#he pulls like a freight train when the track is too easy

[fidgetspringer]

Mini track + item search

[garglyswoof]

The Weight of the Tide

@kastleexchange Come What May Day 2 (use set pics/bts to inspire)

A/N: This is more of an experiment in writing action and way less karen-centric, but it was cool to stretch some muscles today and try to write. i cant believe how the last line of dialogue ended up and cant decide if it's perfect or cheesy lol. title from a gomez song. They said he never misses, well let Frank paint a big target on himself then, to draw him out, keep him away from Karen. The skull’s become an advertisement, changed as most things do when they hit the public eye. To him, it would always be a symbol. He looks at the skull and hears his daughter asking him to read a story, he looks and sees the blood on the carnival grounds. But yeah, yeah, let Bullseye know he was coming for him. One batch, two batch, penny and dime.

It’s what he’s good at, after all. A trail of bodies is an easy way to instill that sense of impending doom, amp up the panic. He just hopes Bullseye isn’t crazy enough to not feel fear. Some guys were like that, shit, he’d had one in his unit, used to just stare lazily at the DI when he was barking orders and they’d all get punished for it. Crazy fucker died in a firefight outside Tarin Kowt and Frank hadn’t lost any sleep over that one, like he would have for the other troops, his brothers. Like he would have for Billy, back then.

He’s been back in the city for only a few weeks, that headline in The Bulletin sitting him straight up from where he'd lounged on the bed, and ten minutes later his bag was packed. L.A.’s “finest” would be waiting for him when he got back, but he was not gonna miss something happening to his… to Karen again. She hadn’t talked about it at the hospital, but he should have brought it up. How he’d screwed up, not being there for her, not keeping tabs on the city like he should’ve. 

He should have said a lot of things that day. He hoped what he didn’t say now would be enough. He slides the vest on and looks into the mirror above the dripping porcelain sink and sees The Punisher staring back.

--------------------

The fire cuts into the body he’s pulled in front of him, and he feels the impact of the bullets as they riddle the flesh in his hands. He roars and tosses the body away, diving behind a parked car. Red is on the other side of the street, flanking the shooter, and despite that advantage, Frank knows Bullseye has the real advantage and he’s gotta flip the narrative fast or this fight’s gonna end quickly. 

He takes a grenade dangling off the side of his vest and pulls the pin, tosses it into the street where Bullseye is hiding somewhere behind an armored truck caught between bank transfers. He’s aimed it to push the guy towards him in reaction, sees a flash of movement as the grenade lands and detonates. The guy is fast, for being paralyzed just a year ago. Gotta be implants Frank lets himself think for just a second as he follows Bullseye’s movement, heading diagonally up the street that will place him just ahead of Frank. He grips his leg where the shrapnel from an exploding vehicle sliced a line of fire across his thigh, then gets up and runs, low and quick, belying his bulk.

He’s like a freight train hitting a car jumping the tracks, if Bullseye didn’t react lightning fast and shift his weight off his right foot, taking the hit and spinning with it so that Frank’s momentum swings him past in an arc from his hold on the shooter’s waist. Frank scrabbles for traction, left foot on the tarmac, knee bent, twisting from it and aiming a knee at the fucker’s balls, once again missing. Those lightning fast reflexes, man, he’s gotta stop this guy.

He hears the jangle of empty casings before seeing them streak across his face, clipping his right eye, the distance too close for Bullseye’s throw to have any heat on it but the distraction enough. Frank throws a left jab but it’s weak, ungrounded, and Bullseye bats it away before the muzzle of a gun settles on Frank’s forehead, the empty click a life sentence.

Shit. Down to five lives, he thinks as his left hand comes down on top of Bullseye’s wrist while his other grabs the muzzle and pushes up. There’s a satisfying grunt and the gun is high in Frank’s hand and sweeping down across Bullseye’s face in a downward whip. The crunch of bone sounds, just audible amid the sound of incoming sirens. They’ve got to finish this fast. 

“What are you even doing?” Bullseye spits through the blood from his broken nose. “You’re not part of this goody two-shoes squad. What the fuck is in this for you?” He’s swaying from the combined pain even as he slides a knife out of a leg holster and slices a line of agony across Frank’s side, just below the edge of the vest.

Frank raises his arms, holding them up at an angle to ward off the blows from the knife. This isn’t Bullseye’s strength, close quarters fighting, but still Frank is wondering where the fuck exactly Red is. Seconds stretching out in the haze of battle, he can’t rely on him, he can’t, he needs to end this. He spots the moment.

“Sometimes,” he says, staring into the manic eyes of Bullseye as he answers the earlier question, “you need to hold on to something with two hands, and never let it go.”

It’s an answer and a strategy as he grabs the man's neck with both hands, pulling his face into his knee before twisting and resting Bullseye's head on his shoulder, almost gently.

The crack sounds and the body slumps and Frank melts into the darkness of the city, to find her and finally say the unspoken.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

So this may be a little depressing but how would your character choice handle the 5 stages of grief when it comes to their S/O?

Just went with one creep so I could make this long.

Jeff:

Denial:

Jeff's denial stage is the fastest of all of his stages, which I would say is a good thing. How fast it moves depends on the circumstances of your death; was he there or was he not, was it an expected death or unexpected, things like that will play a part in how easy it is for him to accept that you're gone. He'll still have those nights, though- where he rolls over and tries to pull you into his chest, but you aren't there, aren't lying in bed next to him, aren't there to return his affections. Those nights are the hardest.

Anger:

His anger stage is one of his largest stages. Jeff has always had anger issues, and they come exploding out full force once it starts to fully sink in that you're never coming back, that he'll never see you again, never kiss you again, never hold you or be comforted by you again. Jeff tends to fully isolate himself during his anger stage because anytime he's around another person all he can do is yell and scream and cry and break down. He destroys almost everything he owns, he constantly has panic attacks, he can't go a few hours without a breakdown. This lasts for months before it even shows signs of starting to stop.

Bargaining:

Once his anger is burning out and he finds himself continuously alone at the ends of every day, that is when Jeff enters his bargaining phase. He reaches out to those around him, even those that he's got bad blood with, got no deep connection to, and he apologizes. He apologizes, and he means it. For everything that he did in the past, for everything he did within the period since you've passed on. It's hard on him, and he's just numbed from all the pain, and he just needs to give something positive back into the world before he drowns even deeper in the pit of his sadness. He spends the most amount of time with Liu, as Liu is the one person that can truly calm him down and comfort him at this point.

Depression:

And then, once he's done all of that, his depression hits him like an explosive freight train. He's got no tears left to cry, no words left to scream, just a deep, mellowing pit of sadness that's overtaken him. This is his second-largest stage compared to anger. His depression stage is going to last a WHILE. He feels so lost and empty without you next to him, and it shows. He doesn't speak to anyone, he doesn't go out and do things. Most of his time is spent laying in bed, curled up with some of your favorite items of clothing praying that they never stop smelling like you. He misses you more than anything, and he finds himself sobbing late at night just wishing he could hold you again, hear you telling him that it'll be okay, that everything will be fine, that he can make it just fine. But it's hard and it's deep and it wounds him and burns him to his very core. He misses you, and that's all he can focus on.

Acceptance:

This comes at least a year after you've passed, I'd imagine. I think it would take Jeff one of the longest periods of time to get to acceptance. It'll be a bright, spring morning. He'll wake up to the sun shining on his face just a bit differently, and birds chirping outside his window, and suddenly, everything will be okay. He'll feel it deep within his chest, that everything will be okay. And he'll heave and sob and weep, but everything will be okay. He'll start slowly talking to people again, and getting his life back on track. He never really moves on, but he accepts that you'd want him to be happy, want him to LIVE. When he gets too down and stressed he just thinks back to that spring morning, thinks back to how it felt like you were there next to him on that bright sunny morning, and he smiles. He smiles for YOU. He smiles and he keeps pushing on because he knows it's what you'd want. He does that because he loves you, he loves you and he wants you to be at peace, just like he now is.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Anything else, Mr. Barber?

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, cheating, coercion, blow job, somniphilia, abuse of power, no edit.

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Andy Barber is fed up with his tardy assistant.

Based on these drabble requests: 

Andy Barber + somniphilia + “You’re late.” + Andy waking up the reader with sex. 

Andy Barber + losing a bet + “do it or I’ll make you.” + Reader bets on something she's confident about, and agrees (ig?) to go down on Andy if she loses. When she inevitably loses, she's reluctant… 

Andy Barber + “Do it or I’ll make you.” + abuse of power + Andy wants his cock sucked by his young assistant, but she's a little reluctant. 

Andy Barber + “Why are you crying?” + Somniphilia + Something where he forces himself on her and she doesn’t wake up until the end 

You knocked with your elbow before the voice came from the other side of the door, staunch and irritated. Fuck, you were late again. It wasn’t your fault, the cafe was crowded and your boss hated the vending machines river water. You let yourself in but Andy didn’t even look up as you entered.

You put the paper cup down as you greeted him, “Mr. Barber.”

“You’re late,” he kept his eyes on the folder in front of him.

“I got held up at--”

He took the cup and sniffed the brim. He scrunched his lips and sat up, his eyes meeting yours at last.

“Cream or milk?” he frowned.

“Milk, like always,” you wisped, your heart still beating from your frantic race to the office.

He took a sip and put it back heavily. He swallowed stiffly and cleared his throat.

“You sure?” he gave a fickle grimace, “tastes like cream.”

“I swear I ordered milk--”

“Just like you said yesterday you wouldn’t be late again.”

“I tried, I--”

“No more excuses,” he crossed his arms, “you’re late one more time and you owe me.”

“I’ll stay late tonight,” you offered.

“No, we’ll see,” he shifted in his chair, “if you can keep track of time, maybe we won’t have to.”

“I’m sorry--”

“You have work to catch up on,” he interrupted again and dropped his arms, he leaned back and grabbed a paper from the pile, “go on.”

You left and sighed as you closed the door behind you. You went to your desk, only a few feet from his office and took off your jacket. You really tried to be on time but Andy just didn’t seem to realise that his last minute texts for you to head down to the archives or to hit the coffee shop weren’t helping. That or he just didn’t care.

You booted your computer and fished around for a pen in your bag. Your leg jiggled as you thought about the next day, maybe if you left earlier you might avoid another slip-up.

☕

A week. A whole week and every day you were right on time. Andy couldn’t complain as you brought him his dark roast with milk and his documents in their acrid folders. It cost you some sleep and some early morning road rage, but he had nothing to gripe about as you met him with a smile.

It didn’t last. You hit a train at midtown and that threw your whole day off. Usually you missed it as the freight came at the same time every morning. The universe liked to see you fail.

Again you entered after a knock. Andy didn’t say anything as you set down his cup and you hesitated to leave as you waited for his reproach. Still nothing. You went to the door and his chaired squeaked.

“Before you leave tonight, we need to talk,” he snarled.

“Yes, Mr. Barber,” you pulled the door open.

“I need the Hanson files copied,” you heard him toss the envelope and you turned around.

“Will do,” you neared and took the manila casing.

“Collated and stapled,” he stared you down, “now go. I’m done wasting time.”

You retreated and flinched as the door clicked behind you. You pushed your head back and cringed. Fucking train.

☕

This time, Andy was late. It wasn’t unusual that his hearings ran long but you knew if you left, it would be worse. The elevator dinged and you watched the doors. He stepped out and bid a goodbye to whoever else was within. He didn’t even glance at you as he quieted and swept by your desk.

He snapped his fingers as he opened the door to his office and you stood. You felt like a dog, your tail between your legs as you followed.

“Close the door,” he said and you obeyed again.

He dropped his bag against his desk and sat. He rolled the chair back as he spread his legs wide and stretched his arms behind his head. He rubbed his eyes and his hands fell onto his thighs. He tilted his head and his jaw twitched as you faced him nervously.

“How many times do we have this conversation?”

“Please, there was a train--”

“Always something. The whole world is against you,” he scowled. “Well, I’m done with warnings. You were late and you owe me.”

“Mr. Barber--”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been thinking about it all day, how to settle this all,” his lips curved slightly, “we had a deal. You’re late, you pay.”

You were silent and slightly confused. You gulped and his fingers tapped on his pants. You winced as suddenly he gripped his belt buckle and unhooked it.

“Mr--”

“Get over here,” he said.

“Wha--”

“We’re done talking, so get over here and show me you want this job,” he sneered, “because it really doesn’t seem like you do.”

“No, I-- you can’t--”

“Do it or I’ll make you,” he shifted as he reached down his dress pants and pushed down his pale blue boxers.

“Mr.--”

“You make me real tired of repeating myself and if I have to again, this conversation and your time here is over,” his eyes bore into you and you wavered on your feet.

You took a careful step, waiting for him to stop you, waiting for him to tell you he was kidding. He didn’t and you took another and another until you were behind his desk. He turned his chair to face you and stroked himself above his open fly. Your lips parted as you couldn’t help but stare.

“I don’t have to tell you how to suck it, do I?” he taunted.

You inhaled and grabbed the desk as you got to your knees. He kept playing with himself as he wheeled closer. He angled his dick forward and tapped your lips as you bent over him. You let out your breath and opened your mouth. You wetted the tip with your tongue before you stretched your lips around it.

His hand fell from his dick and went to the back of your head. He urged you down and groaned as he felt the resistance at the back of your throat. You choked as he forced himself deeper and you breathed through your nose. His other hand went to your shoulder as he guided your motion, slowly at first.

The sloppy noise of your mouth filled the office and you gripped the top of his pants as you struggled to keep going. Your eyes watered and the droplets hovered along your lashes. He moved you fast and moaned as his fingertips swirled over your scalp.

“That’s it,” he said, “knew you must be good for something.”

You murmured around his dick and he hissed. Your throat constricted around him as you gagged and he shoved your head down over and over.

“Don’t make a mess now,” he purred.

He pulled you back and slammed you down all at once. He held you there and rolled his hips as he jerked and came down your throat. You let out a pathetic sputter and gasped as you gulped down his salty cum. Your throat milked his dick and he sighed as he eased out of your mouth.

You fell back and caught yourself on your hands. He rubbed his thighs and stared down at his wet cock, “whew, well, let’s hope you’re late again tomorrow.”

☕

You weren’t late again but that only seemed to make Andy’s temper worse. Even as you arrived before him, he seemed irked by your very existence. He got his coffee, his files, and anything else he could think to demand. You got your peace even if it wasn’t entirely that.

You were tired all the time. You made double sure to be at the office a full hour before your start and you even stayed late, just in case he wanted to punish you for leaving without his say so.

Several weeks passed but things didn’t get better, especially as each time you walked into his office, you felt him in your throat, heard his dark moans. 

That day was no different as you waited for him and his black jacket flapped against you as he brushed past you without so much as a good morning. You turned and followed him into his office and put his coffee down. He shook his head and sat.

He took a drink and grimaced. “Cold,” he muttered.

“Sorry, Mr. Barber, I--”

“Go,” he waved you off.

You swallowed your voice and went. You sat at your desk and heard a sudden splat and the hollow clatter of the coffee cup. Was he mad at you? About what? You were early everyday, you got him everything he asked for, you did your job, you lived at work… what more could he want?

☕

When his assistant wasn’t late the next day, Andy was smug. He’d taught her her place and gotten off in the process.

At first, he’d nearly slapped himself for the idea. He knew it was wrong but he was tired of her being late, tired of being unhappy about everything in his life. Laurie barely looked at him as she brought her work home, Jacob was too busy with his friends to need his dad, and this woman couldn’t even bring him his coffee on time.

It was a simple solution to two problems. It eased both his stress over his errant employee and the neglect of his marriage. It didn’t last, but she wasn’t late again. Even after a week, even after two, then three. His frustration returned and so did his need.

He couldn’t look at her. Everytime he did, he saw her on her knees, head bobbing over his lap, and heard those delightful noises. She made him want it again but he didn’t know how to get her again. It was easy to justify it with her missteps but when she behaved, it made him feel rotten.

That, however, did not keep him from getting hard whenever she called him Mr. Barber or her eye lingered on him a little too long.

He didn’t know what to do, so that day, he stayed late at the courthouse. He called the office and told her to go, otherwise she would wait for him. If anything, his lesson had been effective in teaching her the importance of punctuality.

But even as he drove home, he kept thinking of her. He stopped at the corner of his street as the streetlights turned on and stared down at the dark shape of Laurie’s car. He took out his phone and dialed.

“Andy,” Laurie answered.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late, things… I’m just all tied up. I’ll be a while,” he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Fine,” she answered curtly, “see you in the morning?”

“Uh huh,” he sat up, they both knew it was an empty promise.

He headed back to the office. He searched through the old filing cabinet and pulled out the resume; hers. He read the address at the top. He hoped she hadn’t moved since then. He keyed it into his phone and got out the doors right before the cleaners locked up.

He drove to her building and sat outside. He watched the front and as less people came, he knew he had to act. He reached behind his seat and grabbed the empty paper bag from his lunch. He puffed it up and took off his suit jacket. He went to his trunk and took out the hoodie he kept for emergencies.

He ran up the steps of the building as a woman unlocked the door. He waved to her and called out, “hey,” she turned back as the door buzzed and she opened it, “you don’t mind holding that? I’ve been waiting for an answer for twenty minutes and… he waved the bag, “it’s getting cold.

“Oh, whatever,” she let him grab the door and he smiled, enlivened by his own act.

“Thanks,” he followed and watched her disappear onto the elevators.

He repeated the number in his head, 310, 310, 310…

He took the stairs up to the third floor and left the bag against a railing. He stepped into the hall and counted the doors to hers. He listened through the wood, he could hear her television. He tried the handle but it didn’t budge.

He exhaled and reached into his pocket for his keys. He still had the pocket knife from the days when Jacob was in the scouts. He remembered the trick his dad had taught him, one of many he couldn’t forget. He unfolded the nail file and jammed it in the slot.

He wiggled and the door opened as the handle almost cracked in his grip. He peeked around and pushed inside. He expected her to gasp, maybe even to scream, but she didn’t even sit up.

The deadbolt was loose, broken from his intrusion. He put the chain in place instead and approached the back of the couch. Again he braced himself for her shock. She was asleep. The coffee table was littered with a styrofoam container, a wine glass, and a half empty bottle.

He stopped and stared down at her. He tucked away the knife and took off the hoodie. He paced, hoping she’d wake up and scare him out of what he was thinking off. He had come this far, hadn’t he? He couldn’t stop now. He wouldn’t.

He unbuttoned his shirt and as he got to the last, he paused. He should go home but what was there but a silent and sleepless night beside his wife. He folded the shirt over the chair and took off his leather shoes. He rolled off his socks and stood straight. He unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down with his boxers.

He was hard and hurting. He went to the couch and sidled between it and the coffee table. He grabbed the wine bottle and swigged. For courage. His nerves were jittering as he looked down at her dark blue tee. It was longer and reached halfway down her thighs. He only ever saw her in her blouses and her skirts, a bit clueless but always put together.

He touched her leg lightly and cautiously bent it. She breathed loudly but didn’t rouse. He straightened her leg and reached under her shirt. He tugged the panties down and untangled them from her feet, watching her face with each move.

He moved her leg over the edge of the couch and got on his knees beside the other. He tickled along the hem of her shirt and bent over her, holding himself up on the arm as he stroked his dick. She was going to wake up.

He didn’t care, he needed to fuck her. He pushed against her and slid his dick back until he found her entrance. He watched himself as he thrust into her in a single motion. Her body jolted and she grumbled. He smelled the wine on her breath but she stayed asleep.

He rocked his hips and hummed at the sensation of her walls around him. He dipped into her over and over, a smooth rhythm as it got easier with each tilt of his hip. He focused on his dick gliding in and out of her as he grasped the collar of her tee in his hand.

He sped up as he felt the ecstasy bubbling inside of him. His flesh slapped against her loudly and her leg dangled against his thigh. He closed his eyes and pushed his head back as he let out a long groan. So close, so close, and all he could focus on was his climax, even as he heard her surprised voice and felt her hands bounce of his chest.

“Andy!” she cried out.

He crashed into her and she shoved against him. Her legs bent around him and she wriggled helplessly. She sobbed and he bucked one last time as he came. He spilled into her as her walls squeezed him.

“Call me Mr. Barber,” he purred as he held himself completely inside of her.

He opened his eyes as he heard her sob. He looked down and stroked her cheek. She turned her head away from him and smacked away his hand.

“Why are you crying?” he asked and pushed against her until she whimpered.

☕☕☕

Please reblog and leave some feedback if you enjoyed.

[mrcatfishing]

Day 4, thanks to everyone who actually reads and likes these.

I’ll keep this one short and sweet.

Entomon is the  leader of the Eco-terrorist gang ‘Entomon’s Critters’. An extreme left-wing villain group who do violent acts against local industry, especially against oil pipelines and freight shipping. Famous for the oft-mocked quote that the real endbringers are Nuclear, Oil, and Coal.

They don't make much money, and they don't have great PR, and they haven't had a big win yet, but...

This’ll probably be shorter than my other posts, but I’ll still put the rest under a readmore.

Martin Ross has always been a proponent of protest. He attended his first tree sitting in ‘88 when he was fourteen, and quickly found a liking for fighting the good fight. 

When he got into college, he studied law. He knew that the lack of legal support was always the greatest weakness for climate protesters. It wasn’t easy, but after many years, he passed the bar and got a position in a law firm. He was the best attorney in the firm for knowledge on environmental and land rights, and it paid well too. Just one small thing.

He was working for the baddies.

It was a temporary thing, he promised himself. He just needed to pay off his student loans. He still participated in protests, he just had to hide his identity. Being seen at one of those wouldn’t just mean losing his job. He’d be blackballed from any work in his field.

So he compromised his morals, got a look on how the beast operated from the inside, and cleansed his soul with bi-monthly protests. He was on track to paying off his debts, enough that he had just gotten a loan for a reasonably cheap condo. Any year now he’d have a job at a crappy paying firm that fought the good fight.

He was refuelling his moral gas tank when a combo of police truck and CNN van arrived at their pipeline protest. Things got out of hand quickly, and police began hitting protesters' hands off the fencing with hard swings of their batons. Martin was linked into the arm chain, stoically not breaking the chain, despite the nervous sweat building beneath his mask.

Someone else broke the chain. To swing back at a cop. Hell broke loose, and before he knew it, he was grabbed. Most of the others were too. A rough hand pulled off his mask, and pulled his head up. He saw it then, over the officer’s shoulder. The CNN camera was pointed right at his face.

He was on national TV. He knew the firm watched these broadcasts. He was gonna be fired any minute now. He couldn’t afford his debt without it. His whole future was spinning down the drain.

He triggered with a strange power. He hadn’t even properly realised it had happened until he was in the holding cell with eight more protesters. A small orb of dull black rock grew out of nothing in his palm, and with a thought it vanished.

Entomon has the power to create softball sized orbs and lob them. On impact any living animal matter in the affected area gains an Alexandria type durability. (Aside from himself, who is not affected.)

For any living creature smaller than a softball, this means gaining the near-invulnerability of the world’s strongest woman. For anything larger, it means an almost certain loss of the affected portion, as biological functions struggle to operate past the immovable, invulnerable section. 

At best this is a portion of fat and muscle that is now functionally paralyzed and calcified. At worst this instantly cuts off the function of all major organs through the affected area, causing impromputations and infections at the intersection.

Additionally, after the material is no longer living, (i.e. being extracted from the organism, or after the death of the host) the power fades and leaves a black chalky substance behind.

Entomon mostly uses his powers on bugs, thanks to his teammate Skinfestation being able to host many thousand and even somewhat control their behaviour. Before then he mainly used trained songbirds and mice, though costs of maintaining anywhere near a formidable mass was tricky. 

His early uses of the power as a direct combat tool may have been shockingly effective, but the grisly aftermath was both morally hard to swallow, and not an image he wanted to be associated with.

[calpalirwin]

Better Now

Summary: Putting yourself back out there after a heartbreak is never easy, but you and Ashton are learning that it’s worth it.

A/N: Big thanks to @jessalyn-jpeg​ for listening to me cry over Taylor Acorn songs while I figured out how to combine her latest releases into 1 fic.

Word Count: 2.6k

And away, and away we go!

__

Aside from the composition book that lay open on the coffee table, the recording room was empty. Face contorting in curious confusion, Ashton picked it up, thinking one of his bandmates had left it behind. But as he caught a glance at the words sprawled across the lined pages in black inked handwriting he didn’t recognize he knew he should have closed it. Songwriting was a very personal thing, and he would hate for anyone to find his own songbook lying around and read the contents. But the words jumped out at him, and he found himself taking a seat, still holding the notebook open in his hands.

“And no one comes to save you, you learn to save yourself. The world, it just keeps going on while you’re going through hell. No, it’s not all that it’s cut out to be. ‘Cuz you can’t hide behind the silver screen. Love ain’t like the movies.”

“Jesus…” he whispered to himself.

“Excuse me?” a female voice asked from the doorway, and Ashton jumped, snapping the notebook shut.

“Uh…” he stuttered, staring at the woman with her hair messily thrown up, dressed casually in jeans and a tank top, a tired but wild look in her bright eyes. “Hi. Can I help you?”

She adjusted the guitar case strap on her shoulder. “Uh, I hope so? A notebook? Standard composition notebook. Black and white colored. Probably impossible to distinguish from any other black and white standard composition notebook. I know, super helpful description. You haven’t happened to see one lying around here, have you?”

“Like this?” Ashton asked, flashing the notebook in his hand.

“It would look exactly like that!” she brightened. Then, her smile faltered. “But that one’s probably yours, isn’t it?”

“Uh, actually no. It was on the coffee table when I came in. I, uh, thought it might be one of my bandmates, but it’s not their handwriting.”

“Oh, so you read it?” she asked. No anger or embarrassment. Just clarifying a fact.

Ashton rubbed at the back of his neck. “Sorry… I didn’t read a lot. Just enough to realize the handwriting was different.” He held out the notebook to her for her to take. “It’s uh, good by the way. Whatever you’re working on. Relatable.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the notebook from him and flipping through the pages to confirm that it was in fact hers. “I really need to keep better track of my shit… Thanks for finding it.”

“Yeah, ‘course. And sorry again for reading bits of it.”

She waved a hand at his apology. “Oh, it’s fine. My fault for leaving it lying around. Sorry you can relate to it.”

Ashton shrugged. “Heartbreak: part of the standard human experience. Some of your lyrics actually remind me of a song my band put out once years ago. At the time I considered myself lucky to not be able to relate to it. But seeing yours… which is far more poetic than anything four teenage boys could come up with… I’m glad for songs like that. Makes you feel a little less alone in the drowning.”

“Yeah, I’m hoping this helps me at least start to tread water again. How long ago was the heartbreak for you?” she asked, then shook her head. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I should probably be going anyway. Let you get back to your shit, and go off to deal with mine.”

Ashton chuckled. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s been about four months for me. So still recent enough to sting like a bitch.”

She smiled and laughed a bit at his words, but there was a sadness to both. “Two and a half months for me. So just enough to actually drag myself out of my bedroom.”

“And down to a studio where some jackass reads your most personal feelings. Awesome…”

There was a bit more realness to her laugh this time around. “Honestly, not a problem. It’s meant for people to hear, you know?”

“I suppose that’s true. I’m Ashton, by the way.”

“Y/N.”

“Good luck with the song, Y/N. Feel better soon, yeah?”

“Thanks. You too.” She turned to head out of the room, before pausing and turning back around. “What was that song? The one your band made that you couldn’t relate to at the time?”

Ashton’s cheeks turned pink. “Oh. You don’t wanna hear that one, trust me. Cringey teenage attempt at being emo punk.”

“Damn… Emo punk is my favorite.”

Against his better judgement, Ashton pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Alright,” he gave in, pulling up the song. “But you’re not allowed to make fun of me. Like I said, this was years ago.”

Y/N held out her pinky finger. “No judgement, swear.”

Ashton linked his own pinky with hers, and hit play. For the next three and a half minutes he watched her carefully as she stood there with her eyes closed, nodding her head along with the beat. On one hand, he was glad her eyes were closed because it meant that she couldn’t see him watching her, or see his embarrassment. But on the other hand it meant that he had no clue what she was thinking. He hit pause before it could replay again. “Like I said, some of your lyrics have a similar feeling,” he said with a shrug.

She opened her eyes as she nodded. “Yeah, I see what you mean. About thinking you’re getting the fairytale movie ending one second, and the next the ending is anything but happily ever after. Was one of those solos you?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m the drummer. So-”

“Lots of back up,” she interrupted with a knowing nod. “Is it because you don’t sing at all? Or just out of convenience?”

“Mostly convenience. In our earlier days we used to split up singing pretty evenly. And then we all got more comfortable in our roles. But I still sing from time to time in more than a back up way.”

“That’s cool. And I bet it makes recording stuff and everything so much easier. I have to do a lot of borrowing or outsourcing to get all the sounds I want.”

“Not in a band, huh?”

“Nope. Just your regular solo artist.”

“That’s gotta get lonely.”

“It can be. But it also means making things in my vision, and not having to compromise on that.”

“Well, if you ever need someone to lay down some drum tracks, or just some company so you’re not drowning alone, I’m here most of the time.”

She nodded, understanding what he wasn’t saying about an intrinsic need to stay out of the house as much as humanly possible. Away from the memories that haunted every aspect of being awake. “Thanks, Ashton,” she said, once again turning to leave, but found herself turning back towards him, another question on her lips. “Do you mind if I ask you something personal?”

“Go for it.”

“What’s the hardest part of breaking up? Of trying to move on, and feel like yourself again?”

“Honestly? Waking up, and seeing that empty side of the bed. Hits you like a freight train all over again. That kind of overwhelming sense of dread that you’re never gonna feel normal again.”

“But then you get up, and try anyway, hoping that today it hurts just a little bit less than it did yesterday.”

“But it doesn’t, and you start to lose hope that the pain will ever stop.”

“That’s the hardest part.”

“The fuckin’ worst. But hey. It can’t suck forever. Or, that’s what I keep telling myself anyway. That’s what finally gets me out of bed.”

“And hey! Maybe I'll get a hit song out of it in the process, too.” She feigned a smile, flashing her notebook.

“Oh, that’ll be a hit, no question about it.”

“Thanks. For uh… well everything, I guess. See you around, Ashton.”

“Good luck, Y/N.”

~~~

Y/N eventually did get the courage to ask Ashton for both his company and musical help, on a day when she found it harder than normal to get up out of bed.

She trudged her way into the studio, spotting him watching a coffee pot in the common living area. “Oh, hey,” he smiled warmly as she pulled open the fridge. “Making a fresh pot if you want any.”

She shook her head, grabbing a water bottle and taking a few sips from it. “Can I get your help today?” she asked in a low whisper, hoping to hide the wobble in her tone.

“Yeah, of course. Everything alright?”

She shook her head again, then wordlessly left for her recording room.

“So, what’s up?” Ashton asked when he found her a few moments later, cup of coffee in hand.

“You’re not allowed to judge me for any vulnerability today.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Because this verse is gonna be really hard for me to record.”

He nodded, taking a seat while she set up behind a microphone. A soft guitar track started playing, and when she took a breath, Ashton prepared himself for lyrics of her most recent break up. So when her soft voice started singing, “ ‘Cuz after my dad died, even though she never let us see her cry, my mom was broken inside, ‘cause she just lost her best friend. Why don’t they prepare you for that? When the picture perfect life you had goes black,” to say he was shocked was a bit of an understatement.

There was a click of the track, and the guitar stopped, the headphones settling around her neck. “I’m sorry about your dad,” he spoke up softly. “I- that’s gotta be rough.”

“Most of the time it’s a dull ache. A small hum I can ignore if I don’t focus on it. But there’s a few days where the pain is all fresh, like I’m learning the news again for the first time. A shock to the system.”

“I like the juxtaposition of it all. Most of the time when people think of love gone wrong, or ending before we’re ready, it’s the break up. Because the alternative… it’s…”

“Unfathomable.”

“Yeah. It’s a pain that I can’t imagine, that’s for sure.”

“Lucky you.”

He chuckled slightly. “Nah. Not in the way you think. My own experience is fucked, but in the other direction. He left and never gave a shit.”

“That’s rough.”

“It was, yeah. I guess the small benefit is that I was too young to remember him leaving. So for me, he’s always been gone. Haven’t ever known anything different.”

“See, I’m grateful that I at least have my memories of my dad. Even if he’s been gone longer than I had him. But it’s like a double-edged sword. The memories bring some peace. But it also fuckin’ sucks that they’ll never be anything more than that. That I don’t get new ones.”

“Well, I dunno if talking about him helps you at all. But if you want to, you can.”

“You don’t mind? I don’t wanna bore you, or make you jealous.”

He patted the empty spot on the couch next to him. “C’mon, you asked for my help. Let me help.”

She gave a small laugh before moving to sit next to him. “Remember, you’re not allowed to judge me for being vulnerable.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He listened as stories of her childhood fell from her lips. He offered her up the box of tissues on the coffee table when her words got choked, and would gently prompt her into continuing when she stopped to apologize. He provided her with stories of his own childhood when her own stories grew too painful to share, confiding in her the way she was confiding in him. And when the sun started to cast long shadows across the room, maybe not a lot of work had been done when it came to her song, but Ashton had helped her nonetheless, and both of them felt a little lighter than they had been in a while.

~~~

Help in the form of company was given with much less hesitance after that, with Y/N and Ashton seeking each other out with regularity. Some days would be spent with the two barely exchanging a word as they played out various melodies, or wrote new lyrics. Other days were filled with endless chatter as they shared ideas they had, and provided ideas on how to overcome any blocks in creativity, or just swapped more stories. And other days still, he would help her work on her song.

When Y/N finally finished her song, Ashton was the first person she thought of to share it with, dragging him excitedly into the room with her. “Jesus, this is the happiest I think I’ve ever seen you,” he teased with a giggle.

“Do you wanna hear the song or not?” she asked.

“It’s done?”

“It’s done!”

“Well, hit play! C’mon!”

For three and a half minutes they stood in the middle of the recording room while her song blasted from the speakers. 

“Well?” she asked expectantly when silence overtook them once more. Then, more quizzically, “Why are you staring at me like that?”

He had an amazed smile on his face, dimples cratering his cheeks, and a soft shine in his eyes. “Staring at you like what?” he asked in response.

“Like you wanna… I dunno… kiss me or something…”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. Then the soft look was melting away into confusion. “Cuz sometimes I think I want to.”

“And other times?”

“I talk myself down because I’m not sure what I want, or what I feel. We’re both still getting over people who caused us a lot of damage. And I don’t always feel like I’m ready to think about starting a relationship with someone new. But I also know that I’m never going to be ready until I actually start doing it. And I really like the friendship we’ve built the past couple of months. I feel more like me when I’m around you. Like, not only am I no longer drowning, I can actually feel the bottom. But I don’t know if those feelings come from being around someone who can relate to what I’m going through right now, like some weird trauma bond. Or if it’s real “I like you’ feelings. And it’s not fair to you for me to not know.”

She nodded, both understanding what he was saying, and what he wasn’t saying. “What if I kiss you instead?”

“Please, don’t.”

“Because you’re scared we’ll hurt each other? Ash, if we don’t at least try, then we’re never gonna know what’s real and what’s not.”

“It’s partially that. But also… If we end up kissing… I’m not going to want to stop.”

“Then you better not be a lousy kisser.”

~~~

7 Months Later

Ashton got a small flash of deja vu as he saw the black and white composition book lying open, the beginnings of a song scribbled across one of the pages. “Just another hopeless broken heart cliche. And all my fairytale ambitions, I just watched them wash away.”

“Y/N?” he called out, curious to learn where this song was going, and also where his girlfriend could be hiding. “Babe?”

“But it’s too late for sorry baby, even if you’ve changed. I’m not letting myself break down, count me out. Oh, I’m better now,” her voice sang softly as it came down the hallway with her, a black pen twirling between her fingers. She paused as she spotted him standing there with her notebook, a smile lighting up her face. “Hey, you.”

“Hey,” he matched her smile, handing her the notebook and pressing a kiss to her head. “That’s nice. Whatever you were just singing. What inspired this one?”

“Just reflecting a bit on this past year,” she told him, as she quickly wrote what she’d been singing in the notebook before the lyrics left her head.

“Feeling a lot better these days, huh?”

“Better than I’ve ever been.”

__

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[raichijin]

⋆͛♡⋆͛ the hangover; mirio edition.  ❥ a one-shot.

━━━━━ 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. (tba)

preface; writing this was honestly so painful. a testatment to why i should never 1.) do collabs ever 2.) write long things. i am drained.

word count; 5k words.

starring; mirio, mina, shinsou, denki, unnamed boyfriend.

summary; after your boyfriend forgets about your anniversary, you spend some time with friends to forgive and forget about what happened. then it gets worse.

warnings; reader gets called some nasty names towards the end of the fic. watch out for that.

you were supposed to be spending this weekend with your boyfriend. at a resort, poolside, on vacation, or on a beach, or where ever he’d fancy peeling off the nice (read: expensive) swimsuit he’d gotten you for your five year anniversary.

he was kind, is kind, but not as committed to your relationship as he was to his job. not even a call as the clock struck midnight, almost an hour past your reservation, but a text the morning after with a short apology, and the sudden announcement that he’d be working late. again. you didn’t cry. wouldn’t, because shedding tears would cause a mess and a headache, and self-doubt is what’s tucking you in at night, telling you that maybe for tonight, tomorrow and the day after your feelings don’t matter.

cause his job is the one keeping you afloat. (your interest in the arts is cute, to him; like a hobby. nothing you could stay afloat with. it’s too risky, he insists, so to you, it became nothing. to others? it became offhand remarks at his high-end office parties. a joke to your in-laws. a breathed sigh of relief from your parents.) so more time is what’s best for the both of you.

that has to be it.

your friends figure out something might be wrong when you go ghost for days, bordering on a week.

you mention how it’s easy to lose track of time when you’re by yourself as you are, but they don’t buy it. say you need to loosen up, take a vacation of your own even when you say you don’t need it because you’re not working, give you sharp glares whenever you object. you don’t know why you thought you had a choice in the matter — especially when mina’s sugar mommy gives her enough money to afford 2 full suites at one of the most expensive hotels in the area.

denki also tags along, just cause, and brings his boyfriend; shinsou, with him.

if they know what’s going on, they never mention it. 

and it’s a little easier to cope that way.

you dip your toes, ease yourself into the night, before you’re being pulled into the deep end and your mind’s been left at the door, but your body is having a field day.

you should’ve blacked out two margaritas ago.

you think you did.

you’re too drunk to recall all of the rash decisions you made, or whether or not you maxed your credit card, but you’ve must’ve gotten separated from your friends somewhere along the way, because when you wake up, you are distinctly not in your bed, not in a tastefully decorated room, not in a hotel.

and mina, shinsou, denki? unless they’re in the adjacent room, they’re not here with you either. you’re still in your clothes from last night. your shirt is missing a button and you don’t have your shoes on, but beyond that, you’re perfectly fine.

a scraggly bed head lies next to you, who is, notably, more nude than you are.

he has no shirt. no shoes. no pants. his blonde hair is unruly and you’re so shocked you actually start to wake up. your eyes widen and you’re sitting up so fast you’re a bit dizzy from the sudden motion.

the room is spinning and you feel sick, the headache behind your eyes making you want to grind your molars into dust. and just as quickly as you sat up, you lay back down; shaking the bed with the force. the guy next to you isn’t as heavy of a sleeper as you hoped, though. he blinks open tired eyes, showing you the most exquisite navy blue, and the little bit of drool dripping down his chin might’ve been cute if he wasn’t a complete stranger.

though you can’t stave off the creeping anxiety, the silence as he comes to his senses doesn’t feel wrong, and you’re more confused than scared.

he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, and gives you a criminally bright smile, and though his voice is wrecked when he says “...g’morning, sunshine.”, you doubt yours sounds much better. 

the nickname makes you feel fuzzy, if only for a second.

“i, uh … good morning?” you sound awkward, but the guy manages to find humor in your predicament when he chuckles gently, sitting up without so much as a second thought. you can see more of his body when he does so, and when his hand comes up to ruffle his hair, you can catch the glint of a silver band, resting on his ring finger. 

then everything clicks into place.

did you cheat? was he cheating?

all of the things you’d been beating yourself up over settle thick over top like smoke clouds and a raging fire. you feel like you’re suffocating, and don’t realize you’re freaking out until a strong hand is wrapping around yours, which, in your panic, you squeeze.

you spot a matching ring on your hand, that you know for a fact wasn’t there before,

and you think that’s when you pass out.

you wake up (again) to a room with tacky but charming decor, the smell of breakfast, and considerably less of a headache than what you started with. now more lucid, with the strength in your body to walk and think, your first priority is finding your phone. you tap your pockets, check the bedside drawer and tables, under your pillow, in the cracks of the bed, under the bed.

no cigar. you’re digging through miscellaneous memorabilia, trinkets and clothes that aren’t yours for at least a minute before the guy you were laid up in bed with comes back to just to see you picking through the corners of his bedroom, banana in hand.

he stands in the doorway and clears his throat. he has clothes on this time, pants. “you’re awake? are you feeling any better?”

you startle, straighten your back and stand upright, your arms falling to your sides. “um, kind of. i — have you seen my phone?”

he shakes his head, offers you the banana. “you should have this though! it’ll fix that hangover, i think.”

“i … thanks.” standing and eating a banana in someone else’s bedroom is certainly … a time.

“i made some breakfast,” he says when you’re halfway finished, “if you want some.” he ends with a smile, and you feel those 3 shots of serotonin go straight to your brain.

granted, you shouldn’t be that happy.

he takes the lead and turns around, leading you down a narrow hallway into a quaint kitchenette with a lovely beach view and all the good summer vibes condensed into a single, small room. it makes your heart hurt even more when you realize you have someone home, someone expecting you to come back.

to a hollow apartment, a cold bed, a lukewarm welcome.

you have to force your brain to be quiet to even hear a fraction of what blondie is saying.

“alcohol basically just dehydrates you. the potassium stops that, gets you all your minerals and stuff back. i heard it works with beer, so i was thinking it works for other stuff too!” he sounds so chipper that it brings your mood up just to hear his voice.

so bold and sure, warm and kind.

“but if it doesn’t clear up in 30 minutes, i have some advil i can give you! don’t want you having a headache all day now.” he’s sitting you down at his small table and sliding some pancakes in front of you, some orange juice. eating feels like a chore, but you know you have to, or that you should try at least.

while you push around your food, blondie chatters away, and even if you just met, he has you entranced by the way he speaks. smooth like the butter on his toast as his stories flow effortlessly into one another, how easily he can chat you up is amazing; getting you from gentle chuckles to full blown belly laughter before you can get your first bite in.

there’s lulls in the conversation if you count the moments he takes to actually eat, but he keeps you on your toes with his personal anecdotes, and questions about yourself, forcing you out of your shell, little by little.

the thought of your boyfriend pushed back into the depths of your mind.

until you broach the topic of your friends.

you learn quickly that he’s a good listener, completely silent unless prompted, asking questions or making jokes only when you’re finished speaking. when he asks, you tell him about the ones that got you here, shinsou, denki and mina.

his eyes flash momentarily, a look of recognition, or maybe understanding, passing over him. he hums gently, head swaying as he does so.

“they’re a little rough around the edges but they’re like family, you know?”

“i get what you mean. they were very nice when i met them. especially at our wedding!” he sips his coffee.

“i — are you alright? you’re choking!” that you are. the guilt you felt when you first woke up and the rising panic ram into your gut like a freight train, and suddenly, you don’t want to eat anymore.

"what do you mean we're married?" you rub small circles into your forehead as this idyllic morning goes right back to being cruel hell. 

"yesterday, at the chapel," he twists his wedding ring with warm familiarity that makes your stomach churn. "i can't really believe it myself, like maybe we were meant to be? i know the universe works in strange ways like that."

you're sorry to burst his bubble, but you save the happily ever afters for fairy tales, not real life.

you pinch your forehead and heave an exasperated sigh.

"i have a boyfriend." you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to seek lost comfort. "and we don't know each other to begin with. can't even remember your name, i was so drunk."

you cradle your face in your palms, feel his stare bore into the top of your head.

"togata." you perk up.

“what?”

“my name. it’s togata. mirio togata.” 

“oh.” you rub your cheeks, pull them back with the heels of your palms.

“that’s a nice name.” an uncomfortable silence washes over you both before someone speaks up. mirio.

“so what do you want to do?”

you answer a little bit too fast in response. “i don’t know. i … i should call my friends. i still need to find my phone—” you stand up, ignore the onslaught of nausea, and look around the kitchen.

“help me look? and then … and then we can figure out all the other details later.” mirio carries both your plates to the sink, and busies himself with dishes for a brief moment, allowing you to find the bathroom nook and reorient yourself. you fix yourself up a bit, straighten out your shirt and fix your hair up. no time to take a shower.

you cup a hand in front of your mouth, breathe and sniff. eugh. 

“hey, uh, togata; got an extra toothbrush?” his heart might’ve lept when you called him by his given name.

“um! yeah!” rushing water obscures his voice a bit, but if he shouts he’s loud enough to hear. “check under the sink? i should have some there.”

“thanks.”

you rummage around in his cabinets, and in that time he’s managed to clean up the leftover food and put a shirt on. 

your phone having gotten lost or being stolen becomes more of a possibility the longer you think about it. you doubt you came back to his house to do anything but sleep. how many places could you have dropped it? you come out of the bathroom to mirio sitting back at the kitchenette table, holding his phone in his hand.

“hey togata … do you think you can call me?”

“i mean, sure, but i don’t know if i have your number...”

your anxiety makes you a bit snippy even when you don’t mean to be rude, but you can apologize when you get your phone back.  ”just give it to me then. i’ll do it.”

it rings a few times before someone picks up, which is a step up from going to voicemail, and the situation goes from okay to great when the croaky voice of shinsou answers, worn out and tired, but awake enough to make a greeting.

he says you’re not here to pick up the phone right now, you interrupt and say that this is you, and that you just borrowed togata’s phone to figure out where yours was.

“togata? who?” 

“my, my um. husband.” gingerly said, you can see mirio tense up in the corner of your eye.

“oh,” someone’s snickering away from the mic. denki probably. you can’t help but roll your eyes. “mirio?” you’re upset that he can remember his name but you couldn’t. “how is he?” you shoot mirio a look, he gives you a thumbs up.

“good. so, uh, where are you guys?”

two hours away. they’re two hours away by car and mirio’s pickup truck is exactly what you’d expect from him. it’s big, beat up, it’s blue, and it’s his pride and joy, even if it’s slow to start up. if anything, it feels a bit humbling to hear the low hum of the buzzing engine. brings you back down to reality, out of the lap of luxury.

reminds you of the way mirio laughs with his whole chest. that gentle, rumbling purr.

you’re sinking into the crunchy leather seat with a groan, then a laugh from togata; to which you swat at him. you give him the address so he can set it up with his gps, and get going. he messes it up a bit and then it’s your turn to laugh, much to his displeasure. he blushes from the embarrassment, and you pat his shoulder, still chuckling. it feels natural. waking up together. having breakfast together. unofficial road trip to meet back up with your friends because you got blackout drunk and are 100 miles away.

oh, right. you sigh softly and mirio looks over, thinking to comfort you by turning on the radio, greeted by soft pop and slow guitars.

the silence carries.

fifteen minutes into the drive, he thinks to ask about your boyfriend.

“what’s he like?” togata drums his fingers on the wheel with an air of anxiety almost, though you can’t imagine why he would be — unless he thinks you won’t react well to his question. you don’t mind however, and sate his curiosity without as much as a glance.

“oh, he’s nice,” your statement lacks the enthusiasm you’d expect when someone talks about their significant other. it seems sincere, yet exhausted.

“buys me whatever i want, when i want it, loves his job to death, and … we were supposed to be celebrating our anniversary this week.” dejection is visible in the way you slouch your shoulders, interest waning. mirio can’t help but exercise a little concern, filling in the gaps while he’s at it..

“and you couldn’t, because you came here?” you shake your head.

“what? no. i came here because he was too busy, and my friends thought i could still have some fun on my own. his job is important to him.”

“and your relationship isn’t?” your eyes narrow, glaring at him from the passenger's seat.

“the fuck’s that supposed to mean mirio?” 

“well, an anniversary is supposed to be more important than some job— don’t you think he should just take a day off? it wouldn’t hurt.” you lean against the car door, shoulder propping your head up as you peer out the window.

“i mean, i guess. but he’s keeping us afloat, so i can’t really complain.” togata’s eyebrows shoot up.

his tone is incredulous. “what, you don’t work?”

seeing you cringe away out of the corner of his eye is what makes him back track almost immediately.

“i’m so sorry! i’m — wow, that was completely out of line,” your embarrassment lessens when he apologizes, and you inhale sharply. 

“don’t worry. it’s, it’s fine.” you can’t help the way your fingers dig into the flesh of your arm, gnawing the inside of your cheeks, afraid of getting laughed at. mirio wouldn’t laugh at you, would he? 

“i, i used to make music. i was in a band in highschool, actually.” though mirio’s forced to keep his eyes on the road lest you two crash, you can see the way his smile reaches his ears, the silent ‘wow’ of awe making your cheeks heat up. high brow company doesn’t have much use for your talents unless it’s the violin, or something else that fits their lame-ass agenda. your bass chills in the back of your closet, a relic of the past, but a neat decoration.

you shake your head, too caught up in your own train of thought that you didn’t realize togata was speaking.

“i’m sorry, what’d you say?”

“oh! i was just curious, i asked if you sing?” you snort, then full on laugh, though mirio doesn’t seem to get the joke.

“oh, hell no. i don’t have the voice for it, nor the patience to do vocal training. i just played bass! thought it was easier than guitar because it only had 4 strings. i was wrong. maybe i could … show you sometime? i mean, it’s been a while, but i think i remember a few songs: have you heard of seven nation army?”

you talk with mirio about music at length, and learn that he’s a pretty big enthusiast himself and while he’s never played an instrument, he’s been interested in learning guitar. he brings up your band, and the memories of your senior year come flooding back; mina and denki convincing you to audition, your stage fright, recruitment later in spite of it. 

mirio can see the stars in your eyes when you speak, speaking so animatedly with clear adoration at the topic at hand, and he starts getting a creeping suspicion that back where you’re from, you don’t get to talk about this as nearly as much as you like. he realizes in the same breath that he doesn’t mind indulging you. he participates enough so you don’t feel like you’re chatting his ear off, but quiet enough to hear you fill in the empty space.

the way your hands move as you tell stories is adorable and so is your enthusiasm, he could hear you ramble for hours and never get bored. and he nearly does, it’s been an hour and you’re still talking — but then you take a breath, and apologize for no good reason.

he squints at you, confused.

“what’re you apologizing for?”

“i’ve been talking waaaaay too much. i’ve barely heard a word out of you for the last thirty minutes!”

“i thought you were having fun! i know i liked listening. besides, it looks like that you don’t get to talk enough about the stuff you enjoy. i’m willing to listen, so talk all you want!” the assumption makes you furrow your brow, and you hate that you feel like he’s right. 

your boyfriend either talks about his job, your friends, his parents, or nothing at all. no interest in music. no time for it. your friends enjoy reminiscing on occasion, but you don’t speak enough to them to get all nostalgic.

it’s … nice that he takes your feelings into consideration. you smile to yourself, saying nothing in response.

“we’re getting closer to the hotel — it’s 30 minutes away now.” it gets quiet again, before all the sounds you hear are the other cards and the slow hum of low volume music you’d forgotten about, coming from the radio. you turn towards the window to take in the scenery while mirio catches glimpses of you in his periphery, surprised at how adorable you look, doing even the most mundane of things.

mirio couldn’t remember much from the night before, well, can’t remember anything that wasn’t you. you weren’t completely out of it when you met him, but he could’ve misjudged, considering he wasn’t quite in his right mind either. didn’t know if it was the alcohol that made you so bold, but everything about you was so charming. 

from something as simple as your smile to how easily you chatted him up, despite his tendency to be a tad overbearing, you would take him and his attitude in stride. running around town, dipping in and out of nightclubs with your friends close behind, getting kicked out of said clubs, dancing and laughing together in another—

he huffs, pouting to himself. your boyfriend was so damn lucky.

he steps on the gas and starts going a little faster. you don’t seem to mind.

the rest of the trip was silence, and it wasn’t until he parked and stepped out of the car and said something.

“wow.” he whistles, low and long, until you pinch his arm to stop from attract the stares of passerby. “you guys could afford this? gosh. that’s like, three of my paychecks, maybe.” you chortled as he helped you out, quick to clear up any confusion.

“not me,” you walked in the lobby with him, going straight to the elevators after checking in with the front desk. “i could barely afford it! mina’s … uhm, girlfriend, paid for a room for all of us.” he arches a brow at the emphasis on girlfriend, but if he has any objections, he holds his peace.

“mmh. wonder what it’s like to be rich.” 

you laugh as you’re carried up a few floors, specifically to the more expensive suites, at least 12 floors up. “me too dude! mina is lucky.”

you’re barely knocking on the room door before denki is throwing it open and screeching, ushering you both in. they remember mirio from last night, which is upsetting, considering they don’t remember anything else: not how you got to mirio’s house, not how they got back home. not how they found your phone in the bathroom either, apparently.

“speaking of bathrooms, i’m gonna take a shower. keep mirio company, i guess." 

you have to look through your luggage for a change of clothes, and find your phone on your bed in your room, charging and you don’t think about going through it until after you’re clean.

coming back to nearly forty notifications from your boyfriend wasn’t on the agenda, and quite frankly, might’ve been a sign. some were calls but most were all lower case texts, each more foreboding than the last. holding your towel up with one hand, you scroll through your messages with the other.

 what the fuck is wrong with you?

 who the hell is this guy?

beneath it, a video of you and togata. your pupils dilate, and a deeply rooted sense of dread clutches your heart. it looks like a screen recording off of denki’s instagram account, of you two dancing. not overtly scandalous, but too close for comfort.

have you been cheating on me? 

for how long

how desperate are you? i say i have a business trip and you take it as an excuse to slut it up somewhere else?

you’re fucking pathetic.

heart slowly sinking, threatening to beat out of your chest, you can’t find it in you to scroll through the rest. you barely have pants on before you’re calling him up, frenzied and feeling out of breath. the phone barely rings twice before you’re going to voicemail and hearing the beeping tone. 

fuck. fuck fuck fuck.

you hang up, and try again.

this time, he picks up on the first dial tone.

“baby?” you nearly yell into the microphone, while the other end remains silent.

“what is it.” his voice is hollow, not even asking a question; rather making a statement. you choke on your words, are quiet for a few seconds at most before he’s barking at you. “i don’t have all day. i’m busy.”

“t-that video. it wasn’t, it wasn’t anything—” something slams in the background that makes you flinch, and he takes it as a good opportunity to cut you off.

“so the wedding wasn’t shit either? the way he was holding you, looking at you like that, like some lovesick fucking puppy?”

“w-what? what’re you talking about honey? it’s nothing like that—”

“don’t get fucking cute with me. i’ve seen the photos. that girl mina doesn’t know how to not publicize your life.” you feel like dying. 

“i knew i should’ve never settled for you.”

“you don’t mean that—”

“shut the fuck up.” there’s more shuffling on his end, a deep sigh. you’re too shaken to speak. “i wasted so much on you. gave you a house, a home, just for you to repay the favor by being a two-bit whore, sit on your ass all day and complain, and waste my time with those stupid fucking hobbies of yours.” what’s more terrifying is that his voice doesn’t wane or waver. he means it.

“... honey, please. please just let me explain!” you hadn’t even noticed the tears until you’re wiping them off your cheeks, your sniffling getting louder until you’re full on sobbing.

“there’s nothing left to explain. get your shit out by tuesday. we’re done.”

the line goes dead after that.

you don’t realize how much time has passed since you went to go shower initially, only that it’s been a while, considering how urgently mina starts knocking on the door.

“baby, are you alright? you’ve been in there for half an hour!” you can’t find it in you to respond. all it results in is choking on your own words, coughing and sobbing and tears and this fucking headache.

you don’t want to be seen.

mina announces that she’s coming in, and conversation behind the door quiets down until you can’t hear it anymore. just your own thoughts. she opens it and finds you in the corner, your knees to your chest while you’re just barely dressed, hair soaking wet. crying feebly until she rushes over and asks what happened.

you show her your phone. the texts.

she wraps her arm around your back and helps you up. hands you a towel so you can finish drying yourself off, and picks out some clothes for you to wear. when she turns around, she’s greeted by the concerned faces of your friends. mirio.

her face morphs from a look of concern to pure rage.

“what the fuck!?” she all but snatches your phone away from you, to which you pull your hands back and cradle you legs again. “who the fuck does this asshole think he is?” she looks down at you just then, and sees the red in your eyes, the tear tracks that stain your cheeks and a few drops dripping off your chin. you need your help more than you need her rage and half hearted insults. 

“you yelled.” shinsou states plainly. “is everything alright?” mina approaches them and ushers everyone out, closing the door, presumably to give you some privacy.

you dress slowly, the few minutes feeling like an eternity before you’re reaching for the door handle, clean and feeling like shit, for different reasons other than a hangover.

when you emerge from your room, mirio gives you a hug.

a hug that you melt into. one that you weren’t expecting but squeeze him back just as hard, tears that didn’t quite make it out seeping into the spot where you press into his shirt. his arms are comforting and strong, rubbing and patting your back gently, until the room is silent beyond your heartbeat and your sniffles, your friends milling about in the background.

“he said i have to move out.” your fingers dig into togata’s shirt. “pack up all my stuff and leave but i don’t know where i’m supposed to go—”

there’s a smaller hand patting your back when mina speaks up.

“d-don’t worry.” you can feel her hugging you too, a special warmth blooming in your chest. 

“we’ll figure something out.”

while you’re leaving the hotel, mina makes a call to her girlfriend camie to explain the situation, and by the time you’re back in mirio’s pick up, she said that camie offered to rent you an apartment in her name. the earliest she can get it was by monday, so she offered to let you spend the night for a couple days as well. denki says that he and shinsou could help you with things around the house: shopping, redecorating, etc.

togata is the one who offers to help you get your stuff. you arrange the date for monday, actually exchange phone numbers, and meet up at 8.

it makes sense; his car has enough space in the back, you don’t have much of your own stuff, but you nearly regret accepting the offer in the first place. something about moving out with your … husband in tow doesn’t sit well with you. almost seems like it’s too soon. 

but mirio’s charming enough to make the whole ordeal seem less like a fever dream. you’re beaming at him by the time you’re all done, laughing and smiling and so infectiously happy. by the time you both wind down you’re out of breath, wheezing in the front seats of the car.

he smiles fondly at you.

you can feel your cheeks heat as you return the sentiment.

then both of you are back on the road. the musics louder this time, and you get to show him how shitty you sing; which he insists isn’t so bad after all. it’s after twenty minutes of this that you’re suddenly struck by the irony of it all. 

“i can’t believe our first date with you was me moving out of my exes apartment.” mirio chokes on his spit, cheeks bleeding red as he does a double take, eyes flitting from the road, back to you, back to the road.

“wait.”

“that was our date?”

𝔱 𝔞 𝔤 𝔩 𝔦 𝔰 𝔱 ;  @mitsusuri​ @okayshin​ @tamasoft

[yungidreamer]

Claimed

Summary: An intruder enters the territory of Chan and his pack, attacking people and causing havoc. Seemingly by chance he saves a victim that turns out to be his mate, but as fate would have it, he happens to be a wolf at the time. How will he protect her, come clean, and claim his mate?

Word count: 8.2k

Content warnings: slightly dark themes, a werewolf serial killer who is a vindictive asshole, impregnation kink, marking, minor descriptions of violence, sort of stalking, sort of possessive behavior. Some cursing.

Music: Come Out by Lenise Morales and War of Hearts by Ruelle

“Come on, boy,” she said, patting her leg and holding out the leash. “Let’s go on a walk before it gets too late.” Chan hopped up off his round dog bed near the couch, wagging his tail as he came to her. He sat patiently, turning his head to let her reach the leather collar she had put on his neck. Jesus, his pack mates would be in hysterics if they saw him like this, he thought to himself. But he could have endured the embarrassment for her.

How had he ended up like this? Really, it was a mix of destiny and bad luck on  both of their parts. He honestly never thought he would meet his mate when he was in his wolf form and hurt on top of it. Fights weren’t something he got into that often and something he avoided when he could, but that night three months ago he had caught that piece of shit lone wolf stalking her.

Why the loner had picked her, he had no idea, but Chan had to be grateful in some ways. How long would it have been before he ran across her if not for that? Jesus, what if he had gotten there too late? He didn’t want to think about it.

That night he had been sent to track the interloper that had been causing havoc in their territory. He was the first of the pack to actually find him, which must have been luck since Minho was generally the best tracker and Changbin a close second. They had taken the two days before and barely missed catching him at the no-tell motel he had been staying at and at some restaurant where he had mauled some poor woman heading home after her shift. Changbin had been furious with himself for not tracking him fast enough and had been the one to find her bloodied and crying near the back door of the restaurant. He had shifted back to human and called 911, telling them he had been passing by when he heard her crying, a plausible enough story not to raise any suspicion. Besides as far as anyone involved knew, it was a rabid dog attack… a massive rabid dog.

Tracking was exhausting work and got shared amongst all the members of the pack. The third night had been his job and he had taken a neighborhood near the one he had been stalking, suspecting he had moved his hunting grounds but not that far. His hunch had been right, but it was pure luck that he had come across the scent of the intruder as he patrolled, just hoping to catch some hint, some clue.

That whiff had pulled him down an alley and into the strip mall parking lot of the craft store. For the life of him, he could not figure out why on earth he would pick this sort of place. The parking lot was half empty since most of the stores were already closed… except the big hobby shop. The sodium orange lights of the parking lot had flickered and buzzed, bothering his sensitive senses and it must have done the same for the lone wolf… so why on earth would he choose to hunt here.

Chan had spotted him, in human form, leaning casually on a planter half a dozen meters from the entrance to the store taking a drag on a hand rolled cigarette. He had let out an involuntary huffing sneeze, hating the smell as it drifted to him. That had given him away. Even if he hadn’t been able to sense that he was a fellow werewolf, no dog would have been wandering around alone in a parking lot here, like this, at this hour.

“I’m surprised you found me, rover,” the loner had chuckled, self-satisfied and amused. “I would have let you guys be, but you couldn’t just let me hunt a little.” Chan had growled as he watched him stand up, letting the shadows and flickering lights obscure his face as he pulled himself into a standing position. He had moved fast, charging at Chan and drawing a knife just before he got within an arm's length of him. Chan dodged but not fast enough, and the knife caught him in the ribs, grazing over a couple of them before he could dig his teeth into the man’s arm.

“Fuck,” the man yelled, punching Chan in the jaw to force him to let go. Stars sparkled in his vision and pain sliced through him as the knife slid along his collarbone and upper leg. He had gotten one last swipe in before retreating, leaving Chan bloodied and limping.

A safe place to shift was what he had needed, there surely would have been someplace nearby, a little alcove or alley between a couple of the shops, but before he could get very far, she had stepped out of the store, locking up and leaving for the night.  Chan froze. He had been slinking away, slowly trying to get out of view, but was still very clearly in view when she had stepped out. His pain had blinded him to other sensations at first, but even before she turned and saw him, it hit him like a freight train.

Mine the sensation said with a ferocity he had never felt before. Why he had to find his mate like this, he had no idea. He wasn’t particularly unlucky. He didn’t spend tons of time as a wolf either. His pack was pretty chill and was pretty careful to stay below the radar. Their territory was safe and they were known for not being overly territorial, letting people pass through without a problem so long as they left and didn’t make problems. So how he ran across her while he was shifted and injured was just stupidly bad luck.

She had gasped when she finally turned around and saw him, but who wouldn’t when they turned around to see a massive dog behind them limping and bleeding. A moment’s fear had shot through her at the sight until Chan had whimpered, flattening himself on the pavement to look as unthreatening as possible.

“Hey puppy,” she said softly, putting out her hand for him to sniff as she leaned down, slowly coming closer. “Can I take a look at you?”

Yes please, he thought, rolling gently onto his uninjured side.

“What on earth happened to you… boy?” She asked, catching sight of his belly. “I don’t suppose you are going to make this easy on me and would just get in my car if I brought it around?” She sighed and patted his head. Rubbing his head into her hand, he rolled back over and pulled himself up to stand again. “Maybe you can just come with me, hmmm?” Standing up, she started to move towards her car, keeping an eye on him as he slowly limped behind her. She opened the back door to her car and patted the seat, inviting him to hop in, which he did quite happily. “Well at least that was easy.” She observed, closing the door behind him as he laid down on the back seat. “Now we just have to go spend my whole paycheck at the emergency vets.”

Sorry, he said to her in his head. I’ll pay you back when I can. Pain pulsed through him as the city lights swished over him in the back seat. The emergency vet clinic was only a half an hour away but that was way longer than he would have ever wanted to have to lay bleeding in the backseat of a car. In fact, he really was sure he could have gone his whole damn life without knowing what that felt like.

He was tough, he was the alpha of the group, though he didn’t enforce a hard hierarchy like some did. They were more family than anything else. They looked out for each other, did their part, contributed in any way that they could. It worked well for them and everyone was pretty happy with the arrangement. It was just his job to be the final voice when decisions needed to be made or to speak for the group when dealing with outsiders.

“Can you get up, pup?” She asked when she opened the door in the parking lot of the vet’s office. Chan nodded, though it probably didn’t look like it, what with being a dog and all, and stood up on slightly shaky limbs. Thank god they were close, he thought to himself as he stepped out the door and onto the pavement.

“I need some help please,” she said as they stepped through the automatic sliding door of the clinic.

“Oh my god,” the woman behind the counter said when she caught sight of him, picking up the phone on the desk and hitting a couple of buttons. “Doctor West we need you in reception now please, and bring whoever is back there to help.” She hung up the phone and dashed out from behind the desk. “What on earth happened?”

“I don’t know,” she said looking down at Chan as she kept a hand on his head. “I was just coming out of work and found him like this in the parking lot. Maybe he got cut getting out of a yard or went through a window or something?”

The receptionist had shrugged, it seemed like as good an explanation as any. They had taken him back, stitched him up and scanned him for an ID chip, which, shocker, he didn’t have. With no one else seemingly accountable for him, she had decided to take him home, saying she would try and find his owners. For now, she would pay for the vet bills and she just had to hope whoever owned him would pay her back. Though honestly, given the shape he was in, she wasn’t holding out hope there was someone, or at least someone responsible.

That was how he had ended up here and stuck in his canine form way more than he was used to. The one upside was that he was with her. She had spent a couple of weeks hanging up posters with his picture, but eventually just decided to adopt him herself, leaving him in the weirdest bind he could imagine.

The first few days he had stayed just because everything hurt too much to do anything else. I’ll change back soon, he told himself, I just need the stitches to heal a little first. Then one evening when she came home he could smell him and cigarettes on her and his heart had clenched. The loner had been there for her? For his mate? At that moment, that realization he had a feeling he never would have thought possible. Thank god I was the one that got stabbed. That had settled it. He had to be there, he had to stay and protect her, at least until the intruder was caught.

Not long after that he had shifted when she was off at work, finally getting in touch with his pack. After the understandable chewing out he let Jisung give him since he had basically disappeared without a word for DAYS, he explained what had happened and told him to pick someone to shadow her while she was out or at work. Jisung agreed, letting out a low whistle at the story and the news that he had found his mate. Chan left the details to him and the others, still not feeling even 50% if he had to be honest. He trusted them and for now, he was stuck.

Now it had been three months and the loner was still on the loose and still in their territory. They had no idea why and he had only attacked one person since that night. Now and again, when she came home from work, he would smell him on her, and still other times, he would catch the smell of the loner when they walked through the neighborhood. But it was never enough, never that fresh, and he had no idea how he was flitting around so close yet so far.

Jisung had the brilliant idea of getting one of them hired to work with her at the craft store. Chan had to admit, it had been a good idea, it kept someone close, but it probably wouldn’t have been the solution he would have wanted. Smelling Changbin on her every night when she came home from work rankled him an unbelievable amount, despite the fact that he knew nothing was happening with them. But between smelling his pack mate and the loner on her, and being unable to do anything with her aside from pretending to be her pet was going to drive him mad.

How on earth was he supposed to tell her who he really was? Buck also couldn’t just disappear. And yes, she had named him after the dog in Call of the Wild which was both adorable and painful. She was attached to him...just the wrong him. He needed to come clean but, aside from breaking to her that werewolves existed at all, something that would most likely freak her out, saying, surprise (!) you know that dog you’ve been letting sleep in your bed and changing in front of… well, he’s actually a guy. Because, you know, that would go over really well.

So that was how he ended up on the end of her leash, heading out for a walk. If he didn’t have to do this as a dog and have to make a show of going to the bathroom on these walks, he would be far happier. It was nice being out with her, he just wanted to be able to do it as a person, maybe holding her hand, though he might have tolerated a collar and leash if she really liked it for some reason.

Chan walked ahead of her, scenting the air as they made their evening loop of the neighborhood. All seemed well and normal for the most part, at least for the first half of the walk. But as they made the turn that would head them back towards home the scent of the loner drifted across their path. Chan stopped, causing her to bump into him and make a little sound of surprise as she accidentally stepped on one of his back feet.

“What’s the matter, Buck?” She asked, looking in the direction he was looking. “Did you see something?” Unsurprisingly, he didn’t answer and, after pausing for a few seconds, she moved past him, trying to snap him into moving again. Chan stepped in front of her, preventing her from going as he tried to place where the scent was coming from. “Come on, boy, I want to go home.”

I know, he said mentally, willing for her to understand him. Trust me, me too. Suddenly he saw it, the shape of another of his kind skulking on the other side of a cinder block wall. It’s dark chestnut fur moved slightly in the breeze as the animal stayed stock still. In a split second, it dashed back behind the wall and Chan gave chase. He pulled his leash out of her hand, sending a mental apology to her, and immediately gave chase. He couldn’t let this just keep going on. She called out his name, well the name she had given him, as he disappeared behind the wall, giving chase.

Quick as a flash, he saw the tail disappear around the back of the house on the other side of the block wall. He skidded around the corner, keeping the scent trail of the intruder under his nose. The chase led him through alleys and back yards as they ran and dodged. Finally he saw him disappear over a high fence and Chan lept after him, feeling like he was finally gaining on him.

When he landed he heard a snap and knew immediately that he had made a mistake. A sharp pain shot through his front leg. It had all been a plan, been a trap to get him here, to get him trapped… and to leave her alone. He had never really felt as stupid as he did right now. He finally gathered the will to look down at his leg to see it clasped in a leg hold trap, cut and bleeding, but thankfully not broken, probably by sheer luck. He couldn’t run like this and he had to get back to her.

With a gulp, he changed back, needing the dexterity of human hands to get out of the contraption. It pinched harder, stinging his nerves as his leg turned into an arm, thickening in the vice like grip. It took him a moment to stop seeing stars and then another to figure out how to press down the sides of the trap to open it. When he was finally free, he looked around. He had to get out but running around naked and bleeding was a great way to get the cops called on him.

Making his way to the edge of the neighboring yard, he looked over the wall to see laundry hanging on a line outside. He hopped over the wall and took a t-shirt and some pants, promising to try to remember to bring them back when he could. Once he was dressed, he ran. He ran towards where he had left her; ran like his life depended on it. Ran because hers probably did. His feet barely touched the ground as he rushed back to where he had left her.

Suddenly he heard a scream rend the air and he felt his whole body go cold. So stupid, he berated himself as he willed his body to move faster. Turning the corner a couple of blocks from where he had left her alone, he saw her… and him. The loner had cornered her against a fence in the front yard of some house, a hand around her throat and a knife pressed against her ribs. Without a second thought, Chan rushed forward with a guttural growl. The loner heard him and turned. Momentarily distracted from her, he didn’t notice when she jerked herself down, loosening his grip enough on her neck to fall in the direction opposite the knife he held on her. With his attention torn between two people now, Chan had the upper hand and wrestled him away from her.

“Run,” Chan commanded her as he tackled the loner to the ground. They rolled and grappled like gladiators, vying for dominance, both ignoring her. Something that turned out to be a mistake on the part of the loner. Just as he rolled on top, pinning Chan by gripping his injured arm, she rushed toward them, picking up the dropped knife and driving it into his back. The loner let out a rage filled scream and rolled away from them both as he changed back into his wolf form. Running away as quickly as he could manage and disappearing into the neighborhood.

“Are you okay,” Chan asked, getting up and grasping her upper arms. Her face was a mask of shock, eyes wide and not really seeing anything. “Look at me. Tell me that you are okay.”

“I have to find my dog,” she said, her eyes flashing around them, yet she didn’t pull away. “I think he tried to chase that thing away. He ran off and I need to make sure he’s okay… he was already hurt and…”

“I’m okay,” Chan said to her, giving her a little shake to get her attention. “I’m Buck. You found me in a parking lot and saved me. It’s me.” Her eyes snapped to his face and she went white. “I was following him that night, trying to figure why he was here. That’s how I got hurt, but that’s how I found you.”

“You were looking for me, too?” She shrank back, her eyes searching for something in his face.

“No, but,” Chan sighed. He needed to come clean but this wasn’t the place. Not in the open, not in someone else’s yard. “Let’s go home. Please. Can we talk there?”

“Home?” She asked, looking at him suspiciously.

“Your home,” he corrected. “Just, let me explain. Give me a chance.”

She looked down at the arms that were holding her, finally noticing his cut arm. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s not that bad,” he let go of her arms, trying to hide his injury a little.

“Let me take care of it,” she offered timidly. “Then we can talk.” Chan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. With a nod he led them both back to the house, keeping a gentle hand on her wrist as they walked. He needed the assurance that she was there, that she was safe.

She followed, letting him take the lead, slightly unsettled by how well he knew the way to her house. Part of her still didn’t believe him. But then again, she had just seen a man change into a dog or… wolf maybe, and she couldn’t explain that. She had never seen him before and yet he knew her dog, he knew where she lived, he had saved her. She wasn’t 100% sure, but something told her to trust him.

When they got to her house, she let them in and Chan pulled her inside, locking the door behind them before tucking her behind him as he scanned the room and tested the air inside the house for anything amiss. When he was satisfied that it was safe, he stepped further into the living room and headed towards the bathroom to care for his arm. He really knows where everything is, she thought as she watched him head there without hesitation. Stepping up to the sink he started running warm water, dipping his arm under the spigot to rinse it. He hissed as the water hit the wound, a tingling pain shooting outwards from it.

“Here,” she stepped up beside him, dampening her hands and lathering them so she could gently wash his wound. Chan sucked in a breath between his teeth at the sting. “Sorry,” she said softly.

“No, it’s okay,” he assured her. “I appreciate you helping me. I owe you my life twice over now.”

“Seems like both times it was because of me anyway so…” she didn’t meet his eyes, focusing on what her hands were doing.

“It’s not your fault,” Chan soothed. “We should have gotten him out of here long ago. He just… he keeps slipping away.”

“So what are you?” She asked as she patted his skin dry with a towel. 

“Werewolf,” he replied softly. “But I won’t hurt you.”

She nodded and pulled some gauze and tape out of the cabinet behind her. Kneeling down in front of him as he sat on the toilet, she spread some anti-infection cream over one of the wounds before putting gauze over it and taping it down. She did the same with the other side, then wrapped both with a sports wrap to keep it secure on his arm.

“What’s your name?” She asked, finally looking up at him.

“Chan,” he replied gently, reaching out to cup her cheek. “My name is Chan.”

“That fits better than Buck,” she gave him a nervous smile and laugh.

“God I love hearing my name on your lips,” he admitted. He leaned forward hesitantly, giving her a chance to pull away, taking her lips with a gentle firmness. She tasted like heaven, even better than he had dreamed those nights when he lay beside her in bed pretending to be her pet.

What am I doing, she asked herself, feeling a fuzzy, intoxication filling her brain as his lips pressed against hers. His tongue darted out against her bottom lip, begging her to open to him. Why did he taste so good, she wondered as she shivered under his touch. He was hardly the first guy she had kissed but he felt different and she didn’t understand it. She didn’t know him at all, despite the fact he seemed to have been living in her house for months.

“Love, I… I need,” Chan pulled back and stepped away from her. “We need to talk.”

“Sorry,” she leaned back, not meeting his eyes, wiping her lips to try and erase the distracting sensations.

“No, don’t apologize,” he soothed, reaching out to her. “I just need—” he broke off. “I need you to understand.”

“What do I need to understand?” she asked him, frustration coursing through her.

“You’re mine,” he said, taking her face in his hands. “I knew it the moment I saw you that you were supposed to be mine. I protect what’s mine. But I need you to choose me. I can wait. I can send someone else to stay here and protect you. Just… I need it to be your choice because once I have you. I’m not letting you go.”

She should have been afraid, she should have made him leave and run as far as she could as fast as she could. But something in her trusted him. No that wasn’t strong enough. Something said he was right, they were a part of each other.

“Okay,” she nodded as much as she could, still restricted by his hands on her face.

“What?” He asked, his eyes searching hers, trying to divine what she was saying.

“I understand,” Her hands came up to loosely grip his wrists, guiding his hands down from her face. She leaned forward, bringing her lips to his.

“Wait,” Chan took a step back, having to use all his willpower to do so. “You’re sure?” She nodded and his will broke. It had taken so much of him to pull away, to do the right thing. He hadn’t expected her to accept him and what he was. With a desperate hunger, he smashed his lips into hers as he lifted her and carried her to the bedroom. He already knew the place well enough he didn’t have to take his lips from hers as he took them both to her room. He tossed her onto the bed and crawled in over her, pressing her into the mattress with his body. He was pure muscle as he pressed himself against her, she could feel it even through the odd mismatched clothing he was still wearing.

“Chan,” she breathed when he shifted to kiss along her cheek.

“Say it again,” he groaned, grinding himself against her. “Say my name.”

“Chan,” her hand tangled in his hair, holding him close. He pulled back, only long enough to strip off the shirt and to slip the borrowed jeans off his hips. He covered her still clothed body with his, drawing her arms around his neck. She moaned underneath him, parting her thighs to let him settle between them.

“I think I’m a little overdressed,” she pointed out.

“I can fix that,” he grinned, rolling them both over. With hurried hands he pulled off her shirt and unhooked her bra before sliding it off her arms and tossing it across the room. His pupils widened as he took in her bare breasts. They looked soft and inviting and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to cup them. She giggled and covered his hands with hers. Sliding backwards off him, she unfastened her jeans and stepped out of them.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Chan propped himself up on his elbows and took all of her in with his gaze. Her hands lifted to cover herself and he sat up, grabbing her wrists to stop her. “Don’t hide…” he blushed slightly as he admitted it, “You’re so beautiful.” He pulled her down to straddle him, running his hand over her waist and thighs.

She leaned down, bringing her lips to his as his hands wandered over her body. He had thought about this moment for months. Being so near her and having her not notice him, not see him had been killing him. So close, yet so far. Every night when she changed for bed, he had done his best not to stare as she stripped and put on her pajamas, only peeking a few times. Everytime she wrapped her arms around him and cuddled into his fur as she went to sleep. He had wanted to change, to confess, to throw himself on her.

Now he had her holding him as his human hands wandered over her soft curves and it was even better than he had dreamed. She smelled like heaven. Like the forest in summer and fields of wildflowers. He wanted to take her in every way possible. Kissing along the side of her neck, he buried his face in her shoulder, pressing her body against his tightly. He wanted to taste her, to feel her flesh in his mouth, to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

He knew why. It wasn’t that he wanted to eat her. The bite would mark her as his to any other wolf that might cross her path. It would meld them together according to their customs and the rules of the pack. The mark would claim her as his alone and give her the protection of the pack.

Breathing deeply, he fought the urge. He needed to do this right. I’m not an animal, he reminded himself, rolling over and moving them both to the center of the bed. Her pleasure had to come first.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded softly. “I just want you to feel me.” She looked into his eyes for a second before nodding and closing her eyes as she laid on the bed beside him. Kissing her lips, he tasted her with a slow and lazy sense of leisure, reminding them both they had all night. He licked and nibbled at her lower lip, letting out an involuntary whine as he asked her to open to him. She parted her lips and let him in, still allowing him to set the pace, to guide her. His tongue thrust into her mouth with a hungry confidence. He devoured her like a sweet dessert, enjoying her taste with a slow deliberation. As he did, one hand played lightly over her chest and collarbone. His touch was as light a feather, teasing her with the contrast of sensations.

Leaving her lips, he slid himself down her body, dragging his lips and tongue over her neck to the center of her chest. He could hear her heart beating under her delicate rib cage, fluttering like a wounded bird. The sound stirred the animal inside him. Was she afraid? Her scent tickled his nose telling him that she was mostly aroused but underneath it was a faint sliver of fear. It wasn’t a fear of him, or at least not a real fear of him. It was the type of fear that makes a rollercoaster fun or that tickles your stomach when you stand near the precipice of a mountain and take in the wonder of the view. That frisson of a potential danger that was entirely unlikely, but not impossible. Looking up her body, he saw her bite her lip in anticipation of… something, of him.

He slid between her legs and moved lower on her body. He kissed and nipped at the flesh of her belly; so soft and vulnerable. The wolf in him loved that she trusted his teeth there. His wolf could have ripped that flesh with such ease and the fact that she trusted him like this made pleasure rippled through him. Moving lower, he settled himself between her thighs, lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Can I taste you?” He asked, nuzzling against her inner thigh.

“Yes,” she nodded, squeezing her eyes tightly as her hands fisted around the blanket beneath her.

“Show me what you like,” he instructed, licking a line up the slit of her body. “Let me know how to please you.” She nodded, her hands fidgeting with anticipation. “Baby girl, you can look at me now.”

Opening her eyes, she looked down the line of her body to see his hungry eyes fixed on her. Chan’s hand reached up to take hers as he held her hips down with the other, keeping eye contact as he made a testing thrust of his tongue into her. She gasped and squeezed his hand. Satisfaction settled in his chest and he threw himself into pleasing her as he read her body. He licked and nipped and sucked at her until she came apart underneath him with a strangled cry. She was beautiful and he had never felt as powerful as he did in that moment.

He needed to take her, to fill her with his seed until he was sure she would bare his child. An image of her, round with child, floated through his mind. Yes, the wolf inside him growled, take her. Chan slid up her body and positioned himself at her entrance as he pulled her into a kiss. She could taste herself on him as he stole her breath.

“Are you ready for me, baby girl?” He asked, brushing hair off her face.

“Yes,” she nodded, eyes hazy as she looked up at him. “Please, I want you in me.”

“I would give you anything you asked for,” He admitted, coaxing her thighs around his hips. “Have you… done this before?”

“Yeah,” she assured him. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” he nodded, a little relieved he wouldn’t have to hold back. Holding her face in his hands, he looked into her eyes as he curled his hips into hers with a slow deliberation. He watched as her face filled with wonder at the feel of his invasion. When he was finally seated fully inside her, he paused, taking a moment to enjoy the way her body stretched to accommodate him. It was like she was built to hold him.

“Can I move?” He asked softly, running the pad of his thumb over her cheek.

“God, yes, please,” she nodded, digging her nails into the skin and muscles of his back. Smiling down at her and keeping eye contact, he pulled himself half way out before thrusting back inside her. She sighed at the delicious friction. His body felt so good inside her, felt like it belonged, or perhaps that they were becoming a part of each other. Chan moved slowly, relishing this moment. She shivered, her hands grasping at his wide shoulders as he moved.

“Please,” she said again. “I need more.”

“Anything for you,” he soothed, placing a few kisses across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. He pulled his hips back and plunged inside her, going as deeply as he could. Setting a steady rhythm, Chan buried his face in her neck as he began to let go and lose himself in the feeling. She filled every sense of his. Her smell, her feel, and the taste of her skin under his lips. Even her pants and moans filled him as they teased his ears in the quiet of the room. Her limbs held him close, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping her from falling. 

Pleasure rose inside him and he knew there was only so long he would last like this. He wanted to feel her come around him, feel her body milk him as she came beneath his touch again. Her heels hooked around the back of his thighs as she arched against him. The slight change in angle let him brush the sensitive spot inside her, making her quiver and gasp.

“Harder, there,” she begged, a desperation growing inside her.

“Are you close,” he questioned, his face tucked in against her neck.

“So close,” she whimpered, her nails raking his spine.

“Cum for me, baby girl,” Chan panted. “I need to hear you cum.” She whined and moved restlessly against him as the warm pleasure pooled in her stomach. He put his lips to the thrumming pulse of her throat.

“Chan,” her voice was barely a whisper when the knot of delight finally snapped inside her. As her body gripped him, he bit the flesh where her neck and shoulders met marking her as his. The shock of pain melded with her orgasm sending a cascade of sensations through her. With a final thrust he came inside her, filling her body with his emissions. He stayed like that until he felt her move restlessly beneath him and only then, reluctantly pulled out and moved to curl up beside her on the bed.

Her hand went to the bite on her neck. It still stung slightly but not nearly as much as she thought it should. Chan splayed a hand over her stomach, rubbing it in small circles.

“Are… are you okay,” he asked, looking at her lovingly as he laid beside her.

“Yes,” she nodded, taking her hand from her neck. “I didn’t expect you to bite me.”

“Just this once,” he promised, pulling himself closer to her. “It marks you as mine, gives you the protection of my pack. You’ll carry a little of my scent now.”

“Oh,” she blushed and looked at him. “Am I supposed to feel different? I don’t feel any different.”

“No,” he chuckled and smiled at her. “It’s something only my kind would notice.” She nodded and laced her fingers with his where they laid on her stomach.

“Did you do it so that he, whoever he is, would know?” She questioned. “Was this all just to, I don’t know, put him off?”

“No, although I would be happy if it did,” He gave her an adoring look. “This was because you were meant to be mine. Meant to be the mother of my babies; to be by my side for as long as we live.”

“So you want children,” she laughed.

“I want to see you filled with my child,” he admitted, his eyes going to where his hand lay on her. “I want to see it grow inside you. I want to raise it with you, watch it grow into someone as beautiful as you are.”

“Someday,” she nodded. “But I’ve been on birth control, so I don’t think we could just yet.”

“The bond,” he explained. “When I claimed you with my mark, it sort of…” he paused, searching for the right wording. “It opens you to me.”

“Oh,” she blinked at him a few times, trying to process what he was saying. “Even if we just… this one time?”

“Maybe,” he furrowed his brow slightly. “If  you don’t want, at least not yet,” sitting up, he moved to help her walk to the bathroom. “We can try to clean you out, maybe prevent it.”

“No, it’s just a lot to adjust to,”  she explained. “A lot has sort of happened since this morning.”

“I know, baby girl,” he laid down again and pulled her into a spooning position against him. “Let’s go to sleep for now and figure out the rest in the morning.”

Over the next few days neither of them left the house. She called in sick to work, not wanting to put either of them in danger by going out to a place he could so easily find and potentially corner her. Even with Changbin there, with so many people and such a big space, it would be possible to miss him, or at the very least, to not notice him until it was too late. Instead his pack mates came over to plan their next move. Chan spent most of his time planning with Minho and Changbin, setting patrol schedules and scout missions for everyone. Hyunjin was assigned the duty to investigate at the hotel and talk to the woman who had been mauled. Maybe it wasn’t a random coincidence that he had picked her, Felix had suggested after their second meeting. After all, if he was just looking to hurt people and just stir up trouble here, why target her? Sure it could have been a coincidence if he had just been foiled and chosen another target, but he hadn’t.

The suggestion had made Chan go cold. It made sense, but what had made him target her? There wasn’t something particularly special about her, except that she was his mate, but even he hadn’t known that yet. Was it possible the loner had some way of knowing even before Chan did? As far as they knew, it wasn’t possible to know but, still the thought lingered.

As the meeting was drawing to a close, Chan’s phone rang. Hyunjin was calling him from the hospital where he had gone to talk to the other victim.

“Chan?” There was a slight edge of panic to Hyunjin’s voice as he spoke.

“What’s the matter?” Chan asked the other boy, worried immediately by his tone.

“She’s… she’s my mate,” Hyunjin whispered into the phone.

“What?” Chan had a sudden sinking feeling in his chest. He stood up, needing to see his mate, to touch her and know that she was there and fine. He found her sitting at the table in the kitchen, snacking on something as she read.

“I’ve never met her before,” Hyunjin started to explain. “But I felt it the moment I walked into her room. She was just lying there, still sleeping, so hurt, and it just hit me. Her scent and just her presence; I know she’s mine.”

“How did he know?” Chan asked, pulling his own mate against him as he spoke.

“I don’t know, but this can’t be a coincidence,” Hyunjin insisted.

“I know,” Chan agreed.

“Look,” Hyunjin sighed. “I can’t leave her alone here. I have to stay for now.” Chan understood, letting him stay with the promise to send someone else to keep watch over her tomorrow so he could get some rest and come back to discuss what to do next.

“I hate this,” Chan said, as he sat at the cafe a block away from the craft store.

“We can hear everything that is happening,” Jisung assured him. “She’ll be fine, but we need him to come out.”

“I know,” He shifted in his seat. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

They spent the afternoon waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Over an open line, Chan, Jisung, Changbin and Jeongin listened as she went about her day like everything was fine and normal. She helped customers, stocked shelves, and worked at the register, all while Chan was on the edge of his chair, waiting for something to happen. But, it seemed, it was all for nothing. The sun set and the store closed and seemingly all was well. She locked the front door and set about closing everything down by herself.

Chan relaxed a little, hearing her calm humming as she closed down the register and counted out the money in the back of the store. After the money was counted and locked in the safe, she just had to make one last pass through of the store to make sure no one had left something behind or left a mess and then she could head home. Over the radio, Changbin and Jeongin started joking around, getting playful after a tense day. Everyone was relaxing, at least until a loud crack broke over the mic followed by her surprised squeal. The jokes stopped and everyone froze.

“I know you all are out there,” the loner’s self-satisfied voice cut through the silence. “Don’t worry. I won’t make her suffer, but sadly, you will.”

Before the words were even finished coming out of the loner’s mouth, Chan was up, running as fast as he could to the store. He had to get in, he had to protect her. Jisung was on his heels as they ran across the street and into the strip mall parking lot.

“Why?” She asked, her voice slightly strained.

“Why should he have you when my mate was stolen from me?” He growled.

“What did they have to do with that?” She asked, keeping him busy for as long as possible. If he was explaining things, he wasn’t killing her.

“Nothing,” he admitted, dragging her towards the back door. “But neither did anyone in the last three territories I went through. This one was the first one that figured out it was me though.”

“What the hell is the matter with you,” she spat. “You think you can take something from others just because it happened to you?”

“Why should I be the only one who has to be alone?” He demanded, pushing her against the wall by her neck.

“The only one,” she scoffed, realizing this was probably not the ideal way to handle this, but she couldn’t help it. “You know most people don’t have some beacon to tell them who they are supposed to be with. Even those who do, people lose the people they love all the time. Car accidents, illness, crime, no one needs your help suffering, you selfish, shitty person.”

“What do you know,” he hissed back. 

“I know that your mate was lucky not to have had to spend a lifetime with someone who would do this,” she challenged. “No one deserves that.”

Shock and rage vied for dominance in his expression as he stared at her. He made a sound of pure rage and pulled back a hand to strike her. Never having been the sort to just lay down and give up, she kicked out catching the side of his knee. It didn’t really hurt him, but it was enough to unbalance him and make him catch himself, giving her the chance to break out of his grip. She knew she wouldn’t get far, he was faster and stronger, so she just tried to get as close as she could to where Chan and the others were. They would come, she had faith.

The loner came up, grabbing her from behind. “I’m glad, even if this is the last thing I do, I’m not just denying him his mate, but I’ll take his child, too.”

On the other side of the glass door, Chan felt half a second of numbing terror. He had to get inside, for both of them. Changbin picked up a part of a broken concrete curb stop and smashed it against the window, cracking the safety glass into a million little pieces, still stuck together by the coating, but weakened. He hit it again, opening a hole the size of a fist, and again, until the tear in the inner plastic layer got bigger. Impatiently, and perhaps a little recklessly, Chan covered his hand with his jacket sleeve and tore at the shattered glass. Finally the hole was big enough and he crawled through onto the display on the other side of the glass. He had to find her.

Their scuffling was audible and he found them quickly, rolling on the floor a few aisles into the store. She had curled into a ball, only moving to thwart his attempts to move her or drag her further to the back of the store. They all leapt on him, pulling him off her and dragging him away before they made sure he could never hurt another person. Chan stayed with her, trying to get her off the floor where she lay. He needed to hold her, make sure she was okay, make sure the loner hadn’t done anything to her that needed an ambulance.

She peeked out from under her arm, checking who it was before throwing herself into his arms. Relief coursed through her like she had never felt before. She breathed his name and threw her hands around his neck. Pulling her to his chest, he held her close for a moment before pulling her back to get a better look at her. Bruises were blooming on her neck and wrists, but that seemed to be the most serious injuries inflicted upon her.

“Baby girl,” he looked into her eyes, trying to find the words to express how sorry he was he hadn’t been there.

“I knew you would come,” she assured him.

“I will always come for you,” he promised, his hand dropping to her stomach. “For both of you. I will always protect my loves with everything I have.” Over the past few days he had been so preoccupied with their hunt and their planning that he hadn’t noticed the subtle change in her scent.

“How do you know,” she shook her head. “I don’t feel any different.”

“Nothing much, just a little change in your scent… hormones and all that,” He smiled and shrugged. It wasn’t really something a person could sense themselves. “Are you happy? I know this has been… too much.”

“I am,” she nodded. “I may not have chosen this way to meet you and fall into your world, but I don’t think I can imagine ending up anywhere else.”

“You’re mine,” he assured her. “And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do just to see you smile.”

Masterlist

[sweetestlamb]

Stronger Part 4 (A New Day Has Come)

Summary: Mun-yeong spends some time with someone important and a gets a surprise.

Author's Note: Got an annoying comment on this story yesterday and it motivated me to write lol so thanks! Hope you guys like and comments, that motivate me even more 😉🥰 nothing like love to drive out hate! The story is coming to an end unfortunately, I'm thinking 2 more chapters maybe three. If I had time I would drag it out for 9 😂😂 but schools start Monday so there goes my life. Happy reading y'all.

Solitude gripes at her insanity, tearing her apart until she succumbs to the thoughts that plague her mind of her inadequacies and how insignificant she is to those around her.

Being around Sang-tae oppa fills a portion of the void in your chest but his presence only reminds her further of another that she's dreadfully missing, his messages overflow her phone now. Taking a swift turn from condescending to something sweeter and more pleading. It takes every ounce of restraint in her body not to open them, relying on the bits she can see in the previews. Fully turning a blind eye to him is beyond difficult for her, every atom of her being is calling out for him.

She has dragged herself from the car too many times, desperate to run to him and soothe his pain, eager to see what he wants to talk about, maybe just maybe he's ready to apologize and unclench the clamp he placed on her heart that day on the beach.

But.

What if he isn't? What if he wants to share more of his past with her in the hopes that she'll overlook all that came before. In the past that might have been the case, she had been ever forgiving, something that only he was privy to. But his words ring in her ears- one time event, get lost- invading her dreams and taking the place of her mother's floating figure terrorizing her nightly.

Somewhere along the way she realized that she puts him first, his emotions and comfort have taken precedent over her own and when she'd searched what exactly that meant the answer made her head spin.

A four letter word that most humans will experience except Ko Mun-yeong.

She's much too selfish and destructive to be ever love or be loved by another, she knows that know. When he'd finally opened up to her, there'd been a plethora of emotions that clawed to the surface and vengeance had been one of them, it wasn't enough that he was sharing his darkest secrets because of everything she'd been through to get there. It was as if he'd stabbed her in the chest, left her bleeding only to return and patch up her wounds, too much had occurred and the scarring remained.

So she left in the middle of the night, abandoned that godforsaken place, stuffing expensive fabrics in a vintage Louis Vuitton luggage set, eager to escape the dead silence that rang out in the castle without the Moon brothers pumping life back into it.

In the end she didn't go far, finding a guest house that reminded her of that brief getaway with him, she paid for the week and turned off her phone fielding persistent check in calls from Sang-in. Gang-tae hadn't tried to call merely texting that they should talk and it was almost laughable that despite his seeming desperation he still seemed reluctant to go the full mile. Only her deep rooted sadness stopped her from chuckling at her circumstances, what a tragic mess.

She didn't let his current persistence fool her, fool me once shame on you fool me twice, well everyone knew the rest. It was time she stopped looking like a fool. Regardless of what she felt for him she knew that that this couldn't be, he'd been right all along.

I hope I never see you again.

So much heart ache could have been prevented if she'd heeded his warning. So she was doing it now, her anger had fizzled off tempering into bitter acceptance.

He would give up soon enough, that was his style.

The woman in charge of the guest house steers clear of her and the first day she lays carelessly on the bed roll, not even bothering to comb her hair. Simply, being. It's intoxicating and new, her phone remains turned off tossed to the side as she thinks about nothing- ignoring the way that nothing something has deep sad eyes and a bowl hair cut. She's trying to think about nothing and that's what counts.

She has food delivered and it's strange to eat something that isn't a Subway sandwich after all the food Sang-in as been bringing her and temporarily guilt forms in the pit of her belly, he's probably going crazy trying to locate her but she's just not ready. She's still tired. Bone chilling fatigue.

The next day she walks down a dirt road, her long white dress dragging on the ground, dirtied but the thin material allows a passing breeze to wash across her body and she's content, staring at the sky and thinking of nothing. She spots a lone bird sitting in a tree and wonders if all the other birds have left it behind, whether it has nowhere to go and no one to see. Then she berates herself for worrying about a bird, all this time alone is pushing the limits of her sanity.

The days bleed into each other, dawn folding into dusk with watercolor skies and earthy morning dew.

She tries to write but it's hard to get any words down that aren't depressing and she can't think of any morals or lessons besides don't let anyone in.

Then she tries her hand at drawing, a portrait of her twisting a deer's neck.

The guest house keeper asks her if she hates bears the next day and that's the end of that endeavor.

The week is coming to an end and she's no where closer to knowing what to do, maybe it's time to go back to Seoul, leave this all behind like a bad dream.

When she finally deems herself mentally prepared she turns on her phone, pinging and vibrating from all the forlorn messages, sputtering in her hand as she watches in shock. As expected Sang-in has called and messaged and threatened, she smirks at his empty threats, heart slightly warmed.

Ju-ri, Seung-jae, Sang-tae, and him. All their names flash on her screen. Surprising her, as she'd never expect them to notice her disappearance. Much less reach out to her. Strange. But she writes it off, maybe Sang-in had roped them all into it. With trepidation she opens her messenger and responds to one, keeping a promise, with a few presses and a selfie she sends the message and closes the phone with a sigh.

Done.

The next day the clouds are smoggy ash grey in the sky, darkening the skies into something fierce and she pulls on a sweater and forgoes an umbrella welcoming the storm. Electricity swelters in the thick air causing a sheen of sticky perspiration to cling to her skin. She dons a simple sleeveless mini dress and sandals, trekking to the familiar dirt road.

She walks for hours, aimlessly without a care or worry in her head. Thoughts of him still push their way in at times but she's come to accept that as her baseline, once she returns to Seoul he will be nothing but a faint memory of the time she dreamed too big.

The first drop of rain on her skin makes goose pimples explode across her flesh, fat and chilled as they cascade from the atmosphere. Turning her head up towards the heavens she grins bitterly at nothing, her whole life has been nothing but rain, the moment is oddly fitting.

Mud splatters to her feet coating her toes in sloshy brown that slides between her toes, drenched from the downpour she slowly walks back no haste in her movement, steady footsteps despite the speed of the rain as it pelts against her.

The guest house comes back into sight as she meanders to the gate, vaguely remembering that she'd pulled it shut yet the doors now swing open. Blaming that on the rain she steps through, pulling it shut behind her continuing to stride to the steps.

As she hears the sliding door she eyes catch a figure blurry through the watery sheet in front of her eyes, the voice calling her name stops her in her tracks, no longer able to pretend that it's a mirage.

Her eyes aren't deceiving her, there he is. Once again finding her in the rain, except this time she doesn't need to be saved, she'll be the one doing the saving. For them both.

She takes him in, the rain soaking his hair flat onto his face, clothes plastered to his body as he stands eerily still, dark pools intensely taking her in as well.

After the slight hiccup, she continues walking taking off her sullied sandals and tossing them to the side and then she places her hand on the door, prepared to enter and forget what she saw. Ignorance is bliss.

"Mun-yeong."

All he has to say to get her heart pounding like a drum, she screams in her mind. That time spent apart should have made this easier, why didn't this feel easy? All the fatigue that she'd been running from hits her like a freight train crashing through her passive wall.

"Get lost."

He moves to block her way and her rage simmers below the surface.

"I've been worried about you. We all were so worried. You can't just leave like that, why did you go without saying anything?" His voice is wavering between anger and something softer, more human that makes his voice crack on the last syllable.

"Move."

She's not ready to assess what his being here means, what his voice and his concern mean. None of it makes sense and she's going to file it all under: unexplained phenomenon.

"Can't we talk first, please?"

"I don't want to talk." She sidesteps him, reaching once more for the door.

"Mun-yeong let me explain, let me make this right. I'm sor--"

"Shut up. I said I didn't want to talk. Go back you saw me, I'm alive you don't need to say anything more."

She's not sure she'll be able to contain herself if he says anything else, she's already dangling off the cliff. She can't allow herself to fall and burst apart.

"No! Why are you pushing me away? I need you! I told you I needed you I meant that, you can't just run away damn it."!

She stares blankly before her throat croaks and laughter tumbles from her lips. Deep belly chuckles that shake her body viciously.

Then quick as a switch the laughter stops.

Diamond hard gaze locked on his bewildered face before she speaks, "You think you're the only one who wanted? Do you? I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to fight for me, to let me in. I wanted you to see that I was hurt and apologize and mean it. You think a kiss is enough, you think telling me everything is enough after you break my heart? It's not!" Her voice pierces through the cacophonous drone of the rain beating the world, crying its heart out.

He jolts at her pained cries, fingers reaching for her but she immediately moves out of reach feeling naked and raw under his stare.

You broke my heart.

She's shown too much of her cards already, it's too late to bluff.

So she'll take a page from his book.

Throwing the door open and slamming it shut, holding it tight.

He doesn't try to open it. She sighs in relief leaning back against the hard wood, feeling all the fight evacuate her body.

He's probably gone. You pushed him too hard. Who are you to reject him? No one else will ever tolerate you.

Her thoughts don't scare her, just like Gang-tae had chosen his brother and the life he knew she was doing the same, choosing herself and the loneliness she'd grown accustomed to. Why give him another chance to throw her away he was clearly capable of it, it was only a matter of time she wouldn't change. Couldn't change. Immovable object.

The rain falls and falls, washing everything away and making the world anew. She lays on her back wondering how far he's gotten in this downpour. How had he even found her? All questions she'll never get the answers to.

Sleep tugs her eyelids shut as her thoughts swirl until they too fade to black.

Hands held high over her head, she pulls her tired bones feeling the tension melt with each stretch. Gathering clothes to take a much needed bath she carelessly tugs the door open only to jump back when he almost tumbles into her room.

What.

"What? What are you doing here?" She shrieks, avoiding collision by the barest inch.

"Waiting for you."

She blinks at him, taking in his drenched clothes-noting his shivers- and the dark circles that sink into the skin beneath his eyes, resembling a raccoon.

Had he slept outside all night? And if he had was he insane, why didn't he go back home?

"Why didn't you go back? Are you crazy? You can't sleep outside in the rain!"

She blushes at her outburst, slapping a hand over her traitorous mouth. He merely looks at her, she overlooks the tender glint in his eyes.

Stepping forward he grabs her hand, she fights to pull her appendage away but he tightens his grip which contrasts immensely with the softness in his eyes.

Voice like warm honey he answers, "Because you're here and I.....need you. I'm not going anywhere."

The sun shines brightly outside as a new day rises somewhere in the distance a lone bird's call is answered by another.

[yandere-daydreams]

Forest God Deku who seems a little to keen on keeping the cute little human adventurer who has wandered into his forest crawling with monsters and fairies

Somehow, I think Forest Deity Izuku might be less feral than our average, mess-of-a-hero Izuku. Or, he might just be a little more subtle about it. It’s hard to tell, at first.

TW: Threats of Harm, Mentions of Death and Torture, and Implied Imprisonment.

~

The world was spinning. Spinning, spinning, spinning.

The forest around you was darkening quickly, golden light shining through gaps in tree-tops and radiating a calming, pacifying aura you couldn’t seem to lull into. Creatures came and went, curious rabbits that came to inspect an immobilized human and scavenger birds looking for an easy meal, the latter usually discouraged by flailing movements and an onslaught of inappropriate language. The trees made lazy, meandering circles around you, in no particular rush to close their investigation, the carpet of dead leaves and decaying fauna rising to brush against the tips of your limp fingers. Like a friend, silently making sure you were alright.

It occurred to you, suddenly, that the world wasn’t spinning, nor was it upside-down. You were.

And you didn’t think you wanted to be, any longer.

“You’re awake,” An unfamiliar voice greeted, bringing your attention to the boy sitting in front of you, then behind you, then to your side, your lethargic rotations soon put to a stop as his hand latched onto your wrist, holding you still. He looked calm, too calm, sitting on the forest floor as he scanned over you, giving you time to do the same. Green hair blended perfectly with the lush flora that surrounded the two of you, and a splatter of freckles spread themselves across his pale features, painted from his cheeks to his shoulders. He was shirtless, but what wasn’t covered fazed you much less than what was, everything below his waist covered by a coat of hazel fur, more similar to a fawn than a man, backward-bent knees and cloven hooves going little to settle your unease. He chuckled when he noticed you staring, leaning forward slightly as he spoke. “You were out for quite a while,” He started, his voice soft. “Must’ve hit your head on the way up. It’s a miracle you woke up at all, really.”

“Fuck off,” You mumbled, the words weighed down by your own exhaustion. You groaned lightly, attempting to pull yourself into an upright position, but as soon as you shifted, whatever was wrapped around your ankle dug into your skin, forcing you to realize just how rough the material was. A dried vine, you guessed, braided but not dethroned. Tight, and getting tighter anytime you moved. “Is this… are you magic?”

Another laugh. You cringed, a steady pain already starting to form in the back of your skull. “It’s just a snare. A normal one, not cursed or anything,” He explained, waving his free hand through the air nonchalantly. “Humans don’t tend to mix well with anything supernatural. I’ve tried before, but then you always start screaming and panicking, and if that doesn’t kill you, the way your bodies interact with it usually will.” He paused, stopping to think. “Am I magic? I never thought to ask, and now he’s gone… If I can use it, does that mean--”

“Who are you?” You cut him off before he could go on. You had a feeling he’d never be quiet, if you let him ramble. “Let’s start with that. Who are you, and when are you going to let me go?”

“I’m Deku!” He was back to smiling, grinning too widely as he pushed himself to his feet. The spinning continued, but Deku didn’t seem opposed to following in your unwanted tracks, walking in circles around you. Your body felt heavy, your head beginning to ache, his introduction barely audible over the blood rushing past your ears. “I guess you could call me a guardian spirit. That’s why I do, really, I guard things. See, this part of the forest is special.” He stopped walking, but you didn’t have to see him. You could feel his eyes burning into you, regardless of where he was. “Dirty little humans aren’t supposed to come here.”

You opened your mouth, something between a defensive insult and an apology playing on your tongue, but Deku didn’t give you the chance, catching your ankle and driving his nails, no, talons into your skin, so much sharper than they seemed to be, last time he made contact. Like those of a predator. A mountain cat. “You understand that this is bad, right? You did something very, very wrong. You wandered into someplace sacred, and you disgraced it.” His fist flexed, pointed tips prodding further, deeper. Blood began to drip from the wound, but your feet were so numb, you could barely feel it. You didn’t want to feel it. “I should kill you. I should torture you. Maybe an agonizing death would be enough to make up for the intrusion.”

You were silent, for a moment, but the true levity of your situation hit you abruptly, as forceful as an oncoming freight train. A God, a man, a satyr, something had strung you up, knocked you unconscious, and was spouting off threats he didn’t seem opposed to carrying out. You might’ve cried, if the pressure on your eye-sockets hadn’t been so crushing. “Please.” You weren’t thinking. You couldn’t think. Not when you’d been in such a compromising position for so long. “Please, I don’t want to die. It… it was a mistake, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry--”

“’Please don’t kill me, Deku. I’m so sorry, Deku, I won’t do it ever again!’ That’s what they all say.” He sighed, shaking his head. His teasing was light-hearted, comically high-pitched, but his exasperation was genuine. Dark. “Want to know how many times I’ve heard that? Thousands. And how often do you think it works?”

He let you go, tearing his claws from your flesh. You whimpered, and his smile broadened. “N-never.”

“Never.” He reached down, tapping the end of your nose as a faux-reward. “Good mortal. But, that’s not going to happen to you.”

Hope bubbled up in your chest, boiling over before you could push it back down. “Thank you, thank you, I didn’t-”

“It won’t be what happened to you, if you do as I say.” He kneeled in front of you, taking hold of your jaw and forcing you to meet his eyes. You could’ve avoided it, if you tried, but it was all you could do to stay focused on anything. Those black, beady eyes made a good target. “Come back to my temple with me, and don’t struggle. I can’t let you leave, not once you’ve entered, and I won’t tolerate disobedience. I’d hate to have to flay you after I’ve promised not to.”

You blinked, your frown returning as quickly as it’d disappeared. You didn’t remember how you’d gotten here or why you were alone, but you knew you shouldn’t stay. The sun had gone down, by now, and the air was growing colder by the second. You didn’t want to see just how inhospitable the environment could get. “Your temple?” You asked, meekly. “I… But, my family, and my friends, they’ll be--”

“Or, I could leave you here. We’ve got a few unique animals here. They’re a little more confident than the bears and wolves you’re used to.” As soon as he finished, a howl echoed through the woods, loud and scratchy and primal. Several more followed, as if on cue, and Deku nodded in their direction. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they enjoy having a meal that can struggle. It makes it more fun to tear apart, right?”

You didn’t respond, falling silent and thinking it over. Deku shifted, moonlight catching on fangs you swore hadn’t been there a moment ago, and you nodded before you could decide against it.

You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be trapped. You didn’t want to be anywhere near Deku.

But, the pulse beating violently inside your head and black spots eagerly invading your vision reminded you of something more important. Something you needed.

They made you remember how much you desperately wanted to stop spinning.

[penaltybox14]

Finally got some spare brain cells and wrote for myself, not school or patient care reports.  Kicking around an idea I had with @dying-redshirt-noises, an Adam-12 AU where Pete is actually a runaway juvenile delinquent who ended up changing his name, fuzzying up his past and becoming an LAPD officer.

...

Pete has this dream sometimes.  He is twelve years old, before he got taller, when his voice was just beginning to break and hovered in that soft, sweet spot like water sweeping over the suggestion of a stone.  The dream is far from Los Angeles, and he sits on a rock by a creek that lingers on its curves like a freight train far in the distance. 

He is in jeans and a t-shirt and chuck taylors but they aren't chuck taylors, they've got no marks on them but a size, and the t-shirt has a laundry print he tried to cover with the whitewash off a fence a mile ago.  He doesn't belong here, in the dream, but he's got nowhere else to go.  The wind is slow and high, the sun beats down, and the grasshoppers fiddle in the weeds.  

The dream is far from Los Angeles; it is far from anywhere at all.  

The man's voice and the chuckle of a belt heavy with keys comes from the brush, and it throbs in his ears and in his bones: It's time you got back, isn't it?

The creek is too wide and too swift.  When he turns back at the voice, squinting the figure to shadow, the voice says: Let's go, son.  Let's not be any trouble.  

There is nowhere left to run.  

When he wakes up, in his bachelor pad on the second floor, his skin is damp and electric.  The central air shunts the same dry, stale breeze around, here and there a whiff of cigarettes or casserole gone before you can think to identify it.  So he opens the window and leans, and watches the still, unblinking surface of the complex's pool.  Three years ago a beautiful woman - a girl, really, whose scars were still white and not yet stretched and faded and forgotten - drowned in the pool and no one knew who she was and no one knows now.  Some recalled the tender face and tight, pursed mouth, or the long dark hair worn straight with a beaded headband, or maybe the red checked shirt with the blousing sleeves or the dark dungarees.  She was barefoot, which seemed right if you thought about it.

Pete doesn't think there's anybody but him and the landlord left who remembers the whole business.  This is not a place for staying - people live here a while, get on their feet, and move on to split-levels and brand-new subdivisions clustered around glittering, gritting freeway interchanges.  Places where people eat and sleep and dream and wake up and go to work and round the clock and come home and eat and sleep and dream and wake up and do it all again.  They are safe there in their catalog homes, and no beautiful barefoot girls drown, nameless and white-eyed, in paste-jewel swimming pools.  

Jim lives in a place like that.  Him and Jean, the doe-eyed pair of them, and their baby, who will be a toddler soon, with his own yard to play in, grass as neatly hemmed as any major league outfield.  Jim will teach him to play catch; he won't be very good at teaching, from the start, because he's still a boy, still a varsity star whose body did everything he every imagined it to do, without coming up short, without halting or asking.  But that's alright.  Jim will teach him to play catch and he won't be frustrated and he won't be angry, he'll just say, Jimmy, eye on the ball, okay?

Jim will invite him over and he'll watch from the shade and rib Jim, just a little, but not Jimmy, except just a little when he's bigger and he can laugh about it.  He's hoping the kid won't turn out to be a pitcher, he's really hoping, because then he might have to step in and teach the kid how to sling a curveball that'll unbutton a jersey, or fire a fastball that'll make the Army sit up and take notice.  Jim will ask him where he learned it, and he'll have to shrug and think up something, and he'll make up a story about accidentally breaking Mrs Patterson's kitchen window with a bad pop-up from the playground sandlot, which was too small for big boys to play on anyhow, and that'll make Jim laugh with all his teeth and ruffle Jimmy's hair.  That'll be a good story.  It won't be the one where he was popping rocks off his Louiseville Slugger; it sure won't be the one where he pegged a Coca-Cola bottle at a passing freight train.  He didn't know the train was going so fast; he didn't know how the bottle, heavy and sweating in his hand and the high summer, was going to spin, come off the box car at the angle it did.  

He was sorry.  He was.  But that's not the story he's going to tell Jim, and sure not the one he's going to tell little Jimmy.

>>

The girls never run like the boys do.  

Pete's never figured that one out - the girls, at least the ones who know trouble, they go to ground when they're cornered, their eyes down, or, more rarely, hot with challenge.  The girls in patched jeans and old army coats, who smoke cigarettes like men, between stained fingertips, eyes like lionesses.  Girls who know the power of their vices, they bide their time.  

But the boys run: they all do, bolting long-limbed through the clawing dark, breathing hard in time with the street-lamps, their hearts pounding.  They get away, some of them, if not most of them - hard to catch the lot when they spring out like sparks from their squat-houses, their teenage tent-city tenements.  They book it, on sneakers worn to the soles of their feet, into the urban forest.  They will catch a bus in the morning downtown, to Hollywood and Vine, somewhere people with money pass by.  They will hitchhike to the hillsides, or the beach, somewhere to bide their day in the shade.  

Sometimes they never make it past the night.  Early one morning, just when they were breathing easy, just when the sun was scrambling over the mountains and shaking the valley awake, they got the call for a DB.  A man in a suit and tie and glasses perched on the hood of his car shaking his head, while his daughter sat in the back seat with the door open.  She had a book open on her lap and kept pushing up her glasses, which slid down her nose in the dusty morning.  The man shook his head and said: Lydia, she gets car sick, I pulled over so she could be sick in the brush (and the verge stank like vomit; and something else, richer), and then I saw -

A bare foot, as dusty as the sun, and an awkward young leg in jeans, and a brown t-shirt with yellow stripes on the arms, and long curly hair, his head to one side, on his arm, as if he were sleeping.  His eyes half-open, waiting.  The flies were gathering on his lips and he had no hands, and there was still twine around his neck.  Ants marching across his lashes.  Perhaps older than he looked; perhaps not.  He still had one shoe, with no laces.

Boys run; the slip into the shadows.  They throw back their heads and laugh, they are defiant, they are stupid, they are too young.

They stayed late that morning, waiting for the coroner.  They stayed late, filling out paperwork.  

Pete said: "Go home."

Jim had a look that said he didn't know how.  His dumbstruck eyes had blurred the line between work and home, between the pavement and the rocky earth, between the boy (who would wait for a month among the other nameless dead) and himself (whose varsity track ribbons had yet to fade).  Pete said: go home, and kiss your wife, and go to bed.  

"I can't stop thinking about him."

"You will."

"Malloy, that's awful harsh."

"Didn't say you'd stop caring.  Just you'd stop thinking about this one kid, when the next one comes along, and the next.  It's too big a basket, carrying around all that.  You gotta set it down, partner, you gotta set it down and think about the ones that made it."

"How?"

Pete shrugged.  "I drink too much coffee, and I eat my steak rare.  You do what you gotta do."

[blackbutterfliescal]

Love Like War

A Muke One Shot

Pairing: Michael Clifford x Luke Hemmings, Calum Hood & Luke Hemmings

Word count: 5K (on the dot!)

Rating: Mature for implied sexual situations

Content: college AU, enemies to lovers, friends with benefits, a little bit of angst but I promise it’s a happy ending, swearing, implied sexual situations, nothing explicit just very vague, I mean they’re friends with benefits so I gotta at least reference it 

A/N: This is part of the club’s fic exchange for the holiday season. Thank you to @allsassnoclass​ for hosting this!!! I’m a little late, but nothing else is new. This is for the WONDERFUL @glitterblazercalum who gave me everything to work with. I hope you enjoy it, love, because I’ve had a blast writing it. And huge thank you to @spicycal for always being the biggest cheerleader 💞

✨ Masterlist ✨

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Feedback is always appreciated! 😊

———

There was one constant truth in Luke’s life: everyone leaves - moves on, finds someone new, forgets him. Luke had just hoped that what he had with Calum was different. They’d known each other for so long that he found himself letting go of the fear that Calum would leave too. But here he was, alone, in their shared room for the sixth night in a row.

Luke was well aware of how it felt to be left behind. He told himself that he should know how to handle it by now. But this time was different. For as long as he could remember, Calum had always been the one to help put him back together - through family deaths, through his older brothers leaving for school, through lost loves and failed friendships. So how was he meant to process being left behind when Calum was the one leaving?

As he lays in bed, arms wrapped around his middle and knees pulled toward his chest, he feels tears sting at his eyes. Before Luke can completely give into the anxiety constricting itself around his chest, the lock on the dorm door clicks and Calum shuffles in. It’s late and Luke should have been asleep hours ago but he’d worked himself into a panicked frenzy, meaning sleep would be hard to come by if it happened at all. As Calum toes his shoes off at the door, Luke swipes at his eyes and attempts to clear the panic in his throat that’s making it hard to breathe. Calum starts at the unexpected sound.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to wake you. Lost track of time with Michael.” With Michael. Again. Calum seems to spend all his spare time with Michael now and Luke can’t trust himself to offer more than a hum in response.

When they moved several hundred miles away from home for school, they’d decided to live together. Everyone said to branch out and make new friends, that living together can be difficult, but they both hoped a familiar face would help with the inevitable homesick feeling. Calum had been Luke’s biggest comfort over the last decade, his only friend, though Calum had always had other friendships as well. No matter how many other friendships he had though, Luke had always been his number one. And he’d never felt the worry of Calum finding someone he liked better. Until now.

They’ve only been at school for a few weeks but they’ve already settled into an easy routine, buzzing around each other before their classes in the mornings, homework at the library in the afternoons, and always (always) dinner together in the dining hall. But since Calum had met Michael in one of his classes, they seemed to just click, leaving Luke on his own and positive that he knows what comes next.

As Calum quickly puts away his belongings and slips into something more comfortable to sleep in, he hears Luke sniffle as he turns to face away from him in his bed across the room. He knows Luke like the back of his hand and is immediately filled with worry. He stops for a second, staring at Luke as if he’ll be able to see what’s nagging at him. But it’s the wee hours of a Saturday morning and he’ll have time to ask him about it when he’s not fighting to keep his eyes open.

When Calum’s eyes flutter open the next morning, it takes him a minute to register that Luke isn’t in the bed across the room. He checks his phone for the time and any missed messages from Luke, waiting for a little while and hoping to hear him milling around the bathroom, but there’s no texts and the room is silent. He tries his best to ignore the worry in the back of his mind as he gets himself ready for the day, but he can’t ignore that Luke has disappeared before they could go to the dining hall for Saturday morning pancakes.

On his way out the door, Calum shoots Luke a text to let him know that he can find him in their normal breakfast spot. As the lock on their door clicks in place, he hears a phone ding at the other end of the hallway where the study lounge is. Calum slowly turns on his heels and makes his way to the far end of their hall. As he gets closer, he can hear Good Charlotte playing softly and Luke’s familiar voice humming along.

“Hey. There you are. I didn’t know where you’d gone off to.” Calum’s voice is soft, still a little raspy with sleep. Concern quickly takes over his face as he meets Luke’s eyes and sees how tired and red-rimmed they are. Luke grumbles as he reaches over to turn off his music, avoiding Calum’s gaze.

“Woah, woah. Hey, what’s going on? What happened?” Calum asks. Luke hates the pity that’s evident in Calum’s voice.

“It’s nothing, really. Go ahead. I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.” Calum balks at the sour tone Luke’s giving him as he makes his way to sit next to the blonde boy.

“Nope. If you think I’m leaving you here with that attitude, you must not know me. C’mon, what’s up?” Calum pushes, trying to meet Luke’s eyes as he joins him on the couch.

Luke rolls his eyes at Calum, thinking he should have chosen someone a little less persistent for a best friend. Calum keeps his eyes fixed on Luke as he waits for a response.

“Just go! Go hang out with Michael. He’s who you wanna hang out with anyway.”

“Luke.” It comes out more chiding than Calum intends it so he tries again, softer this time. “Luke, hey, come on.” Luke finally turns to Calum and he can see everything Luke’s been struggling with pooled in his baby blues. The worry and panic and self-doubt are threatening to spill out across Luke’s cheeks. Guilt hits Calum like a freight train and he reaches out to place a hand on Luke’s knee.

“Oh my god, Luke.” There’s even more pity in Calum’s voice now and Luke just wants to walk away, to not hear it anymore but Calum continues, oblivious to Luke’s frustration. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You’re my best friend and that’s not going to change after a few weeks of meeting someone new.”

“Well it doesn’t seem that way. This is the most I’ve seen or talked to you in the last week! You’re always with Michael.” The biting tone in Luke’s voice is hollow and Calum knows it’s only because he’s scared of being left behind.

“I’m sorry.” Calum means it. He knows Luke and he knows exactly why he’s panicked. He’s not sure what else he can say so he just lets his apology hang in the air until Luke nods his head, accepting it. Calum stays still for another beat, just to make sure that Luke’s not going to break apart into a million tiny pieces. When it seems safe, he stands from the couch and offers Luke his hand. “Why don’t we go get our pancakes, hmm? And then I’ll text Michael to see if he wants to hang out this afternoon, all three of us.”

Luke doesn’t want to hang out with his replacement, but it seems like Michael’s not going anywhere and he really doesn’t want to lose Calum. So he agrees. But he’s not going to like Michael. He’s not.

———

Luke still didn’t like Michael, but after two and a half years as an unlikely trio, they’d discovered they had more in common than either of them were willing to admit. Michael wasn’t particularly fond of Luke either, sensing that the other boy didn’t really want him around at all. They learned to tolerate each other around Calum but all bets were off when they found themselves alone together.

The problem was that neither of them could remember why they hated each other anymore. Sure, Luke had been insecure at first, but he’d gotten past that eventually as he figured out Calum was true to his promise. Calum hadn’t left him, hadn’t replaced him with Michael. Calum and Luke still lived together, and though they’d become more independent over their time in college, they still stuck pretty close. Luke appreciated that some things remained sacred between the two of them, like Saturday morning pancakes at the dining hall.

Luke swiped up the last sticky bite of blueberries from his plate as Calum began to speak around a large mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes.

“So do you have any plans today?” It comes out muffled but Luke’s fluent in Calum by now.

“I should work on my final project for my English lit class, but I’ll probably spend most of the day procrastinating it. What’s up?”

“Michael’s having some kind of party tonight and asked if we could come over to help him set up.”

“Doesn’t he know it’s finals week?”

“That’s exactly why he’s having a party. Everyone’s looking for an excuse to forget about homework for a little while,” Calum laughs softly.

Luke would actually rather spend his day pouring over his finals than with Michael but he finds himself agreeing to tag along anyway.

When they arrive at Michael’s, they find him in the kitchen, or at least what seems to be the kitchen. It could also be a nuclear disaster zone by the state of it. Luke finds himself unsure how one person manages to make that much of a mess but he decides not to push it when he takes in Michael’s flustered appearance.

“Thank god you’re here. I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t know where I got the idea to host a party or why I decided to torture myself making all this food.” Michael uses the back of his hand to push his fringe out of his eyes, managing to smear the sauce from the crockpot meatballs all over his forehead. Luke can’t help the amusement on his face at Michael’s state.

Calum encourages him to go take a shower and pull himself together as he and Luke begin to move about the kitchen, cleaning up dishes and plating the food that’s already been assembled. When Michael returns, his hair is damp and a towel is barely hanging around his hips. He’s got a shirt in each hand as he playfully holds them each up to his torso in turn, looking for a second opinion. Luke offers his two cents, hoping with everything in him that Michael doesn’t notice the blush painted across his cheeks at the unexpected lack of clothing. Luke quickly returns to the task at hand, willing Michael back to his room to get dressed.

Michael returns, fully clothed, and Luke breathes a sigh of relief. He’s unsure of what’s come over him, but he’s absolutely sure it was a fluke. Probably just the stress of finals looming over him that’s got him off his rocker. He’d spent years silently hating Michael, resenting him for stealing time with his best friend. Is one shirtless moment really all it took to scramble Luke’s head?

“Hey, uh, Cal. Can you help me grab the supplies and decorations from the other room? They’re in the top of my closet and I don’t wanna pull them down on my head.” Michael laughs at himself. It’s a silly thing to ask, but they all know Michael would find a way to hurt himself trying to get the box of cups and plates down.

“I’m not any taller than you, Mike. And I’ve kind of got my hands full,” Calum says, gesturing to the sink full of dishes that he’s working on.

Without thinking, Luke pipes up, offering to help. He’s just as clumsy as Michael, but he is just the slightest bit taller and he hopes that will be his saving grace. He follows Michael down the hall and into his bedroom. It’s tidier than Luke would have expected given Michael’s typical chaotic nature.

He doesn’t have much chance to look around though, as Michael points out a box in the top of his closet that needs to come down. It’s a stretch to reach the handles on it, even for Luke, and it seems to get stuck on something beside it. Michael slides into the doorframe beside Luke, trying to free the box from whatever it’s caught on. There’s not exactly enough room for both sets of wide shoulders to be digging around.

“I’ve got it,” Luke strains as he tries to wiggle the box out without dropping it on Michael’s head. Though he could definitely be tempted.

“Just be careful. Don’t pull -”

“I can get it, just move.” Luke wiggles the box again and it breaks loose, sending both of them crashing to the floor as plasticware scatters around them.

“Why are you so stubborn? Why do you have to be like this?” Michael groans frustratedly from the floor.

“Me?!” Luke asks incredulously . “I told you I had it! Why didn’t you just let me do it?”

As they sit upright, they find themselves closer than they’ve ever been, noses nearly touching. Luke’s breath hitches in the back of his throat at the proximity to Michael. Had his eyes always had those little flecks of yellow sitting in amongst the green?

Without warning, Michael crashes his lips onto Luke’s. It’s intense, searing even. Luke thinks he could be swallowed up by the sun and his body would be less on fire than it is right now, kissing Michael. 

Suddenly Luke’s racing mind catches up and he pulls away from Michael in a hurry. “Oh. I don’t- I mean, I’m not - Uhhh. Sorry.” Luke barely stutters out as he clamors to his feet, not sparing a glance at Michael’s bewildered expression. He makes a hasty exit from the room, leaving Michael to sort out the supplies they’d gone after in the first place. Calum gives Luke a questioning look when he reenters the kitchen but Luke just shrugs it off; the only explanation he offers is that Michael still managed to be a klutz and drop everything.

Several awkward hours later, Michael’s place has been cleaned spotless, there’s more food than strictly necessary, and Michael’s friends are starting to trickle in the front door. Everyone seems relieved to get finals off their mind, even if it’s just going to be for a few hours.

Luke and Michael have been avoiding each other as much as possible, which is now made easier as more people continue to show up. Luke recognizes a few people from around campus and makes a few rounds to make small talk. After Luke’s said hello to everyone he knows, he excuses himself down the hall to find the bathroom. As he rounds the corner in a hurry, his shoulder slams square into Michael’s. They both wince and then stand awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what exactly they are now.

When Luke showed up today, it was clear that they only tolerated each other for Calum’s benefit. But now? Michael had kissed Luke and he couldn’t take that back, as much as he wanted to. Luke’s frantic exit let Michael know that they were clearly not on the same page, but he wasn’t sure exactly where it left them.

Before the bizarre staring contest could stretch on any further, Luke bends down to place his lips on Michael’s shoulder with a mumbled apology. He meets Michael’s gaze briefly as he stands straight again, appreciative that the little yellow flecks in his green eyes were still present. He hurries off toward the bathroom, worried that the longer he stared at Michael, the more he’d find reasons to keep staring. Luke had only meant to show Michael that they were okay. That he hadn’t scared Luke by kissing him.

Well, that’s not entirely true. It did scare him, but not because he didn’t want it.

———

It’s been three months. Three months since the kiss that burned Luke from the inside out. Three months since Michael pulled Luke into his bedroom after everyone else had left that stupid party during finals week.

“Nothing like years of unbridled hatred to make for the best sex you’ve ever had,” Michael breathes against Luke’s neck as they both tug at the others shirt. The last of his friends just left and by some stroke of luck, Luke had agreed to stay. For an hour. For the night. He wasn’t sure, but all that mattered is that Luke stayed.

“What makes you think you’re gonna be the best sex I’ve ever had?” Michael doesn’t abandon his work leaving marks on Luke’s fair skin, keeping him as close as possible, but he can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Michael’s smile matches Luke’s as he pulls back to meet his deep blue eyes. The line between passion in lust and passion in hatred begins to blur as their lips meet in a violent crash, leaving a wake of clothes behind them on their way to Michael’s bed.

They agreed then that it was just a casual thing. There was no need to tell anyone else. It was about stress relief during finals. It was about really, really good sex. But it was never more than that. Michael and Luke both knew that they’d kill each other in a proper relationship. Luke also knew that Michael was the best sex he’d ever had, but he’d never admit that to Michael. Michael knew it too. Whatever they had burned too intense to last, but it was too much to ignore.

They’d hoped that the month of holiday break after the semester ended would cool things off.

When they returned to campus in January though, they’d fallen right back into it without a second thought, burning just as bright. This time though, they’d had to set some rules to make sure it didn’t become anything more. They were still sure that a relationship would ruin whatever it was that they had and neither of them wanted to risk it. It would only mean mutually assured destruction.

“Okay, so rule number one. If we’re going to keep this as a good thing, it’s strictly physical. No feelings. No mushy gushy nonsense. We’re not going on dates and we’re definitely not boyfriends.”

“Friends with benefits?” Luke offers from where he lays with his head on Michael’s chest, reveling in his post-coital bliss.

“Hm, but you have to be friends first. Pain in the arse with benefits?” This earns Michael a laugh from Luke.

“It doesn’t really have the same ring to it, does it?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Michael quips with his pierced eyebrow raised. Luke raises his hand from Michael’s stomach in a show of surrender.

“Okay, what else?” Luke prompts.

“Still no telling Cal. Or anyone for that matter.” Luke has no problem agreeing to that one. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself.

“What about kissing? No kissing on the lips. Pretty Woman rules.” Michael rolls his eyes at Luke but he has to admit that Julia Roberts had a point.

“Okay, no kissing on the lips. It only leads to mushy gushy feelings and that’s against rule number one.”

“Right.” Luke agrees quietly. “So that’s it then. Three rules. We can keep those, no problem.”

“Wait. Rule number four, no sleeping over. Cuddling is fine but I don’t want to give Calum a reason to be suspicious when you’re gone all night,” Michael says, lightly poking at the side of Luke’s rib cage.

“Got it. Four rules.” Luke lifts his head to place a soft kiss to Michael’s chest where his cheek had been resting before detaching himself from Michael and clamoring off the bed to slide back into his clothes.

Michael remembers the rules clear as day. He reminds himself of them often, careful not to push them in any way that would ruin what he had with Luke. It was good. It worked. So why did Michael want more?

It’s been over a month that they’ve been back at school, easily falling into a rhythm that stuck to the rules they set during the first week on campus. Michael’s even starting to look forward to his dates with Luke. Well, not dates. He won’t call them dates, at least not to Luke. But any other term feels harsh and he thinks that Luke deserves everything soft and lovely in the world. Michael wants to be the one to give Luke all of that and more.

He’s not sure when his feelings changed for Luke. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever really hated Luke in the first place. But Luke had been so adamant about not liking Michael that it was easier to just throw that right back at him. And now here he is, waking from a post-sex nap on a cold afternoon in early March, running his fingers through the prettiest blond curls he’s ever seen, limbs inextricably tangled with the other man in his bed. Luke can never manage to stay awake long after they pull their bodies apart. He can’t help that he’s drawn right back into Michael, sleepy face finding a home just above Michael’s racing heart. He’s learned by now that listening to Michael’s heartbeat steady itself out again will lull him to sleep, but he can’t be bothered to do anything about it. Not as long as Michael lets him. They weren’t breaking any of their own rules. And if they were, who was going to fault them?

As the grey light filtering in through the window grows dimmer, Michael begins to muse to himself, voice barely above a whisper.

“What am I going to do with you?” 

His hands continue to loop through the ringlets splayed artfully across his skin while soft snores escape Luke’s lips.

“This doesn’t last forever, right? At least not this way. Do you want more too? Want to kiss me again? To know if it still burns red hot? Want to hold hands while we walk down the street?” 

His tone is wistful, longing for more than what he knows is realistic. Michael brings his other hand up to trace patterns on the back of Luke’s where it rests around Michael’s middle.

“Do you want to meet my family? Bring me home to meet yours? Do you want to give Calum the biggest smile while calling me your boyfriend?”

Michael takes a second to pull himself out of the daydream fantasy that’s easy to get lost in like this. While Luke’s still here. Still his. Before he feels the need to leave because of that stupid rule Michael had created.

��How does this end? Are we supposed to just move on, never talk about it? How am I supposed to pretend I’m not falling in love with you every single day?”

He lets out the smallest breath of a laugh.

“Rule number one, Michael. Idiot.”

“Don’t say that.” Luke’s voice is firm but still soft from sleep and it gives Michael a start. The slight rumble of Michael’s voice in his chest had stirred Luke from his nap. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” Luke leaves a long pause, but Michael can’t get his brain to move fast enough to respond. Luke lifts his head, cheek flushed pink to match the warm spot on Michael’s skin. He pulls his hand up under his chin so it’s not digging into Michael as he faces him. Luke’s eyes are still a little hazy, but Michael can see the sincerity in them. Maybe something else he can’t quite place. “You don’t have to say you love me. No one means it anyway. Everyone just says it but then they leave. What good is love if it’s always leaving?”

Michael feels his heart shatter. Suddenly it’s all clear and crashing around him. The hint of pain behind Luke’s eyes. The reason he was so wary of Calum becoming friends with Michael. The way he’s so guarded with him. Luke can see the shift on Michael’s face. He’s seen this look too many times and he’s never equipped to handle the pity. He immediately begins his retreat from Michael’s bed, from the look on Michael’s face.

Before Luke can completely free himself of Michael’s sheets, his hand wraps around Luke’s wrist and pulls him back toward the bed. Michael’s other hand lands carefully on Luke’s cheek as he pulls their lips together, letting loose of every ounce of the feelings that he’s been withholding. Screw Pretty Woman rules. Julia Roberts didn’t stick to them either.

When he pulls away breathless, Luke is even more unsure of where to go from here. He’s familiar with pity. He’s familiar with leaving. But Calum is the only one who’s always stayed. What was he meant to do now? He screws his eyes shut even tighter, hoping he can make it all make sense somehow.

“Luke,” Michael pleads, breath fanning across Luke’s face. “Luke, look at me. Have I ever lied to you?” Luke slowly blinks his eyes open to find Michael dizzyingly close and his breath catches in his throat. Michael begins to speak again. His voice is calm and he’s mindful of the words he chooses. 

“Hey. I’m not going anywhere. I mean it. Have you ever known me to lie to you? Even when we…..didn’t get along.”

Luke takes a few shallow breaths, still reeling, and searches Michael’s eyes. He’s not really sure what love looks like, but he knows lying and leaving and doesn’t find either in Michael.

“Listen, okay? If fighting tells a person’s true nature, then no one knows me better than you. We’ve been at this for years. Do I look like I’m pulling your chain right now? You know me. And this is all of me. This is how I feel about you. I love you, Luke.”

Luke takes a long pause. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Michael knows that “okay” is what Luke can offer right now. He doesn’t even care if Luke didn’t say he loved him back. At least not in so many words. Michael is miles ahead of where he ever thought he’d be and “okay” is enough. He pulls Luke in for a softer, sweeter kiss than anything they’d ever shared before. He can still feel the tension and the worry etched into Luke’s face as he pulls back and places another soft kiss over the lines across his forehead.

They settle back into the mattress, content to just be Luke and Michael for now. Neither of them were sure what they were now. There were no rules for this part, but they would figure it out the only way they could - together. 

———

As the weeks stretch on, Luke finds himself at Michael’s more often than not. He and Michael continue to take it slow as they navigate uncharted waters. It’s becoming more and more difficult to keep it from Calum, though. Luke wants to stay the night with Michael. He wants to stay every night with Michael. He thinks about how strange life is.

One afternoon, the three of them are playing video games at Michael’s and Luke is suspiciously good. He was never this good before they came to school and they only ever play at Michael’s house. When the round ends with Luke besting Calum for the third time, Calum notices the lingering glance he gives to Michael.

“Okay, wait a goddamn minute,” Calum speaks up, pausing the screen and letting the controller fall gently to his side. “Since when are you so good at FIFA, Luke? You almost never beat me!”

“Hey!” Luke protests. “I can beat you! I just did - three times!”

“Whatever, but you were never this good before. What’s going on here? And since when do you two sit that close?”

Luke scoots away from Michael, as if that’s going to help his case now.

“What does it matter? I still beat you both,” Michael pipes up from the other side of Luke with a smug look on his face as Luke smacks his arm.

“I don’t care about the game, man! Tell me what’s going on here?” Calum persists.

Luke and Michael exchange another knowing glance.

“That! Right there! What was that?”

Luke’s eyes don’t leave Michael’s, despite Calum’s frustrated tone. Michael gives Luke a soft smile, one that he only reserves for him, and a knowing nod. Luke swallows hard as he turns back to face Calum.

“Uh, well. We’re, uh…” Luke fumbles. Michael reaches out to lace his fingers through Luke’s and Luke takes a steadying breath. “We’re, kinda, sort of dating, I guess.”

Michael can’t help the laugh that springs from him at Luke’s awkward mumbling and Calum’s thoroughly confused expression as he shifts his gaze between the two of them.

“Kinda, sort of dating, you guess?” Calum questions. Luke just nods affirmatively, offering a smile as he hits Michael’s leg with their combined hands.

“How long has this been going on? When were you planning to tell me?” Calum spirals. “What the fuck? How did this even start? How have you not killed each other yet?”

Luke and Michael just laugh at Calum’s disbelief. Luke presses a kiss to Michael’s cheek as they go pink under his lips, as if that’ll help Calum make sense of everything.

“Oi! One question at a time, mate,” Michael finally puts an end to Calum’s rapid fire inquisition.

“Are you messing with me? Because if you’re joking, I’ll kill you both.”

The three of them collapse into a fit of laughter and then Calum proceeds to spend the rest of the afternoon trying, and failing, to beat them at FIFA. He settles for just beating Luke.

Things aren’t perfect, but looking between Calum and Michael, Luke decides that moments like this are what love is made up of.

———

taglist: @easierlftv @haikucal @mashlums @youngblood199456 @calumbroutledge @alltimesos @another-lonely-heart @castaway-cashton @bloodyoathcal @vapor5sos @myloverboyash @justhereforcalum @karajaynetoday @spicycal @devilatmydoor​

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Loretta's First Lesson

Heart racing, she dropped the parasol and took the machete from where it had clattered onto the floor. She swung it up, high over her head, standing above two men locked in a deathly struggle.

The blade sliced through the air and hacked into the skull with much more ease than she expected, yet still sending painful shockwaves into her wrists with the impact, preceding how the blade slowed and stopped.

Squelching sounds accompanied its removal, yanked out of the wiry old man's head from whatever bone and brain matter gripped it tightly. The train's freight wagon rattled and shook rhythmically, the steam locomotive howled.

Pushing the dead man aside, the other man—whose life she had just saved—stared up at her. Though one eye focused on her, piercing and smoldering, the other—the dead eye—caught her attention for far longer: framed by a claw-torn scar and a milky-white iris where color should be. Their gazes met in that moment, and she cracked.

She turned and ran.

The doorway did not take her to the next train car, but into a dark room. A quiet place. A single cone of light shone down from a blinding little hole in the ceiling, bathing a small green statuette in its cone of illumination.

The fist-sized object sat on the obsidian floor before her, staring at her like the marshal. It looked hideous, like a small jade gargoyle hugging its own clawed legs, enveloped in its bat wings, and with what looked like tentacles where a mouth should be.

It whispered incomprehensibly. Words that pierced her thoughts and she understood instinctively without knowing the language.

Take me, it pleaded. Take me and run far away. Take me to where I belong.

Take me to where you belong.

She knelt by the little statuette and her trembling hand reached out. Instead of a cool surface, it felt hot and silky, like living skin. It had a pulse.

She awoke. Snapped right out of her nightmare, startling awake where she sat in the train, as it rhythmically rumbled and rolled and shook, heading down the tracks from Dead End to Louisville.

Loretta Charlotte Brubaker had been running away from everything for a while now. She had run away from her overbearing and violent husband several days ago, traveling out west from the coast to escape that life with whatever money she had stolen from him.

She had abandoned the last vestige of that mental prison, having now even abandoned the last fancy dress to adorn her lithe figure, which she had still owned when she met the U.S. Marshal one day prior, on the train, on that fateful day.

Now, she was running from Dead End and that same U.S. Marshal. Some other purpose drove him, but she was not going to stick around and wait for him to find out about her and arrest her once he knew. She had seen wanted signs posted before, and always expected to see her name and face appear on one. Anytime now.

One mere night she had spent in that rugged frontier town, recovering from the shock of helping the marshal kill that crazy old man in the train car. The sound that accompanied her pulling that machete from his skull still haunted her. First time she ever killed man.

The marshal checked in on her on the eve of arrival, but she dismissed him immediately and had no interest in talking. A terrible nightmare arrived on the wings of her next slumber, and now it returned the moment she dozed away in the next train, right back out of town.

That very same day, she had abandoned her old clothing and started dressing as a man, drawing a driving cap deep over her brow to obscure her feminine facial features. A conductor already addressed her with "mister" when she boarded the train, which had left her both surprised—and feeling oddly comfortable. Maybe she could assume a man's identity to start her new life.

For now, one of the other passengers gawked at her with an arched brow from the seat across from her. Even though he looked pale and frail and unthreatening—hugging a heavy black bag and a pair of thick spectacles resting on his nose—she avoided eye contact once she recognized the curiosity inherent in his stare. Likely wondering about her gender.

The world outside the train's window trailed by. A beautiful landscape by any measure, the horizon comprised of a forest's thick canopy danced under the late morning sun. Thin white clouds streaked across a sky shaping up to be a deep blue, like the ocean.

Noticing how the monotony of that landscape rolling past them almost had a hypnotic effect, Loretta blinked and rubbed her tired eyes with a thumb and a finger alike. The nightmares had afforded her little rest and she was not inclined to experience another one by dozing off again.

She got up and took a stroll through the train, eventually stopping at an open window where she could stand and lean out. The cool breeze enveloping the moving train washed over her, sweet with the smell of steam that billowed out from the locomotive's stacks.

Although tears had once blurred her vision as a stranger consoled her after that harrowing experience of killing a man with her own two hands, it had all been so recent. The image of the world around her had etched itself into her memory, and she looked to the woodlands around her to see if she could spot any landmarks that caught her eye.

They were getting close to the place she sought. Her nightmares were guiding her. The statuette wanted her to find it. To take it. Whenever she closed her eyes, even in waking moments, she saw this object that she herself had never laid eyes upon. She knew without knowing that it once rested in that cargo car.

The one the marshal had decoupled and let loose from the end of the train, moments before it turned into a fireball with a deafening thunderclap.

Smooth and indestructible, the jade statuette had survived the blast somehow, untouched, sitting in the wreckage before greedy hands found it first and whisked it away. She had seen all this in her dreams.

In her nightmares, she saw many things. Many people. Sensed she needed to get that statuette before it stayed in wrong hands for too long. For what it might summon.

The patches of woodland narrowed around the tracks, beginning to resemble the region where the freight wagon exploded. The train tracks had been cleared, but she could spot scorched earth around them from afar.

It was time.

She returned to where she had left her satchel in the booth with the skinny, scholarly-looking man. He flashed Loretta a nervous smile but then immediately avoided eye contact like she had before. She ignored him and snagged her bag, shouldered it, and headed farther down the train, crossing through sets of doors, crossing from wagon to wagon through the connecting little bridges exposed to the air.

The new revolver in her satchel burned a hole into it. Out of the rest of her meager belongings and the money, it weighed the most, bobbing up and down as she walked, and making itself acutely felt with each of her steps.

Her heart began to race once she exited the final door, arriving behind the coal container of the train's locomotive engine. No more easy walking from here on out.

Loretta swallowed her fear as her eyes scanned the sides of the front. Stories of bandits taking over trains surfaced in her thoughts. Her mind's inner eye played back imagery of how she envisioned this to play out.

Grappling with thin handholds turned out to be scarier than she initially thought. The noise of the machinery churning the metal wheels drowned out everything else, though her own heart hammered against her rib cage like a drum. She held onto the side of the coal cart for her dear life, dreading what might happen if she fell off the side. She inched closer and closer towards the front, where a conductor managed the machinery, his back turned to her while he shoveled coal into the furnace, and oblivious of her slow but steady advance.

Gaining foothold in the conductor's front cabin, she paused to catch her breath and calm her nerves.

"What in the blazes do you think you're doin' here?" shouted the conductor at her. Either due to anger, or because of the deafening noise all around them.

The conductor had finally noticed her. He held a large wrench in his hands, clearly ready to use it like a club. Goggles hid his eyes and smears of grit and coal stained his cheeks, but his face was unmistakably contorted in anger. That mien changed instantly when she whipped out the pistol and shoved its muzzle into the skin under his chin.

"I need you to stop the train, now," she ordered him through gritted teeth, then repeating it in a shout, both for emphasis and so he could hear her clearly over the noise.

"W-woah, woah—slow d-d-down—alright," he stammered away.

As he backed away, his hands raised in surrender, she stretched her arm out straight and kept the gun trained on him.

"I have no quarrel with you," she said to reassure him. "Not stealing anything, either. I just wanna get off before we reach Louisville."

The locomotive howled and steel screeched as the train came to a halt. Holding him at gunpoint all the while, she observed carefully and believed she could operate a train herself now, if she put her mind to it. The realization that she was going to have to hike out of the woods around here once this train carried on only now started to dawn on her.

She had not thought this through.

Hopping down off the side, she maintained her aim on the man all the while.

"Alright. So long," she shouted up at the conductor.

She backed up and stumbled over a tree's root, tripping backwards. All that he and other passengers on the train must have seen, now leaning out of windows, and watching, was how the forest swallowed her whole.

Branches snapped and whipped at her as she walked into the woods. The train's howl pierced the air again, carrying on without Loretta. Once it had vanished down the winding tracks, she left the fringe of the forest again and doubled back.

She returned to the spot where the grass around the tracks had turned bald from scorching. Yellowed and dead. Scrap heaps of twisted metal littered the edges of the forest on both sides around the tracks, framed by where the fire had spread, but miraculously never managed to fully reach the tree lines.

Several people had cleared the tracks with tools and moved most of the wreckage out of the way so the train could safely pass again. Where flames and crushing weight had not ruined the lonesome patch of nature, shoes and men had trampled it down.

A singular set of human tracks left the site of the destroyed car, heading into the dark depths of the woods.

Loretta had always been drawn to the outdoors. Growing up with her family outside of Boston before they wed her off to that son of a bitch, Thomas Brubaker, she always felt more at home in the forest, anyway.

Knew all the tell-tale signs. The trails that people left behind. Broken twigs here and there, branches bent and caught upon others where a grown man had marched.

And way too deep into the woods for it to have been one of the laborers clearing out the tracks. Not just someone walking out there to relieve himself or get some peace and quiet, but someone who had emerged from the woods—and returned to them.

Loretta had heard many stories about things in the unclaimed, untamed wilds. Superstitions ran rampant even in her family, but owed to her childhood, she believed in none of them. Although she had sometimes heard strange things in the forest, she had never seen anything out of the ordinary, always felt at home in such places.

Here, she felt out of place. Felt watched.

But whenever she blinked, she saw that jade statuette before her inner eye. That awful little gargoyle, sitting in darkness, staring back at her. Beckoning her to retrieve it.

She watched back. Knew she had to find it.

So she marched, following the stranger's trails.

With no way to track the time, she could only guess that her wandering must have taken hours. Long enough for her to realize that she had come here ill-prepared, with no supplies. Though she knew how to find water, and had an inkling on what things she might eat and what she might avoid out here, the realization really set in.

The realization that she really had not thought this through.

Panic stayed at bay, but it trailed behind her only far enough that its little brother, fear, crept up on her. A revolver and some bullets were all she had. She feared less the thought of unnatural things that may dwell in such remote abodes of nature, and feared more of men, bereft of sanity, living out here alone.

For it was the trail of one such man that she followed into the woods while the sun began to set. Not a native, either, for he plodded along without any semblance of being in tune with his environment; an oaf who stumbled about like a fish out of water.

The chirping of birds made way to the chirping and buzzing of insects. The occasional snap of twigs nearby heralded the arrival and departure of woodland creatures, always just out of sight, avoiding her as much as she wanted to avoid them.

She froze. Stared into glistening, intelligent eyes. A deer stared back at her. Then the animal bolted, darting away between the trees with little sound and leaving only the stink of fear behind.

Loretta continued and twilight engulfed the forest. The canopy suffocated the last rays of light. But the glow of fire drew her. A camp in a not-so-far-distance awaited her, in the direction of the tracks she followed.

The statuette had to be there.

Soft voices reached her from that camp. Between small tents and around a bonfire, a little group of men spoke with a drawl, native to the white man settling in this region. Language she might understand once she snuck close enough to decipher the words.

They all wore white pointy hoods, roosting atop long white robes emblazoned with an odd cross each. Together, they performed some sort of ritual around the fire. Where she understood fragments of sentences here and there, she failed to comprehend whatever they chanted next. Something foreign that sent chills down her spine.

From her hiding place behind the mound of a massive, uprooted tree, she watched. They side-stepped around their bonfire, conducting their strange rite, their ringleader singing off-key in that awful tongue.

Then he held it up.

His meaty fingers clutched the green statuette, wrapped around it as he held it high above his head. Chanting that gibberish.

Loretta first deemed it nonsense, but it sounded too clear, too deliberate. Patterns that grated on her nerves, guttural and sharp sounds enunciated with enough precision to unsettle her.

She waited till they stopped.

"Now, brothers, we sleep," said the leader.

And she would wait longer, biding her time.

They shuffled about. One went to urinate in the woods, dangerously close, but blind to Loretta hiding nearby. One of them spat and ate something that made him chew a lot. They removed their hoods and none of them looked alike. Not a family; all possessing different hair colors and facial features. Some looked filthy, others cleanly. One splashed his face with murky water from a wide tub.

The leader removed his hood with one hand, still feverishly gripping the statuette in his other. Black rings lined his eyes, and his face was sullen. Haunted. He was first to disappear into one of the tents.

One by one, they all retired into their makeshift living quarters.

At the saloon, Loretta had heard that some of the locals of Dead End had driven the Klansmen out of town due to some recent incident. Paying no mind at the time, she now wondered why.

First time seeing the death cult in person, their entire presence and mannerisms left her with an uncomfortable sinking feeling in her gut. She stayed in hiding. She would wait until the right moment to strike. To get that statuette.

She rubbed dirt and soil between her hands and smeared it onto her face. Fearing her pale complexion might give her away once any of the Klansmen's eyes adjusted to the dark, she hoped to camouflage her skin somewhat. Gratitude greeted her at the thought that she had gotten rid of her fancier clothing with its bright whites and garish colors, knowing the muddy brown and black tones of her newly acquired attire served her well in this unexpected situation.

Whiling away the time, she waited like this, peeking over the edge of her hiding spot at the camp. The more she studied its layout and denizens, planning her approach and getaway, the more it became clear that these six men had not been living out here like this for long. Clothing and strips of game had been draped over racks, haphazardly fashioned out of branches and prone to draw vermin and disease.

Tubs and buckets, likely filled with what had to be stale or even unclean water from a pond or stream somewhere nearby, served them as supplies for drinking and washing. Two heavy chests stood outside, stacked in between the tents, and the one on top was packed to the brim with kitchen supplies and expensive-looking silverware.

And they all looked like "gentlemen"—for the lack of a better word. The clothing they sported underneath the stark white robes was too fancy for rugged folk who lived off the land, the figure on a few of them suggested a life of being well-fed by gilded spoons.

One of them loitered around by the campfire as the height of its flames waned. The hours dragged on and Loretta cautiously shifted her weight every now and then to prevent her own limbs from falling asleep. The only thing to keep her company were thoughts of the recent days—how her life had taken another drastic turn after already taking before that—and her fear of being discovered by these men.

Although her muscles screamed for oxygen, so much so did she force herself to breathe shallowly and quietly, she had no intention of leaving without the statuette. Every time she blinked, there it was, staring back at her. Admonishing her for taking this long. Whispering to her to claim it.

Deep down, she knew it to be in wrong hands here. It was the first time that she saw Klansmen up this close. Her family had taught her to stay away from them for their brutal ways, and these men before her eyes gave off an even worse impression. They lived out here, not like animals—more like parasites. Every one of them exuded an air of menace. Two of them especially moved like they owned the place, oozing unearned confidence and irreverence with their every motion.

One of them stirred in his tent and exited it, stumbling around in a drunken haze. He wandered away from the camp, finding a place between the trees, on the edge of the fire's glow—and too close to Loretta for comfort. There, he dropped his pants and groaned as diarrhea exploded out of his behind.

Loretta covered her mouth in disgust and squinted, trying not to watch the abhorrent spectacle, but unable to look away. He panted and groaned and eventually ripped off some leaves to wipe—from an ivy bound to give him a rash, no less, cementing her impression of a lack of outdoors savvy.

As if life itself conspired to sabotage her, and out of all the worst possible times for this to happen, Loretta's stomach growled. The man grunted and pulled his pants back up. She gritted her teeth and nestled against the dirt and roots nearby, hoping her clothing was dark enough to not be perceived.

Diarrhea man peered out into the darkness of the woods. The dancing flames cast just enough light to eerily outline his silhouette, but not enough to indicate where his gaze swept through the shadows, scanning, and looking for where a sound might have come from.

His stomach emitted a similar noise and he groaned again as he buckled his belt back up. He returned to the camp and Loretta waited several moments before she allowed herself to breathe again, ignoring the silent screaming within the walls of her tortured lungs.

The diarrhea man approached the watchman by the fire and murmured a few words in exchange with him. Diarrhea man waved a hand dismissively and hunkered down by the fire while the other retired into another tent.

Loretta waited yet longer, praying for the sickly watchman to fall asleep on the job. His eyelids drowsily dipped every now and then and she could watch his exhaustion quickly creeping up on him.

She would have to move fast. She produced the pistol again, cradling its cool grip in her palm, feeling gravity and the weight of its deadly charges join forces to drag her hand down.

Soon, she kept reassuring herself. Soon, he would slip into the dream realm and she could sneak in there, grab the ominous statuette, and sneak back out. She had no clue about where to go, but her thoughts returned to the marshal and Dead End. If she could make her way back there without stopping, she might be able to broker for the lawman's help or protection before the sun even rose.

Word traveled fast, but what were the odds of him having heard of her criminal background already? Impossible, she wagered. The marshal had at least made the appearance of genuinely being concerned about her safety and the well-being of the other people on the train they had arrived in Dead End on.

Not once did she stop to question why she felt compelled to retrieve the statuette from a wagon that he had decoupled from said train, detonating it with whatever had been on board back there.

Or how it survived the blast and the fire.

Diarrhea man's head slumped down, and his plump jawline wrinkled with fat. Loretta waited longer until she heard the sound of sawing wood erupt from his nose, and she let him snore away for several minutes before deciding that he had passed out.

With careful steps, she crept ever closer to the campsite, curving around the perimeter, and targeting the leader's tent. She only needed to get the statuette. In drawing closer, she now heard more snoring, sawing faintly from the other tents.

First, her muscles screamed, then her lungs, as she held her breath almost entirely again, ensuring she made no sound whatsoever. Paces away from the camp, a stench hit her nose, so foul that it almost made her knees buckle and nearly provoked her to retch. A strange smell of decay and death permeated the air.

How could these madmen tolerate this?

Her eyes darted up and down, to and fro, always carefully looking where she stepped, to not make any noise when she moved, and eyeing the single watchman and the tents while the sheer suspense painfully knotted her stomach.

With trembling fingers, she opened the tent flap and felt the statuette's presence. Almost there. Almost out of here.

Her eyes transfixed on it, she crawled inside the tent, prowling like a cat, quiet as the thief she was. The stench waned in power in here, perhaps attached to one of the other men outside or to something about their camp she had not yet discerned.

The leader had curled up into a fetal position, his back turned to her and most of his body covered in fuzzy blankets. The statuette lay on a fine little carpet of unusual beauty, sitting there and staring at her. Just like in the dream. The thin beam of light from the campfire, pouring in through the crack in between the tent flaps, landed on the small green object with uncanny symmetry.

She took it. Grabbed it. Just like in the dream—the nightmare—it felt warm and silky-smooth to the touch, like snakeskin. Not like what a small green stone object should feel like.

The leader's body spasmed, as if he had jolted awake from a dream of his own. Loretta froze and hoped he might not be awake enough to sense her presence. His head swiveled and his eyes burned into hers as they locked gazes.

His eyes carried the air of something hopeless. And something deeply troubled. The glint of campfire reflecting in them accompanied the flames of fury bubbling up, flaring up in his visage.

In a flash, she had gritted her teeth and jammed the revolver into his face with such force that she heard a sickening crack. Her imagination painted a future in which he cried out in pain and alerted the others.

Instead, he displayed no such pain, only rage. He screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Someone has come to take our treasure! Come! Come to me, brothers!"

In a split second, she knew she could not take him hostage to get out of here. In a snap decision, she shot him in the face. This did not silence him forever, instead leaving him in a helpless heap on the ground inside the tent in a growing pool of blood, orchestrated by gurgling sounds as he twitched and moaned in pain.

She tumbled back out of the tent, only to stare into the faces of three of the Klansmen. One of them held out a knife at her. The other balled his hands into fists, raising them to fight; and the third grabbed a small wood axe from the fire. The remaining two emerged from their tents, surprise written across their faces.

All of them stared at Loretta and her eyes darted back and forth between them, letting the aim down the sights of her smoking barrel follow her nervous gaze.

"Stay away, gents. I have enough bullets for every one of ya," she said.

Only problem was with how she delivered that threat. Her voice quaked more and more with every subsequent word until the last of the sentence died a croaking death in her throat.

And these men, well—they had murder in the eyes now.

The pistol cracked as she fired more shots, possibly missing here and there while backing away, but it was too late. They lunged at her, some of them were hit but did not go down yet, and the weapon clicked ineffectively after several pulls of the trigger.

The forest grounds cracked with breaking twigs and turf getting kicked up as she fled in a hopeless dash from the Klansmen's camp while they gave chase.

Loretta tripped, stumbled, and a hand grabbing her forearm slid down the length of it, yanking the spent pistol from her palm and causing her to tumble sideways through the bushes. She emitted a clipped yelp and then started screaming as three of the men converged on her.

She swung and flailed about but several hands grabbed hold of her and wrestled her down to the cold forest ground.

And that stench.

That awful stench, it had fully engulfed her. Made her eyes water, and her nostrils burn like fire.

They must have smelled it too, for their faces crinkled. But not enough to quell the anger. Loretta barely noticed that the other two had collapsed before they could give chase on her short and failed escape, but the remaining three were two too many for her to handle with an empty gun.

That's when she saw the eyes. Through the blur of her tears, despite her field of vision narrowing, they stared at her. Piercing, yet hollow. Yellow, but dead. Looming far above the three men on top of her, while they pushed her down.

Behind them. She almost wanted to warn them of it.

A face that vaguely resembled the face of an owl, opening its beak. Hungry.

Between the trees, she could barely see its slender frame and spindly limbs. Tall. Standing taller than any of the men, as tall as a house. Arms like twigs reached out, creeping up closer behind the men, who were fully engrossed in pinning her down and strangling the life from her.

Loretta thrashed even harder against their grip, tried to throw them off—wanted even more desperately to escape that thing behind them than the men themselves—but to no avail. A filthy hand pressed down over her mouth and she bit into it, but he held it there, muffling her screams. Screams of pure terror.

That owl-like face crept closer. Hands like thin knives sunk down, ever deeper, treacherously close to the men on top of Loretta. So busy were they with unleashing their vengeance upon her and uttering threats of things they intended to do to her that they failed to see where she was truly looking.

One of the men began to gurgle and shriek and violently convulse. Only with tremendous delay did the other two rear their heads and slowly notice what was happening.

Claws as long as swords had pierced the convulsing man's torso and blood dripped from their sharp tips where they emerged from his ruptured chest. When those claws vanished, withdrawing back inside of him, warm hot fluids sprayed out in every direction, showering Loretta and the other two men with buckets of blood.

The man's screams pierced the air, and the other two soon joined him. Violent yells of pain became a chorus of panic. One of the Klansmen stumbled away, crawling, and tripping, and eating dirt as he fell again before he could get back up on his feet to run away. The other rose to his full height, still dwarfed by the thin giant with the owl's face. Paralyzed with fear, his yells died in his mouth.

It grabbed him and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing.

Loretta screamed at the top of her lungs as she watched the creature wrench one of the man's arms from its socket, connected only by the wet threads of sinew and tendons from which more showers of blood exploded, splattering onto the dry forest grounds and onto the shrieking woman. Then the creature fully removed it, severing those fleshy threads.

Backing away, she crawled best she could through the dirt without averting her eyes from the creature, until a sharp pain shot through her skull: the result of bumping her head into a tree's trunk.

The third man did not get far. The thin giant needed barely move to lurch forward. Its arms could cross a street with how long they were, allowing it to sink its claws into the third man's chest with frightening ease. Gliding like a hot knife through butter.

The owl's beak opened, and a gleeful cackle escaped it, echoing through the woods like a thousand voices. A puff of smoke billowed out in its company and it began tearing the third man into ribbons. His screams took far too long to cease under the torturous dismemberment.

None of them would survive as the thin giant with the owl's head always cut them short from escaping, dragging them back into the shadows where they had piled onto Loretta, and removing limbs or piercing them with the blades of its fingers, all so freakishly gaunt that they looked dangerously close to snapping under pressure, yet displaying sheer strength that defied anything natural.

It raised a torn-off human arm to its beak and shoved twitching fingers inside. Instead of gorging itself fully on the digits, the sounds that followed resembled more suckling and slurping.

Loretta stopped screaming, terrified by how the giant seemingly ignored her, but fearing for her life as she knew that she only needed to draw its attention to suffer the same fate as the Klansmen.

As if on cue, it turned its head and stared at her through its dead eyes. The yellow in them did not glow, glassy and corpse-like, instead swallowed by the shadows of their sockets, barely visible save for the faint glow from the campfire reflecting in their corners.

The arm in its skinny claws shriveled up and desiccated before her eyes, blood stopped dripping from the severed stump, and the creature drained it of all life as it continued to stare at her.

The statuette. It was what had brought her here, and her quest was to remove it, come heaven or hell. Some part of her knew that if she could not let it stay in the hands of these men, then she sure as hell could not leave it with a monstrosity such as this.

Tears still blurred her vision and stung in the scratches upon her cheeks, but she had regained some composure. Desperation overrode the urge to scream.

She thrust her fist out at the monster, gripping that jade statuette in her hand, and holding in front of her like a holy cross being wielded to ward off a demon.

The owl-giant began to chew on the severed arm and the crunch of bone sounded almost like the snapping of twigs underneath Loretta, only wetter. More revolting.

It suddenly shoved the length of the human arm into its maw, offering a glimpse of rows of tiny sharp teeth clamping down on it. As it gorged itself upon the arm, it chewed, and crunched and swallowed.

And the thing grew even larger, looming over Loretta, rendering its thin limbs even more grotesque to behold. It closed in on her, not at all deterred by the jade statuette in her hand, slowly, but surely.

Her knuckles turned white as her grip upon the object tightened and her entire body quivered with dread.

The monster emitted another cackle, another chorus of tortured souls. And up close like this, its dead eyes betrayed something else.

Pure evil.

Ancient, all-knowing. Like it had watched mountains rise from the dirt, and oceans dry out, while sucking the marrow from the bones of giant beasts before they bleached under the eternal sun, and all turned to dust before man walked those plains.

It spoke. What at first sounded like hissing and snapping noises almost made sense. Formed patterns.

Like the words of the Klansmen's now-dead leader. A dead language, something alien. Something Loretta could not comprehend, invading her mind with every syllable, and feeling utterly wrong in its entirety.

The creature stopped closing in on her, but it snorted, and a gust of fog billowed out from its beak, like steam from the stacks on the locomotive, clouding her vision and enveloping Loretta in ghostly mist.

Through it, she saw those dead eyes surface, piercing the fog and staring into her soul.

Gravelly, growling, it spoke again. Unsettling all the while, like someone who tried to speak while inhaling. Yet each word poured out from it as slowly as tar, as it said, "You—you may leave."

The mist refused to dissipate, trapping her inside this suffocating tunnel of swirling fog. She felt incapable of tearing her gaze off the dreadful stare of this creature.

"W-why me?"

More cackling, like hundreds of voices and riding on the backs of muffled screams—including her own, mimicking her shouts of terror from mere moments ago—all echoing between the trees and causing the mist to roil.

"Why? You are as thin as I. And you have left me plenty upon which I may feast."

A thin blade pierced the fog. The tip of one of its fingers. It took Loretta moments to register the shape of its claws balled up, like a human hand forming a fist but pointing at the statuette with its index finger.

The bony tip, black and dripping with blood, it clicked as it connected with the green statuette.

"This is a thing of the deepest seas. It belongs not here. It belongs far away, to which you must take it," spoke the creature.

It withdrew its finger and had it not been for the pained sounds of a man sobbing in the vicinity, crying for his mother, then silence would have draped itself long enough over the creature and Loretta for her mind to race with a multitude of disjointed thoughts.

"Once you remove it from here, you return. Then, I teach. Then I teach you my ways," it said.

No—it commanded.

Where Loretta offered no response, her stomach growled in her place.

This elicited more cackles from the monster. Its face withdrew, swallowed by the unnatural bank of fog around them. The dead yellow of its eyes remained, and the overpowering stench of death faded.

"If you hunger, then find new feasts. This one—this one is mine to take from you, and yours to offer, little one," the thing spoke, reaching her ears in seven calm voices simultaneously.

The man's sobbing turned into a whimpering not unlike a dog's, then rose sharply into higher-pitched territories until a snapping sound turned him silent.

Loretta would not be warned twice.

Kicking up turf behind her as she fled through the forest, stumbling through patches of ivy, breaking through brushes, she refused to stop until she could see no light of a campfire anywhere.

Her lungs now on fire, her skin burning everywhere from myriads of scratches into which sweat had trickled, she finally dared to pause. She leaned against her knees to catch her breath, wheezing, and looking around in a persistent panic. The blood still rushed in her ears and the adrenaline still filled her every fiber.

She looked behind her, unclear on where she had gotten lost in the woods. If she continued to gain more distance from that… that thing… then she might live. She had to get out of this forest quickly. Back to Dead End.

The jade statuette in her hand throbbed. Only ever so briefly.

She lifted it to her face to peer at it through the veil of night, wondering how much more trouble this eerie object would get her into.

She tore her eyes off it and looked back in whatever direction she believed to have run from. She could see no thin giant, no owl's face, no yellow eyes. No strange mist that smelled like bad breath, no putrid odor that reeked of death.

Yet she felt watched. Like it continued to stalk her. Like the six dead men it could feast on would never sate its voracious appetite. Like she might be next if it only changed its mind.

Loretta continued her nightly odyssey. She wrapped her jacket more tightly around her and hugged herself, only now feeling the cold. Alone in the dark woods, she marched on. Always looking over her shoulder, wary of the thing out here, feeling like it followed only steps behind her. Looking up, to see if she could spot its ghastly outlines lurking between the trees.

The night would be long, and she would never stop until the sun rose. And even then, she would continue marching on, not taking a break until she had crossed the invisible borders between this merciless wilderness and re-entered the rugged frontier town.

For a moment, when her stomach growled, her mind flashed to the sight of those men being torn asunder, and to the sounds that revealed how the creature devoured them, piece by piece. She shook her head and perished those invasive thoughts. They fed on her hunger, unlike her own mind, feeding dark urges for her to sate herself upon human flesh so the hunger would subside.

She winced and forced those thoughts away. She had no intention of returning here whatsoever.

Never again.

Some part of her told herself—whispers aloud which she only noticed herself muttering to herself after the fact—that she need not pay heed to any words from such unnatural beings. That whatever lessons this thing may have offered to impart on her, that its every word was poison. She sensed it in her bones: this creature spoke treachery fluently.

Such ancient evils always did.

This was only the first of many lessons for Loretta to learn.

—Submitted by Wratts

[nalgenewhore]

A rogue storm had her presumed dead and stranded on the red planet. Left on her own, astronaut Aelin Galathynius has four years to make it to the next drop-site, some two thousand miles. Armed with her smarts and dwindling supplies, Aelin attempts to survive on an inhospitable planet, when the nearest help is only millions of miles away.

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Her question stared at them.

LTN: How’d the crew take it when they found out I was alive?

She typed a new one,

LTN: Are you there? 

Sartaq whispered to Gavriel, “She needs to know now.”

Gavriel swallowed, hard, and ignored the fact that his hands were shaking as he replied.

TNSB: We haven’t told the crew you’re alive.

TNSB: We need them to stay focused on the mission.

It took awhile for her to respond and when she did…

LTN: They don’t know I’m alive?

LTN: What the fuck is wrong with you?

LTN: Are you fucking shitting me right now?

LTN: If you are, fuck you, that shit’s not funny.

Uneasy laughter erupted across the room and Gavriel hastily answered.

TNSB: Aelin, please, watch your language

TNSB: This conversation is being broadcasted worldwide

LTN: Oh worldwide, really?

LTN: Worldwide can suck my fucking dick

LTN: I’m stranded on a fucking planet and my crew thinks I’m dead and you want me to watch my language?

LTN: Get fucked

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Manon walked into Weylan’s office with Asterin, a look of ‘I told you so’ on her face. He held up a finger and pointed to the phone, speaking into it, “Yes, ma’am. Yes, I agree. She’s under a lot of stress… we understand. We’re dealing with it… Thank you, ma’am.”

He hung up and looked at Manon, “I just had to apologize to the gods-damned prime minister of Terrasen for Aelin’s crass language. What is it?”

“Aelin is right. It’s only going to get worse the longer we wait.”

“You’re only bringing this up because Gavriel’s in Perranth and can’t argue against it,” Weylan commented, a determined set to his jaw.

Manon made a sound of disgust, “I shouldn’t have to clear it with Gavriel or anyone else for that matter, not even you. It’s time, Weylan.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Lorcan was in the ship’s gym, raising himself to the bar and lowering himself again, sweat running down his body.

He had his earbuds in and the music stopped, Nesryn’s voice coming through, “Commander?”

Dropping to the floor and landing neatly, he grabbed the hand towel and wiped his face, breathing hard, “Go ahead, Faliq.”

“Data dump is almost complete,” she said, referencing the private emails and other things that the crew had been sent.

“Copy. Coming to you.” He entered the zero-gravity corridor, rendezvousing with Fenrys, “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

The man grinned a giddy grin, “Nehemia had her six-month ultrasound yesterday, she said she’d sent the pictures.”

Lorcan smiled easily, he was happy for the couple. “Tell her congrats for me and also send along my condolences.”

Fenrys furrowed his brow as he pushed himself forward using the rungs alongside the walls, “Why condolences?”

“Because it’s probably just set in that she’s having your child,” he laughed and easily evaded Fenrys’ poor attempt to hit him as the rotating craft synthesized gravity and they slid down to the rec room, where everyone had gathered.

Lorcan paused by Elide, where she was sitting curled on a couch with her personal laptop on her lap, to crouch before her and take her hand in both of his, murmuring words too low for the rest of the crew to hear.

Nesryn addressed everyone, “Dump is complete and sending out personals right… now. I don’t need to see Fen’s weird pregnancy fetish shit; I’m scarred for life after the incident.” The incident in question was when Nesryn had accidentally mixed up an email and had opened his and Nehemia’s rather… heated conversation. Rowan huffed a laugh at the memory and everyone shared a look; this was the happiest they’d seen him in the three months since they’d aborted the mission without Aelin.

Fenrys groaned, “I told you, second trimester hormones are a bitch.”

“Whatever does it for you, just keep me out of it,” she said, laughter in her dark eyes, “Oh, huh. There’s a video message from Manon, addressed to the whole crew.”

Everyone made their way over to the computer, crowding around as Nesryn clicked on the video.

Manon’s face appeared on the screen and the video began to play, her voice coming through the speakers, “Lani, this is Manon Blackbeak. I have some news to share, there’s no easy way to put this: Aelin Galathynius is alive.”

The knowledge hit the crew like a freight train at full speed and they remained in shock as the message continued, “We know that’s a big surprise and you’ll have a lot of questions but as for the basics: she’s healthy and alive. We found out two months ago and I was ordered not to tell you. We’re telling you now because we have reliable communication with her and a rescue plan. We’ll send you a full write-up of what happened but know that this is not your fault. Aelin has heavily stressed this: it is not your fault. Take time to absorb this, your schedules have been cleared for the next two days. Send all your questions and we’ll answer them. Blackbeak out.”

“She’s…she’s alive?” Elide whispered, voice barely heard.

Fenrys was the first to crack, a slow smile spreading across his face, relief in his eyes, “G-Money lives.”

Nesryn and Elide both huffed laughs and the latter wiped her eyes, shaking their heads. “She’s alive,” Nesryn confirmed, a ghost of a smile on her face.

They all turned to Rowan, his façade slipping enough that there was an upwards tilt to the corners of his mouth. “Holy shit.” The doctor turned to Lorcan, who had remained silent, “Lor?”

“I left her behind.”

Fenrys shook his head decidedly, “We all left, L. All of us.”

The stone-faced commander clenched his jaw, his brow furrowing, “You were following orders.” His eyes shattered and when Elide reached for his hand, he shifted, keeping his gaze on the computer screen. “I left her.”

The group traded glances, not sure what to say. Elide rested her hand on his bicep and without another word, he shook off her hold and exited the room.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Nesryn wasn’t paying attention and her wife could tell. The green-eyed beauty paused in her retelling of their teenaged daughter’s, Evangeline, first date. “Nes?”

“Hmm?”

Lysandra chuckled, “You still there?”

“Oh,” Nesryn sat up straighter and smiled sheepishly at Lysandra, nodding, “yeah, it’s just… been a long day. Weird day too.”

Her wife tilted her head to the side, her brilliant eyes missing nothing, “You okay? Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” she said, her smile growing as a redheaded girl popped her head upside down in the frame, her citrine eyes pressed up against the camera.

“Mama!” Evangeline sat down on the couch next to Lysandra, the fifteen-year-old wearing Nesryn’s TNSB hoodie, the scarred-over slashes on her cheeks stretching as she grinned. She pressed her hand against the screen and Nesryn copied the motion, her eyes watering.

“Hi, my darling,” she whispered, “how are you?”

“I’m good. I miss you, Ma,” she pouted, but soon enough her lips pulled into that brilliant smile of hers again, “I can’t wait to see you.”

“I miss the both of you so much and I can’t wait to see you either,” Nesryn replied, the sight of her family so happy and healthy mending her heart, even if it was just a bit. “Evie, your mother tells me you went on a date?”

Lysandra and Nesryn laughed as their daughter’s cheeks went bright red, her scars stark white against her flushed skin. “…maybe.”

“Tell me all about it.”

“Are you sure? It was a boy,” Evangeline said, a wrinkle to her button nose.

Nesryn faked a gagging sound and inhaled deeply, “I think I can handle it.”

The joyful chatter of their daughter soon spilled from the speakers and Nesryn gave her wife a soft look, mouthing I love you as she let the perfectness of her two favourite people in the world wash over her and strip away the day’s events. 

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

When Lorcan didn’t return for the rest of the night, the sadness that had erupted in Elide’s chest turned to anger and she sought him out, finding him in his bunk, staring at nothing.

He didn’t acknowledge her as she climbed up so she did what any sensible person would do.

She jabbed him in the side with her index and middle finger, finding the soft flesh beneath his ribcage, glaring at him when he cried out in shock and pain. He met her angered gaze with one of his own, irritation rippling in his dark irises beneath lowered brows. 

Elide shook her head, “Don’t know why the fuck you’re pissy with me now.”

He sighed, “What do you want?”

She raised a brow, tilting her head to the side and tracking his face with watchful eyes. “You’re being a dick and I’m not putting up with it so…” she made to leave, blinking back tears, but his hand shot out and wrapped around hers.

“Don’t go, I’m sorry,” he said, tugging her back into his lap. The bunk was already a tight fit for Lorcan, who at six-foot-four and two-hundred and ten pounds was at the maximum size restrictions to be an astronaut, so with Elide as well, it became even smaller. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that,” she murmured, twisting to straddle his lap and brush his hair back from his eyes. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I left the woman my brother loves on a planet, with practically no way to survive. Fuck,” he muttered, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. “I don’t- I love you so much. I can barely breathe right without knowing you’re safe and I… I can’t help feeling guilty for condemning her to death. El.” He opened his eyes and flicked his gaze down to her necklace, where his dog tags laid between her breasts. The weight of her mother’s wedding band hanging on his own necklace had never felt more pronounced. “She might die, alright? And if she does, it will be my fault and I just… I can’t live with the knowledge of breaking Rowan’s heart like that.”

He took a deep breath, not used to speaking that much all at once. Elide offered him a gentle smile and framed his face with her hands, her eyes searching his, “I love you so much. Right now, Ae is alive and healthy, ok? That’s all we need to think about right now. If she dies, it will never be your fault and yes, it will hurt so much – more than anything. If she dies, the whole crew will be broken. We’ll be there for each other and for Ro, too.” She pressed her lips to his, kissing him so softly, it was heartbreaking. “Ok?”

All Lorcan could do was cup the back of her head and kiss her harder, selfishly thanking every god that it wasn’t Elide in Aelin’s place.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: welp....now they know! and as always, lovies, comment/send me an ask to be added/removed from the tag list! 

@mythicaitt​ @kandasboi​ @schmlip-scribble​ @the-regal-warrior​ @westofmoon​ @empire-of-wildfire​ @rhysands-highlady​ @city-of-fae​ @shyvioletcat​ @alifletcher2012​ @tangledraysofsunshine​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @tswaney17​ @ourbooksuniverse​ @flora-and-fae​ @queenofxhearts​ @that-other-pineapple​ @sleeping-and-books​ @superspiritfestival​ @faerie-queen-fireheart​ @chemicha​ @rowaelin-cressworth​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @candid-confetti​ @bat-wing-rhys​ @the-reading-obsessed-stitchbear​ @feyrethedarklady​ @booklover41802​ @rowaelinforeverworld​ @jamesxdaisy​ @julemmaes​ @hellas-himself​

[mstow]

WF4.1.

Part One: The Day the Markets stood still…

Published at M.Stow11.Wordpress.com

1. She.

‘It is like living in a rabbit hutch’ She often said emphatically and metaphorically, and He replied with

a shrug, nothing to say in reply. It was; and it would take long enough to pay for. Four rooms. Eight-floors up,

eight flights of long turning concrete rubbish chute and stairs, and fire escape, for when the elevators did not

function anyway, which was often and took days sometimes to repair. A balcony open passageway at the front,

looking over the street below, now starting to become busy with traffic. They had lived with his parents for a

time, and then after they were married, in a small rented flat in The City, before they needed to afford

somewhere to live together, and to bring-up their two small children.

Both saved, and with some financial help from a relative (deceased) they had managed to get this

place. When the housing market was ‘buoyant’, and mortgages easy to get. The Home was bought with a loan, a promissory note, deposited and co-lateraled together with their combined lives and the home itself. They were

afloat.

Both worked to pay-off the loan, which although it was supposed to re-duce each year did not seem ever to keep up with pay and prices. The loan would anyway be paid-off many times over if they were ever to pay off the debt.

If this place was ever to become their own owned nothing to pay-back; then, if they managed to keep paying-off the loan for the ‘Shelter from the Storm’ as they called Home.

That they did not actuarily now own, and may not ever, actually own, lose-lose. To sell-back at Market Price, the difference between the paid-back buying-price and selling-price, and of which they would have lost completely to The Bank…The Mortgage Company.

TheirHome-Mortgage@rent no(t)()-insurancetheir assured-pension against dire-poverty and homelessness.

No social-recourse and be homeless, to parents and over-crowding again, or with friends similarly fixed, sofa-surfing their home, such as-it-was de-faulted, re-possessed. A two-bedroom apartment, she thought of: kitchen, lounge, shower-bathroom toilet and tiny balcony onto the world below, between them and the sky above. Each day, each month, and each successive year into the unthinkable future; two-thirds of two-lifetimes at least, two-thirds every month of what they were both paid-in wages-for-work earned.

She did the household accounts, and she knew.

The Home. The Loan. Would have been paid for several times over by the time if ever it became theirs

and The Childrens’; and perhaps even their Grandchildrens’ by the time the shared-property many-floored building was un-inhabitable, de-molished land let-again, built-on freehold not-leasehold extended for-bonus payment un-earned…re-build in the new style, in a traditional place, or otherwise breaking into farmland and ocean beyond.

But that is the nature of the human animal, is it no? To do over, and be done-over to again and again she thought: want more and more, for less and less and in the quiet mind wandering moment of pillared door, a room, a table, a bed let go and a bed sheet left behind ready to be buried with perhaps as they did in the olden- times shrouded as now by thin curtains pulled-back.

Each-Day: like a two-step forward and quick-step fox trot later backwards one-step…

Home and Away worked to pay-off the loan on the house and to pay for and cook food, with bills and

extras, clothes, and nights-out occasionally.

Maybe once a month, or not at all.

Then He had been laid-off work at The Bakery.

Three-day-week and three day’s wages.

The Home mortgage was re-negotiated and they continued struggling to pay-off the loan and other

loans, credited and directly debited debt from what they both earned together.

There was never an issue of who would earn more, and be the main breadwinner, they both earned

more or less the same low wages as most the people who worked and they would do the most caring, of each other, and the children: the unpaid responsibilities shared around the home, and in the world of work.

Shopping and holidays and other friends and family out there. All indebted, or in credit day2day.

Week to week, month to next month, years, minute-by-minute.

They were equal, without even having to think about it or confront societies and others’ false

expectations of gender and families. They were equal in debt and credit, and supported each other’s frail and fragile egos with a natural equanimity respectful and loving…

Each contributing their best and differently, in-differently to make the whole, whole.

It’s not all doom and gloom She did often think, and he tried not to think on it. The homily homely

claustrophobia only had to be relieved by going out. To the cinema, to a bar or restaurant. But that was not very often de-finitely now there were children as well.

Sel-dom. did extras make their mark, clothes bought carefully a piece at a time, re-placement rather

than extravagance. The cupboards filled with groceries and emptied by the time the next weeks shopping is

needed and the next week’s earnings…already spent.

She was awake, first this morning, and she got up from the bed on which he still lay awake but not yet awake enough to leave its’ nigh-time warmth. She went through to the next room. The bedroom led across the narrow-passage to the living room, which led directly to the tiny gallery kitchen and balcony on one side and door to the front room, on the other side balcony corridor and more doors along.

Except it wasn’t the front-room, exactly; only, unlike the ‘front-room’ of her childhood playing on the

street and door directly to the rugged ragged matted smell of cooking from the stone wall white-washed country kitchen.

Upstairs two bed-rooms and on the gallery landing for the children and a closet room to flush away with a basin of water from the kitchen sink-tap and toilet-well into the slurry sump, where you could hear it ‘slurry’ all the way down, filtered to spray on fields all around; and then back downstairs to replace the water from the kitchen-tap and outside clean-well.

Pumped-up from the well, refilling the fired china clay bowl for washing and zinc-metal bucket, ready

for the next use.

Log grabbing toughened steel plasma-cutters hydraulic-ram chassis panel welded together. Expertly Put-together giant wheels axle brake.

Pumping-oil to cool the engines’ turbo diesel s-carbed grapple telescopic arms the claw car-crusher

mattress-shredder then the skid-board tracking carbon-fibre e-road automobiles solar panels settled wind farming blades and wave-machines generating heat&power and swimming in clean-air&water:

> Low-No: installation& maintenance-cost yr/yr.

Apparently, free.

At her first childhood home, bed-time children first, then the adults. Rats nested runs, beetles and

cockroaches were kept away by the domesticated cats and dogs that shared the yard and house with horses at the local stables for the carts and filed machinery; to ride, at week-end day-off, and many Holy Days.

Each week, several times into the market town for food supplies, and the children’s treats.

Their whole world a Living Market Place, of Work Trust and Play.

Now, great enclosed parked superstores and supermarkets and factory outlet warehouse. Where goods

are now transported she thought of: to&fro and by foot and horses’ hoofs carried and motor vehicle, train and massive tanker and container-ship electric like cutting through the air or the hydrogen&helium of outer-space a one-metre flight through nothingness baited

> One-click:Low-No-cost subscription no-way out…

< N/nnn…paid-up…again&again.

*

From the docks and airport, at the city harbour hub humming away, remote yet directing everyday life, everywhere.

Exorbitant-Political

Business-Trips

Media: Holiday Passengers, and Freight Cargo.

The affordable flight, to get-away from-it-all: a change; a charge necessary move, once in a while, and

not at-all.

Every year; but, to visit family here and there and elsewhere, or else you’d go stir-crazy.

Do a night-time flit, flip! leave the rent, the mortgage, un-paid.

Only, to otherwise keep on fighting for the bargains: cheap-est with-in budget, to get through to the

Next-day and the day-after-that.

When debts and fines could not be paid, the debt collector.

Bailiffs, The-Auctioneer: selling- off of the personal possessions; sometimes, on the Global Markets;

and then sold-out: the personal; and, T.V. public…

The laptop computer on-sleep and awakened, opened, placed on the table, booted-up and She blogged

instantaneously her-thoughts:

#We all need a roof over our heads…and to: put Food on the Table! without any other word or contextual continuity that did not remain obvious to this early morning.

Everyone, and anyone in the same and similar circumstances getting the same hastily tapped-out

messages excluding, those without tablet, home or food; and those with patently far too-much.

Those who had an Administration to do that for them and her-thought continued in the context of the

mindful moment and that which we all have to pay extortionately for over and again even when the food is eaten and the crap washed away there remains a nasty stain, a nasty taste.

Original wages sweated over day upon day, and loans ever in negative equity to who?

Them!

Income-Tax&Corporation-Tax paid/un-paid through government-deal(s):

Extortionate debt-interest credit-profit and volatile prices, losses on last-accounts records ever higher BINGO! and pay…ex-terminating…prices collapsed…looking up, and down again now, not in dejection, but circumspection against ever apparent possible failure, with desperate optimism, toward un-realistic perfectionism.

Only mechanized buffer-traffic building-up as soon as into a busy rush-hour congestion be-low… Cars and buses, bicycles, motorbike and motorized delivery truck from here, only another view.

From

two-sides; and every side… the bedrooms along the passage corridor, the sleeping children slept, earlier peekedinto soundless in beautiful dream or dreamless seemingly startling worrying death-checked for breathing.

Crossing from night into daytime TV remotely automatically turned on, confirmation, that

life goes on…

The living-room she entered bore all the chatter and the silence of one who listens.

Still and safe, cosy and secure. The other rooms took over the emotions and needs: sleep and food, love and arguments. The central room, the central chamber, looked on and awaited eventual, almost inevitable, but never certain re-conciliation, and rest. Indulged-in social-(e) vents, noisy chatter and quiet evenings indoors. The furniture was adequate and filled the room. Table, chairs, television, a drawer and shelved cabinet standing against a wall, displaying various special icons; plastic flowers family photographs in frames, a portrait of a film star, or a print of a famous oil painting.

Ornaments, statuettes, figures of worship and of novelty. The furniture, the infrastructure, from the

livelihoods and eventually the roof over our heads…’in over our heads’ heard as if originally spoken.

There were unopened envelopes and cajoling leaflet advertisement:

Kill your debts! Die debts!

she thought of letters and bills for payment, propped up behind a ticking clock. There was a picture postcard from someone-else’s holiday forming a picturesque frontage to hide the stack of demands for reply and payment which lay beyond.

She-drewback the curtains and looked out of the window across the balcony, with its unflowering

plants growing in flower-pots. There was a real still rising mistinessoutside from the early morning warming; and she gazed over an area where many lived, and it seemed to her, this morning, where they too just only lived

-out their lives: day to day, week to week, minute-to-minute…

They too thought to-themselves as she looked-out onto the dawn of a gradually opening new day that

the world must have always been this way.

[windlion]

Whumptober!  Let’s see how many of these I can actually do!

Day One: Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging Fandom: Daomu Biji, somewhere between Tibetan Sea Flower and Sea of Sands

---

He was moving.  He knew that first. 

The world swung from side to side in a way that wasn't violent except for how it sent pain jolting through his arms and back.  Wu Xie considered the rhythmic jangle and creak of metal on metal, the roar of an enormous engine somewhere behind him, and sighed internally.  On a freight train.  At least that was a new one.  Shame he still needed a plane and helicopter to complete the achievement.

The area around him sounded mostly empty, jolts in the track making metallic pings rattle around the car.  No signs of anyone else.  He took the risk and opened his eyes to see where he'd ended up this time.

Dim, with harsh slivers of light seeping in through the seams.  Likely close to noon, then- he'd been out for hours.  At least the dark was easier on his throbbing headache.  Wu Xie grimaced to himself as he scanned over the space.  Empty, except for him.  There were rows of hooks from the ceiling for transporting animal carcasses, one of which supported the chains between his wrists.  Rail car door, likely locked from the outside.  Two slim ventilation grates near the ceiling; he wouldn't be able to fit through them but if he could get up there, he could at least get a view of where he was.

Still wearing the same clothes that he had last night.  Notebook against his chest was a bonus; knives gone, not a surprise. He couldn't check his boot knife to be sure of that one.  No food or water, typical.  His stomach made an unhappy gurgle at the thought, which he ignored with ease of familiarity.

His toes just barely touched the floor of the car, boots sliding on the metal plates as he tried for purchase.  He couldn't do much to relieve the pain in his shoulders, much less steady himself.  Assholes, how tall did they think he was?!

Wu Xie stared into the dark over his head, trying to make out what he could of what held him up. His hands had long since gone numb, so touch was telling him nothing except that they'd wrapped the chains a bit too tight.  The same way he was hung just a centimeter too high.  He scuffed the tips of his boots across the floor and only succeeded in sending himself swinging harder, and he huffed a laugh. This had better not be a short joke.

Swinging at least gave him an idea.  He moved with the sway of the car, throwing his weight into the action, trying to get play in the restraints.  The chains didn't move but it created a hell of a jangle as he swung in increasing arcs.  Almost--on the next swing he could finally kick off the wall, throwing himself backwards.

Like many things he'd done, he abruptly regretted it.

His shoulder popped. He might have bounced off the ceiling, and his short cry echoed harshly in the empty metal car.  Like a goddamned desk toy pendulum, he kept swinging wildly with the momentum, each lurch sending fresh spasms of pain down his arms.  He tried to catch his toes against the floor again to still his movement, panting. 

Shit.  They'd clipped the chain on his wrists to the hook with a carabiner.  And the metal jingling was starting to sound suspiciously familiar.  If those fuckers had put him on a train home secured with his own keys. . .

He stared into nothing as he finally slowed, assessing.  Yeah, that was his left shoulder, dislocated.  He'd probably made a mess of his wrists; it might be a good thing he couldn't feel his hands.  He swore quietly and fluently to himself.  Sadistic assholes; really, he'd been treated better by people who wanted to kill him! 

Then again, people who wanted to kill him usually came equipped to do so.  This was all more of an on the fly set up, an afterthought.  They hadn't really expected him to be the one to show up there.  Obviously at least one too many people knew about that rendezvous.  It had better not have been from his side.  Ahh, how could the Nine clans neglect teaching their members better?

If it was even one of them--  he had his suspicions about who would have interrupted the deal.  Well.  He was still alive, so that was a vote in favor of the Nine Clans.  Someone knew enough that they didn't want to deal with the fallout from killing him, knew they didn't dare keep him, so they just wanted to get him out of the way. No matter where he was now, by the time he got back, the goods would be long gone.

Wu Xie sighed and tried to relax, to keep the tips of his toes in contact with the floor.  That was easier said than done; the train kept lurching unevenly.  They were ascending, but not high enough that he could feel it in his lungs. The train curved one way, then the other to cling to the mountains.  Not many options for an easy exit, then.  If they'd shoved him on a train to Hangzhou to ship him home, tied up with his own keys, he was going to have to kick someone for being a smartass.  Possibly Wang Meng if he was the one who met him at the railyard.

Kan Jian was too polite to say anything about it.  Pangzi would die laughing.  Xiaoge wasn't going to hear about this one later, he'd make sure of it. Heiye. . .

Wu Xie growled under his breath.  He was the one who hurt himself the most just now by struggling.  Being hung up like a side of meat wasn't a kindness.  It felt much more like a lesson.

"Damnit.  Shifu!"

That asshole.  He had better have charged a lot from whoever hired him.  When Wu Xie found out who it was that bought the rings. . .

After all this, he hoped they were fakes.

It felt like hours before the train finally came to a full stop, not just a pause while the engine struggled against gravity.  He was more than half-expecting the roar of the car door sliding open, force almost shaking in its tracks.  A familiar stout shadow blocked the light, clambering easily on board, tsking. "Aiya, aiya.  Tianzhen, I'd never buy you at the butcher.  You'd make a terrible meal.  Look at you, so skinny!"

"I'm the dieter's special." Wu Xie smiled against the glare of light behind Pangzi, silhouetting the man as he waved extravagantly at his own solid form.

"Pfft, cheap, cheap---me, I'm prime beef!"  Pangzi scoffed as he moved in closer, the familiar scruff of beard and leather coat as he leaned in to free the chain holding Wu Xie's wrists from the hook.  Wu Xie tried to pull his feet under him to stand, but Pangzi did more of the work to keep his knees from hitting the metal decking.  If they were still moving, he'd have gone down hard.

Wu Xie just laughed in response through the pain, forcing his legs to straighten and stagger forward towards the open door.  He fell more than jumped out of the railcar onto the gravel, and Pangzi casually hauled him up against his chest, sighing, "Ahhh, now I want hotpot."

Squinting in the proper light of day, looking at the bare semblance of a town around the tracks, ,Wu Xie tried to get his bearings.  He slapped the back of his good hand against Pangzi, chains rattling with the movement.  "Guess it's my turn to treat.  You'll have to lead, though--  this isn't my usual stop."

Pangzi cackled as he led them away from the train before it could start up again, "Ah, we're closer to Beijing!  My home turf!  I know the best restaurants."

"That's what I'm afraid of."