#her eyes are supposed to be gold but the gold option looks like a vomit green tbh

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Eight: Ocean/Beach @rowaelinscourt

Rowaelin Month Masterlist // AO3 Link

warnings: mild angst ~2.6k words

.*.*.*.*.

say it now

In retrospect, Aelin should have known getting married was a terrible idea.

It should be noted that Aelin loved the idea of marriage.  Loved the idea of commitment and finding joy and growth with another person.  She wanted to love, wanted to learn, wanted to live a full life.  She wanted to wear white and hold a bursting bouquet of flowers and walk down an aisle and feel like the most beautiful woman alive.

But this—standing in the bridal suite of The Oakwald dressed in an enormous ball gown with hair that had too much hairspray and shoes that were too slippery—this was a terrible idea.

“Okay,” she said, staring at the reflection of herself in the gold gilded mirror that had so kindly been provided so she could stare horror in the eyes. “Okay.  This is fine.”

She barely managed to send off her future mother-in-law for an emergency drink and chocolate run while her maid of honor and bridesmaids had last-minute pictures taken of them getting ready in the adjoining room.  This was supposed to be her moment of peace where she would come to her senses and feel happy about her nuptials.  Nuptials that were set to take place in twenty minutes.

And she wanted to vomit.

Aelin glanced at her reflection seeking for some sort of strength there.  She’d wanted to wear her hair down with loose curls and her mother’s veil.  Her future mother-in-law insisted she wear her hair in the tightest bun known to man and wear the family pearls.  She’d wanted a form fitting gown of silk.  Her future mother-in-law said a tulle and floofy ball gown would be better suited for Broadway.

And Aelin, desperate for her new family to like her, had agreed.  And now she was suffocating.

The stupid ball gown style dress felt heavy against her body, the thick tulle and beading was scratchy and did nothing to help her from feeling overstimulated.  One hand flew to the neckline—where she tugged for just a hint of relief.  

She couldn’t do this.

A picture of her and Sam sat on the dresser.  It was stacked with her makeup and a few different jewelry options.  It was supposed to be a sweet reminder of what she was looking forward to.  A marriage with the man she loved.  Only…she didn’t love Sam.

The only reason she’d agreed to any of this was that it was expected of her, it was the right choice.  But was it what she wanted?

Bile rose in her gut and Aelin was sure she was going to be sick.

She glanced at the ornate clock on the wall above the dresser.  Eighteen minutes until she was scheduled to walk down the aisle.

Her mind reeled as she tried to figure out what she needed to do.  She could text Lysandra and Elide.  Her bridesmaids would do anything for her and keep her future mother-in-law occupied if she asked for it.  No questions.  No judgment.

But just the thought of leaving, of running, filled Aelin with dread.

The Cortland’s were an important name in Terrasen and held a great deal of sway in her father’s business.  This marriage would be advantages for both families if not in financial gain, then showing a strong, united force.  And with her father’s business struggling, this would be an excellent way to improve shareholder opinions.

Aelin liked Sam well enough.  They got along and he seemed to enjoy her company too.  Maybe she could grow to love him.  One day.

But what if that day never came?  What if they remained acquaintances that hardly talked?  Would he even respect her enough not to cheat or treat her with disdain as the years passed?

Her stomach heaved again.

She really couldn’t do this.

Aelin glanced at the picture of her and Sam then at the clock.  Fifteen minutes.  Someone would be checking on her soon.

Heaving the skirts of her dress into her arms (why the hell did this thing have so many layers?) Aelin hurried to the door of the suite.  Thankfully she hadn’t put on the heels that would accompany the dress and was left instead with her slippers.  She didn’t have time to waste, not even to grab a robe or a sweater for the cool spring air.

She flung open the door of the suite and ran straight into a wall of solid muscle.  Yelping, Aelin nearly went tumbling.  The cheap, faux leather of her slippers nearly went sliding out from under her and the too many layers of the too big dress twisted around her.

Strong hands reached out and gripped her shoulders holding her in place.

Looking up, Aelin met the intense and grounding gaze of Rowan Whitethorn.

“Aelin,” he said, a frown turning down his lips and furrowing his brow.  He looked her over as if expecting to see something amiss. “Are you alright?”

“Rowan,” Aelin whispered.

Rowan.  Her best friend, Rowan.  The one person who knew her better than anyone, Rowan.  The one she could turn to after her mother’s death or when her father wouldn’t listen.  The one who snuck her chocolates when she had a bad day.  The one who had always been there for her even when maybe she didn’t deserve it.

“What are you doing here?” Aelin asked, still shocked to see him.  He’d been invited of course, both him and his mother.  She’d insisted they come and be treated like family.  She’d even made sure a corsage was ready for Iona when she arrived, much to Mrs. Cortland’s chagrin.

Because really, Aelin couldn’t imagine this day happening without either of them here.  Especially not Rowan.  Rowan who she’d known for ages.  Who had been with her when broke her arm trying to climb a barbed wire fence.  Who had held her hair back after a bad night drinking.  Who held her hand after her mom died.

Rowan who was the only one she could trust.

“Ma told me to,” Rowan answered.  He stared at her with continued confusion, the dip in his brow deepening.  His eyes went down the many folds of her dress before he settled back on her face. “You look--”

“I look ridiculous,” Aelin snorted when he trailed off, not seeing the small tilt of his chin or the light gleam in his eyes.  She peered out down the hall, worried that Mrs. Cortland would appear at any moment.  When she saw nothing but the empty hall with its pale blue carpets she looked back at Rowan. “Is your mother here?”

Iona Whitethorn had been a near constant staple in Aelin’s life since she was twelve years old and her mother had passed.  When it came to bra shopping, period talk, and hair help—Iona had been there.  She was a first-generation immigrant from her home country and a small business owner of a successful little shop in downtown Terrasen.  For as long as Aelin could remember, Iona had been there.  She was like a second mother.  A real second mother.

“She’s downstairs,” Rowan said.  Slowly, he dropped his hands from her shoulders and the warmth he had crept away with him. “There was something with the flowers and she said I should check up on you—Aelin, are you alright?”

Was she alright?

Her heart beat uncomfortably hard in her chest even as the rest of her body felt weightless.  This was panic and she absolutely did not like it.

So she did the only thing she could think of.  Aelin grabbed Rowan’s hand and shoved him back through the doorway of her suite.

“We’re leaving,” she said.  She pulled the door shut behind her with a definitive click.

“What?” Rowan asked, sounding none too assured by the declaration. “Aelin, slow down.”

He pulled her to a stop, which considering he was practically a giant next to her and how distracted she already was, it was easy to do.

Rowan turned her toward him, still holding the hand she’d grabbed him with.  Unlike Aelin herself, Rowan appeared to be collected.  His steady gaze held hers with the same intensity he always had.  He didn’t say anything, only held her there with his gaze and that firm reassurance of his hand in hers.  It took several moments for Aelin to notice that she’d calmed her breathing to match his.  That the erratic beat of her heart had calmed to a gentle thrum.  Even if the rest of her felt like it was going to explode.

“You’re alright,” Rowan said, voice soft.  Painstakingly gentle and so unlike the rough and hewn way he always spoke. “Just breathe, Fireheart.”

She most certainly wasn’t, but short of bursting into hysterics Aelin continued to breathe with him.

Twelve minutes.  She had twelve minutes before the wedding started and she would need to be ready to walk down the aisle.

Across the hall another door cracked open and loud bursts of laughter and giggles streamed out.  Aelin looked over to see Lysandra hanging onto the door already dressed in the soft purple of her maid of honor dress.  Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of Aelin and Rowan standing together in the hall.  

Lysandra nodded once, more to herself than anything, before raising her voice.

“We need another picture together!  With the mimosas this time!” Lysandra disappeared back into the room.

“You can’t leave your own wedding, Aelin,” Rowan said.  Though, he didn’t sound very convincing.

“I’m not married yet,” she said.  She took a step down the hall, toward the back staircase that would lead away from the wedding hall.  She turned toward him. “And I can’t marry him.  Will you help me?”

It only took a moment's hesitation before Rowan nodded and led her out of the hotel.

…

The sunset hung over Skulls Bay beach in a burning inferno of orange and gold.  Aelin watched it with rapt attention, mesmerized by the colors as they continued to bleed across the sky.  There weren’t even any clouds to disrupt the beauty. 

She dug her toes into the sand beneath her, warmth still clinging to the grains from the heat of the day.  The pair of sweatpants she wore were several sizes too big and she’d had to roll the cuffs up three times to keep them from dragging too much as she walked.  The t-shirt wasn’t much better.  But it was better than a giant cream puff of a dress.

That monstrosity was stuffed into Rowan’s truck with the silken slippers sitting atop.

Beside her Rowan was stretched out, fancy suit and all.  He’d offered up his suit coat for her to sit on.  When she’d tried to refuse, he’d just rolled his eyes and nearly tossed her down onto the sand.

Just take it, Fireheart.

It had been ages since he’d called her that.  Too long really.  Ever since she’d started dating Sam, they’d grown distant.  Mostly because Sam asked her to and the rest because that was just how life was.  And Aelin hated every part of it.  She hated that she didn’t know her best friend like she once did.  She hated that she didn’t know how to tell him she was sorry.

But right now, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but breathe in the salty air and let the warm air wash over her.

“Lysandra texted me.” Rowan finally broke the silence; it had been nearly an hour since either of them had spoken.

“We’re supposed to be taking pictures at the country club,” Aelin said. She tucked her arms beneath her bent knees and stared out over the ocean waves. The Cortland’s were very proud about their membership.  It was one of the many compromises she’d made.

“She said she got everything taken care of,” Rowan said.  He kept his voice gentle which was starting to grate on Aelin’s nerves.  He wasn’t nice or gentle or soft.  This wasn’t who he was. “You don’t need to worry about anything.”

“Is my father mad?”  She couldn’t bring herself to ask about Sam.

When Rowan didn’t say anything, she knew well enough.  Her father was never going to let her forget this.

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks, Aelin,” Rowan told her. “All that matters is that you’re happy.”

Aelin turns her head so she can look at him, her temple resting against her knees.  She can only see his profile; his strong cheekbones, his full mouth, the straight edge of his nose, the scar she gave him along his eyebrow.  The scar had been an accident involving roller blades, a pogo stick, and a slip-n-slide.  They’d both been idiots that day.

“I ruined the future he had lined up for me,” Aelin said. “He had everything planned out.”

When he turned to look at her, he had that damn compassion still in his eyes.

“Everything was set and it was going to be perfect.”  Even as she said it, she hated the words.  Her stomach roiled. “I should go back.  If I—”

“Aelin.”  Rowan snatched a hand out, grabbing her arm when she started to rise. “You were terrified.  I saw that look in your eyes.  I know that look.  I know you.”

I know you.

“No you don’t,” she said, the words hollow in her own head. Because I don’t even know me.  She kept that part to herself.  It wasn’t worth speaking aloud.

She had lost her mind.  The was the simplest explanation to any of this.  She’d lost her mind somewhere along the way and hadn’t noticed until now.  Because why would she leave her wedding?  She’d left a man at the altar.  Who did that?  People who’d lost their minds apparently.  So, really, Rowan didn’t know her.  Because how could he have possibly known she’d need a getaway driver?  How could he have possibly known she was freaking out?  How could he have known?

She shook his hand free of her arm and he let her go.  He remained right where he was of course, right beside her the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, tight loose and neck exposed.  He was something out of a magazine.  His hair had grown longer since the last time she’d seen him, not quite to his shoulders yet, but it was getting there.  She always did prefer him with long hair.  Not that she’d ever tell him that.

“You’re going to be fine, Aelin,” Rowan said to her continued silence. “And nothing Rhoe says or does is going to change that.  And nothing you say to me is going to push me away either, so you can cut that shit out.”

Once that might have made her smile.

Now, she took in another breath of the warm summer air.  The sun was dropping quickly now and soon the day would only be a memory.

“What do I do now?” she asked.  Or maybe she thought it.  Or maybe it was it the constant message that rang through her very being.

“You fight like hell,” Rowan said.

She looked over at him but he was staring out at the ocean, watching the pelicans dive into the water for their final meal of the day.  The sun skirted the surface of the water sending out flashes of light if you looked at it wrong.  There was something peaceful about this moment and Aelin decided that for now, she would take it.

.*.*.*.*.

Title comes from a Mat Kearney song of the same name. 

[lvlystars]

독 : fear — j.ww

pairing. jeon wonwoo x f!reader

genre. royal au, angst

summary. "it's either the loss of one, or one thousand."

warnings. tw! major character death, swords (dueling)

a/n. this is my event fic for precious illusions!! following the prompt of illusions.

wc. 2.1k

“father, mother. prince wonwoo and i have come to a conclusion,” you announce at the dinner table, making everyone go silent, the clattering of utensils dying out as the chatter dies down. the silence that ensues holds nothing but bated breath, the people seated at the table waiting for you to continue—to explain this supposed conclusion.

“well, y/n. tell us what you both have decided.” your father, the king, chuckles, a hint of mocking in his tone, making your stomach churn in disgust.

“prince wonwoo and i fight to the death. survivor rules both kingdoms.”

you see your mother’s eyes widen out of the corner of your eye, her breath hitching as she puts down her goblet, and the atmosphere of the room shifts, the tension thick enough to slice through with a butter knife.

“y/n, wh-”

“if you both do not favour this decision then the only option left is war.” you could feel your father’s burning gaze as you poked at your food, unable to really eat anything after feeling the bit of vomit rising in your throat as time ticks by.

"it’s either the loss of one, or one thousand.” you simply state, wiping your hands off and drinking the rest of the wine in your goblet before calling over a maid to take care of your dishes. “prince wonwoo has also passed the word to the king and queen of his kingdom. the decision is now in your hands.”

as you start to walk away from the dinner table, you hear your mom’s hushed voice and the quiet mumbles of those at the table, silently making your way out of the castle to get some fresh air, letting out a breath of air you weren’t aware that you were holding.

tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, wonwoo smiles sadly, his eyes filled with sorrow. you could feel the pain behind his tone as he speaks up, failing to hold back the tears that sprung to your eyes. “princess, i think we both know what the best decision is.” he mumbles, gently caressing your cheek as you sigh, hoping that this was only a dream.

“i don’t want to lose you, my love,” you whisper, tears now rolling down your cheeks. wonwoo brushes away the tear that had fallen as you bring up your hand to hold wonwoo’s, nuzzling your face into his palm as you gaze up at him.

a comfortable silence engulfs you both as the moon shines upon wonwoo’s face, emphasizing his features beautifully. your eyes trail down from his brown eyes that gave off the illusion of holding the galaxy within them, to the gold-rimmed glasses sitting delicately atop his nose. you glance at his lips, which looked oh-so-soft and pretty. you took in everything, everything that you could about him.

“me too,” he whispers back, slowly leaning in as you flutter your eyes closed–

the knocking on your door pulls you out of your cluttered thoughts, and you get up and fix your hair before letting out a quick ‘come in’.

the door opens to reveal your younger brother, who clearly looked like he was crying his eyes out prior to meeting you.

“what do you want, chan.” you mumble, lying back down and going back to mindlessly staring at your ceiling, ignoring the quiet sniffles of your brother. “what do i want? i want you to back out of that offer.” you groan before he continues, burying your face into your palms as your brother drones on.

“did you hear yourself, y/n? you sounded absolutely insane! why would you do such a thing, idiot?!” chan hisses, plopping himself right next to you on your bed, and you just envision the pout that would be plastered on his face if you spared the kid a glance.

“plus, i don’t want to lose either of you, unless you both are getting married and going off to live someplace else!” chan whines quietly, making you roll your eyes before standing up to just pace around the room.

"we both don’t have a choice, chan. if we don’t do this, both of our kingdoms are going to wage war against each other. we don’t want to see the places we grew up in result to such a state.” you explained, finally facing him, only to tear up as you looked into his distressed eyes.

without wasting a second, you immediately ran into your brother’s arms, hugging him tightly as you sobbed. sobbed to your heart’s content as you dreaded what was coming; dreaded the decision your parents would make, dreaded the bloodshed, dreaded the thought of facing the one you love and treasure with your entire being as your enemy.

the knock on your door pulled the two of you out of your looming thoughts, quickly wiping away your tears and smoothing out your clothes before faintly calling out to the person to walk in.

your breath hitched when both of your parents walked in, holding your breath as you waited for their response on the offer. you could see your mother’s bloodshot eyes, as if they were weeping quietly at the decision–

“you shall fight to the death with prince wonwoo. that is the finalized decision, and you shall receive the proper training needed to win this duel for our kingdom.” your father states before closing the door behind him, your mother following in pursuit.

no.

—

the cheering of those who chose to attend the duel could be heard outside, awaiting the two royals who were about to fight to the death. your heavy breathing and rapid heartbeat blocked out everything else around you, the panic slowly settling in as your sword was handed towards you. the sinking feeling of what was coming hitting you like a chariot.

your head snaps towards the wooden door that creaks open, revealing your brother who looked devastated. he clearly looked like he didn’t want to be here. the disturbing thoughts of his sister dueling the very man he cherished as both a best friend and a brother. you couldn’t possibly imagine the pain he’s going through.

“you ready?” he sighs, licking his lips as he clutches your shoulder, patting it in an attempt to reassure you. you shake your head, tears lining your waterline as you bite your lip. chan sucks in a breath, looking away as he holds his head up as if he was trying to keep his own tears at bay.

“well, you don’t have a choice now. everyone is waiting.” chan laughs humorlessly, looking down at you. giving you one last pat, he smiles tightly before leaving.

“and now, for the moment both kingdoms have been waiting for, the two fierce heirs of the kingdoms shall come out of their dens, wielding their weapons!” you hear someone announce, and you sigh out before walking forward, clutching your helmet in your left arm as you straighten your posture and push out your chest. the wooden doors in front of you creak open, revealing a massive dueling space, and the endless rows of villagers cheering and yelling as you both make your entrances.

you look ahead and your breath hitches, making eye contact with jeon wonwoo. he had a stoic expression plastered on his face, no ounce of suffering, regret, or even love within his eyes—masking whatever pain he was experiencing with the mask of grimness he wore.

“remembering that this is a fight to the death, you both may begin in 1…2…3!” the announcer yelled, and in that moment, it was as if everything was blocked out from your hearing. the cheers and yells stopped, the clanging of beer mugs against the wooden seats went silent, and the stomping of thousands of feet were muffled. you were only hyper fixated on one thing: jeon wonwoo, who was also planted where we was, not bothering to make his first move.

deciding to cut this battle short, you charge towards him, trying not to let any tears slip as you held your sword high, swinging down in an attempt to get him to fight back. just as your sword came down, wonwoo side-steps you, making you miss him by just an inch. you mentally thank whatever prompted him to move aside as you try to take a couple more swings at him, each one slightly missing him.

“TAKE A SWING AT HER!” you hear someone yell from the bleachers, the rest of the crowd agreeing and cheering as you look ahead at wonwoo. you can clearly see the hesitance in wonwoo’s actions as he contemplates for a few seconds whether he should, but in the end, you end up having to step back as wonwoo lunges towards you, his sword making an audible ‘swish’ noise as it misses you.

after a few missed swings and lunges, you hiss when you feel wonwoo’s blade nick your shoulder as you try to dodge his attack. shrugging it off, you run forward to swing at wonwoo from behind, who was looking up at the endless crowd of people cheering down at the duel, but he manages to move aside before your sword could pierce his body.

in a quick move, you gasp when you feel an excruciating pain spread throughout your body, looking down at your chest to see wonwoo’s sword impaling straight through the right side of your chest. you kneel as you try your hardest to even out your breathing, weakly turning around to make eye contact with wonwoo, who just looked devastated as he took in the moment; his eyes darting back and forth between his hand that was wielding the very sword that had stabbed you, and your eyes, that just looked so helpless.

deciding to just fight the pain and your consciousness, you get up again, heaving as you try to steady yourself. you run forward to take a hit at wonwoo, who was still lost in the moment, and you slash his chest, a deep wound now running across his abdomen, making him grunt as he catches himself before he falls.

i’m sorry.

with every jab and swing you take, you only feel more and more remorseful. the painfully true words filling up your thoughts as the duel goes on for about 10 minutes more. saying things like only one of you can live. there is no going back. you chose this option.

you felt tears running down your cheeks, your vision blurring from all the tears that filled up your eyes.

soon enough, you find wonwoo kneeling before you, the tip of your sword held between his hands as your eyes met his teary ones. you suck in a breath when you look down to see that your sword was pointed towards his chest, right where his heart was.

“y/n, sweetheart. this is our only choice. kill me, and lead both of our kingdoms. make them a better place. help them flourish and make a greater future for our people.” you shake your head in resistance as you bite your lip, the urge to just sob trying to take over. “i trust that our kingdoms will be in good hands. please, just kill me.” wonwoo pleads, the desperation in his voice evident as you sniff, tears now rolling down your face.

“i only wish to be killed by you, my love. you are my poison.” wonwoo whispers. you sob as you remember the times he has said that to you. that you were his 'poison'. you'd usually brush him off and laugh, but in this moment, all you wanted to do was let go of the sword and hug him. hug tightly as you sob into the crook of his neck as he soothes you, hushing you and comforting you that it's all okay and none of this is real.

you feel wonwoo pulling your sword towards him, cutting through the fabric he was wearing.

“please.” he whispers, and it takes everything within you to finally push against the sword, effectively piercing his chest.

—

you gasp awake, sitting up and immediately wiping away the tears that had fallen as you were sleeping, heaving as you take in your surroundings.

“y/n, are you okay?” you hear a female voice call out to you, and you feel an arm holding yours as you look around to find yourself at a picnic, surrounded by the younger versions of wonwoo, jeongyeon, and soonyoung sitting around you, all looking at you intently and full of worry.

fixating your gaze on wonwoo, you immediately go over to him and hug him tight, silently crying as he hesitantly hugs back.

“what did you even do to her, jeongyeon?” you hear soonyoung whisper.

“i don’t know! i just put her in a trance! i learned it from some sorceress that came to my palace about a week ago! she said that the trance apparently shows you either the future, or what you fear most.” jeongyeon hisses, hearing her crunch on a fruit from the basket of food you brought.

“the scary part of it is that you don’t know whether it will stay as an illusion, or if it will become reality.”

you just sit in wonwoo’s embrace the entire day, leaving wonwoo to silently ponder what had startled you so much to this state, and also deal with another underlying thought that concerned more his feelings towards you than you specifically.

tags 🏷️ —

@star1117-archives @kyeomyun @bouncyyunho @jaehunnyy @leo-seonghwa @wqnwoos

networks 🔗 —

@preciousillusions-net @caratsland @cacaokpop-fics @k-labels

SVT WORKS

send an ask or drop a comment if you want to be added to my general taglist!

ⓒ lvlystars

[analviel]

BAD BAT: an old thing I found in one of my notes, just wanted to share, not gonna continue it at all, I have no idea what I had planned for it.

Tim needed to do something.

Anything.

Anything but sit in front of the Bat-computer, staring.

Oh god.

Oh, god.

Tim needed to do something. Now.

But he couldn't because blood was rushing in his ears and his mind was sluggish, a desperate attempt to protect himself as his world crashed around him not for the first time.

This time, he didn't, wouldn't, have Batman beside him.

Because Batman-

Because Bruce-

Tim stared and stared and stared and all the evidence stared back.

The face of Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, and Timothy Drake stared back.

Robin stared back.

And of course Tim's mind had already made the connection, had already completed the picture, had already matched it to reality and filled in the blank spaces he hadn't even been aware was there.

Oh, god.

Combined with his sickness that had him benched for the night and the sudden, shocking, knowledge that Batman had killed his parents, had killed Robin's parents, Tim staggered to his feet and off his seat, socks slipping on the cool cave floors as he stumbled towards the nearest bin and upended his dinner. And lunch and breakfast and the other dinner until he was left dry heaving and crying in the Batcave over the stink of his vomit.

Oh, god.

Tim needed to do something.

Tim needed to start thinking of what to do.

The action was easy, instinct, trained. Retrieving one of his Robin storage from his jacket, Tim scrambled back to the computer to fumble with sticking it in, copying the entire file and all the incriminating evidence.

Methodically, he returned it back to its previous encryption, erased the backdoor he made, and burned every hint that he'd even come anywhere close to the file. So very, very aware of the chill of the cave, cold fingers digging in his inside, and senses peaked for any presence in the cold, cold cavern.

Now what?

Tim stared at the black of the screen of the Bat-computer and missed the light.

Shock, he distantly thought. He was in shock.

Robin- Tim stared down at the gold chip in his hand. So tiny. So harmless. And now it contained everything that could make or break.... a lot of things. A lot of people.

Oh god. Where was he going to go?

Oh, god.

Did he want to go?

Because Batman-

Because Bruce-

Bruce is Tim's father. The only father he's left.

And-

And maybe he's wrong.

(Denial.)

Maybe someone was trying to frame Batman. To turn his own family against him and what kind of son was Tim if he let himself be fooled so easily.

This couldn't....

This couldn't be right.

Tim took a shaky inhale.

Shook his head.

But if it was right then his current train of thought was all wrong.

Tim....

Tim was always left with the hard decisions wasn't he?

This wouldn't be the first time and he had the sinking feeling it wouldn't be the last.

So with an exhale, Tim yanked himself into the backseat of his mind and let training and objectivity slide in the slot of the driver.

In Tim's hand was evidence that Bruce Wayne, his adoptive father, had orchestrated the death of Dick's, Jason's, and Tim's parents deaths.

And just putting those in words, even just in his mind, almost had him with the knee jerk reaction to crash his mind just to stop thinking about it.

Now Tim didn't know what to do but he, undoubtedly, had to do something. Anything.

Well, anything that hopefully wouldn't get him killed by the man he considered his father-

Bad Tim. Don't think about that. Not now.

Later.

Who was he supposed to go with this information?

Alfred?

..... Tim didn't know. Everything he knew about Alfred said that the man would've never condoned this if he knew.

But everything Tim had known about Batman said the same.

Tim was too scared to be wrong and maybe even more afraid to be right.

Oracle? No.

Babs was a badass but she was vulnerable to Batman. She might be able to help, distanced from the situation as she was, certainly would be able to make better decisions than Tim currently could, but Batman could get to her -and it was easier to think Batman than Bruce- and Tim didn't want anyone hurt, least of all her.

Wether this was real or not and regardless of the growing part of him that wanted to shut it all out.

Tim was running out of time.

His mind was working against him.

And wasn't that a chilling thought because suddenly the word brainwashing and reprogramming-

Not now, Tim.

The sound of footsteps, faint and purposeful, was like a shot through his chest.

Tim stuffed the stick in a skin coloured garter pocket wrapped around his calf.

"Master Timothy- My goodness, young man."

Oh yeah. He didn't just feel sick, he probably looked the whole shebang.

He turned and he was vaguely glad that he didn't need to fake a smile or what when Alfred crossed the distance between them with a pinched expression, because he really didn't think he could put up any expression other than shock. And that he could barely hold up as it slowly gave way to despair and- and just an amalgamation of emotions he couldn't start even naming much less dealing with.

Alfred rested a hand on his forehead, "Young man, how long have you been down here? It seems your cold has worsen. Hardly a surprise when you spend your time down in this damp basement."

Who was he supposed to go to?

Tim had only a handful of options.

Alfred, Barbara, and-

And Dick.

Oh, god, did Dick know?

He tilted to the right and Alfred caught him, lips pursed. Everything feels like it's trapped behind murky water.

"I think that's enough. Go up to your room now and rest, Master Timothy."

Dick would've warned him, right? If Dick had known, his big brother would've told him, right? He wouldn't have let this happen.

Dick was-

His big brother.

Dick wasn't his only brother. Wasn't the last option.

Jason.

Oh. It's weird to attach that label to that name.

Weird.

Not bad.

The older boy -man? he's never quite sure what to call them, neither word sounding right- never really acknowledge him as such, it was probably beyond presumptuous for Tim to think of him like that even in the quite of his mind, but....

Tim's head shot up, almost headbutting Alfred.

"You're right, Alfred. I'm- I'm going to go up."

He ignored how weak his voice sounded and moved away from the butler towards the manor, just barely managing not to break into a run.

Then he was breaking out into a run once he's out of sight, past the many rooms and halls of the Wayne manor, and throwing open the door of his room. Without a single pause, he picked up random semi-presentable garments off the floor and wiggled out of his pyjamas to put them on, digging around his closet for the black box containing his customised watch to strap on his wrist, and grabbing his skateboard, a sticky note, and a pen on his way out.

Tim slapped a 'do not disturb, sleeping' note on his door. Fifty-fifty that the warning would be heeded, every second would count.

Tim turned on the micro computer in his watch as he snuck out of the manor and past the grounds, using the shadows of the night and his innate predilection for stealth to his advantage.

~*~

A banging on the door had Jason grabbing a gun, Kori standing at attention, and Roy training an arrow at the window.

They were in one of his safe houses in Gotham, a short stop to pick up some supplies, patching each other up from their latest mission, before they're going straight back to the base.

No one should be knocking on this apartment.

Jason exchanged glances with the others and slowly approached the door-

"Please! Jason, I know you're in there! Please, please open up! Please, oh god, please open up!"

Robin.

He'd know that voice anywhere, practically his largest trigger for the Pit Madness-

He sounded desperate. In fact, if he was hearing right through the hardwood, the boy was practically sobbing.

Already knowing who it was, and feeling a trickle of worry in the back of his head despite himself, Jason sped up the rest of the way and pulled the door open to see Tim Drake in all his civilian teen glory. Pale, red rimmed eyes, and choking on his breath.

Out of his armor.

Defenceless in front of Jason.

Not Robin.

The boy didn't even wait for an invite, stumbling inside and grabbing the door out of his hands and slamming it close behind him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing kid?" Jason growled, letting all his menace fill the air.

Roy raised an eyebrow.

It was strange to see Jason being like this with a kid.

But Tim Drake was different.

No, not really. Jason was just a hypocrite who didn't do what he preach and wasn't actually all that better from those scums he put bullets in.

And Tim- Tim just stared.

So miserably it was the only thing keeping the green at bay from flaring as it usually did around his replacement.

That and the fact that, this time, if Jason was going to do something, he'd have to look Tim Drake in the eyes.

"Did- did you know?"

The question was so quiet he almost didn't catch it with his thoughts still swirling.

Jason blinked, "What."

And Tim sobbed, sliding down to the floor in a breakdown and Jason's mind blanked.

And for the first time in a very long time, Jason thought where was Dick?

(The last time he thought that, he was in a warehouse and a crowbar was falling on him.)

"I-" Hands came up to wipe at the tears in vain, "It was my fault. If I didn't- dad, and mom, they- and Bruce-"

Tim made some sort of keening sound and, yeah, he wasn't going to get anything out of the kid in his current state.

And Jason was hyperaware of his teammates behind him, waiting for his lead.

Jason dropped in a crouch barely an arms length away. The kid didn't even flinch, didn't make any indication that he was aware in how much danger he was currently in.

His cheeks were flushed and he was sweating in a way that had Jason suspecting that his temperature was higher than normal.

"Kid.... Tim...." it was a challenge to keep his voice at least not aggressive. The boy choked on another sob, blue eyes purple in the dim lighting as he looked at him, and oh, fuck, he was hyperventilating.

Jason needed him present.

And there was only one sure way he knew to do that.

"Robin. Calm down." He said in that exact same pitch he did.

But to Jason's confusion and actual rising concern, rather than freezing and gradually falling back to trained breathing, Tim paled -how that was even possible with how pale he already was, Jason didn't know- and reeled back in horror, chest stuttering.

Shit.

Jason watched him.

He shook his head, but at least his eyes seemed more present now, "Don't- don't call me that, please."

Well, if he hadn't already thought so before, now he knew with certainty that it was Bruce that got his Robin running towards his homicidal predecessor.

Go figure.

"Hey, kid. Tim. You need to calm down. Mainly, because you're not gonna get out whatever you came here to tell me or whatever, and partly because I ain't promising I'm not gonna get violent if you keep wasting my time."

.... It was exactly what he wanted to say, but as usual, something in him got a bit complicated. Not quite regret.

But closest he was probably going to get.

He felt that around Tim a lot.

Tim hiccupped, finally falling back on training to shove aside the hysteria. Then he pulled himself to his feet, eyes staying locked on Jason's and completely ignoring the two.

He presented him with something gold and Jason looked at it with a raised eyebrow as he straightened himself.

"I-" he cleared his throat, "I don't know- Just. Jason, you need to see this- no, I mean, you need to leave Gotham, immediately, and then read it. Everything. Don't- Don't come back until you do, please. That's-"

He ran his hand through his hair the second he was sure Jason wasn't going to drop the stick, looking torn between being as far away from it as he could and snatching it back.

He exhaled a gust, deflating, staring at the older boy morosely, sparing a glance at his friends.

"I don't know what to do, Jason. I- I don't have anywhere else to go. I don't think...... I don't want to think anymore, please. I'm sorry. I could be wrong, I'm probably wrong, I'm being stupid and just overreacting and- and I don't know what to do when I get back. I don't know if anyone else knows, if Alfred-" his voice hitched, "Or, Dick, or- or Superman, I just. I just don't know-"

Jason watched the teen practically break in front of him and in a split second decision, he telegraphed his actions.

And pulled Tim Drake into a hug.

"Calm down. Calm down. Breathe."

He didn't coo, and his voice wasn't designed to be soothing. It was almost a demand actually but it worked and Tim stopped babbling and after a few minutes of complete silence and Jason's hand awkwardly drawing circles on his back, their breathing were in sync.

"... Thank you." Tim said to his chest, and fuck, the kid was short and so fucking small how did he not bleed out-, "Thank you, Jason. I'm going to go- go home now."

And because, well, he didn't really know what else to do, Jason agreed and sent him out, letting him go back to the manor.

He'd regret that later.

~*~

Dick stared at his phone with a frown, worry churning in his gut.

3p.a.;bst¿!

Seemingly a random keyboard smash text from an unknown number, but was actually one of the many protocols of the contingencies his little brother absently rambled about during late nights hanging out, one of the many codes he'd memorized, not quite humoring Tim since anything was possible, but not one he'd ever worried about in their immediate future.

Batman was compromised and likely going after Dick for whatever reason.

And okay, yeah, Dick was concerned but not harried, since if it was really bad then another protocol would've been activated. Mind you, the Batman being compromised was truly something to be concerned about, but it seemed whatever was happening didn't pose the risk of Bruce dying.

That said, Batman was compromised and last Dick knew, Tim was with Batman.

And now Dick had no choice but to trust that Tim knew what he was doing and was somewhere safe for them to regroup.

Not that it stopped the familiar stone in his chest whenever he worried about his little brother -little brothers.

Dick grabbed his emergency pack and prepared to leave, for Nightwing to disappear while they fix this.

Sorry about the big block but I'm... trying to figure out how to do the read more thing on mobile.

[memoirsofanerdygirl]

The Gold in the Abyss - Chapter One: Going Over His Head

Summary: 

London, 1991. 

Katherine Clarke -- Auror, Slytherin, and in desperate need of Severus Snape’s help. A mysterious shadow has poisoned two victims with an unknown substance, slowly decomposing their stomachs from within. When more bodies turn up in cramped London alleys, she has no choice but to ask her former professor for assistance. 

As Britain is plunged into war, Kate and Severus are forced to confront their demons of guilt and fear. Caught between two sides of a hopeless conflict, can they learn to respect one another, and, in time, perhaps even care for the other? 

Warnings: Language, implied attempted rape, mild graphic depictions of violence/gore. 

Notes: (feel free to skip this, it’s just to cover my ass) The Harry Potter Universe, all its characters and places are owned by J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended, nor am I making any profit from this story. All original characters, I own. This story does contain adult situations, language, violence, and sexual situations. If any of these offend you, please do not read.

Okay, now for the real notes. So, this idea has been floating around for quite a while now, and I’m super, super excited to share it with you all. Hope you enjoy! And remember, comments, reblogs and general reactions are ALWAYS appreciated :)

~~~

The bookshop was tucked away in a corner of Diagon Alley, hidden around the bend of a back road that branched off the main shopping street.Small, but stuffed from floor to ceiling with old and new volumes alike, topics ranging from Guide to De-Ghouling to the latest editions of The Dark Arts Outsmarted. 

A sign with a bubbling cauldron and the words ‘The Melting Plot’ dangled above the entrance. Kate pulled open the door and entered. It smelled of old books and the unmistakable scent of a cooling charm -- artificial freshness, like the crisp air in the frozen aisle of a grocery store. All the same, she was glad for the rush of cold air that dispelled the muggy mid-August heat. 

She slipped her wand out of the sleeve of her lightweight jacket and stuck it in her belt loop. Her armpits were damp with sweat. At least there would be no stains in the loose blouse underneath. She shrugged off the jacket and draped the olive material over her arm. 

The bookkeeper was a spindly old man with a knotted hulihee beard, two bushels of coarse grey hair broadening his jaw to three times its size, but leaving his chin bare. He gave off whiffs of tobacco when one stepped too near, but he did, at the very least, know the store like the back of his hand. He looked up at her through thin rimmed spectacles.

“Research,” said Kate. “Poisons.”

He jerked his head toward the back right corner of the shop. 

She nodded. It suddenly occurred to her that in all the times she’d been to The Melting Plot, she had never asked the man’s name. Hadn’t been able to stand the stench long enough. 

The Melting Plot wasn’t large at all; perhaps, if she had to guess, half the size of Flourish and Blotts. Besides Kate, there was only one other patron present at the moment: a rather beefy man clad in deep violet robes. He barely glanced up at her as she breezed past his aisle. 

Secluded from the busy areas of Diagon Alley as it was, the shop’s customers were a medley of sporadic regulars who forwent the noisy din of Flourish and Blotts for the empty silence of The Melting Plot. Kate, however, came for the prices. Two-for-a-Galleon days were simply too tempting. 

Coming upon the aisle in the back, she sighed. She didn’t have the faintest idea what she was looking for; she had only the patients’ symptoms to go off of, and even those weren’t much. Vomiting. Bloody urine. Comatose state. How in the world was she supposed to find the poisonous culprit?

Encyclopedia, she answered herself. That had always been a good place to start.

She proceeded down the aisle, her finger brushing over the spines of the books as she quickly scanned the titles. Dark Arts Discovered by Eglantine Pickering… Vampires and Bats by Garrett Puckett… She was halfway down the aisle before she found a relevant title and plucked it off the shelf. She rested her foot on a bottom shelf, balancing on one leg, and propped the heavy book on her knee. She began to read.  

Barely five minutes in, and already it was hopeless. Like finding a Knut in a pile of dragon dung. She flipped idly through the pages, and when she heard the front door creak open again, she peered through the aisles for a glimpse of the newcomer. 

A flash of black between the stacks. Clacks of a forceful stride on the wooden floor. There was a low murmur, and Kate heard the bookkeeper wheeze, “ ‘Course,” and then the squeak of the backroom door opening and closing. Likely some customer picking up an order. She returned to the book in her hand. 

A Compendium of Magical Poisons, it was called. An antique, too; the textured leather spine gilded and ridged. She snapped the book shut to inspect the front and back covers. It would make a fine addition to her collection. 

Might as well. 

She exited the aisle for the till. If it didn’t prove useful, it could always be used as a coaster for her tea. Or given to Tristan; Tristan knew all sorts of muggle markets that sold old items for a vastly inflated price. One of the advantages of being a muggleborn, she supposed. 

The bookkeeper reentered from the backroom, carrying a small stack of books. “Four Galleons,” he said. “You want wrapping?”

The clink of coins hitting the counter. “Yes.” 

But… she knew that voice. Deep, deliberate. Always the hint of a sneer. She snapped her gaze up from the item in her hands. “Professor Snape?”

He was exactly as she remembered him. A tall, sharp frame draped in black robes buttoned up to his neck. Lank black hair lay limp against his pallid face, upon which a sharp brow was quickly rising. “Miss Clarke. What a surprise.”

“Yes. Yes, indeed.” As his critical gaze swept over her, Kate was suddenly very conscious of her flushed face, slightly oily with sweat. And Lord, her hair -- she hadn’t washed the dark brown mess in three days, too busy stressing over the new case. She instinctively raised a hand to sweep her hair over one shoulder. It was surprising, him having recognised her without her signature schoolgirl fringe. 

“It’s been six years, hasn’t it?” he said. 

It… had. Six years since she’d left the confines of Hogwarts. “Yes. Yes, indeed,” she said. 

The bookkeeper eyed them both with a twitching eye as he finished wrapping the books in brown paper and tied the package with a string of twine. 

Snape whisked his purchase off the counter. He gave her a curt nod and turned for the door. 

But -- he -- “How are the students?” she called. The least he could do was to finish their bloody conversation. 

He turned around. “Simply charming,” he sneered. 

“Wonderful.” He had never liked teaching, much less his students. Kate knew that. For four years, she had watched him stalk the dungeons. She’d watched him smirk in glee when a student answered a question wrong, watched him dock points by the bucketful when they made a racket in the halls. She, for some miraculous reason, had been on the receiving end of his withering stares only a handful of times. Owing to her Slytherin status, perhaps. Merlin knew she had never been a Potions Extraordinaire like Snape. 

Potions… Could she… 

“My cousin” -- she fished for something to say -- “my cousin is a first year student this year.”

“Your cousin.” 

“Ron Weasley.”

“Splendid.” His nostrils flared. “Another shabby Weasley to add to my excessive collection.”

She bit back a retort. They were a little shabby, and she admitted as much. But when Snape said it like that, sarcasm dripping from each word, it made her stomach twist. Regrettably, defending them would have to wait. For now, she needed Snape to tolerate her. 

Which, judging by the fleeting glance he cast toward the door, was going none too well. 

“Perhaps,” he tucked the package under his arm, “we shall meet again in another six years.” 

She smiled. “I doubt you’ll have to wait that long.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, I was wondering whether I might… consult your expertise.”

His brow arched up high on his pale forehead. “My expertise being…”

“Potions.” Kate made her way toward him, past the till and the bookkeeper. “You see, I’ve been assigned a case involving an unknown poison -- I’m an Auror -- and, well, unfortunately it seems that an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ N.E.W.T in Potions is not quite enough to find the antidote.”

“I can’t imagine it would be,” he said coldly. 

It was her turn to lift a brow. 

“Haven’t you contacted the St. Mungo’s Healers? They’re always eager to offer their services to the desperate.”

Kate forced a wry smile to her lips. “I have. A team has already begun to look into it. But, according to my father, we’ll all be dead in our graves before they find a cure.”

“And anything your father says must be true.”

Her smile was difficult to maintain. “He works at St. Mungo’s. Claims a horde of pixies could get it done faster. So, frankly, I am desperate. Two lives hinge-- ”

“So I’ve heard,” he interrupted. “I do read the Daily Prophet, Miss Clarke. ‘HIT Witch Janice Bulwark mysteriously discovered unconscious, admitted to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries’, no?” He recited the headline. 

Kate averted her eyes, muttering under her breath. She thought Kingsley had managed to get the reporter to keep the whole thing under wraps. “Yes, that’s the one.” She glanced at the bookkeeper, who was still eyeing them grittily. She caught a strong whiff of tobacco and resisted the urge to scowl. “Listen,” she said, “it’s rather sensitive information I’m about to share with you-- ”

“I’d much rather you didn’t,” said Snape. “I have no intention of involving myself in Ministry matters, much less a murder investigation.”

“Yes, but we have never seen anything like this before, and I’ve already exhausted every other option. I’m doing research in a bloody bookshop, for Merlin’s sake.”

He smirked. “Then I hope you are still a swift reader.” 

Git. Kate lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Their stomachs are being decomposed from within, Professor.”

His ink black eyes studied her woody brown ones.  “I’m afraid I must disappoint you,” he said smoothly. “Term begins in a few short weeks, as you may well know, and I must prepare for the students.”

Prepare for the students? That was a load of dragon shit, and they both knew it. Snape’s gaze glinted, challenging her. 

So, this was how he wanted to play things. 

“Of course.” She smiled. “I understand.” She held up the thick encyclopedia in her hands. “Well, I had better go pay for this before the man suspects me of theft. Wonderful to see you again, really.” 

The slightest twitch of his brows was the only sign she had surprised him. Abruptly, he turned and departed the store, leaving a very amused Katherine Clarke to watch the door swing shut behind him. 

“You’re right about the stealin’,” the old bookkeeper grumbled. She caught another whiff of tobacco. “You going to buy it or not?”

“No,” said Kate firmly. “I don’t think I will.” She had too many books as it was. Besides, if she was right, she would soon possess a resource far more useful than a tatty reference book. 

***

In the end, Kate did purchase the book. She had a terrible soft spot for beautiful books that left an even more terrible dent in her Gringotts account. She strode a little ways toward the main street before she stopped, shifted her paper-wrapped package more securely under her arm, and turned on her heel. 

A swift pop, and she appeared once again in a back alley. Blaring honks and the rumble of traffic sounded from up ahead. 

Exiting onto Whitehall, she wove among the pedestrians until she came to a row of black spiky railings that flanked two flights of descending stairs labelled ‘LADIES’ and ‘GENTLEMEN’. She took the stairs to the right and quickly emerged into the underground public toilets. Dim lighting concealed most of the grime on the black and white tiles, and the mirrors that were supposed to have hung above the three sinks were respectively cracked, nonexistent and spattered with a brown substance that looked suspiciously like spit and chewed tobacco. 

Merlin, did everyone enjoy tobacco? 

Despite being the main entrance to the Ministry, the Whitehall public toilets were quite disgusting, and the only reason Kate could think why they wouldn’t perform a few simple cleaning charms on the place was that it kept Muggles at bay. In all the years she had used the toilets, she had only ever seen four, perhaps five Muggles wander in. They had been chased out by the unsavoury sight, or else quickly Confounded and sent back overground. Today was no different. Of the dozen or so people queued up by the stalls, all bore some sign of being a Ministry employee. 

Dawlish nodded at her from the next queue over. “Alright there, Clarke?” 

“Just popping in for a quick chat with Scrimgeour,” she returned. 

“Thought you were out on assignment.”

“I was.” She stepped forward in the queue. “Quite productive, actually. Lunch break?” she asked him. 

He nodded and patted his stomach beneath his beige suit. “Genevive came ‘round.”

“What about the baby?”

“Helen’s with Gen’s parents.” His wiry brown hair looked grey under the flickering fluorescent lights. “I’ve got a holiday next weekend, so they decided to come down for a fortnight.” 

“Excellent.”

Dawlish stepped into a stall. “It will be, as long as my mother-in-law quits smoking,” he called. “Terrible for Helen’s lungs, I told her.” There was a flushing noise and he was gone. 

Again, she thought. Again with the tobacco. 

It wasn’t long before Kate joined the throng of Ministry workers ambling toward the golden gates at the far end of the Atrium. The crowd was much thinner than the morning rush, however, and within minutes she was striding into the Auror Headquarters on Level Two. 

Dawlish had gotten there before her and was already settling in his cubicle, a small mountain of paperwork before him. He adjusted the framed picture lovingly placed in the corner of the cubicle -- a smiling brunette cradled a pig-tailed toddler, both perched atop a broomstick -- then set about dipping his quill in ink to begin the first page. 

“Oi, Clarke -- ” Gawain Robard twisted around in his chair, “ -- look at this.” He gestured at a chubby faced witch with cropped pink hair. 

The girl grinned cheekily and squeezed her eyes shut as Kate turned to watch. The enormous mane seemed to sprout out of her very neck; bushels of tawny hair laced with grey grew and grew until they framed the girl’s face like a lion’s mane. The girl brought her hands up to her eyes and formed two circles, like glasses, and set her lips into a deep frown. 

Kate snorted, then broke into a laugh as the girl growled in a spot-on imitation of the Head Auror. 

“Brilliant, eh?” Robard gazed at the girl proudly. One half of his face was gnarled with raised white scars. 

“Stunning,” she laughed. “Though I’m not sure Scrimgeour would appreciate the comedy.” She wracked her brain for the girl’s name… Tina… Tink… Tory, was it? 

The girl flushed and brought her hands down. The mane retreated. “Bloody terrifying, he is.”

“Who -- Scrimgeour?” Kate asked. 

She nodded, her hair turning to an apple red. “You know, I was getting myself some tea from the break room the other day -- adding my milk and sugar and everything -- and he appears next to me and he says -- ” the girl deepened her voice, imitating him, “ -- ‘Ought to use less milk. Have a mind to save the budget.’” She leaned against Robard’s desk. “I wasn’t quite sure what to say. He seems to hate me most out of all the A.T.s.”

Robard propped an arm on the back of his chair. “Well, there are only two of you. The man’s got to pick one, hasn’t he?”

Kate frowned. “Only two Trainees? I thought he hadn’t finished sorting through applications. Didn’t he have seventy some odd left?” 

“Dunno.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped black hair. “Anyway, I’ve got a pair of missing twins to find.” He spun back around in his seat. 

“Godspeed.” The Auror Trainee’s hair bloomed back to an offensive pink. 

Kate could distinctly remember meeting the girl not a week ago when the two A.T.s had first stepped foot in the Headquarters. After all, it was difficult to forget meeting a metamorphmagus, especially one with hair that rivaled the most garish of Valentine’s cards. But she could not, for the life of her, recall the girl’s name. 

“Can I get you anything, Ms Clarke?” the girl asked, stepping out of Robard’s cubicle. 

Kate had the sudden, fleeting image of a hook nosed, sharp faced man sneering at her over a cauldron. She hadn’t been addressed as ‘Miss Clarke’ for six years, and now… twice in one day. “Just Kate,” she said. “Er -- actually -- could you… ” She gave a small laugh. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Tonks,” said the girl brightly, offering a hand to shake. 

Kate took it gratefully. “Welcome to the Auror Headquarters.” She smiled. “Where we discuss murders over tea.”

Tonks grinned, and her hair turned yellow. 

Merlin’s pants. The girl was like one of those Muggle mood rings. 

“Is Kingsley in?” Kate asked. 

“Don’t think so. I saw him dragged out by a group of Obliviators ‘bout an hour ago. A little irritated by the looks of it.”

Then he’d have to wait, she decided. Time was of the essence. She bid Tonks a quick goodbye and wove to her own cubicle to set her package down. 

Kate’s cubicle, directly across from Kingsley’s, was cluttered. Very cluttered. A pair of reading spectacles rested lens-side down atop various open books. An unopened Chocolate Frog sat beside a red case folder labelled ‘BULWARK/GOLDHORN’, from which various photographs and documents threatened to burst. A marked map of London’s warehouse district was pinned to her cubicle wall, and next to that a rather crude drawing of a gnome Ginny had recently gifted her. Kate bent to pick up the scraps of parchment that had fluttered to the floor, set adrift by colleagues sweeping past her desk. 

Someday she would find time to tidy everything up. Someday, when this whole decomposing stomach debacle was sorted. 

She made her way to the back corner of the room where the Head Auror’s Office was located. Kate knocked softly on the door. The blinds looking out toward the cubicles were drawn. 

“Enter,” grumbled a voice on the other side. 

Scrimgeour’s office was rather dark; grey storm clouds twisted and gathered in the windows behind his desk, pregnant with heavy rain. He scribbled a few last words on a lavender coloured memo before it folded itself into a neat paper aeroplane and zoomed out the door just as Kate closed it behind her. 

“Clarke.” Scrimgeour fixed her with a steadfast gaze, his mouth turned down in a deep frown. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles sat low on his ridged nose.  “What’s the matter? Something gone wrong with one of them victims?” 

“No, no,” she said. “Conditions unchanged, last I heard.”

“Comatose.”

She nodded. “Fortunately. Or they’d be in quite some pain.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“The St Mungo’s task force isn’t working fast enough to save them -- Bulwark and Goldhorn.” It was the truth, plain and simple. 

“Aren’t they?”

Kate approached his desk but did not sit down; she rested her hands on the back of the chair before the table. “It’s been made very clear that they’ve only got a list of three possible poisons. Three, sir. It’s been a week and a half. Therefore,” she steeled herself, “it is my hope that, with your permission, I may bring the Potions Master Severus Snape in as a consultant on this case and work on an antidote myself.”

“Severus Snape? What -- the Death Eater?” His tone was incredulous. 

“Former Death Eater, sir.”

Scrimgeour huffed a laugh, shaking his tawny head. His maned head looked too large for his rangy frame. When he saw that Kate’s expression was quite unchanged, he stilled. 

She took the chance. “He is a brilliant Potioneer. A specialist in his field. In fact, I believe his knowledge of poisons and antidotes surpasses even that of the task force’s.”

“With all due respect, Clarke, you can’t expect me to believe that you and Severus Snape can produce an antidote faster than the task force. They’re a group of highly skilled Healers. They’ve studied poisons for years.”

“And with all due respect to you, sir, you have never been taught by Severus Snape.” Her straight, stubborn brows drew together. 

He opened his mouth as if to say something, revealing small rows of snaggled teeth. He let out a suppressed sigh. “Sometimes I wonder if you weren’t sorted into Gryffindor instead.” 

She ignored the comment. Her feelings regarding her house were muddled, and it was much easier to ignore them instead. Besides, no use crying over spilt potions. “Please, sir. It can only help the investigation.”

“Your job is to catch the wizard, not to cure the patients.”

“And the antidote will help us to do just that. You know it will. The sooner we find the antidote, the sooner we catch the wizard.” Kate released the chair back and slid her hands into the pockets of her trousers. “If you require it, I can have a copy of his professional record owled to you, but that will take time. Precious time I’m afraid the victims don’t have.” 

Lie. She was quite sure she would not be able to obtain a copy of Snape’s record at all. The man certainly wouldn’t provide it willingly. 

Scrimgeour narrowed his yellowish eyes behind his spectacles. “And if, in the end, you find you’ve spent too much time mixing cocktails in the dungeons and the case goes cold -- what happens then? What happens when you find you’ve lost?”

“I won’t -- ”

“Shacklebolt is an excellent Auror, top of the line. But no wizard shy of Merlin himself could conduct interviews, formulate theories, inspect crime scenes, subdue the Prophet, investigate suspects and catch the perpetrator singlehandedly.” 

“But he won’t be, sir. I am in no way deserting him. I’m merely pursuing an alternate method of investigation in addition to the established method.” Kate took her hands out of her trouser pockets. She hastily swept her dark hair over one shoulder. “I’ve had a chat with Kingsley already. He agrees that it would be extremely helpful to have Snape on standby.” Her mouth dried slightly. She tried not to swallow. 

Scrimgeour pulled his frown deeper and inspected Kate for a few quiet  moments. Then his spectacles shifted as his ridged nose twitched in resignation. “Shall I inform him, or shall you?”

Warm satisfaction spread through her chest. “Oh, no, it had much better come from you.”

“Very well.” He pulled a blank sheet of parchment from behind his desk. 

“Thank you, sir.” Kate returned to the door and pulled it open. 

His rumbling voice called her back. “Remind me what grade you received on your Potions N.E.W.T.?”

This she couldn’t lie about. Scrimgeour had her records. “‘Exceeds Expectations’, sir.” 

Scrimegour’s busheled brows lowered. “I see.” The doubt in his tone was unmistakable. “I don’t need to remind you that two lives rest in your hands. However you decide to proceed with the case, whether through investigation or experimentation, will determine whether they and their families receive justice. If you fail, it will reflect poorly on our department.” His yellowish eyes blinked at her in the dim office. “Be careful, Katherine.”

She dipped her head. “Of course.” 

***

Kate had been right about Kingsley. Admittedly, he’d been rightfully irritated at her not having waited until after he’d got back to ask Scrimgeour, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She’d even gotten him to confess that having Snape on hand would be useful. At least he hadn’t given her one of his ‘honestly, Kate’ looks. The last time she had gotten one of those was three years ago when she’d still been his trainee. 

The keys jangled as she inserted one into the lock and opened the door to her flat. The bloody things were a nuisance, but living squarely in the middle of Westminster, it was a necessary sacrifice.

It was dark and quiet inside her flat. Street lamps outside cast a small pool of light by the window. Late night traffic grumbled past; Trafalgar Square never slept. Kate dropped her briefcase by the door and hung the keys on the coat stand. As she passed into the small kitchen, she dropped her linen jacket on the granite counter. 

She had already eaten dinner with Kingsley, working on the case while nibbling on Ministry canteen sandwiches. Four empty wrappers lay crumpled on the table before they had looked up and realised it was nearly ten. But the brain burned nearly twenty percent of one’s daily calories, which meant an extra supper for her after a long day’s work. 

And so it was that Kate rooted around the fridge, the white light casting an eerie glow on her pale face. She spooned down a bit of leftover curry from the Thai place down the street. A quick wave of her wand and the dishes were washed. She crept down the creaky hall to the bedroom. 

The bedroom door was slightly ajar, but all was dark inside. White noise rumbled in the chambers. Kate eased herself through the crack in the door, then shut it behind her. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before creeping to the dresser across from the large bed. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled the drawer out, inch by inch. The ancient wood squeaked, loud enough to be heard over the white noise. 

A groan from the rumpled sheets on the bed. “Kate?”

Damn. She gave up and yanked the drawer open the rest of the way. “Sorry to wake you,” she whispered. “I was trying to be quiet.”

“It’s fine. Just got back from work?” His American accent was slightly slurred with sleep. 

“Yes. Kingsley and I had some business to discuss.” She pulled her nightclothes from the drawer and pushed it shut again. 

Mark grunted. Kate could just make out his lean form struggling to sit up. 

She shushed him. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right there.” 

“No, no, it’s okay, baby. I’ll wait up for you.” But he fell back against the pillows and tried to conceal a yawn. 

Kate shimmied out of her work clothes, carefully folding the white shirt and trousers and draping them on top of the dresser. 

“What was the business with Kingsley about?” 

“The new case.” She slipped into her nightshirt. “We brought in a new consultant today.” 

Mark hummed sleepily and dragged a hand up to scratch his beard. She climbed into bed next to him. 

“Come here,” he said. He opened his arms and waited until she settled in to continue. “Who’s the consultant?”

His chest was too high for her head; her neck scrunched uncomfortably when she laid against him. “My former Potions Master.” Kate shifted her arm under her shoulder, then changed her mind and wriggled it out. 

“The mean one or the fat one?”

“Mean one. I actually haven’t heard from the fat one in a while.” She grunted as she shifted positions. “But Tristan says he keeps getting letters from him.”

“Really?”

“Apparently Slughorn wants a special invitation to one of his concerts.”

His beard scratched the top of her head as he looked down at her. “You okay?” 

She removed her arm from under her shoulder for the third time and stilled. “Sorry.” 

“So, what’s the plan with him? Your Potions Master?”

“Not sure yet.” Well, she did have a general idea, but the specifics would ultimately come down to how difficult Snape was set on being.  “How was your day?”

“Good.” He rubbed her back, up and down. “Went to the Leaky Cauldron to get some writing done. Five thousand words and half a chapter finished.”

“Excellent. Has what’s-his-name found the killer yet?”

“Not yet. That’s in Chapter Thirteen.”

Kate laughed softly. “Thirteen, you say?”

“Yeah.” His fingers wove into her dark hair. 

For a few minutes they were silent, white noise thundering over the sound of their breathing and the traffic outside. His chest rose and fell; Kate’s neck cricked awkwardly. 

“I kept staring at our spot at the bar,” he said suddenly. “At the Leaky Cauldron.”

She thought he’d fallen back asleep. “Our spot?” 

“Remember -- the day we met? You were sitting on the third seat from the left end of the bar -- ”

“You remember which seat I was sitting in?”

“Of course. How could I not?”

Kate huffed in amusement. 

“You wore those robes -- I think they were blue, yeah, navy blue -- and you were reading that ratty copy of Pride and Prejudice.”

“And the ring too. Don’t forget the wedding ring.”

She could hear the grin in his voice. “Didn’t stop me from asking you out, did it?”

“Not sure what that says about you, Mark.”

“But I knew it was a fake.”

“Did you now?”

He hummed. “I was people-watching that night. There was no way I would’ve missed something as obvious as that.”

“And yet,” Kate propped her chin on his chest to look up at him, “I distinctly remember you ordering two bottles of firewhiskey, throwing me the worst pickup line, and proceeding to get me exceedingly sloshed.”

“You weren’t that drunk,” he protested. “You were still sober enough to help me with my novel.”

“Well, we both know it only sold so well because of me.”

“Really?”

“Most definitely. The murder mystery wouldn’t’ve been half so believeable if I hadn’t mixed in a dash of first-hand experience.”

He chuckled. “Of course, baby. All because of you.” His arms tightened around her back. His voice was husky when he spoke again. “My life is perfect because of you. So, so perfect.”

She could almost feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. She didn’t know how to respond. 

“Sleep, sleep, baby,” he murmured. “I love you.” He kissed the top of her head. “My soon-to-be wife.”

And suddenly the ring on her left hand felt cold as ice. She could think of nothing to say without sounding like a lovesick chit, so she settled for sliding an arm around his stomach. “Goodnight, Mark.” 

He merely hummed in contentment. 

It took less than five minutes for him to drift off again. Kate’s head rose and fell in time with his chest. A powerful snore escaped his mouth. Wrapped in rumbling white noise, she let her thoughts race. 

She’d been wrong before, when she’d thought Snape looked the same. Their exchange had lasted mere minutes, his words, tone, attitude all as she’d expected, but his posture, his body language… Taut, shallow breaths through the nose, fingers gripping his package so tightly they turned white… 

Of course, noticing such details was part of her training, but even without it, she would’ve recognised the signs for what they were -- silent, creeping fear. 

The fear of the unknown. The knowledge that something, at any time, could attack her from anywhere. Like stumbling down a pitch black corridor and feeling a hand latch onto her ankle. 

Merlin. 

Kate slid from the bed. For a moment, she teetered on the edge; she was being ridiculous and dramatic. Crawling back into bed was the right choice, the reasonable choice. Kate watched the sleeping man in the bed, his golden brown hair nearly black in the darkness, his beard freshly trimmed, his chest bare. Her left thumb reached for the ring around her finger. 

Perhaps a cup of tea would do her good. 

The warm beverage didn’t take long to make. Soon, she was cradling the mug in her hands, though not daring to drink for fear of burning her tongue. Waiting a few minutes would do the trick. 

Out in the sitting room, there was no white noise. A siren wined in the distance. Kate leaned against the window frame, looking out over Trafalgar Square. Despite the late hour, pedestrians still dotted the brightly lit square; some gathered around the colourful fountains, while others stopped to admire Nelson’s Column, an imposing Corinthian column upon which sat the Admiral of the same name. He hopped the twig ages ago, but his mark was long since made. 

Kate blew on her tea. The warm steam tickled her nose. Some marks, she knew, never faded. The sight of her former Head of House had only reminded her of the fact. 

Even now, bundled in her soft cotton nightshirt and her hair cascading around her shoulders, she could still feel his hand on her breast. Gripping. Pinching. 

Hyatt Travers. 

Her stomach turned over. She set her mug on the window sill. 

The Death Eaters swallowed Slytherin house like a riptide. She knew, because fighting the current had come with a steep price she’d paid in full. 

Her hands itched in restlessness. Kate picked up her mug again, scraping the rim with a nail. She looked at her knuckles. It was too easy to picture his blood and hers, drops flying from her fist as she’d drawn back to strike him again. The blinding frenzy. His spit in her face, a mouthful of saliva and blood from his broken teeth. 

The scars from that night were still there, faint but clearly visible between her knuckle ridges. 

Mark asked about them once. A rough encounter with an illegal dealer a couple years ago, she told him. He hadn’t suspected anything then, but since then… Her random bursts of resentment were impossible to overlook. 

From the window, Kate watched a couple amble across the Square, arm in arm. The woman turned her face up to his, and the man gave her a chaste kiss. Kate smiled, but it soon disappeared.

When her moods came -- as they inevitably would -- Mark would sit her down on their bed, poking and prodding with this tranquil voice. He was trying to avoid a row, but it was like a bloody piece of plastic wrap smothering her. She tried to contain herself, really, but her voice raised of its own accord, the tears came unbidden, the swell of anger unwelcome. And when he shushed her or pulled her to his chest, she just … she couldn’t. She didn’t want to be quiet. She didn’t need a hug. 

Kate took a large sip of her tea. The hot liquid prickled her tongue. 

Oh, Mark… He would never look at her the same way. 

That night -- her violence -- was a secret to keep. 

***

Loud beeping woke Kate in the morning. She felt better after a quick face wash, but last night’s sleeplessness lingered as she plodded into the kitchen. Mark was seated at the small square table, dressed in only a shirt and boxers. He sipped a mug, transfixed by the glowing picture box pushed against the corner counter. A blonde woman chattered on screen as images of rubble flashed behind her. 

Kate gazed at the box for a long moment; it was called a telephone, wasn’t it? Well, tele-something, that much she knew. “You’re up early,” she said. 

Mark glanced up. His brown gaze swept over her nightshirt clad form. A blush rose in her cheeks.  “I’m meeting Steven and Wilson for some ball at nine. Told you last week, remember?”

She did not. “Football?”

He pushed his floppy brown hair back from his eyes. “They’re muggles. Can’t play Quidditch.”

“Shame.” She spotted a covered plate on the table. “Oh, what’s this? Breakfast?”

“Toast and eggs. There’s coffee in the pot, if you want it.”

Kate pouted playfully. “No baked beans?”

He grimaced. “I will never understand you Brits.”

“No matter. I’m sure I’ll survive.” She gave him a quick peck and settled down to eat. Mark turned back to his tele-box, downing the rest of his coffee. 

She had just finished her toast when Mark interrupted. 

“Incoming.” He was looking out the window. 

With the way the table was pushed against the wall and window, Kate had to stand and move behind Mark to get a look outside. In the distance, above the narrow alley the window faced, two spots flapped toward them. 

“Two owls?” She settled back into her seat. “You know, we’re much too popular to be living in such a busy muggle area.”

“I’m the one paying the rent -- ”

“Just having you on, Mark,” she smiled. “The concealment charms’ll hold up.”

And though Mark’s gaze followed the sweeping path of the owls as they swooped into the alley, to the Muggle passerbys down below, they were nothing more than thin air. Mark pushed the window open. A beastly eagle owl fluttered in, followed by a rather plain barn owl. 

Tied onto the first owl’s leg was a bundled copy of the Daily Prophet. Kate reached over her eggs and untied the string. It took a few tries; several of her nails had broken during a nasty tumble in a duelling simulation a week ago. 

“It’s for you.” Mark slid the letter from the barn owl across to her. 

She hummed in acknowledgement, but opened the newspaper instead. She hoped Kingsley had taken care of the stray reporter. A quick scan of the paper confirmed her hopes: there was nothing about the case. In fact, the only interesting headline read, ‘GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN STILL UNDER INVESTIGATION’, but she gave it no mind. That was Moody’s case. 

“Here.” She handed the Prophet to Mark, then took up the letter on the table. 

The letter was merely a small square of folded parchment sealed with flimsy black wax. Katherine Clarke was written in sharp lettering, as if the author had tried to stab through the paper as they wrote. She broke open the seal. There was no greeting, no signature, but she didn’t need them to know exactly who had sent the letter. 

She couldn’t help it; she snorted. 

Mark looked up at her. “What?”

Kate set the paper next to her plate. “Seems I’ll be visiting Hogwarts soon.”

For, written on the yellowed parchment in a cramped, spidery scrawl: 

Potions classroom. 25th August. 4pm. 

Without Rufus Scrimgeour, if you please.

~~~

Notes: Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. No promises on when the next update will be, but I’m working on it :)

~~~

[lilhawkeye3]

Find Your Way Back Home, Ch 5

Riyo Chuchi x Commander Wolffe, Riyo Chuchi x Commander Fox

Rating: T |||| Word Count: 2.1k |||| Set Post Order 66

AO3 Link

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Riyo’s heart was in her throat as she slipped out of Wolffe’s room that morning, hair slightly disheveled from her pillow’s thickly woven fabric. She hadn’t meant to sleep in so late, but tried to crush her lingering guilt by reminding herself that she hadn’t slept that well in months now.

She came to an abrupt stop when she spotted Rex standing in the kitchen, staring out the window at the fields of javun with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He looked back over his shoulder at her with a soft smile.

“How is he?” Nothing could get by the captain, especially in such small quarters with two of the people he held dear to him.

Riyo offered a tired smile. “Healing. Able to hold a conversation, and be sarcastic,” she added as an afterthought, feeling pleased when Rex chuckled. “I think he’ll be alright.”

The blond’s smile turned bittersweet. “As alright as the rest of us,” he sighed.

Her shoulders drooped. “I suppose so.”

He grimaced apologetically and turned away, back to the window and the world outside. “Sorry, that was rude of me.”

“But not untrue.” Riyo made her way around the kitchen, snatching her favorite mug from the drying rack and a reusable tea bag from her cabinet before preparing a drink with the hot water pot and tea leaves Rex had left out on the counter.

He spoke up as she poured water into the ceramic mug. “I’m glad it was you.”

She nearly spilled the pot all over herself with how much she jolted in surprise. “Pardon?”

Rex was looking at her again, eyes a deep gold in the morning light. “I’m glad it was you here.” He lifted his drink to his mouth, but not in time to hide his sly smile. “I don’t think there’s anyone else that could really help him now. And I know Ahsoka’s been glad to see a friendly face.”

Riyo blinked at him vacantly for several long seconds. “And you?” She asked, choosing to side-step dealing with the confused swirl of emotions that now filled her.

Rex smirked, clearly knowing she was avoiding it. “I found it nice to see that someone held true to their oaths.”

Her mind flashed back to when she’d first met Rex and his men, the renowned 501st Battalion. Orto Plutonia had been an unhappy experience, but one that she had grown much from. Seeing the lives of so many men cut short over miscommunication and greed, learning that her people were in the wrong, treating with a proud nation despite being uncertain of her place.

“‘To die for one’s people is a great sacrifice. To live for them, a greater sacrifice. I choose to live,’” she recited, those words seared into her soul until the day she died. She met his gaze with a steady look and a raised eyebrow. “What do you choose, Rex?”

He met her stare with an equally quirked brow, as if to say I’m here, aren’t I? “I live for my brothers that haven’t been freed. I live for the ones that already breathed their last.” He paused. “I live for her.”

Ahsoka.

“She chose you,” Riyo said slowly, parsing out his hidden message. “She saved you.”

“Yes.”

“She saved you… but at the cost of your brothers.”

He sucked in a breath. “Yes.”

Riyo closed her eyes, feeling the pain that rolled off him in waves. “And you blame her for it, yet you owe her everything.” She opened her eyes, and the devastated look on Rex’s face showed she’d guessed correctly.

“Sometimes, I wish she’d let me die with them,” he whispered into his mug, watching several stray tea leaves swirl in a gentle pattern. “To see them living, but not really alive– ” He trailed off, searching for something, anything to keep him afloat. Riyo rushed forward, gently taking the mug from his hands and setting it aside before wrapping her arms around his waist. She hoped he wouldn’t take offense– they’d never been close– but he readily clung to her, breaths coming in ragged pants as everything finally overwhelmed him.

She wondered if he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until now, in this safe haven on a forgotten planet.

“It’s a fate worse than death,” he finished, fingers clutching at her knitted sweater.

Riyo stroked his back, trying to help soothe him. “It is for you and them,” she murmured. “You can grieve for what you lost. You’re safe here.” She felt him tremble against her and tried to hold him tighter. “Would… would you like to come help me in the fields today? Ahsoka can stay here; she’ll be able to monitor Wolffe and come get us if needed.”

Rex exhaled shakily, but she could feel some of the tension leave him at the temporary escape she was giving him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

It seemed that Wolffe wasn’t the only trooper under her roof that she’d be helping to heal.

————————

Riyo woke Ahsoka after she’d gone to get dressed for the day. She wasn’t about to leave the house without alerting her friend, seeing that her and Rex disappearing with no notice could trigger a traumatic response. As it was, Ahsoka opened one eye to listen to Riyo’s explanation of where they’d be before mumbling her thanks and burrowing back under her blankets.

And so Riyo and Rex went out into the juvan fields.

They talked while they worked. Rex spoke of the brothers he’d lost, Riyo of the friends among the Corries. Color returned to his face and light to his eyes as the day went on and the memories piled up. By the time the afternoon light began to fade, he was able to laugh over some of the shenanigans his Torrent squad had got up to.

Ahsoka watched them both with curious eyes when they returned, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she told them that while Wolffe had been muttering on and off in his sleep, he hadn’t yet woken up again. Riyo made sure to set aside some of their soup that evening for him, thinking that he might finally be stable enough to eat. When dinner was finished, Riyo left Ahsoka and Rex to their low conversation as they spoke over washing dishes in the kitchen to check on Wolffe. To her surprise, he seemed to just then be waking.

The savory smell of the soup in her hands caught his attention first, and by the way his stomach rumbles, food was definitely what he needed. After a quick check to his bandages, Riyo held the bowl and helped him sip directly from it, finding that to be easier than trying to use a spoon. It was a slow and steady process, but she wanted to make sure Wolffe didn’t eat too fast and consequently vomit it up because his body couldn’t handle so much after so long asleep.

He seemed to be keeping it down well, to her relief, but then Wolffe mentioned needing to use the fresher, and a whole new set of obstacles arose. The first they barely managed to overcome as Riyo helped Wolffe stand by letting him lean heavily on her, and together they shuffled out of the room and to the fresher.

The second wasn’t as difficult physically, but still proved to be problematic on its own.

Riyo glares at him, unimpressed. “Can you even get your pants off by yourself?”

Wolffe’s indignant expression makes her fight back laughter. “Of course I can–” he starts, curling downwards slightly to try and pull them down far enough, but the crunch flares up his chest wound and he hisses. “Fine.”

Riyo sighed. “Wolffe, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I had to change you into these when you got here. Besides, I often walked through the Corrie barracks on my own, and one time I made a wrong turn and ended up in the Flash squadron locker room, and–”

“Alright, alright. Your point has been made,” he groaned with a roll of his eyes, and she finally caved in and laughed.

“Come on, then.” He held still as she carefully pulled down the sweatpants and underclothes, being sure not to aggravate his thigh injury. She’d been honest about seeing him bare not bothering her; anatomy was anatomy, and it was nothing to be ashamed of or shy away from, especially when acting as an impromptu medic. “There, is that good?”

“Yeah, I can–” Wolffe shifted slightly and accidentally put weight on his bad leg, nearly falling if he hadn’t tightened his hold around Riyo’s shoulders. Her hands shot out to brace his waist and keep him from toppling over.

“You’ll be able to do this alone soon, but not yet,” she reaffirmed. Closing her eyes, she jerked her chin towards the toilet. “Get busy, soldier.”

“Hilarious,” Wolffe deadpanned, but Riyo could feel him relax under her fingertips. She’d hoped her nonchalant manner would be similar enough to any medical care he’d had before, and it looks like her bet had paid off. She was a statue, solid and silent next to Wolffe as he relieved himself for the first time since waking. He was trembling from standing for so long by the time he finished, and didn’t say a word as Riyo helped him redress, wash off, and return to the bedroom. She knew how hard it was to accept help after spending so long being someone others relied on, and to be in a situation where he had no other option than to accept her generosity was bound to be even more difficult.

The unwitting sigh of relief that slipped through his lips as she guided him to lay back down on the bed was evidence of how taxing the short trip was. It worried Riyo. If he was to try and go anywhere further than the fresher, he’d need someone much stronger than her to steady him, and she didn’t know how long Rex or Ahsoka were planning to stay. She was already surprised they’d remained for this long, but she figured Rex wanted to make sure his brother was definitely alright before leaving him again.

“Thank you.”

She looked up from maneuvering the blankets back over his legs at Wolffe’s raspy voice. He was watching her again, appearing just as defeated as he had in the low light the night before. His eyes were flat, his face shadowed and paler than it normally was, which only served to heighten his haunted form.

“You’re welcome,” she finally replied after several moments of silence. “How do you feel now?”

He closed his eyes and let his head sink back into the pillows. “Tired.”

Riyo smiled lightly. “You need to rest. Can you drink some water before you go back to sleep?”

Wolffe hummed, which she took to be affirmative. When she returned with a mug of cool water, it was to find Wolffe had already propped himself up and was looking somewhat expectantly towards her. She held the mug to his lips again so he could drink and distracted herself by watching the way his eyes fluttered shut as he emptied the mug. With that done, she set it aside on the bedside table and hovered in case Wolffe couldn’t arrange himself comfortably on his back. To her delight, he was able to do it himself, albeit with shaking arms. Some progress was better than none at all.

Dusk was truly settling in and the room was beginning to grow darker with each passing second, so Riyo murmured a polite excuse and moved to leave. She was stopped by Wolffe’s hesitant call of her name.

“Yes?” Hopefully he wasn’t in too much pain…

“Can you…” His words died off as he gestured weakly towards the floor next to his bed.

Oh. “Of course I’ll stay,” Riyo agreed. “Let me wash up and change, and then I’ll be back.”

————————

His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell in a steady, slow rhythm by the time she slipped back into the room. His arm dangled awkwardly off the side of the bed so his knuckles brushed the chilled floor. This time Riyo was the one to take his hand in hers and rest them on her pillow, next to her head. He was warm and solid, something real that grounded her as she drifted off to sleep.

It was too dark for her to see the weary smile on Wolffe’s face as his thumb rubbed gentle circles against her palm before he too was out like a light.

[salty-fang]

Twisted fate: Sugar edition

Chapter 2-

Marinette thought she was getting better. She really did. After all, she had adjusted to Gotham’s dark atmosphere and had only cried about losing Adrien twice. Per day. For a month. She was puzzled as to how she had ended up snarfing down Rocky road ice cream whilst bookmarking photos of Adrien. Upon noticing his toothy grin, captivating eyes and playful demeanour, a wan smile fixed itself on her face.

“No. Bad Marinette!” She remembered how quick he dropped her for Gabriel’s wishes and felt the cold, clammy hands of betrayal lace themselves around her throat.

‘Tight. Too. Tight.’ Her chest constricted as she let out a choked gasp. Her hands reached to shut her desktop down. Memories, terrible memories, flashed in her eyes. She had recognised those olive-green eyes. Those eyes clouded by greed, thirst and hunger. Hunger to trample the hopes of any opposition. Hunger to humiliate her. Hunger to seize every last important thing from her.

In a flurry, photos of her and Adrien came raining down. The mirth and adoration in her eyes evaporated, replaced by pain and bloodlust. Her bluebell eyes radiated a frigid coolness as her eyes fell upon the picture of Adrien and her third anniversary. Traitor. Her doe eyes narrowed and her mouth set in a thin line. Anger rolled off of her with each picture she ripped. She had read the attacks, the taunts and jabs at her for being a ‘whore, gold-digger’ and ‘attention seeker’. She had seen Adrien’s unresponsiveness to the situation, leaving her for the hounds to devour. Coward. She’d seen pictures of Adrien and that witch frolicking as she was left to pick up the broken pieces of her heart.

An unquenchable flame raged in her heart. With every memory, the flame burned brighter until the ache for love became unbearable. She hadn’t asked to be broken. She hadn’t asked to not be good enough. She hadn’t asked to lose control of her heart like she did but it still happened.

‘We could never be satisfied,’ she thought. The dull thrum of her heart rang in her ears as silence hung in the air. She knew she was anything special but, damn it, she thought she could be enough.

“Why wasn’t I enough?” Her shoulders shook with the effort of holding onto her sanity. A war waged in her mind as she searched blindly for anything, anything to ground her. She shouldn’t cry. He wasn’t worth it. She couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of breaking her. She wouldn’t -. A sound that could only be described as pure grief ripped through her throat, slashing the air. She rocked herself hoping, wishing and praying for his return to her.

She fondly whispered “He’ll come back. He always has, the idiot.” A glint of resignation shone in her eyes before she slept, her back against the wall by the door.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Damian loved Gina. He really did. He loved her composure in the face of danger and her frankly reckless attitude. But if one more person breathed her name, he would throttle them. So, when Todd teased Alfred for his fresh attire for Gina, he silently thanked the heavens for the opportunity to release some energy. He pounced, lunging for Todd’s throat wrapping his hands loosely. Nah, who was he kidding, his hands coiled tightly around his neck.

“Demon spawn, the hell?” Jason managed to choke out. Damian relished the pink hue that had crept up Jason’s face.

“Tim-no. Richard- ack, not you either,” Bruce started, voice hesitant. “Uh Duke?” he tried fumbling about for glasses and his coffee. “Ja-"

“Don’t even think about it old man, it’s Damian, you dolt,” Jason winced as he felt the nails dig into his neck.

"Ah yes, Damian, let go of him this instant. It is Damian, right? Right?" He heard the thud of someone's body hitting the floor.

Damian knew he hadn’t lost his touch. Assassin’s blood would forever run in his blood. His family were moronic buffoons, that he knew. But, if they thought he was turning ‘soft’ then they weren’t doing much to challenge the status quo and prove him wrong. They were simpletons through and through. And though he would never admit it, he loved them for it. As Jason warned him to watch his back, he couldn’t deny the thrill, the rush of adrenaline that ran through his body. Man, he loved this family.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Marinette felt weird. She knew something was wrong. The lingering feeling had teased her subconscious for a while, now. And if the urge to constantly pee, excessive vomiting and constant fatigue was anything to go on... she was pretty certain she had an inkling as to what was happening.

All it took was that test and she had her suspicions confirmed. The two lines that appeared filled her with dread and excitement. Choosing to focus on the latter for now, she squealed, shaking and shimmying the best that she could with her heavy feet. She was PREGNANT.

Crap, she was pregnant. They hadn’t talked about children. They hadn’t talked about raising a child. Their apartment wouldn’t have enough space for all of them. They didn’t have a name. They knew nothing about childbirth. They simply weren’t ready. Worst case scenarios ran through her head. What if she wasn’t a good mom? What if Adrien left her? What if he hated their baby? Or worse, what if she hated her baby?

'Wait... they used p-p-protection. So how?’ The notion cut off her train of thoughts, turning her into a blushing mess. She could feel the heat sear through her cheeks and she could see the contrast of her freckles against her flushed face.

‘Oh no. She couldn’t tell Adrien; she couldn’t burden him like that. Not when he already had so much on his plate. She wouldn’t tell him but maybe she could hint at it. Yes, that would be the ideal course of action.’

Adrien really was the most oblivious human alive. Marinette had forgotten about that factor. Two months later and Adrien still hadn’t gotten a clue. She refused to believe he was that blissfully ignorant. She stroked her developing stomach, contemplating whether she would just tell him or surprise him with a kid. She was opting for the second option as Adrien had looked more stressed than ever, running errands for Gabriel more frequently. God, she hated that man. He constantly critiqued her for ‘not being good enough for his son. After all, she was a Baker’s daughter.’

Marinette could still remember the times when Gabriel had tried to persuade her to leave Adrien without an explanation. He’d threaten her, try to win her over with money; anything to let his son be rid of her. Marinette knew the pain of being left in the lurch. She knew the pain of wondering if it was her fault. She knew the pain of wondering where it went wrong. She wouldn’t do it to him. Not like that.

And then, he’d broken up with her. She had regretted nothing. She’d left him whole. Maybe a little damaged but not scarred. And that was most important to her. She’d regret nothing. It was the least she could do to salvage what was left of her chipped heart.

Marinette had awoken to tender kisses placed on her forehead. Her Nonna looked like a mess. She looked frazzled yet she focused her energy into calming a frantic Marinette.

“Netta, my fairy, I’m,” Marinette whimpered. She could hear the shakiness in her Gigi’s voice. She was a bad luck charm. She always caused pain for everyone. Slowly, she peered up at Gina expecting disappointment to be etched on her face. Yet her face shone with love and her eyes were filled with pity, no, guilt. “I’m so sorry. I broke our pact. I’m no better than them.”

She curled in on herself, head bowed, breaths shallow.

“I’ve hurt you Marinette, I’m a failure.” A short sharp ‘enough’ cut her off. Leaving no room for deliberation, Marinette said

“Nonna, please, if anyone’s a failure, it’s me. I mean who would want a single, unemployed pregnant woman?” Gina sat with wild eyes, jaw slack as she processed what Marinette had just said.

“Hold up, you’re PREGNANT?”

“Have been for the last three months but you know.” She shrugged. She’d processed this already but Gina hadn’t. Gina had switched from pained to bubbly in the span of a few seconds. She screamed before peppering Marinette with questions. Marinette had answered most of her questions and told her killing Agreste- which one she had been referring to was a mystery- was off the table. She’d crush him and make him beg for mercy in her own time. She told her how ‘Adrien hadn’t known’ and by the time they’d finished, it was past midnight. Gina pulled her into a bone-crushing hug before tucking her into bed.

Marinette woke up with a sore back, throbbing headache and bloodshot eyes. She noticed Gina had crashed on the floor beside her sofa. The events of what had occurred last night replayed in her mind. She really fell asleep with his picture beside her for comfort. She’d called his girlfriend a witch. How was she supposed to look him in the eyes after that? She couldn’t even look herself in the eyes. She really wasn’t looking forward to their ‘date’ today. She rose, albeit reluctantly, and stretched. With a steady hand, she applied her mascara onto her lashes. Clad in a baby blue sundress and floppy hat, she set out in a bid to meet Adrien.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Marinette had arrived late but she had not expected this. Adrien and her had been enjoying their date and she had loved her triangle sandwiches. So, when Lila sashayed over, hips swinging , her mood soured and she groaned. Loudly. Apparently, that fuelled Lila's desire as she launched into an awkward kiss, teeth clashing against Adrien’s. Adrien remained motionless as she kissed him once. Twice. He felt her bite down hard on his bottom lip. He felt tears gather in the corner of his eyes. He tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He felt her tongue slip into his mouth, demanding satisfaction.

‘What’s wrong with me?’ he wondered. ‘I should be enjoying this. So, why does it feel so wrong?’

He responded on instinct, battling her tongue with his own, with an intensity he had saved for Marinette. When they pulled apart, saliva intertwined and breaths heavy, he noticed the hungry look in Lila's eyes. She seemed to forget Marinette’s presence as she moved to straddle his hips. An over exaggerated cough had Lila leaping from his lap, yelping before her eyes settled on the culprit. Marinette. Lila chose to sit beside Adrien, wrapping an arm around his tense shoulders.

“Still disgustingly fake as ever Lie-la,” she drawled. “No personality but I see you have paid for implants.”

“I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you again but I’d be lying. And I don’t lie,” she blinked innocently. “Now scram before things get a little steamy for your virgin eyes.” Her obnoxious voice grated on her nerves. She bit back a comeback as the urge to puke bubbled in her throat. She couldn’t stop herself as she vomited. Heavily. On Lila. At least Adrien had the sense to bound away before he got hit.

Lila was pissed. Marinette had wrecked her outfit with her sick. She couldn’t twist the situation maliciously as anyone with eyes could see Marinette was pregnant. So, in blind rage, she punched Marinette in the face.

“You deserve more, bitch.” Lila spat at Marinette. Lila had intended to punch her in the stomach when she felt a hand wrap around her fist. Marinette had growled at her and she actually felt scared. For the first time in her life, she backed down. She stalked away towards ‘her Adriboo’, who was having a hard time stifling his laughter. She pouted as she realised that her pride bruised.

“That will teach you to mess with me Lila.” Marinette levelled a glare at her before she bolted.

'Run.

Run! Don’t look back!

Just run!'

She didn’t stop until she was safely on her balcony and so, she missed Adrien intervening, Lila screaming and the stranger slinking in the shadows. She just felt so dizzy. Her insides swirled and she slumped against the balcony ledge. The hand she clamped over her mouth made the sensation worse. She threw up and from the sounds of it, she had hit someone.

‘I have to stop puking on people,’ she thought as she heard the cry of indignation from below. ‘Poor sap.’ Slowly, she retreated back into the hotel room to get some rest before she met the people who made her grandma so happy.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Damian was having a horrible day. First, Grayson had chosen him as the latest victim of his matchmaking attempts. Sitting in a cat themed coffee shop, he had listened to an attention seeking gold digger ramble on about herself for an hour and a half. Did she not get tired of her own voice? He knew he had, for certain. He was ready to curse Grayson’s awful choice in people again when something piqued his interest. A harlot was engaged in battle with an angel. And from the look of discomfort on the harpy’s face, the blue-eyed beauty was winning.

He knew he shouldn’t have followed her when she left but he felt a strong pull towards her. He knew she felt sick but he hadn’t expected her to puke on him. Granted, he was hiding and the balcony was pretty low... but still. He screeched in disgust as his suit and hair were covered in what looked like bird shit. It smelt like it too. So yeah, pretty horrible day. At the very least, he could look forward to Gina coming to the mansion later today. She’d cheer him up. He just knew it.

Damian was annoyed. Gina was late. Very late. And he’d been waiting for hours for her to arrive. When was she going to get here? A soft rap on the door sent him flying out of his seat as he scrambled to unlock the door. He’d expected Gina but on their doorstep was that angel from earlier.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Go check out the salt version @loveswifi

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[jmnjmnjmn]

Eternal beings | Chapter 4

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x Human!Reader

Key words: supernatural, vampire.

Word count: less than 3,000

Warnings: swearing,  sadness, jealousy, mentions of murder

Inspo board

Masterlist

The series is still going. I have some more chapters up my sleeve. Please like and reblog if you like where this is headed or let me know what you think of the whole think through the ‘ask’ button. ;)

“Do I know you?” You asked, begging in your head to hear a different answer than the one you were thinking of right now.

“Yeah. We’ve met.” He said, stepping through the doorway slowly. Suddenly you felt an urge to vomit. “But we haven’t been properly introduced to each other.” He added weighing every word. This felt like too much. He smiled at you and even though the hallway was dark and the only light coming in was from the street lamps you could see a gold shine in his eyes. “My name is Jungkook.” He put his hand on the door handle, which your hand was still holding onto, and pushed the door to a close. The darkness of the hallway felt as if it swallowed you whole. With his cold hand still touching yours he spoke softly. “Remember me?” You took a step back releasing your hand from his grip.

“What the fuck?!” You screamed in your head. In the darkness of the hallway you barely noticed him flinch as if you actually screamed the words in his face. You heard Yoongi laugh from the other room and suddenly you felt petrified. “Of course those two are friends. A pair of antisocial psychos. What was I thinking voluntarily opening the door to that lunatic’s friend?” You whined in your head. You heard Jungkook exhale a quiet laugh which brought you back to reality.  “What in the hell is going on here?” You asked him a little too quietly for your liking. It made you sound scared and even though you were you didn’t want to seem that way to him.

“I have to say that this is not the reaction I was expecting from you, (Y/N).” Yoongi spoke from behind you, and though you couldn’t see for yourself, you sensed a bit of satisfaction in his voice.

“Turn on the lights, dummies. It's pitch black in here.” Taehyung spoke with his usual chipper tone entering the room. “Don’t come here.” You cried in your head, wanting your best friends as far from this man as possible. As Taehyung turned on the lights you came to the frightening realisation that there was no way it wasn’t him.

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” He said, extending his hand to Jungkook. You wished this wasn’t happening. “It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to my home.”

“I’m Jungkook.” He said in a relaxed tone. “I have to say Yoongi, your friends are very kind and welcoming.” He added smiling widely at Taehyung and you. Taehyung said something back to him, but you couldn’t hear him over the mountain of questions piling in your head right now, the most prominent one being: “It’s him, right?”. Your brain felt as if it was going to explode any second. The guys started walking to the living room so you followed mindlessly behind them. They sat on the couch while you made your way towards the stairs.

“(Y/N).” Someone called behind you. “(Y/N).” Someone repeated and you turned round to face the not so friendly looking group anymore. Your best friend, your coworker, his weird boyfriend and his murderer friend. “What an odd line up…” You thought.

“(Y/N), where are you going I thought we were going to watch Holiday.” Taehyung asked you with his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, I forgot I have an assignment due for tomorrow.” You said hoping that he won’t see through your lie this time.

“Look at you, hardworking student.” He laughed. “Can’t you just do it later or something?” He kept asking.

“No, it really can’t wait.” You said slowly walking up the stairs still facing all of them. Taehyung and Jimin both looked a bit saddened by you leaving. “But if I finish quickly maybe I’ll join you later.” You said cursing at yourself in your mind for saying that. 

“Okay, work hard.” Taeyung cheered you on and reached for the TV remote. You turned around, but before you took another step Jungkoook spoke again.

“It was nice to meet you, (Y/N).” You wondered if it was only you that heard the menace in his voice.

“You too.” You lied looking at him from over your shoulder. When you made it upstairs you quickly got into the bathroom and locked the door behind you. “What the hell?” You thought looking into the mirror. “Why is he here?” You wondered. “It’s him. It’s definitely him.” You thought pacing from the shower to the laundry basket. You reached into your jeans back pocket to get your phone out, but it wasn’t there. “How the hell am I supposed to call the police, if I can’t find my phone?” You scolded yourself. Then a chilling thought came over you. “I left my phone downstairs…” You cried. Going back down to face all of them, even for a minute, seemed like too much. “What do I do? What do I do?” You repeated the question in your head for a good minute, before deciding. You took a deep breath and twisted the lock on the door, but instead of opening it all the way it hit something and stopped.

“Hey!” You heard someone shout and pull the door open. It was Yoongi. He stood there with a hurt expression massaging his shoulder you probably just hit with the door. For some reason you felt more confident all of a sudden, ready to fight.

“What are you doing up here?” You asked him with anger lining every word. Yoongi’s face immediately changed from hurt to annoyingly smug. 

“Delivering you this.” He said, holding up your phone in his hand. The abrupt rush of anger that gave you confidence just a second ago seemed to have vanished as you calculated ways to get your it from him. You reached your hand to take your phone, but he backed away. “Not so quickly.” 

“What do you want?” You asked squinting at him. He crossed his arms over his chest,  leaned against the wall and exhaled loudly.

“I want to know what you’re up to.” He asked, totally serious.

“What do you mean?” You fired back and mimicked his pose leaning on the door frame.

“I want to know exactly what you’re going to do when I give you this.” He explained showing you your phone again. “What now?” You thought and sighed loudly. “‘Cause from where I’m standing it looks like you're going to take your phone, put it in your pocket and go back downstairs to watch a movie with your friends.” He said, taking a step closer to you with each word. His eyes shined in the yellow-ish hue of the bathroom lights. “What is going on here?” You asked yourself in disbelief. It seemed as if Yoongi was somehow in on the whole thing. As if he knew that you saw Jungkook before, where you saw him and what you saw him doing. As if he knew you wanted to call the police the moment you recognized him in the hallway and came upstairs to make sure you didn’t. “But why?” You wondered. “Come on. Let’s not keep them waiting.” He said and handed you the phone. “If I take it and go downstairs… What’s going to happen? What’s going to happen if I don’t?” Your thoughts were running in your head like crazy. 

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” You put your hand on the phone to take it from him but he didn’t let go.

“I didn’t give you an option to pass, (Y/N).” He said coldly.

“I’m not going downstairs.” You responded quickly with just as much seriousness in your voice. “And I think you know why.” You added scanning his face for information. He definitely knew.

“Listen, I-” He said and shot a glance down the stairs as if to make sure no one’s listening in and that’s when you saw him. Jungkook, making his way upstairs with a cocky smile on his face and his eyes fixed on you. “I told you to stay down there.” Yoongi hissed, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He stood on top of the stairs making it impossible for you to run anywhere.

“Listen to me.” He said tilting his head. “I don’t know what you think you saw that night, but I didn’t kill that man.” He said, still smiling. For some reason his confession didn’t make you any more comfortable.

“Thank god.” Yoongi said, rolling his eyes.

“I fucking ate him.” Jungkook said louder leaning towards you which made you step back and hit the wall with your back.

“For fuck’s sake, Jungkook!” Yoongi whisper-yelled and shoved his shoulder.

“That’s the truth.” Jungkook said straightening up and looking at him as if his explanation was somehow making things better. “He crossed me and I dealt with him my way.” He explained. You felt your blood become icy cold as you connected the dots in your head. “Drained of blood…”

“I think I’m gonna throw up.” You said and covered your mouth with your hand. 

“You see what you’re doing, you idiot?” Yoongi scolded him. “Get downstairs. Now.” He demanded, but Jungkook just looked at him with a smirk.

“I let you go willingly then.” He said lowering his face to yours. “But that won’t happen again.” He shook his head lightly. “Not tonight, no.” He whispered.

“Jungkook.” Yoongi said his name as a warning for him to stop. “Look at the state of her.” He grabbed your shoulder and tried to guide you past him, towards the stairs.

“Get off me.” You said still covering your mouth and turned to talk to your room.

“(Y/N), come on.” Yoongi called after you, but you didn’t stop.

“It’s okay, Yoongi. She’ll come around. I know it.” Jungkook said with confidence as you closed the door behind you.

“You had to intervene, didn’t you?” You heard Yoongi speak. “I was doing just fine with her.”

“We would have to talk eventually. Better sooner than later in my opinion.” Jungkook answered him.

“Idiot. We could’ve taken care of it without her finding out everything.” You couldn’t make sense of what they were saying. “Finding out what?” You thought. “That Jungkook is a psychopathic murderer who eats people? Eats people?!”

“Bullshit.” Jungkook fired back. “She saw me and you know it. There was no way around it.” You stood leaning on the door until their voices were no longer audible. Then you slid down to the ground and hid your face in your hands confused, afraid and unsure of what the next day will bring. “Fuck” You scoffed as you realised Yoongi still had your phone.

-

The next morning you woke up to the sound of your five thirty alarm, feeling as if you were hit by a bus. Every muscle in your body ached and your head felt heavy with thoughts and concerns. “What happened last night?” You wandered trying to recall the events one by one when you felt your phone vibrate under the pillow. You reached for the device and squinted, trying to read the text with your sleepy eyes. “Thanks for last night.” You read and looked at the unfamiliar number, wondering who it was. Before you could start wondering who the sender was your phone vibrated again. You threw your phone away from the bed as soon as you read the message. How does he have your number? You wraped yourself in one of your favourite hoodies and picked the phone up from the ground. The text was still lit up on the screen. “It’s Jungkook by the way.” You read again. Seeing his name written on the screen of your phone made you feel light headed. You sat down on the bed trying to gather your thoughts.

“Breakfast!” You heard Taehyung call from downstairs. “Breakfast everybody!” He repeated and it made you wonder who he was calling since the two of you were the only people in the house and why in the hell was he up so early making breakfast. You made your way down the stairs still clutching onto your phone for dear life. Passing through the hallway made you gag as you remembered who you saw there last night. As you walked into the living room you heard Taehyung bustle around in the kitchen probably making a huge mess. “I am so lucky to have him.” You thought and stopped dead in your tracks.

“Hey, breakfast is ready.” Taehyung glanced at you and went back to flipping through the channels on TV.

“Why are you up so early?” You asked, confused.

“Oh, we never went to sleep.” He answered with a yawn.

“We?” You asked in disbelief.

[vicecityhq]

██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: the Italian Mafia, the sound of Lo-Fi beats, a coffee house . With a slight resemblance to NAKAMOTO YUTA of/the NCT 127.

CLICK BELOW TO VIEW ENTIRE FILE.

FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: Maiko, Akuyoshi ALIAS: The Crow Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Japanese Age: 73 Date of Birth: October 31st, 1948 Gender: Cismale Preferred Pronouns:  He/Him Species: Demon Occupation: N/A Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: Pale Eye color:  One dark grey almost black the other black with red, white and gold flecks in the iris Scars:  two burn scars on either temple, faint scars on his wrists and ankles from long term restraints Piercings:  10 up his right ear from lobe to the top, 5 on his left ear (double lobe, cartilage, helix and daith) Tattoos:  Many sporadic tattoos up his arms, and a few on his chest, hip and back. Hair color:  jet black with a white/greyish streak in the front Abnormalities:  his eyes, and his hair color is natural Horns/ wings/ etc: Transformed form: Akuyoshi’s transformed (demon) form is a four eyed creature with two long black horns coming from his head, dark shadow like wings sprout from his back. The corner of his mouth extend into a sharped tooth grin and his nails grow to abnormal lengths.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF:  N/A SINS:  greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  / lust  /  pride  /  envy  /  wrath VIRTUES: chastity  /  charity  /  diligence  /  humility /  kindness /  patience /  justice KNOWN LANGUAGES: Russian, Japanese, English and Below Average Korean SECRETS: The reported terroistic attack on the KGB agency was carried out solely by him, he was in the wind before they could find him. SAVVIES:  Guitar, Tinkering/fixing things, Cooking, Assassin work Powers & Abilities: Darkness manipulation, minor pyrokenisis, the ability to possess the living(any 'undead' creatures are immuned), life draining, Infrakenisis (with limitations due to being on earth), Demonic Psionics (with limitations due to being on earth), and able to summon creatures from hell.  Expert Stealth, Assassination Tactics, Knowledge in various tranquilizers and poisons, Knowledge in various ways of body disposal, Advance knifing abilities (this includes throwing knives, regular knives, swords and katanas). Traits: patriarchal & mysterious

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: October 31st, 1948 Date of Death: [ if applying for an undead character ] Crime Record: He hates most authority figures, the ones that use their power over others to control them. He’s on many watch lists for assassination of political leaders (rumored), various counts of murder (alleged), various counts of torture (alleged) and a connection to a wealthy and quite suspicious operation worked out of the human city (also alleged), he has never been convicted. He is also technically the sole suspect of the slaughter of 25 KGB agents, 3 high ranked scientists and 2 high ranked psychologist back in 1964.

Background/Biography:

tw: this passage includes vague descriptions of murder, mind control, non-l conscentual impregnation, drug use, sexual abuse, rape, abuse of a minor, blood , parental death, death during childbirth and torture.

Once you are locked away by fiery bars, too powerful to be allowed loose in the human realm or any other, when some from even the darkest depths and realms fear your name on their lips you find yourself, aching to create the chaos you so desperately seek. Cursed to spend the rest of your days roaming the underworld in a special sanctuary for the protection of other hellspawns...and the world,  with no way of getting to those realms, in fear of their ultimate destruction what could you possibly do to sate your disgusting lust for those around you to suffer. Easily, he would say, a powerful demon whose name they refused to utter, you create someone else to do the job for you. Sure possession is an option, but all it takes is some divine force to remedy that, especially when it comes to humans, so you….steal a vessel, create living breathing flesh to carry out your sadistic tendencies while you watch from the depths of Hell. All you need is someone to hold it, just for nine months.

Akame Miako’s obsession with the occult lead to her being that vessel. An only child to a hardworking and quite wealthy family in her village she seemed to counter the intense loneliness with spell books and rituals, stories of demonic possession and seances peaked her interest and she went as far to invite one into her home...kind of.  Akame didn’t think the stories were true, easy access to summon something that even some other demons feared was far fetched for a mere mortal like her, besides even if she did , she was sure it’d be harmless, as harmless as demon could get. The translation from Latin to Japanese was a bit murky, she did all the things she was supposed to do, shut the door, lit the onyx colored candles and chanted his name. It tasted foul on her lips, metallic and sour as if blood had suddenly come up her throat like bile. The room grew in heat and sweat matted her jet black hair to her forehead, with all this build up the young teen would think that something was bound to happen right? But simply only the candle blew out, casting her room into darkness only set alite by the moon, of course she was right, it was all hullabaloo probably something conjured up by her great great gran something to spook their little village.

But what Akame hadn’t known, was that she’d open the door for exactly what He want ed, she would become his vessel, allowing him to breathe life into flesh another piece of him roaming the planet. It only took a few weeks for her to notice the signs, a usually healthy 18-year-old spent her mornings vomiting crimson, and her nights in searing abdominal pain, maybe a plague was sweeping through their village once more, it wouldn’t be the first time and sure wouldn’t be the last, but it had only been Akame who was harboring this, torturous disease. She hid it for as long as she could, not wanting her parents to worry, time off work meant a dwindle in their status and that was something they couldn’t afford, it wasn’t ‘til her mother founder her, writhing in pain on the floor that the village doctor was called, with a diagnosis no one was expecting, Akame was pregnant. There was no way of convincing her parents that she hadn’t gone against her pledge to wait ‘til marriage. They hadn’t believed that she was some Virgin Mary and she couldn’t even explain it herself. But, an unwed mother and her father’s place in the countries politics was something that they couldn’t afford, they’d locked her away until the babies birth, and it wasn’t until then when they found something was horribly, horribly wrong. It was a taxing birth, the room creaked and groaned, disembodied voices filled the empty space, her stomach twisting and contorting as the creature fought its way out of her. It tore her apart, as it crowned, and Akame was not equipped to handle it. Her feeble and young, she perished as the baby was born leaving her parents in mourning, and the doctor in fear. What was it? Why had it come with jet black hair and dark eyes? Why had it rejected the doctors blessing, crying and wailing as if the prayer was causing it great pain? He could only advise its remaining living relatives one thing, get rid of it.

The Miakofamily wasn’t to keen on killing an  infant, in fact they flat out refused, telling the doctor there must be some way to get it far away from them without causing it any harm. They traveled for years, keeping the demonic entity at arms length before an unsuspected visitor received a tantalizing letter. The man was stone cold, with a charming smile, he had a weird accent and shining blue eyes, he’d pay them good money to take the now toddling child into what he called, a ‘school of reform for lost boys’. They took the bate, and the money, almost sad to see it go but happy to be rid of something that they were sure harbored some evil, the thing that killed their daughter, their only child. He said he’d rid it of whatever evil’s that may have come with it, that where it was going it would emerge a new man, and maybe one they would want to communicate with again. Masked by pearly gates and brass door knockers, they weren’t told about the extensive training, and weren't told about the weapon he’d become. How they would abuse him, strip him of his identity and show him how to use his striking looks for his own gain. They didn’t tell him about the monster he’d become, the new man that they’d create on their own accord. And he excelled, climbing in their ranking and leaving bodies and broken bones behind him. His body filled, cut clean, and he followed orders to ever ‘t’. He was reformed sure, a weapon now, molded to their perfect standard, used and abused, raped and pillaged for their own use somewhere in the world, they wanted a monster, masked by something so beautiful and enticing, and so he became one, using his powers at their will. It was a team full of creatures just like him, western Asia’s super weapon.

They assumed that he would continue to stay obedient, assumed he’d bend to their every will, for the rest of his life, but they were not careful, and let him in too close. He became conniving, manipulative, a teacher’s pet with a vendetta against the system and so he took the teacher’s job. Worked his way up until he was eye to eye to those that made him. And then, he destroyed them, and oh, how Olympus has fallen. He left with his life, though he cannot say much for the others. They had taken it all from him, he had no memories of what was before them, no images of family, of what an actual life was. Just a name. His grandfather was long gone, not that he knew, not that he cared, but he took what was given to him, a bank account, frozen until he was eighteen, when he was supposed to return, about 110 million yen,  what was left of what they had, a supposed consolidation for abandoning the child,  his grandmother fine  and comfortable and she came looking, more than once she came looking and each time he left, ran far away from her, he didn’t know her never knew her, not like she wanted. He had become something absent of emotions, absent of memories, he was just a surname, but a name he could not live up to. Thus, he became someone else, just as they wanted.

He wandered on his own a bit, finding solace in the underground, and a band of misfits just like him. But touring, guitar shredding and becoming a confidant didn’t scratch that itch they had created for him. The itch to draw blood, hear torturous screams and extract the information that he wanted. The woman he had met had humanized him, made him feel less of a robot, less of a monster, showed him that he could make genuine connections even if they felt idle or like autopilot. Though, those thoughts still persisted, so he sought out ways to cure his hunger, more like the chef that could cook up such a feast had found him, a tragic case, sucked into another tragedy.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

Akuyoshi spit on the ground and slumped back in his chair. The officers furrowed their brows, though fear was apparent of their faces. “We know who you are.” One of them spoke in English, the demon only erupted into a dark laugh, one that drained the color from the younger officers face. “Good.” His Russian accent was sharp, cutting through them like sharpened blades.

“If you want information, you wont get it from me.” He said tilting his head back, wet, sweat covered strands falling from his face. The ex agent had already began picking the lock on the cuffs behind him, brow ticking as they came unlocked. It was in a blink of an eye, blood splattered his face and the ceiling, the elder officer going to the ground with his hand grasping at his throat in panic, the one that was left only looked at him in horror, frozen in place and unable to run to safety, and Aku took the opportunity, taking both of his cheeks in his palms before twisting his wrist, the sound of the snap satisfying.

He disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke, before appearing before the camera that filmed the interview room, “Bozhe pomiluy svoyu dushu,” he said darkly, the word echoing off the walls like the demon’s father had began to ascend before he snatched it from the wall the last thing the overseers seeing was his large smile spreading towards his ears.

[slowlydrowningme]

But My Makeup’s Ruined Pt 2

Anon asked: Do you think you could do an angst that’s dick grayson x fem reader where he cheats on the reader with kori? I love your sm au so much ❤️❤️❤️ I typically like longer stuff but write as much as you want if you even wanna write it. No pressure 🥰🥰

Anon 2 asked: 3:31am and I just read your 'But My Makeup...' fanfic and IT's JUST. It aches. Somehow, when I'm writing DickxReader, which I love, I'm still kind hshsj I can't he'd be like this 4 Kory. So, this fic was really great to me. I was thinking if you could make a part 2? Like Kory goes to talk to the reader because she didn't wanna hurt anyone. Then maybe *timeskip* reader gets to be friends w Dick again. My dad cheated on my mom and they're not together, but still friends. So could be "happy" ending

Rating: T (mild swearing)

Word Count: 4531 

Warnings: Mentions of cheating but that’s about it

Pairing: Dick x Fem!reader (though they have separated)

Notes: Here is the second part that another anon had asked me for.  This has a confrontation with Kori and the a time jump where the reader and Dick have their first conversation since the morning after that night.

Tags: @this-is-what-makes-us-fandoms

Part One

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You expect the numb feeling that overtakes you the days following the night you found Dick and Kori together.  It wasn’t a surprise that you just sort of shut off your emotions in order to preserve your sanity as much as possible.  There was too much to get through and you just needed to steel yourself and get through it. 

The day after your stay at Jason’s safehouse, you found yourself at Dick’s apartment packing up the things that had accumulated there over the time you two had been together.  Clothes, bathroom items, and just other knickknacks.  You made sure to leave each and every picture of the two of you but took all the ones of you without him in them.  Photos with his brothers and your common friends that you knew you would be upset about not having down the road.  

The last item you placed in the box, despite knowing Dick would probably want it, was a painting that Damian had given the pair of you last Christmas.  It wasn’t of anything in particular, an abstract swirl of colors and emotions that had spoken to you the instant you had unwrapped the plain brown paper tied with the gold bow.

Dick could go fuck himself if he thought you would leave that behind.

With one last glance around the room, you had pushed down the overwhelming sadness and dropped your key onto the counter top before walking out of a place you had considered home for so long.

The following day you had called Jason to come grab the box of things you had gathered so he could bring them over to Dick for you and he had done so without a single complaint. You had thanked him by promising to meet him for lunch later in the week, because it would have just been too much right then and there.

So that was how you found yourself opening the door to reveal what you had thought was Jason, but instead was someone you had absolute no desire to see.  Ever.

“Kori,” you said flatly, clenching your teeth to keep the bubbling anger and hurt from exploding out of you in the form of word vomit.

“I know I am one of the last people you ever want to see, but I was hoping we might be able to talk?”

“You know I’d love to, but I have plans and you’re dangerously close to ruining my good mood.” The words have a bite to them, but Kori still smiles a small smile.  

“I ran into Jason downstairs and he said to call him when you want him to come back.”  Of course he did.  That bastard.  

Taking a moment to think about whether or not you want her in your home, you consider your options. Having this talk at home means you’re well hidden from prying eyes seeing your possible breakdown.  But having it outside means that you’re forced to be civil because you know that there’s always someone lurking who knows your face from your relationship with Dick or your job.

With the options weighed, you step aside and let her come into you home and close the door behind her. Remaining near the door, you don’t know what the social protocol is for having the woman your ex cheated on you with in your home.

“Can I get you something to drink?”  You ask, mostly to fill the silence.  You’re surprised to hear her soft laughter.

“You’re just as kind as they all made you out to be.”

“Who?”

“Everyone.  Even Dick.”  You wince at his name on her lips and move past her to go to the kitchen to get yourself a drink, mostly just to have something to do with your hands.

“Got me far, didn’t it?” Your voice is bitter as you pour the water into the kettle and set it on the stove to boil.  “Tea?”

“Sure.”

“Look Kori, I’m not sure what your goal was in coming here.  I don’t really have anything to say to you and I definitely have nothing to say to him.”

“I actually have something to say, if you’d be willing to hear it.”  Looking at her with narrowed eyes, you find yourself considering your options yet again.

“Fine.”  You know you don’t owe her anything but you also know she didn’t know about you when Dick first kissed her.  And you have a creeping suspicion she didn’t know two of the other three times they had hooked up.  The term made you want to roll your eyes because it sounds so casual and you know it was anything but for both of them.

Leaning against the counter near the stove, you watch Kori purse her lips and look down at the counter of the island that separates you two.  You know she’s trying to figure out where to start, probably didn’t think you would actually listen to what she had to say.  But she had been right, you were too kind for your own good most days.

“I know Dick,” you flinch at his name again and she sends an apologetic look your way.  “I know he told you that I didn’t know about you when he first kissed me.”  You nod your agreement with her statement and she nods back.  “But I don’t think he realized I didn’t know about you until the night you found us.”

“How did you find out?” Morbid curiosity and all that.

“Roy, actually.”  Well that made sense.  You knew she, Roy, and Jason had formed their own team for a while and had gotten fairly close.  And you had met Roy through Jason because the red-headed archer hadn’t been too fond of Dick in those days.  “I think he thought I had known all along when he had mentioned you, trying to make me feel guilty.  But when I just ended up confused, he explained.”

“He’s a good man.”

“He would have many examples of why you are very wrong,” she laughed and you can’t help but give a small smile in return.  “But you are correct.  He is a good man.  And he is quite fond of you.  As they all are.”

You’re not sure what to say to that but you’re saved the need to say anything when the pot whistles on the stovetop and you’re given a distraction.  You quickly prepare the tea and don’t bother asking Kori what she prefers because this is your home and she unknowingly destroyed a two and a half year relationship.  Setting a cup in front of her on the counter, you lean back against the counter behind you again and hold your own in both hands.

“Y/N…I never would have done anything with him if I had known.  And the night you saw us, I had told him that.  I had told him mere moments before you came in that what he was doing was wrong and I couldn’t be part of it.”

“But you still kissed him again.”

“I did.”

Taking a sip of the mint tea that had been a gift from Alfred a few months prior, you wish you knew what to say to that.  You wished your apparent kindness came with a manual for moments like these.  You had been manipulated in the past and it had caused you to develop a thicker skin, but this wasn’t one of those moments.  This was uncharted territory.

“Dick,” you forced out, clenching your jaw at his name and trying hard to keep the anger and hurt at bay as best you can, “called you his drug.”

“He is mine as well.”

“I only know second hand what happened between you when you broke up, but I know that there are just certain people in our lives that are just supposed to be ours.”  Kori hummed in agreement as she took a sip of her own tea. “He is yours.  He was never mine.  I realize that.  I can’t be angry with that fact.”

“But you’re hurt, and you should be.  I’m not here to excuse your emotions or my actions that led you to this point.  I just wanted you to know that my part in this was never intentionally against you.”

“We could have been good friends, I think.”

“Maybe one day we still can be.  If your kindness is what everyone says it is, I’m sure there is hope for us.  And, perhaps, for you and him.”

“Maybe.  But not any time soon.”  Setting your cup down next to you on the counter, you cross your arms and shrug a shoulder.  “What he did was wrong and I am angry that he couldn’t at least respect me enough to be honest with me before he was forced to be.”

“Secrets are a way of life.”

“Not with me.  It shouldn’t have been that way between us.”

“That’s true, but hindsight and all that,” she waved a hand in the air and your eyes rolled, knowing she had a point.  “Look, that’s all I wanted to say.  I’m going to leave now and hope that one day you’ll forgive my part in this.  I also hope that you’ll forgive him one day too.”

Looking away from Kori to the windows to your left, you hear the clink of her cup being set on the counter and soon enough the sound of the door shutting behind her.  You probably should have told her you had already forgiven the both of them because you had learned long ago that holding onto that kind of anger was disastrous to your own mental health, but it was too late for that.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, thinking about the conversation that you had just had, before your phone sounded from it’s place inside your pocket.  Tugging it out, you glanced at Jason’s name lighting up your screen before thumbing open the message.

You good?  Kori said she left a while ago.  Need to reschedule?  The thoughtfulness made you smile as you typed out your reply and hit send.

No, I could use a good burger and maybe a beer to two to wash it down.  Meet me there in 10?

I’m downstairs waiting for you already.

You’re the best.  I’m coming down now.

And the moment you stepped out of your building into the muggy Gotham air, you felt something like peace rushing over you.  You weren’t okay by a long shot, but for the first time since the infamous night you felt like you would be.

 (Three Years Later)

 “Thank you, Jefferson,” you say softly as you slide out of the black car with the driver’s help. You look up at the familiar Manor with trepidation, smoothing down the front of your black gown.

“Shall I remain close, ma’am?”

“Hmm?”  You looked over at him, his words registering slowly at first.  Smiling in thanks for the man who had worked for you for the last two years, you squeezed his upper arm and moved to head up the steps that would take you up to the door. “Go have dinner with your family. Plan the usual time.”  You heard him chuckle as you ascended the stairs.

Before you could reach the door to ring the bell, you saw it opening and revealing a familiar stern, but warm face.  Using the hand that was not holding the hem of your gown up so you wouldn’t trip, you reached forward and took Alfred’s hand in your own in greeting.

“Miss Y/N, it has been too long.”  And it had. Ever since your split with Dick, you couldn’t bring yourself to come by the Manor.  If any of the family had wanted to see you, they knew they had to meet you elsewhere.  It had just been too hard to handle those memories.

“It’s so wonderful to see you, Alfred.  Thank you for your care packages.  You always send the best teas,” you say softly with a squeeze of his hand as you step into the house.  The decorations for the evenings event were just tasteful as always and you felt a swell of pride for the reason behind the gathering.

“Y/N!  You made it!”  Was all the warning you got before you were being lifted in the air by a pair of surprisingly strong arms.

“Of course I did, Tim,” you chuckled.  You returned the hug as he set you back down on your feet before leaning back to look him over.  “You look good.  How are things?”  You felt a slight pang of guilt of not having kept as close of contact with him as you had with Jason, but even the communication with Jason had mostly been you responding instead of initiating.  He had just refused to let you slip away from their world and you had allowed the last link to remain.

Today, you was glad for it.

“Good.  Things are good.  It’s so good to see you.  Damian is going to be thrilled.  Jay wouldn’t say whether or not you would actually make it so I didn’t tell him I saw you had gotten on a flight.”  Giving him an unimpressed look, he at least tried to look guilty for keeping tabs on you electronically.  It wasn’t like you hadn’t figured they all would.

“Speaking of Jason, is he in his room?”

“Yeah, should be fighting with his bowtie right about now,” he chuckled, turning to walk with you up to the next level and down the hall where the bedrooms were located.  “It’s good that you came.  We all understood why you went away, but we’ve definitely missed you.  He’s missed you.”  You know Tim is talking about Dick and not Jason in that moment, but you only give him a smile.

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”  His responding smile was almost blinding, and you find yourself strangely emotional at the sight of it.  Reaching forward, you give him another hug before grabbing the door knob of Jason’s room he used when staying at the Manor.

“Don’t you fuckers know when to knock?”  You could hear him call out before you could see him and it made you laugh.

“I thought your door was always open to me?”  You see the moment he freezes in surprise, hands struggling with the bowtie just as Tim said he would be.

“Y/N,” he says your name in a rush as he moves forward to wrap you up in a hug.  “What time did you get in?  Are you staying in a hotel?  Have you seen anyone else yet?”

“Slow down cowboy,” you chuckle, pulling back and immediately get to work on the bowtie.  “I got in a few hours ago and yes, I’m booked close by.  Jefferson and I both are, but he’s over seeing his family.  Alfred greeted me at the door as always and Tim walked me up here.”

“Demon is going to be excited.  I bet Replacement is teasing him about a secret as we speak.”

“I hope not.  He managed to keep it quiet that he knew I was coming, I’m sure he can be nice a little bit longer.”

“Tim knew?”

“He saw I booked a flight.” Jason chuckled.

“Of course he did.” Finishing up the tie, you smoothed your hands down the lapels of his black jacket and smiled up at him.  “You good?”

You hum in response and take a step back, sucking in a deep breath to let out slowly.

“I’m good.”  He watches you for a moment before giving a nod of satisfaction and holding out his arm for you.

“Guess we should go see about finding the man of the hour.”

“I can’t believe he’s a man. He used to be so little.”

“Wait until you see how tall he’s gotten.  Poor Dick and Tim.”  You know he’s watching your response to the use of Dick’s name, but you only laugh in response as the two of you exit his room and head back down to the main ballroom.

A handful of people have gathered, more could be heard in the other room where the main bar was located, and your eyes scanned the room for familiar faces.  You could see a few friends but not the one in particular you’re looking for.

“Jason.”  You glance over your shoulder and find Bruce Wayne standing there with a champagne glass in hand, a surprised look filtering over his features when he sees it’s you who is on Jason’s arm.  “Y/N, what a pleasant surprise.”  It’s warm and the smile he gives you sets something at ease inside of you. The two of you had had plenty of contact over the years since your split with Dick, but this was the first time you had seen him as Bruce Wayne since before the breakup.

“Bruce, it’s good to see you,” you tell him honestly.  He gives you a nod, as much as an acknowledgement of his agreement as you’re going to get.

“Damian will be down shortly, he will be happy to see you.”

“So I keep getting told,” you laugh softly.  The way everyone made it sound you had an incredibly close relationship with the newly 18-year old.  But truth was, you weren’t any closer to him than with Tim or even Cass.  Jason was really the only one of the Wayne family that you had remained particularly close with.

“The family has missed your presence.  It was an…adjustment.”  You’re not sure what to say to that, so you just smile in response.  You knew he understood why you had stayed away. There had been more than one moment of truth between the two of you in those late night visits or calls when you had helped Batman and his crew.

“Master Wayne, the mayor has arrived,” Alfred’s voice interrupted their conversation, drawing Bruce’s attention from you.  You looked up at Jason but found his gaze directed at something past Bruce’s shoulder and it causes you to frown because of his serious expression.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.  I’ll be sure to find you later.  There was something…else I had been wanting to discuss with you,” Bruce’s voice drew back your attention and you gave him a frown, but accepting nod.  

Not just a vacation visit like you had planned it to be, apparently.

“We’ll speak later then.”

You watched him follow Alfred and then it became abundantly clear what had caught Jason’s attention.  Dick stood about thirty feet away, glass in hand and laughing at something someone was saying.  You could see his profile as he stood there in conversation with a man who looked vaguely familiar but you couldn’t be completely certain who it was. Not that it mattered because you only had eyes for Dick.  The man who had crushed you.  The man who you hadn’t seen since the morning after that fateful night.

“Y/N!”

The sound of an excited exclamation of your name pulled your attention from Dick just as it brought Dick’s attention to you.  But before you could react, Damian was in your field of vision and you found yourself floored at the sight of him.  Pictures from Jason only did so much, but the sight of him was a surprise.  You couldn’t believe how tall he had gotten.

“Damian,” you smile brightly, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.  He easily returns the embrace and you can’t help but smile at the thought of how he used to scoff at physical affection from other people. Even from Dick, and his oldest brother was undoubtedly his favorite person.

“I am so happy you’re here!” He squeezes you a moment before placing his hands on your upper arms and stepping back, gaze sweeping over you before landing back on your face.

“I would never miss a day like today.”  His smile grows even brighter and you can see the happiness basically rippling off him in waves.  “I can’t believe you’re a high school graduate now.  I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.”  His reply is simple, but you know he is more pleased than he lets on.  “How have you been?  Jason gives us updates at random and never with much detail.  How do you find New York City?”

“It is different and yet very similar to Gotham.”  He nods his agreement and drops one of his hands from your arm, keeping the other there as if he’s worried you’ll vanish before his eyes.  “But I do have some news that not even Jason is aware of yet.” Damian raises his brows and you look over to Jason to find him standing there with a single eyebrow raised, almost annoyed he didn’t already know something.

“Well?”

“I have accepted a position back here in Gotham.  I will return to New York in two days as planned, but I will be back in a week.”

“For good?”  Jason’s words are oddly hopeful.

“For good.”

“You’re returning to Gotham?”  Both Jason and Damian tense and you snap your eyes to the source of the all too familiar voice.  Dick is standing just a few steps away, looking surprised and somewhat contrite for having gotten himself caught eavesdropping.

“I am.”

“Dickhead…” Jason said in an almost growl-like voice and immediately Damian has released the hold on your arm to stand in front of you, effectively blocking your from Dick. Dick holds up the hand that isn’t holding his glass and takes a step back.

“Guys, stop.  Jesus.”  You refrain from facepalming right then and there in embarrassment at their actions. Like Dick would attack her at his little brother’s graduation party.  It was utterly ridiculous.  The two men looked at her in question and you sigh.  

“I just wanted to say hello.”  Glancing back to Dick, you give him a small smile.

“Could you two give us a minute?”  Both Jason and Damian opened their mouths to protest, but the single raised brow from you shut them both up.

“I should mingle anyway. Do not leave without saying goodbye, Y/N.”  You send Damian a wide smile and nod.  Jason simply squeezes your hand before heading toward the bar.  A moment of silence passes before Dick moves a little closer and gestures to the doors leading out to the path that would take you both to the gardens. You follow without a single word and snag a glass of champagne from a passing waiter before you two step outside.

“How are you?”  You break the silence between the two of you, genuinely curious at his current state.  You watch as he considers his answer carefully, hoping he doesn’t give you some fake answer that he prepared for the masses.

“It varies from day to day, I guess,” he answers, and you feel something loosen in your chest at the honest response.  “You?”

“Better in the recent months.  I have…missed home,” you admit.  If he was willing to be honest then you can return the sentiment.  He hummed in response and took a sip of his champagne and let the silence fall between you two again.  It’s not until you’ve entered the paths of flowers that he stops to look at you.

“Kori and I were married last year.”

“I know.”  You’re response pulls a questioning look over his face and you can’t help but chuckle.  “Jason.”

“Of course.  I forgot that you and he have…remained friends?” He says it like a question and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Yes.  Friends.”  

“Sorry, I don’t want to assume anything in regards to you.  Or him.”

“I understand.  But Jason has been a very good friend to me since well before our split.”  He nodded and you watch him closely.  “I didn’t see Kori in there tonight?”

“No, she is…at work.” And she knows he means she’s off on some kind of mission.  “Are you happy, Y/N?”  You look away from him and consider your answer.  You know you could tell him how you cried and almost gave into the homesickness a week after you had left Gotham for New York City.  Or you could tell him about the idiot you dated just months ago who thought he could manipulate you into being his little housewife and not the independent woman you are.  Or you could tell him how hard it had been to be in a city you knew no one in and find your place in that world.

“I am.  I hope you are as well.  I was glad to hear you and Kori finally got married.”  You won’t say that you had drank enough to blackout the night of their wedding, but that had definitely been a thing.

“Were you?”  You look at him and nod, letting him see the honesty in your gaze.  He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in what looked like amazement.  “You are too good for this world, Y/N.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Listen, Dick…”  You look back toward the Manor where you can hear the sounds of the party in full swing before looking back at him and facing him fully.  “I want to be around your family again.  Jason has helped a lot and the meetings with…”  You let him fill in the blanks, knowing he was well aware of Batman’s appearances in your life.  “But I miss what had been part of my life for so long before things went south between us.”

“I don’t want to get in the way of that.  I never wanted that.  My mistakes were not meant to take you from their lives too.  I’m sorry they did.”

“What’s done is done. But I just wanted you to know that I forgave you a long time ago and if you hear that I’m around or see me with one of them, you don’t have to stay away.”  You’re not surprised by the surprise on his face.  But you’re amused as it definitely takes him a few moments to get it together enough to respond.

“We can be…friends then?”

“We can start trying to be.”

“I’d really like that. Kori had mentioned the possibility after that talk you two had had.”

“Yes, well,” you shrug a shoulder and give him a smile.

“Hey you two!  We’re about to do speeches and we all know you, Dickhead, have something sappy planned.”  You both turn to see Jason standing further down the path, not at all hiding the fact that he’s curious about your conversation.

“Thanks, Y/N.  We’ll chat more later?”

“Yeah, later.”  You watch him head back inside, exchanging a look with Jason as he passed him.

“You good?”  Turning your eyes to look at Jason, you don’t bother to stop the wide smile from filtering over your features.

“Better than.  Now come on, I want to see just how embarrassing you all are going to be to that poor boy.”  Jason lets out an amused laugh before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you back inside.

[dalgikiss]

Catch-22 // h. iwaizumi

index

part 10

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to avoid you now, tips of his ears turning pink when your name is mentioned and flashbacks of his word vomit replaying in his mind. 

You pretend not to notice when he comes in late and how his eyes avoid looking in your direction. It totally doesn’t hurt

It definitely does

Oikawa notices the unspoken tension between you two whenever he decides to come into your classroom, observant brown eyes narrowing in on how Iwaizumi refused to turn towards you, answering his questions rougher than usual and how you’d stare at everything but Iwaizumi. 

“What’s this all about?” He asks you one day, early in the morning before school has started. He had snuck out of his house much earlier than usual, claiming he had a morning meeting with his teacher before class started to get out of walking with Iwaizumi. 

“What’s what all about?” you ask sleepily, eyes struggling to stay open. He lets you lean your head against his shoulder, sitting underneath the giant Weeping Willow in the school courtyard. Your stray strands of hair flutter in the breeze, tickling his nose. 

“You and Iwa-chan don’t even glance at each other anymore. How am I supposed to live when my best friends aren’t talking to each other?” 

You pretend you haven’t heard him, twisting your head so you could face his neck, breathing in the smell of his cologne and let the warmth from his neck flush through your body when you rested your forehead against him. 

“Is my crush on Iwaizumi obvious?” You ask instead and he looks down at you in surprise, eyes studying your relaxed expression. An involuntary shiver runs up his spine when your eyelashes sweep against his neck and tickle him in the process. 

He thinks back to your blushing face and stuttering words when iwaizumi looked at you just a little too long, your slender fingers always reaching for him in crowded areas so they wouldn’t get separated and soft eyes that saw him with something that spoke of a little more than friendship. 

Obvious? Maybe, at least to the trained eye. 

He weighed his options, wondering what kind of answer you were looking for before deciding to deflect your question with another one. “Why do you ask?”

A breath of air fans over his neck and he holds in his laughter when your lips move against him, tickling his neck in the process. “Ryuoko told Iwaizumi that i liked him”

It was as though a lightbulb went off in his head, the pieces all clicking together. Oikawa nods in understanding as he makes sense of the strange behavior the both of you were exhibiting. 

“I didn’t confirm or anything” You continue, “I was just wondering if it was obvious” 

“If it was, Iwaizumi would have gotten the hint by now” Oikawa reassures you but it does nothing to calm you down. You screw your eyes shut, Oikawa feeling the folds of your skin against his neck. 

“What if he totally did know and was just trying to find a way to reject me nicely and I’m actually the oblivious one”

Oikawa thinks back to the late summer afternoons where he watched his longtime friend go numb in position because he was too scared to move and awaken you in the middle of your nap, how Iwaizumi’s tanned skin would turn red under your gaze and he’d blame it on the sweltering summer heat and his calloused hands after years of playing volleyball wrapping around yours in crowded rooms. 

“Do you like her?” Oikawa had asked one summer day, lying on the grass next to Iwaizumi. They both stared ahead at the sky, the setting sun casting brilliant shades of purple and gold along the horizon. 

Iwaizumi watched the plane fly past, the roar of the engine bringing a rush of wind that rustled the tree leaves and made the birds chirp in annoyance. “Don’t ask me stupid questions” He responds gruffly. 

You had long gone home, accompanied by Hanamaki and Matsukawa with the promise of stopping at the convenience store by the park to buy popsicles. Iwaizumi had stayed behind with Oikawa, promising Oikawa’s mother he’d take him home once the sun was no longer in the sky. 

Oikawa let Iwaizumi brood over his answer, raising his fingers to try and trace the shapes of the clouds in the sky as he waited. 

“It doesn’t really matter if I do or don’t like her” Iwaizumi finally admitted and Oikawa dropped his hand back down to his side, rolling over to look at iwaizumi’s side profile and the even rise and fall of his chest with every breath.  

“If she doesn’t like me back, is there a point?” 

Oikawa fell back onto his back, smiling softly. “So you do like her then?”

There’s a small puff of air that’s released from Iwaizumi’s mouth when he heard the question and he finally sat up, stretching his arms up past his head. “Stop asking me questions you already know the answer to” 

Iwaizumi leaned over to poke at Oikawa’s side, gesturing with a nod of his head. “It’s time to go home before your mom gets upset”

Oikawa let out a whine at that, wanting to stay outside longer but got up anyways, picking his volleyball up off the sandy floor. The park behind them becomes further and further with every step they take until it’s swallowed into the darkness. 

He blinks when you pull his hand into yours, interlacing fingers with him, reminding him he’s here in the present. Your thumb smoothes over his, your finger cold against his heated skin. 

“Class is starting soon” You murmur, the courtyard growing louder as students begin to file in. The giant clock that hangs in front of the entrance reminds him they had to go inside soon, class starting in 15 minutes but your soft breathing and relaxed hand held loosely in his said to wait a little more.

Just a little longer, he decides, just a little longer

x.

“Aren’t you tired of ignoring [surname]-chan?” Oikawa asks, sliding into your seat at lunch after you had been whisked away by Matsukawa. 

Iwaizumi stares hard at Oikawa, envisioning burning holes into his forehead. “You’re annoying” 

“I think you need to come up with new insults, they’re getting a bit old. Do you have enough brain cells for that?” 

Iwaizumi reaches forward, sharply tugging on a tuft of Oikawa’s hair and he lets out a yelp of pain. He doesn’t hold the same hostility he used to, mind occupied. Ryuoko passes by the windows, brown eyes glancing once into the classroom before turning back in front of her. Iwaizumi follows her figure, unconsciously making a face when he remembers their last conversation. 

Me or your friends  

Oikawa follows his gaze, cocking his head to the side at the sight of her. “By the way, isn’t she usually here during breaks?”

Iwaizumi returns his gaze back to his desk. “We got into a fight”

“Oh I see, about what?”

Iwaizumi turned to look at him, wondering if now was the right time to bring it up. Oikawa waits patiently, doodling small flowers in the corner of random pages of your notebook. 

“Her or my friends”

Oikawa keeps his eyes on your desk, pencil stilling in the middle of drawing a tulip before resuming, finishing the petals and beginning to draw the stem. 

“And?”

Oikawa’s tone is still as lighthearted as ever, teasing Iwaizumi but Iwaizumi’s already seen it- the fleeting look on his face, chocolate brown eyes darkening and eyebrows furrowing and the hair on the back of Iwaizumi’s neck stand to attention. 

Dangerous

It’s only there for a fraction of a second, gone so fast that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed it but Iwaizumi is not ‘anyone else’. He waits for a few moments, quietly deciding between whether he should bring it up or say nothing at all and goes for the latter. 

He reaches over to tug on Oikawa’s hair again, but it’s not the same. It’s reassuring, the sharp tug on his curly hair reminding Oikawa he wasn’t going anywhere. “Of course I’m not leaving you guys, dumbass”

Oikawa lets out a sharp yelp, hands coming up to try and free himself. “Stop it! My hair- I spent all morning on it, let go!”

It’s only the slightest change in his tone, practically not even there but Iwaizumi knows his job is done and everything is okay. He lets go of his hair, but not before taking his hand and running it through Oikawa’s styled hair as revenge. 

“I’m sure you’ll make the right decision, iwa-chan” Oikawa says as he uselessly tries to fix his hair, “After all, even though you’re a brute with only two braincells-”

“I dare you to finish your sentence” Iwaizumi threatens and Oikawa shrinks back into his seat with a small laugh

“Relax Iwa-chan! Even with your lack of brain cells, I’m sure you’ll be able to make the right decision!- ow!”

The sting on Iwaizumi’s hand reminds him he needs to buy hand lotion and he admires his work, a nice red welt forming at the very center of Oikawa’s head. Oikawa grumbles something about Iwaizumi being too strong for your own good and your hands are rougher than sandpaper before running away, just in time to avoid another smack in the head. 

Make the right choice, Iwa-chan! 

Oikawa doesn’t say it out loud but Iwaizumi knows the hidden meaning beyond what’s not said and he chews on his left cheek as he watches Oikawa make faces at him through the safety of the classroom window. 

What’s the right choice?

He watches Ryuoko walk past his classroom, stopping only briefly to greet Oikawa who waves her away with a half hearted smile that makes his fangirls swoon and Iwaizumi already knows Oikawa has begun to hold a grudge against her. 

The right choice is your friends

[whereisstevethestove]

Boys Who Cry Pearl and Sea: Flying Dutchman AU

Fandoms: Sanders sides and technically the lore behind the Flying Dutchman.

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Remus

Relationships:  Roman/Virgil

Additional tags: Mer AU, Pirate AU, Human AU, Siren!Roman, Sailor!Virgil

Word count: 3263

Summary:  Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.  Perhaps that is why he has never felt like he belonged on land.

Notes: I wrote a sea shanty for this! (x)  I hope you enjoy!

AO3

Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.

His English mother was traveling from her home in London to join her merchant husband in Cuba, but by the time that she arrived, her son was nearly a month old, and strange, with storm grey eyes that seldom blinked.  He grew up mostly indoors, there not really being any other children his age that his family would let him socialize with.

Virgil himself was an odd child, quiet, and when he turned ten, his father sent him to another sea captain for an apprenticeship.

The Windborne was a young ship, not even five years old, and the captain was quick to shove the pale boy belowdecks, for a child has no place among a crew of men.  Virgil spent his first year feeling like an outcast, a stowaway on a ship he was technically part of.  

That was of course until they found out that Virgil could squeeze himself into small spaces, and climb faster than anyone else on ship.  He also seemed to need less sleep, so they started to put him on the night watch as months passed.

Virgil didn’t mind.  At least it gave him an excuse to hum the shanties that the others sang as he stared at the dark water that was reflected with stars.

He was fifteen when something interesting finally happened during one of his watches.

“There was a boy, Icarus~”   The haunting melody stretched over the water in the secluded cove that they were anchored in and Virgil leaned a bit more over the side of the ship as he strained to hear the song.

“You pronounced Icarus wrong.”  Virgil called out and the song stopped.

“How do you pronounce it then?”

Virgil pursed his lips before answering.  “It’s not I-Car-Us, it’s all one beat, kinda like: ǐːkaros.”

“Oh.”  The voice seemed confused.  “There was a boy, Icarus, who flew too close to the sun-”

“That’s better.”  Virgil smirked as the voice sputtered in annoyance.

“His wings were made of brass and wax-”

Virgil listened as the voice sang about the greek myth, before abruptly hopping topics to sing about a sailor’s myth, the Dutchman.  Virgil wasn’t one to believe in silly legends, but the voice was nice and it made him feel lightheaded in a good way, so he continued to listen as the second chorus faded out and the voice switched verses again.

“There is a simple sailor boy,

Not wanted by land nor sky-”

Virgil stood up from his spot and looked over the water.  “Woah, wait.”

“What?”  The voice was definitely irritated now.

“Simple?  That’s all you can think of to describe me?”  Virgil teased as some of his hair fell into his face.

“Uh... to be honest, I thought you’d be drowned by now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, the shanty only has two verses, I’ve been making the rest up.”  The voice said sheepishly and Virgil heard a splash of something going into water.   He watched as the dark water below rippled and a moment later, a red and gold blur shot out and landed on the deck next to him.

Virgil fell back onto his ass in shock.  “Mermaid.”

The creature flashed him a grin.  “Close, I’m a siren and I am a male by your kind’s definition., so not a mer-maid either way.”

Virgil took in the red and gold tail, the dark skin as he slowly looked the siren in the eyes.

“You’re gorgeous.”  He breathed out reverently and the siren’s fins on the side of it’s head flared in surprise.

“You are very pale and small.”  He responded back, which broke Virgil from his reprise as he scrambled back up to his feet.

“Thanks, I get that a lot.”  

“Oh.  I thought for sure you’d be taller standing.  Hmm, okay.”  The siren balanced himself on the railing better, looking at Virgil with curious eyes.

Virgil blushed, ducked his head and then looked back up.  “So, how am I not dead?”

“Excellent question.  I have no fucking idea.”  The siren shrugged and Virgil nodded.

“Alright then.”

“Can I get your name pale one?”  The siren asked as he leaned forward and Virgil leaned back.  

“Me giving you my name doesn’t do any weird shit- like I sell my soul to you, right?”

“No, why would it do that?  Is that some weird human thing no one told me about?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “It’s a fae thing, I thought that since sirens are real, maybe they were.  Anyway, I’m Virgil.”

The siren’s eyes widened.  “You have a siren name.”

“Okayyy?”

“I’m Roman.”

“That’s an odd name.”

“Says the one who literally didn't know that my kind existed, despite having a siren name.”  Roman shot back with a sharp grin.

Virgil smirked and gently shoved at the siren, who wobbled nervously.

“You should go.”

“Why?” “My watch is almost over.  I want to go to sleep.”  Virgil yawned and the siren shrugged.

“Alright.  I’ll get you one of these times.”  Roman said as he fell back, disappearing into the water.

…

Virgil didn’t see him for another year.  The Windborne traveled to many different locations and so it was rare for them to pass through the siren’s waters, and when they did, they didn’t stay the night.

So he wasn’t surprised when the song started across the water.

“I’ll sing you a song of ravens and stone--”   Roman’s voice definitely had some bite to it and Virgil could feel himself slipping as he struggled to keep his mind clear.

“With the temper of a storm!”

Virgil jumped into the water, fully intending on beating up Roman for being so fucking annoying.

What he wasn’t expecting was for arms to wrap around him and start dragging him down.

Virgil tried to elbow the person, mer(?)  behind him, but the singing just intensified and his head felt like it was full of cotton….

…

…

…

Roman couldn’t believe that Andy had managed to snag Virgil the second the teen had jumped in.

His half brother was a force to be reckoned with though, and Roman watched as the lithe siren dragged the sailor out of the water and tested for a pulse.

“Aw, he’s still alive.”

“I asked for him to still be alive An.”  Roman muttered as he looked at his human.

“I don’t know why you’re attracted to him.  He’s awfully pale.  And when there’s so many other options up there on that ship..”  Andy trailed off once he saw the look in Roman’s eyes.  “Oh, you see the pale on as a mate?  You’re a mess, sing once you get your life together Ro.”

With that, he left with a snap of a jet black tail slapping water.  

…

Virgil sat straight up and vomited,  coughing as seawater exited his lungs and he shivered on the rock that he was somehow on.

“Are you okay?”

Virgil threw up again and shook his head as someone gathered him up, pressing a hand against his chest.

“I’m sorry, I got worried because you stopped breathing.”

Virgil’s mind had cleared enough for him to look up through lidded eyes to see Roman looking at him with concern.

“What?”  Virgil croaked out, voice absolutely ruined by the seawater that he had ingested.

“Uh, you jumped overboard, my half sibling brought you here and then I pulled the life back into you.”

Virgil vaguely remembered jumping over, but after that…

He passed out again.

…

Roman was not expecting humans to be so fragile.   Virgil had indeed become unresponsive after throwing up, but now he was asleep again, with no warning at all.

At least the sun was coming up, so it would be a bit warmer.  

He just had to hope that Virgil’s ship wasn’t leaving, or else Roman wasn’t sure what he’d do.  This was supposed to be a fun interaction, not him watching an almost corpse.

Unfortunately for him, the sun rose, The Windborne left the cove, and Virgil slept.

Roman wasn’t sure how he was going to admit to his human that his only way back home was gone.

…

Turns out, Virgil was fucked.

He woke up and realized almost immediately that his ship had left and the first thing he did was try to sneak off the rock that Roman had stuck him on, so that he could swim to the shore and try to work out his life then.

He didn’t notice that Roman was on the rock also, until the siren grabbed his shoulder.

“Where are you going, the ship is gone.”

Virgil hissed and recoiled, falling into the water before surfacing to curse at Roman.  “What the fuck?”

“Sorry!  I assumed that humans could hear when someone is coming up on them!”

Virgil hissed again and scrambled back onto the rock.  “I wasn’t paying attention, and yes I know that the ship is gone, it’ll be another few months before they anchor back here.”

“A few months?”

“Yep.  We had planned a few routes over the next year that come this way…  I just have to wait out the storm, and I’m not doing it on this tiny ass rock.”  Virgil went to slip into the water when Roman stopped him again.

“Let me swim you over, it’ll be faster.”

“Thanks I guess.”

Virgil watched as Roman slipped into the water and then swam around the rock to wink at him.

“Ready my raven?”

“Oh, stars no.  No pet names.”  Virgil grumbled as he got in and wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck as directed.

“Ready?”

“You won’t drown me, right?”

“Of course not!”

“Okay, let’s go.”

Roman swam slowly, but still, it was faster than Virgil could’ve gone, so it was nice to hitch a ride in a sense as they made their way to the beach.

They finally made it to where Virgil’s feet could touch, and he quickly let go, wading through the water to collapse on wet sand.

“Are you okay?”  Roman called from his spot in the water and Virgil stuck his head up.

“Oh yeah.  I’ve been kidnapped by a siren, threw up my body weight in saltwater, haven’t eaten since almost two days ago, and now I’m here for a good long time, all alone!  Don’t forget that if I don’t get some actual water soon, I’ll be a rotting corpse on this beach!”

Roman was by his side faster than Virgil could comprehend, eyes flashing nervously.  “Water?”

“What about it?”

“You can’t drink seawater?”

Virgil groaned and buried his face in his hands.

This was going to be a long three months.

Assuming he could survive for that long.

…

The first week was the worst.  Roman had to watch as Virgil disappeared into the treeline, leaving for long hours, even though he had offered to provide for any of the sailor’s needs, after all, it was his fault that Virgil was stuck.

All the human had asked for was a knife though.

He built an odd structure on the shore, and Roman watched as he (unsuccessfully) fished, and got sick from being in the sun for too long the second day.

By day eight, Virgil was screaming at the sky to just hit him with some lightning.

Roman was impressed that his human had even made it that long.

By night nine, he finally had the courage to go back on shore.  Virgil was laying on the ground, staring at the stars, seemingly distracted, but his eyes did flit over to Roman as the siren adjusted his tail and also lay back.

“Are you okay?”

“No.  I miss people.”

“Ah.”

They lay there in silence, and it wasn’t until Roman looked over and he saw the streaks of silver running down the other’s face that he realized something was wrong.  He sat up and scooted closer to Virgil, gently wiping at the strange stuff.

“What is this?”

Virgil blankly looked at him, still not moving.  “Tears.”

Roman brought the ‘tears’ to his face.  “Weird.  They look… wrong.”

Virgil sniffed and sat up, wiping at his face with a torn sleeve.  “Why is that fish?”

Roman looked at the ‘tear’ again.  “It is a liquid.”

“Are you implying that tears aren’t made of saltwater?”  

Roman sniffed the tear and realized that Virgil was right.  It smelt like ocean. 

“You cry the sea when you are sad?”

“I guess.”  Virgil sniffed again and Roman sighed before putting a finger to the corner of his own eye, quietly shedding a pearl as he cried.

“I do too.  Perhaps we are not as different as we like to say.”

…

The dynamic changed after that.  Roman started to bring fish, which was a godsend in Virgil’s opinion, and in exchange, he’d tell the siren about something from his world, or he’d teach him a new shanty to sing.

And as much as he denied it, Virgil fell in love.

It wasn’t a major revelation in a sense.  It was about a month into his stay and he looked up and remembered that it was his birthday.

Hurray, seventeen years on this earth.  He hadn’t told the siren, who didn’t understand the concept of age, and even though Roman certainly acted like he was Virgil’s age, he had told him once about the first time his pod had moved, and it was because the first merchants were sailing into the area.

So yeah, his siren, wait, when did he start considering Roman as his siren?  Virgil shook his head, trying to clear it of the traitorous thoughts as Roman came in with the gentle waves, grinning.

“Hello my stormy night!”

“No nicknames!”

…

Roman was in love.

Deepy, irrevocably, in love.

He was screwed.

Sirens only choose one mate, and it is always the first one that you fall in love with.  No take back, so changing in the future.

The only problem was that he knew that Virgil didn’t love him back.

The different specie? Not a problem, many sirens fell in love with humans, and they could change their mate to be like them with a simple draw of blood.  The fact that Roman was immortal and Virgil wasn’t.  Fixed when turned into a siren.

Literally everything had a solution.

Except when your love didn’t feel the same way.

They were both on a rock one night, Roman and helped Virgil swim out, although the young sailor was surprisingly good, despite most at the time who couldn’t swim, and Roman had been caught up in the way that the moonlight framed Virgil’s face to notice that the human was addressing him.

“RO.”

“Oh sorry, what?”

Virgil laughed before suddenly looking serious.  “The ship will be arriving any day now.”

Roman deflated and looked away.  “I know.”

“I have to leave.”

“I understand.”

“Part of me doesn’t want to, you know?  Stay here for the rest of my short and pathetic life… but I don’t want to watch you watch me die..”  Virgil trailed off and Roman saw that he was crying again, oddly reminiscent of their first night like this.

“What if you didn’t have to die?”

Virgil looked at him sadly.  “I’m not like you Roman.”

Roman gulped.  “I know, but you can be.  There’s just one problem.”

“What?”

“You’d have to be my mate.”

Virgil’s eyes widened and a blush spread across his face as he ducked his head to hide behind his longer hair.  “Oh?”

Roman nodded.  “I know, it’s something that we take very seriously and I understand that you wouldn’t want to do it and--”

“No, I want to.  Maybe not now, but in a few years?  Yeah, it sounds amazing.  All of it.  Being with you… mates.”

Roman blinked at Virgil.  “Really?”

“Really.”

Roman surged forward and kissed Virgil, wrapping his arms around the human’s waist, sparks flashing across his vision as Virgil kissed him back, all passion and quiet love.

It was his first kiss and Roman could feel it clear as day that the human was meant to be his.

When they pulled away, with Virgil gasping for air and Roman trailing kisses along his mate to be’s jaw, nipping at the skin.

“Seas below, I love you.”  Roman whispered as he pulled away, looking into Virgil’s dark eyes.

“I love you too.”  Virgil kissed him again and this time they didn’t break away for quite some time.

…

Virgil stands at the edge of the ocean.

The Windborne came into the cove about a week after he and Roman had claimed each other, the siren later marking him with a bite that scarred silver against the still pale skin.

Hell, Virgil really wished he could get tan.

Roman had also given him a gold coin, one that he was supposed to give away when he was ready to return, and then they would be ready.

Roman had promised to come back for him.

When Virgil boards the ship later, they’re overjoyed to see him alive.  When they anchor for the night, he collapses in the barracks below decks, grateful to be sleeping in an actual hammock, rather than on sand or on stones.

When they sail out of the cove the next day, only he can hear the song that Roman sings in mourning of his mate.

Only he wants to jump back.

…

Years pass, three to be exact, before they sail by that cove again.  Virgil meets Remus, a younger sailor that he teaches everything, despite sometimes wishing that the younger would just shut up and give him a peace of mind.

Remus is bold though, and he believes in mer.  Virgil tells him about Roman, one day when they’re both in the crow’s nest and he doesn’t think that he sees anyone look so excited.

Of course, that is before he hears the song as they are sailing by, not stopping as night falls.

“I’ll sing you a song of ravens and stone--

With the temper of a storm!

With those who sail the waters deep,

Calling the entire sea their home!”

Virgil doesn’t realize that Remus is allured by the song until he snaps out of his funk and drags them both below decks, defying his heart.

He gets sick.

Remus nurses him back to health.

A month later, he insists on being alone for night watch, and luckily they are anchored just outside the cove.

Roman still has that wild smirk and he still kisses with a passion that makes Virgil dizzy as his mate cuts their palms and presses them together, mixing human and siren blood.

Transformation doesn’t hurt.

Virgil lets Roman pull them both overboard and the first time he breathes in saltwater properly, he cries, his tears still made of sea.

“You haven’t changed a bit my love.”

Virgil laughs, his voice carrying the unrestrained power of a new siren.  “Oh darling, but I have.”

His song is wild, just like a storm on the sea, free.  It melds with Roman’s perfectly as the two harmonize, voices weaving sea shanties and siren lullabies as easily as a fisherman mends a net.

Virgil wonders if Remus can still hear a siren’s song.  He may regret leaving the young boy behind, but he can take care of himself, after all, Virgil did as well.

…

Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.

Maybe that’s why he never felt comfortable in his own skin, why he was quiet for a child, taking in everything he saw.  Maybe it was the siren name that his mother gave him, for she believed in the beautiful creatures that dripped with song.  

Perhaps it was like in Roman’s shanty:

Not wanted by land nor sky...

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Crucible (part three)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2

Word count: 10,566

TW: Bullying, vomit

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

-Mind Over Matter-

  “So, you and Anne Boleyn…”

Katherine looked up at Mulaney, her right eye twitching. A barrage of emotions blistered through her whenever she thought about her cousin- anger, sadness, mourning, betrayal, happiness, guilt, pain, longing. It was a flurry of madness that she hated having to deal with. And hearing that name come out of this man’s mouth didn’t make her feel any better. It didn’t sound right when the detective said it, like Anne had just been some character in a movie that was killed off too soon for a cheap sad moment. She was a real person, whether Katherine wanted to remember that or not.

  “Friends until the end?” 

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Katherine said.

  “And why is that?” Mulaney asked.

  “We’re cousins,” Katherine answered. “She was born a little bit before me, and we grew up together, so I guess everybody just assumed we were going to be close forever.” She shrugged. “But we had our differences.”

  “Differences about Joan Seymour?” 

  “Differences about a lot of things,” Katherine clarified. “I played with Barbie. She played with horses. She’s a back to front. I’m a front to back.”

Mulaney blinked at her and then turned his head to look at Madeline, who was trying very hard not to smile in amusement. Katherine set her shoulders back, smirking. It seemed Mulaney didn’t know how to reply to her statement because he moved on, taking a piece of paper out of a yellow folder on the table.

  “Do you know a girl named Donna Kellogg?” He asked.

  “Yeah, I know Kellogg,” Katherine replied smoothly. “Every guy in school had a bowl of her cereal.”

Mulaney stared fixedly down at Katherine. At his side, Madeline snorted a laugh, but was quick to cover her mouth and straighten herself back up professionally. Katherine let out a huge sigh, wiping the grin from her face.

  “She moved to Germany in Year 12.” She said. “What about her?”

  “She got an email from your cousin about four days before the prom,” Mulaney said.

  “What’d it say?” Katherine asked with mock enthusiasm.

Mulaney peered down at the paper in his hands and began to read, “‘Dear Dirty Donna--”

Katherine raised her eyebrows and exhaled a rueful breath, rolling her eyes skyward. That DEFINITELY was her cousin's writing.

  “--so I’m out of the prom, but they’re not going to get away with this. I don’t know exactly what we’re going to do, but I guarantee you everyone is going to get a big’-- Expletive--‘surprise.’” Mulaney put the paper down and looked back at Katherine’s pale face. “Now, what do you suppose she meant by that?”

And, for once, Katherine made no snarky reply, only able to shrug silently, as her words were too caught in her throat to answer.

------

Mr. Stephens’s creative writing class was one of those rare cases where everyone wanted to be in it, regardless of whether they could write or not. And for a good reason, too. He was a laid back, supportive, jolly man who always made his lessons fun and engaging. His room was like no other, either, airy and full of light. He rarely ever turned on the overhead lights, opting to instead let the sun come in from blue-and gold-tinted windows he had paid for to be put in himself. 

A jungle of indoor plants snarled the interior, all fit with small golden plaques with names on them (one of the best assignments they had yet was to choose a plant and write a story about it; Katherine, personally, had chosen Hornet, the sassy lesbian honeysuckle). Shined mahogany bookshelves were arranged all around the room with their books sorted precisely in alphabetical order. Putting any borrowed books back into the right place was a rule even the most mischievous of students obeyed. Racks and drawers full of papers and pencils and pens of every color were set up for everyone’s writing pleasure, and there were several places to sit and write when it was time to work. Sometimes the black and pink bungee chair, sometimes the big blue bean bag or the strange egg-shaped cubbyhole you could climb into and nestle in the blankets and pillows that filled it.

The tables were assorted in a very different way, too. There were six in total: Fantasy, Horror, Romance, Sci-Fi, Adventure, and Historical. At the beginning of the year, students got to pick their seats at whatever genre table they were most interested in, letting people meet others with the same interests. Or, if you were like Katherine, you just bustled into the same table with all your friends.

Mr. Stephens was her first class of the day and was always what she needed to get energized for the rest of school. The sun was out again, bleeding its early Monday morning light through the tinted windows and casting beams of gold and blue across the room. All her friends, including her beautiful Anna, were already inside when she got there, along with a few others. Bessie was sharpening several pencils at the expensive electric pencil sharpener by the door, while Maria looked through the Q-T selection of books, and Anne, Maggie, and Anna were sitting at the table they all had claimed at the beginning of the year: Fantasy (although Katherine had debated on going to the Romance table, but several of her friends didn’t like the romance genre, and Anne had proclaimed that the “gang had to stick together,” so she gave up that option).

  “Kitty!!” Anne cried gleefully, throwing her arms in the air.

Katherine smiled as she walked over, sitting beside Anna. The two shared a quick kiss.

  “Morning, gang,” Katherine said. “What’s the tea?”

  “Prom,” Maggie stated. “You guys picked out your dresses yet?”

  “A dress? Me?” Anna snorted. “If I ever wore a dress and heels, I'd look like a freaking giraffe or something.”

  “Anna, shut up!” Bessie suddenly barked, whipping her head around from the pencil sharpener. “You would look great!”

They all stared at her in silence, watching as her face slowly faded to a light red color, a hugely bright contrast with her bleached white hair. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

  “What? Girls eat that shit up!” She said, and then frantically began sharpening her pencils again. The table laughed and nodded knowingly.

  “But no,” Anna said. “I’m not wearing a dress. Your girl is going with a suit.”

  “Ooooo!” The chorus of intrigued coos whisked around the table.

  “How fancy!” Anne said.

  “You are a lucky lady!” Maggie said to Katherine.

Katherine grinned brightly and leaned her head against her girlfriend’s shoulder. She sighed dreamily. “I know…”

  “I have mine picked out,” Maria said, walking over and sitting down with The Great Gatsby in her hands. “It’s orange.”

  “Oooo, nice pick!” Katherine commented. “Orange looks good on you!”

  “Why thank you!”

  “Okay, okay, question,” Maggie butt in as Bessie sat back down. “Do any of you know about waxing or shaving, you know--” She leaned in, “--down there? Like, for sex preparation?”

  “How naughty,” Anne teased, making Maggie stick her tongue out at her.

  “Well,” Katherine said expertly, “there are a few things you can do.” At her side, Anna shook her head and laughed. “There’s the rainforest. That’s where you don’t do anything at all. Hitler’s mustache. The landing strip. The Brazil.”

  “The Brazil?” Maggie laughed. “What does Brazil have to do with getting--your area waxed? Is it, like, the shape of the country?”

  “It’s because things like thongs and Brazil are so small you have to wax EVERYTHING to wear one.” Maria said.

  “Ohhh,” Maggie nodded. “Where is Brazil, anyway?”

Laughter and snickers and whispers suddenly bubbled loudly from the hallway, seeping in through the open door. A moment later, Joan entered wearing an oversized, rather ugly shade of pale yellow sweater and a long maroon skirt with small white flowers. She dragged her feet as she walked, not looking up, clutching her binders and folders close to her chest. 

Seeing her sent a sharp pang of guilt lancing through Katherine.

She had desperately tried to forget about Joan Seymour over the weekend, partially succeeding in that task, even when her father confronted her about it. But seeing the pathetic girl again sent all her shame come barreling back into her at full force. She could now see that she and her friends had ruined this class, once a place of serenity and peace, for Joan. Joan seemed...scared to even be attending.

  “Well, if it isn’t Prayin’ Joan!” Anne exclaimed. She jumped up and blocked Joan’s path, causing the younger and much scrawnier girl to reel back in fright. “I wonder who’s taking her to prom? Her mother?”

Katherine tried to laugh along with Maggie, Maria, and Bessie, but the sound raked her throat fiercely like talons of fire. She glanced to the side and saw that Anna had her jaw set firmly and a grim look in her eyes.

  “Leave her alone, Anne.” Anna said.

Joan tried to dodge around Anne to get to her table, but Anne stepped right back in front of her and she reared away again like she thought she would be burned if they were to make contact.

  “Come on, church girl!” Anne spread her arms in a grand gesture, smirking widely. Everyone in the class, even people out in the hallway, were watching, now. “Dance with me! I will make you see God!”

And then, out of the blue, Anne yelped out in fright as she suddenly crumpled to the floor. Katherine blinked in shock, watching the way her cousin had shifted her weight on her feet and slipped on her Heelys’s wheels--but that didn’t seem right. Anne hadn’t been leaning on her heels at all. It looked more like something had swept under her legs and made her fall--but what? There had been nothing there, nothing to trip her. She shuddered, and her skin began to crawl with goosebumps.

  “How’s your pussy, princess?” A boy at the Sci-Fi table asked over the laughter that had filled the room.

Anne shot up to her feet instantly, her face inflamed with rage. She glared at the boy, and her stared was filled with enough hate to make him snap his mouth shut immediately.

  “What are you laughing at?” She snarled. Her head whipped around to Joan. “The goddamn BITCH TRIPPED ME!!”

Is that what happened? Did Joan trip or push Anne? Had she finally snapped like that kid from Anna’s story on Friday night? But Joan hadn’t moved her arms or legs at all when Anne fell…

Katherine jerked out of her speculations when she saw that Anne was advancing on Joan with a murderous look in her eyes. Joan flinched away, as if she was expecting to be struck, and then there was suddenly the clattering of a chair to Katherine’s left; Anna was standing in between Anne and Joan.

  “What are you doing?” Anne demanded.

  “You’re being stupid, Anne.” Anna said calmly. “If you hit her, you’re definitely going to be thrown out of prom. Just sit down.”

Anne growled, but prom seemed to be more important to her than revenge, so she cast one like dark glare at Joan, and then let her anger snuff itself out for now. She returned to her chair like nothing happened. Anna turned to Joan, who was staring up at her with wide eyes as if she were Jesus Christ himself.

  “Are you alright?” Anna asked. She reached out to set a hand on Joan’s shoulder, but respectfully pulled it back when Joan flinched away. “Don’t listen to that gremlin. She’s just messing around.” And then she flashed Joan a dazzling smile that made Joan get an expression on her face that said she’s never been smiled at like that before.

  “Th-th-thank you…” Joan choked out, and then skittered past her to the Horror table, which she shared all alone (“Of course that crazy bitch would choose horror” was something Maggie had muttered the first day of class when Joan had chosen that genre).

Anna righted her chair and sat back down, looking like a true savior. 

  “Well, aren’t you just a knight in shining armor.” Anne said bitterly, and Anna grinned at her.

  “What can I say?” She said with a shrug. “I can never pass up the chance to be the hero to a poor damsel in distress.”

The bell rang a moment later and everyone who wasn’t already sitting down bustled over to their specific table. First period was the smallest class, with Katherine and her five friends obviously at Fantasy, three kids at Sci-Fi, two girls at Romance, three more at Adventure, no one at Historical, and then Joan all alone at Horror. Writing utensils and notebooks filled to the brim with stories and projects are brought out as Mr. Stephens entered from the hall.

  “Good morning, children!” He chimed happily. He was a slightly plump man with olive skin and dark brown hair he always had up in a man bun. The aquamarine flannel shirt he was wearing today made his green eyes pop brightly. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

After the initial opening for class, the lesson quickly curved into the topic of an assignment the students had been given last Friday, probably the only okay thing that happened on that day (aside from Katherine’s time with Anna in her car, of course).

  “As you know,” Mr. Stephens said, “last Friday I gave you all the task to write your own poem after selecting a word from my hat.” He held up the bedazzled top hat for reference. “Now we are going to read them! So…” He scanned the class, bypassing the people who usually always read first, like Bessie and Katherine and the boy with glasses in Adventure, for now. A smile broke out on his face. “Joan Seymour!”

Joan’s head whipped up so fast Katherine was surprised her neck didn’t break. She had been listlessly twirling a strand of her strangely natural white-blonde hair and writing in her small notebook with a black pen, which she accidentally sent flying across the room behind her when she was called on.

  “Present,” She sputtered. 

  “It’s not roll call, Joan,” Mr. Stephens said gently. 

  “Idiot,” Maggie muttered, rolling her eyes, and Mr. Stephens shot a glare at her and some of the other giggling students. He was one of few teachers who actually made an effort to stop the constant bullying Joan got in class. 

  “Did you write a poem?” Mr. Stephens asked. His voice was so patient and kind, his gaze merciful and lacking any irritation or scorn, despite the fact that Joan was floundering like a useless cow in a cattle chute. He never yelled at Joan or even got the slightest bit annoyed with her, even when she was being completely incompetent and probably deserved a good rapping on the knuckles with a ruler to get her head back on straight.

  “Oh-- Y-yes, sir.” Joan nodded.

  “Why don’t you come up and read it to us?” 

That seemed to be a death sentence for Joan, who became very rigid and pale. She opened and closed her mouth like a weird-eyed fish out of water, then finally choked out, “D-do I have to?”

Mr. Stephens tilted his head at her, sympathy in his gaze. “No,” He said. “But I would love to hear what you wrote.”

Joan perked up slightly, a new light flickering ever so slightly in her eyes. “You would?” She squeaked.

  “Yes, Joan,” Mr. Stephens smiled, and Katherine saw that he was telling the truth. He was genuinely interested in what Joan had written.

Joan thought for a second, then grabbed her notebook, stood up, and said, “Okay.”

Shyly, with her head angled to the floor, Joan shuffled up to the short stage-like platform at the front of the class used for reading out loud. Mr. Stephens motioned for her to sit in the big black leather computer chair he would let students use when presenting, but she shook her head, clearly too tense and nervous to sit down. Mr. Stephens respected her choice and didn’t push her.

  “What was the word you selected, Joan?” Mr. Stephens asked.

  “Umm-- Stone.” Joan answered. Now that she was up and centered, Katherine noticed violet and indigo bruises along her jawline and a split in her lip that definitely hadn’t been there on Friday.

  “And what is the name of your poem?”

Joan fumbled. “E-Evening Prayers.”

  “Oh my god.” Anne said loudly. Mr. Stephens shot her a sharp look, and she shut her mouth instantly.

  “Go ahead, Joan. Whenever you’re ready.” Mr. Stephens said kindly.

It took a moment and a few deep breaths for Joan to find her voice, but she eventually gathered all her courage and began to read:

  “Jesus watches from the wall,

But his face is cold as stone.

If he loves me,

As she tells me,

Why do I feel so all alone?”

A few giggles and snickers and mocking whispers whisked through the class, but Mr. Stephens shut them down quickly. Joan looked at him fearfully, and he gave her an encouraging nod to go on.

  “Baby savior, meek and mild,

What do you do with my prayers?

If you hear me,

Why do I feel that no one cares?”

Joan lost some of the tension in her shoulders, easing them back down into a more relaxed position. A strange flicker lit up in her eyes, like the first silvery wisps of a fresh flame. 

  “Mama sees inside my soul,

But her face is cold as stone.

If she loves me

Why do I feel so all alone?”

Was that...hate in Joan’s voice? Katherine tilted her head at the girl, suddenly filled with so many questions. Had she always been this interesting?

  “There's a movement in my head

Satan? Angels? What can it be?

It's growing!

It's stirring!

It's churning, shifting!

Bending!”

Joan released a shaky breath and raised her glowing grey-blue eyes. 

Silence. 

Mr. Stephens would have said anything, but he still seemed to be too enamored to speak, in awe at his timid student’s raw poem.

Then, Maggie raised one of her hands and spoke without waiting to be called on, “Shouldn’t people like that be home schooled?”

Mr. Stephens blinked at her, his eyebrows furrowing together. “People like what, Maggie?” He asked cautiously, falling right into Maggie’s trap.

  “Creepy religious people,” Maggie said blithely.

Joan flinched back as if she had been struck and hunched her shoulders around her neck. Her fingers grip tightly around the edges of her notebook, staring at her poem with a sudden expression of shame and hatred and disgust.

  “Yeah, aren’t we, like, not supposed to talk about religion in school unless it’s in history class?” Bessie piped up.

Mr. Stephens glared at all of them. “Does anyone have anything to say about the poem?” He said, steering the lesson back on track without giving Maggie or Bessie any attention.

  “It was disturbing,” Anne offered. “I think that’s the most little Joey has said in class all year!”

Laughter erupted in the classroom, far too much for Mr. Stephens to wrangle. Joan shrunk back, like she was hoping she could disappear right into the wall, and Katherine thought she could see tears shining in her eyes.

  “Got anything else to share with us, sweetheart?” Anne asked in a sickly sweet voice. “Or are you done scaring us?”

  “Asshole…”

The laughter stopped abruptly. Joan’s head jerked up sharply. All eyes turned to look at Anna, who was leaning back in her chair and pressing her tongue against the inside of her lip.

  “Anna?” Mr. Stephens said. “Did you say something?”

  “Yes,” Anne said, her words sliding slowly from her mouth like slithering snakes. “What did you say?”

  “I said awesome.” Anna said, sitting up. “I just thought that Joan’s poem was awesome.” She looked at Anne. “Didn’t you, Annie?”

Anne glowers at her, growling lowly. Joan, on the other hand, had the exact opposite reaction. Her eyes were wide and lit up, like that had been the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her, and a bright pink blush dusted her cheeks.

  “Yes!” Mr. Stephens nodded his head enthusiastically. “Awesome! That is a great way to describe Joan’s wonderful poem.” He smiled at Anna, then at Joan. “Thank you for reading, Joan. You did very good.”

Joan dipped her head in thanks and hurried back to her table. When she sat back down, she immediately glanced at Anna, a wistful look of adoration in her eyes. Katherine noticed it, and things began to click together in her brain.

  “Anna,” Mr. Stephens said, “since you spoke up, would you like to go next?”

Anna shrugged coolly. “Sure.” She stood up, grabbing her red spiral journal, and walked to the platform at the front of the class. She, like Joan, decided not to sit in the computer chair, opting to stand up tall before her peers.

  “GO ANNA!!” Her friends cheered from the Fantasy table and she rolled her eyes in a good natured way.

  “The word I got was ‘eagle,’” She said, then looked down at the page she was opened up to in her journal. “Dreamer In Disguise. By Anna von Cleves.” She cleared her throat, and then began reading smoothly:

  “An eagle's just another bird

Until he can spread his wings.”

Maggie suddenly leapt onto her chair, flapping her arms and letting out a bird-like screech. The class all giggled, except Joan, who looked startled, and Anna, who looked used to these kinds of antics.

  “Guys!” Mr. Stephens barked. “Quiet!”

The class settled. Mr. Stephens looked at Maggie.

  “Maggie--that was a pretty good bird, but hush up.” He said.

Maggie bowed and then plopped back into her seat. Mr. Stephens turned to Anna, nodding at her to go on.

  “A river is just a sheet of ice

'til winter turns to spring.

And though the clouds may block the sun

Don't mean that it's left the sky.

Just when you think you've seen it all

There's more that meets the eye.

Like things I dream and things I feel

There's more to me than I reveal.

And 'cause I shine in quiet ways

I'm someone you don't recognize.

I'm a diamond in the rough

A dreamer in disguise.

An eagle's just another bird

Until he can spread his wings.”

Applause filled the classroom. Anna smirked proudly, bowing her head.

  “Very good, Anna!” Mr. Stephens said. “Class,” He turned to the others. “Any comments?”

  “Beautiful.”

The marveled comment came before anyone else could say anything, spoken before Mr. Stephens had barely even finished his sentence. Joan had a thoughtful look in her shimmering eyes. A small smile was tugged at the corners of her pale lips.

  “Beautiful, yes!” Mr. Stephens said. “Excellent, Joan!”

  “Yeah, nice one, period girl.” Anne tittered.

Like that, the light in Joan’s eyes is gone. She looked away, suddenly ashamed. Anna seemed to notice this on the platform and glared viciously at Anne.

  “Shut up, Anne.” She snarled lowly.

  “Go on, Joan,” Mr. Stephens said to his shy student. “Tell us how the poem spoke to you.”

Joan looked back up, fidgeting, and then stuttered out, “I-I just think it said that just because something or someone seems one way, doesn’t mean they have to be that way.”

Mr. Stephens beamed. Anne gave Katherine a “what is wrong with this girl?” sort of look, while Anna looked vaguely rapt. She smiled at Joan, and Joan blushed madly.

  “Very good observation, Joan!” Mr. Stephens said.

  “Yeah,” Anna agreed. “I think you have the poem more thought out that I do, and I’m the one who wrote it!”

Joan ducked her head with a shy smile. “Thanks,” She whispered, and all the pieces fell into place in Katherine’s head.

Did Joan like Anna?

Katherine spent the rest of first period pondering this- Joan was hopelessly shy, but it could very well be possible. The way she looked at Anna… There was some form of longing in her eyes. Like she wanted Anna to like her--not even in a romantic way, just to--like her. As a person.

The bell startled Katherine out of her thoughts and she shook her head. Anna had to run off quickly to get to her next class that was all the way on the other side of the school, and Bessie and Maggie left in a hurry, too. Katherine was about to head out with Maria to the next class they shared together when she noticed Joan still gathering her things.

  “I’ll meet you there, okay?” Katherine said to Maria.

Maria shrugged and nodded. “Okay!”

Katherine walked over to Joan, catching the attention of her cousin, who was still in the class and now watching them with interest.

  “Hey, Joan,” Katherine said.

Joan jumped and looked at Katherine, then over her shoulder, as if thinking she were talking to someone else. She blinked up at the older girl with big grey-blue eyes, and Katherine could see so much painful anxiety in them.

  “Earlier--that was nice.” Katherine said. “That was really nice, what you said about Anna’s poem. I thought it was beautiful, too.”

Joan continued to stare at her, frozen like a deer in headlights.

  “Look-- Umm-- About the other day… I don’t know, things just sort of got out of hand and--”

  “Haven’t you had enough?!”

This time, it was Katherine’s turn to flinch, and she stepped back as if she had just been shot. She looked down at Joan and was shocked to see pure rage blazing in her eyes, which flickered like lit embers. Her teeth were bared, mouth pulled back in a snarl, and her fists were clenched into shaking fists.

  “Do you think you can just go on tricking me forever?!” Joan cried.

  “Oh no, Joan, no--” 

Katherine reached for her, but the girl clawed her hand away. She ducked under her arm and ran out of the classroom, leaving Katherine behind in shock.

  “My, my,” Anne said, sauntering over with a chuckle. “Little mousey’s got a temper!”

  “I--” Katherine’s words hitched for a moment. “I’ve never seen her angry before…”

Anne rolled her eyes and slung an arm around Katherine’s shoulder. She began guiding her out of the classroom.

  “Oh, who cares?” She said. “Just forget about it!”

But Katherine couldn’t forget.

Especially when they stepped out of the class and saw Joan, among many others, staring at the graffiti scrawled across the nearby lockers.

“JOAN SEYMOUR EATS SHIT”

Joan turned to Katherine with tears in her eyes, bared her teeth like a wounded fox, and then took off running down the hallway crying.

Guilt roared through Katherine and, this time, she knew it would be staying for good.

------

All the girls in the fourth period gym class got dressed in silence. 

The minute they had walked through the locker room door, conversations died away, giggling dissolved, and horseplay seized. There were no catcalls, no playful wrestling, no pinching or nudging or tickling. They just changed out into their gym clothes without speaking a word, already knowing what was coming.

Some teachers forgot.

Miss Aragon was not one of them.

It was no surprise when the locker room door slammed open with force after the bell rang and Miss Aragon came striding in. Her silver whistle bounced against her chest with every step she took, and a large, bulky black duffel bag was slung over one shoulder. She looked more like a wasp than usual, and not just because her outfit was a bright shade of lemon yellow with bands of black lacing over the fabric. She simply looked like she wanted to prick each and every girl in the locker room with something sharp and pointy until she had them squealing for mercy, just like they had Joan Seymour squealing in the stall just a few yards away. Resentment and disgust twisted her features as she scanned the class with brown eyes so dark they looked black.

None of her students dared to look at her.

  “Well, aren’t you all just the bunch to send off to graduation,” Miss Aragon said after five minutes of just watching the teenagers fumble with their gym uniforms. She had seen Bessie try to stick her head through an arm hole three times and Katherine apparently forgot how bra clasps worked, and she decided that it was more pathetic than anything they’ve ever said Joan had done. “When is it? A month?”

Nobody answered. Miss Aragon sneered. 

  “And then there’s the prom!” Miss Aragon began again. “Katherine, you’ll be going with Anna von Cleves. Maria, William Willoughby.” She turned to Anne, one eyebrow raised. “What about you, Anne? I imagine you can take your pick. Who’s the lucky guy or girl?”

  “Catherine Parr,” Anne said. “You don’t know her, she doesn’t go to this scho--”

  “Who?”

Anne ground her teeth when she was interrupted.

  “I’m sorry, Anne, I can’t hear you.” 

  “Catherine Parr.”

  “Well, isn’t she the lucky one?” Said Miss Aragon. “Are you going to get her a corsage? Or are you just going to tie a bloody tampon around her wrist?”

Anne’s face went red and she growled like a wild animal. Miss Aragon was anything but intimidated, easily towering over Anne and beating her in terms of fierceness and muscle. 

  “Hey, I have an idea!” Miss Aragon said. “Why don’t we skip the sport we were going to be doing today and make boutonnieres and corsages for your prom dates instead!”

The girls exchanged confused looks, finding this awfully suspicious.

  “Yeah? Sounds fun, right?” Miss Aragon said. “We can make them out of these!”

As fast as lightning, she ripped open the duffel bag and began throwing its contents all over her class. 

Tampons.

Their teacher was throwing tampons at them.

The sanitary items flew like a raging blizzard of white plastic and cotton. Bessie got hit in the eye by one and reeled back into Katherine, who nearly toppled over in shock. Another got caught in Maria’s curly hair and she clawed to get it out. Maggie let out a piercing alarmed screech. Miss Aragon smirked at their hysteria, then threw the bag down at her feet, fuming both in rage and pride.

  “I’m leaving.” Anne said, storming past the coach.

Something flashed in Miss Aragon’s eyes. 

Fury. Boiling hot fury.

Miss Aragon hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Joan Seymour at all over the weekend. Every time she closed her eyes she would see that poor child crying out to her for help. Her dreams were tainted by visions of Joan bleeding to death or killing herself because of all the harsh bullying she faced. She kept hearing her scream “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” over and over and over again. She couldn’t keep her wrath tamed any longer, and unleashed the full firestorm on her class.

Miss Aragon reached out, moving as quick as a cracking bullwhip, grabbed Anne by the arm, and slammed her into one of the rows of lockers. The sound of the student’s back smashing against the metal rattled loudly throughout the room, only beat by Anne’s cry of shock. Her eyes went wide in disbelief.

  “You can’t hit us!” She yelled.

  “I barely touched you.” Miss Aragon said, as if she were talking to a whining younger sibling she had just punched in the face. She pinned Anne against the locker in a position that looked to be very uncomfortable on Anne’s shoulder.

  “You’ll get canned for this.” Anne growled, tears of pain springing to her eyes. “See if you don’t, you bitch!”

  “I don’t really care, Boleyn.” Miss Aragon said. “If you--or any of you--think I’m wearing my teacher hat right now, you are sadly mistaken.”

She backed up so she could glare at all the other girls, but Anne didn’t dare move from her spot against the locker. Her eyes darted to Katherine in a sort of plight for help, Katherine looked away uneasily. Her gaze landed on the shower area, where this all began, and she jerked it away to look at something else. Anything else.

  “I hope you all know what you did on Friday was a really shitty thing.” Miss Aragon said. To her left, Maggie snickered and she glared at her so fiercely it was a wonder Maggie didn’t drop dead. “Do any of you ever stop to think that Joan Seymour has feelings?”

She looked around. Her rage only continued to build when she got no answer.

  “Do any of you ever stop to think?” She narrowed her brown-black eyes dangerously. “Katherine? Maria? Bessie? Maggie?”

Another pause. Miss Aragon seemed to be swelling up like a King Cobra.

  “Oh,” She said as if she had just read their minds. “You think she’s ugly, don’t you?”

Maggie snorted and made a “well obviously” face. Miss Aragon rounded on her, eyes flashing.

  “Well, you’re ugly.”

The stupid, shit-eating grin Maggie had been wearing was wiped clean from her face instantly.

  “I saw just how ugly all of you were on Friday.” Miss Aragon said.

Anne suddenly reared up, shaking her head. 

  “You can’t talk to us like that!” She snapped. “My dad’s a lawyer! He’ll sue your ass!”

  “SHUT UP!” Aragon roared. She got in Anne’s face, smoke practically billowing from her ears and nostrils. “Open your mouth one more time, and I’ll plug you up.” She jabbed a finger into Anne’s nose, cracking her head back against the locker. “Want to find out if I’m telling the truth? There’s plenty of tampons here to see.”

Anne said nothing, but that didn’t stop her from glaring mutely at her coach. Miss Aragon backed away from her, smirking briefly. The rest of her girls were exchanging frantic, nervous looks, wondering if they were about to be murdered or beaten to death or something horrible like that. Personally, Katherine thought they all deserved such a fate.

  “Now,” Miss Aragon said, lowering her voice to a slightly calmer tone, “my punishment for this little charade you pulled was a three day suspension and refusal of your prom tickets.”

An immediate uproar of unhappy gasps and murmurs eddied through the locker room. Katherine found herself sighing with them, but did agree that that would be a good way to get back at all of them.

  “That would hit you where it hurts, wouldn’t it? And you would deserve it, too.” Miss Aragon said. “Unfortunately, this administration is staffed entirely by men. I don’t think they have the slightest idea how utterly nasty what you did was.” A sneer tugged on the angered grooves in her face. “So you’ll get a week’s detention.”

Instant relief.

  “But it’s MY detention.” Miss Aragon went on. “Fifty minutes. In the field. Every day. And I’m going to run you ragged!” 

They all could already feel their legs burning from exertion and throat aching from dry heaving so intensely. 

  “I won’t come,” Anne said, shrugging.

  “That’s up to you, Anne.” Miss Aragon said. “That’s up to all of you. But I just want you to know that the punishment for skipping detention is a three day suspension and refusal of your prom tickets.”

There was that wave of unhappiness again, sweeping powerfully through the locker room, and it was music to Miss Aragon’s ears. She smirked wickedly.

  “Get the picture?”

Nobody said anything.

  “Good. Now change out. And think about what I said.”

With that, she turned and surged out of the locker room like a triumphant killer wasp. The tension of her presence quickly lifted, but only slightly. The girls were still mumbling and whispering, not daring to raise their voice in fear their coach may come back in and just take their prom tickets now.

Anne must not have gotten the memo.

  “She can’t get away with this!” She snarled.

  “Anne…” Katherine sighed.

Anne yanked her gym shoes out of her locker and hurled them across the room, as if she were hoping for Miss Aragon to materialize inside and get hit.

  “This isn’t over!” She screeched. “It’s not even in the same area code as over!!”

And she was right.

------

Meanwhile, skipping gym class like she was told, Joan was in the library.

For most of her life, books had been her only friends.

Books accepted you the way you were and shared all their secrets with you.

Books never told you that you were creepy or called you a monster or a freak or a pig or any other mean names. Books never said, “Joan Seymour eats shit.”

Joan had hid out in the bathroom after she saw the writing on the walls, rocking back and forth in one of the back stalls and crying to herself until her throat ached and she felt like she couldn’t breathe anymore.

She remembered the bathroom door opening and somebody walking in. She had tried to keep quiet as the girl was reapplying her makeup in the mirror, but her lungs began to burn and she let out a choked sob that seemed to echo throughout the room.

Silence.

  “Hello?” Called a voice Joan didn’t know or recognize. “Are you okay?”

  “I-I’m f-f-fine.” Joan choked out.

  “You don’t sound fine.” The girl observed. “Is this your stuff on the ground?”

Right. She had just thrown her belongings on the floor in her panic to get away from prying eyes to cry alone.

  “U-umm--” Joan sniffled.

Outside the stall, she heard the shuffling of feet and the rustling of papers. Her binders and folders were slid underneath the door a moment later.

  “There.” Said the stranger. “Just so nobody will take it if anyone else comes in.” She paused for a moment. “Are you alright?”

Joan tried to answer, to lie, even if God would strike her down for it, but all that came out of her mouth was a sob. She curled up tighter in the stall, burying her face in her knees. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks like streams of molten lava.

The girl outside made a sympathetic noise. “You poor thing.” She said. “Crying in the bathroom at school. I know that feeling.”

Joan’s crying halted for a moment. She sniffled and looked up slightly.

  “Y-you do?” She stammered.

The girl laughed. “Oh yeah.” She sat down on the other side of the stall, her back pressed against the door. “I got dumped in Geometry in Year 11.”

  “Oh no…”

  “Oh yes,” The girl laughed again. “I wanted to hide in the bathroom forever, but I eventually went back to class. Trust me, crying in here is completely normal. I’ve seen tons of girls do it.”

  “Did you talk to them, too?” Joan asked quietly.

The girl thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “...Then why are you talking to me?”

  “I had this feeling.” The girl said. “That you just--needed someone. More than those girls did. You know?”

She didn’t, but she still said, “Uh huh.”

The girl outside shifted slightly. Joan wished she could see her face.

  “So...what was it?”

  “Huh?”

  “What brought you in here to cry?” The girl specified. “If I may ask… You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, though.”

She was giving Joan an option, Joan realized dizzily. She wasn’t forcing her to answer.

Sniffling, Joan said, “I-it’s, umm--kinda silly…”

  “Nonsense,” Said the girl. “Was it a breakup?”

  “Umm-- N-no.” Joan said shyly. “I don’t date…”

  “Good for you.” The girl chuckled. “We love a strong, independent woman.”

Joan felt a flurry of butterflies flap wildly in her stomach and she bit her lip to keep from grinning like a giddy idiot. She was always flattered way too easily.

  “School problems?” The girl guessed again.

  “Kinda, yeah…”

  “I feel you, girlfriend,” The girl said. “They expect so much from us, you know? It’s like, do this research project in a week, but I’m only giving you one day to work on it in class so you’ll have to try not to procrastinate when you do the rest on your own and do this math assignment I barely taught you at all, oh and also, find the cure for cancer!”

Joan couldn’t help but giggle. She thought the girl outside the stall may be smiling.

  “It sucks, but you’ll get through it,” The girl said. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Joan nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

The girl got up. “No problem.” She said. “I gotta run. My teacher is probably going to tear me a new one for taking so long.” She laughed. “I hope you feel better soon!”

  “Thank you,” Joan whispered again. “Bye…”

And then, her savior was gone. Joan hadn’t even known her name. She wondered if the girl would have treated her any differently if she knew who she was…

Joan had managed to make it to third period after finally coming out of the bathroom, and then got to retreat to the one place in the school where she felt at peace.

The library.

Nobody was ever mean to her in the library. They were always too busy to pick on her, and that was one of the reasons why she liked it so much. People didn’t care about her in there, instead hunched over tables with research spread out over the surface, clicking furiously on computers, scribbling in notepads in the windowsill nooks, and reading, reading, reading.

A kind of peace settled over her as she stepped inside, breathing in the crisp smell of books. She felt like she belonged here, with all the oddities of literature, even if she didn’t belong anywhere else. In here there were answers and information and thousands of stories waiting for her to read...right behind Mama’s back. 

Mama didn’t like her reading a lot of things, especially young adult novels. But what Mama didn’t know was that she was already ankle-deep in a franchise about wild cats who were in clans and several other standalone books. When she was at school, the Bible was not Her Holy Book.

Shelves radiated out from every direction like a burst of sun, and more aisles with more books filled the overhead balcony ring. Yes, her school technically had a two-story library. A DOUBLE-DECKER library! You had to take a narrow wooden staircase to get up to the top ledge, which wrapped around the upper perimeter of the room and had a few private rooms to study or read in. The guard rail was laced in white fairy lights, causing the ceiling to glow beautifully.

Another thing Joan loved was the statue at the front, poised below the two entrance ramps and short staircase. It was of a long, serpent-like dragon made of white marble, coiled up on a mound of books with its snout dug in a thick, bulky novel. Its name was Haze, and it looked as though it might glance up at any moment, see Joan, and say, “Oh my gosh, have you read this one? It’s amazing!”

Joan gently brushed one of the claws as she passed by. There weren’t many kids in the library, rather in class, but there were a few Year 13’s in there for a free period. None of them even glanced up at Joan.

  “Mrs. Johansen?” Joan called meekly as she walked up to the librarian’s desk.

Mrs. Johansen was the blatant stereotype of a librarian- big, wide-rimmed glasses, older, warm amber eyes, curly brown hair. She looked up from the book she was reading to smile at Joan.

  “Yes, dear?” She said.

  “C-can you show me how to do a search?” Joan asked. She felt painfully awkward asking that, especially to an older woman, who apparently supposed to know nothing about technology, but Mrs. Johansen smiled kindly and nodded.

  “Of course,” She said. “Come on.”

It took a good five minutes, but Joan was eventually adept enough in computers to search things up. The first thing she did was look up ‘miracles’ and began to scroll through the search results, hoping to find some answers to the strange sensation she had been feeling in her veins ever since Friday.

mir·a·cle

/ˈmirək(ə)l/

noun

a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.

Joan blinked, tilting her head at the definition as if she thought the words may start explaining their meaning to her even further if she stared hard enough.

Surprising? And welcome? She looked down at one of her hands, flexing her fingers. Mama didn’t seem to think her...issue...was either of those things. She clicked down to keep searching.

Miracles of the Renaissance

Jesus - Man of Miracles

Apparitions and Eucharistic Miracles 

Miracles on the internet!

Pray for a miracle

Herbal Miracles

Miracles and Modern Scientific Thoughts

Miracles: HIDDEN POWERS OF THE MIND

Joan paused. That last one seemed interesting. She clicked on it and was opened up to a page using big, fancy words she couldn’t really wrap her head around. But there was one in particular that caught her attention-- /telekinesis/. She had no idea what it meant, but something inside of her seemed to latch onto it and tug her interest towards the word until she searched it up in the search bar.

Psychokinesis (from Greek ψυχή "soul" and κίνησις "movement"), or telekinesis (from τηλε- "far off" and κίνηση "movement"), is an alleged psychic ability allowing a person to influence a physical system without physical interaction.

Joan’s eyes go wide with interest. Isn’t that what she did to that annoying neighborhood boy? And to Anne Boleyn? She moved them with her mind? 

She looked down at her hands again, but didn’t see anything special about them. They just looked like normal hands, just more bony and scarred than usual. Suddenly self conscious, she rubbed the old burn over her knuckles while clicking on a video about telekinesis.

And it was like watching a dream come true. Joan’s eyes widened even further as she watched as a man simply held out his hand and began to move the pages of a book without even touching them. Just like she did with Anne and the biker boy! He must have the same powers as her! Oh how she wished she could reach into the screen and pull this man out and ask him all the questions now running through her mind. Like, how are you doing that? And when did you know you could do it? And are there others like us? And will you teach me how to do that, too?

She was so enthralled with the video that she didn’t even realize someone was creeping up behind her…

  “Sorry! Sorry.” The brown haired boy with a camera around his neck said when she flinched around to look at him. “I just-- You can make it full screen, you know? Watch.” 

He reached over Joan and clicked the ‘f’ key and the video filled the entire computer screen. Joan’s eyes glimmered in awe.

  “Thank you,” She whispered.

  “No problem!” The boy said with a cheeky grin. He quickly hurried off to an empty table, leaving Joan alone.

He...wasn’t mean to her.

How strange...

------

Katherine quickly realized she had a lot less stamina than she thought she did. She has always been a perfect, well-behaved girl, always slipping out of punishment during the few times she wasn’t, so there wasn’t ever a need to have tough endurance for running because she never thought she would piss off a gym coach of all people.

But here she was, running Suicides in the field after school, fighting the urge to dry heave every few seconds.

The sun seemed to be unnaturally, blisteringly hot that evening, like it, too, was punishing her and her classmates for what they had done on Friday. Katherine doesn’t think she’s ever been so hot before. Her skin felt like it was baking, her hair was tassels of golden fire, and her back was a plateau of roaring flames. Gleaming yellow sunlight made her eyes prickly and sore, and if she squinted through the haze of exhaustion, she swore she thought she could see a big black buzzard circling overhead that seemed to be just waiting for one of them to drop dead.

  “Come on, ladies!” Miss Aragon shouted from the side of the field, looking absolutely delightful. “Lift those legs up! Faster! Faster!”

  “She--she can’t do this to us,” Anne wheezed as she careened up next to Katherine. She was absolutely dripping with sweat and red in the face, but Katherine couldn’t tell if that was from the sun, the exertion of the Suicides, or the fury from both.

  “Just--let it go, Anne. We’re almost done.” Katherine said through her teeth. It took a great effort to speak; she could feel bile curling in the back of her throat like bubbling acid.

  “And then every day this week?” Anne spat. “All because of Joan Seymour?”

  “Anne.” Katherine hissed. She picked up her pace to get away from her cousin, but when she turned to run back to the starting line, her foot slipped in the slick turf of the football field and she was sent sprawling on her stomach. The impact jarred her heavily and she dry heaved painfully until her lunch finally came rushing out of her mouth. A few girls winced, but mostly everyone kept running--not that she blamed them. Anne, however, darted over to her side, and she wasn’t sure if she was happy about that or not.

  “Are you okay?” Anne asked. Her concerned Big Cousin voice was slipping into her words and Katherine couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile at that. This was the side of Anne she liked, not the evil, cruel one who liked to pick on kids three years younger than her.

  “Y-yeah--” Katherine answered, spitting out the last of the bile in her mouth. “I’m fine.”

  “Howard,” Miss Aragon called, walking over, twirling her whistle on her finger. “Are you alright?”

  “Like you care…” Anne muttered. Miss Aragon gave her a dangerous glare, and Katherine set a hand on her knees to not only calm her cousin, but to also boost herself back up.

  “Yes ma’am,” Katherine said. “I’m okay.”

  “Good.” Miss Aragon rumbled. “I’m glad.” She shot Anne another look for a brief moment. “Get back to it. You’re almost done.”

Katherine nodded and then took off again, shortly followed by Anne, who was muttering something about this being “child abuse”.

Ten minutes of running in the searing heat passed and Miss Aragon’s whistle finally pierced the field. A collective sigh of relief swept through the class as girls skidded to a halt and instantly doubled over or completely collapsed to the floor in moaning, groaning heaps of soreness. A few scrambled for their water bottles and began drinking like it was the end of the world. Miss Aragon walked over to them, amusement painted brightly on her face.

  “Don’t drink too fast,” Their coach said to the girls guzzling down water, “or you may throw up.”

  “My legs are gonna fall off,” Bessie said in a woebegone voice. She was flopped over on her back, spilling her bleached white hair all across the green grass.

  “Now you know how it feels to be Joan Seymour, don’t you?” Miss Aragon said, looking down her nose at the girl.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her have to run before,” Maggie pointed out grumpily. “Even though she’s the worst at literally everything we do in class…”

Miss Aragon glowered down at Maggie for a moment, then began marching up and down the cluster of girls. They all watched her tensely, waiting for her to exact an even harsher punishment than Suicides.

  “Life’s all about making choices, ladies,” Miss Aragon said. “And, last Friday, you made the wrong one. So here’s how it’s going to go.” Her eyes flashed like gleaming pieces of onyx in the sun. “You’re all going to apologize to Joan.”

There was an uproar of annoyed confusion. Miss Aragon rolled her eyes.

  “You are all going to apologize to her in front of everyone.” Miss Aragon said. 

  “And if we don’t?” Anne challenged.

  “Do you really want to find out?” Miss Aragon said scathingly. She turned and strode away from the field to go retrieve Joan Seymour from wherever she was, swathed in gleaming gold. 

The minute she was out of sight, Anne let out a roar of fury.

  “That goddamn pig!” She yelled, working herself up to a proper fit. “This is all her fault!!”

  “Let it go, Anne.” Katherine said tiredly. She carefully eased herself to the ground, wincing when her throbbing muscles pulled and bent. Relief was short lived, because Anne came charging up to her a second later.

  “Why are you taking her side?!” Anne cried.

  “This isn’t about taking sides!” Katherine cried back, a new sharpness in her voice. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you? Or to any of us?”

A few of the girls exchanged looks, seemingly only now thinking about that, while others, like Anne, looked unfazed. Katherine saw Anne’s fists clench tightly at her side, but she didn’t back down her own defense. She didn’t think Anne would strike her, but if she did, she liked to think she could take her in a fight.

  “My, my,” Anne said with sickly sweet venom in her voice. “Look who’s become the little Joan of Arc around here?” Her demeanor then switched, flaming into seething resentment, and Katherine could now see that her older cousin hated Joan Seymour with every inch of her being--simply for existing. There was no rhyme or reason, she just despised the girl. “Oh yeah, remind me. Who was in there pitching with the rest of us?”

Katherine sucked in a sharp breath, but blew it out in a sigh. “I was.” She admitted.

  “Yeah.” Anne sneered. Several of the other girls were packed behind her, backing her up, while a few, like Bessie and Maria, stood or sat in the middle, looking from the swarm of sweaty, angry teens to Katherine and then back to the swarm. 

  “But I’m sorry.” Katherine said.

Anne barked a laugh. “Sorry?” She laughed again, then turned to the girls behind her. “Hey, everyone, little Miss Perfect is sorry! She’s so sorry! Oh, Kitty’s sorry!”

  “Anne!” Maria hissed, then jerked her head to the side, where the yellow figure of Miss Aragon could be seen walking back over. The group quickly dispersed and Katherine shook her head.

Miss Aragon stopped in front of them. At her side, little Joan looked absolutely horrified. Her eyes are wide and paler than the moon in the sunlight, and she kept fidgeting like she wanted to run. She was trying very hard not to look at any of the girls, but didn’t know where else to stare, so her gaze kept shifting around everywhere in a panic.

  “Now, do you all have something to say to Joan?” Miss Aragon said sternly.

  “Joan--” Katherine stood up, gritting her teeth through the awful wave of pain that burned through her muscles. She slowly walked up to Joan as to not frighten her, but Joan still backed up into Aragon’s side anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Joan hunched her shoulders in and looked away. 

  “Maria.” Miss Aragon said.

Maria hesitated for just a moment, then gave in. “Sorry.”

  “Your turn, Maggie.”

Maggie pressed her tongue against the inside of her lip and spat an uncaring, “Sorry.”

  “Bessie.”

Bessie squinted up at Joan through the sunlight, then said, “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Alright, Anne,” Miss Aragon said. “Let’s hear it.”

  “When goddamn pigs fly…” Anne muttered stubbornly. A few giggles broke out around her. Miss Aragon narrowed her eyes dangerously.

  “What was that?” Their coach said. “We’re waiting, Anne. I can’t hear you.”

  “Please, it’s okay,” Joan squeaked, gripping onto Miss Aragon’s sleeve. She looked up at her with the saddest, most scared eyes Katherine had ever seen before. Miss Aragon gently touched her head in a form of reassurance, then instantly glared at Anne.

  “I said--” Anne growled lowly.

  “You don’t have to do this!”

Joan is in front of Anne, now, hands outstretched like she wanted to grab onto her. In the sun, Katherine could see the silvery scars on her hands more clearly, whorled in strange patterns in her skin. The light made her long white-gold hair look like it was charged with glittering electricity or made of jeweled silk. Anne looked down at her, and Joan backed up, clasping her hands together against her chest nervously.

  “Joan Seymour?” Anne said softly, stepping towards the girl. She stooped down to her height and spat, “Eats shit.”

Joan flinched backwards as if she were just sprayed with venom. Miss Aragon instantly got between her and Anne, acting as a protective shield of sorts.

  “Good news, ladies!” She announced. “Because of Anne’s comment, you will all be getting another week of detention with doubled time!”

The class simultaneously groaned, now turned against Anne. Anne clenched her fists, smoldering with rage.

  “I’m not running another goddamn inch,” She snarled, “because Joan Seymour got her period and was too stupid to know what it was.”

Joan flinched again, and Katherine had the unbearable urge to run over to her and cover her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear this. Her own blood began to boil and she glared at her cousin.

  “That’s it.” Miss Aragon said. “You’re suspended.”

That seemed to hit Anne like a punch to the gut. Her eyes bulged hugely out of their sockets.

  “What?”

  “You’re out of prom and you’re out of my class.” Miss Aragon stated firmly. “Now.”

  “No!” Anne shouted.

  “NO?” Miss Aragon towered over her, eyes ablaze. She looked ready to rip Anne’s throat out, and Katherine found that she wouldn’t quite mind seeing that happen.

  “You can’t decide that!” 

  “Watch me.” Miss Aragon said. She turned her gaze to the other students, as if she were challenging them to try and speak out. “The rest of you. Another lap. Come on.”

  “You can’t do this to us!” Anne squawked. “Someone could die of dehydration! Bessie, you have a heart condition, don’t you?”

Bessie apparently decided that she didn’t know who Anne was, because she was looking at everything but her.

  “If we all stick together, they can’t suspend all of us!” Anne said fervently. There was a spark of craziness in her eyes as she watched her group of friends crumble around her, suddenly not backed up anymore. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”

Joan’s quiet whimper begged to differ. Miss Aragon looked at Anne in disgust. 

  “Come on, guys!” Anne desperately attempted to rally them together. “Haley, Allie? Maria? Heather?” She spun around for somebody, anybody, and then her eyes landed on her cousin. “Katherine!” She strode over to her and clasped their hands together. “You’re with me on this, right?”

  “Katherine…” Miss Aragon warned.

Katherine’s heart ached in her chest. Anne was looking at her with so much desperation and need. There were flickers of love in her gaze, love for her little cousin, love that showed that the old Anne was still in there somewhere and ready to play harmless pranks with Katherine again. But when she looked right into her eyes, all she saw was Joan on the floor of the stall, crying and hyperventilating and surrounded by blood.

Her mind was made up.

  “Come on, guys,” Katherine pulled out of Anne’s grasp and jogged over to the starting line to get the last bout of Suicides over with. The others followed, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw Anne staring at her with a look of heartbreak and betrayal. 

Heartbreak and betrayal that morphed into something awful and sinister.

  “You fucking bitch,” Anne seethed lowly, wheeling around to glare at Joan. The poor girl was shaking like a leaf in the wind, practically cowering behind Miss Aragon. “I’ll get you for this! See if I don’t, you filthy pi-”

Anne’s words were silenced by a fierce slap across her face. She tottered backwards, and all the girls running stopped to gasp and ogle the scene with wide eyes. Miss Aragon was scowling and rubbing her hand.

  “You can’t--” Anne sputtered, and then yelped loudly as her collar was grabbed. Miss Aragon shook her roughly, screaming in her face.

  “ONE MORE WORD OUT OF YOU AND I’LL MAKE YOU WISH YOU NEVER SHOWED UP TO SCHOOL TODAY!!” Miss Aragon roared. She shook Anne again, then drew her in close. Her words came out barbed and wrapped in shards of glass. “Do you understand me?”

Whimpering, Anne nodded. Miss Aragon released her and Katherine watched as her cousin took off, crying. Miss Aragon looked at the rest of them and shook her head.

  “You’re all dismissed,” She said. Then, she turned, gently took Joan by the hand, and guided her back inside.

Everyone else dispersed pretty quickly, not caring enough to change clothes. Katherine, however, had to trudge to the locker room because she stupidly put all her stuff in there. When she entered, she could hear voices coming from Miss Aragon’s office.

  “Joan, sweetheart? I’m so sorry, if I had known it would have gone like that--”

  “Oh, Miss Aragon, you just have to let Anne go to the prom! You got to!”

Those were Miss Aragon and Joan. Now Katherine had to stay and eavesdrop on their conversation. She shut the door silently so as to not alert them and crept closer to hear better.

  “Joan--”

  “Prom is very important to her…”

  “And what’s right is important to me.” Miss Aragon said firmly.

  “But prom is everything to those girls!” Joan warbled. “It’s the one night they get to dress up and be beautiful! It’s like a dream!”

  “But what about you?”

Pause.

Hesitation.

  “No--” Joan said, and Katherine thought she may have been shaking her head. “Oh, no, I’m not going. I’m--I’m /different/.” 

Was that disgust in her voice? Why?

  “Not that different.” 

  “Yes, I am.” 

That was sadness and grief. 

Joan added a moment later, solemnly and slightly envious, “They all got someone…”

  “And so will you one day, things change.” Miss Aragon told her.

There’s a moment of silence. Katherine could bet a million dollars that Joan was looking at Miss Aragon in disbelief right now.

  “I tell you what. Let’s pretend--”

  “Miss Aragon…”

  “Just for a minute! Pretend that the right someone comes up to you and says: ‘Joan, will you be my date to the prom?’ What would you say?”

A beat of silence.

  “No.”

  “J--”

Miss Aragon sighed heavily. Katherine struggled not to laugh.

  “Joan, why not?”

  “I’m not--” Joan fumbled. “I’m not--pretty.”

Miss Aragon gave a tiny gasp.

  “Oh, sweetheart… Sure you are! Look--” Katherine can faintly hear her root around for something, most likely a pocket mirror. “See there? That’s a pretty girl.”

Katherine’s mind was spinning. She kept thinking “poor Joan” over and over and over again. The girl’s self esteem was so low. It was normal for people to make comments about their body, but there was a sort of deep hatred in Joan’s voice when she said that she wasn’t pretty that made Katherine think all of this ran a lot deeper than she thought.

Would there ever be a way to make things right?

[knives-out20]

I Know What You’re Thinking, Just Kiss Already - Cliff Booth x Male!OC

Fandom: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)

Pairings: Bobby Brightside (OC) x Cliff Booth, StarBeep, DeepSpace, Platonic!Geep

Warnings: Swearing, Gay shit, Heavy flirting, Nobody has a collar kink bobby’s band is just experimenting with their style, 

Notes: Two shots in one day? Yea, I’m procrastinating a handful of school projects right now. Enjoy!

Dedicated To: @mori-ohs​

Bobby adjusted his choker, looking at Gene through pink heart-shaped sunglasses. “Gene, do I look pretty?” He giggled, twisting from side to side to let his skirt waft a bit.

Gene looked down at Bobby, with a straight face. “Yes.” He grunted.

Bobby clapped, excited.

“But Peep looks better” Gene pointed over at Peep, who smirked at Bobby.

“Suck it, Brightside” Peep teased, sticking out her tongue.

“Rude” Bobby dramatically groaned, walking away. He made his way to one end of the stage, by Cliff. “Cliffy, do I look pretty?”

Cliff put his hands on Bobby’s hips, thumbs stroking his exposed skin. “Beautiful” the blond answered, Bobby’s arms around his neck.

Bobby chuckled, taking off his sunglasses so that he could lean in and kiss Cliff.

Beep turned away from the sight, tugging what was around his neck. “I hate how it’s Bobby’s turn to wear a normal choker today” he whined.

Deep exhaled through his nose, cracking his neck. “What? Doggy think collar ugly?” He mocked, snickering to himself. “Don’t be mad that Bobby has balls that you don’t, big enough to make moves on men he wants.”

“Shut up.”

Deep trailed two fingers along his black collar, down to the O-ring that held the collar together. “I think my collar’s cute. Penelope has a choker like this, except the O-ring thing hangs from it, it doesn’t hold it together.”

Beep adjusted his top, admitting “Starchild actually told me he liked my outfit earlier.”

“Ooh?”

“Mhm. ‘It looks real good on you’.”

“Ow!” Deep exclaimed, eyes going wide in surprise. “He wants Benji’s body.”

“‘Benji’s body’? You’re gross.”

“You have low hope.”

“What are you two bumpin’ gums about?” A disembodied voice asked, the tone almost instantly recognizable at that point.

Deep spun around, his skirt spinning with him. “Ace!” He greeted. “Nothing, Benji was just bitchin’ ‘bout the neck stuff.”

“Aw, c’mon, man. Lighten up, you guys look good” Ace teased.

“And,”

“‘And’?” Ace looked intrigued. “There’s more?”

“Benji also happened to mention a certain someone saying his outfit looked real good on him” Deep added

“Ooh,” Ace’s eyebrows jumped. “Say it ain’t so.”

“But it’s so, Space Ace.”

Beep grumbled, sliding away on his heelies.

Deep scoffed, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. “What a guy, eh?”

“Yea, you can say so.”

Deep flattened out his skirt, fixing the bright bandannas on his wrists. He tilted his head up, gaze following the silver makeup around Ace’s eyes.

Ace’s eye caught onto the ring holding Deep’s collar together, and chuckled. He poked a finger through it, touching Deep’s bare neck. “Weird thing y’got there. What is it, a collar?”

“Yea. Beep over there was being a grumpy puppy over it. I like ‘em, personally. I personally feel like everyone has an invisible dog collar on ‘em, capitalistic rich people dragging us by the leashes.”

Ace blinked, pulling his hand away. “Rough.”

“I know.”

“You got much money on ya?”

“Just enough to get Missy ‘n’ me by, I suppose. No one in the band has as much money as Bobby- judging by his house, and the fact he’s juggling three jobs.”

“Three, really?”

“Yea. First came screenwriting, a childhood-stemmed thing. Then came this band. And most recently, modeling. He’s got the looks for it, that’s for sure” Deep explained, watching Bobby follow Cliff across stage like a lovesick puppy.

Ace watched them as well. “Is Cliff o’er there like...a reverse sugar baby?”

“Ha!” Deep laughed. “Nah, man, rats. Broke, yes. Used to live in a dumpy trailer behind some drive-in with his dog, before they moved in with Bobby. But the Buddies have known Cliff almost as long as we’ve known Bobby- except Monte over there, Bobby’s childhood friend. And ex-”

“Ex?”

“Yea, so is Damien. But that’s another story. Point is, we know Cliff. And Cliff ain’t a gold digger. He just drives around ‘n’ looks cool when he isn’t being somebody’s stunt double.”

“I’m learning more from you than I ever could in school, Deep.”

Deep laughed in an airy tone, shrugging. “I’m just yakking off, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, man” Ace ruffled his hair. “The more I know about who I’m sharing a stage with, the better, right?”

“I guess so” Deep agreed. “He could pull off a collar, too.”

“We could always ask Cliff-”

“Man-” Deep guffawed, shoving Ace’s arm. “Don’t do that to me, gross!” He fake-vomited, causing Ace to laugh.

“Drama Queen” Ace insulted.

“Well DUH, what do you think the ‘D’ stands for?”

Ace didn’t reply, but rather grew a sly, long grin.

Deep’s lips parted slightly, feet shuffling. “Nasty man.”

“‘Nasty man’?” Ace shook his head in disbelief. 

Deep licked his lips, dismissing the topic. He fixed the frills on his white top, feeling like- in Maria’s words- a ‘slutty pirate’. In his defense, a black dog collar, a frilly white button-up, some dark pants with smart holes in them, a couple bandannas on his wrists, and heeled black boots should fit the procedure pretty well, right? 

Maria was also able to do something with his face to make it look a bit dirty, but like strategically dirty.

Ace did help by messing up his hair, too.

Deep stretched his arms, Ace seeing his skeleton hand tattoos.

“That must’ve hurt” Ace commented, sucking his teeth.

“Ah, a common thing for tattoos” Deep held up his hands, clenching and relaxing his fists. “I look cool, though, don’t I?” He asked, tattoos reaching from his wrists to just below his fingernails. 

“Obviously, man” Ace scratched the back of his neck.

“Cooler than you?”

“Don’t push it, dog boy.”

“‘Dog boy’, eh?” Deep giggled, tapping his collar. “What, that the best you could come up with, Spaceman?” He teased.

Ace towered over Deep on his boots. He smirked, hooking two fingers around the ring on Deep’s collar and pulling Deep towards him. Ace looked directly down at Deep, their faces obviously much closer than ever before. “Would you prefer any other dumb nicknames?”

Deep’s eyebrows raised in interest, eyes going big. “Only if y’got any suggestions, Ace” he flirted, face slowly relaxing. Deep balanced himself on the tips of his feet, short hair falling back due to how his head was tilted directly upwards, at Ace.

Ace chuckled softly. “Our bands are collaborating, Derek. Everything has to be a team- if not partner- effort.”

“It takes two to tango” Deep reminded, finger gesturing between Ace and himself.

“Maybe so” Ace whispered, testing the waters that kept the border between flirting and playful banter with a buddy.

Deep felt a hint of a smile on his face, gaze up at Ace a gentle one, hopefully not openly loving. “Anyone ever tell you y’look weirder up close?” He joked.

“You lie, Derek” Ace poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, “it pains me.”

“Aw, rats, whatever shall I do to make it up to you?” Deep purred, tongue tracing across his teeth. 

“Could trail m’hands up your skirt like a girl.” Ace suggested, painfully unaware himself if he truly meant that as a joke or not.

Deep assumed it was the first option, and thought nothing of it. “You do that, and I’ll mess up your makeup” he told, two fingers trailing across the broad shoulders of Ace’s costume.

“Oh yea?” Ace asked, condescending.

The two stayed like that in silence, eyes and grins soft.

Beep broke the silence as he rolled by. “Quit flirtin’, you two. Soundcheck’s in five.”

Depp watched Beep slide off, and rolled his eyes. “Party pooper.”

Ace quickly pulled away, hands on his sides. “Y’got that right” he nodded.

The two looked at one another, feelings bubbling up from under their strange outfits.

Ace departed first. “Deep.” He nodded, turning to walk away.

Deep nodded back at him. “Space Ace.” He returned, the two parting ways on the stage.

[kweebtrash]

forthenight (M)

Pairing: Johnny x Reader

Genre: stripper!Johnny, pwp, one shot

Summary: I literally just wanted to write cute smut about Johnny and he so happened to be a stripper with a heart of gold and a dick that would leave anyone wanting more.

Features: blowjobs/eating out, making out, grinding, one night stands, cute and kind of slow sex, slamming that headboard against the wall, reader is shy and awkward because lmao same

Word Count: 5.5k+

Masterlist

I sighed as I exited the club, grateful to be rid of the smell of sweat and spilled alcohol. My friend had decided it was a great idea to host her birthday party at a male strip club and she was already wasted. I didn’t like babysitting drunk people especially when they were starting to get obnoxious. I wanted to go home but also didn’t want to be a buzzkill. I decided that a few minutes outside might recharge my social battery and I could proceed to pretend I was having fun. I leaned against the rough brick of the building and let the semi cool night air wash over me. Though the music of the club was still blaring it was much quieter outside and I was able to feel a bit at peace.

My loneliness was interrupted as I heard the metal door open. A man stepped out in nothing but a leather jacket and tight jeans on, his deep chestnut hair slicked back with sweat. I recognized him as one of the dancers who had been grinding on my friend just an hour or so before. He was beautiful to say the least and I think I had shyly tucked a dollar bill into the skimpy underwear he had been wearing. I watched his long fingers snap at a lighter and ignite the end of a cigarette that dangled from his lips. He took a few puffs, exhaling a little at a time and propped himself against the wall similar to how I was. It was awkward being so close to him and not speaking but how did I speak to a stripper? I mean they were humans too and not just entertainers but I was afraid that I wouldn’t have anything interesting to say. Would I flirt with him? Or ask him about the weather? Both options seemed like they would lead me down the road to embarrassment.

“So, are you the bachelorette or the birthday girl?” He seemed to be reading my mind and thankfully started the conversation.

“Oh…neither actually. I’m with a birthday girl but just as support. Mostly being D.D. I guess.” I replied.

“Well that isn’t fun. Though not being a plastered idiot is a rarity here, it is appreciated.”

“I’m sure you get tired of the ones grabbing onto you without permission and getting too rowdy. That’s how my friend is now and I just needed a break from it all.”

He nodded and hummed in agreement. “Yeah once my set was done I needed a break. It’s too hot in the dressing room and I’m sweating my ass off.”

“Shouldn’t you take off your jacket then?”

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “So you are trying to see me naked.”

“No!No!” I said, my cheeks flushing vehemently. “I mean I have seen you mostly naked already but like… the leather would just make you hotter. It’s cooler out here.”

He chuckled and it was like melted chocolate, absolute music to my ears. “I’ll get there. So what are your plans for tonight?”

My eyes zoomed up to meet his. “W-what?”

“Are you going to stay here or go home? They can like take an uber.”

“Oh…as much as I would love too, I’d feel bad for leaving them. It looks like i’m stuck here for probably another hour or so. I’m hoping to chorale them.”

“And then after you get them home what are you going to do?”

I looked at him a bit confused but also curious. “Why do you want to know? Planning on following me and killing me?”

He flicked his finished cigarette away and stepped a bit closer to me, propping his hand against the wall. “No, of course not.” He shrugged. “Just that…you’re pretty cute.”

I rolled my eyes, believing that he was totally joking. “Yeah, right. I’m sure you’re literally required to say that to all your customers. I’m not special.”

“I think you are. What’s your name?”

I sighed. “Look, to be honest I don’t have that much more money for tips and I know you got a job to do. I don’t blame you at all but you don’t have to fake flatter me. It’s cool. I can ask my friends if they have more.”

“So, you think that all I want is money and to please women I don’t care about?” He said, eyes narrowing a bit.

I realized how poorly worded and offensive it came out. “N-no, i didn’t…i mean like…you’re an entertainer and I figured that’s what you were getting at. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He pushed himself off the wall and grabbed the door handle, ready to head back inside. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Just as he was about to leave I moved towards him, setting my hand on his arm. 

“Wait,” I introduced myself. “What’s your name?”

“Johnny.”

“No, like your real name.” I giggled.

“Johnny.” He said again.

“Oh…fuck. Then what’s your stage name?”

“JSuh. It’s nothing extravagant.”

“JSuh? Aren’t you supposed to be like Honey Rumpshaker or something.”

He covered his mouth as soon as he started laughing. “What the fuck?! Who would be named that!!”

“I don’t know! The girl strippers are usually like Cinnamon and like Diamond Sparkle or whatever! I didn’t know if it was the same for guys!” I tried to hide my face as I now felt like a complete idiot.

“You are seriously cute. Not just because I’m paid to say that. I like girls that can make me laugh.”

“Oh…well I’ve proven that I can make a complete fool of myself, so laugh away.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I guess I better get back inside though. We’ve got like a finale set that we do so I’ve gotta get ready.”

I didn’t know if I should really ask but I jumped the gun anyway. “Wait…why were you interested in what I was doing after I dropped my friends off?”

He turned towards me fully and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, chuckling a bit. “I think you should know that already. And before you ask, no I don’t hook up with clients that often. It’s pretty rare actually but…” He shrugged. “I’m definitely attracted to you.”

“Soooo….you want a one night stand?” I asked. I always needed things spelled out for me when it came to any sort of flirting, relationships, hookups, anything. I was usually in disbelief that someone would give me the time of day thanks to my lack of confidence and I never imagined that a stripper would ever be asking me to hook up with him. But I found myself wondering what his lips felt like, what he tasted like, and how good he would feel inside me. From what I saw earlier while he was dancing everything seemed to create the illusion that he was good in bed, especially with those body rolls and floor grinds. I had never been jealous of a floor in my life but tonight was an exception. I swallowed my nerves and put on my front of confidence, accepting the fact that I was going to do something so brand new and out of my comfort zone. It was daring and exciting and I was definitely going to get my idiot friends home as fast as possible now.

“Yes? I figured you’d turn me down though, You seem like the goody two shoes type.”

“I am not!” I lied. “In fact, I’m down for it.”

His eyes widened in surprise but a sinful smirk crossed his lips. “What’s your number? I can text you whenever you’re done tucking your kids into bed.” Johnny pulled out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it over to me to input my number. I did and handed it back to him and he immediately called me.

“Why are you calling me?” I asked.

“So you have my number too. Just text me if you’re gonna blow me off at least.” He opened the door and held it open for me to walk through first.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure I won’t.” I placed a quick kiss on his cheek, unsure if that was even flirtatious enough. It seemed more childish than anything and I rushed back to my friends to grab them and get them home. There was no way I was going to let them ruin my fun now.

–

Getting them back to their respective houses was the biggest clusterfuck ever. I had to deal with puking, taking clothes off, screaming, and dragging them into bed so they wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of the floor. Johnny was right, they were basically children and I was so ready to clock out from my babysitter shift. Once I was sure they weren’t going to choke on their vomit, I finally got home. It was late, almost past 2am and I wondered if Johnny would still want to come over. I was getting tired but my need to fall into lust was enough to send him a message to see if he was still interested. He didn’t answer right away and I didn’t expect him to but the suspense was killing me. I decided to shower to refresh myself. I reapplied some makeup so I could give the impression that I wasn’t half dead and tired. As I came back into my room I saw a few replies from Johnny and my heart thundered against my ribcage. He was ready to come over. He had finished his shift about an hour ago and went home to shower as well. It was a breath of relief and I texted him my address.

The wait seemed forever and I tried to calm myself from feeling too eager. Maybe it was the nerves that were taking over. I hoped I was good enough for him. It had been some time since I was last with someone; work, life, school, everything got in the way. I had no time for any relationship and instead focused on the important things in life. I did deserve at least one night of debauchery since the initial party for my friend was a bust to me. I flopped back on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. Shit, did I even still have condoms? I shot up and frantically ran to my dresser to see if the box was still there but there was a sudden knock on my door. I froze in panic as my brain shut down for a moment. I thought about continuing to look but I knew I would make a mess for sure. Obviously I still had to answer the door and the second round of raps shook me out of my funk. I sped over to it, fixing myself so I didn’t look frazzled and took a deep breath before opening the door.

His eyes raised up to meet mine and he pushed his hair back, the totally normal motion making my knees weak instantly. He wasn’t even wearing anything special, just a white t shirt and jeans, but for some reason it made him ooze sexiness and confidence. It could have been because I was more desperate than I thought or it could have been that he was actually bound to drive me crazy. “Hey.” He smiled, his perfect teeth shining between those plush lips. That voice got to me again and I wiped the sweat from my palms on my pajamas shorts.

“Hi.” I laughed nervously and stepped aside to let him in. He sauntered through the door frame and looked around at my apartment. He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and turned to face me.

“So…”

“So….um…” I figured he was going to take the lead being that he offered to do this in the first place. "Where do we start?”

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“What? Absolutely not.” Was I giving off that vibe? How did I show that I was a mostly experienced adult?

“Then what do you mean ‘where do we start?’ You know how this goes…” He wasn’t trying to be an asshole per say, but rather just confused and as tentative as I was.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some sex god or something?”

He snorted. “Oh my god, where did you possibly get that idea from? I’m a stripper, not a porn star.”

I wanted to facepalm myself. “I keep saying the wrong thing and I don’t mean to, I swear. I guess I’m just nervous.”

“I am too now that you think I’m supposed to be a sex god. Thanks for that by the way.” He smiled and nudged at me a little. He was trying to make me feel better and didn’t even seem to be judging me which I was thankful for.

“You don’t have to be a sex god, I promise. Just…” I set my hands on his chest and leaned into him, closing the space between us in mere seconds. His hands left his belt loops and instead held onto my waist, keeping me flushed against him. His lips were just as perfect as I imagined they would be- soft, warm, absolutely amazing at turning me on. He took his time too, exploring every inch of my lips in soft pecks and longer presses until he gave my bottom lip a light nip. My fingertips dug into his chest as I parted my lips, letting him carve out pleasures when our tongues collided. Each stroke and small suck against mine made my body ache more and more and I was already wanting to take him to my room. I was edging him back with careful steps, trying to guide him towards my room, but with my eyes closed and being distracted by his heated kisses, his thighs hit the armrest of my couch, sending him into the cushions with me on top of him. “Oh fuck!” I cried out.

He just laughed and adjusted himself, his entire body filling the length of the couch completely. “It’s cool. I’m a klutz too." 

"I’m sorry! I was trying to get you to my room and-”

“It’s fine,” he stopped me. “Let’s just stay here for a bit.”

I fiddled with my hair and nodded, hoping that I didn’t ruin the mood too much. I pushed along, trying to recover, and wiggled between his thighs. The center of his jeans seemed to be a bit more filled out than before. I set my hands on his waist, my fingers dancing around the button of his fly. I could feel him staring, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in an almost innocent way. He was waiting for me to snap out of my stupor and pull away the fabric that separated my mouth from him. I finally unbuttoned his jeans and edged the zipper down. He hooked his thumbs within the waistband and slid them down, moving his legs around me to get them off completely. My heart almost stopped when I saw the dark boxer briefs and what laid beneath them. “Jesus…” I whispered.

He grabbed my hand and guided me back to his lips, making me straddle him. The center of my shorts was flush against him now and I could feel the slight pressure against me. “I’ll only be as rough as you want me to be.” He whispered.

I combed my fingers through his soft hair, pushing it back slightly. “Don’t worry about me, I think I know what I want.”

“Then maybe you should lead and I’ll follow.”

I pressed my lips together and grabbed his hands to settle them back on my hips. I started rolling them, creating more friction between us like misguided teenagers trembling with the prospect of getting off. He kept control of the pace while I zeroed in on his lips again, diving my tongue in to feel his warmth and hunger. He let out a soft groan and pressed his fingers into my ass, increasing our speed ever so slightly. I kept my hold on his hair, curling my fingers and pulling every once in awhile and following it up with sweet scratches and caresses. He would respond to the pulls, bucking his hips and leaving me breathless. I parted from him to gulp down air and he took the opportunity to toss his shirt off. Now that I was able to touch him on my own and take my time I realized I wanted to toss caution to the wind and mark every single inch of him. I crept my kisses from his lips down to his neck, slipping my teeth beside his adam’s apple. He jerked away quickly.

“As much as I would love to, I can’t. No scratches, bites, or hickies.”

I pouted. “Well…that’s no fun.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Part of the job, but I can definitely do it to you. Leave a little calling card for you to remember me by.” He slipped his fingers under my tank top and nudged it up to my chest.

“You have to make it memorable first.”

“Oooohh, really now? That’s how it’s gonna be? I see how it is.” He said as he jerked my top upwards and I moved my arms out of it. “What’s the sudden change of attitude, hmm?” he teased.

I slid off him and started walking towards my bedroom, trying my best to entice him. “You gonna get over here or what?”

Johnny practically jumped off the couch and sprinted towards me, making me giggle. I tossed off my shorts and crawled onto my bed, pulling him to the edge. I placed kisses from his chest, down to his stomach and over the outline of his cock through his underwear. I heard him exhale above me and settle his large hand into my hair to keep me close. I peeled away his briefs and let him free, swallowing hard as I saw him fully. See him in that barely there outfit at the club left little to the imagination but seeing him hard and needy now had my stomach filled with fluttering butterflies. I gripped his base gently, guiding him to my lips. I poked my tongue out and licked around his head, dipping the tip into his slit. 

He let out a soft grunt and relaxed into my touches while I struggled to take down more of him. My mouth was already much too full but I hollowed out my cheeks as best I could, adding firm pulls to what my lips couldn’t reach. I could tell he was trying not to force his hips forward but the tension in his thighs gave away his struggle. With my free hand I traced up the length of his torso, gripping his firm pec and leaving behind the faintest of scratches. I didn’t mark him though I still wanted to. His hand came to rest over mine and I felt his lips against my fingertips. My eyes opened and I looked up at him surprised by the tenderness of his action. He only smirked and wiped the corner of my mouth with his thumb when I released him. “Cute.” Was all he said.

My cheeks flushed at the praise and buried my face against him, concentrating on laying open mouth kisses and soft sucks to his balls. It seemed to elicit a pleased reaction as his hand gripped my hair harder and his breathing quickened. I took one between my lips and tugged against it with my tongue, giving generous licks in between. I paired it with steady massages and gropes, bringing him to rise on his tiptoes just a bit. He folded his fingers into mine while the hand in my hair shifted to grab onto my shoulder. I thought he was trying to support himself but instead I was pushed back flush against my mattress. He crawled between my legs and settled by the center of my thighs. Instead of giving me attention right away, he took his sweet ass time decorating my inner thighs with long kisses and shallow bites.

I noticed his hand was still tangled in mine and he was squeezing every so often, usually when his teeth sunk into me. My heart lurched at the warmth he generated and I could barely hold in the soft moans he was bringing out of me. He hadn’t even touched me where I needed him the most yet and I already was becoming all too greedy for my liking. He swerved around me once again and instead brought his kisses up my hips and to my stomach, laying bites by my ribcage. When he reached my chest there was no end to the attention he gave my nipples, bringing them between his teeth to nibble slightly or suck deeply to make my back arch against him. While I was distracted by the intense kisses his fingers managed to slip between my folds and explore how turned on I truly was.

I pressed my lips to the back of my hand to suppress a gasp when two of his lengthy fingers dove into me. He pumped them slowly at first, curling the tips every so often and exploring sections inside me to see what would give me the most pleasure. My own fingers trembled as they wrapped around my bed sheets. I was desperate to find a way to calm myself; there wasn’t any reason to let go so soon. I wanted to savor every moment I had with him. It felt so good to have someone else touch me after so long that I never wanted it to end. His touches were pure energy and I had forgotten all about my tiredness and instead focused every thought I had on the way the first dip of his tongue rolled over me.

My hips squirmed against him and he settled an arm over my waist to keep me in place. It didn’t phase him at all and he continued coaxing more of my wetness out of me and working soft circles against my clit. He mixed in heated kisses and flicks and I finally moaned out his name, louder than I would’ve ever thought possible. He practically growled into me, yanking the back of my thighs to sit on his shoulders and letting his tongue take over where his fingers were seconds before. My toes curled against the center of his back while he seemed perfectly content having my thighs quiver around his head. He pulled out of me and switched to long licks from my entrance to my clit, hungrily carving out new ungodly tremors of pleasure within me. I rolled myself against his tongue, meeting every lick and silently begging for him to eat me out until my mind went numb.

He set a gentle kiss on my clit and I could feel him trying to edge away. My hand dug deep into his locks and kept him close, pleading for him to continue. He chuckled, the soft puffs of air adding to my sensitivity, and took my hand in his. “I promise I’ll be right back.”

I groaned and tossed my head back onto my pillow, wondering what was so important that he needed to stop just when it was getting to the good part. I realized that he was most likely getting a condom and almost kicked myself. Well, duh, idiot. I adjusted myself in bed, contemplating getting under the covers or not. I pulled them to my chest just as he came back and sat in front of me. “Why are you hiding from me now, hmm?” He teased with a gentle smile on his face.

“I’m not hiding.” I lied. “It’s just a little brisk now, with the window open and all.”

“Mhm, brisk. Sure.” He pulled the blanket away from me and slipped between my legs. “How about you hold onto me instead? I don’t need you trying to cover up anymore.”

I bit my lip and bowed my head towards his chest in an attempt to hide. I settled my arms around his neck while he rolled on the condom and pulled me close. Our eyes caught each other for a moment and we exchanged small smiles before we met again for a slow kiss. As he baited me with his perfect lips, his hand moved between us, guiding him towards my entrance. He pressed in slowly, stopping as he heard me wince a bit. “Are you…okay?”

I nodded and shifted beneath him. “S-sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m pretty patient and can go all night.”

“Oh…”

He chuckled nervously. “I didn’t mean for that to come out as cocky as it sounded.”

I eased my hips down onto his tip, flexing my walls against his girth. “W-well, if you can live up to that then I’m all for it.”

He set his hands on my hips and pushed in deeper, inch by inch until he disappeared inside me completely. I clutched onto him tighter, curling my legs around his back. He placed kisses across my cheek and towards my ear. “I can live up to it.”

The first few thrusts were slow and steady, getting me used to his girth that seemed to stretch me more than I was prepared for. I guess going for so long without any physical connection with someone made it a bit difficult for him to plow me into oblivion like I wanted. I closed my eyes and let him cover my neck with kisses and bites that trailed to my breasts. His tongue rolled over my nipple again, gathering it between his lips and letting out a soft moan. The sound of his arousal vibrated through me and I clutched at him tighter. “Please,” I begged. “M-more.”

His hips snapped then, a rush of pulling out almost completely and forcing his way back in to make my body arch against his. I rolled my hips in time with his thrusts, burying my moans into his chest. His hands curled around my waist, lifting me slightly to work himself deeper. My legs tensed as he hit where I needed him the most. The slight curve of his cock pressed into my walls, every contour and vein adding onto my impending orgasm. I wanted to hear more of his soft pants and groans that decorated my chest. He bit into the swell of my breast slightly and I grabbed a chunk of his hair, tugging hard and blaring out that he had hit something so beautifully electrifying within me.

I was trying desperately not to mark him, my fingers flexing to stop my reflexes. I tried to keep them in his hair. He seemed to add a particularly hard snap of his hips when I pulled, a delicious and quiet moan coating my ear. He was buried beside my head, not looking at me any further but I wanted to see how perfect those honey brown eyes looked when they were filled with lust for me. I grabbed his chin and forced him to me, pressing our foreheads together and reaching my tongue out to slide into his mouth again. To my surprise he lifted me then, keeping inside me as he trapped me between the wood of my headboard and his body. He gripped the top of it while he plunged rougher than before. My throat was starting to feel just a bit tender from moaning out his name so much but this was driving me wild.

My legs splayed to the side as the wood clattered against my wall with each rock of the frame. My breath was barely able to escape my lungs as my body clenched around him, tight and suffocating as I needed him at that perfect spot. He took the hint and focused on it, working through my clamped walls until one final thrust sent me over the edge. My knees dug into his sides as my body tensed in pleasure and he seemed unfazed by it all. He kissed me hard, digging his free hand into my hair and pulling me close. His blunt nails burrowed into my scalp as my hips felt so utterly tainted with bruises. He was ruining me, all in the name of getting off and I craved to feel his warmth within me.

He let out a harsh curse, shoving the headboard back hard and stilling within me. I felt the throbbing and the flow of him emptying into me. His torso trembled just a little and he went back to his safehaven of my neck, that unexpected shyness returning. It was strange that he could practically ruin my bed yet hide from me. Just like he hadn’t wanted me to cover up before I wanted to see the flushed look on his golden skin. I nudged him towards me for a few gentle kisses that bought out a cute and dorky smile that made my heart fumble to keep a perfect rhythm.

“What do you have against my headboard?” I teased.

“Well currently, you.” He smirked. “Seems like you enjoyed it.”

“Very much so.” He surprisingly kissed my forehead before he pulled out, rolling off the condom and tossing it into the nearest trash can.

“Do you mind if I have a smoke?”

I shook my head as I crumpled down to the mattress, wanting to rest my sore body. “Have at it, hun.”

He smiled and got out of bed while I closed my eyes and fell asleep faster than I had intended.

–

I rubbed my eyes and yawned deeply, annoyed at the bright sunlight spilling through my blinds. I had forgotten to close them last night as I was letting fresh air in and regretted it. I propped myself onto my elbows and noticed a heaviness beside me. Johnny was face down, buried in a pillow with his limbs splayed everywhere. I didn’t expect him to stay over but it was a little endearing that he did. I gave him a soft kiss between his shoulder blades and got up from bed, pulling on the robe that was hanging on the back of my bedroom door. Coffee was a necessity and I worked to brew a pot as fast as possible. It was only a few minutes into me deciding what I wanted for breakfast that I heard the creaking of my kitchen tiles. Johnny was standing in the door, a sleepy look still on his face and hair an absolute mess.

He had tossed on his jeans carelessly and yawned loudly. “I didn’t mean to stay over, so sorry about that.” His voice was still raspy with sleep.

“Don’t worry about it.” I bite my lip and reintroduced myself, figuring he might have thought I was unmemorable.

He gave me a confused look. “Trust me, I remember. I don’t think I could actually forget.” His attention turned towards the coffee pot. “Mind if I have some before I go?”

I quickly grabbed a mug from my cabinet and poured him a cup. “How do you take it?”

“Black is fine.” He took the cup from me and blew over the liquid a few times before taking a sip.

I scrunched my nose up in disgust. “I don’t know how you do that.”

He shrugged. “Use to it I guess. I have plenty of long nights.”

“Ahh, right the dancing, duh.”

“That’s only on the weekends and a day or two during the week. Mostly I stay up all night grading.”

“Grading?” My interest peaked. “You’re a teacher?” I was definitely surprised.

“Mhm, well student teacher getting my hours in. I teach photography at the art college downtown.”

“Holy shit.” I whispered. “Sorry! I didn’t mean it like that! I just…”

“Yeah not all strippers want to do this for the rest of their lives, you know. I want to quit soon but I just need the money to keep up with bills. It started as a joke but I had a friend at the club and he roped me in. Been doing it for a couple years now.”

“Wow, that’s…that’s really cool actually. The photography thing. I mean the dancing is cool too! I’m sorry. I’m still half asleep but always an idiot.”

He chuckled. “Nah, you’re totally fine. You’re cute when you’re flustered.” I almost turned away to hide my blush like a schoolgirl at the playground. He set the mug down on the counter and sighed. “I should be heading out now.”

“O-oh, right. That.” I didn’t want him to leave but I had to understand that this wasn’t a fairy tale and he wasn’t going to be my prince charming. “It was nice meeting you.”

Johnny bit his lip then chuckled a bit. “Definitely. Don’t lose my number ok?” He left the kitchen then, heading back to the living room to finish getting dressed. Did he want to hook up again? I wanted to ask him directly but the front door opened and shut before my brain could make my body move. I sighed as I rested back against the wall. Maybe for the night he was some sort of prince charming…or at least a sex god.

[jafndaegur]

The Dark Sentencer and the Blood Sacrifice

“You’ve Entered a Hell where the Devil is made of gold—please don’t run your mouth. The questions before have no place in this haunted house.” - Coheed & Cambria 

 Trigger Warning: Violence

This is my entry for day one of @mmangstweek​. This is sort of my take on a superhero universe, and the story will over-arc for the whole week. It is going to be incredibly dark, but per the guidelines, I will tone back any sort of gratuitous things that could be triggering (especially since gore and abuse are not allowed), however I do have certain devices needed for the plot of this story. I will always tag the beginning with any trigger warnings. Thank you for reading!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* ✧

A quivering gasp flooded from MC’s mouth as she retched, her cheeks and mouth sticky with tepid vomit. Her body curled in on itself and she opened her eyes slowly, her head ringing with trembling reverberations. Cold tile cradled her limp form and even as she struggled to push herself up to her arms, her sense wobbled as if trying to regain themselves. Power tingled at her fingertips and she had to reel in her breathing as her heart staggered in her chest.

She couldn’t remember where she was. Why she was there.

Sight bounced throughout every inch of the room that she found herself in. A plain bed. A tall set of lockers at the back of the room. To her left, a near empty desk save for a computer screen and an accompanying desktop tower. In front of the keyboard, a small pink Nokia with a sticky-note on it stuck out like a sore thumb in the otherwise dully colored room. Pushing her hands against her sternum, MC tried to steady herself. A small prick of surprise laced at the back of her mind when she honestly wasn’t all that concerned with the fact that her memory was about as patchy as a crocheted doily, and apparently her skin was too. Her eyes narrowed at the scars that lined her hands from the tips of her fingers all the way to her wrists. The long sleeves of her beige sweater stared just about there, and pushing up their lengths, she took note of the fact that the seemingly incessant blemishes didn’t stop at her wrists. She rolled the sleeves up as far as she could. She lifted the bottom hem to her sweater. She looked down at the parts of her legs exposed from her shorts.

Scars, scars, scars. Large and long gashes. Thin, needle-made slashes. Deep gorges that looked like splatters. There wasn’t an inch of her body not covered in wounds. At least that she could see.

Her knees practically threatened to buckle as she pulled herself to her feet. She hobbled around the puddle of puke and made her way to the turned off monitor. Her face reflected was plain and simple, unlike the rest of her, it was unmarked. Skin stuck between a sickly blanche and a pale jaundice, she didn’t particularly care. But the fact that scars seemed to suddenly stop mid-neck drew her attention. Her lips quirked downward into a frown. Surely such mutilation like this wasn’t her choice? She doubted she was masochistic enough to enjoy carving up her body like some Thanksgiving turkey carcass.

Taking the phone into her hands, she flipped it open to find that she was already logged into a chat room. It asked for a code. She took the sticky note from the top half of the device and copied the numbers that had been chicken scratched onto the paper. A small beep signaled that she was in. Any curiosity that she’d had about the mysterious phone and the mysterious place and the mysterious her died in her throat when the machine in her hand was suddenly bombarded with a string of texts. Her hand clenched the Nokia tightly, her fingers turning white at the pressure.

¡707!: “SomeonebrokeintoRika’sapartment omg omg omg omg!”

MC’s eyes narrowed. R…rika? That name startled a surprising amount of rage and aggression. Heat flooded her chest and her brows furrowed together as her jaw pulled taut. Fingers clenched around her throat and—

Zen: “How can you be sure?”

¡707!: “What do you mean how can I be sure, I’m staring at the CCTV—oh.”

Jumin Han: “Oh? Should we not be addressing the authorities?”

Zen: “Look silver-spoon boy, who would be better than the authorities? Us. Duh. Besides, anyone other than us really isn’t supposed to be there. Ah this kid…”

Y✧✧sung: “Wait Seven, what’d’ya mean that—”  

¡707!: “She’s…watching us!!!!!!! ;A;”

MC’s stomach dropped and she wondered what a person was supposed to do in a situation like this.

Jumin Han: “Should I seal off the exits so she can’t get away?”

Panicking, MC hurried to type in a response. Sealing the exits off didn’t really sound all that great of an option. Oh god, were these people going to kill her? Secret apartments and forgotten memories—what where they, a fucking mafia? She regretted ever having woken up. She should have just asphyxiated on her own bile.

Zen: “I’m on my way now, standby. Let’s see what this punk has to say!”

MC: “Hey! Hey please, I’m just as confused as you guys…”

Y✧✧sung: “Ack! It speaks!!!”

MC: “IT?”

Jumin Han: “A likely story. I will take care of this myself, Zen is taking too long, per usual.”

MC: “No, really I’m—”

The window’s and the front door at the front snapped and shattered with a flash of lavender light. MC fell backwards, a scream tearing at her throat. Her hands slipped on the slick floor and her legs landed in the waste mess she’d made earlier. Standing there, wavering like an old VHS recording, was a very tall and very angry man.

He was dressed in a fine suit, with a fine tine, and a fine pressed pocket square. His raven hair swirled back and forth, as if he were carried by the wind, the short tail of his jacket fluttering likewise. He reached out, light crackling at his fingertips.

“Explain or I will not take your offense lightly.”

MC stared up at him, finding she really couldn’t say anything.

His lip curled and he snarled. “Did you break in to steal information? How about money. Did you would find something as simple as money here? Your idiocrasy as a thief and getting caught is quite blatant.”

Her throat clenched and her body threatened to vomit again.

“If you won’t speak, I will tear it from your mind myself.” The man growled.

T-tear it from my mind? MC recoiled.

Like a ghost, he flickered out of existence only to reappear right in front of her, his hand grabbing for her face. She rolled out of the way with a yelp. Thoughts racing a mile a minute she tried to think of a way to get out of the apartment—only to slam into the lockers at the back. Her body shuddered, and skin broke. Her elbow was scraped and a small smear of blood through the tear in her sweater.

Heartbeat shuddered and faint wisp of a memory knocked at the edge of her mind.

“MC, MC, MC—my precious little scapegoat.” A knife. “Just make a wish.” Her belly, it was open. Her belly had been cut open. Oh, oh, oh. Oh help, p l e a s e, someone— “It’s not fair you got to live a fairly happy life. A few nicks? Some genie made wishes? Please. What a joke.” Someone tilted her chin up and trailed the tip of the blade in disgustingly sensuous circles along her collarbone. “I sentence you to make others happy. That’s what you wanted, right?”

When the man lunged again for her, MC felt her entire body go limp. I wish I was anywhere but here—I’d even take my chances with that Zen guy…

Wind buffeted her form and within the second it took MC to blink, she was suddenly tumbling through the sky. No apartment. No apparition. Just her, blue open sky, and the ground increasingly approaching her. A scream should have been what escaped her mouth, but instead, only a laugh. She wailed and giggled like some sort of lunatic. Her arms and limbs flailing as her zoomed past skyscrapers and office buildings. God why did she think she could help. Why did she always seem at any moment to fail over and over again. Happiness, what a joke. She couldn’t compete with her Sentencer, she couldn’t compete with the body that constantly tried to use itself against her. In a sense, this was better though, she guessed. A power like Blood Sacrifice was one she didn’t want any more, one she didn’t—

Eyes rolling back into her head, MC barely caught notice of a strong pair of arms wrapping their arms around her waist as beautiful silver wings stretching through the sky. A concerned voice. Vermillion eyes. Her body snapped at the impact of being caught mid-fall, and she swallowed her tongue, vision going black.

-*:･O･:* -

“MC!”

She turned around and smiled, waving eagerly to the curly haired blonde approaching her. The woman was thin and slender, her brown dress hidden almost entirely underneath a white lab coat. Emerald eyes narrowed, and curved brows arched.

“How’s therapy going?” The woman smiled, and gently took MC’s wrists into her hands.

A light blush dusted across her nose and MC suddenly felt extremely self-conscious of the hospital gown she wore.

“The tests aren’t hurting you too bad, right?”

“You better be careful. People might think you’re biased.” MC nodded. “I think out of all of us, you treat me the nicest, Rika.”

MC stared out, past the large glass wall that sealed off the rest of her cubit. The only one who knew how to enter and exit the room was Rika. Not that it mattered to her. She never ever wanted to leave. Down a long narrow hall, other glass walls glittered like a sea of ice, and even though her eyesight wasn’t the best, she could make out the fleshy blobs and colors of the other test subjects from behind their translucent little cages.

[maxfieldparrishes]

shake the bones

Part IV. Insomnia is a bitch. 

(read on AO3)

The night air is chilly, but Kallen pays it no mind as her feet take her wherever they please.

She stumbles as the side of her foot comes down hard on a seam in the pavement, but she rights herself and finds her footing, running on with wild abandon into the night. Tokyo does not sleep and neither does she, no matter how tired she feels or how heavy her eyes are and she's come to learn that, when these agonizingly slow nights find her, there's nothing she can do but meet them where they are.

She runs past her favorite corner store, past the train station that takes her to school, towards the river, dodging those in her way. Most of the passersby are drunk and smiling, turning to look at her with bleary, glassy eyes as she sprints past them. One group has a man who shouts after her, but she forgets about him as she pushes herself into a sprint to make a light.

The park is full of shadows when she arrives, and the only sounds she hears are traffic and night birds, just as she wanted. The Shibuya river is a trickle, a narrow canal compared to the width of the Kano and the estuaries where she'd grown up, but there's something soothing about being near flowing water. Kallen takes a minute to take in the sight of the Shibuya, the lights of the city glinting on it through the trees, but then her restlessness seizes her by the throat and she has to run again.

She has two options: run until she vomits, or scream at the top of her lungs for an hour straight. Running doesn't bring the cops or piss off the neighbors, so that's what she chooses.

Kallen remembers all the trees in Izu. Beech, black pine, cedar--cryptomeria, she remembers Naoto had called by its Latin name. She remembers Naoto taking her into the woods, a little girl with coltish legs and too much energy, quizzing her on birds. As she runs, she pushes herself to recall as many as she can: Pacific loon, greater short-toed lark, Japanese skylark... She takes a ragged, gasping breath--barn swallow, Pacific swallow, Japanese waxwing--and tries to ignore the burning in her calves. Japanese thrush, Eurasian tree sparrow, Japanese bush warbler, and she falls to her knees, hard, in the middle of the path, rolling off to lay panting next to a cypress tree.

She wonders where that little girl went. Kallen is sure she doesn't know.

Kallen raises a fist and pounds it against the tree trunk, the rest of her body still. Whatever it is that hovers over her, she can't fight it, and she can't outrun it. All she wants to do is run until she collapses, to push herself, feel nothing but strain until she forgets herself.

There's something bubbling inside her, water or lava, she doesn't know. Geyser or volcano?

Kallen raises her hand and wipes sloppily at her face, smearing snot, sweat--and are those tears?--but she stays laying where she is. Hopefully, no one will come by and question why there's a young woman laying on her side under a tree, in a deserted park, at three in the morning.

She gives herself five more deep breaths, then she'll get up. Otherwise, she has an utterly bizarre feeling that whatever possesses her on these nights is going to drag her back home, face down on the pavement, by the nape of the neck. It's not rational, but it motivates her to move when otherwise she'd just lay there, blinking and sleepless, until the sun comes up.

Kallen pushes herself upright, sighs, shakes the dirt and leaves from her hair, and begins her run back.

-

When she sees her apartment complex, Kallen slows herself into a jog for the last few blocks. Her street, so busy in the morning, is silent and still now, the few lights peering out from the windows muddied and dim. But soon, she knows, there will be a slow trickle of people, then a flood of them, as they all rush out to make their way to school, or work, or wherever it is they're going.

She had left Lelouch asleep on the sofa he had moved, and he hadn't stirred as she tiptoed past and silently shut the door behind her. Hopefully she can return and slip inside, back in her room, without waking him; if she's really lucky, her door won't squeak at all.

Technically, she's supposed to use the main entrance. But the service door is easily wiggled opened, and it's far closer to her apartment than walking all the way around to the front of the building. Kallen slips inside, jogs up the stairs to the fifth floor, trying to remember all the while why she wanted a fifth floor unit (a little bit bigger and a private bathroom), and sticks her hand down what passes as the pocket of her leggings to find her key.

Slowly, incredibly carefully, she inserts the key and presses it to the inside of the lock, making sure to maintain the pressure as she twists it open, and then takes the knob in her still-sweaty hand and twists that too. Kallen tiptoes inside and turns to press the door almost silently shut, bracing a knee against it as she turns the lock to the "closed" position, not noticing that the small lamp on her bookshelf is on. To be fair, the light from said lamp is super dim, so dim that if she turns it on in the daytime it's almost like it isn't on at all.

"You know, for a woman who's so deadly in a Knightmare, I'm surprised you aren't more aware of your surroundings outside of one."

Kallen leans her head back and closes her eyes. "First of all, save it, because I'm not in the mood. Second of all, you were asleep when I left."

"I was." Lelouch stretches his legs out in front of him, sweeping them to the side to sit fully up. "I think I just missed you. I heard the door squeak and by the time I fully woke up you were gone."

Damn that door. "Well, I'm back, so you can go back to sleep," Kallen says, moving to take the yoga mat from its spot under the side table and unrolling it in front of the television. "This doesn't make much noise." But as she starts her post-run routine and goes into Downward-facing Dog, stretching out her hamstrings and back, she notices that Lelouch is staring at her, and his expression is... unamused.

"So this is it, then?"

"What are you talking about?" she asks between deep breaths, pedaling each foot before stretching her heels down to the ground.

"Are we not going to talk about the fact that you decided that three in the morning was an excellent time to go for a run?" Lelouch sits up straighter. "Where did you go?"

"One, I'm an adult and I can run at three a.m. if I want to, it's none of your damn business," Kallen responds, "and two, Shibuya."

"You ran to Shibuya?"

"Yes, Lelouch, I ran to Shibuya," she says, lowering herself into Cobra, keeping her breathing rhythmic. "Most people are capable of running. Some of us even enjoy it." Kallen finds it in her to be amused by his glower.

"Fine, fine. You can do what you want," he says, with an airy sigh and a wave of his hand, "but why?"

Crap. "No other time to do it," she says, after one beat too long, and she knows that Lelouch knows she's lying. Kallen hopes he'll drop it, and decide it's too early in the morning for an interrogation, but death hasn't made Lelouch any less ruthless.  

"Really. So you do this every morning?" he asks. "This is your routine?"

Kallen pushes herself back into a runner's lunge. "Just drop it."

Wrong thing to say. Lelouch has never let anything go in his entire life, both the first half and the second. "What's going on?" he asks, and there's genuine concern underneath the irritation, and that little hint of concern pisses her the fuck off.

"Nothing."

"Kallen," he starts, his tone even and so annoyingly rational, that she comes out of her forward fold with a vengeance.

"What?" she snaps. "You want to know why I ran? Because I can't sleep and I can't stay here all night and stare at nothing. So I go for runs. I don't want to stay awake, but I can't sleep. I don't... I don't shut off. I never have. When this kind of night hits me it's just... there's really nothing else I can do but run."

Lelouch is staring at her again, slightly shell-shocked. "Do you have trouble sleeping a lot?" he asks.

"Don't psychoanalyze me," Kallen snaps again. "Do you think I have trouble sleeping?"

"I wouldn't really know, considering I've been... dead," he says, "but I'm going to go with yes."

"A-plus, here's a gold star." Kallen starts to roll up the mat. "Now you know."

"Yes," Lelouch says, "and the question is, what are you going to do about it? You can't function like this."

That stops her dead in her tracks. "What am I going to do about it? I have tried everything. Valerian root, melatonin, benadryl, everything. What are you going to do about it?"

He doesn't have an answer ready for that. Lelouch has always had a plan for everything, but he cannot fix Kallen, just like he couldn't fix Nunnally, or C.C., or Suzaku. He cannot make her better. When the world was wrong, before, he had fixed it. But this is different. "What about seeing a doctor? There are options for medications," he asks, resisting the urge snark back at her.

"Pills are out of the question." Kallen waves her hand. "You get one guess as to why."

"Right." Lelouch blinks and puts his elbows on his knees. "So... that's it?"

"That's it." Kallen stows the mat underneath the side table. "Nothing else to do about it. Not right now, anyway." Turning her back on him, she says, "I'm going to take a shower. You should try to sleep," and goes off without a backwards glance.

He had tried to stay awake, but the light was still low and the night still held sway outside, and the sound of the shower running provided the white noise he liked, and he had fallen back asleep before he realized it was happening.

Lelouch had wondered about the shadows under Kallen's eyes when she first picked him up, but chalked it up to her grueling schedule, as she had told him when they arrived. Now he knows better.

When he woke, Kallen was gone, and the clock told him it was well before the time she needed to leave by. Lelouch wonders if she had slept at all. He doubts it.

He needs her to help him, but Lelouch think he needs to help her first. Kallen is loyal, honest, one of the strongest people he knows, but she is struggling. Neither is she happy, and though it may be self-centered, Lelouch's first thought is that he didn't die and come back to life for her to be miserable in the new world they helped make together.

His second thought is that there's no food in the apartment. Lelouch grabs the apartment phone, the sticky note with Kallen's cell number, and leaves a voicemail with a grocery list.