, “I love you and you do not fully love me like before. I can see it in your eyes, princess. We laugh and we might’ve fucked yesterday but it does not change anything. You don’t trust me so I need to go and make things right, okay? You told me that I needed to love myself before you can be with me again, before you can love me again. So, that’s what I’m going to do. Okay?” he said as he set you down on your feet again.

You nodded, you understood. You weren’t dumb enough to think he’d stay here forever anyway, no matter how much you took care of him and he was right. There are still days where you can’t look at him and having sex last night might’ve made it clear where you both stood with each other but it doesn’t change the fact that sometimes you still hated him-you were just too drunk off sex to act on it.

“Yeah. Okay,” was all you could say. Though you gripped onto his hand like a child as he walked to the front door, picking his bag off the floor and effortlessly resting the strap on his shoulder. He turned to you and reached into his pocket, leaving a small gold chain necklace in the palm on your hand. A lame replacement for his own hand, you thought, but you willed yourself not to grab onto him again.

“Thank you. For literally everything. For changing your whole life for me. For stopping everything. No amount of thank you will ever be enough,” Rafe said sincerely and though it looks like he wants to, he doesn’t kiss you.

“Will I see you again?” You asked, your voice small. You gripped the necklace to your chest.

“I don’t know. But I fucking hope so, y/n,” Rafe said before turning around and walking out of your door.

                                                        Epilogue

“It’s been two years, dad,” you fidget on the bar stool in your parent’s house, you were finally back in the Outer Banks for the first time since Sarah’s funeral. A small simple gold chain hangs from your neck. You don’t remember the last time you took it off.

“A lot of things have changed, y/n. He might not be who he was anymore,” your dad warned, his eyes trained on yours and even though you know he meant that maybe Rafe isn’t like the boy you fell in love with when you were fifteen, all you wished for was that he wasn’t like the boy he was when he was nineteen.

You held up your glass of water, as if you’re making a toast, “then here’s to changes,” you smiled as your dad shook his head.

 When Rafe had left your house, two years ago, he had come back to the Outer Banks like a boy on a mission. You weren’t exactly sure what had happened but rumor has it, he reached out to JJ, Kiara, and Pope to help put his father in prison. From there, they had recruited the help from Mrs. Lana Grubbs, who somehow had enough information to put Ward away for good. Of course, in the midst of getting his father in jail, he had to come clean about his involvement in the murder of Sheriff Peterkin—something that should’ve been a capital offense, but with the help of a very good lawyer (thanks dad) and being involved in the arrest of Ward Cameron, it was brought down to voluntary manslaughter. Rumor also had it that Ward Cameron could’ve gotten away, he could have stuck to his original story, seems like the police bought it anyway but once he heard that Rafe was basically selling himself out for this, he complied, knowing that his son would get less time. By all means, Ward was not a good father and even a worse excuse of a man but you’d like to believe that that was his way of telling Rafe that he loved him enough to do this, especially since he’s lost Sarah.

You sat outside of the prison, in your car. You saw the barb wires and the guards and almost got cold feet. You wrapped your hands tightly around the steering wheel until your knuckles turned white and took a deep breath. You didn’t know why you were so nervous but you felt like if you exit your car, you’d turn into a puddle of goo. After a couple of breathing exercises, you’ve gathered enough courage to walk up to the gate, giving the officer your ID, hoping that you’re still on Rafe’s visitations list. After a couple of minutes, just enough to make you sweat, they led you back to a room. Metal chairs had lined up against the glass, a phone at the side of each divider.

Reminding yourself to breathe, you sat down on the cold steel. You picked up the phone, eager to hear Rafe’s voice. As the rows of inmates started filling up each seat, sitting in front of their loved ones, your eyes searched for him. All the orange jumpsuits looking the same but then you felt it. That connection, that energy that you once shared with this man who was once the love of your life and now almost a stranger. He sat down across from you as you looked up at him, a grin painted on his face, and for the first time in a while, his smile reaches his eyes, “hey princess.”

tags: @millyelliot @snkkat

[youarejesting]

Quarantine.69

[Masterlist]

Beta: N/A Pairing: BTS x reader Friends2Lovers Genres: friendship, drama, romance SLOWEST OF BURNS. until the anticipation kills us all… Rating: PG-13 and above Summary: Your brother works with a few BigHit dance teams and whilst having permission to accompany him at work the city shuts down banning anyone from stepping outside for a whole WEEK while they disinfect the streets. If you step outside you might get arrested, shot, or poisoned by the chemicals they are emitting through the city. Words: 1.4k Announcement: Working hard and hardly working.

[Part 1] [Part 68] [Part 70] [Tag Yourself Here]

Stepping out from your appointment at the physio, you saw Mister Dong leaning against his car. He hadn't noticed you had seen him thank gosh. Immediately you became suspicious, what was he doing here, you glanced around casually and checked your phone only to see it ringing. It was his name on the screen. Could you pretend it wasn't ringing? Would he know you were lying? Would you care if he knew?

Sighing discreetly, you answered the phone, "Hello?" You asked starting to walk to the cafe Wendy had said she would be working but you were there to meet with Mal-chin. He had asked to see you and it seemed kind of important.

"Ah miss y/n, how are you this morning?" His voice was condescending and you knew he was hiding something and trying to lord it over you.

"Kind of busy, I am meeting a friend for lunch?" You said politely and yet still with authority.

"I was wondering if you had time for a quick chat, your brother and his girlfriend are going on a get away holiday are they not?" He said smugly and you bit your lip and continued to walk away, that asshole. "Do you still not have time to-"

You cut him off, "Hello?" You said trying to sound genuinely confused "Hello, Mister Dong are you there?"

"Hello, yes I am here?" His voice came through clearly and you held your phone up in the air having muted the phone and started shouting that the service was bad while muting and unmuting the phone stealthily with your thumb. disconnecting the call in the middle of your talking "Hello are you the-"

That ought to keep him busy for a while, you thought continuing down the road without looking back. But what he said really hit you, he had faked a get away holiday for your brother and his girlfriend, you dropped Thomas and Areum a text and they understood your warning that Mister Dong planned it to get them away from you. They agreed that they would keep an eye out for trouble but would definitely use the trip anyway for a free trip and paid leave from the company.

There wasn’t much time for thought as you arrived at the cafe, Wendy waved to you from behind the bad her Plum coloured hair standing out amongst the other staff members. She was such a bubbly young lady you honestly couldn’t fathom not meeting her. She reminded you of yourself when you were not so -- for lack of a better word -- Damaged.

She was a good influence, she reminded you to be happy in the moment, and not to dwell. Sure your mind was full of what if’s, but if you were out having a good time with people you love and trusted; she taught you to push the worries aside. If for a moment and have fun, it surprised you how afterwards you would think over the events. All the things you had worried about leading up to the events, seemed irrelevant, they were all for nothing. 

Mouthing to her and gesturing to her beautiful make up she blushed and looked down concentrating on her pour. Giggling you turned to see Mal-chin sitting at a table, his knee jutting in away that reminded you of a young teens impatience and boredom. His hair was on the longer side, with the whole quarantine thing, he wouldn’t have time for a haircut. Even when you met it was a tad shaggy, like your dark phase in highschool or the fourth year in harry potter.

Mal-chin gave you a brilliant smile and you took off your coat sitting down, you didn’t miss his glance towards your choice of shirt, it was a v neck but you didn’t think it was distasteful. The boy was a teen of course and he was respectful enough to quickly look away. It reminded you of Seokjin’s whining that morning about your choice of shirt.

“Hey Mal-chin, how is your dad?” “He is good, he has been a little busy though,” He smiled. It mustn't seem bad to have some space at his age. “I have been working hard and look here at my text scores, my teacher says if I keep this up I will get accepted in the S Medical University.”

“That is so exciting,” You smiled as Wendy came over to take your order. Mal-chin Ordered a Chai latte with cinnamon on top and you ordered a dark chocolate mocha iced. The conversation and banter between you three was great, they brought up your speech and cute phrase and you blamed Wendy. Who when she finished her shift she suggested you three go to the movies and watch some new romance comedy.

Looking at Mal-chin making sure he wasn’t uncomfortable he was smiling brilliantly, and the two were off leaving you to try and catch. They were walking along and window shopping and you received a call from Bang Si-hyuk who asked you to come for an important meeting.

“Hey guys, I have to go back early. I got a meeting but you too have fun and tell me how the movie goes” You grinned racing back to the Bighit headquarters and were ushered through security and up to one of the top floors for the meeting.

Everyone was there and waiting, bowing politely you rushed to your seat, “Sorry I am late, I came as fast as my leg allowed”

“Miss y/n, I saw you on television delivering a very powerful speech,” Mister Bang smiled cheekily, “We all have our memorable speeches”

Flushing as you remembered your fumble on stage in front of millions, “Ah yes, I have learnt the correct phrase now and will remember it well”

“We are here to revisit your relationship with the boys and I must say recently you have been in good favors with the Army and well, it doesn’t seem like they would be against you dating a member, we are thinking we can use this as a test. To see how they react to someone dating a member.”

You nodded listening intently “As Seokjin is the oldest, we are thinking perhaps he could be the other party public advertised in the relationship and then your presence with the band won't be questioned. Of course we expect to lose some of the fan base but we want to know how many exactly still support the band.” Mister Bang sighed before taking a drink of water.

“We don’t want a Hyuna and Edawn situation on our hands, if you can still be successful we won’t kick you out, if the effects are to negative we will deny the allegations and say you were working together for an upcoming project,” You watched the CEO discuss your relationship feeling kind of exposed but kept quiet. “If this works you can publicly move with the band if not, you will move behind the scenes in secret” 

“That sounds fair sir” Nodding to show your understanding he smiled before turning to the bored

“Before we finalise this does anyone have anything to say on the matter, I want the band, the company and yourself to be well represented.”

“I think you should see this sir,” Mister Dong said showing an article that had your picture on it dressed in a Hazmat suit with a gun and the article was exposing you for killing someone during quarantine and not being a saint or saviour. 

“This complicates things. I am so sorry, I cannot bring this onto my company and group, perhaps when everything dies down we can try again.” He said with a deep sigh rubbing his face “Ah… I was actually so happy and ready for you guys to start dating.”

“Hey whatever she did was self defense and we can have the article taken down and marked as defamation of character, we can say it was an attempt to tear her down.” Namjoon said standing and you slumped into your chair, head tilted back. This was like an earthquake, splitting your world in two. 

“It would be best if you aren’t seen entering our building for a while and I ask that you don’t stay with the boys anymore it is too risky to have you seen, it is funny how one little thing changes everything” Mr Dong smirked eyeing you with mock pity he walked around the table and touched your shoulder. “I will drive you home.”

“Hey y/n, before you go don’t lose hope, look everything is up in the air again let’s give it a week and revisit the decision” Mr Bang said trying to reassure you. 

[Part 1] [Part 68] [Part 70] [Tag Yourself Here] Tags: @theneverdays​ @hi-itstt​ @bubbletae7​ @lovemusicandotps​ @taetaebq​ @w0lfqu33n​​ @anaiss97​ @moccahobi​ @maddymal​ @lilacdreams-00​ @lethargicalyssa​ @knjkitten​ @pieislife​ @kthstrawberryshortcake​ @vividwoosan​ @seesawsmin-flower​ @tinyunknownflower​ @gguksfilter​ @fawnzilla​ @passionate-love-57911​ @btrombley13​ @novaprime-59​ @hd-junglebook​ @infiredsunflower​ @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d​ @simplymemyself​ @pars-ley​ @juanitapatricia​ @unicornnomore​ @moments-of-melancholy​ @tatastaetae​

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[goodfortune-au]

Good Fortune (Soulmate AU) Chapter 14: Games

In the coming weeks of March going into April, there had come the next wave, the next vital stage of his attentions and the days that Angel had started to look forward to the most. These were nothing like the voices in her head, the phantom hands stroking her skin, or the experience of finding him on her favorite TV channel. Angel had spent such time these days simply pining after him, waiting for him to worm his way back into her mind, distract her, take her away from all her worries and doubts. To tell the truth, this wasn’t much different from the days of before, all those days spent patrolling the TV for the Derry Children’s Hour and all the time she spent sleeping in the hopes of stumbling across those delicious dreams once more, but now that she had tasted the true sweetness of his presence, there was simply no turning back now. Yes, Angel had truly experienced something she’d never had the pleasure of experiencing before, that is, the love and touch of another living, breathing thing, and now she wanted more. She wanted more, and knowing that the time was ripe to do so, Pennywise was more than delighted to offer it to her. It had begun one warm April afternoon, when the Losers had come to bless Angel with their blithesome, whimsical company. A conversation about the perils and pitfalls of pre-pubescent life at school eventually dissolved into listless boredom, and then Angel had saved the day with a simple deck of cards. They took to it immediately, all sitting in a circle around the coffee table. It was Angel, followed by Bill, followed by Eds and Richie, followed by Stan. The TV is chattering quietly in the background behind them.

“Alright, host goes first, and we’ll move in clockwise.” Angel had announced. She laid down a blue card inscribed with a three.

Bill is thoughtful for a moment, rifling through his cards and finally he sets one down on top of it. Blue seven. Eds places down a yellow seven and Richie grumbles before drawing a few cards out of the deck in the middle. He finally places down a yellow five and Stan counters with the same number in green. And so the cycle continues, the silence progressively growing more and more tense, just waiting for the first shoe to finally drop. It comes back around to Stan again.

“...Sorry, Anj.” Stan says with a wryness in his voice, as though he wasn’t really sorry. He theatrically sets down a card and a death knell practically descends over her head. “Draw four.”

She gasps dramatically. “You little bastard!” She draws four cards out of the deck with a leisurely chuckle, and then places one of them into the middle with a flourish. Reverse card. “Your turn again, Stan the man. This way you can’t betray me a second time.”

“Fine by me, now I get to betray Richie.” Stan says with a devilish smirk. Skip turn.

“Oh come on!” Richie wails. “I had a good one!”

Eddie snickers and places down a green nine. “Sucks to suck, doesn’t it Trashmouth?” Bill places down a green two.

“Can it, wheezy, or I’ll sic the hounds on you next go around, I've got some good cards.”

“Oh no you won’t.” Angel says with a wag of her finger. Another reverse. The entire party flares up with a chorus of controversy and uproarious laughter. Bill snickers and puts down a second green two, then Eddie follows with a wildcard. “The color is red.”

“Yes!” Richie pipes up with a triumphant shriek. To the horror of everyone, he places down a red skip card in the middle. Stan stares at him silently with contempt.

“Nice one, idiot, now we know what color you have the most cards for.” Eddie says, his tone snide and condescending as he shuffles through his own hand.

“Yeah, and now the color is yellow.” Angel announces, placing down another wildcard.

“NO!” Richie howls. The room flares up again with laughter.

They continue in their childish game, taking one round into the next and then a third and a fourth after that. Bill was a silent and unassuming winner, taking home the gold in the first two games and Stan and Angel taking home the third and fourth. As time goes on everyone is growing increasingly bitter at one another, a cloud of competitive loathing settling over all of them as they fight to best the next player. Angel could sense the tension growing in the air, tension surely unavoidable in such a high stakes game as this, and couldn’t stop herself from becoming consumed in the heat of it as well. She’s sitting crosslegged on the couch, leaning forward in her anticipation for the next move, waiting to see what pandemonium surely awaits with the placement of each new card. After a while, though, they all fall into caustic silence. The clock ticks insistently overhead. The chatter on the TV seems to grow louder in the increasing absence of sound. Then the matter-of-fact words of a news reporter gradually intrudes in on their collective thoughts, and before they know it grim conversation is born from the quiet.

“Who knows who’s doing it?” Eds had said. “I hear about this shit constantly, but they never seem to catch anyone.” He sets down a blue four. “Your turn Bill.”

Bill puts down a green four. “Yeah, it’s... It’s ruh-really weird. T-two kids from a grade down went m-m-missing in the last month. The p-police don’t even have leads on them, and it's been weeks.” He says quietly. Angel feels her stomach start to roil with something unpleasant but she ignores it. She puts down a green six and doesn’t say anything.

“It feels like the police don’t even care.” Stan adds, placing down a card of his own. “I mean, they say they’re looking for the missing people, but my dad says that’s just a bunch of bullshit posturing.”

“Really, Rabbi Uris said that?” Angel asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Well,” Stan says sheepishly. “Not in those exact words.”

“I don’t know, man, it just feels like things have been different lately.” Eddie says, placing down a reverse card. “Things haven’t really been the same since... You know, ever since...”

Ever since Georgie.

They all fall into discontented silence. Bill is the quietest of them all. The TV continues on behind them, unphased.

“...Hey, uh, can we get a fuckin’ change of scenery in here?” Richie breaks the silence loudly. There’s an uncharacteristic nervous edge to his voice. “I hate the news- it's, uh, it’s killing my buzz, know what I mean?”

They all immediately agree. Angel picks up the remote. “Good idea.” She says uneasily. She starts to flip through the various available channels.

“Your turn again Angel.”

“Oh. Uh...” She interrupts herself to place a card into the middle and then refocuses her attention back on the screen. There’s a baseball game on Channel 4, a hokey soap opera on Channel 10, a couple dull historical documentaries on Channels 14 and 15... Yawn. She continues. Even Channel 27 was nothing but static. She sighs and gets up, disrupting the game briefly to pluck a movie off the shelf instead. She slides her choice into the VCR slot and lets it play, comforted by the familiar sound of product-placement ads she’d heard a thousand times before. Everyone else seems instantly placated by the change of tone in the room too. The Paramount Pictures logo flashes briefly over the screen, and then the sound of a radio host announcing the beautiful weather in the city of Chicago cuts in sharply over the silence.

“Ferris Bueller?” Richie mutters absentmindedly, his eyes flickering up to the TV as he rifles through his cards. “Good choice, Anj.”

“...Ferris? Ferris? Tooooom!”

Two well-to-do parents are fussing over their apparently sickly child. “What, what’s wrong?” His father asks.

“What’s wrong ? For Christ’s sake look at him honey!”

He’s laying in bed, eyes wide as saucers, staring off into space. His father says his name and his spacey stare rolls lazily upward. He seems dazed and fatigued but it’s clearly an act, his voice child-like as he addresses them from under the covers and dramatically plays up his imagined illness. His theatrical performance is laughable and thin but somehow they miraculously buy into it anyway, even insisting he stay in bed as he makes meek attempts to sit up. “I have a test today,” He says, in intentionally weak protest. “I have to take it. I wanna go to a good college so I can have a fruitful life.” His mother adamantly refuses out of concern. “Honey, you’re not going to school like this now.”  Cynical big sister arrives in the room, rightly skeptical of her brother’s supposed ailment but is nonetheless dismissed by her family anyway.

“I’m okay,” Ferris says after she’s gone. “I’ll just sleep. Maybe I’ll have an aspirin around noon.”

After not much deliberation, the parents both agree to let him stay home, telling him they’ll check on him and to call them at work should he need anything. He hams it up even more, buttering them up with weak praise, lauding them for being such loving, caring parents, and they both bid him an affectionate goodbye. They start to leave the room, and his mother tells him she loves him before starting to shut the door behind her. There’s silence. After all is well and the boy is alone in his room, he cautiously sits up in bed. He listens to the door close, and then his eyes dart to the center of the screen. He’s smug.

“They bought it.”

The game continues on as though it had never been disturbed. The unpleasant conversation of before is nothing but a distant memory now, their minds now engrossed in the intense heat of competition once more. A fifth game turns into a sixth, and the better part of an hour passes over their preoccupation. Though the kids seem to have forgotten the grim topic of the disappearances, Angel is less fortunate, and whether she likes it or not, thoughts of it all are starting to stew in her mind again. It was true, Angel had been able to dodge these ruminations lately as a result of her lovesick euphoria, but they had all been buried in a shallow grave rather than six feet under. It was hard to ignore the unease creeping up when she was reminded of everything she’d heard and experienced, and then slowly but surely those thoughts would come rising to the surface again for her lack of delight. She didn’t like thinking of it, of any of it. If she’d had her way, she would happily keep her head buried in the sand with Pennywise and never let her mind linger on any of it ever again. But no such luck unfortunately. The only thing worse than being aware of such strange and ominous dealings was the frustrating knowledge of knowing there was nothing you could do to stop them. Angel had given up a long time ago on any foolish notion of ending whatever force of evil lurked within the town, not that she ever truly had had such a notion in the first place. No, Angel was more than aware that she was fairly inconsequential to this town, even as an apparent fascination for an esoteric guardian angel, and that there was little chance at all she might have any sway over its cosmic fate. But it didn’t stop her from feeling guilty about it all. It was such a futile and helpless feeling she couldn’t control.

Angel pushes it from her mind and tries to become consumed in the game again. In the process her mind starts to wander to other places, and she wonders where Pennywise might be now. He hadn’t been around much in the last few days; though of course, when he wasn’t whispering in her ear or monopolizing her attention on the TV, he was present in other ways. He would leave her gifts and notes just as he had done before, and they were more affectionate now, more personal. He’d leave her things that specifically catered to her interests. Special inking pens he’d conjured up from god only knows where, little pinback buttons and squares of fabric perfect for patch-making, her favorite candies from childhood... She thought it so sweet that he was trying so hard to keep her interest. It was refreshing and new and she, so enamored with him, leaned into the attention wholeheartedly. Pennywise knew it to be important to keep laying on the charm, knew it was crucial to continue in his courting behavior, but he had held off on continuing to be there with her in person, at least for the time being. He wanted her to long for his touch and his presence, wanted her to want him there, holding her, keeping her within the unwavering security of his protection. The time was coming for him to make his return, however, and the reunion would be so sweet, so delightful, the beginning of a new stage in their budding relationship. He had been so patient in the weeks following Valentine’s Day, and now he simply couldn’t wait to be with her again. He would come back to her, and she would welcome him with open arms.

“Oh, you motherfucker.” Richie breathed.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off had finally reached its third act, and now focused on a conversation between the eponymous character’s girlfriend and best friend. They walk through Chicago’s crowded downtown thoroughfares during a lively parade, discussing Ferris and his whereabouts, seeming to have lost him somewhere in the crowd along the way. They’re meandering through hundreds of people trying to find him, the chatter around them loud and boisterous as they make their way down the congested street. The kids paid little attention to the movie, focused instead on the happenings within the fascinating yet frustrating world of Uno. Angel finds herself having forgotten about Pennywise and everything else for the time being, having gotten absorbed in the game herself once more. Bill had a tally of three games won now, Stan with two, Rich with one, Eddie with four somehow, and Angel with two, but the group had now forgotten how many games they’d played, having gotten lost in it for hours. They were playing through the deck for the umpteenth time, and this one had been a real nail biter so far. So many twists and turns, flimsy alliances turned inevitable betrayals, and obscenities shouted at one another that it was truly a sight to behold. At one point Mayor Jello had sauntered into the room, gotten a good, long look at the unfolding commotion, and promptly slinked back out to attend to his own matters.

“You can’t stack draw fours!” Richie had exclaimed incredulously. “That’s against the rules!”

“Nuh uh.” Angel informs him, reclining back on the couch. “House rules. Stacked draw twos and draw fours are totally free game.”

“Yeah, Richie. Read ‘em and weep.” Eds says smugly.

“Fuck that shit!” He’s appalled. “I refuse to honor three stacked draw fours!”

Psst.

“You can’t just refuse, dipshit!”

“Like hell I can’t! I’ve got seventeen cards already, it’s not fair!”

“You’re being a sore loser, Rich.” Stan sighed.

Psst. Hey.

They continue to squabble amongst themselves. Richie is adamant and will not budge, and everyone else is needling him to simply honor it and move on.

“Okay then, if you pussies get to stack draw fours, then I get to do this.” He throws down a blue reverse card.

“Hey, you can’t do that!”

“Sure I can. If you get a pass on breaking the rules then I get a pass too.” Richie says with a shrug. “Draw twelve, asshole.”

“I’m not drawing twelve, Richie!”

Psst.

She finally hears it. Her ears perk up.

Angel.

While they’re arguing, she feels a shiver run up her spine, and she turns to face the source of the sound. The TV. The movie is still playing, Alan Ruck and Mia Sara still journeying through downtown Chicago, the crowd still chattering on in an endless chorus of white noise. A voice starts to address them from a P.A speaker; one familiar, smooth and lilting, but nothing at all like Ferris’s.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’re such a wonderful crowd. We’d like to play a little tune for you. It’s one of my personal favorites, and I’d like to dedicate it to a very special girl who doesn’t know just how special she is. Angel, darling, look at me.”

She stares hard, her whole world dissolving into static around her. The camera shot falls on a parade float in the center of the screen, but instead of Ferris dramatically lip syncing the words to Danke Schoen on the stage, Pennywise has bafflingly taken his place on the screen somehow. She’s warm now, she can’t believe her eyes as he walks among the costumed dancers, miming the words and playfully gesturing with his hands toward the center of the screen. He was singing to her.

Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen

Thank you for all the joy and pain

Picture shows, second balcony was the place we'd meet

Second seat, go Dutch treat, you were sweet

Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen

Save those lies, darling don't explain

I recall Central Park in fall

How you tore your dress, what a mess, I confess, that’s not all

He turns to face her completely now, and the movie continues on without him uninterrupted. The children don’t seem to notice his voice, or his presence on the TV. They simply proceed in their heated contention. It's just him and her.

“Hello, sweetness. It's so nice to see your lovely face again.”

Warm phantom hands cup her hips now and she has to resist the urge to gasp. He’s firm but affectionate.

“Uh uh, precious girl. Keep it quiet, would you? Wouldn’t want them to catch on to us, hmm?”

She gulps with a nod and holds her breath as those hands start to wander up, over her clothes, toward her cotton-clad breasts.

“Yes... I’m sure you’re not ready to have that conversation, are you? Wouldn’t even know how to explain it... Oh, look at you, your face is already all red. Cute little Angel. Cute cute cute!”

His hands ghost delicately over her breasts and go to her collarbone, stroking sensually there with one feather-light finger until she’s squirming. He cups her cheek now.

“Oh, darling... How good your skin feels underneath my fingers… Did you like my song? Did you find it as lovely as I find you? Oh, hold on- I think I have another one coming up.”

You had better watch me.

Richie smacks Eddie’s cards out of his hand and the argument flares up again. Angel doesn’t even process it. She’s off in her own world now, and his touch is so titillating that she feels that tingle start to work its way from her belly all the way between her legs again, even as Twist and Shout comes on over the loudspeaker. Pennywise is lip-syncing the words to the upbeat number now, shimmying and dancing on the parade float as he pretends to sing into the microphone. All the while those hands are continuing to grope at her body, lewdly venturing over her curves while a marching band spiritedly plays along to the tune. They follow the beats of the song with brassy enthusiasm.

Well, shake it up, baby, now

Twist and shout

Come on, come on, come, come on, baby, now

Come on and work it on out

Well, work it on out

You know you look so good

You know you got me goin' now

Just like I know you would

Pennywise is bolstered by the excitement of the crowd and the sheer look on Angel’s face, the way she can’t keep her eyes off him and his on-screen antics. A small flash mob starts to form in a plaza and they mime the words too as they dance down a small flight of concrete steps. The entirety of the parade seems to have congregated around the float in a circle now; the parade-goers are all caught in their own rhythm, moving in different fashions but all in tandem at the same time as they sing along. And all the while Angel is staring, her heart pulsing restlessly inside of her, ignorant of the kids’ growing dissent amongst one another.

Well, shake it up, baby, now

Twist and shout

Come on, come on, come, come on, baby, now

Come on and work it on out

You know you twist, little girl

You know you twist so fine

Come on and twist a little closer now

And let me know that you're mine

That feeling inside of her belly is only growing more and more as she watches him. The way he struts and sashays across the stage of the float, the way he performs so electrically that it riles up the whole crowd; she can hear the bells on his suit jingling with every one of his movements, the sound ringing in her ears as she fights to maintain some semblance of normalcy and composure. And all the while his eyes keep flickering back into hers, reminding her just who he was singing to, just who he was doing this all for.

Who she belonged to.

“Angel, tell Richie he’s being fucking ridiculous!” Eddie demands, and suddenly she snaps back into focus.

“You’re the one who’s being ridiculous! Now you’re telling me you can use a fucking skip card on yourself?”

“Yeah, I figured if we’re all breaking rules, why not?”

“That just passes the draw twelve onto Bill! He doesn’t deserve that!”

“Oh, so I do deserve it?”

“Guys, for the love of god, shut up!” Angel practically roars, her assessment of the situation all suddenly caught up again.

They all fall quiet. She sighs a labored sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose. When she glances at the TV screen out of the corner of her eye, she notices the movie is back to normal. No Pennywise miming the words to Twist and Shout, no saucy side glances or teasing little gestures, just Ferris amid the cheering parade crowd. She can’t feel his hands anymore either.

“You know guys,” She says with another heaving sigh. “It's getting late- I think you should probably be heading home after this game.”

“Okay but-”

“Richie, just take the damn loss and draw twelve, I’m not gonna watch you two bicker and argue for another three hours.”

He sulks. “Fiiiiiine.” He draws his cards, angry cloud of chagrin palpable in a three foot radius around him.

The game continues. As they slowly make their way through the rest of the deck, Angel finds her thoughts wandering back to Pennywise; wondering where he had gone, if he might come back, finding that she missed him and his touch, not that it was at all surprising. The children have come to a stiff truce and are now quietly placing their cards into the center pile, leaving her to continue stewing over his whereabouts. To tell the truth, the sight of him was such a pleasant surprise that she’d gotten a little… Excited. She hadn’t seen him in days, had only kept correspondence with him through the gifts. He hadn’t even been talking to her all that much; the last time she’d heard his voice was on Tuesday as she had been drifting off to sleep, and though she hadn’t dreamt of him, she could still feel his presence keeping her warm throughout the night. But after that, nothing. If not for the gifts, she would have thought that he was abandoning her again, would have sent that familiar panicky dread roiling up in her gut at the idea of being left behind, but thankfully there was no such feeling of alienation. There was only this delicious feeling of want and desire, bubbling up inside of her as she watched him dance and perform; just for her, only for her, making her feel special. It was a feeling that only seemed to become more apparent as the days went on, this delightful little feeling that made her start to lose her grip on reality. She starts to get lost in that wonderful madness, vacantly placing cards into the pile with every turn, silently contemplating the scenario of his return and finding that a blush was starting to stain her cheeks again at the thought of him. His tall form, his striking eyes, those massive hands; towering over her, looking into her, pinning her against the wall-

“Dirty, dirty, naughty little girl.” His voice whispers directly in her ear. “You’ve got company over, you should control yourself.”

She almost gasps but she restrains herself. She can hear the smile in his voice, can almost see him wagging a finger at her.

“...Need to wait, little thing, need to be patient.” The phantom hands are back at her waist, slowly trailing down to rest at her hips again. Soft and gentle, comforting and sweet. It drives her mad.

“Reverse card. Angel, it’s your turn.”

Suddenly she’s not paying attention again. She’s whining silently, she’s screaming at him in her mind and that only seems to please him more. His voice evokes a shit-eating grin now.

“Wouldn’t… Want to rush things, would we? No, no… We should take our time, we should savor it all…”

Those hands are wandering lower, lower, ever so slightly…

“Angel?”

Her heart is thundering against her chest. She swallows hard, staring off into the space at her feet as she sits, rooted to the spot. He chuckles in her ear as he watches her squirm, clearly delighted at her embarrassment. “Orrrrrr…” He whispers. Her heart stops.

“Angel, are you okay?”

“Maybe... Just maybe... We should throw all that caution to the wind, be bold, adventurous. Maybe I should just wait until they leave. Maybe I should wait until you’re all alone, and then I’ll come... I’ll back you up against the wall, corner you with no escape like a pretty little mouse. Tell me, would you like that?” His hand trails inward, his voice raspy and sonorous in her ear, and her breath hitches in her throat when it brushes up against the tender spot between her legs.

“How about it, pretty girl?”

How about it?

“P-Pennywise…” She breathes.

"Dude, she’s zoned out.”

“Angel!”

She snaps out of it.

“What? What?” She’s pressing her hands to her hot cheeks.

“You spaced out.”

“Are you okay?”

“...What’s P-P-Pennywise?”

She shakes her head quickly. “Sorry, I…” She finally processes the last question and feels her cheeks getting hotter again underneath her fingers. “Nothing, no one.” She clears her throat and thumbs through her hand, placing a red six into the center pile. But his voice is still there, calling to her, teasing her, needling her, just trying to get her to break.

“...Hey Angel,” he breathes huskily. “Wanna hear a poem I wrote for you? It goes like this- Roses are red, violets are fine, you be the six, and I’ll be the--”

Stop. Stop. She tries her best to look normal now but she’s starting to sweat profusely. They continue in the game; there’s a palpable uneasiness settling over all of them but each and every one of them just tries to ignore it. Red nine, red four, blue four, blue skip; blue seven, green seven, wildcard yellow, draw four. Angel is trying her best to ignore him, ignore his little games and rhyming; ignore the pleasure building inside despite her greatest attempts to fight it off, ignore her embarrassment and the way she could feel them all staring at her. The day was long now and she wanted them to go so it could finally be over. She places down another card.

“Oh ho ho, I can see how flustered you are, darling! Poor girl, poor little pet… Be careful now, they’re starting to worry…”

She’s so frustrated that she can hardly breathe. Her face feels like a furnace. She can’t even look them in the face now as she continues laying cards down into the middle of the pile; she can only keep her eyes rooted shamefully at her feet as she listens to the clock tick judgmentally overhead. The minutes crawl by at a snail’s pace, but thankfully the game is nearing its end. Pennywise continues his teasing though, content to torture Angel with his words and devilish sing-song as she fights to maintain her thinly-veiled facade. Stan appears to be pulling ahead, he’s about to call Uno but then-

“Pennywise and Angel sittin’ in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N--”

“OKAY!” She cries out suddenly. They all jump about ten feet off the ground. She immediately processes her outburst, and now she chokes, she struggles to explain herself. “It’s uh…. It’s getting late guys. I think,” She swallows. “Think you should all be getting home.”

“Jesus Christ, are you okay? Your face is on fuckin’ fire dude.”

“I’m fine!” She insists. “I’m just… Not feeling good. But I’ll be okay, I just need to sleep.”

“Angel-”

“Talk soon?”

She practically pushes them all out the door, and they leave behind a mess of Uno cards amid their protest. She reiterates that she’s fine and then they all hesitantly bid her goodbye from her stoop, further unnerved when she doesn’t even reply. She shuts the door, she takes a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. All of his teasing had gotten to her more than she cared to admit; she couldn't help it, no one had ever shown her such attention before, especially not... That kind of attention, not unless they were trying to be insulting. She found it facetious, vulgar in a way that was amusing and fun, though she'd be lying if she said the time and place could not have been any more inappropriate. The worries of what the kids must think is slowly seeping into her brain and she feels her face getting red all over again. What would they think if they... If they knew? It's not as though it were anything bad, she just... Wouldn't know how to explain any of it. How he had romanced her with all of his gifts, the way they'd met... The things he was saying. Oh god. They were privy to a lot of dirty jokes, sure, (Lord knows Richie was incapable of working anything but blue) but she simply couldn't divulge such intimate details of her own romantic courtship like that, they had no business in it. She's sure they wouldn't understand anyway, that they might misconstrue his intentions and try to convince her that he was bad news or something. Children though they were, they were much more mature than most of the adults in this town, and they were not immune to being overprotective of her. She tries not to let her concerns get to her so much, not right now. Now, all she could do was simply splash cold water on her face, put all the Uno cards back where they came from, and leave this mortifying ordeal behind her. She takes another deep breath and sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and rubbing her face tiredly. She counts to five and when she turns around she has to bite back a breathless shriek.

[drjackandmissjo]

float among the stars and fly to Mars and back

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

OR The Men In Black AU no one asked for

Feysand Masterlist --- Ao3 

Feyre Archeron had, since she had been a little girl, always believed that there must’ve been more to the Universe than their little Solar System.

Granted that there was nothing ‘little’ about a star and the nine planets (Viva la Pluto!) and the many other cosmic rocks that rotated around it, quite the opposite if you looked at it from the perspective of a tiny 7 years old, yet for Feyre, after her school had taken them to the city’s planetarium for a field trip, their Solar System had become undoubtedly small compared to the greatness of the unknown sky above. She had got home that day with stars in her eyes, literally because they had been given stickers of stars and planets, and she and her friends thought it was a good idea to stick them on their faces and eyelids, and had begun to constantly look up.

And she had not stopped since.

Many of her classmates laughed at her interest for the sky, thinking she only thought aliens were real because of movies and the TV, but the truth was that Feyre didn’t even want to acknowledge life outside of the Earth unless she had all the cold facts and hard proves laid out in front of her. To her, the Universe was a big adventure waiting to be explored, full of different atmospheres and gravities and temperatures, and it was simply wonderful. And yes, it was statistically impossible for such a vastity to have only one liveable planet, considering how well creatures could adapt to different environments, but that was not the point.

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

Which was why at 25 years of age, fresh off the most prestigious university in Prythian with a bachelor’s in aerospace engineering and a PhD in astrophysics, she had sent her curriculum all over the continent, to the best space programs and some. She had graduated valedictorian of her class, scored the highest marks with her thesis and just genuinely worked her ass off to maintain the full scholarship that had landed her at the Day Court University. She was gonna get what she deserved!

Or at least she thought. Weeks passed and she got no answer at all. She was not expecting to be submerged by requests but, by the Mother, at least some acknowledgement!

“No news is good news” wasn’t part of her vocabulary and she was growing impatient by the hour.

In the meantime, she still kept her job at a local library in her university town, not particularly wanting to go back home to her sisters who had never shown her any support in her academic career. Besides, it was not like they would provide for her anyway: she had learnt since a young age to take care of herself, knowing that if she didn’t nobody else would.

It was on the third week of no reply, that someone walked in the shop during her shift. A tall man in an impeccable black suit strutted in like a model on the runway. As soon as he opened the door, the bell rang, signalling a customer and letting Feyre slip on her Retail Smile, which she had practised for years to make it impeccable.

Coincidentally, it was also the same condescending smile she reserved to people who thought they knew more than her in her own field before she crushed them with stone cold facts without breaking a sweat. “Oh, you believe that astrology and astrophysics are the same thing? Sit your ass down, Tamlin, you’re in for a lecture,” had been one of her best moments, followed by a quick “Nothing’s in retrograde, Ianthe, you’re just a plain basic bitch.”

The customer was her dictionary definition of ‘hot’: elegant, tall, with deep russet brown skin and dark unruly curls that framed his forehead nicely. The stranger also knew how to wear a suit, which was a rarer and rarer phenomenon, that didn’t hurt a bit.

It was such a shame that he was clearly a douche, given that he wore dark sunglasses inside her little bookshop after the sun had already set down.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked politely, watching as the customer scanned through the files of books mindlessly. He lazily reached up her counter with an entitled smile that almost made her punch him the face. “Could you point me to the sci-fi section, Darling?”

The fact that he looked like a thirty-something made the term somehow less creepy, or perhaps it was the fact that he was attractive. But Feyre could not, for the life of her, let that slide down. “I’m not your Darling” she said in her most saccharine voice while throwing daggers at the customer. She was completely out of fucks to give, stressed and anxious, half an hour away from closing time and with her manager on a vacation far away.

Besides, she doubted Alis would give her hell for mouthing an entitled but attractive customer who was patronizing her. If anything, she’d probably push Feyre to flirt with said attractive customer. Cauldron knew that woman wanted her to have a relationship more than anything!

“I apologize for my poor choice of words, I am truly sorry. Didn’t mean to sound rude nor impolite.”

Feyre was quickly taken aback. He truly did sound apologetic and not condescending at all. But he also could just be a great actor. She crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly looked at him, signalling that she was still not convinced by his behaviour.

She would usually be not this bold with customers, but there was something about the stranger that seemed to put her at ease and to let her nature pass through her nurture.

He scratched his neck, probably uncomfortable with the energy Feyre was radiating, and finally took off his sunglasses, revealing the most gorgeous pair of violet eyes she had ever seen.

Immediately, Feyre went from thinking he was a douchebag to understanding that his pretty eyes didn’t work. Which was probably why he didn’t take off the sunglasses at night.

But then why in the Hell would he take them under the store light and not outside, where it was already dark?

She was on the fence, too many contrasting details that sent her rational side derailing, looking for answers that she knew she wasn’t gonna get. Unless she played her cards right.

“Apology accepted” she claimed, truly smiling as she saw the hot stranger visibly relax.

“If his eyes are purple, that means that he’s basically blind, so where are his prescription glasses?” she wondered, eyeing him up and down as she would with any specimen to analyse for a lab. She was a scientist, after all, and Cauldron Damn Her, she needed answers to each and every puzzle that came in front of her.

“I am looking for the sci-fi section. Would it be possible for you to show it to me?” His voice was sensual and low, a rich baritone that seemed to be able to get to her very bones, if she wasn’t careful enough.

“Would you rather me show you our audible or kindle selection for the genre?” she quietly asked, trying to be as tactful as possible. She was only making assumptions with the tiniest bit of information by her side, after all, so she had to be careful not to make an ass out of herself.

“No, what for?”

There went it. The ease with the customer had said it made it completely clear that she was utterly mistaken. She quickly tallied her notions of genetics, trying to understand how such a colour could be created without a damaging mutation.

Realizing she still hadn’t answered and was actively zooming out, staring into the space between the stranger’s brows without really realizing it, Feyre shook her head, saying a quick “Never mind,” before leaning over the counter to point to her left.

Counterintuitively, that had not been the greatest of ideas. There she was, already on a rollercoaster with a rather pretty stranger in an empty store, leaning towards him without thought or restraint. “It’s down that row, you can’t miss it,” she quickly said, moving fast into her original position to avoid any more embarrassment, “There’s a sticker of a Martian next to the tag.”

The customer raised one of his brows in a RDJ-esque way, sparking even more interest in Feyre’s stomach. “How do you know what a Martian looks like?”

“I’ve been scarred by the Tim Burton movie, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to forget them anytime soon!”

He nodded along, “Ah, yes. Apparently there had been a revolt after that film was released due to its controversial portrayal of the Martian Race, by making them look like a green oversized Arquillians. Such a bad political move, if you ask me, considering we’re right in their direct laser trajectory!” The stranger then laughed, a crystalline sound that resonated throughout the store as he began to walk away towards the direction Feyre had indicated.

She had been so entrapped by his laugh that it took a minute to register his words. He had already disappeared between the rows and all she could do was dumbly stare at the spot he had been as her eyes widened in shock.

“No fucking way in Hell!” her mind screamt as she stumbled to find a different solution to the situation at hand. He was clearly pranking her, saying words that didn’t really make sense. He had asked for the sci-fi section, after all! So he must’ve been a nerd, albeit a really hot one, that was just referencing some sort of obscure specie from an equally obscure piece of media.

The only problem was that she was a nerd that knew all of the obscure sci-fi knowledge. She had spent most of her life looking up at the stars and wishing to know more about them, and what better way to start than by watching and reading everything that had to do with her favourite topic. She was used to be on forums, to talk with people that had her same interest and to explore all her crazy theories.

And never once in her entire career as a proud nerd had she heard the term ‘Arquillians’. Vulcans and Krill and every single type of alien that made the Star Wars universe, sure. ‘Arquillians’, never once by mistake in the deepest bottom of reddit.

Feyre was about to debate with herself whether or not she should’ve run to the stranger to demand explanations, when he appeared in front of her, holding a copy of ‘The War of the Worlds’ by H. G. Wells, one of the most iconic books ever written and one of her personal favourites.

“He’s definitely messing with me” she reasoned as she grabbed the book and scanned it, ready to place it in a bag, when she noticed an envelope laying on her counter. It was a non-descriptive, black envelope with some sort of a six electron configuration in minimalistic drawn atomic orbitals. The image was wrong, depicting the electrons in a specific spot on the ellipse rather than in a general area in which they were thought to be empirically.

She raised her head up, looking expectantly into the stranger’s eyes and telling him as such. One of her hands also crept under the counter, towards the baseball bat Alis kept down there just in case.

“Wow. Took you less to realize it than most people!” he cheerfully said, his violet eyes shining with some unknown feeling behind them.

“Realize what?”

“That those are not electrons.”

She snorted at that, unable to keep her sarcasm in. “And what should they be? Wasps?” she asked, amused by their exchange as she grabbed his credit card to pay for the book. It was pitch black too, apparently like everything that revolved around the pretty stranger who was going to get his head open like a melon if he kept up with his antics.

“Why don’t you tell me, Miss Degree in Astrophysics.”

Feyre froze with her hand mid-air as she was giving him back his card. Her expression shifted in cold distance as she sobered up. They were getting on dangerous territory

She was far from powerless: she had a weapon at hand and several years of martial arts by her side, but she doubted she could take down someone the side of her customer in her skinny jeans and Avatar: The Last Airbender shirt. But there was also the counter separating them, which seemed protective enough for Feyre to answer his question.

“First of all, it’s only theorized and not proven, that planets could share an orbit around a star, but I fail to believe that three pairs would form this symbol without colliding against each other and disrupting the harmony of the system. Second, who the fuck told you that?”

“Well, you did, when you sent your exquisite curriculum around” he replied smoothly, without missing a beat.

That was the last straw of weirdness she was willing to witness. “This is getting very creepy and I’m gonna ask you to leave” she said coldly, grabbing the bat with both hands and leaning it over her shoulder, ready to attack if the necessity arose.

The stranger blinked twice and then took a step back, raising his hands in a placative motion. “Pardon me, I still have not grasped human social skills to the full extent, despite my long stay.”

“You are human” she retorted back, unable to keep her voice from shaking. This was absurd, ridiculous, impossible. This was everything she had ever hoped for since she was a child. This was a walking nightmare.

The smile he gave her didn’t look human, nor the way his violet eyes reflected the light, seeming to sparkle with amusement. His lips opened as his tongue wetted them, revealing sharp canines. Feyre had never seen a scene more captivating than when the stranger moved a strand of curly hair behind his ear with deliberate slowness, showing off the pointed tip of his ear. “Correction, I look humanlike.”

“You’re messing with me” she rationalized, refusing to believe that it was possible. Anyone could buy fake vampire teeth and elf ears at any Halloween store or online. But they usually didn’t look this real. Perhaps it was make-up: she had seen so many videos on YouTube and Instagram of artists literally transforming in different things with make-up.

He just shrugged, unaware of Feyre’s rocked existence. She both wanted to believe him and not. She didn’t know what she truly wanted.

“Why would I? I was just sent here by my agency to give you personally the invitation for a job interview, which I think you’ll find fascinating.”

She was speechless. Couldn’t even begin to think about where to start speaking.

This had to be the cruellest prank someone had ever pulled on her.

The stranger cleared his throat and moved once closer to the counter, resuming his initial position. Since Feyre didn’t seem to be hitting him anytime soon, he took the liberty to lean on the counter with his hands splayed out. He had long and lean fingers, like the ones of someone who played an instrument, a piano or a violin, and Feyre ignored the twist her stomach did at the sight.

If he wasn’t messing with her and if he was in actuality a fucking alien, would that be even allowed? Moral? Ethical?

“Look, I know you have an analytical mind, so I’ll be quick,” he began, his smooth voice washing over Feyre in an equally calming and disruptive way, “In case you have wondered why you still haven’t gotten a single reply for your applications, it’s because something big in Velaris is calling out to you. And my agency believes in dibs.”

“What’s there for me in Velaris?”

He smirked at her, a cocky gesture that made her want to strangle him quickly. “Don’t you wanna find out?”

Damn him, damn his perfect face, damn everything. Feyre had many strengths: she was patient, passionate, artistic, kind. But her downfall would always be her curiosity, her desperate want to know.

“I don’t particularly want to get murdered, so no” she tried to play it cool, but inside she was burning alive. Every muscle was taut, every nerve active. She hoped he couldn’t see through her bluff, she prayed the Mother he didn’t think her to be a pathetic little girl.

The Alien, it was impossible in her mind to call him that even if he had confessed it in the most subtle way possible, regarded her with shiny eyes and a grin that promised trouble.

Feyre had always been terrible at staying away from trouble.

“Pity. We could’ve used someone with your talents. If you change your mind…” he motioned to the black envelope, that still laid on the counter untouched. Too many Mission Impossible movies told her that the message was most likely to destroy itself after it opened.

Slipping his sunglasses back on, the alien turned around to leave and suddenly Feyre realized she didn’t want him too. She had too many questions.

“Wait!” she called as he had his hands on the handle. He slowly turned around and looked at her expectantly. Or at least she thought he was: there was no way of seeing his violet eyes behind the black lenses. Suddenly, all of the questions that had filled her mind a moment prior escaped her grasp. Except one.

“Let’s pretend I believe you. What are you?”

The smile he gave her was genuine, blinding and warm. “I am an Illyrian, but I doubt you know of us.” Then, as if in an afterthought, he added. “I’m Rhys, by the way.” She couldn’t understand why he looked sheepish out of the blue, it was almost as if he was a teenager revealing a secret crush.

“Feyre.”

“Well, in that case. I hope to see you soon, Feyre Darling.” And with that, he left her utterly alone, with a black envelope and stars in her eyes.

Part Two: The Letter

Feyre had waited until she had gotten home to even think about the black envelope, least of all to open it where someone could immediately walk in with their prying eyes.

Not that she would have had any, after all she was just about to close shop for the weekend and the only people she was in speaking terms with were Alis, who would never call her at such a late hour, and the stray tabby cat that lived near her building and for whom she always left some milk and some food whenever she went out to work. She had playfully began to call him Lucien, after a former college friend she had fallen out with that shared the same ginger hair with the cat, and constantly damned her landlord for his ‘no pets allowed’ policy, but alas, she couldn’t do more.

She had always appreciated her privacy, but lately it had become very close to loneliness, with her being too engrossed with her work to maintain a social group of friends. Not like she missed the assholes she used to hand out with in college anyway. They could all rot in their expensive clothes and expensive cars and expensive degrees, cause Daddy Dearest is a powerful donor and alumni.

Yet it wouldn’t have been so bad to have someone to hang out with when her mind became too loud.

Not too bad, if the alien, “Rhys” she reminded herself, was to be believed. The Night Court was adjacent to Day, but she had left nothing there worth justifying the trip back in case she did move to Velaris.

Velaris. The city of starlight, they called it. Feyre had always wanted to visit, but never could afford it with her tight budget and her focused plan to graduate valedictorian. In the end, she only got that, her impeccable career, which was truly the only thing she cared about. Loneliness was feeble compared to her fear of failure in what she believed was her destiny. It is a funny thing, destiny, it smacks you in the face when you least expect it, and smack Feyre in the face in the form of a very attractive stranger with possibly the best news ever it did.

She had almost expected him to appear out of the blue as she walked back home. Thankfully, he didn’t, but that didn’t mean she slowed her pace before being inside her complex doors and that didn’t mean she didn’t have her keys at hand throughout the entire journey.

It almost felt like she couldn’t breathe properly before she got inside, door locked twice behind her as she leaned against it to help her mind to stop spinning.

Too many things had happened in a too short time for her to cope properly. She needed answers, but she equally needed a strong drink.

It wasn’t until she had managed to calm down her beating heart, that Feyre sat down at her desk and placed the black envelope on her closed laptop.

“This better not be a sick joke” she thought as she ran a paper cutter through the edges. She had wasted too much time on this already for it to be fake or, worst, disappointing.

The paper inside was, predictably, black. She could start to see a theme, linking everything that had happened to her that evening.

The silver writing was subtle and not to bright, perfect to not cause her an headache reflecting the light from her reading lamp.

Feyre almost expected to see alien signs and letters, to not be able to understand what was written as some sort of challenge to test her knowledge. Luckily for her and her dyslexia, it was in English. Still a struggle, but very doable.

“Doctor Archeron,

We have been sent a copy of your resumé from one of our affiliates. We apologise if this letter comes out as brusque due to the circumstances of your possible recruitment.

We are more than pleased to inform you that we have envisioned your request. Our Agency specializes in your field and your accomplishments are remarkable. We are particularly interested in your research in the attrite of different materials against the atmosphere, which you created a masterful thesis around, we were mostly drawn by your detailed research with the Martian atmosphere.

We know that was not part of your resumé, but we have read it and it is very insightful.

We would appreciate if you were willing to come to Velaris for an Interview with our Head of the Research Department. We think you would be interested in a position and we are open to discuss a fortuitous partnership.

In case the way you received this letter was not direct enough, Our Agency values privacy and secrecy above all, and therefore we would request for you to not discuss of this with anyone.

Attached you will find your scheduled meeting time with the address, plus a train ticket to reach Velaris and the booking of an already paid room.

We are truly hoping to be able to work with you.

Our Best Regards,

MIB”

Feyre had to read the letter three times, for the meaning to stick in her head.

Any thought of it being a joke flew out of the window. No one in their right mind would ever read what her supervisor had claimed to be a ‘monstrosity of twenty pages without pictures about materials and Star Trek’ simply for a joke. No matter how well thought the joke could be, the Mars piece was the penultimate point of her research, before the conclusion and not even featured in the syllabus.

Her mind became crowded with a thousand different thoughts. Her emotions were all over the place, running around and doing flips and diving into her subconscious.

She leaned back on her chair, letter momentarily forgotten on her desk as she covered her eyes with her hands and just focused on her breath.

In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

She could rationalize this, just like she did everything else in her life. She had jumped to conclusions with her emotions only once in the past 10 years since she had started college, following her loneliness and the pressure to date the guy that screamt red flags for many reasons, yet she had ignored them all because he was gentle at first, filthy rich and nice looking.

Never again, she swore to the mirror after she had managed to end the toxic relationship that had developed.

Feyre did what any rational person would in her situation: grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and wrote down a list of pros and cons.

PROS:

Job opportunity in my field

ALIENS?

Secret Organization

Area 51?!

Already estranged from family

Secrets!

Velaris!

Best food

The Rainbow

Seaside

Best Library in Prythian

Snow in the winter

Fresh Start

CONS:

Moving

Finding a place

Totally new city

Know literally no one

Have to quit job with Alis

Already told her I was waiting for replies

She has a replacement ready

Could still be a prank

Too complicated to be a prank

Definitely an opportunity

Am I really thinking about saying no?

It took her longer to come up with cons. Besides, her gut told her to do it, and so far it had never lead her astray.

Worst case scenario: she comes back and waits around for another reply to her resumé.

Best case scenario: the job of the literal dreams, that can possibly exceed expectations, in her favourite city in the entire world.

Besides, she already had a paid train ticket to and from Velaris and an already paid room in what, if the website was to be believed and it was, was a 5 stars hotel in the creative centre of the city.

Before she could doubt herself even further, she grabbed her phone and shoot a quick text to Alis. The older woman didn’t believe in phone calls past 8 pm, considering her nephews would be already asleep by then, or at least she hoped they would.

Her thumb ran over the keyboard as she frantically wrote, in the most cryptical wording known to womankind, that she would have a job interview in the Winter Court on Monday and that she needed the day off. It didn’t matter that she was going to the Night Court and that her meeting was scheduled for Sunday at 11 am, she figured that, if she had to be secretive, better start as soon as possible!

Feyre didn’t move from her position with her phone pressed tightly in her hands until, ten minutes later, Alis replied with a thumbs up emoji, followed by ‘you’re wasted at retail’.”

Feeling lighter than she had in months, she rushed into her room to begin to pack for the upcoming weekend. The train would leave the next afternoon and would get her back Monday after lunchtime. She had to prepare, in case she could go out on Sunday night for a ‘I JUST GOT THE JOB OF MY DREAMS!’ celebration and shenanigans.

Perhaps with a very cute and nice alien with violet eyes, she thought as butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the idea.

Part Three: The Agent

Her old pencil skirt clashed with the aesthetic of the entire building.

At first she had thought that the whole black attire Rhys was wearing when they met was only due to personal preference, and that the black letter was used to be more secretive or something along those lines. Yet when she hopped, literally hopped on the pavement out of excitement, off the taxi she had taken from the hotel, she immediately realized her error.

To say that they were peculiarly attached to their aesthetic was an understatement: floors, walls, dresses, desks. Everything stuck to the black and white palette, making Feyre extremely aware that she had underdressed as she stuck out like a sore thumb.

In her defence, that was her lucky outfit: hair tight in a professional bun, glasses because she couldn’t be bothered with contacts on important mornings, white blouse and beige skirt she had bought for her graduation in high school and that she had worn to every job interview since then.

Of course, she had brought a full professional black outfit from home, but she had decided that morning not to take a chance. So far, that combo had never failed her, and it wasn’t going to betray her now, by the looks of it.

Upon arriving to Velaris the night before, she had spent the entire time daydreaming about what would happen that morning. Countless of scenarios had created and resolved themselves in her mind. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw as soon as she walked into the address the letter had given her.

It was a perfectly non-descriptive building, something akin a factory that had been converted in offices or lofts, inconspicuous amongst the other nearly identical buildings. Perfect if you didn’t want to be found. But while the outside looked like it hadn’t been renovated in over a century, inside it was completely different.

It was modern, sharp and very Tardis like. And it apparently had several levels underground, so it was ‘bigger in the inside’!

She couldn’t keep her awe in, because not even a few steps in and a short and scary looking woman came approaching her, her silver eyes blazing. “Every human has the same impression” she said in lieu of a greeting, and Feyre could only stand there and nod dumbly.

The woman, if she was human at all, reached to shake her hand, “My name is Amren, I am the chief of MiB. I assume you are not familiar with our Agency, correct?” her voice was cold and dangerous and Feyre had no doubt in believing that she might not be from Earth at all, if her ancient like eyes didn’t give her away.

“No, ma’am, I’m not” she replied curtly, unsure of what to say. No, she had not heard of their Agency. Stars, that was the first time someone had referred to it with its proper name! But she had also dug as deep as she could, trying to find information about all that crazy situation, conscious that her every move must’ve been tracked.

Amren gave her an appraising nod, as if she knew every single detail of Feyre’s life, “As you should” she said calmly, before beginning to walk away, motioning for Feyre to follow her through a maze of bodies and beings and desks. She was kind enough to point a race there, a post here, but refused to get too much into detail. “You’ll find someone else to ask” had been her curt reply before resuming her random naming game.

She only stopped leading her around when they reached a black shiny door that was open, revealing on the inside the only colour in the entire building, or at least that was what Feyre thought. Inside, there was one of the most gorgeous females Feyre had ever seen, long golden hair in contrast with her tan skin, a red dress that hugged her like a second skin, and a smile that could blind and that could counter as a weapon, if needed. When she saw them approach, she immediately jumped to her feet with agility and elegance. “Hello! I am Mor!” she chirped with enthusiasm, avoiding Feyre’s outstretched hand and going straight for a hug. Amren loudly scoffed, “Be professional, Morrigan,” she reprimanded the blonde, who simply winked at her before returning to her side of the desk, motioning for Feyre to seat.

She awkwardly looked at Amren, trying to convey her disorientation through her eyes alone. There wasn’t a name tag at the door, not any indication of what was going to happen. For all Feyre knew, they could be about to wipe her memory clean and dispatch of her in the garbage.

“I hope I will see you around, Dr Archeron” was her only reply, before leaving her alone with Morrigan, who still hadn’t diminished her smile.

“If they made me come all the way up here just to kill me, I’ll be pissed.”

“Dr Archeron, please have a seat, we have quite a lot to discuss.” Morrigan then proceeded open an enormous folder and began to pull out all sort of wavers, undoubtedly that Feyre would need to sign to give her life away. Mother Help Her, what had she gotten herself into?

“So,” she began, her energy still up and running as she maintained a kind and comforting expression, “Feyre, can I call you Feyre? Am I pronouncing it correctly?”

She could only nod quickly, before she was once more submerged by the blonde’s voice.

“Marvellous! I’m sure you want to know what in the Cauldron is happening, right? I mean, you get a letter that basically tells you to uproot your entire family and that you’ll have a job, but it’s described as vaguely as heck and you get here blindly and possibly terrified. Trust me, I know the feeling, it sucks. But it does get away pretty quickly. Now, you’ve got questions, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“Please, call me Mor.” Her eyes were kind, a deep brown that harmonized perfectly with the rest of her, and Feyre didn’t have it in her heart to disagree. After all, if things went well, as they seemed to be going, they’d be on first name basis. Stars, maybe they’d even be friends!

“Mor. Very well,” she gave her a quick smile, trying to keep her nerves down, “Will you be the head of my department?” “Cauldron no!” she laughed, so crystalline and contagious that Feyre almost followed suit, or at least she would have, if her heart wasn’t practically beating out of her chest. “That’s Azriel, you’ll meet him soon. I’m just HR and well, I’ll walk you through this major life change. Is it okay?” “Oh, yes, of course. Truth to be told, I don’t even know what I’m here for.”

How pathetic it was of her, to go to a foreign Court without even knowing what she could be facing. But, no matter how much she thought about it, her brain couldn’t wrap around what a secret agency could want for little old her. Sure, she was brilliant and hardworking, but she was also young. And employers didn’t like young.

Mor gave her a sympathetic smile, slightly nodding her head as she moved some papers around, looking for something. “I know, I hate having to be so secretive whenever we recruit, it only leads to confusion. The number of people that refused to be interviewed just because they thought it was a prank it’s concerning.” “I did believe it to be a cruel joke in the beginning…” she trailed off, still not 100% positive that it wasn’t. “I’m so sorry about that. That’s the downside of being in a Secret Agency that deals with Aliens! But let’s get down to business!”

Feyre couldn’t resist: in the quietest voice possible, she filled the space Mor’s voice had left, uttering the most indiscernible ever “To defeat the Huns!”

She knew she had made a mistake when Mor stopped with a sheet of paper mid-air to look at her expectantly. ‘SHIT’ was her only thought as she stumbled to apologize in the least embarrassing way possible: “Sorry, I don’t know what came to me, it’s just a silly song from…” But Mor cut her off enthusiastically. “Mulan, yeah! One of my favourites. I’m pretty sure we’re on the way to become best friends, Feyre!”

Her smile was blinding, and for the first time since she had stepped foot out of the Velaris train station, Feyre felt herself relax. It had been quite a while since someone didn’t mock her for still knowing all the words to Disney Songs and it had been quite a while since someone seemed to truly want a friendship with her. She wasn’t used to this anymore.

Her throat constricted and all she could do was nod, suddenly filled to the brim with emotions. “I just have a couple of questions that you have to fill out for me, before we can move on to what you’ll do and, most importantly, how much’ll be. Spoiler alert, high secrecy means high cash!”

“That should be your slogan!” She accepted the pen that was given her, ready to start and finish this. Nerves wore out into excitement and she was about to combust. “I’ve been trying to have them change it for ages.”

She chuckled lightly, before giving her entire razor sharp focus to the piece of paper. She could already imagine the questions: was she able to do this mathematical equation? Could she resolve that chemistry problem? Did she know this and that Law Of Physics?

But nothing, truly nothing, could have prepared her for the little array in front of her.

For on the paper, there were written five questions, with adjacent a ‘YES’ or ‘NO’ to be crossed.

Feyre could just raise her puzzled eyes up at Mor, who gave her a shrug and went back to re-apply her blush and highlighter.

She expected to do calculations, to waste time. She didn’t expect to be done in less than three minutes.

‘Do you have living relatives?’ YES

‘Are you in contact with any of them?’ NO

‘Do you have a relationship or partnership?’ NO

‘Are you able to keep calm under pressure?’ YES

‘Are you able to swim?’ YES

“That’s it?” Feyre asked, unable to put together the pieces in front of her. To be honest, the thing that was bugging her the most was the last question. That was the most out of it.

Mor simply smiled at her, giggling a little, “Yeah, we wouldn’t have sent you that letter if we weren’t sure you could take it,” she happily said before taking the paper and scrutinizing with analytical eye. “You’d be surprised by the number of people who can’t swim” she stated, answering her unspoken question with a disbelieving look and a shake of her head.

“Excellent, by the way.”

“Thank you, it was a pretty hard test!” Feyre joked, momentarily terrified of having said the worst thing, before Mor followed her suit with her laugh.

“I know! But it’s mostly to check finally what we already knew.”

Feyre snorted at that, “Good to know I was being watched.” It wasn’t that big of a problem anyway: every single social media used their private information to get money, so of course a secret agency about freaking aliens would keep a possible employee in check! “If it’s any comfort, you won’t be from now on. It’ll be like you never existed or…” “Died?” “Yeah. Morbid, I know, but it’s the price of the job,” Mor claimed, sliding a folder with her name on it over the glass desk. “Not really a problem, I’ve got no one that would miss me too much,” she quickly said, opening it up and almost falling off her chair. The first page was a detailed list of what she would earn and it was a lot. Probably more than her entire tuition would have costed if she hadn’t managed to get a scholarship, and all of that for one year?

“You weren’t kidding about the slogan, uh?”

On the next few pages there was written down a non-disclosure contract, which was understandable, and the secrecy policy she would have to follow. Bye-bye Instagram! Not like she used it much anyway, there were too many pictures of marriages and babies for her liking, and she didn’t like already to share every minute of her private life over social media.

And, finally, on the last page was the thing she was most scared and excited of: the inscription told her that she would work on the research department, studying what she loved the most and finally getting all the answers she needed. She could be able to explore the stars from her desk and also in person, with trips to adjourn her curriculum and work! A tiny little clause on the bottom also read that she could be assigned intergalactic! field! work! alongside of an agent, if the situation arose.

She couldn’t help herself when tears started to swell her eyes and fell down her cheeks in two streaks, nor she cared if she was ruining her make up.

She had never been happier.

“What do you thing, Feyre?” Mor was suddenly nervous, as if doubting that her answer would be anything other than a big fat yes. Probably seeing her cry didn’t seem like a good sign and all Feyre could do was nod enthusiastically as she gladly accepted the box of tissues the blonde woman was handing her. She knew she must’ve looked awful and batshit crazy.

“Where do I sign?” she asked finally, after having managed to regain her composure, wiping the rundown mascara from her cheeks, trying not to smudge it all over her face.

What followed was a quick work on the paperwork, the proper signature and stamp and boom! “Welcome to MiB, Dr Archeron!” declared Mor, jumping to her feet to cross the desk and to bend down and hug.

Feyre held her just as tight, trying to keep all the emotions away. Later, after getting back to her hotel room, she’d have all the time in the world to cry as much as she wanted, but now there were more pressing matters. “Ready?” asked Mor, dragging her away from her office and into a maze of halls that Feyre didn’t even bother to try and memorize. She’d have all the time in the world to do so, after all.

Their first stop was on the wardrobe and armoury, where she got her measurements taken and was fitted in the most exquisite looking black suit she had ever seen in real life, the materials soft and luxurious under her fingers.

“This feels like a 007 movie,” she joked, marvelling at the figure she cut in the mirror, immediately finding Mor grinning at her.

“Our gadgets actually work,” Mor fired back, causing Feyre to go into a fit of giggles that had the blonde join almost immediately.

It was a wondrous feeling, being able to connect instantly with someone. She had rarely had meaningful friendships and relationships in her life, some of them were entirely faked from the other side and she was just used for someone else’s gain, but she hoped that what was beginning with Mor could fall into one of those categories.

Truth to be told, she didn’t think having any romantic relationship would be the best thing when just moving into a new city and a new job, but she was a sucker for Friends To Lovers trope and who knew? Maybe the future could be bright for her, and not only in her work life.

There was also the topic of a certain pair of violet eyes that had occupied her mind for the previous two days, but she was pretty sure that was a hopeless route: no one in their right mind could take a liking of her, especially when they looked like that.

She was so lost in her own mind, trying to scratch away the way Rhys’ smile had made her insides turn into gelatine, that she didn’t realize Mor had taken her in front of a slightly ajar black door. Without seeing the label on it, she could understand where she was by Mor’s little excited squeal as she pushed the door open with a flare.

If it was possible, Feyre’s eyes would turn into anime hearts and stars, in a typical Sailor Moon fashion. Inside, after a set of stairs, there were rows of desks, surrounded each by microscopes and spectrometers. Humans, or humanoids, and aliens alike wore black lab coats, contrasting with the white of the walls and the equipment, working alongside each other in harmony. There were several grand doors, religiously black, on the back of the room, which she assumed lead to the bigger equipment.

She had never seen anything more beautiful. At university their laboratory had been severely restricted and she would have to rely on other’s data, but here the possibilities seemed to be endless.

“Pretty, right?” asked Mor, a smile on her face. Pretty didn’t even begin to cover.

“For a specialist, pretty would be an understatement” a quiet voice chimed in, seemingly out of the shadows and making Feyre jump to her feet and hold to the rail for dear life. The voice belonged to a man wearing a white lab coat with black accents, politely extending his right hand at Feyre to shake it. “Dr Archeron, I am Agent A.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” came her trepid reply. She didn’t know why, but she immediately was washed over by the impression that this man, if he was human, was more dangerous than he might let on. Be it the fact that he looked like he blended in the shadows and belonged alongside of them or be the act that he had freaking wings? Holy Cauldron how had Feyre not realized that he had wings, proper angel-like feathery wings that grew from his skin and seemed to ruffle under her gaze and, Dear Mother, she was about to faint.

She knew her eyes must’ve reached a comical stance as she took them in, when Mor gently pushed her with her shoulder. “You can call him Azriel. After all, you’re the one with a PhD!” the blonde cheerily said, winking at her and bringing her back to the reality at hand.

Feyre gave him an apologetic look, trying to make amends for the staring, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He gave them a soft smile and nodded his head gravely alongside Mor’s words: “Unfortunately, that is true. I did not attend Earth university. In Illyria we have a different education” he explained, beginning to walk towards the door at his back and motioning for them to follow.

“You’re Illyrian?” Feyre asked, suddenly remembering her first alien encounter as her cheeks heated up. She wondered if she might be able to see him again, even only to thank him for bringing her the envelope. She knew that he must have been only following orders, but he didn’t have to stay and make sure she didn’t freak out too much.

She was met back by a puzzled stare from Azriel and a shrug from Mor, who momentarily looked at each other as to confirm that that was probably an information she wasn’t allowed to know yet. “And you are familiar with our specie because...?” began to ask Azriel, a suspicious tone in his voice that made Feyre froze from the inside. It wasn’t even her first day and she had already fucked up big time, that was a new record!

She was about to reply, to defend herself, when a deep voice came from the door, which opened from the inside and revealed two figures standing there: one had matching wings as Azriel’s and the other was someone she didn’t think she’d meet again so soon.

“Because I introduced her to our existence, dear brother” Rhys said, violet eyes sparkling as a wide smile appeared on his lips.

“Hello, Feyre Darling.”

She couldn’t fight the stupid smile that took up her face at his sight, nor she could control the way her cheeks flared up, the redness there for anyone to see.

The man that stood next to him eyed her up and down with a puzzled expression, his brown eyes twinkling with understanding as he, not so lightly and not so subtly, elbowed Rhys on the side, causing him to wince. “First of all: Hi, I’m Cassian,” he started, holding his hand out for Feyre to shake, “Second: You’ve met?” he asked, gaze running back and forth between them as his eyebrows shot up comically and emphatically.

If the ground decided to open up at that specific moment in space and time and swallow her whole down, Feyre would be okay with it. Extremely okay with it. Actually, she’d bring a shovel to sink down lower if necessary. “He brought me the envelope…” she whispered, trying to draw the least attention to herself and justifying the entire thing in the least embarrassing way possible. “Of course, cause mailing it would’ve been too mainstream, right, Agent R?” Azriel chuckled, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe casually, wings folding behind him.

Rhys fretted nonchalance with a wave of his hand and a bored expression: “I was going to be in the city anyway, I thought, why waste money on stamps?”

Out of all the things that had happened to Feyre in that weekend, that must’ve been the weirdest. “You were going to mail it? So much for secrecy!” she exclaimed in disbelief, eyes darting to Mor as if asking confirmation about it all and at the same time trying to understand if they were secretly pranking her.

“You’d be surprised about how many postal offices rely on aliens to work” came her curt reply, followed by a solemn nod from the three males.

She’d have all the time to understand if they were pulling her legs or not, and all the time for an eventual payback, she reasoned, dropping the subject without too much fuzz. “Alright,” she croaked, shrugging her shoulders and turning expectantly to Azriel, waiting for her superior to say something.

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together, ushering both Rhys and Cassian away from what Feyre assumed was his office. “All of you, that’s enough! I have to finalize my work with Dr Archeron before we’re ready to properly start.”

“Not so fast, brother!” Cassian yelled, chest puffed out as he languidly strolled over to where Feyre stood, towering over her. She had to resist the urge to clutch to Mor’s arm for dear life.

“Do you know how to fight?” “Ten years of Karate when I was a child and 4 of Krav Maga between high school and college,” she replied without missing a beat, raising a brow in a silent question as she held his stare.

After a couple of heartbeats, Cassian’s face broke into a wide grin: “Impressive! I’ll hold you to that one of those days,” he said, leaning almost conspiratorially and blocking Azriel’s face from her view, who yelled in outrage a very shocked “Agent C!”. He was pointedly ignored by Cassian, or Agent C, ‘What’s up with that?’ she wondered as she looked up at him, who kept on talking.

“I’ve got only one more question: do you know anyone in the city?”

She didn’t know how to reply nor why it was suddenly their topic of discussion? Was this guy hitting on her in the most random, yet not the most  uncalled, way ever? She should mention that long hair was a turn off, no matter how manly and in style the man-bun was supposed to be. “I can give you two replies,” she cockily stood her ground, crossing her arms at her chest and assuming a defensive stance, just in case she had to headbutt him in the chin, “no and technically I shouldn’t be supposed to so…”

He took one look at her before clasping his hand on her shoulder with raw force, giving her what seemed to be the most platonic expression of affection ever: “Okay, I officially like you! But you’ve just got a new job, you ought to celebrate!”

Feyre considered it. On one hand, she had brought an outfit specifically in the case she got the job, which she clearly had just gotten and had to work out only the minimal details. And partying alone in a city she didn’t know at all was not an option. On the other, she really didn’t know these people.

But one look into Mor’s direction and instantaneously she knew that she’d love to hang out with them all.

Her only reply was a quick yes in affirmation, but she was soon overpowered by Mor’s cheers. “YES! We can go out together! We’ll show you Velaris’ night life!” she cried out in happiness, hand up to high five Feyre as Cassian held her closer to his side and fist-bumped the air.

She was having quite a bit of trouble, not liking small spaces and Cassian’s side hug was definitely a tight fit. She wanted to remove herself from the position, to try and regain the control of her breathing that was starting, so very subtly, to accelerate alongside her discomfort.

These people seemed nice and wanted to include her, her rational brain knew that, but old wounds didn’t always manage to mend right and panic was rising. Feyre tried to speak, but her throat felt constricted, and her eyes darted around the two, hoping one of them would stand down a little.

Luckily for her, her knight in black armour arrived just in the nick of time before she erupted like a volcano. “Let her breathe! Mor, Cassian, back off from poor Feyre,” Rhys intervened, helping her untangle from Cassian’s limb and letting her have her space. He quickly let her regain her breathing as the pair moved to Azriel, their next prey. The man was shaking his head as they both raised valid arguments and Cassian ‘Triple Dared’ him not to be a killjoy.

That scene alone served to strengthen her resolve to hang out with them, only to be able to witness the pure and unadulterated chaos that would come out undoubtedly.

All of the sudden, it felt like she and Rhys were in a different plane, the others to engrossed in their planning of the night to pay them attention. “Thanks. But, yeah. I have no idea where to go and I suppose I deserve it” she joked, laughing lightly while cringing internally at her own awkwardness. She had always been able to flirt her way through any situation, be it with men or women or anything in between, yet with him she felt like an high school girl with a crush. Perhaps it was because he was a literal alien that looked like an ancient Greek god and had a smile that managed to lit up Feyre from the inside.

Smile he was now giving her freely and without restraints. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach, count each one of them.

“How are you finding out agency so far?” he asked, as a hint of colour appeared on his cheeks out of the blue. A blink and it was gone, so quickly that Feyre thought she might have imagined it.

She was about to reply that she hadn’t done much sight-seeing, self-doubting whether or not she should push herself to ask for a tour or if it was too forward too soon, when a loud voice interrupted her train of thought.

“Shut up!” Azriel bellowed from behind her, causing both hers and Rhys’ attention to turn to him expectantly. “All of you have more important things to do other than bother me and Dr Archeron. And no, Agent C, while we’re at work we use our titles so stop talking! We’ll tune in the details later, Agent M, but I assume you have other more pressing business to attend.”

“Actually…!” Cassian had begun to disagree, but Rhys had been quicker and had planted his hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

He quickly nodded to Azriel as he struggled to maintain his hold as Cassian put on a childish fight, that culminated with him licking Rhys’ hand like he was some sort of overgrown five year old on the school ground. Feyre couldn’t help the laugh that got out of her at Rhys’ affronted face.

“That’s enough!” he yelled, moving to shoo away both Cassian and Mor, who pulled Feyre in a tight hug before leaving and whispered in her ear ‘I’m so glad you’re part of us now!’. She could only respond back with a squeeze, her throat constricting with sudden emotion.

“Agent A, we’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Thank you, Agent R, I appreciate that!” came the exasperated reply from Azriel, who immediately disappeared inside his office, undoubtedly to avoid any more anarchy, motioning for Feyre to follow. She turned around to salute and wave goodbye at the improbable trio leaving, only to find Rhys standing in the doorway, looking at her.

He winked, causing Feyre’s cheeks to heat up, and bowed gracefully. “Welcome on board, Feyre Darling,” he said, before disappearing into the labyrinth of hallways and glass that made up the MiB headquarters.

Feyre pinched herself, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. One more step and she was done, she would finally have her dreams answered.

She’s have her answers, her opportunities, what she worked her entire life for. And if she could manage to have the life she had always wanted, with people that cared about her, that would be the icing on a perfect cake.

A part of her brain whispered that she didn’t deserve it, that she was an imposter and that everyone would realize it. But Feyre had had several years of experience in dealing with her own negativity, considering herself a pessimist as a coping mechanism because it was easier to expect the worse in every situation, and immediately shut that voice down, focusing her breathing to steady her beating heart.

Sending up a prayer to the Mother, she closed the door at her back and took a seat in front of Azriel, slipping on her glasses and putting her hands flat on the table.

“Shall we begin?”

[diningpageantry]

Stew

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/44928196

Chapter 5/13 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 2384

Chapter Summary: Nostalgic meals, red wine, and hand holding.

Chilly, late fall nights have always been a favorite of mine.

I’ve always found myself inexplicably drawn to the harsh crunching of leaves and soft, wispy scent of their decay.

I get to wear those nice jumpers the Wellbeloves bought me for Christmas, and cooking doesn't feel as much of a chore rather than a comforting task. It’s feel warm all fuzzy--like the recipes were made for me to indulge in, rather than scarf down.

My favorite of all was always stew. Whenever there was stew nights at care home, I was always begging for seconds. It's hard to really mess up stew to the point beyond any recognition, and even with canned vegetables, it somehow managed to hold a home-cooked feeling.

It's so deeply ingrained into me that it's now one of the only recipes I know by heart. Probably only because I'd made it about 40 times over the course of one fall/winter. Made it so often that Aggie got sick of it while I was off memorized every little bit.

There isn't much in life I pride myself on, and stew is one of my top things. While I'd taken the recipe from a classics cookbook, I call it my own now. I've added some flair here and there to the point where it feels like it should be mine. Aromatic and thick--I feel like it could entice anybody with it.

Hell, it somehow even got Basilton in a shock.

I hadn't heard the door open, but I hear it fall shut, taking notice of the tall man standing at the door with his eyes fallen shut.

I turn down my music respectfully, raising both brows at him as I wipe my hands on the drying cloth. “Office hours over?” I ask, half expecting no answer (per usual). He treats me to one anyway.

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes still not open as he visually inhales. “Are… you actually cooking? In that shitty little kitchen?”

“Yeah. Of course I am.”

He finally takes a look at me, back straightening as his hands hover over his jacket buttons. “Oh. My apologies for intruding. You're probably expecting someone. I can leave--”

“Bullshit I’ll make you leave your own flat,” I shrug. “I don't have anyone coming over. I've got who in my life, Penny? That's about it. You're fine, come in.”

He stays put, not seeming convinced.

I exhale. “They're not serving dinner. Unless you plan on paying someone else or starving, I'd expect you to stay here. Take a seat, I'm nearly done.”

He runs his eyes over me and hesitantly slides out the top, thick black button of his coat. I stand at the small kitchen's entrance (it really is ridiculously tiny), hands on the towel as I watch him slip out of the jacket and his shoes.

He approaches slowly, one foot falling in front of the other almost like a skittish animal’s would.

I let him step closer on his own, heading back into the kitchen and eyeing my leftover wine. Enough for us to split a good bit.

Wordlessly, I settle a glass in front of him at the table and pour it up about halfway before settling the bottle in the middle. His gaze follows my hands, lips pursed hesitantly as I step back from him. I feel like a hovering parent, watching him somewhat nervously as he lifts the glass and brings it up for a taste.

He cringes slightly, frowning. “Tastes like cooking wine,” he mumbles, still going for another sip.

It makes me smile. “Wine is wine,” I shrug, walking back over into the kitchen. I can't see him, but I hear his tiny scoff. Still, there's the short scrape of glass behind me, roughing up against wood as he picks it back up. Soon enough, I'm sure he’s emptied it because I peek at him pouring another.

As I’m cooking, the creeping familiarity of the sense of being watched falls onto me. Like I’m his prey now, and his eyes are closely locked and not letting me go. And, as unnerving as it is, it’s harshly too regular now. It seems like every time we’re in a room, he’s watching me when I can’t see.

I pop the cast iron pot into the oven and silently go to fill my own glass. For now, I’m trying to stay focused on my own tasks, rather than Basilton’s concentration on them. Well, somewhat. I'm thinking about him thinking about and watching me, but that's completely different than thinking about him just watching me (isn't it?)

We're silent, but much closer than we usually are. As I lean against the table, he sits and blinks up, sipping at his own wine. Our eyes catch briefly, staring back at one another as the timer in the room over clicks rhythmically. I feel myself hold my breath, shoulders squaring out as I take an extended drink.

His head drops, index slowly tracing the rim of his glass as I struggle to find anything of use to say.

“How have your classes been going so far?”

He seems a bit shocked by the sudden interaction, snapping back into reality and staring up at me. “They've been manageable. The class average for my highest class was exemplary, but the papers of my fourth period class make me want to strike them from the gradebook, given how horrendous they turned out. It's like they learned absolutely nothing.”

I nod slowly, glass settling against my lips as I chat. “How's the students? Your schedule?” Easy enough talk, especially since he seems loosened up in the slightest from his drink. He's even got a small drop in his shoulders.

“Students themselves are fine. There's one student who wishes to be called ‘The Behemoth’, since that's what his rugby mates call him, and he might be the most obnoxious arse I've ever met.”

“Behemoth?”

“I'm assuming it's all in irony, given how short he is. He's not scrawny, but definitely not the biggest kid you've ever met.”

I feel myself chuckle, watching the downturn of his lips as he speaks. It makes me fight the impulse to simply reach out and rub my thumbs over the corners, smoothing them out to a more tolerable expression. “Well then, why is The Behemoth a nightmare?”

His head lazily tips back, eyes falling shut. “I can't begin--it's everything. Incessantly rude, impulsive and disruptive, no sense of respect for the classroom. I caught him trying to carve another dick into the table, and when I sent him off for it, he said ‘Thought you liked those’. It's a wonder I can't get him expelled.”

“Students can just… say that you?” I ask in a bit of a shock. He seems a bit amused by my surprise, raising a brow at me.

“With the amount their parents pay, they can call me a fag if they want to.” He simply stares up at me, glass reflecting spots of light down his wrists as we keep a shaky eye contact. I don't know what to say, if there's even anything left to he said.

“Fucking hell.” That's all I can manage from that. “Bloody fucking--have any students said that to you?”

He shrugs, soothing my anxious gaze by glancing out the window across the room. I listen to the settling of his glass against the table, making note of his uncharacteristic response. Does this mean I should comfort him? How the hell do you react to the person you like the least feeling like shit?

He finally speaks after what must be at least a full minute of silence. “Once. I gave the class a history on the word, and made it so tedious that nobody ever wanted to say it again, since they'd have to sit through another lecture.”

That's funny to me. I don't know why, but I'm laughing. And, suddenly, as if by a miracle, he's chuckling along. A quiet, hand-covering-face chuckle. One that, if he had his usual composure, would've never slipped out. It's stunning--soft and melodic. So much of him, yet so foreign and new to his usual reactions that it's making me smile openly.

We stop ourselves short to the beeping timer, signaling me to grab the pot.

We're calmed by the time I carry two bowls over. We sit adjacent to one another, hands only at reaching distance. The tiniest, cowardly part of me wonders what it'd feel like to push his skin against mine. To know what his hand feels like is to empathize, and to empathize is to bring that compassion we lack.

I don't know if I really like our fighting. I've never been a fan of pointless bickering or condescending arguments. If he was more like how he is now, a few glasses in, he'd be a lot more tolerable.

He polishes off that second glass and goes for a third, eyes blinking heavily as he stares down into the cheap drink. “How has your first quarter gone?” His voice is near-silent; a quiet chirp over the clinking of our bowls and spoons. I nearly could've missed it.

“Can't particularly complain. Boring, frankly, but it's temporary.”

“Temporary?” I suppose that's the best of a conversation spark as I'll get from him.

I shrug mindlessly, watching my carrots push around in the bowl. “Only a few years, then I wanna move back to the city. I miss the people being around me. It's far too quiet here.”

He raises his brows briefly before they drop back down. “Back to London then?”

“Back to London.”

The look on his face makes it seem like he has something to say, but nothing comes out. I let the moment between us pass in a safe silence, finishing my first bowl and going back for seconds.

As I sit, I allow myself to break the space again. “Thank you, Basilton,” I say, letting him meet my eyes quizzically before continuing. “I'd never properly thanked you for letting me come to your meeting a few weeks ago. It was really nice, and I never really go a chance to say that.”

He takes a moment between us, eyes traveling over my face and focusing on every little detail before he silently relents. He nods, eyes soft and a very faint blush spread over his cheeks. The light rosiness, of course, he can't really hide.

No matter how much I may want for it to be progress between us, I'm really sure it's entirely from the wine.

I find myself nodding back to him, a smile creasing my cheeks as we hold an equal gaze. One second, two seconds, then it's done. He drops his face, focusing on finishing up his dinner.

I start to do so too, barely able to enjoy it from the distraction of his closeness. Part of me says to not get too close--a dog may not have rabies, but that does mean it won't leave a nasty bite.

Although, the smallest part of me wonders whether or not his bark is far worse than his bite.

He finishes his food as I do, and I make the quick move to clean up after finishing my second glass. He doesn't make to stand, watching me go take them to the sink. There's an odd comfort in the feeling of him studying me now. In it gives an equal peace of mind to where he is (so he can't really sneak up on me). And yet still, there's an equal concern to where his mind is. Plotting a rude snap, trying to get me to move out faster. Something. Anything evil.

I quickly look at him while I'm wrapping the leftover container, and he immediately turns away, finishing what must be his third glass. Innocence doesn't fit him well--it's like a cheap suit. Stressed.

He stands once I'm done, following me nearly side-by-side as we step off to our bedrooms. He halts right as I'm reaching for the door, and I feel the flashing grip of his hand closing around mine, holding my skin to his. My breath catches, mind melting into a confusing puddle as he simply gawks at me.

He stays silent for a full moment, jaw hanging as he searches for something clear to say. Hesitantly, I turn my palm around, comforting him with a soft squeeze back. It does nothing but stun him further. It's a long minute before he speaks, chin tipping up as he finally manages out, “You're welcome to come to meetings anytime.” It's barely choked, and comes out in a quiet rushing flow of words. He exhales slowly, looking down upon me as I stare. “And… don't call me Basilton. Makes me sound sixty. Baz is just fine.”

I relax a bit, nodding a bit as we keep our eye contact, and I keep hold of the soft hand of his. It's warm at the palm, and cool at his fingers, making me worried briefly for the state of his health. Still, it's a mindless comfort of knowing right where he is, looking back at me.

Seconds pass, and then minutes. It starts dragging onto a staring competition--one where I feel set to win as I'm now stuck on the sight of his strong grey eyes. They're less harsh now, softened by the night and the alcohol in his blood. They're nearly human. Like I could do this forever.

I contemplate doing so briefly, but the touch of his hand and gravity of his gaze keeps me longing for such an odd moment.

It finally breaks when I yawn, noticing how flushed his cheeks are now. I bet they'd be warm to the touch. “Tired,” I mumble, eyes finally falling shut. I feel his hand loosen. “I think I'm gonna get ready for bed.”

His hand drops mine fully, and as I'm opening my eyes, he's already retreating to his room. I can't help but feel empty, watching the door of his swing shut and closing him away. As if there was a missing touch there, or a final word, before we let this night rest.

I'm too tired to fight it, and just slightly buzzed enough to respect it. So, I take my leave to my own room, letting our moment pass us by.

[wishimage]

enjoyed speaking to Sound Report Croatia ahead of my concert with Peter Brötzmann this Sunday in Zagreb. read in Croatian: http://www.sound-report.com/intervju/heather-leigh or the English transcript is below x

1. In your own words, what would you say, who is Heather Leigh?

I have no idea! In my life, just as I think I’m coming to grips with who I am, something changes or reveals itself and punctures whatever idea it is that I’ve built up of myself. To define myself too strictly might even hinder necessary change. There’s certain constants I suppose: I consider myself a woman. I’m a pedal steel guitar player, a singer, a musician, a gardener, a lover, a partaker of pleasures, I can be prone to worry/obsession/self-doubt but try to drown out inner disparaging voices through work, fight indolence, fight distractions that at the heart might just be as Lou Reed sings on Songs For Drella “you think too much, that’s cause there’s work you don’t want to do” So rather than concerning myself too much with who I am, I focus on the work. I have a lot of love to give, sometimes I have to be careful and make sure I’m preserving some of that love for myself.

2. What helped you form your specific music vision?

The senses: listening, watching, smelling, tasting, touching, being a part of the world, remaining open, as mentioned above, not defining myself to a degree that could make change difficult. More specifically, growing up going to record stores, seeing bands, surrounding myself with creative eccentrics who follow their own vision which helped give me the bravery to follow mine.

3. What is the main message you want to send to the audience with your music?

I don’t have a specific message I want to send and I don’t want to condescend to my audience by thinking I can tell them something they need. Performing for an audience is not a one way street, I need THEM. I interact with the energy they bring to the room, I’m very sensitive to the atmosphere in any space I play, so perhaps partly what I’m communicating is do it, take a risk, make yourself vulnerable, what have you got to lose? Try to be true to yourself and listen to yourself and follow your gut and intuition, don’t base your actions on what you think is expected of you or what you SHOULD do. I’m the type of person that wears their heart on their sleeve, I can’t hide the way I’m feeling and if I’m in anyway insincere, I think the audience can feel that. I respect them and in turn respect myself, I can only do my best in any given situation, if I do that, then whatever the outcome is, is not the most important. The message on stage is be in this moment, let’s be in this moment together, whatever that is. And when the show is over, let’s take what this moment gave us and move onto the next moment. Life can change in an instant, let that change happen.

4. What inspires you nowdays? How do your songs come to life?

My hometown, Glasgow, inspires me greatly: the architecture, the countless paths of exploration all over the city that you can randomly follow, the people, my garden here - watching the process of life & death on a day-to-day basis in that setting, friends & family, music, visual artworks, films, reading, travel, sex, sitting down to work and letting the process reveal itself, trusting the process, letting my own life struggles intermingle with fiction to create songs, walking, walking, walking - I spend so much time walking - it’s often where a melody or idea comes to me, openness, I’m a channel for whatever the universe would like to reveal through me, remaining open is trusting the universe.

5. In Zagreb you will perform with Brötzmann. What made you collaborate with this artist? What are the best things about the music chemistry between you two?

I’ve been seeing Brötzmann perform live since I was a teenager. I was attracted to first and foremost, his sound and how that sound spoke to me on a deep level, and I liked his style, his suits & his boots. I knew he was a road warrior, a man of seriousness that wasn’t interested in flightiness, a lifelong artist that’s stayed true to his vision. I approached Brötzmann in 2015 to perform as a duo at Tectonics Festival in Glasgow. I didn’t expect his enthusiastic yes to be honest, I was sure (and this was later confirmed by him) that he wasn’t aware of my work or the pedal steel guitar in general. But, like me, he likes to take risks, to see what happens. Neither of us could predict just how unique the sound world of the duo would be, in the context of our own solo/collaborative work outside of the duo and perhaps within the wider music world. We’ve developed a deep friendship through our work and travel yet the music we make together is not about friendship. We challenge each other, we fight on stage, we push and we flow. The music chemistry is exactly that, a type of chemistry that is undefinable and mysterious, it’s there and we seize while it’s there because as we all know, nothing lasts forever.

6. What is the best thing about music improvisation?

The risk, communicating/creating/interacting on a level beyond language, a level that I feel can express in more intensity and detail the life experience than I’m capable of doing with language which seems to trap or hinder the experience in some way. The joy of when things come together in improvisation and something new is born. The challenge and acceptance of playing something that is you’ve found somehow unsatisfying, questioning yourself and moving on and doing it again without getting to wrapped up or concerned with results.

7. In your oppinion, how important is jazz music on the current world music scene?

I should be clear that Brötzmann and I don’t consider the music we play as jazz. While his background is obviously in the jazz tradition, the music we make together is not. It’s truly genreless. I respect any hardworking musician regardless of genre and I don’t think jazz or improvisation is somehow more true or superior than any other kind of music. I think one has to be careful not to tie themselves to any scene in a way, traveling the world and playing live at so-called jazz festivals, I can find myself disappointed when I hear music that is obviously following too closely to the groundwork laid by older generations, when it seems like they’re following rules (whether spoken or unspoken) of dynamics in improvisation down to forcing solos or playing the instruments in a certain way. I don’t like the expected, I like to be surprised and surprising myself with my own playing is extremely important to me, I like breakthroughs yet I really can’t stand attention-deficit style improv where everyone is scrabbling to make a sound and there’s a kind of obvious call and response. I appreciate space, repetition, setting an atmosphere, letting things unfold, flowing…to me rather than claiming any genre is more or less important on the scene, I think it’s healthy to just keep working and follow your own vision and don’t think about genre too much.

8. What is the best way to introduce jazz music to young audience?

I can’t be sure but I imagine seeing music that you are unfamiliar with LIVE can be hugely important in terms of sonic revelation.

9. What was your best perfromance so far?

I can’t say, they are all important in their own way and it’s funny, sometimes your best performance is not necessarily the one that’s best for the audience or vice versa though I’d say my soul feels full when you have those special nights on stage where you hit IT from the first note and feel like the flow is so strong that it would be difficult to play a wrong note, where the audience is gripped and there with you in the music, where the senses feel electrified, everything is ON and you exit the stage with a feeling that you really couldn’t have possibly done any better and you feel like the audience is walking away with an experience they won’t soon forget, that it’s unlocked something in them in someway that they can take away from the concert and into their lives just in the same way every concert I play is somehow part of me, changing me and keeping me alive.

10. What can the Croatian audience expect from your upcoming show in Zagreb?

Well, let’s hope my description of a “best” performance from above is what we all feel in Zagreb!

[spooky-ghostwriter]

Dressed to Kill - Chapter Nineteen

<– Previous Chapter

Next Chapter –>

A man fidgeted with the lowest button on his lab coat. Being a new employee at the facility, he was still not used to wearing them on a regular basis. He was proud to work at such a prestigious institution; the Cypress Laboratory was known across the nation for being leagues above anyone else in biotechnology and medical advancement. Still, he couldn't help but be uneasy at the sight before him.

His superior was a tall, pale man, and his piercingly green eyes stared through the new researcher like spears.

“Is there something wrong, Mr. Richards?” Garrick asked. “Do you need a different size of lab coat?”

“N-no, sir.”

“This is Specimen Delta,” Garrick explained, ignoring Mr. Richards and speaking to the dozen or so similarly-uniformed men and women around him. “We've found that she has a distinct resistance to a deadly parasite commonly found in the Australian outback. We aren't able to determine whether it's something in her blood, genetics, or perhaps related to skin tissue. All we can say for sure is that there is something that makes this woman special, and it's up to everyone here to figure out what that is.”

The group of researchers looked amongst themselves, with various expressions ranging from intrigue to concern.

After far too many seconds of silence, Mr. Richards decided his curiosity outweighed the disturbing stares of Garrick and raised his hand timidly.

“Yes, Mr. Richards?” Garrick asked.

“W-why is she in a straitjacket?”

Behind Garrick was a dark room, almost empty. There was no furniture, and the walls were completely featureless. The only thing in the room was Tsukiko Tanner, her arms restrained in a fashion that looked like she was hugging herself.

“That was my first question too!” Tsukiko shouted angrily, wriggling her arms as best she could. “Why am I in a straitjacket?!”

“Specimen Delta is a psychiatric patient,” Garrick said simply. “She is prone to delusions, hallucinations, and occasional bouts of violence. The restraints are necessary for her own safety – and for ours. It is also highly recommended that you do not take anything she says at face value.”

The researchers nodded in acceptance. Even Mr. Richards gave Tsukiko nothing more than a sympathetic expression.

Tsukiko ran through everything she could possibly tell the people in front of her to make her believe that she was, in fact, not delusional. Unfortunately, there was nothing that she pictured working properly.

What's something that a non-crazy person would say, that doesn't sound exactly like what a crazy person would say?

“I understand this may be uncomfortable for many of you,” said Garrick. “But rest assured, if we can determine what makes Specimen Delta unique, countless lives will be saved.”

He pressed his hands together.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let's get to business.”

Stage magic was not a career one would normally take if they had personal space issues. Tsukiko had seen diagrams of tricks being performed by cramming multiple performers in incredibly tight spaces, videos of magicians putting their hands on audience members' shoulders to distract them while they slipped playing cards into their pockets, and even allowed audience members to tie them up for escape acts.

Tsukiko began to wonder if she had personal space issues that she should work on for the sake of her show, or if this was simply more than anyone would be comfortable with. Whichever case it was, Tsukiko was firmly not comfortable.

At any given moment, she had at least three doctors touching her. One poked a cotton swab in her mouth and rubbed it against the inside of her cheek. Another held her arm against the armrest of her seat. A third wrapped a tight rubber band around her forearm.

“Wait, no – ”

The former cheek-swabber stuck a syringe in her arm and withdrew some blood. Tsukiko clenched her teeth and fists.

“Do you really need that much?” Tsukiko demanded.

The researcher didn't reply, but finally removed a rather full tube, then pulled out the syringe. Tsukiko winced even more as the needle was extracted.

“I know Garrick told you I was crazy, but you can still be nice to crazy people,” Tsukiko muttered.

“Sorry,” said the man who Tsukiko had learned was named Mr. Richards. Something in his voice and face told Tsukiko he meant it.

Maybe not everyone here was so bad – and more importantly, maybe they had information.

“So what do you guys research?” Tsukiko asked. “Besides Australian parasites, of course.”

Not that I've ever been to Australia, she thought.

“All sorts of things,” said Mr. Richards, holding Tsukiko's blood sample up to the light. “All biological. My group has been doing a study on genetically modified pumpkins. Not the most interesting thing in the world, I suppose.”

“No, it's plenty interesting. Ow,” Tsukiko added as a researcher plucked one of her hairs. “What were you trying to make the pumpkins do?”

“Should we take one of her blonde hairs too?” Someone asked.

“Do not touch the streak,” Tsukiko warned. “It's just dye anyway.”

“One hair,” Mr. Richards promised. Before Tsukiko could accept or reject the offer, one of the other jerks in lab coats pulled out a blonde hair.

“I said don't touch the streak! Jesus. Want an eyebrow hair too, while you're at it?” Tsukiko asked.

Someone plucked one of her eyebrow hairs.

“Ow! That was rhetorical, you ass.”

“Well, uh, to answer your question,” Mr. Richards muttered, trying to divert Tsukiko's attention. “The main goal is to make pumpkins grow bigger and give them protection from insects and other things that might destroy crops.”

“That's it?” Tsukiko blurted. “You're not making them move or bite people?”

All of the researchers gave Tsukiko a confused look, then began to murmur amongst themselves.

Okay, brain, Tsukiko asked herself. Where were you on that one?

“Er... no, no we're not,” said Mr. Richards, in a tone of voice like a condescending pat on the head. “That's, uh, an interesting idea, though.”

The researchers took Tsukiko through several more tests, and they seemed less interested in conversation after Tsukiko's pumpkin comment. It wasn't long before she was staring up at the ceiling of an MRI machine, listening to the loud whooshes of magnets or whatever was inside the machine.

Okay. Now that I can no longer convince these guys that I'm sane, let's work on a new problem, Tsukiko decided. How did I get here?

Tsukiko thought back to her conversation with Galen over the phone. She racked her brain trying to remember exactly what had happened afterwards. All she could picture was a flash of green. A mad scramble to get Gary off her shoulders and safely on the ground before whatever happened. And then, she had been here.

The grass – there was no other explanation. The grass itself had been a dryad, or something similar. It had reached up and dragged her through the ground.

Is that how the dryads kept appearing? Tsukiko asked herself. She thought back to the pumpkins, the snapdragon and the ivy creature. Only the apple tree monster had taken its time reaching the Alesia Circus. Was this facility simply dropping the dryads off at the circus directly? It was a scary thought.

In fact, when you consider how much the circus moves around, and how many different patches of grass we set up on... Tsukiko thought. How much of this dryad teleportation grass is there? Is it everywhere?

Tsukiko sighed. The MRI sounds were not conducive to thinking, and even if she could determine exactly how the grass had worked, there was nothing she could do about it. In fact, there wasn't much she could do period in her present condition, let alone with a dozen researchers hounding her. For now, the only course of action she had was to grit her teeth and make it through these tests.

It was approximately eight hours later when the last of the researchers left Tsukiko in her room. Mr. Richards gave the girl one final look of pity before closing the door behind him. Tsukiko was sure she heard him mutter something about 'not even giving her a bed'. Indeed, the room was left exactly as it was when Tsukiko and the researchers were first introduced – perfectly empty except for Tsukiko and her straitjacket.

“Friggin' finally,” Tsukiko said to herself. She carefully got to her feet and examined her restraints.

Tsukiko's personal best time to escape a straitjacket: two minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

She was twitchy as she peered down the halls. Tsukiko knew she had to be careful and quiet to avoid being noticed by anyone who may have been in the building after what she assumed to be the end of the work day, but she knew she had to be quick for exactly the same reason.

The facility looked just like an average hospital, albeit completely empty. It was eerie just how normal everything appeared. Nothing about the building made it seem like it would stand out in any of the many cities Tsukiko had seen in her time with the circus, or even her home town of Maplefort.

She turned a corner, and nearly jumped. A person stood on the other side of the hall, and he looked directly at her. There was a moment of tension where Tsukiko and the man stared at each other in mild confusion.

Then, the man pulled his janitorial cart out from its corner and went back to mopping the floors.

Tsukiko, deciding that fate owed her for letting her get kidnapped and experimented on, decided to press her luck just a bit further.

“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the janitor. “I'm looking for the front desk.”

The janitor sized up this girl who was in the facility that was supposed to be empty. He tried to think of ways that she could have gotten so lost that she ended up getting trapped in the building so long after closing hours.

Then, he remembered he was paid to mop floors, and security was none of his business.

“Head back the way you came. First right is a stairwell. Go down two floors, turn left, and you're there,” He said.

Tsukiko thanked the man and took his directions. The reception area had no seating for waiting patients; Tsukiko had to wonder just what the purpose of this building was. Still, she found what she was truly after – a phone.

Tsukiko rooted through the desk and found a piece of paper with a letterhead. She brought it, and the phone's receiver under the table, hiding out of sight. Then, she dialed one of the few phone numbers she'd ever bothered to memorize in her life.

“Hello?” Galen asked.

“Galen! I got kidnapped again.”

“Oh my god. Where are you?”

“According to this letterhead...” Tsukiko said, “I am in the Cypress Research Facility. In the city of...” She paused. “Maplefort.”

In retrospect, the name 'Cypress Research Facility' did sound vaguely familiar. If Tsukiko's sense of direction wasn't failing her, she was downtown, only about ten kilometers from her parents' home.

“Maplefort, huh?” Galen said. “Okay. We'll come get you.”

“Watch out, though,” said Tsukiko. “There's this guy here who's... it's like he's a dryad. He looks human, but I think he can control the dryads. It's insane.”

“Oh. Garrick, right? Vercy met him too.”

“Okay, I guess you just know everything...” Tsukiko trailed off as a pair of legs appeared in front of the desk. A dial tone droned through the phone's receiver.

“That's enough of that,” said Garrick. Tsukiko sheepishly poked her head out of the desk. Garrick had the unplugged phone cable in one hand; the other held a thick beige folder. He was unarmed. For an instant, Tsukiko thought she could make it to the door.

Then, Tsukiko turned her head in the door's direction, and saw the obstacle between it and her – a dryad. It somewhat resembled the ivy-like creature that had wounded her mother some time ago, but this was more bestial. Its leaf-covered arms nearly touched the floor, standing like a gorilla. It was not entirely green; several dozen bits of red stuck out from its body at odd angles.

“That is a hot pepper dryad,” Garrick said. “You're welcome to try getting past it. If you do indeed have the ability to transform into a tank, I dare say you might be able to do it.”

Tsukiko grit her teeth.

“Incidentally, I'm here because I wanted to see all of your test results as quickly as I could,” Garrick continued, lifting up the folder.

“Oh?” Tsukiko asked, hoping she sounded smug. “What did you find? Did all that bloodwork tell you that leaving a stage magician in a straitjacket is a terrible idea for idiots?”

To her surprise, Garrick smiled, and for a moment he looked more human than he ever had before.

“You're right, of course. That was a mistake. Unfortunately, there are certain limits to what I can order an average human researching team to do to someone.”

Now Garrick's smile made him look much less human.

“So you really are a dryad,” Tsukiko said.

“You and Vercingetorix both seemed so sure of that,” Garrick said. “I am merely a human, who was chosen by the dryads to assist them in ways only a human could. Such is the way of things, and such it has always been.

“And that, actually, leads me into the one interesting thing I found in your test results,” said Garrick. “I was most disappointed to find that you are just an ordinary human yourself. There was nothing in your blood or tissue or scans to show anything but flesh and blood. So there is still the mystery of how you can do all of the things you can do.”

That's a relief, Tsukiko thought.

“And because of that, I can't kill you quite yet.”

A big relief, Tsukiko corrected, immediately paling.

“But it was when I looked at your ancestry that I found something curious,” Garrick said. “Takenaka. You're related to that ancient family of samurai.” Garrick shook his head, yet he still had a faint smile; it was an expression of curiosity and disbelief. “Tell me – are you in possession of that sword that slayed so many dryads so long ago?”

“What?” Tsukiko blurted. She had many other questions, such as why no one in her family seemed to know or mention that the Takenakas had fought dryads, and why Garrick acted like he remembered something that took place a thousand years ago. In this situation, she found she couldn't word them properly, and so 'what' was all she managed.

“Shiba Kariki, I believe was the name,” Garrick said idly. “Yes, I remember it all too well.” He put a hand to his chest. “That sword was actually what killed me back then – the previous Garrick, I mean.

“You, Tsukiko... you've only fought dryads. Never fought another human, have you? That means you could never understand how it feels to have such... cold steel... plunged into your chest.”

The hot pepper dryad moved away from the door, lumbering closer to Garrick and Tsukiko.

“Well, that's enough chatting. I have a few more tests to perform.”

[momestuck]

Let’s read Hiveswap Friendsim - volume 14

We’re getting close to the endgame now, enough that the writers have started dropping some hints about What’s Going On. But before we can see where this road leads, there’s a good 11 trolls left to befriend!

This time... ‘Of Cleanliness and Clownliness’. We open with a little bluster about how edgy and grimdark Alternia is.

The narrator then calls themselves out for using Godwin’s law. Yeah, ‘feeling dramatic’ huh.

Our trolls today are...

...on almost the far ends of the hemospectrum! (Curiously, no sea trolls seem to feature in this game at all. Sure, that might be because they all live underwater, or because they are generally violent and cruel, but the latter hasn’t stopped our protagonist and I’m sure they could overcome the former with a little creativity...)

Marsti

Marsti is the last creation of Aysha before the epilogue! She’s got a pretty fun theme with a bass guitar which kicks in immediately on his route.

We find her in the process of trying to clean off some graffiti, arguing with a ‘purpleblood boy’. Curious... judging by the cans of what’s probably spray paint that Karako is carrying, does that mean that these two trolls are encountered together in this episode?

...is that what that purple bit up there is supposed to be?

Anyway our first decision is fairly straightforward...

Let’s quickly go down the ‘mind your own business’ route, which I’m expecting to be short.

...despite our decision, the narrator can’t resist the urge to intervene, by tripping up the clown. Luckily, Marsti saves us by taking us into an alley.

Her quirk seems to just be... the -_- emoticon. And she’s not pleased that we intervened. She tells us that if we keep this up, we’re going to end up dead. “What’s your deal? -_-” she demands.

We ask her if she really needs to retrieve the cleaning bucket she left behind. Ahh, bucket jokes. Never get old.

Presumably this has a different troll name, other than ‘bucket’. Apparently a cleaning bucket is called a ‘scourdray’.

That one seems like kind of a stretch...

We ask if this is like... her job, but then remember that nobody has jobs. Honestly, how the economy of Alternia works is a total mystery to me. They run an imperial economy based on endless expansion and extraction like ancient Rome, but how are resources worked into useful forms? Is it... robots?

Anyway, Marsti seems to be doing this just on a whim.

But a lot of her whims concern cleanliness. She comments on our strange ‘magnetism’, which she is also feeling.

Magnetism or not, she mostly seems to find us very annoying as we ask her random questions like why she likes cleaning so much (she doesn’t, she just does it), and so on. She seems to suggest it has something to do with being a rustblood, and pushes the narrator to think about whether other rustbloods they know have hobbies.

Anyway we end up helping her clean this wall. Thrilling activities here in Hiveswap friendsim. We very smoothly ask Marsti if she’s doing anything later...

We get the choice of ‘uptown’ or ‘downtown’. Since my gf Elaine was next to me and saw the choice and started singing ‘Uptown Girl’, I guess we have to pick ‘uptown’. The narration immediately also makes an uptown girl joke.

We get in our stolen scuttlebuggy and head uptown. Marsti starts cleaning up crumbs in our car.

Apparently Alternia has scanners that read the driver’s blood colour, but Mallek helped us scramble it.

We briefly get the false impression she’s homeless. The narration draws comparisons for the reader with Diemen and Boldir, which the protagonist turns out to have spoken out loud, as is often the case...

It turns out, however, that she just got tired of cleaning the same hive.

We learn where we’re taking Marsti... Zebruh’s hive!? Really, protag? Of all the people?

To put it mildly.

We decide not to go to Zebruh’s hive, thank god. Marsti’s getting a bit fed up of the lack of mess, and we offer to make a bigger one...

Genuinely not sure what Marsti is parodying. The well known “obsessive about cleaning and kind of grumpy” subculture?

Instead we head to Galekh’s hive. We’re greeted by the goat, but no Galekh.

D’aww.

Luckily, Galekh’s messy library is exactly what the doctor ordered. Marsti gets to work. Attempts at conversation don’t go so well...

She doesn’t care what a we think... and calls us a ‘condescending alien with no blood colour to speak of’. Oof!

Anyway, at that point the route abruptly ends, with the goat eating some of Galekh’s writing, and Marsti making a break for it out the window. Welp.

All right, let’s try some other approaches...

Let’s try explicitly opting to intervene against the purpleblood troll. The narrator decides fate must be on their side thanks to their conversation with Boldir, and gets involved.

That is not particular ironic. I think you should have a word with Dave. That’s like... not even ‘like five or six my dude’ levels of irony.

So that leaves... downtown.

Which is to say pretty much where we were standing.

It’s mentioned that the drones mostly clean uptown. The protag ponders Zebruh’s whole ‘getting lowbloods to clean for him’ thing.

There’s a weirdly 4th-wally moment.

Speaking of which, the narrator tries offering some places to clean, and gets surprised Marsti doesn’t like us.

Marsti picks up on the whole ‘been killed’ thing. I guess our character does have explicit memory of all the branches where they died? Though that still doesn’t explain things like... having an umbrella from a non-friendship branch. Or remembering things we did in those branches.

The narration tries to brush over it. Uh-huh.

We end up at an empty lot - one we can recognise as where Boldir died, on a branch that got erased. The narration mentions deja-vu...

But it’s not Boldir here, but someone we haven’t seen in quite a while.

The protag tries to get Folykl’s support in ribbing Marsti for her weird cleaning habit. Instead, Folykl and Marsti have a go at us... and we keep digging.

It just gets worse and worse...

You’re not even a member of this whole caste system, narrator! You’ve picked up the whole ‘space racism’ thing remarkably quickly.

Marsti calls us on it. We start going over the fact that like... most of the lowbloods we know are very constrained in their aspirations and hobbies, etc.

Meanwhile,

OK then??

Apparently Marsti has noticed Folykl’s voidrot. And general dirt.

Apparently like... being dirty makes the energy transfer harder? I guess Marsti knows a thing or two about voidrot.

(Recalling that in Homestuck canon, an army of dead Aradias were flinging planets about from outside the universe...)

Our protag helpfully suggests medicine as a field. I don’t even know what their deal is at this point. Marsti doesn’t seem to either.

If she applied to be a medic, she’d get laughed out of the room of course. And the narrator finally gets the hint.

So we... back off a bit, with some uncharacteristic maturity. After a bit, we head off. The protag actually makes a (fairly) genuine apology!

And... yeah I guess we mostly make up.

I actually kind of appreciate such an ambivalent ending. A nice change from the pattern to meet someone who finds our whole... thing super annoying.

The achievement for this chapter says ‘you cleaned up your own attitude’.

These chapters are getting increasingly meta, huh.

Karako

Now for... the second purpleblood in the game! Karaka is the creation of someone only credited as ‘Geezey’, who has not written anything before now.

We get a new, and very pretty backdrop immediately.

That palette! Curiously the narration doesn’t really seem to be acknowledging much of what’s happened so far - that we have a car, for one.

We’re in a relatively sparse area of the city. Unfortunately, the vegetation is not very accommodating for a gentle stroll...

As we pick our way through this, we meet a stranger on the road...

The soundtrack has like... ‘bwmm’ noises with a bunch of reverb, and clown horns. Usual disclaimer that I don’t know shit about music. This track’s title is, impressively, a Unicode drawing of Bowsette.

Surprised by the use of ‘it’ pronouns - usually the narration gets in there quick with gendering.

Anyway, we get a foot sprite. That’s unusual.

We go to help them down from the tree. The narration in this episode is doing the ‘unnecessarily formality’ joke but it’s not really working for me.

They have a nametag, which tells us to call Bronya ‘if lost’. Conveniently, someone we know! The narration supplies an interpretation...

Hmm.

Anyway, this guy’s dialogue consists entirely of the word ‘honk’.

The narrator fills in the conversation - the usual I’m an alien, etc. etc. I guess the joke is that the narrator is really wordy today in contrast with Karako’s one-word lines.

Here’s a sample.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we make some friend overtures along those lines, and then stand about for a bit, until a drone shows up!

The artist is at least making some very expressive drawings in this episode!

We get a choice: help or run. Let’s try to help.

We shield Karako from the drone by leaning on a rock for a bit, and that... makes him happy I guess. He smiles, at any rate. We get back to the whole... weirdly obsessive about establishing Friendship(TM) affect, but then some sea trolls show up.

They laugh at us a bunch, to Karako’s chagrin. Well, it would have to be sea trolls for anyone to be able to laugh at a purpleblood, I guess.

We get some very strained fish puns.

The jabs get a bit much for Karako and he goes for the seadwellers with knives.

This will not end well.

If he wants to throw down... let’s let him. Comfort and support? OK.

We use the dangerous plants to back up Karako’s rampage, impaling some of the violetbloods. But unfortunately for us, they’re pretty much invincible or something.

Curiously there is at least one circumstance where a violetblood has to answer to a purpleblood - the Grand Highblood and Dualscar. But in this case, the hemospectrum seems to rule.

Poor little Karako ends up dead.

And it’s time for the end of this route. But for once, we’re not just getting a death screen!

It’s time for some LORE. Behind the portal is... some kind of carousel?

Well what do you know, the Dark Carnival is real. It’s being ridden by various troll mannequins (or as they spell it here, ‘manikins’... is that a UK/US difference I didn’t know about?)

The mannequins come down and raise Karako into the Carnival.

This religious experience prompts the narrator to get a little introspective about their total insignificance.

We’re sick, we decide, of highblood bullshit. In fact we get quite a lot of philosophising done while bleeding out on the ground here.

The protagonist resolves to do something about this. We get some strained physics metaphors...

We ‘take on the aspect of Clown-sarker’, whatever that means. Taking up some of the soft drinks that Karako was carrying, we... start spraying soft drinks on the sea trolls. The effect of this is... limited. They kill us pretty much immediately. But by dying in battle...

...we seem to have earned our own place in the Dark Carnival!?

Which means... a friendship ending?

Honestly what? Is the next episode gonna start with us in the Dark Carnival?

I certainly didn’t see that coming.

...let’s check out the other branches, I guess.

First, let’s see what happens if we run away from the Drone instead of pretending nonchalance. We make good our escape, more or less, and get a new background:

But Karako is gone.

All right, that was more or less what I expected. Well mostly I thought the drone would kill us, but same difference.

Now, if we try to restrain Karako from fighting the sea trolls...

We try to calm Karako down as we restrain him, but he’s just getting more and more berserk. Given what Gamzee pulled in a state like this... not promising.

He lets off some kind of... rage bomb?

The only thing in canon I can compare with is the Vast Expletive uttered by the Sufferer.

Whatever this is, it nicely does for the sea trolls, and we wake up still with Karako. And... that’s the very quick end to the arc.

OK, that’s a friendship ending too? Huh.

However, this ending does not give an achievement, while the other one did. “You ascended to the Dark Carnival... or did you?” is the achievement text.

What a strange chapter! I’m very curious to see how the next one will begin now.

[condomglitter]

@austerre don’t be scared it’s not a starter it’s just an extremely self indulgent drabble lmao

    It wasn’t the first time she’d been approached, hackles raised, by some gate keeping trogdolyte searching for validation as of yet undiscovered in their peers. Each condescending confrontation followed much the same tired script, as few noted the badge at her hip that marked her as a KaibaCorp employee before they questioned her presence in the VIP section. 

    Maybe it was how she dressed -- neither in merch, nor a flashy outfit, but comparatively quiet combinations that were (unlike many who surrounded her at these venues) on trend more often than not. Maybe it was how she kept a watchful eye on her phone, fielding emails and requests for Seto while he focused on his matches. Or, perhaps, it was simply the calling of self-proclaimed ‘nice guys’ to further destroy her precious little faith in their gender; regardless, though, someone always stepped up to the plate when it came to challenging her. As if, she thought bitterly, she could not tell them details about their supposed hero that would make their pasty little heads spin.

    Most days, she was content to note that her interest was purely professional, tapping the employee badge at her side and returning her focus to worthier figures. Namely, Seto’s. Dueling was but a card game, to her, but watching Seto at his most ruthless? That, she could enjoy all day. Assuming, of course, no one was breathing down her neck about it. 

     Her job was usually enough to keep her from demeaning their client base, particularly the fans who paid the exorbitant VIP package price to see Seto Kaiba up close and personal. Though she was certain he wouldn’t hold a well deserved quip against her, of all people, she didn’t want to put a bad face to the company name. Her restraint, as far as professionalism went, was stronger than her temper. 

     Though, that was MOST days. Today...

     She couldn’t quite put her finger on why THIS particular one had stepped so firmly upon her nerves, in stark contrast to those other countless times. There were just... SO many reasons to detest the raven haired man who sat behind her; interestingly, though, he hadn’t been the first to annoy her that day.           Only the last. Poor man.     No, her temper had been set initially on edge by someone else entirely, who had seemed to have a knack for it. 

     In contrast to the supposed ‘super fans’ who so rarely recognized her as Seto’s assistant, despite her constant presence at his side, the woman who had slipped into the seat beside her and introduced herself without pause seemed to know exactly who she was. Perhaps, even, too much. 

     “My name’s Cindra, King. You’re Natalie, right? Kovak?”    That was the first thing that set her on edge. That name, long abandoned, hanging in the air like a poison on her breath. It drew her mouth into a tight, thin line, and her response was ICY from the start.     “Arrington.” She corrected, in a voice that brokered no argument. It wasn’t an invitation to continue the conversation, but Cindra seemed to take it as such, prattling on          (as if Natalie didn’t look two steps away from snapping her idiot neck)     regardless. 

     “Oh, I’m so sorry,” She said, seeming to Natalie to be less than sincere as she laid one hand over her heart. “I wasn’t sure, the articles all said that was your real name -- “     “One of their many mistakes.” The increased venom in her tone had about as much effect on the other woman as her initial icy response -- which was to say, none at all. Briefly, Natalie was amazed at her nerve, but quickly quashed the almost admiring thought under one indignant heel. She didn’t want to admire this woman, whoever she was. 

     “Oh, I’m sure. You are Seto Kaiba’s assistant, though -- right?”      Her raised eyebrows and quick (read: sarcastic) glance down at her ID badge seemed answer enough, as Cindra continued with an amused smile. Apparently, she thought Natalie was being funny, and not intentionally rude.      Odd.     “I knew I recognized you. We don’t get as much coverage on duelists here as Domino City does, but I like to try and keep on top of news. That must have been so tough, having all those lies printed about you. I know the feeling -- the paparazzi are brutal, aren’t they? I didn’t realize.. but when I started getting some recognition, they tore me apart too. It certainly wasn’t what I’d expected out of making it, or... sort of, anyway.” 

     It was the sympathy she offered that held back the snide comment at the tip of Natalie’s tongue, which questioned what ‘recognition’ Cindra spoke of. Instead, she took a moment to recall the details of the VIP list, noting Seto’s mention of a young duelist with a dragon deck that was only second rate. A compliment, as far as his reviews went. She had won her ticket, Nat thought, in a KaibaCorp tournament -- which meant that her story had a high likelihood of actually being true.      It occurred to her, then, that Cindra - for all her social niceties and supposed confidence - actually seemed rather... nervous. Her smile was a touch too wide, her voice almost breathless, and her eyes were... frantic, perhaps, as she continued. 

     “I was really afraid it would affect my career, but it hasn’t yet. I was hoping to apply for a summer internship, though, at KaibaCrop, and wondered...”

    Lo, the point of their little meeting. Though her own nerves were still terse from their initial greeting, Cindra’s forceful attitude could certainly benefit her if she were to gain a position at the company -- and Natalie wasn’t certain she could fault her for trying to prepare to speak to her, like this. 

     “KaibaCorp only refers to reputable sources.” She informer her, dropping the combative tone in favour of a more professional attitude. “The media, however, holds very little sway within our decisions.”

    “Oh, that’s -- really great to hear.” Her attitude, thought Natalie, must have been the result of nerves. She seemed honestly relieved, relaxing visibly as much of the tension melted away at Natalie’s words. As she continued, she seemed less like a know-it-all bitch, and more like a young woman excited to reach for her goals - something even Natalie couldn’t crush her admiration for.     “It’s -- a dream of mine, to work there. I know it’s a harsh environment, don’t get me wrong, but he’s really just such an inspiration, and I think I could learn a lot from working there. That’s how you started, right? As an intern? Do you -- Did it improve your dueling, or just your business skills...?”

     Though Natalie had been initially quite annoyed, she found herself now warming to the social duelist, and surprised even herself with a light, conversational laugh as Cindra’s words seemed to bubble out of her. 

     “Well, considering I couldn’t tell a trap from a spell card before, I’d say they’ve improved. You can’t help but pick things up around that place, but I was never a duelist.I was hired for my business experience; what I know, I had to learn on the job. Your knowledge would certainly be an asset, depending on the position you want to apply for.”

    “Really? Wow. I mean, those magazines never said anything about you dueling, but I just thought they were glazing over news that they couldn’t sensationalize -- what’s it like working for Kaiba, as a non-duelist?”

    Ordinarily, Natalie was evasive at best on the topic of what it was like to work with Seto - especially when those articles were mentioned. The other woman seemed genuinely interested, though; and given enough time to chat, Natalie got the sense that they could perhaps get along enough to be friendly. She was, quite frankly, growing on her. 

    “Well, like you said... he’s an inspiration.” She was careful with her tone, but still her heart fluttered traitorously in her chest, and she wondered if she managed to hide the glow she felt as she praised him. “You don’t have to be a duelist to know that.”

    Cindra’s lips parted, probably to unleash another question; before she could, though, there came the sound of something like a scoff from behind them. Cindra heard it too, turning in union with Natalie to see where the derisive noise had come from.

    The culprit was staring down at Natalie from where he sat, reclined in the highest seat of the VIP section. His arms were folded over his chest, though they were the only part of him that was not spread out like some sort of space-hungry animal. His legs were spread and straight, taking up far more room than he was warranted. At his hip, Natalie noted, a deck pouch hung. Clearly, then, he was a duelist, though his face was not one she recognized.      (Not, though, that she cared to recognize third rate losers who had to pay to get close to Seto. 

    “Sounds like someone has an opinion.” Cindra observed dryly. “Pity -- no one asked.”

    “Oh, sorry, did I interrupt your fangasm? My bad -- I’m just trying to watch the duels.” His retort certainly had an edge to it. If not for his tone, Natalie perhaps could have found his complaint a valid one. He didn’t stop there, though, fixing her with a particularly scathing look.      “Some of us are actually here because we give a shit. You know -- seeing as we’re actually duelists. Not just... inspired women.”

    His tone more than explained what he thought of that, and with how he raked her up and down with his eyes, she expected exactly what came next. That did not, however, make it any more enjoyable. 

    “Since you’re so inspired by great duelists, though, I’m sure I could show you a good time when this is all over. Let you play with my deck, even.”      Oh. There were so many things wrong with that innuendo. Cindra made a small noise beside her; something that seemed somewhere between a choke and an indignant gasp. Natalie, however, only raised her eyebrows and returned the raking gaze that the duelist had treated her to. From head to toe, she scrutinized him, stripping him down in her mind’s eye and finding the results paltry. He couldn’t know that, though; in response to her gaze, he sat up from where he’d been reclined, seeming to enjoy the attention.     Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the guard at the door shifting where he stood, responding to how the other man moved in his seat. She wasn’t worried about him sitting up, though, and lifted her fingers quietly toward Gray, the guard, as he straightened. Even in but her peripherals, she saw him stop, though he did not return to the door. Instead, he fidgeted with the comm unit on his shoulder, and stood dutifully nearby. He likely didn’t approve of her decision, but he would never argue with it; not over something so petty.

     “A good time, huh..? Like... with a great duelist?” Her tone was flirtatious and light as she leaned into the back of her chair, returning the confident grin that the duelist bore.      “Of course -- “     “Do you know any? Like, would we meet them later?” Her vapid blink made him pause, as she interrupted him, but he seemed unwilling to quite drop the opportunity to flirt with her despite her apparent idiocy. Evidently, he hadn’t been listening too closely to their conversation - if he had, he’d have known that she already knew a great duelist. His ignorance didn’t help him as he leaned down toward her, resting his hands upon the back of the seat in front of him. 

    “You’re looking at one, sweetheart. In the flesh. Hideko Moria. First place champ, in this area. This tournament isn’t even worth my time." His posturing would have been more impressive, if his name had been at all familiar. It wasn’t, though. Alas.      Her laughter, cutting and sharp, was not the answer he expected to that. He seemed confused, but she was genuinely amused. Cindra, bless her heart, joined in as well. Shaking her head, Natalie waved one dismissive hand toward Hideko, sighing when her laughter faded. 

    “Oh, that’s funny. You think we’d want anything to do with your deck? Your pouch seems pretty small -- if, you know, that’s the innuendo you really want to go with. We’re here watching Seto Kaiba. Why would we want anything to do with second rate ‘champs’,” The finger quotes, she thought, made him mad. “like you?”

    “We’ll see who the real second rate champ is when he gets in here. I’m going to challenge him-”    “Not with that ‘deck’.” Her dry comment made Cindra snort with laughter, her hands flying to cover her mouth. Hideko seemed further irked by her mockery, rising to his feet in anger. The door to the booth clicked -- likely, more security, come to deal with the toddler’s tantrum. Again, she spotted Gray moving behind her, but raised one hand to still him.

    “What the hell do you know. You’re not even a duelist.” The dark haired man spat at her, but earned only more amused laughter for his efforts. Carefully, she unhooked her ID badge, holding it out for him to see. She waited a moment, her face and eyes clearly communicating what she thought of how long it took him to read it, before elaborating verbally -- much, again, to his chagrin.       “Executive Assistant to the CEO of KaibaCorp. Natalie Arrington. I wish it were a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Moria, but I’ve had more pleasurable meetings with our fax machines. I think you’ll find I know quite a lot about great duelists. Not so much about third rate losers, though, which explains why I don’t know your name. Tell me, if this tournament wasn’t worth your time, why is it that you had to pay a fee to be invited into the VIP section, instead of facing Mr.Kaiba on the field?”      “I-”      “Don’t answer, I actually don’t care.” She didn’t give him a chance to speak, rising from her seat and smoothing her skirt around her hips. “You will not be challenging Seto, today, because you’re not worth his time. You’re not even worth mine, and I’m - as you said - not even a duelist. I’m quite sure, however, that I would be more than enough to deal with you."

    “Your time? You’re a glorified secretary, and you don’t even have a DECK --”     “Or anything to PROVE, to the likes of YOU.”

    The sound of Seto’s voice startled them all, and as one, they turned toward the door. It seemed that the click she had heard was not just security entering to supervise their little spat. How she had managed to miss the commanding presence of her lover, she could not say -- but somehow, she had. He stood near the door, now - six towering feet of imposing fury as he fixed Hideko with his coldest glare, his leather clad arms folded over his thick chest. If she had found him pleasing to her eye from on the field, to see him in such a mood here made it all the more tempting -- but she had something more to focus on than the probability of him doling out punishment. Namely, how Hideko was still speaking, even in the face of Seto’s intimidation.

     “Well well, if it isn’t the prince of darkness himself. No offense, Mister Kaiba, but you need to lift your standards. Your little secretary’s mouthy, for someone who can’t even duel. I guess that’s how you make yourself feel better, though -- by surrounding yourself with people who just make you look good, right? Since she doesn’t know the first thing about the game, I bet she thinks you’re just the greatest, doesn’t sh-”

    In Natalie’s mind, she had a vision of hitting him with a chair. Instead, she stepped between Seto and the imbecile who was baiting him forward, asking for more than he could possibly handle. On one hand, seeing Seto destroy him - either physically, verbally, or in a duel, would have been satisfying.    But on the other, he was insulting her as much as he was her boyfriend - and she wanted the taste of his defeat for herself. So she placed herself between him and Seto’s temper, laughter still on her lips. 

     “Your attempts to goad Mr.Kaiba into giving you the time of day are cute, Mr. Moria, but as I said -- you will not have the pleasure of challenging him today. If you would like to try and assert your self worth in the only way you know how, I would be more than happy to duel you. Otherwise, you may join Mr.Moruba here as he escorts you off of the property.” 

    “Natalie --” Seto’s tone was hard to read, from only one word. She assumed, though, that he didn’t think it was a good idea. He was the better duelist, the one that Hideko had come to challenge -- but Natalie refused to give him what he wanted. It didn’t matter, though -- the other duelist was riled, now, and though Seto was who he had come for, he had not forgotten the vicious redhead who had mocked him without pause.

    “With what deck, Red? I know you’re new to this, but you need cards to play.”

    “She can use mine.” The offer came not from Seto, but from Cindra, who Natalie had nearly forgotten about in the chaos. She was holding the stack of cards as she approached, taking a position next to Natalie and offering them out. “That is -- unless you’re scared to duel a secretary. Shouldn’t be a problem for you, seeing as you wanted to challenge Kaiba.” 

    Natalie had been betting on Hideko’s refusal, gambling on a bluff she couldn’t back up without cards of her own. As it turned out, though, she didn’t need to -- reaching out, she took Cindra’s deck from her hands, glancing only briefly down at some of the cards. She recognized their names, from strategies Seto had mentioned before...     Which meant Hideko had no further reason to refuse. Sure, he could claim it wasn’t ‘worth his time’, but then he would need to leave. She could see the gears turning in his tiny skull, and was prepared for the demand that came forth next. 

    “When I finish with you, I will get to duel HIM.”     “If.” she shrugged, hearing the creak of Seto’s grip tightening against his leather sleeves. My, but he was angry. If Hideko did defeat her... well.      He wasn’t in for a pleasant duel.

    “You don’t need to do this.” He repeated to her, in a low and dangerous voice. Over her shoulder, she shared with him a small smile -- one that said more than clearly that she wanted to. His eyebrows quirked higher in surprise, but he unfolded his arms, and very deliberately unhooked the duel disc from his wrist.      Natalie had expected to duel simply on a mat, but she did note that Hideko wore a similar disc upon his own arm. With a flick of his fingers, Seto beckoned her closer, but she didn’t need the instruction he offered to put it on. She had, after all, seen all of the documents to create the damn thing. In a few quick snaps, it was secure against her arm, and she could have sworn she saw Seto’s lips twitch again.      (Apparently, he liked the sight of her, wearing his disc. She filed that fact away, for later.) 

     The booth wasn’t the ideal place for a duel, but there was room -- slipping Cindra’s deck into the proper slot, Natalie stepped into the area that security cleared, facing Hideko with as much care as he deserved. Which was, to be clear, none. Her flippant air upset him, but she didn’t care much about that, either. Thus, the duel began -- with the holographic displays that she had watched Seto create, the flair that the Kaiba name was known for, and Hideko’s veins bulging in his forehead. 

    To his credit, being so annoyed didn’t affect his game as much as Natalie had thought. He started the duel strong, which seemed to only enhance his insufferable confidence to the point of breaking her own considerable patience. With each card he set down, he explained it’s stats and effects in the most condescending of tones -- right up until the tide began to turn. 

    He had been so consumed with his own superiority, he hadn’t stopped to consider that she hadn’t been simply setting cards down at random. As the key to her strategy slipped free on her next draw, control shifted quickly into Natalie’s hands, and she did not waste it by explaining it to Hideko with every move. His explanations quickly halted as he tried to form a counter, but it was already too late for him to regain the ground that he had lost. 

     It was with a smile void of mercy that she watched his life points scroll steadily downward, and when the chime rang zero and the holograms faded, she wasn’t certain that she had ever felt quite as satisfied as she did just then. He was stunned into silence, still clutching what had been left of his hand, and she tutted quietly to herself as she gathered Cindra’s cards back into one stack. 

     “Next time you would like to question KaibaCorp’s standards, Mr. Moria, please remember that a secretary was the one who put you in your place. Mr. Moruba, would you please escort Mr. Moria away? I’m sure it won’t be difficult to find where he belongs. Just follow the smell of disappointment and trash and he should fit right in.”

     Gray seemed only too happy to step forward, cutting Natalie’s view of Hideko’s indignant shock and sputtering short. She thought she heard something like ‘cheating’ as he was escorted out, but didn’t care to listen, turning toward Cindra as she sifted through her clutch for one more card to add to the deck. This one did not bear the signature brown swirl of a duel monster’s card, though -- instead, it was crisp and white, the lack of colour striking a notable contrast between it and the rest of the borrowed deck. 

     “Thank you for letting me use this. You really do draw inspiration from him, don’t you?” She shared a smile with the other woman, who flushed and nodded, torn between watching Natalie and staring over her shoulder where Seto no doubt lingered. He was far too close for Natalie to want to discuss Cindra’s deck, which bore so many similarities to his own it had been simple for her to recall strategies Seto had toyed with before. She didn’t let him steal her own focus away, though, ignoring him in favour of tapping her card with one fingertip as she passed Cindra’s deck back into her hands. 

     “This is my direct line. Call me when you apply for that internship, alright? I’d like to personally review your file, if that’s okay with you.”      “Y-yeah, that... that’d be awesome! Thank you so much!” The taller woman took her cards back in both hands and clutched them close, now apparently finding it difficult to speak. Seto’s presence tended to have that effect on people, though. Especially, Nat thought, when they admired him - and it didn’t help that he was looming so close. 

     It was already out of character, for their public charade, for him to have taken a back seat in the decision of what to do with the so called ‘champ’ who had challenged him, but the fact that he was standing so near only made it all the more strange. She supposed, then, that it didn’t much matter at that point that he brushed his hand against her elbow, demanding her attention in a way that she could not refuse. It took everything she had to keep from jumping at the sudden touch of his skin against hers, and the lightning arc of her heart starting in her chest. 

     She expected to need to excuse herself away from Cindra, and was already detaching the duel disk from her arm, suspecting that he would want it back when he was through scolding her for taking such liberties while representing him in public. Appearances, after all, needed to be kept. When she turned toward him, however, she found him frozen in place, his usually stoic expression strangely... reverent. 

     His face alone brought colour to her cheeks, but she fought for her composure despite how light his look made her feel. They were still in public, a fact of which she felt painfully aware. Though security was busy clearing the booth of the VIP attendees, directing them to the lounge in which Seto would soon join them, a few still lingered, their attention captured by the exchange. 

    “Apologies, Sir.” She said in a too-soft voice, her fingers falling still against the clasps that held the disk upon her arm. “I didn’t intend to delay your schedule, b-”     “Amazing.” His voice cut her off, and what he said robbed her of all attempts to uphold the act they had become so good at displaying in public, and her composure. Her cheeks burned crimson and she froze as well, her fingers seeming locked upon the disk. If Seto realized that the others had not all left, he didn’t show it, his words seeming to escape him before he could stop himself. 

    “You glanced at that deck, and still managed to build a strategy to WIN. It wasn’t even your deck, princess...” He paused, perhaps to find his own composure after the slip of his private nickname. One hand lifted as if he might touch her again, and despite herself, she leaned toward it. They each managed to resist, though, and Seto quickly continued on, his blue eyes burning with unchecked admiration for the woman that he loved.      “That takes skill. It was nothing short of brilliance, Natalie.” 

     That statement alone would have been enough, but he did not stop there. Later, she would wonder if it was intentional, a test of her restraint -- but if it was...     Oh. How she had failed, in the face of the words that came next.

    “I’m proud of you.” 

     They struck a tender chord with the red haired woman, one so rarely touched, even by him. Her vision blurred and her throat felt tight, but the tears that threatened to fall were far from miserable. That familiar sappy smile that she reserved for him was splitting across her face, and her heart felt likely to burst if he said anything more. To Natalie, he may as well have proclaimed his love on live TV -- and she couldn’t have hidden the effect it had on her, no matter what she tried. 

     She didn’t dare to speak immediately, nodding her thanks as she rushed to loose the duel disk from her arm; searching, honestly, for any excuse to turn her gaze away from him. Their guests were nearly clear of the room, now, but that did not mean that they hadn’t seen or heard any part of their exchange -- and if they spotted her now, god, they HAD to know the truth. She was putty in his hands, and though she had just before decried the inaccuracies of the gossip articles... Well.     There was no denying now that Seto Kaiba’s assistant, if not the man himself, had a furious crush on her boss.

     Mercifully, though, as Natalie glanced warily about the room, searching for evidence of witnesses. she spotted only Cindra, lingering near the door. As their eyes locked, and Seto’s hands lifted to free her from the duel disk in a tender fashion unexpected from the ordinarily severe duelist, she lifted one finger to her lips, and turned away, leaving them in privacy together. 

[comic-movieheroesranked]

Cinematic Comic Characters Ranked! (Year 2005) Final Part

Another year, another ranking of our favorite comic book characters to grace the movie screen! This year we have the debut of several movies including: Aeon Flux, Batman Begins, Constantine, Fantastic Four, and Sin City; a spin-off movie centered on Elektra; and the final installment to an outer space trilogy, Star Wars: Episode Three-Revenge of the Sith! Here’s TOP 25!

*SPOILERS FOR ALL THE MOVIES HIGHLIGHTED ABOVE*

25. Dr. Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow (Batman Begins)

"There's nothing to fear but fear itself!"

The second-class criminal that becomes a threat to Batman in a new way. Even though Bruce trained his body physically to withstand anything, he had no preparation to deal with Scarecrow's fear toxin, an attack on the mind. It's Scarecrows toxin that threatens to destory all of Gotham via terrified citizens but it's clear he's not the one pulling the strings. When the toxin starts infecting people, Scarecrow goes on a terror spree until Rachel shuts him down with a taser to the face.

24. Satan (Constantine)

"Looks like someone doesn't have your back anymore."

Don't quite understand why Satan's feet are dipped in black paint all the time but this man is P-E-T-T-Y. John brings him in to save the day (it took me a minute to wrap that around my head too) and that's kinda what he does. He stops his son from trying to overthrow him and take over Earth and he puts the smack down on Gabriel. He really wants John in hell though so before he goes to heaven he brings him back to life so he could sin again because the man is what? PETTY!

23. Hartigan (Sin City)

"An old man dies. A young woman lives. A fair trade."

Hartigan is what I wanted Marv to be. Doing what needs to be done and stopping the bad guy because it's the right thing to do, not because he got great sex. He dedicated to stopping the pervs that keep going after Nancy and asks for nothing in return, he even turns down sex, which proves he isn't a perv either! I don't really think he had to go kill himself but he looked like he wasn't going to last long anyway so at least he went out nobly.

22. Abby Miller (Elektra)

"I don't respond well to authority and I don't take bullshit."

Abby is that annoying little sister you never had. As soon as she meets Elektra she wants to be just like her. She wants to learn how to kill, she wants to use sais, and she also wears her hair the same way. Turns out she's the "Treasure" which is a big deal for both sides. She knows how to fight with a fancy chain and her witty banter with Elektra is adorable so I definitely was happy when she was saved.

21. Rachel Dawes (Batman Begins)

"But it's not who you are underneath, it's what you do that defines you."

I like Rachel and she is a huge reason as to why Batman exists. She knows Gotham is falling apart and she decides to help save it in her own way: the courtroom. She becomes a great lawyer in the DA and won't back down when criminals try to scare her. She also lets Bruce know the huge difference between vengeance and justice and shows Bruce that fighting for the greater good is better than just fighting for yourself. I think this is also why she finds out his identity by the end of the film while most romantic interests like Mary Jane haven't found out their heroes identities until the sequels.

20. Reed Richards/Mr. Fantastic (Fantastic Four)

"I found a broken gasket from space."

Mr. Fantastic is the most boring out of the Fantastic Four, in my opinion. His flexible powers are really handy and make him near indestructible as long as you don't freeze him, but that's kinda it? He's mainly valued for his brains and it's the only thing he relied on when the team went up against Dr. Doom. Seriously, all he did was bark orders while Sue, Johnny, and Ben did all the heavy lifting.

19. Mace Windu (Star Wars: Episode III-Revenge of the Sith)

"May the Force be with us all."

Mace Windu is a boss. He knows how to shut shit down and if Anakin hadn't been a total back stabber (or hand slicer, really), none of the problems they're facing would've been a thing. Instead, Mace gets betrayed and killed by twp people he considered allies.

18. Gabriel (Constantine)

"You're fucked."

I kinda see Grabriel's frustrations in the film. Why should rapists go to heaven just because they repent? Like where's the justice in that? Do I think all humans need to prove their goodness by having Satan's son bring Armageddon to Earth? Absolutely not. Gabriel definitely goes a little insane and because he tries to help Satan Jr., God takes away his wings and makes him human.

17. Sithandra (Aeon Flux)

"You taught me a lot more than that."

Sithandra is a rebel and Aeon's best friend. She had a cool surgery done that replaced her feet with two extra hands. Her loyalty to Aeon is tested when it seems Aeon betrayed the rebels but their friendship prevails as she leads a team of rebels to protect Aeon and Trevor from Oren. Too bad she runs out of bullets just as Oren sends a missile her way, killing her in front of Aeon.

16. Chas Kramer (Constantine)

"You were right, John. It's not like in the books."

I was so angry when Chas died! Like here we have this young kid that just wants to help and actually does help in a huge way. At first all he does is drive John around in a taxi and fails miserably to get into Midnite's club, but turns out he really did his reading. When John couldn't muster up the chant to stop Satan Jr.'s birth, Chas came in and saved the day. And then he died, very brutally.

15. Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader (Star Wars: Episode III-Revenge of the Sith)

"You underestimate my power!"

Anakin is the type of person who will literally do every shitty thing possible and then still try to make himself the victim. Like how can you justify calling the Jedi evil when you're out here killing children? He even admits he wants all the power in the world to Padme but still tries to act like the Jedi are selfish when Obi-Wan confronts him. Wack! I'm glad he burned to a crisp and I straight up GIGGLED when he got his legs sliced off (Obi-Wan literally told him not to and he does it anyway). He SOMEHOW survives and is transformed into the dangerous Darth Vader that fans of the series have come to know him by.

14. Gail (Sin City)

"Always and never."

I knew I was going to like Gail as soon as she listed tying people up in chairs as one of her specialties. She seems to be the leader of the prostitutes that run Old Town and isn't afraid to get her hands dirty. I think she actually prefers it, which is why I think its accurate that Dwight dubbed her as "Valkyrie." Only thing off about her, for me, was her relationship with Dwight. I mean it seemed obvious she was into him from the get go but I kinda hoped they didn't end up together.

13. Sue Storm/Invisible Woman (Fantastic Four)

"I can't believe I'm doing this again!"

Sue is still in love with Richard but since he isn't willing to courageously take their relationship to where it needed to go, she ended it and tried to move on with the douchebag known as Victor. After the space storm she learns she can not only turn invisible, but she can also create force fields. She spends most her time figuring out where she stands with Richard in their new lives as superheroes but when it comes down to the fighting she's quick and ready to get her hands dirty. Was the proposal a bit rushed at the end? Maybe, but it's clear her and Richard were meant for each other so positive vibes to them.

12. Alfred (Batman Begins)

"What is the point of all those push-ups if you can't even lift a bloody log?"

Alfred is way more than just Bruce Wayne's butler. After his parents are killed he basically takes responsibility over him and raises him. Now that Bruce is a grown adult and bringing the Batman to life, Alfred starts going on his own secret reason. While Ra's Al Ghul is teaching Bruce how to become a legend, something that will never die, Alfred is doing whatever he can to make sure Bruce doesn't lose his humanity. He keeps wanting him to enjoy life and embrace who he is when he isn't wearing the cowl.

11. Aeon Flux (Aeon Flux)

"We're meant to die, that's what makes anything about us matter."

Aeon is the best assassin working with the rebels. After the government kills her sister she's the one they send to take down their leader, Trevor Goodchild. Turns out he's actually good and used to be married to Aeon before the whole world fell apart. She has some really neat gadgets like tiny marbles that explode, shiny egg looking things that disrupt all technology, and she can make her eye pupil grow so she can see if someone spiked her drink. Plus she can do a bunch of flips and knows how to use a gun. It turns out she was meant to destroy everything about the society she lived in and lead it's people to the world outside, one they thought was a wasteland but turned out to be rich with nature and plant life.

10. Obi-Wan Kenobi (Star Wars: Epidsode III-Revenge of the Sith)

"You were the chosen one!"

Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn't as condescending as he was in the last film so that was nice. In fact I think he was very much on his way to seeing Anakin as his true equal until Anakin decided to turn to the Dark Side. His infamous speech to Anakin after he's forced to take him down is pretty sad, he really cared about the other dude and it sucks to see someone you care about ruin themselves like Anakin did.

9. Dwight (Sin City)

"I'm Shellie's new boyfriend and I'm out of my mind."

So he starts off his chapter in a relationship with Shellie, fighting for her honor and then ends his chapter in a relationship with Gail, shooting down all his enemies. Besides him being a bit of a player, he was actually my favorite hero in all the stories. He's not ridiculously unbeatable like Marv and has more of a personalty than Hartigan. He actually admits to needing help from Gail and Miho to stop his enemies. He's obviously pretty smart because he's able to come up with plans left and right once things keep getting shittier which is also nice because I feel like everyone else just goes about things guns ablazing. He does to, but I like that he has back up plans.

8. Elektra (Elektra)

"I died once."

Back from the dead, Elektra has turned into a deadly assassin with no emotion or attachments to anyone. To save her from this dark path, Stick has her tricked into protecting Abby from the Hand, a bunch of evil assassins. She takes care of them no problem, like it seems like she's afraid but when she faces them she pretty much kills them all with no problems. Despite the movie being kinda lame it was so good to finally see Elektra in her red outfit kicking ass with her pair of sai. Like most characters in the Daredevil universe, her tv counterpart ends up being a better version, but unlike the others I would go on record to say that movie Elektra wasn't bad, she was just decent.

7. Yoda (Star Wars: Episode III-Revenge of the Sith)

"At an end your rule is, and not short enough was it."

Yoda is my favorite and only because he really knows how to throw down when he needs to. Like some people try to talk the bad guy into seeing the error of his ways. Nope, not Yoda. He literally always just shows up and is like "So, we're fighting." Except, he mixes up his speech while he does it. His fight against the Emperor was epic and he totally won until the other got to his safety net of soldiers. Still, Yoda accepted failure with grace and decided to leave into exile.

6. Johnny Storm/Human Torch (Fantastic Four)

"Flame on!"

I feel like Johnny represents a lot of us in a situation where we discover we have powers and basically lose our minds because we've decided we're going to be superheroes. Like he changes their outfits, gives them their superhero names and basically creates the brand that is Fantastic Four because he's so excited to be a superhero. His fire/flying abilities definitely help feed the flame that is his confidence as he skyrockets to celebrity status via extreme sports and indulges in the pleasures of his female fans. Still, when it's time to actually be hero, he's there and ready to take on Doom, using his Super Nova heat to melt the metal man away.

5. Ducard/Ra's Al Ghul (Batman Begins)

"If someone stands in the way of true justice, you simply walk up behind them and stab them in the heart."

Ra's Al Ghul is the leader of the League of Shadows, a clan that serves their own justice against those who break the law. Wanting to take down Gotham, the international city of crime, he ends up training the city's prince, Bruce Wayne. Using the death of Wayne's parents as a tool, Al Ghul ends up basically creating the Batman. He's the one that really drills into Bruce's head that he won't fix anything as just a single man. Of course, his methods of justice are radical, to say the least, and it ends up putting him at odds with the new Dark Knight. This ends up being a classic battle of student vs teacher, with Wayne eventually outsmarting Al Ghul at the end.

4. John Constantine (Constantine)

"Gods a kid with an ant farm, lady. He's not planning anything."

My new aesthetic is John Constantine giving Satan the middle finger as he's ascending into heaven. I'm familiar of the character in the comics but I think I only know about the current magic-based one instead of the religious one they tried to portray in the movies. His goal is simple: get ins God's good graces so he doesn't get sent to hell. He doesn't accomplish this by defeating demons like he does throughout the whole movie, or by even stopping the birth of Satan's son, but by giving up his chance at life to spare one girl from a tortuous eternity in hell. He still doesn't end up in Heaven, but now he has a clean slate to live life right.

3. Ben Grimm/The Thing (Fantastic Four)

"It's clobberin' time!"

Ben definitely got the short end of the stick when it came to abilities. Sure he now has super strength but his new rock appearance has people, including his now EX-fiance, running away screaming. What's worse is that, unlike the others, Ben can't even turn it off or on, he's just stuck that way. So I totally get the depressed state he's in when he thinks Richard isn't trying to help him and appreciate so much that despite all that he's still loyal and quickly takes on the Thing again to help his friends go up against Doctor Doom and put a stop to him. In the end he does find happiness with Alicia and his witty banter with Johnny was one of the best parts of the film.

2. Miho (Sin City)

*Silently kills everyone*

Miho is the best damn thing about this entire movie. Each freaking story is about a man saving a helpless girl in some way, shape, or form and Miho just defies all that nonsense. She's a prostitute by day, assassin by night and she literally always gets shit done. She kills a car full of assholes all by herself and saves Dwight's ass several times during the chapter. She can handle several weapons including samurai swords, ninja stars, and a bow and arrow. I'm positive she could go toe to toe with every other character in this film and still come out on top, YES I'm even including Marv because his slow ass wouldn't even see her coming.

1. Bruce Wayne/Batman (Batman Begins)

"Bats frighten me. It's time my enemies shared my dread."

This is the first time we really get an in depth look at how Bruce Wayne becomes the Batman, Gotham's protector. The loss of his parents give him the anger, but its the teachings of Ra's Al Ghul as well as the advice from those close to him that give him the tools to truly serve justice in a city that knows no meaning of the word. It's a hard task getting the police on his side as he tries to rid the city of its most powerful criminals like Falcone and Scarecrow. There's even a personal struggle of keeping the bat separate from the man, as his romance with Rachel won't go any further unless he gives up the costume. Odds are he won't be giving it up soon after he investigates this new enemy that we all know very well. This film was a great birth to one of the most iconic super heroes in comics and one that finally gets DC rolling on it's feet.

[mercy-thompson-fanfiction]

Fanfic ask meme question Q

I have a ton of unfinished or scrapped material for one reason or another. Some were characters I decided against, some were storylines that didn’t make sense. I have a version of Porsche running away from before Porsche existed. In that story, the long run was her ending up with Samuel’s son. ******heres some stuff for your perusal********

Hormones were a very unfortunate thing.

Hormones were what left the tiny, redhead girl even more uncomfortable in an upsetting situation. She had been helping a customer at a small tech shop she had recently been hired by when she was snapped at.

Most customers entered cautiously. It was common knowledge the shop hired wolves, though they weren’t required to give out the information of who was what. They had partnerships with all the major companies: Samsung, Sony, Asus, Dell, and Apple to name a few. That meant they got a variety of customers with a wide scope of problems.

The redhead had been on desk duty, and was thoroughly enjoying being more customer-facing, when a woman approached her.

“Hey, hun, how can I help you?” She smiled warmly.

“First of all, I am forty years old so don’t call me ‘hun.’” New York was vicious, but Victoria still winced. She was born in the south, though she was between upstate New York and Maine. Her colloquialisms tended to be gentle, though she’d long lost any southern twang.

“What’s your name?” She changed her tactic severely. This woman wouldn’t play nice. Victoria’s voice was flat now, void. The woman looked taken aback. She knew she was probably around the same age as the woman, she hadn’t been Changed that long ago by most standards, but a plus to being a werewolf was graceful aging.

“Linda.” The other woman replied, quickly gathering herself.

“Ok, doll, why don’t you go take a seat over at that table.” The redhead woman found herself pointing to the furthest table with the most monotonous voice. She didn’t want to have to deal with this, not today. She wished she had been put on data recovery.

But there was a man beside her, a wolf beside her in fact, and she knew it. He had been casually watching her while working with someone else. He was young, but there was no telling how old he was, and unassuming. He was dressed in casual, traditional, boyfriend cut jeans paired with a fitted black v-neck. The shirt was long sleeves, but they were rolled up just below his elbows and boots adorned his feet. His eyes, watching her unnervingly, were a dead giveaway that she had no idea who he was or when he was from. They shone out from behind thick-framed glasses that he evidently didn’t need and messy blonde hair.

He didn’t feel like power, but she didn’t argue when he called her outside. She didn’t know how he handled her employers, but he spoke to them like he was using some sort of Jedi mind trick. They didn’t question her need to converse with the man.

“Victoria McLaughlin?” His tone held a question, but he already knew his answer. “I normally send my son to do this sort of thing, but since your complaint has warranted some work before he gets here, I’ve decided to take a look into matters if only temporarily.”

Leaving the pack unattended was nothing Bran had ever meant to do. He promised himself he would return before Charles even left Aspen Creek, so that there wasn’t a moment unmonitored.

This New York City issue had been brought to his direct attention, however, and he hoped that blood was not a necessary response to the diplomacy he thought could intervene here.

Too many people, too many wolves, too many wolves per pack, but too many packs.

“You’re the Marrok?” As soon as she said it, she clapped her hands over her mouth. Stupid.

He gave her a sideways grin for a moment that could have fooled her, but he was immediately back to business. “Is there any place we can talk?”

She took him back inside to a closet customers shouldn’t be in, but she knew she wouldn’t get in trouble.

Victoria was made painfully aware, in the tight space, that Bran Cornick was in no way unattractive. It made it difficult, especially knowing he had a mate, when she was trying to keep herself from blushing when he even glanced her way.

He kept the smirk off his face, but she knew he was amused.

“About business.” He added, to add insult to injury. She was already humiliated, he knew it. It was a continuation of his previous statement, before she took him to the cable closet.

_____________________

“Survival is the goal of the state, not power.” Porsche mumbled under her breath in the rear of the room. Ben glanced sideways at her with an eyebrow raised. They’d situated themselves in the shadows of a meeting that the young woman had manipulated them into.

She wasn’t quiet enough, her father had certainly heard her, but he was also keeping an ear out for anything she might let slip. This was a meeting amongst some of the highest ranking alphas in the country, and it was in regards to a new issue arising in the south where several packs were trying to separate out from the Marrok’s hold.
Porsche certainly should not have been sitting in, but she was also her mother’s daughter and was not about to step outside of the meeting.

“Yes, Miss Hauptman?” She recognized an alpha from Chicago, but she’d always been poor with names. His voice wasn’t intentionally condescending, she didn’t think, but she couldn’t help but take it that way.

“Power plays like this are just meant to scare us into submission so that they don’t have to fear for their survival.” She shrugged. “It’s nothing we haven’t seen before. I’d say someone is in trouble.”

Ben’s hand gripped her wrist, there wasn’t much he could do here. He may have risen within his own pack, but he was only in the room because Porsche had taken her with him and stubbornly argued her way in.

“You going to just stop there?” Charles wasn’t often obviously amused, and now was no exception. There was still something there.

“I think someone is scared. I don’t know why, or who’s made them feel scared, but I suspect this is just a ‘grab for power’ in that they’re trying to defend themselves and seem scarier to someone else. A third party. Maybe there are some dealings we don’t know about.”

Her father hid a smile behind his hand, but it was still there in his eyes. She had inherited her mother’s mind and interest in history, at one point considering a career as a lawyer (something her grandmother was rooting for out of spite).

***

“You’re going to give me a heart attack.” Ben snipped as he drove. Porsche rolled her eyes.
“You, my father, and Charles were all there. As if you were going to let me get hurt?” She scoffed, drumming her fingers on the window.

“I’m letting you fend for yourself in that one.” He shook his head, pulling onto her street. “If you piss off some of the highest ranking wolves in the country, I’m not helping you. You always say I need to stop defending you because you ‘can do it [yourself].’” His voice was mocking and there was a playful shimmer in his eyes.

“Because I can.” She agreed. “Doesn’t mean none of y'all are going to jump in anyways.”

________________

Anyone who had spoken to the Marrok recently wouldn’t even know it, but he had been under a lot of pressure. An underground problem had gotten some attention recently when a woman had been Changed near to his own pack’s hunting grounds.

She had been Changed against her will and she had been left alone.

“Da,” Charles, his son, had already been at the seen of the carnage. Nothing too serious because, this time, it was only deer. Next time, they would hope to be so lucky. “She’s changed back. She doesn’t know what’s happened to her, but she’s handling this all very calmly.” His voice dropped lower, “Anna is with her.”

If he knew anything about his son, he knew that he was not the man to leave his mate unattended with a strange wolf if he thought she was too dangerous. Bran nodded stiffly.

“Are you ok?” Charles asked quietly. His son had been careful to keep Anna near him recently. A series of unfortunate events had ended in the Marrok’s former mate committing suicide.

The Beast was old, he was fortunate he bent to Anna so well.

There were unspoken words. Bran knew Charles suspected him of having Changed the woman, leaving her alone so that he didn’t have to come to terms with it. Bran, on the other hand, had surprisingly few memory holes.

There were a few that gave him a suspicion that it may have been him, but he also didn’t trust himself to have not eaten her.

_________________

“What are you doing here?” She hadn’t quite snuck up behind the man in front of her now. He had known she was coming. She had spotted him from across the street and it had taken everything in her not to completely run away.

“They don’t know I’m here.” The blonde man turned around to face her, amused that she had chosen to approach him after all. He had been tailing her for days, it was a wonder she hadn’t seen him. “They think I’m in Paris, visiting an old friend.”

"What, not visiting home?” She snorted.

“They’d catch that lie, I’m not allowed.” He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing here, sweetcheeks?”

“I–How did you find me?” She demanded, eyes flashing.

“You told me where you were going, Tala.” The man laughed, pulling her to the side of the walk when people gave them angry glances. They had stopped in the middle of the street, they were speaking the wrong language, and now they looked like tourists. “‘Somewhere even the Marrok couldn’t get you back from.’”

It wasn’t entirely true, and they both knew that. If the Marrok wanted something, he could get it. He had already called in favours though, over Artemis’ mother years before. The Marrok’s connection in Prague was shrouded in mystery and wasn’t so much a friendship as a “we need to play nice” circumstance.

“You aren’t supposed to be here–”

“They’re still trying to catch up and see what name you’ve disappeared under. You did well for yourself, who got you your papers?” He was her father’s wolf and she didn’t trust him, especially since he had followed her across the world. “You left the US under Branson–not very clever, and you are hardly the Marrok’s son–and arrived here and took my name.”

“I didn’t think you’d even find Branson.” She muttered under her breath, pulling him by the arm through the side streets until they came upon a small building. He knew what this was, he had seen her hurrying in and out of it several times a day. This was the building she was living in. “I usually use the patronymic, I don’t so much but travel with your name.”

“I’m surprised you used any part of your real name, much riskier.” He flashed her a grin. “Pleasure to meet you, Vasilisa Adamovna Shaw.”

“I couldn’t very well use Smith.” She growled. She said something hurriedly in a language Ben didn’t recognize to the woman at the desk and all but dragged him upstairs. “I didn’t know what to use. I’d have kept Branson except that I didn’t want to be a prize to be won. They only ask for my patronymic anyways.”

“You were practically begging for me to find you.” He rolled his eyes and ducked into the room she guided him to. She again said something to someone, in a language he still didn’t know, but he couldn’t recognize anyone outside her door. There was no scent, no sound, no… “You talk to ghosts?”

Tala froze and turned around.

“I try to avoid it, but she lives here.” She mumbled, stepping through the door and closing it quickly behind her. It opened to a small, one-room apartment. The only doors other than the front door led to the small corner-closet and the arguably smaller bathroom. There was no kitchen. Tala tucked her hair behind her hair only to heave a frustrated sigh and pull it into a ponytail. Ben snorted at her and strolled around the small room.

“The kitchen is pretty much communal.” She explained, her voice starting to soften from its initially hostile tone. “It’s a small place, wasn’t meant to have rooms rented though they’ve turned it into a sort of bed and breakfast. The woman downstairs is someone’s mate. They let me live here because I didn’t want to live above the bakery.”

“Remind you too much of your mom’s kitchen?” He turned to her. “Homesick?”

“Any homesickness has gone.” She was silent for a moment. “It’s been three months.”

“I hear the Marrok called.” He sat down on her bed, there wasn’t a couch in the room. “Is it true?”

“I don’t know.” She admitted quietly. “He hasn’t come here, if he knows.”

“But you didn’t know I was coming either.” Ben pointed out. “I’ve been here for three days.” He gauged her reaction, watched her eyes flash. It made him smirk, she hadn’t known. “How do you do it? Your father has his own security company. Your grandfather even, at least he rules North America in secret. You really downgraded to an alpha who bakes?”

“He doesn’t try to control my every decision.” She spat. He held up both arms, still grinning from ear to ear.

“Daddy issues?”

"Shut the fuck up.” Tala Hauptman didn’t curse when she was home. She would’ve been in trouble. Ben wasn’t sure how to react.

So he started laughing.

She muttered something under her breath and turned to open the window. It was pure luck that found her with a pack mate who had an extra master bedroom, but she was absolutely thankful for it.

“He knows.” She finally admitted, turning back to him. “My grandfather knows. I was there when he called. Charles hasn’t found my paper trail quite like you did. I think grandpa just knew like he always seems to.” She was fidgeting with a bracelet the man hadn’t noticed at first. “He asked if Tala had come to visit. Libor said that no one who calls herself Tala had made any contact with his pack in the past three months. My granddad is anything but stupid.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully before stretching backwards. His face wasn’t his if he wasn’t wearing a smirk, and there it was. He nodded to her.

“Who gave you that?” Her face flushed pink as her hand flew to her neck. “If your father or grandfather finds you, they’ll absolutely murder you.” It was true, but he was laughing at her, teasing. His eyes hadn’t stopped twinkling since he’d first started to get under her skin.

“Just some dude, it’s nothing.” She wasn’t lying. She had let herself indulge in pretend normalcy for a night with some new friends she had made within the pack. Werewolves couldn’t get drunk very easily, but she had enjoyed herself at least a little. “I didn’t run away. I’m legally an adult.” He shrugged, wouldn’t disagree with her. She had only just turned nineteen and had run away before that birthday, but she was legally an adult.

Her subject change wasn’t fruitful, though. It brought up more tension.

“You’re not going to school?” Ben asked casually. She frowned at him. “You are? Who’s paying?”

“Me.” Her hands were on her hips. He had been tailing her for days, he knew she was working. The Prague alpha wasn’t going to let her struggle to support herself. He had employed her himself, something he did for many of his wolves.

It was also the reason she smelled like sugar and butter.

“I’m not going to drop out of school.” Her stubborn facade dropped for a moment. “The language is the hardest part. I don’t know much of anything and while what little I know in Russian is convenient, I don’t think people appreciate it.”

“Well, Churchill screwed them back before Yalta, so I’m not surprised.” He agreed. “I didn’t know you spoke any Russian and you seem to be doing fine.”

“Elizaveta,” She wasn’t sure what to say about her father’s pack’s late witch. “She insisted I learn when I was younger. I never got very good at it. I can’t hold a whole conversation. Three months here, though. I’m learning Czech. So long as I’m in the city, I can usually get by in English. Old people speak German or Russian…a lot of the wolves are older.”

The room fell silent again for a little while. There was some chatter outside as teenagers who had taken their time getting home from their Friday evening adventures walked down the block. The girl who went by Vasilisa pulled her hair out of her ponytail absentmindedly. She had wandered closer to the window again and was watching the street below as she pulled her hair into a loose braid.

It only took her a few minutes and then she nervously pulled it apart again.

“You were asking me to follow you.” He finally said. Her eyebrows knit together, but she didn’t turn to face him. “You don’t run from wolves.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.” She disagreed and he snorted.

“You used my name—”

“It was familiar—” She cut him off in protest. This wasn’t the conversation she wanted to have.

“It’s mine.” It came out as a growl and surprised even him. She didn’t want to spin around. She didn’t want to see his face or catch his wolf lurking behind his eyes.

“You’re just like the rest of them.” She mumbled, shaking her head. “I needed a name to live under. I’m not that creative, you already identified that. I took something I knew.” There was a pause and she took a deep breath. “No one is going to look for me under that name, Ben.”

He couldn’t disagree with her, because she wasn’t wrong. No one would make the assumption that she would live under his name. There was no reason to suspect she’d steal it for herself when she left.

“Did you eat?” He asked suddenly. That was when she turned around, confused. She cocked her head to the side and he shrugged. He had sat up, probably in his frustration with her. Now, he was slowly leaning himself back down against her pillows with his arms crossed behind his head. “Dinner, did you eat?”

“I grabbed something before I came home.” She took his appearance in. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I got something while you worked.” He admitted. She patiently waited with crossed arms, operating under the assumption that he would leave now there was nothing to do. He had completed his mission. He found her, he could live with his smug face knowing that he had discovered her hiding place before even the Marrok. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“I’m sorry, are you staying the night?”

“Well, since you’ve extended an invite…” He grinned at her. She frowned and crossed to the door to call downstairs. He realized he was going to have to get used to her speaking something other than English to people. He assumed she was telling them that he was staying, so that the owners of the home weren’t startled by the man being there in the morning.

He was just happy to know she was safe. They had been searching for her for the entirety of three months. For one of those, he knew where she was but had to come up with an excuse to travel. Now, as he waved her off when she asked if he wanted something to change into, he could be content. He had helped to babysit her as she grew up.

The way she curled up against him when she fell asleep harkened back to those days.

The pack was lucky that their alpha hadn’t torn the house to bits. His second daughter, his youngest, had gone missing. Only proving to make the situation worse, there was no evidence that she had been taken. In fact, all clues pointed to her leaving on her own accord.

“I’m calling in favours.” Ben promised him, pulling up items on his computer that he shouldn’t have access to. “She’s been planning this for a long time, though.”

“Her accounts are empty.” Mercy, Tala’s mother, had opened the bank statements that had been mailed to the house. “All I can see is that they’ve been empty for a month.”

“Six months,” Adam corrected, pacing. Stress and anger rolled off him in heated waves. Ben had already pulled up the girl’s banking statements online. She had stupidly left her phone with the password saved in it. “The last purchase on her debit card was a cellphone.”

He had crushed the old phone in his hand, causing small shards of glass to break skin. The cuts were superficial, quick to heal. She had left it so they couldn’t track her.

“She emptied both her accounts on her own.” Ben admitted. “All cash, several transactions. I can’t trace where she put it because of the cash bit. There are no other accounts anywhere in her name.”

Mercy was watching over his shoulder. She didn’t care to ask how he had gotten into systems he shouldn’t be able to look at. She didn’t want to know, then she’d have to tell someone. The rest of the pack was out looking, but if she had disappeared over night she had a decent head start.

“She cashed bonds.” Adam growled. Mercy reached her hand back to place it soothingly on his chest. “I don’t even understand how, but she’s been planning this for at least half a year, Mercy.”

Bran’s first question had been whether or not she had eloped. All of them knowing Tala, it wouldn’t have been a horrible surprise—except that she had never had a boyfriend. She was the type to stubbornly run off and marry someone her father maybe didn’t approve of. It didn’t seem to be the case.

“I want to know who she’s been talking to.” Mercy winced as she heard skin pass through the drywall.

“It wasn’t on her phone, you’d have seen it. It wasn’t on your home phone either.” Ben turned around. “Boss, I can’t find her. It’s going to take way more, and I don’t have any other connections. Charles will need to look into it.”
 They all knew that the Marrok’s own youngest was already on the job. They also knew it would take time. The stifling fear was that time might be something they didn’t have. The girl they were searching for was young—she was eighteen—she was a werewolf, and she was the granddaughter of Coyote.

Trouble was essentially her middle name.

“Is there anything she said last night?” The girl’s father was frantically searching his memory for anything that could help them find her. There was nothing he could possibly think of that told him where she was going.

They had argued the night before, he and his daughter. She had gotten upset when he asked he where she had gone after school. She felt she was old enough to walk home without being questioned like a prisoner.

He didn’t disagree, not deep down, but the world was dangerous. He wouldn’t ever let himself forget that. When her older sister had walked home alone one day, she had been ganged up on by some local boys.

It was only one instance of many he’d had to handle, between his daughters and his wife. He had only gotten more obscenely overprotective as the years had gone by. His stomach sank to think he might’ve been the one to make her want to leave. He hadn’t taken the Marrok’s words to heart, that she had too much of her mother in her. She was going to run if you tried to hold her down.

She had run and now he didn’t know how to bring her back.

Mercy did, he supposed. If they could find Tala safe and sound, her mother would no doubt be the one able to bring her home. It wouldn’t be a matter of if though. It was a matter of when and when couldn’t possibly come soon enough. Not, at least, soon enough to soothe his growing anxiety. As soon as Ben had told him that she had been planning this for at least a few months, he knew they were going to have some difficulty.

“She didn’t say anything.” Mercy’s voice dulled the sense of panic, but didn’t cancel it out altogether. It was still humming in his mind, just less crazily. His wolf was just as unsettled as he was.

“She broke all ties to the pack,” And that was it, his voice broke. He couldn’t pretend to be angry anymore. It was straight panic. “Mercy, we can’t find her ourselves.”

She took his hands in hers and squeezed.

“Adam, she’ll stir up enough trouble that we’ll find her.”

The phone rang, but his wife beat him to it. Phone calls weren’t private in a house of werewolves, the Marrok knew it. He greeted the alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack and his mate calmly and Adam told him Ben was in the room, too.

“Charles found her name on a ticket to Los Angeles. We’ve attempted to get into contact with the alpha there already, but he hasn’t heard anything about her or seen her. He’s been made aware now.” There was something he wasn’t saying, Mercy felt, but for once she didn’t push. She would trust Bran on this one. She knew he genuinely cared about her daughter almost as much as she and Adam did.

If he wasn’t saying something, there was a reason for it. She would have to trust him.

“We have all the Southern California Packs on watch for her. Charles is flying out to help there.” There was a pause on his line, but not even Mercy could hear what possibly caused it. “We’ll get her home, Mercy.” That was all, he hung up and the call ended.

Without further prodding, Ben was already looking at outgoing flights from LAX. If the local alphas hadn’t noted a female wolf running around, she wasn’t there. She must have connected.

“Tell me if you find anything about her anywhere.” Adam was defeated. He was going upstairs and he was going to make phone calls himself. His daughter wasn’t stupid, that meant maybe she hadn’t flown at all. They had already contacted Emerald City, he’d go ahead and start contacting others.

Ben watched him go and glanced at Mercy. She was obviously worried, had her fingers fidgeting nervously. They knew they would find her, but they weren’t sure where to look anymore.

Bran Cornick hung up the phone. He had just received word that his granddaughter was missing. Worse, that she had likely taken off on her own. He had painstakingly kept his voice level and calm when he was made aware.

He didn’t want Adam Hauptman to know that, as much as he trusted him and genuinely liked him, the Marrok was going to blame him for this one.

Tala Vasilisa Hauptman was like her mother in that she addressed her problems. She was headstrong, she was sarcastic, she was witty, and she knew when to be serious and when she could light heartedly torture someone until they let her have her own way. She had her father’s temper though, with a level breaking point.

And she wasn’t easy to trap.

He had known about their father-daughter arguments for years. He agreed, it was something all children did growing up (in his opinion, especially girls and especially one related to Mercy). The Marrok had still suggested she live in Montana for a little, just until they could level her out. It had done Mercy good in the end. His youngest son was already on his way, he knew that. There was no time for cellphones when something like this happened. He had to be sure she had left on her own accord. Bags packed or not, she could have been forced.

Where would you run, little wolf? It was a stray thought and he wasn’t sure it was purposed for her, even when he thought it. He knew where she would run because she knew it was the furthest place she could get from her father’s reach.

Because even Bran wasn’t sure he could reach her there.

He glanced at the clock. She had seemingly disappeared overnight, but they all suspected she had left before nightfall. She had stormed out of her home after a heated argument with a bag slung over her shoulder to spend the night at a friends.

Bran wondered if that was exactly how she had phrased it.

She was a little stealthier than her parents in that she more often made omissions with what she was doing. He would chalk it up to her being a teenager living with werewolves, but that wasn’t it. Mercy had grown up surrounded by them and…

Maybe as a young teenager, it made a little sense.

Her mother had definitely grown out of it by this age, though.

He figured she went to a friend’s, Adam was hunting them down no doubt. Her friend gave her a ride to…

“Check flights out.” He turned just as his son entered the home. “To anywhere. See if we can find her.”

If she’d gone where he thought she did, they’d need proof.

In all, in took nearly three months. Bran had gotten tired of waiting for sufficient proof that his granddaughter had chosen to travel abroad. His wolves couldn’t find her, that was proof enough to him that she wasn’t active in North America any longer. Her birthday had come and gone and no one had heard from her.

They hadn’t found any flights out of LAX under her name, which meant she had changed it. That meant she had help, forging passports wasn’t easy unless you had connections to the government. Any connections on the US side had been exhausted, they would have found her by now. To the Marrok, it was reason enough to make the phone call he was trying to politely avoid.

“Libor.” He had to focus very hard on his control, something he didn’t need to be so conscious about in a long time.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” He could picture a smirk on the other man’s face, but tried to shake the image out of his head.

“Did your pack take in a new wolf?”

“We’ve had a couple in the past few months.” The Czech man asked smartly. Bran was careful not to show his hand. “What is their name?”

“Tala Vasilisa Hauptman.” The Marrok answered. “Or Thompson-Hauptman.” He thought that he might try to cover his bases.

There was a sound on the other end that, for a moment, made Bran’s heart stop. It might have been his granddaughter, but it wasn’t pronounced enough. He couldn’t decipher exactly who it was or if she has said something. He would have sworn by it, except that he had to be enough of a politician.

He couldn’t accuse the other alpha of lying when he said that no one that called themselves Tala Vasilisa Hauptman had joined his pack recently. Bran had to take the man’s words as if they were honest, because he wouldn’t lie about it.

Libor knew that the Marrok had taken his son to the US though.

He decided, then, that he could spare a week to check it out if he could get permission to land. This was the reason his granddaughter, no doubt, had chosen her destination particularly for who what there. He had Libor had their problems, would always have their differences. He had trusted the other man’s good faith before when Mercy had escaped the Master of Milan. Bran wasn’t so sure he could convince the alpha of Prague to give back his granddaughter.

He wasn’t sure he could even convince the other man to allow him to visit.

There were few other people he could send, however. When it was Mercy, he could have sent Adam alone. He didn’t, not when he could get away with going with the younger man, but it would have worked. Tala didn’t have a mate and, according to her parents, hadn’t taken an interest in anyone anyways—man or wolf.

He could send one of her childhood babysitters. He knew Adam and Mercy had often entrusted her to a certain Warren Smith or Benjamin Shaw. Both men had taken to her kindly, protected her from everything including wandering eyes.

In hindsight, maybe that was why she hadn’t taken to anyone.

He wasn’t sure it was entirely true. For a little while, he had wondered if the young woman had begun to fall for Ben. He never voiced it, just watched it unfold. It was safe and childish enough, because the much older man had never shown any interest in her other than a platonic one. It was the reason Bran never worried enough to point it out.

“Your honesty is…” The most dominant wolf in North America couldn’t keep up the niceties for much longer. He had been slowly unraveling the past few months.

The pause was just long enough for the alpha on the other end to cut in. It was an action that very much tested Bran’s patience.

“If you find her and need to come, you are welcome to it.” The obvious challenge in his voice becoming if Bran could find her. He would need to prove that his granddaughter had even traveled through Prague at the very least, if she hadn’t settled there.

They hung up on polite terms before Bran picked up the phone to call Adam. The younger wolf had been much less controlled over the past quarter year. Mercy was probably the only real thing holding him together at this point, her and his eldest daughter.

Bran was grateful that he was the one to pick up the phone in this moment. He had been passing the responsibility to his wolves and his wife, probably trying to avoid getting his hopes up about any news.

“She’s changed her name.” The Marrok told him. He was scribbling a note to Charles who was already at the computer now. They had known Branson, they had found her flight to Los Angeles easily because it had stuck out to them on the first look.

“Sir,” Adam’s voice was tight, “You’re suggesting she flew out of LA with forged papers. They definitely would have caught that.”

“Not if they were professionally done.”

“You think someone lied to us?” The younger man meant to ask if one of their connections to the US government would have lied about being able to find any fake documentation. It was a difficult task to sift through passport applications and what was done in the past year when one didn’t even have a name to target. It wouldn’t have been lying if any one of their people couldn’t find it, it was a needle in a haystack.

It also wasn’t what Bran was suggesting.

“I think she had help from someone abroad.” Bran pointed at something on Charles’ screen and his son paused. Smiling like a cat that caught the canary, he focused back on the phone. “Has your British wolf gone home recently?”

“Ben’s not allowed, but he went to see an old school friend in France.” Adam slowed. “Why?”

“We’re driving to you now.” He swiftly hung up and turned back to the screen. Charles had, more that a little illegally, exhumed old flight records for someone who seemed to be a certain granddaughter of Coyote.

“She has a Czech passport.” His son’s statement was flat, unamused. “We couldn’t find her all this time.”

“I should have thought he’d help her.” Bran shook his head, but he was still smiling.

“Who goes?” Mercy’s first words as the Marrok entered her home. He gave her a look that told her he was there to talk their options over first. “You really think Libor took her?”

“The Marrok took me.” Zach said quietly. He had been at the house when Bran’s call had come through. He had chosen to stay until the Marrok made it there a little after midnight. “It wasn’t against my will, naturally, as I suspect it wasn’t against hers.”

It was the first time any of the pack in the Tri-Cities had actually heard him speak about his circumstances coming to the United States, and it brought the conversation to a short stop. Adam was the first to bring it up again.

“How are we doing this?”

“I’m going.” Bran’s voice was light, but it was final. “It was an invitation extended to me and I will take it. I have the proof I need in order to. I am here because we need to talk about what she does beyond this.”

“Beyond what?” The younger alpha was tensed again. As a former soldier, he would take orders and Bran trusted that. Still, he didn’t need to like what he was told to do.

“Assuming I can convince her to come home, assuming your wolf hasn’t already succeeded, where do we put her next?” Bran was focused on him directly. “She obviously can’t stay here.”

“What makes you think Ben knows where she is?” Mercy chose to change the topic before someone got hurt. “What makes you think he figured it out before Charles even?”

He pulled the backpack to his side and sifted through papers before coming across the print out of the passenger list from a flight out of LAX almost three months prior. One name was highlighted amongst the dozens.

“So she did elope.” It wasn’t intentional sarcasm on Mercy’s part, it was something she did because she was nervous. It was followed by a sharp, uncomfortable laugh that made Adam wince.

There was no question it that it hadn’t happened. They had all watched Tala’s little, school girl crush grow. They knew what Ben thought of her, too. You couldn’t lie to a wolf, but none of them had even approached the topic.

Noses were hard to fool and Ben’s self-control was either much better than they all would assume or the man was very much uninterested in the girl he had practically helped raise. Given the young, blonde man’s own background, most assumed the latter.

“I can’t imagine it’s not her.” Adam sighed, running his hands over his face and into his hair. It wasn’t as short as it normally was, Bran noted, maybe the stress of losing a daughter was showing itself. “She’s playing a dangerous game.”

“She knows her politics.” Mercy agreed.

“She’s also playing prey.” Adam inserted. “But I’m not interested. Every single one of us knows if Ben figured it out, he’s there and nothing will happen. I want to know why I’m expected to give up my own daughter.”

The focus had been shifted back as the Marrok had hoped it would. The implication wasn’t meant to target Adam and Mercy as terrible parents. Adam had raised a daughter before, Mercy had helped. They were perfectly fit, but it was becoming evident that growing up in her father’s pack wasn’t working for Tala the way they had expected. Bran didn’t want running away to become something normal for her.

“She can stay in Aspen Creek—“

Mercy snorted, arms crossed. Both men turned to look at her.

“You think she wants to live with either of you?” Her tone was flat and serious now. “She ran away because she doesn’t want to deal with you. If she wasn’t concerned that she would be stuck with one or the other if she was found, she wouldn’t have travelled so far.”

It was something Bran had genuinely not thought about. That much, at least, was evident. He had been surprised, caught off guard by Mercy’s comment. Adam was, too, but he was more hurt by it than anything.

“Adam, she’s hurting. You put a lot more pressure on her than you did Jesse, all of us know that.” She edited lightly. “She’s still a werewolf, she can’t keep holding and holding and holding, she’s going to explode. It’s dangerous.”

“We know what alphas have safe packs for her to live in.” It wasn’t an offer from the Marrok, it was a statement that this was going to happen.

“Does she get to factor in a choice?” Mercy pressed.

“She can choose off the list.” Both Bran and Adam would much rather the girl choose to stay with either of them. Their names would certainly make that list.

Ben had woken up first, thankfully. Checking his phone gave him the advanced notice he would need in order to prepare Tala for her worst nightmare. It also let him cancel his own flight and train ride home. The Marrok had found his granddaughter. As soon as it had been sorted, the same people the girl lying on the bed was trying to keep from were coming to find her.

Ben estimated at least two days.

“Do you have class?” He asked when he recognized her shifting in the bed behind him was her slowly waking.

“It’s Saturday.” She groaned, no doubt stretching. He turned around to see her arms over her head and stiff. “I don’t have school, I have work.”

He nodded and tucked his phone into his jeans. Tala curled back into her covers and let out a whine that he chose to ignore.

“You wanted to be an adult, get up. What time do you have to be there?” The light outside the window told him it was maybe nine in the morning. He realized from years of holiday outside of London and from having spent a few days in the city of Prague that nothing opened very early. “Ten?”

She made a muffled noise of agreement and he laughed, pulling the covers away.

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” She groaned loudly and he just shook his head with an amused smile. “I don’t wanna go.”

“Do you do this every morning you have work? Because that’s sad, love.”

She glared at him and huffed, getting herself out of bed and moving into the bathroom. His gaze didn’t follow her, instead dropping back down to his phone when he heard a buzz. It was instinct, mostly, and it took a few seconds to realize it wasn’t his.

The shower was running, so Tala wasn’t going to answer it. He listened carefully to confirm she stepped in a moment or two later. He hadn’t thought until now to check her phone number, to send it back home to those looking for her. He would do it now in his moment of opportunity.

The text on the screen was from a name that he couldn’t read. It wasn’t in English and he wasn’t familiar with any names written in Cyrillic. He ignored it other than to note that the text was in English and asked if Tala wanted to go for dinner later. He smirked to himself, wondering at the least if this was a woman or a man texting her.

He knew her passcode without even thinking about it. It was her name, clever way to keep something safe, in their corresponding numbers. Ben had teased her for it before on multiple occasions. Now, he was thankful it was so simple.

He typed the phone number into his own device and returned hers to it’s place. He couldn’t hide that he had touched it (though plastic didn’t hold scent as well as paper did, for instance). She would know too by the way the notification had disappeared. He could hide it by turning the phone onto Do Not Disturb, but he didn’t care enough.

He would take the blame.

Quickly, he sent a text back home to give them a running number to work with. Anything that helped them find where they were was useful, especially because Ben could only do so much. If they separated at all, his own phone would be useless.

“You had to check my phone?” Tala was still drying her hair. He watched her as she pulled it into a braid while it was still wet—something he knew wasn’t brilliant, but he wouldn’t comment. “Thanks, Snoopy.”

“I wanted to know who was texting you.”

“She’s a packmate,” Tala frowned, responding quickly. “And she’s offered me a place to live where I won’t be intruding on a mated pair.”

He shrugged, Ben could care less except now he didn’t get to tease her about it.

“What has you so proud of yourself?” She muttered, texting her packmate back and grabbing her key to the home. “You found me, big deal.”

“I’m going to go. I’ll try and bump into you later.” He got up, too. He hadn’t changed the night before and he’d survive his walk back to the hotel room. He would much rather not stay in a home with a strange wolf and their human mate when he didn’t even understand the language.

He followed her closely all the way to the bakery, he didn’t need to hide now that she knew he was there. It had been dangerous, in hindsight, traveling to another pack’s territory. Ben hadn’t really considered the issues that could have arisen until now.

He was going to be in some trouble, but that was secondary.

Hope you’ve enjoyed your look inside the bin! :p Maybe I’ll continue some of these some day and you’ll get to see them completed

[aghostpost]

can u write a bruce imagine with the "I'm rich" line thanksss

A/N: I’m gonna combine this request with a prompt I made my friends randomly pick for me for a lil’ 2-for-1 special~ They also chose Bruce and “Hit me!”, number 32 from this prompt. Here the reader knows Bruce is Batman and she’s an anti-hero herself. Not to be confused with Verismo; this reader has no special/supernatural ability!

You put one guy in jail, or in my case a body bag, and another shows up. Bad guys popped up in Gotham like patients in a hospital, and to keep up I had to be prepared no matter what. You get rid of one threat to the city and some other jackass thinks of it as a chance to climb the ranks. They all think they’re better than the last guy, smarter, richer, have more power. Some are even smart enough to learn from the mistakes of the competition that got caught, but every criminal has one thing in common: greed. With new criminals came new challenges, so I was here in the gym getting some training done to stay in fighting shape. I liked to think I had the inside scoop on criminals because I was just shy of becoming one myself. Gotham is a sewer hole that swallowed me alive, but I’ve seen the underground life. It wasn’t pretty. But I’ve also seen the GCPD fail the city more times than I can count.

I’m here to do what they can’t. I operate around the law, bending the rules or breaking them altogether. What sense was there shoving bad guys in a cell when somehow they managed to get back on the streets months later to do the same shit? Rehabilitation didn’t happen in the prison system because there is no changing these people. Now I have more blood on my hands than I sometimes care to admit, but that doesn’t make me a criminal. No, I like to think of myself as Gotham’s salvation, the saving grace of this city.

My training was interrupted by a man that would probably consider himself the same, although we were nothing alike. Two polar opposite sides of the tracks, two different ideas for cleaning up Gotham. “What’re you doin’ here?” I huffed, beating a punching bag to a pulp.

He smirked to himself. “Just checking on the place. Newly acquired property of Wayne Enterprises.”

“Believe it or not, I’m surprised. I didn’t think there was a scrap of real estate left in Gotham that didn’t have your name on it.”

“This gym is a prized possession of Gotham. I thought what better way to give back than to fix things up around here, no?”

“You can do whatever you want with your money, Bruce. You’ve got more than enough of it. But,” I said with one final punch at the bag, stepping away with my hands on my hips, “it’s my day off. Did you have to do it today?”

“You aren’t happy to see me?”

I rolled my eyes and went to a nearby bench, wiping my face with a towel and helping myself to my water. “Am I ever?”

He chuckled to himself. “Well like I said, I’m only here to take a look at what changes I want to make. I saw you, thought I’d come say hello.”

“Hello. And now, goodbye.”

“Warm as ever.”

“Last I remember you were sneakin’ around zip-tyin' people to pipes. You want a warm welcome from me?”

“Wouldn’t that be your mistake, letting me get behind you?”

“You think I didn’t know you were there? Only mistake I made was thinking I could kill that bastard before you stopped me.”

“Yes, likely story.” He had that usual arrogant look and that usual condescending tone that made me want to scratch his face off. “Better luck next time then, Y/N.”

I scoffed. “Is there a reason you’re a smug asshole or do you only do that to get on every one of my nerves?

“You only say I’m smug when I’m right and you’re wrong.”

“Right about what? You think I can’t tell when someone is coming up behind me? I ignored you believing I could bring my arm down and stab that asshole faster than you could subdue me. That’s the only thing I’m wrong about, but trust me it won’t happen again.”

He nodded. “Good, good. Learning from your mistakes.”

“Geez, who are you, my grandfather?” I took another drink before turning away from him and climbing in the boxing ring. “I’m ready when you are, Tommy.” Tommy was one of the gym trainers here who I took a liking to. He was smart and good at his job, got a lot of fighters out of this gym and somewhere in Vegas fighting for big bucks. Him, I didn’t mind taking notes from.

“I got this one, Thomas.” I turned to to see Bruce removing his coat, tossing it on the bench beside my water bottle. I look at Tommy who seemed just as confused if not more than me.

“Uhhh, you sure about that, Mr. Wayne?”

He nodded, rolling up the sleeves of his navy blue cashmere sweater. “Yes.”

“C’mon, what are you doing?” I asked, completely unimpressed.

“You say you knew when I got behind you, right?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged. “I just want you to prove it, that’s all.”

“You don’t have a business lunch to go to or something? Meeting with your lawyers, whatever else it is big time corporation owners do?”

He smiled to himself. “It’s my day off, too.”

“Of course it is.” I rolled my eyes. “How do you explain to the audience how you’re such a good fighter, Batty?” I mumbled low enough for only him to hear.

“Easily. I’m rich. People have done many things to get to me and my money; it only makes sense I take a self defense class or two, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Sure, maybe. Don’t think that would explain you dressing up and takin’ on the things that go bump in the night, however…” That said, I walked to the opposite side of the ring. He wanted me to prove it then I would. The sooner I got this outta the way the sooner I could get back to my actual training. The gym fell silent as everyone was now interested in why billionaire Bruce Wayne was inside the ring. I took a second to redo my ponytail, waiting patiently for him to sneak up on me, listening closely and focusing on my surroundings. A shift in the ring, the feeling of another presence in my space; I waited for either to happen but everything remained still. After a moment nothing happened and, assuming he was just annoying me as usual, I rolled my eyes at this waste of time. “You know-”

“-What-” he interrupted from directly behind me.

“-Fuck!”  I whipped around at lightning speed with a right hook that he blocked with his forearm.

“Very good. You didn’t catch me behind you but you rebounded quickly-”

“-Shut up!” I swung again and this time he dodged, and before I knew it I unleashed myself unto him. He was quicker than I expected. The most he ever did was knock a gun outta my hand or find some way to block me from taking someone out; I never had a moment of combat with the Caped Crusader myself. It was different than the training I was used to. Tommy had more experience, yes, but I was a fast learner. Bruce? He was lightyears ahead of me.

But there was no way in hell I’d admit that to him.

I was throwing blows at him nonstop but for whatever reason he remained on the defensive, which was doing a pretty good job at further frustrating me.  He just made it look so effortless, didn’t even work up a sweat. I hated it.

“Hit me,” I grunted, slapping his hand from my fist that he managed to catch before it connected to his jaw.

“What was that?”

“Hit me!” Quickly I reached and grabbed the throwing knife I kept sheathed at my ankle and swung, slicing the air as he backed away from me.

“Whoa! Y/N, you can’t-”

“-It’s fine, Tommy. Bruce and I are old friends, I wouldn’t hurt a hair on his head.” Bruce’s face revealed nothing but I knew he realized how serious I was. “You can stay on the defensive or you can hit me and knock the blade outta my hand. Your call.”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

I shook my head. “No fun playing with you. No matter; I would hate to ruin such a nice sweater anyway.” I turned my back and stepped outta the ring, all eyes on me as I grabbed my things from the bench and went back into the locker room. Everything went back to normal after I cleared the room. I straddled the bench and did some post workout stretching, trying to think of the other errands I needed to run after I showered at home. The hairs stood on my neck and before I knew it I whipped around and hurled the blade as fast as I could. It went through a locker door and slowly Bruce stepped from behind it.

“So you could sense me…”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” I grinned to myself. Truthfully I didn’t sense him behind me in the ring. This time I saw his reflection for a tiny second in the locker room mirror and just reacted quickly enough where it may have seemed I could feel him behind me.

“That was going to split my face open.”

“Then you should be proud of your reflexes. Besides, I said it was your sweater that I didn’t wanna ruin.”

“Instead you settle for ruining property.”

“Add it to your list of fixes, I’m sure you can cover it. What was it you said back there? You’re rich?” I spun around on the wooden bench to face him. “Why wouldn’t you fight back?”

“It wouldn’t have been fair. I’ve been at this way longer than you, Y/N. And frankly, I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

I scoffed. “Geez, I didn’t know you were actually this full of yourself.”

“Just being honest-”

“-I’ve taken down far worse than you, Bruce,” I reminded him as I stood and made my way to stand face to face with the man. “My opponent underestimating me for being smaller and a woman is ironically my biggest strength. It’d be wise of you to remember that.”

“I never underestimate my opponent and I always expect the unexpected. Luckily, you aren’t my opponent.”

“I’m not?”

“Of course not. We’re on the same team. We fight the same bad guys, just not the same way.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” I was over this little visit and training was a bust. I packed my things into my backpack and closed my locker. “Until our next run in, Batty,” I said waving him off behind me.

“Wait- You don’t want this?” I turned to see him pulling the knife from the locker door and chuckled, continuing my exit.

“You keep it. I got one on the other leg too if you want a matching set.”

[vondehnvisuals]

Hello every One, and welcome to the Simple Solutions Saturday Edition.  Today I Will be tall King more about why I chose to withdraw My application to the Divisional Court, and I am also thing King it is in perfect Harmony with some Simple Solutions for this Saturday’s Edition.

Today’s photo shows just how receptive My little Jacaranda Mimosifolia Bonsai is to the redirection of Energy.

And some People are thing King that Plants aren’t conscious!  That’s ONE night!  It now looks just as comfortable as it did before the new twist.  Sunflowers follow the Sun across the sky.  Before I go off on too much of a tangent, the point is that the Microcosm reflects the Macrocosm, and the new bend of My Bonsai represents in My Microcosm, the redirection of My Energy in Man’s Macrocosm.

There are a couple of other very encouraging Signs in My Microcosm ever since I moved into My new Space.  I started a Pinterest account in February of this year because I heard it was a great Way to promote Blog content.  I was gaining somewhere around 3 new followers a day in beginning and it was gradually increasing, but not in any Significant Way.  It has been providing a lot of Blog traffic for Me though (roughly twice as much as Twitter, and I have +5000 Twitter followers), and although I don’t spend any time on marketing, I ‘Pin’ every Blog Post with a photo.  I was approaching 400 followers at the beginning of July, and was hoping I might reach 500 by the end of the month.

I started gaining fifty or more followers a day.  I just took it as a Sign that the Universe approves of My new space.  But that number has continued to increase and I’m now at 4,313 and gaining over 100 new followers a day!  So I feel obliged to say Thank You to the Universe.  I felt it was also appropriate to be tall King about it now because the real Good News here, is that My social influence is increasing.  The Microcosm reflects the Macrocosm in all things.  My growing influence on social media is a reflection of My growing influence in both My Microcosm and Man’s Macrocosm, or the Conscious Collective.  I might be gaining as many as 200 a day now, I’m not even sure.  I was only approaching 4,000 followers when I Writ My Post yesterday.  By the end of the week, every Blog Post Will have a reach of over 10k!  I really am a modest dude, so that’s pretty Mind blowing for Me!  That doesn’t take into consideration how many followers some of My Twitter followers have if they decided to ‘retweet’ one of My Posts.  Some weeks, I’ve ‘reached’ over 500,000 People.  This is starting to feel like quite the little communication hub I’m Creating! 😀  Anyway, thank You all very kindly!!!

I also hope this helps to understand why I am so Grateful to have You here.  The Greatest Gift to an Author, is to have People appreciate and enjoy the Writing – that’s the whole Point, really.  Nothing in the Universe I could ever Wish to accomplish could ever be achieved without You.  We can’t possibly hope to accomplish Peace if We can’t begin to Visual Eyes every One war King together. 😉

Resuming My reasons to withdraw My application to the Divisional Court, for Part II, I am going to be tall King about some of the Words of the last email from ‘the city’ to Show how My interpretation of events from the meeting were reflected in the Language of the Letter.

We discussed how offended I am by the final determination that My ‘overall actions and behaviour were a risk to staff and/or clients of the facility’, and that it was unreasonable for One to accept such a statement without characterizing what behaviour was considered to be a risk to staff and/or clients (because otherwise, without proof it is libel).  Here is the Writ summarizing ‘the city’s response.

“To this end You were to review Shelley’s apology Letter”

Keep in Mind that the Language used by lawyers is always careful and deliberate.  One of the other problems with Man’s fiction of Law, is that One of the first things One should do if they have wronged another is apologize for the Act-Ion.  In Man’s fiction of Law, that would be the last thing a lawyer would advise someone to do.  Why?  Because it is an admission of guilt.  One has no need to apologize if One has done nothing wrong.  Shelley was strictly communicating the final Word Given by the Salvation Army to Housing Services in regards to the Matter and was tasked with putting it in Writing.

Apologizing also implies a level of Trust.  Geneviève Trusts that I won’t proceed with My application if I am confident that Housing Services was Acting as an impartial tribunal communicating the findings of their investigation in their determinations.  (No ill intent, these are the claims of the Salvation Army, not Us).  That was also My promise to Geneviève (the city).

In My reply, I assured the city no further apology was necessary.

“I confirmed that all I can do is tell them this is what You are looking for from them but I cannot compel them to do anything as this is between You and the Salvation Army.”

This summarizes a great deal of My interpretation of My meeting with the city.  The Key Words here are “I cannot compel them to do anything”, and “this is between You and the Salvation Army”.

It really doesn’t get a whole lot plainer than that.  The apology recognizes wrong doing but not by the city.  ‘I cannot compel them to do anything’, is a kind Way of saying We have tried to get the information You’ve requested, the Salvation Army is not Willing to provide the information.

I could be wrong about this, but I had kind of been under the impression that because the Salvation Army’s continued funding depends on being in compliance with the shelter standards set out by the city, ‘the city’ would very much have the authority to ‘demand’ any information they Wish.  Now I don’t believe that they do.  I believe ‘the city’ only has the legal ‘right’ and authority to ensure the Salvation Army comply with the standards exclusively.  I believe the Salvation Army refused to provide as much information as they were able to get away with unless it was specifically related to the standards, and this was very much reflected in the final determinations made by the city of Ottawa as well.

“You feel People don’t respond to Your Letters and that You have Ideas and Lived experiences You would like to share with elected officials.  You felt Judicial Review was needed for some One to pay attention.”

Now, One��could perceive the next comment to be a little condescending:

“I told You that I was of the opinion that a court proceeding is not the best way to be heard and to effect changes to the standards.”

But it’s a fair statement because it was said in the meeting.  I reminded Geneviève that I agree with her opinion, and that if city council or Housing Services had responded appropriately ‘ab initio’ (Latin, meaning ‘from the beginning), I would not have been compelled to file an application to the Divisional Court and none of Us would be here.  It would also be My preference that it not be necessary in the future.  Then, Geneviève mentioned the following points:

“Attending at committee when Shelter Standards are presented to committee for review and approval (this Will likely be spring of 2020, I Will provide specific date and time when they are set).”

“Councillor Catherine McKenney is the special liaison on Housing and Homelessness (You can cc Me if You like).”

In the meeting, the message was conveyed a little differently.  Geneviève assured Me that city council Will respond to any future Letters, and I am free to ‘cc’ Geneviève for assurance.  Geneviève also offered to assist with directing My concerns to the appropriate representatives on council (to deal with the specific Issues I have raised).

Wow, there’s more to go over here than I thought, so I Will continue tomorrow, hopefully to complete this little mini-series.  For now, I hope You are all having a Wonder-Full weekend.

Love and Blessings,

Volume LXXVI: The Simple Solutions Saturday Edition; Why I Withdrew My Application to the Divisional Court, Part II Hello every One, and welcome to the Simple Solutions Saturday Edition.  Today I Will be tall King more about why I chose to withdraw My application to the Divisional Court, and I am also thing King it is in perfect Harmony with some Simple Solutions for this Saturday's Edition.