#her hair used to be straight and long with a small little rectangle of hair inbetween her horns and it just ruined the triangle shape

[ozymoron]

here have a sketch thing i did of my oc with her new haircut since i, like, never post my art

[pvffinsdaisies]

Ireland Headcanon Masterpost

Artwork drawn by @nordickies

Part three of creating master posts for my interpretation of certain characters & nations. This time we’re doing the lovely miss Ireland! Who has been occupying my mind a lot recently. Before we get into it, I want to say that I have not been developing Ireland for even half as long as I have been every other character I have. She’s been a floating concept in my mind for years, but I only actually started to develop her properly last month. For most of the time I’ve had her, she’s just been a pretty face and a name, and I’ve been having so much fun actually exploring her. If you enjoy reading her information, I’ve also made posts for Scotland and my OC of Northumbria, both of those posts are going to be much longer than this one is.

I want to emphasise that I am no history expert, and I do not even wish to be associated with historical hetalia. However, as I am from England, it means I am treading a very fine line with my portrayal. That being said, if anyone from Ireland sees this post and takes issue with anything I say here, I encourage you to reach out and correct me! I am still learning, and, as I’ve said before, my portrayal is still very new.

PHYSICAL

Ireland stands at about 5’5, or about 165cm. Making her about the average height for an Irish woman. She still gets teased by Scotland for being “short.”

She has pretty small features. Small, green eyes, a tiny little button nose, and a small mouth with thin lips. She is very pretty, but she still looks quite approachable.

She has long, beautiful ginger hair. It’s pretty wavy, her natural texture is 2c, but she styles it pretty often. Her siblings have always loved to tease her about her hair- the colour and texture- so she’s pretty insecure about it.

She’s very good at styling her hair because of this, though she’s no longer a massive fan of fancy up does. She insists she’s no good on hair that isn’t her own, but she taught most of her siblings how to do at least a plait growing up.

Ireland is covered in freckles, from head to toe.

Her skin is naturally very pale, but it’s also very sensitive, and can turn red pretty easily. She always has to be careful about the stuff she puts on, or else she’ll come out in a rash.

She has a tooth gap between her two front teeth, it represents the River Shannon, the longest river in Ireland.

She has a rectangle body shape, although she used to be a bit curvier when she was younger.

Once rounder and softer, her body still hasn’t returned to how it looked before the potato famine of the 1800s. Her size is far healthier now, but she’s still quite thin and boney. Ireland is not her ideal size, and wishes she could gain a bit more weight to feel more comfortable.

That being said, her bottom is actually pretty plump. Representing the mountains that lie around the edge of Ireland.

Whilst she does like to wear make up every now and then, she’s actually pretty bad at it. Her application can be patchy, and she’s not the best at matching shades. It’s nothing you’ll notice straight away, however, and she genuinely does feel prettier when she wears it.

She has the Triskelion, or the Celtic Spiral Knot, tattooed on the inside of her upper, right arm. The symbol has different meanings depending on who you ask, but she had it tattooed to represent the continuous of life, and moving forward. It was also just a way for her personally to show that she will never, ever let her culture be stripped from her.

PERSONALITY

Ever the extrovert, Ireland is friendly and welcoming to everyone she meets. She has a natural ease about her, and a remarkable ability to make people comfortable around her quickly. Within 2 sentences, you could easily feel as though you’ve known her your entire life. Like you’re laughing and joking with an old friend.

Much like her brother, Scotland, Ireland is remarkable at comedy and making people laugh, she firmly believes a good sense of humour goes a long way. Her humour is a bit more lighthearted and witty than the rest of her siblings.

Ireland shows her affection through teasing and sarcasm. It’s how she jokes with her friends, and the more she teases you, the more she likes you. It could come across as mean, but her tone is usually playful enough to not cause harm.

Her culture truly means everything to her, and she loves sharing it with people. She actually loves meeting tourists, she loves telling them stories of her people, and she actually isn’t opposed to sharing her past with them. She will proudly gives them ideas of other places in Ireland to visit, and things to do, she hopes that everyone who takes the time to come visit leaves happy and smiling, having had a fun, interesting and informative experience.

However, she is also extremely protective and defensive of herself, her culture and her past. After years of oppression, being ignored and spoken over, who can blame her? She isn’t too appreciative when someone speaks on her behalf, she doesn’t like other’s sharing information without consulting her directly. She is vocal, and not afraid to step up and correct people, and put them in their place.

Empathy is where Ireland truly shines. Easily feeling and immediate connection with and understanding for those going through hardship. She will always be an advocate for the underdog, for those whose voices are not being properly heard. She longs to provide the compassion, and the feeling of having someone in your corner, that she lacked when she was suffering.

That being said, she can be very judgmental, and she’s a huge gossiper. She usually attempts to soften it by saying something like “and, god love them” or “god, bless their heart” or “but who am I to judge?” as though she’s not just been talking shit for the past hour.

Ireland cannot hide her feelings, and she doesn’t see the need to. She’s very open when she’s happy, upset, angry etc.

For as open a person as she can be, she still hasn’t quite processed her hurt and her negative feelings correctly. Choosing to brush it off, and pretend she no longer cares. She can grow very resentful because of this, but she absolutely refuses to accept this may be a problem.

Ireland can be feisty and fiery if need be, she knows how to defend herself and she will! She’s never been shy, no matter what, and she won’t let someone walk all over her. She never has, and she never will go down without a fight. She prides herself on this.

Ireland is extremely laid back, she’s not prone to jealousy or possessiveness, and she’s certainly not over-protective about anything. She doesn’t see the point of trying to cling onto someone, it all just seems pointless.

HOBBIES

Ireland is creative mind, and one of her best skills is gold-smithing and her ability to work with metals. She prefers to make her own jewellery, and she loves making fancy and intricate broaches especially. However, she mainly does smaller projects now, as her workshop is merely a cleared out space in her basement. She’d love to find a bigger place to rent out.

You will rarely ever find someone who’s a better storyteller than Ireland, she truly has a way with words. Be it short stories, poems or songs, she excels at it. She absolutely loved to share her stories with her siblings when they were growing up.

Music means a lot to Ireland, she wouldn’t know who she is without it, and as well as writing songs, she also sings. She doesn’t have the best voice, but it’s pretty and melodic. It’s soft and calming, and she has fine technic. But it’s certainly nothing special.

She also plays the harp, which she’s very skilled with.

Ireland loves a party and celebration, and she always goes all in. She seemingly never gets tired, or never needs to go home to rest, she can just keep going.

On a calmer note, she also loves just sitting in a pub and having a few casual drinks. Doesn’t need to be a celebration. She especially loves a proper Irish bar, and she almost has a sixth sense where she can find one wherever she goes.

Speaking of bars, Ireland is pretty good at snooker. She’s no hobbyist though. She and Scotland are at pretty much an equal level, and they’re the only two in the family who stand a chance of beating one another.

She loves a good walk around the countryside, and she’s always driving out of the city to have a stroll. Though she will constantly complain about the sheep blocking the road.

She does boxing, though she’s still a very low level beginner, and definitely not good enough to go up against anyone yet. It was a hobby she picked up a few years back, to try and help her build some strength and muscle.

As well as sharing her own, Ireland absolutely loves taking the time to learn about other cultures of the world too. Every time she has a meeting in a foreign country that she doesn’t visit too often, she tries to see and do as many cultural things as she can outside of work. She absolutely loves travelling.

She adores animals, she firmly believes they’re smarter than humans give them credit for, and she loves to draw them! She’s not the most skilled artist, she really only does sketch work in a sketch book. She rarely attempts to colour in, or smooth out the lines.

Ireland’s favourite, and her comfort show, is Father Ted, she puts it on whenever she’s upset. Without fail, it will always make her laugh, even if she’s seen every episode about 1000 times already.

Ireland enjoys knitting, alongside some of her other family members. She pretty much exclusively knits all of her own cardigans herself.

LIFESTYLE

Ireland uses the human name Saoirse Ó Raghallaigh, which later got anglicised to Saoirse O’Reilly. Between the use of these different spellings, she was forced to take the name Kirkland for a time. She changed it back following independence, but used the new spelling to help blend in with her people.

Irish is her first language, and she is determined to help keep the language alive. She offers tutoring lessons for people (Irish or not) to learn the language. Unfortunately, she’s not the best at teaching.

Alongside Irish, she also knows English, ISL (Irish Sign Language), Latin and BSL (British Sign Language). She knows a little bit of Manx and Scottish Gaelic.

Saoirse currently lives in Dublin. She used to own a farmhouse, but following independence she decided it’d be best to move to the city. She sometimes misses her old house, and you’ll catch her reminiscing on it. She doesn’t hate city life, though.

She is incredibly family oriented. If you ask Saoirse, family always has and always should come first. As the oldest, she helped raise all her siblings the best she could. She always felt closest to Northern Ireland and Scotland when they were growing up, and whilst she & Scotland are still close to this day, things with N. Ireland have been better. Their relationship has recently been… strained, to put it nicely. Saoirse is still waiting for the day when they can be close again. She never has and never will stop reaching out.

Ireland does not have any pets. However, for most of her life, she had a Wolf friend who would always find its way back to her no matter where she travelled. She did not own this wolf, it was free and was part of a pack, however, it was supposedly immortal, like many hetalia pets. It was killed in the 1700s. Ireland has a picture of it that she drew herself hung up in her living room.

In terms of religious beliefs, Saoirse would describe herself as “Catholic Pagan.” She might get some strange looks from foreigners who hear this term, but her religious beliefs combine both Catholicism and Celtic Paganism. She believes in the Lord, and in Jesus, but also believes in and sees traditional folk creatures. She seeks guidance and truth in tales from both religions.

Out of all of her siblings, Ireland is probably the worst driver. She usually is not in front of the wheel when someone else is in the car, because they don’t feel entirely safe in the car when she drives.

Saoirse is so bad when it comes to procrastination. She’s perhaps too laid back in that aspect. She doesn’t like to rush anything, and will continue to push back things she needs to do until she can actually be bothered. If anyone calls her out on it, she’ll blame the weather, saying something like, “have you seen how it’s raining out there? It’s not fit to do anything!”

She has a small fairy friend who lives at the bottom of her garden, named Órlaith, who likes to sneak inside the house and cause trouble when Saoirse isn’t in. Otherwise, you can sometimes see her fluttering above her shoulder. It’s not uncommon for the pair of them to gossip together about certain people they meet.

You’ll never not see her without a cup of tea. She perhaps has too much of it, drinking multiple cups at home, and taking some out with her in a travel mug if she’s going somewhere. If she’s visiting someone, she’ll be sat waiting to be offered a cup of tea. She drinks the most out of the whole family, which drives england nuts. She’ll get grumpy if she doesn’t have a cup of tea on a morning.

[party-gilmore]

...well, I managed to get to literally JUST BARELY before the actual smut starts, so please enjoy this unbetaed 2k word teaser prologue of "demi/grayace Parker doesn't feel like she's Enough for Eliot without Hardison around, so he sets the record straight."

Set during The Hurricane Job, because who gives a damn if the ep is even OUT yet, am i right? XD

“Room 236.”

“What was that?” Eliot hums. His voice is muffled beneath the heavy, sopping weight of his jacket as he tugs the damn thing over his head. His shirt peels off right along with it, so he just shucks the whole shebang in the generic direction of his luggage. He’ll have plenty of time to see to it properly tomorrow - the storm will have them trapped at least another day. With a groan, he stretches out his bad shoulder. It’s not quite dislocated again, but it’s not quite right either. Two nimble hands sneak up from behind and flit their way over the shoulder blade, one bracing against the wet neck of his white tank top while the other presses swift and hard on the joint - and ‘pop’ goes the weasel.

Eliot flashes Parker a pained but soft smile through the old dresser mirror, but it falters when he catches her eyes peeking over his shoulder. There’s a look in them he isn’t familiar with, but doesn’t think he likes.

“Park-” he starts to turn around, but she manhandles him back away from her and shoves her hand into the back pocket of his jeans. No small feat tonight, they way the rain has soaked and damn near suction cupped them to his ass. “H-hey, woah, alright there darlin’, slow it down a bit,’ he chuckles, reaching back to feel for her, but she’s already hopping back and flashing a small, colorful rectangle at him.

“Room 236,” she repeats, flipping it around her fingers like a coin. Eliot frowns. They’re in room 225, just down the hall. They’d found what the crooked cops were after with time to spare, so there was nowhere left to search. Why then, would he still have a room key for-

Oh. He reaches back and pats the offending rear pocket, flushing as he remembers Marshall Shipp’s parting flirtatious wink and accompanying gentle smack on the ass as they’d parted ways a half hour ago. He hasn’t exactly been… discouraging her interest. It's felt good that women are still interested in him even as he’s put a few more miles on, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the attention - especially from someone as 'his type' as Maria.

Well, what used to be his type, at least.

He shoots a sheepish, apologetic grin at Parker. Maria’s ‘interest’ was quickly becoming ‘intent,’ and now Eliot needed to find a way to nip that in the bud sooner rather than later.

“Damn, I should’ve noticed the reverse lift,” Eliot clears his throat, toying with the edge of the pocket absentmindedly. “She must’ve slipped it to me after we completed the radio broadcast. I was uh, distracted by our success I guess.”

“Bet that’s not all she’d like to slip you,” Parker’s voice takes on a bit more of a playful tone for a moment. Cheeky, teasing. It feels like solid ground.

“Hey now,” Eliot teases back, starting to undo his belt, slow and deliberate, as he begins toeing out of his boots. “I can’t help that I still ‘got it,’ darlin’. I can think of a couple folks I know offhand that might like to, uh… 'slip me a little something' right now, 'specially since I'm properly alone with one of 'em for the first time since-” The only problem is, he forgot how damn difficult these boots are to get off on a good day, let alone when soaked through with salt water. Swearing under his breath, he abandons his attempt at being suave to sit at the end of the bed and fumble with the ties. He should know better than try to look cool for either of his partners nowadays. It never works out quite right, and he’s starting to get to the age where he doesn’t even see the use of that kind of posturing anymore himself. They’ve seen him at his worst already - mentally, physically, emotionally - so what would be the point, really? On top of that, he may make a fuss about his ‘cool points’ in front of Breanna, but he knows Hardison’s sneaky ‘dorkification’ process he's been slowly contaminating Eliot with over the last decade is almost complete. He's still drawing the line at DnD, but he doubts that'll last much-

“...or, if you wanted, you could go let her slip it to you.”

Eliot is too caught up in his own head to really register the suggestion at first. He's busy ruminating on how differently his younger self would be handling this whole situation - all smooth moves and hot edges, shucking off clothing with a kind of casual grace.

‘Yeah, those days have long passed,’ he thinks, hunched over and fighting the waterlogged leather of his boots with fumbling, aching fingers. He gets the first one yanked off his foot less than gracefully, wincing at his ankle’s unsubtle protest, before what Parker said finally processes.

Slowly, he sets his singular boot the side and shifts enough to face her. Parker’s tone didn’t hold any bitterness or bite, just nervousness and a bit of resignation. She isn’t looking at him, but out the window, arms wrapped tight around her midsection in a way he hasn’t seen her do in a while. She bounces restlessly on her heels. There’s a clear energy inside her looking to get out. The thunder rumbles lowly through the suddenly silent room, murmuring a warning through the curling reverberation in Eliot’s gut.

He starts out gentle. Easy.

“...now why would I wanna go an’ do somethin’ like that?” Sometimes it’s easiest to bring things to Parker head on, and she’ll respond in her usual stark, frank manner. Just lay it all right out in the open to be picked apart. This isn’t one of those times. Eliot can read that much in every restless tap, every rapid twitch of her eyes to some place else in the room, any place that isn’t him.

“She’s your type, isn’t she?” Parker’s voice is a higher register than it should be, but not quite into her panicking zone yet. That’s a start. “She’s badass, sexy… passionate.”

Eliot notices her leaning heavy on that last word, and frowns.

“So are you, Parker.”

“Not in the same way!” She turns a bit, still looking outside, but her arms unwrap from herself to gesture between them. “Not the same way you and Hardison are!”

It’s quiet for another beat. The white noise of the hissing rain against the window settles into the room with a steady, thrumming tension. Eliot doesn’t jump to demanding clarification like he might’ve done a decade ago, doesn’t snap and tell her to stop beating around the bush. He’s learned that Parker tucks away all the information he needs to understand in every phrase, no matter how inane or incongruent it may seem. So Eliot holds his tongue and chews on the words for a while.

“Me and Hardison, huh?” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and rubs his jaw in a performance of pensiveness. The movement draws Parker's attention and she finally looks over to him, following the back and forth of his fingers. He presses on, carefully. “Thought we were talkin’ bout me and the marshall. What’s Alec got to do with this?”

“Because he isn’t here!” Parker breaks, not enough to falter or crumble but enough to say what's on her mind before she can overthink it. "He isn't here and it's different! I can feel it! I'm not-" she fumbles her words for a minute, just waving between them again. "-all passionate about the whole sex thing like he is!"

There's that word again. Eliot knows where to go from here, at least. It's all about that word. He stands up, albeit a little awkwardly with one foot still in an inch high boot.

"Sure it's fun and I like it sometimes, but not like you two do! Alec balanced me out, could give you what you needed! I'm not… by myself, I'm not enough for… for y-..." Parker cuts herself before she can grow any more manic, bunching her face up and looking away again like she does when trying to stave off any waterworks before they can start.

Eliot can see her closing up again as her words fail her, but that's alright. What needed to get out made it out. He can take it from here. He hobbles over in his awkward, single-socked gait until he's close enough to take her shoulders in hand, but he doesn't pull her in for the hug. Not yet.

"Now I want you to listen to me, and listen good." Eliot makes sure his tone is firm, but gentle. Parker responds the way he'd hoped - still not looking, tilting her head down, but leaning toward him. Into his space. Receptive, and ready to hear him. "Yeah, it feels different. That's cause you and me? Are different from me and Alec. We're always gonna be. 'That makes us, us,' remember? Just like that's different from you and Alec. It's all part of 'us,' yeah, but it's… we got our own thing, Parker. And sure, we might like it best when it's all three of us, just because we love him so, so much, yeah?"

He lifts one hand from her shoulder and tucks a bit of hair back behind her ear, giving her a chance to respond if she wants. Parker murmurs a quiet "yeah," and steps in a little closer. Eliot tugs her in the rest of the way now, assured that she's open to the touch. She pillows her chin on the shoulder she fixed, and Eliot lays a light kiss to the outside of her ear before continuing in a lower voice.

"So… we miss him, when he's not here, and we don't have the 'all three of us' thing right now. That doesn't make our thing, the you and me thing, any less good. It doesn't- Parker, you're so much more than just enough for me. You're who I need... especially when we don't have Hardison. Don't ever doubt that."

"I'll try," Parker turns her head and mutters it into the crook of Eliot's neck, and he loves her all the more for it. It's better than any empty promise of 'I won't,' because he knows the honesty of it. Knows it's not just an empty platitude of 'I'll do it,' but the vulnerable admission of 'I want to, but don't know if I can.'

"That's all I ask, darlin'."

Because it is. That's all Eliot ever asks of her. To try. Never demands that she change, never insists she should be thinking of herself differently or more kindly than she does. Just that she tries to.

"Now. About this whole 'passion' thing," Eliot sighs, pulling back so he can do that thing he does to Hardison that Parker loves to watch him squirm under, but likes it a lot less when it's turned on her. That thing where he ducks his neck and tilts his head and looks up at her through his hair with that serious, intimate look that makes her want to run because he for sure can see all of her secrets like this but also want to sink deep into that comforting gaze and never leave it. "I don't know where you got this idea that you're not passionate from, but-"

"Yeah, but it's not-!"

"The same?" Eliot cuts off her half-hearted attempt at argument. "Course it's not the 'same' as us, Parker! You aren't us. So, you… you don't lose yourself in it the same way me and Hardison do, okay? Him and me, how we get high off each other, the way we act... so you don't do that. That's fine! That’s only one type of passion, darlin'. You can't tell me,” he lets his hands skim down Parker’s arms until they meet her own palms. “That the way you focus so damn hard on taking us apart - taking me apart…”

Eliot brings Parker’s hands to his hips, and her fingers start to fidget with the hem of his shirt. Anchoring herself with the ribbed texture of the tank. Starting to explore up his stomach the way Eliot knows that Parker knows he likes. She’d ferreted that one out of him ages before they’d even thought up this whole ‘you and we makes three’ train. He lets his voice go a little breathy, a little raspy, makes sure she notices how she's affecting him. “-the way you always know exactly how to do it, piece by piece, single-mindedly pulling me apart like a damn puzzle, Park… you can’t tell me that ain’t some kind of passion.”

“Yeah, but that’s just the same way I steal stuff,” Parker giggles a little, the familiar flutter of Eliot’s sides under her deft fingers grounding her and soothing some of the unease. He’s right about this. How she knows what to do with him. How good she is at it. But that’s not anything special, it’s just-

“Exactly, Parker,” Eliot is trying to walk them back toward the bed, but it’s not really working out well. Between his having only the one boot on and Parker actively seeking out the ticklish bits of his belly that make his knees go all wobbly when she scrapes her nails down them, it’s comical enough to startle another giggle out of her. Or it’s a sob. Or it’s a hiccup. Or it’s some weird combination of all three, she isn’t really sure, but it doesn't seem to really matter either. The sound is whatever it was, just like she is whatever she is.

“It's just like that. Just like how you plan your next score. And that’s your Thing. Like me and food, Hardison and his nerdery... Do you realize how that makes me feel? Knowing you treat me like a heist? Like the thing that you let define you?”

“Yeah but that’s not a sex thing, it’s just a me thing.”

“It doesn’t matter that it’s not a sex thing, Parker, it’s your passion. Your Thing. Yours.” Eliot finally makes it back to the edge of the bed and drops, pulling Parker into his lap. He guides her wandering hands to his chest so she can feel the rumble in his voice as he growls.

“Darlin’, you treat me like damn masterpiece. Like I’m standing smack under a spotlight in the middle of the Louvre, and the only thing in the world that matters to you is how you’re gonna pick through my security piece by piece until all that’s left under your hands is a canvas stretched tight as it’ll go and a picture meant only for you and the people you choose to see it."

Parker’s nails scrape against the skin of Eliot’s collarbone as her fingers instinctively curl in, wanting to grip take steal hold climb, and he barely restrains himself from throwing his head back in a moan. He needs to make sure Parker’s in the right place first, before he gives himself over to his own wants.

“Wow,” she whispers, damn near reverent now as she looks down at him. There’s a dawning in her eyes that tells Eliot they’re alright. That they’re gonna be good. That it’s okay to pull her tighter and ask her to go ahead and steal him again tonight, since he knows her rigging is secure.

"I can't imagine anything more passionate than that."

“Uh-huh, ‘wow' is right,” he laughs breathlessly, and reaches up to take hold of her chin. It’s a light grip, barely any pressure where he between his thumb resting on the front and the rest of his fingers curling around under her jaw, but she lets Eliot guide her down until their lips touch. Not kissing, yet, just touching. His mouth moves against hers as he speaks, tongue briefly darting out to wet two pairs of parched lips. “-so tell me, why the fuck would I want to go to anyone else?”

“Maybe if you got some bad advice,” Parker murmurs, voice strong and confident again for the first time since they wrapped up the con. “From someone who didn’t realize she made you feel that way?”

“Hmmn, that could make sense,” Eliot hums back, resisting the urge to roll up against her in wet jeans that would only serve to chafe rather than provide any of the friction that having Parker in his lap always makes him crave. “If someone could help me get this damn boot off, maybe I could get to work making sure she’ll never forget it?”

[werenotadulting]

Routine Procedure pt. 2 & 3

(Hello friends. Before we continue, a disclaimer. This story is intended for mature, 18+, kink-friendly audiences. This post contains sexual content.

This story may seem, uh, pretty fucked up. The product that caused Mike's incontinence is purely fictional, but the story can still seem plausible within the realm of reality. Which makes the actions of the characters....well, pretty fucked up. I don't want to spoil the story, but I will leave with this.

Aren't we all, in our own way, a little fucked up?

I'd woken up as we turned onto our street.

"Hey sweetie. We're almost home."

"Huh, wh-...where are we?" I blinked a couple times, my eyes adjusting to the light.

She took my hand in hers. "You're in the car, on the way home from the hospital. There's something I need to-"

Suddenly I was wide awake.

"Oh man, I had the weirdest dream. I was in recovery and all the sudden the doctor is going on about how something went wrong, which is crazy, right? Like it was the easiest of surgeries, so it's not like something could ever go wrong."

Kate just stared straight ahead as she pulled into our driveway.

"Let's talk inside."

────────

"You have to remember to check it every couple of hours, Mike. I can do it for you if want me to."

I glared at her.

"Jesus Kate, don't you think I know that? It's bad enough I have to wear this stupid thing, but you don't have to keep reminding me like I'm some kind of child!"

Was I overreacting? Maybe. Did I have every right to be upset about what I'd woken up to in the hospital? Absolutely. Did Kate deserve me taking my anger out on her?

No. She didn't.

I took a deep breath, counting to ten in my head.

"Okay, listen. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you, I just...I feel like my life just got turned upside down. You're only trying to help and....I'm sorry," I finished lamely.

Kate, noticing my shirt had become tucked into the back of my pull-up, pulled it out.

"I understand, Mike," Kate said, looking at me with sympathy. "You didn't ask for this, plus that whole thing with the clause in the paperwork. There's not much we can do but move on and learn to cope." She stood up, smiling at me. "But on the brightside, no medical bills, plus they're offering to cover the cost of whatever supplies you need. I'm going to be here every step of the way, helping you out however you need it."

Despite her positive outlook, I wasn't swayed. "Oh, sure, great." I laid the sarcasm on thick. "I get to spend the rest of my life peeing myself. The brightside is oh so blinding."

"It was a really long day, babe," Kate said, hushing my attitude and moving behind me as she started to rub my shoulders. "What do you say you take a couple of those sleeping pills, zonk out for the night, and see what kind of fresh perspective tomorrow brings, huh?"

Sleep did sound like the only brief respite I was going to get from this hell.

"If you'd like, I can check you during the night to see if it need changed. That way you can just sleep and not have to worry."

"Umm no, it's fine. I just put it on, so it should last me overnight. You'd probably only wake me up anyway. Thank you though," I said, giving her a small smile. "I'm glad at least one of us is handling this well."

────────

It wasn't until around midnight that Mike finally got comfortable enough to sleep. As Kate looked in on him, she could see that he was still a little restless, tossing and turning as if having a bad dream.

For a brief second she had second thoughts, but quickly shoved them aside. No, she wanted this. Mike needed this. She had waited so long. It was for the best. She looked down on him lovingly.

"Sleep well, my sweet boy. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be just as interesting as today was."

Even when he took sleeping pills, Mike was notoriously a restless sleeper. And she may or may not have poked a couple holes in the pull-up. Mike didn't bother to check, and why should he?

After all, accidents happen.

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

Part 3

Cold.

The first thing that hit me was how cold I was.

That didn't make any sense. I'm in bed, I shouldn't be cold. I grabbed the covers to push them back and immediately realized why I was cold.

The bed, the sheets, the comforter, all of them, were wet.

"Shit."

I saw then why the bed had gotten wet. No. Soaked.

Tossing and turning in my sleep, the pull-up, I presume, had not stayed in place. Meaning the bed had gotten soaked. Meaning I had gotten soaked. Hence...

"Shit."

Kate walked out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel with a second around her body.

"Hey babe. I had to get up to get cleaned off, because I was covered in...well, yeah. Are you okay?"

I got up and began balling up the sheets and bedspread. "Oh I'm just peachy. I pissed all over myself like a baby last night, so that was fun. I also will continue to piss all over myself no matter what I do, and I'll be stuck doing laundry every day for the rest of my life!"

I threw the bedding on the floor in disgust. Kate took my arm, tenderly, and stopped my tantrum.

"Hey, listen. Strip down, and go take a shower. Take that stupid thing off, get out the loofah, and scrub. I don't want you coming out until you're good and relaxed, you hear me? I'll wash the sheets." As she was saying this, Kate was already moving to take the mattress protector off of the bed.

"No, Kate, stop. You don't have to-"

"Get. In. The. Shower."

"But..."

"NOW!" I can only describe the look she was giving me as domineering. I'd never seen her like this. "Don't make me ask again."

Sheepishly, I began to disrobe.

Kate's voice returned to its normal, caring tone. "Once you're all washed up, meet me in the living room, please. I want to talk to you about something."

────────

Kate was sitting on the couch when I walked out. She pat the cushion next to her, indicating she wanted me to sit down.

"Mike, sweetie. I want you to listen to me without interrupting, okay? And please remember that all I'm saying comes from a place of love and wanting you to be happy," Kate said, her big hazel eyes looking at me imploringly.

"Umm...okay, sure yeah. What's up?" I sat down next to her.

"First, I wanted to reiterate that I understand how frustrated you must be right now. But I don't want to be the target of your outbursts. It's not fair." She paused, looking at me, and I just nodded that I understood.

"Second, I think we both can see that the whole pull-up thing isn't working. I don't want another surprise like last night." Here she stopped again, turning to grab something from behind the couch. She pulled a plastic package out and set it on her lap.

"The hospital gave us these to try if the... if we wanted to try something different," she said, pulling a white rectangle out of the package. It made a rustling sound as she grabbed it.

"Is that a....I am not wearing a diaper!"

"Mike, please, stop. Just listen. You said you wouldn't interrupt." She moved the package back to the floor, keeping the diaper on her lap.

"I'm just asking you to try, for both my sake and yours. Please?"

She didn't continue, so I took that as my cue that I could speak, but I didn't know what to say. I sat in silence, thinking, for what felt like hours.

She had a point. I had slept terribly, which was likely to make me even more irritable. But on the other hand, could I really stand to go through the embarrassment of wearing a diaper? Although I suppose it is preferable to having wet pants. I couldn't imagine the humiliation I would feel if I were to leak all over myself in public.

Finally, I broke the silence.

"I've....I've never had to put on or change a diaper before..." I said finally, hanging my head.

Kate perked up, that smile I loved hinting on her lips.

"I can help with that, babe. Just at first, until you get the hang of it. And if they don't work, we will move on to the next thing, okay?"

"Are you sure d-diapers are the best option?" I had to struggle to get the word out. "How do you know they will help?" I said, unable to take my eyes off of the plastic object on her lap.

"For one, pull-ups are pretty much already diapers. We'd just be changing them even more often."

She picked up the diaper and stood up, pulling me by the hand.

"Second, judging by the fact that I'm going to have to clean that couch cushion, I'd say we need to at least try something."

────────

"Lift up so I can slide this under you."

I obliged, holding my butt up in the air as I lay on the freshly cleaned sheets. I tried to look anywhere but at Kate.

Kate unfolded the diaper, fluffing it slightly. She positioned the diaper under me and I lowered down onto it.

"You know, this doesn't have to be all bad," she said, as she picked up a bottle of baby powder. Why did we even have baby powder? Where did that come from?

"Oh, really? Explain to me what about having my girlfriend change me into a diaper isn't all bad." I continued to stare pointedly at the ceiling.

"For starters," she said, dusting powder on my groin, "there's this." Suddenly, she reached down and began slowly stroking my cock.

"Whuuuuu-oah boy. Um just w-what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm rubbing in the powder, clearly," she said, and I finally looked to see that devilish grin back on her face. "You don't seem to be protesting that...hard," she giggled. "I figured since I'm down here, I might as well make myself useful." Without further preamble, she lowered her mouth and took me inside of it.

"That's..uhhh....o-okay...." I trailed off, lost in a mix of confusion and pleasure. It wasn't long before I was finished, and Kate was sitting back up. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and swallowed.

"Wow, you must have enjoyed that, I don't think you've ever cum so quicky."

I was too stunned to speak. My gaze had returned to the ceiling, but I wasn't focused on anything.

Kate started to move again, and I heard that crinkling sound. She pulled the diaper up and taped it snugly in place, securing me into the first of what would soon become my all-too-familiar thick and crinkly underwear.

"So tell me, Mike," she said, patting the front of the diaper as she looked over her handiwork, "was that all bad?"

[fuwafuwamedb]

Baking Cookies (Kid Gil, Archer Gil, Hakuno, Emiya)

It was late.

Later than one would want, but that wasn’t going to stop him. His feet pattered across the floors of the hallways, his hands pressing against the walls as he would reach one corner after another. His bright gaze took in new path after new path.

Today was a good day for this morning’s task.

For too long, he’d held off, opting to wait and think of a time and a day where the forces and the elements would be just right. It had not been until yesterday.

Gil opened the doors to the kitchen, taking a full moment to look around at the room. Its stainless steel gleamed proudly on the counters and around the room on furnishings. There was a collection of ingredients both showing from corners of the counters and from a couple open cabinets. The room’s usual occupants were gone, leaving him the space for the plans to come into action.

The flour was pulled and poured wildly into a large bowl. Then came the salt and the baking soda.

Just a smidge of each, he’d been warned.

He went to the drawers, pulling cups for measuring. He needed the two sugars: both brown and granulated. They were poured and dumped into another bowl and, from there, the young king opened the fridge and pulled a couple rectangles of butter.

Cream it, he’d been told. The rectangles smushed and squelched in the bowl poorly, leaving his nose wrinkling and his brow furrowing. He added the egg for good measure, but it still didn’t ease the process of creaming the sugar and butter mixture.

He looked at the ingredients, tapping the counter before a light went off in his head.

Extra sweetness.

Vanilla.

The white haired faker used it often in his cooking. Glancing around, he began with the upper cabinets, pouring through the various labels until he could find the one he was looking for.

The little bottle just needed to be poured slightly into the bowl.

A few drops would be enough. The stuff was the essence of sweetness. Much like the recipient of this work was, this bottle’s contents was lethally sweet in high doses.

He stirred again, pouring the first bowl of flour in with the creamed mixture.

Ah, but they needed one last thing.

“This will set them apart from anything else,” Gil murmured, his fingers snapping to open the gates. His older selves would probably never notice. It wasn’t like they couldn’t get more of the fine quality chocolate that he let land on the counter.

A little slice and dice- then straight into the bowl.

And now to bake.

The oven was set, the mixed ingredients clumped onto pans properly.

He’d done it.

Despite how much Enkidu had teased him about being able to cook and despite the white haired faker saying that kings were probably too selfish to cook; he’d made a whole batch of cookies. Delicious smelling cookies at that, he thought, staring at the array of them as they soon began to fill the counters as they cooled off from the oven.

Great cooks deserved a break.

Besides that, it would probably be best to take a moment to go use the restroom.

He moved carefully, slipping out and down the hall. A small whistle now left his lips, smile prouder than ever as he pushed the bathroom door open.

It wasn’t until he returned when he felt the world come to a pause.

“You really made these?” Hakuno stared at the king nearby, munch on one of the cookies. Her body was perched on one of the remaining empty spaces on the counter.

“You may feel free to praise me properly, mongrel. Or do you intend to doubt me further?”

“They’re the best cookies I’ve ever had-“

“HEY!” The shout fell from his lips, his limbs trembling as he stared at the two. “I MADE THOSE!”

The archer nearby raised a brow, glancing to him. “Did you not hear her, child? She said I made them. Are you not a version of me?”

“That doesn’t matter!” Gil huffed, his foot stomping against the ground. “Hakuno!”

“They’re good,” she told him, mouth full of cookie.

“They’re for you. Don’t share with him!”

“Oh?” Gilgamesh Archer’s expression great only that much more smug, his hands moving towards the counter. “You think I want one of your meager sweets?”

“Don’t touch them!”

The man lifted one of the cookies, wiggling it in his hands before bringing it closer to his mouth.

“NO!”

It was moving so slowly towards his lips. The world was crawling through time, his body barely able to move before the whole scene began to unfold. And then he was left to stand with his eyes wide. The woman on the counter’s body was now moved, her mouth wrapped around part of Gilgamesh Archer’s hand and the cookie itself.

Her eyes looked up at Archer’s, the cookie practically crumbling in her mouth and in Gilgamesh’s hand.

“…Truly, mongrel?”

The woman hummed, eyes closing.

“It is not worthwhile for me to eat something that has already been partially eaten by someone else. I am not one for sloppy seconds.” The man pushed the cookie into her mouth, shaking his head. “You should get your own cookies, Hakuno. Your bad behavior will be remembered during training.”

“You make great cookies,” Hakuno repeated again, making the man roll his eyes.

“You’ve taken all the joys of harassing the boy meaningless. I will be in our chambers.”

Gil grunted as the man brushed passed, his arm swatting only to miss.

“Until next time, little pest.”

He hated him.

So very deeply to the very marrow of his bones, Gil hated that archer pest. He had no respect, no understanding. He took and he took; it was a wonder that Hakuno put up with him at all!

Speaking of the woman though-

Gil glanced to the woman still in the room, now picking up a couple more cookies.

“Do you mind? I’ve never had cookies this good before.”

“I made them for you,” Gil murmured.

Those honey-colored eyes widened, her smile broadening. “Really?”

“We’re friends, remember? That is what you told me. As my friend, you should be treated to finer things. You didn’t like the fabrics and the jewels, so I thought maybe food would be better.”

Hakuno’s face was simply radiant. Her eyes were soft, cheeks dusted a light pink. Her smile gave way to that all too nice pitter patter in his chest. She stood a little taller even, walking over to his side with his gifts for her in hand.

“I’m glad you like them,” he told her.

“I love them, Gil. Thank you.” Hakuno pressed her lips to his cheek. “I’m going to go check on Archer, but I’ll come back really soon for more cookies. They’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll box them up.” He had a great chest for them in his gates. He could wrap them in a nice fabric and place them in the box for her to indulge in as she saw fit.

“That would be great.”

Her soft perfume that was her natural scent lingered around him as she left. He watched the door, humming a little at her response.

She was all about sweets.

One way or another, he’d bake enough with his own two hands to steal her from Archer Gilgamesh. It was only a matter of time.

“It would seem someone made a mess of the kitchens.”

Gil froze, his eyes going to the white haired faker nearby.

“I do hope you have plans to clean these dishes and counters you’ve ruined. Otherwise, I will be showing our master your handiwork.”

[cellard0ors]

Fic: Movement (3/?)

For @peachworthy (The tale continues!) Part 1 here, Part 2 here

Link’s doing his best to tip toe in. It was a long night at the café he’s currently working at and he doesn’t want to wake Rhett. True, his roommate’s hours are strange (to say the least) but it’s always been ingrained in Link to be as respectful as possible.

Mrs. Neal raised her boy to be polite and one of the heights of good manners is not charging into the house you share with someone else in the middle of the night, raising a ruckus.

But as Link edges towards his room, he notices a glow coming from the living room and finds himself unable to not take a peek. Maybe Rhett left the television on?

Yet when he gets closer he sees that while yes, the television is on, it’s not because Rhett forgot about it. Rhett is actually in front of it, but not watching it. Instead his eyes are downcast and…wet.

A light sniffle comes from him and he runs the back of his right hand beneath his nose as if to wipe at it. Link can just barely make out a paper in his left hand when Rhett senses him.

Rhett turns and blinks, folding the paper up and clearing his throat, doing his best to sound amiable even despite the clear note of tears in his voice, “Oh! Hey, man! Didn’t know you were home.”

“Yeah,” Link says softly, “Had to stay late. Boss wanted to do a deep clean on the place after we closed,” he then adds cautiously, “You okay?”

Rhett looks back to his letter than to Link again as if internally debating something. Finally he comes back with, “Yeah. Kinda.”

He holds the letter up, “Got a message from my Momma.”

Link can only offer a sound of acknowledgement, not certain where to go from here. Rhett shifts about on the couch and Link takes it as a signal for him to come over, so he does, sitting across from his friend.

Rhett lowers the letter, but plays around with it, turning the carefully folded rectangle of paper over and over in his hands, “First time I’ve heard from her in a long time.”

“Good?” Link feels stupid and kind of helpless, but he’s trying and this is the only thing he can think to offer. Rhett sniffs again, but his lips twitch as if to smile, as if he recognizes that Link is doing his best, “I suppose. Looks like my brother got married awhile ago. Dad’s alright, stuff like that.”

“I see.”

“They’re still living in the same place. Mom changed jobs, but she likes the new one more. They adopted a dog and-and…” he sighs and just tosses the letter on the nearby coffee table, linking his fingers together to tuck his hands behind his head.

He lets out shaky breath, eyes directing upwards towards the ceiling as if to stave off more potential tears, “They’re fine…”

Link licks his lips, feels awkward and awful, and can only manage to say Rhett’s name before Rhett’s hands lower and he curls in on himself – his tall lanky form growing small as he whispers to the floor, “…totally fine…without me.”

That alone breaks Link. Without a second thought he moves over, draws Rhett close and hugs him tight. The bigger man lets himself be held, lets Link gather him up like a small child and rock him as he silently weeps.

Link murmurs nonsense into his hair for a while, little things like ‘it’s alright’ and ‘it’ll be okay’ and he doesn’t know if he’s doing more harm than good until he feels Rhett’s tense body begin to uncoil, begins to hear his breathing smoothing out.

Once he feels like Rhett’s doing better, he releases him – gets up and finds some tissues, a wet warm washcloth and a glass of water. He offers it all silently to Rhett, who takes it – using the washcloth to wipe his face clean, the tissues to finish up the job. He finishes more than half the glasses of water before he mumbles, “Sorry about that.”

“You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for, bo.” Link doesn’t know where the endearment comes from. He hasn’t used it in ages and just as he’s about to explain it, Rhett lets out a broken bubble of laughter, “‘Bo’? Oh, man…haven’t heard that in an age.”

Link offers an apology but Rhett waves it off, “Nah, Link. I…I like it. I’ll be your ‘bo’.”

And then he turns vulnerable green eyes on him as he asks quietly, “Mean…if you’ll be mine.”

This is, of course, when Link knows his crush is over. It’s over because he’s now completely and totally in love with Rhett and he swallows thickly, even as he nods, “Yeah. Of course.”

“Good.” Rhett nods to himself as if they’ve just made a blood pact or something and he looks at the television which is just showing some random commercials. He gestures to it, “How’s about we watch something, huh? Get our minds on something else.”

By ‘our’ Link recognizes he probably means himself in particular, because Rhett can’t possibly know about the revelation Link’s just had, yet he feels a little too…seen. He bites his bottom lip hard and – even though he knows he shouldn’t – finds himself playing the part of devil’s advocate, “We can – or you can tell me if you plan on writing back.”

Rhett sits up straight, eyes wide, and Link wouldn’t be surprised if the man snaps at him. Link feels like a total jerk – just because he’s realized he’s in love with Rhett doesn’t mean he should hurt him this way, and, he knows that’s the real reason he said what he did. A sort of, ‘please-push-me-away’ move.

But he did anyway and now he braces for an argument, an insult – something. But then, much to his surprise, Rhett says hollowly, “I don’t know.”

Link presses his luck, “Mean, if she wrote you…think it means she misses you…”

Rhett snorts, “Doubt it. Probably just felt a bout of guilt. Thought she should reach out to her black sheep son.”

“Or maybe she wants to hear from you,” Link offers, “Know you’re alright.”

“Yeah and what am I supposed to write?” Rhett grumbles, “‘Hey Ma, I’m doing good. I filmed a three way yesterday – how ‘bout you?’”

“…a three way?” Link repeats, but Rhett continues on as if he didn’t hear him, “It’s not like I can tell her or-or any of them what I’ve been up to. I don’t think many parents like to brag about their kid’s accomplishments when that accomplishment is DPing a woman while making out with a guy at the same time.”

Link wants to ask what ‘DPing’ is, but he thinks he has an idea and it’s probably best not to get too in depth (pun not intended) on that, as he instead takes a different route, “It’s not like you have to tell her about your job. You can just say you’re in LA, you’re healthy, you got a fantastically handsome roommate named Link…”

That makes Rhett laugh, but in a good way, some of his ire easing, “‘Fantastically handsome’, huh?”

Link spreads his hands out, “What can I say? I’m truthful.”

Rhett chuckles some more and shakes his head, “Nah, I mean – sure, I can tell her all that, but if we…if we do reconnect, I’m just-? I’m afraid it’s going to come up.”

“Thought you said you aren’t ashamed of what you do.”

“I’m not,” Rhett affirms, “But she’s my mom. They’re my family. You know that and I know you get why it’s not something I want them to know about…”

“Well, I mean, I could tell you to get another job, but if this is what you like doing-!”

Rhett gets up from the couch and starts pacing, “It’s not that I like doing it. It’s that I’m good at it. And, like I’ve told you – good money, good co-workers,” he sighs and his pacing picks up pace, “I mean, granted, I’m getting on in years and I can’t do this forever and I always did plan on getting out when I, y’know, found someone.”

Someone not you, a thought hisses in Link’s ear and he almost physically swats out at it as Rhett continues, “‘Cause it’s not like I’d want to be in a relationship and do…what I do. It’d feel sorta unfaithful to me, albeit I know some people in the biz who are married and their partners are fine with it, but for me…”

Rhett stops pacing and flops down on the couch, groaning, “…and it’s not even like I can show off. I can’t show someone one of my films with pride and be like ‘look what I did’! Not my folks, not my theoretical other half, not-!”

“Me,” the word leaves Link’s mouth and he’s sort of shocked it left him. Rhett is shocked too, head whipping in his direction at the declaration and Link’s mouth just keeps working on its own, disconnected from his brain, “You…you can show me. If…if you want.”

The last comes out almost silent.

And Rhett just…keeps looking at him.

Link can hear everything. His breath. Rhett’s breath. The ticking of a clock some place. The television show whispering some medical mumbo jumbo. The air conditioning. His heart beat. All of it. He hears it all and then he hears a tentative, “Yeah?”

And Link just nods.

*I swear the next part will have some kind of sex. I know it’s weird that I’ve had 3 parts of a fic now about pornstar!Rhett and no porn but it’s coming. I just…got lost in feels here.

[gagmebucky]

hiiii i wrote this awhile ago but took it down because i was 👉🏼👈🏼 embarrassed about it (because i do not have the skill to pull off peter parker) and sorta still am but everyone’s been so nice to me about it i thought the best way to repay the kindness by posting it for those who did like it 😅 (originally inspired by spider man 2 with andrew garfield but loosely set in the 2018 issue of the amazing spider-man.)

in which the guys are making fun of peter and accidentally see a video of him fucking you. (includes avenger!peter x girlfriend!you, peter’s pov, voyeur!steve and voyeur!bucky, a sex tape featuring d/s dynamics, bondage, praise kink, exhibitionism, unprotected sex.) 

do not repost.

—

Despite being twenty-one years old; a proper adult who lives with his high school sweetheart, a photographer doubling as a seven-year veteran vigilante in the dangers of New York, Peter Parker is still considered as a super-powered amateur to his seasoned peers. 

Nonetheless, given his success in countless battles in the state, country, world and even galaxy-wide, he more than qualifies to hold the title of Avenger; it’s official now. A laid-back induction ceremony and his very own identity card: a sturdy rectangle, shiny with full clearance and all. Yet, as an official member, his teammates still treat him like he’s that same goofy, out-of-his-depths sixteen year old.

To be fair, yes, his style of heroism isn’t the most serious. He favors levity in the face of danger, a cheeky flare with smart quips and an infuriating grin. Even after taking a beating from the worst of foes, his demeanor never wavers because in the end, he wins. The villains are slayed and the people are saved, even comforted by the boyishly confident way he works. 

But beyond that persona, he has grown into a skilled warrior. On that note, he wants to be regarded as such—at least, to a certain extent. The jokes and teasing, poking fun at his age or the shenanigans he gets himself into, don’t bother him. No, his playful wit handles it with relative ease, and he’s a good sport about it. The only thing that he’d want to see change is some recognition that he isn’t a naïve kid anymore and is fully capable of taking charge when needed.

With his recent acceptance into the gifted pantheon, he’s intent on making that known. The jesting can continue but he wants it to be with an understanding of his capabilities. Luckily, a perfect opportunity has presented itself to showcase his abilities: a training session. 

He’s late. And yes, he knows that’s probably not a good impression to make.

In his own defense, it isn’t technically his fault. He forgot that you, his personal alarm clock (amongst other things), left early this morning because you volunteered to help his aunt move. Four years of mornings and nights, he’s gotten used to—and prefers—your languorous wake-up call.

Without your reminder, he regains consciousness fifteen minutes after the scheduled time and ends up scrambling to the compound. In a flurry, he throws on his suit—unknowingly backwards, he realizes later—trips at least three times over his own footing before he finally springs out of the balcony with webbed bursts.

When he reaches his destination, Captain America and the Winter Soldier are unimpressed; mid-simulation, it powers down. Both super-soldiers whirl around to face him, fixing raised eyebrows at his disheveled arrival.

He adjusts his now front-facing suit and shuffles forward into the space with as much confidence as an interrupter can have. “H - hey, guys,” Peter greets sheepishly and manages what he hopes is a charming smile, absentmindedly fidgeting with his phone. “Lookin’ good for a couple of geezers.” 

Unfortunately, Steve Rogers is not charmed or disillusioned from the tardiness. “You’re late, Parker.” His arms fold, and he shakes his head when punctuating his disapproval with an echoing, “Again.” 

Thankfully, to his right, more relaxed and cool, Bucky Barnes steps up. “C’mon, Stevie. Y’can’t be that surprised,” he chimes in matter of factly, contrasting against his friend with amusement sparkling in his blue eyes. “What’d you expect with Parker?” He gestures at the younger superhero. “Kid’s gonna be late to his own wedding.”

(Beside the point, but worth noting, he will not be late to meeting you at the altar. That is, of course, if you accept when he pops the question. Which is going to happen relatively soon, considering he has the ring in his nightstand drawer.)

The consult seems to relax him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right and—Peter, you—seriously, man?!” Steve sputters the last bit when he glanced over to see him blatantly check the notification that’s vibrated in his hand (on the device that is ruled to be stowed away during training). “Now the phone?!” 

Even though he shouldn’t, being on thin ice with Cap and all (pun not intended), Peter’s gaze flickers down to see your contact name appear on the screen, and he can’t resist. While Bucky guffaws a laugh at his audacity, he’s swiping up to pull up your text thread. 

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:37AM: spider boyyyyy you’ll never guess what i found in a box labeled ‘peter’s junk’ ;;;)

peter, 10:37AM: those magazines are NOT mine and i don’t know how they got there.

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:38AM: not quite but close, naughty boy

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:38AM: for a man who depends on keeping secrets and a penchant for home movies, you might ought to keep a lock on your phone unless you want someone to see me like this...

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:38AM: (video attached)

Immediately, he recognizes the pornographic thumbnail. One glance, and he’s remembering the first couple of times you guys explored the exhibitionism side of things. It was at the end of his freshman year of college and taped on a phone he thought he had lost. But he must've forgotten it at his aunt’s house, and she tossed it in the box until you came along. 

Although there’s been plenty more made, he recalls that one being a shared favorite, his especially. When long-distance duty calls, it was his go-to media. The angles, your face and body beneath the lights, the sounds it caught, you once asked if he considered switching to cinematography instead of photographer

Subconsciously, his teeth run over his bottom lip, feeling that blazing spark of desire igniting in the pit of his gut, partially at the memory and partially at what’ll happen once you guys can re-watch it together; his thumbs start typing away with that message.

“Peter!” Steve’s exasperated voice snaps, but to no avail—the real gall of the youngster, or the effect of you. His weight shifts toward his best friend, and he nudges him with his elbow. “Kids these days!” The hundred-something year old’s gaze cocks a brow back over. “Is that why you were late? Blowing off training to text your girlfriend?”

The text delivers with an audible bloop. Finally, his concentration gives, and he can look up, though his expression is clueless from the last minute. “Huh?” His brain registers what he missed, and he winces. “Sorry, Cap. My bad.”

Bucky chuckles. “Give him a break, Steve,” he faux comes to his defense, a teasing quality underlying his tone. “He’s young and in love. It’s not his fault he’s pussy-whipped.” He cracks him an antagonizing grin as Peter rolls his eyes. “He can’t go an hour without sending those little weird pictures with heart eyes, or she might not know he’s thinking about her.”

“As if you know anything about romance, old man,” he fires back and presses past them with squared shoulders, correcting him quite seriously: “And they’re called emojis, by the way. But that’s not what I was doing, if you want to know so bad.”

The brunette tilts his head thoughtfully, and small hackles arise for reasons he doesn’t understand, or pay attention to. “You know, I do want to know really badly,” Bucky decides and poses a question to his left, “Wouldn’t you, too, Steve? Aren’t you curious what his girlfriend sent that was so much more important than training?”

The blond mimics his actions and clicks his tongue. “Yeah, I am.” 

Peter’s eyebrows pinch while his skin tingles and the hair on the back of his neck stands straight up. “What—” Before his senses process it, one of the super-soldiers plucks his phone out of his hands and darts back beside his best friend. His jaw drops as he tries to follow after him. “Bucky, you asshole—”

“Some spidey senses, huh?” The Winter Soldier lifts it high over his head, utilizing his six-foot stature against his five-ten like elementary school bullies do and older siblings to their juniors. “Haven’t ‘cha heard about sharing with the class?” He laughs and practically stiff-arms him to squint up at the screen. “Aw, he can’t wait to see her. What’s it been, more than two hours since you two saw each other last?” 

Conceding to the height difference, Peter stops his physical efforts and diverts it to someone reasonable. “Cap, you gonna help me out here?” he addresses the entertained onlooker in the most friendly voice he can manage. 

“The kid’s got separate anxiety not just from his girlfriend but phone too, Buck,” Steve drawls with a lopsided curve of his lips. He side-steps Peter to stand next to Bucky, and for a second, he thinks he’s on his side despite the tease, but he simply adds a stern, “So be careful. You don’t want to break it, or Parker will have a fit.”

Peter crosses his arms and scowls. “Ha, ha,” he retorts dryly, only somewhat amused by their banter. He tilts his head up at them, and the duo look thoroughly pleased with themselves. “You know, you guys are kind of dicks.”

“No, we’re your mentors, kid,” Steve corrects with a wink and rests his arm on his friend’s shoulder. “This is a lesson. No phones—” He jabs his thumb back in reference to the device’s unlocked screen: “—when you’re supposed to be training.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky chimes in upon glancing up from his phone. “And a little advice, women don’t like clinginess. Try being a little more stern and see how that works for you. If you’re able to manage that. But I won’t hold it against ya if you can’t.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter patronizes with a bob of his head, biting back a response pointing out the hundred-something year old’s inexperience. Instead, he focuses on the electronic readily loaded up with some private content. With that, he decides to do the rational and mature thing and ask nicely. “Noted. So, uh, can I have my phone back now?” 

To his shock, Bucky merely flashes a smirk and his thumb scrolls half-heartedly over the thread. Thereafter, he leans toward Steve and raises his cell for him to see. “Oh, look, it’s a video,” he teases. “What could Y/N send that would take priority of training?” 

There’s an unspoken let’s see then a metal finger taps the play button. Before Peter can think, much less react, Captain American and the Winter Soldier are watching how he effortlessly renders his pretty little girlfriend into a cute nonsensical yet eager mess— 

In his point-of-view shot, the ratio holds in portrait view in a bid to capture every bit of you. Above you, the camera focuses on you and your beautifully debauched state beneath warm lighting where it’s unalienable that the camera was made for you. 

Your eyes are dilated brightly, desperate with desire as your lashes flutter up at him. A sheen coats your features and glistens like glitter at the highest points of your face while the shape of your face is framed by your stretched arms. 

Your wrists are bound over your head, splotched with expertly sprayed strong, white webs. The mesh sticks them together in a criss-cross, comfortable but nearly impossible to break out of, fixed in place atop his headboard. The tautness tugs a mild strain on your figure so your breasts are jutting out like an offering, and it’s obvious he’s taken advantage of it. Darkened marks adorn your glowing complexion, peppered across your décolletage with imprints of his teeth; including your nipples, sucked swollen and tender. 

The angle trails down until it reveals the sight of him mercilessly pounding inside of you. His better-than-average girth is sliding in and out of your tight channel; slicked in shared translucent essence, creaming around the base, your inner walls visibly clinging to his cock with every backward stroke. His hand splays on your mound, using his thumb to abuse your engorged clit. He easily keeps the sensitive nub pinned under his control despite your wildly twisting hips. 

Like the display, the soundtrack is equally obscene. Loud, your stuffed depths gush and squelch as skin slaps rhythmically. Your breathy, wanton moans overshadow both, drawn out whimpers, almost nonsensical other than the syllable of his name. A melody of neediness, you sound so fucking pretty, (depraved, like a whore, you once told him during your little film marathon with a sly smile), and for him specifically.

The frame pans upward and confirms you look just as good. A perfect mess, unhinged by the skilled ministrations of your boyfriend. Passion beads on your forehead like reflections off of a diamond. Panting, your lips are plumped from kissing parted with mewls of pleasure. 

“P - please—I need to—can I - I please—” You’re begging like the sweet little thing you are, incoherent babbling the result of his excessive edging. Of course, you know better than to give into the sensations ravaging you; instead you ignore your visceral desire and ask him for your release. “Peter, please!” 

A deep chuckle vibrates behind the camera as his big hand slides into view, trailing over your jiggling tits to the slope of your throat. “Maybe,” he says breathily and grasps the line of your jaw between his fingers. “Open your mouth first, babe.” 

No more preamble necessary, you follow his direction, your pink tongue flat over your Cupid’s bow. Immediately, a long string of his saliva drips into view and onto your taste buds; the vulgar act is accepted with a swallow and a quivering moan of, “T - thank you.” 

“Good girl,” he praises huskily, and the voiced approval has you visibly shivering. “Alright, then, pretty girl. Make it good for me, and c’mon—”

Before your otherworldly reckoning washes over you and his teammates can watch your bliss immortalized in film, Peter snatches his property back. 

Not much force is necessary as Bucky’s grip has been stunned loose. A dark expression permeates on young hero’s face but not because of embarrassment; if he was still nineteen or eighteen, he would’ve been mortified that his titular superiors caught a depraved glimpse of his sex life, on both his and your behalf. Rather than, there’s just a flit of annoyance when he folds his arms.

“Shit,” Bucky is the first to speak, exhaling the swear raggedly. His blue pupils have widened in obvious attraction, dilated dark, blinking rapidly as if it’ll help calm him down from the clip of you, his innocent seeming girlfriend, all ruined and begging. “Parker, fuck, I - I didn’t know you got down like that.” 

There’s a swell in his chest, pride beating steadily while he remains reticent-faced. He prefers you keep your bedroom activities secluded there. Yeah, he likes to be in control and you like to be controlled but it’s only in a sexual nature. Yet, their reactions—stunned, embarrassed and viscerally affected—surges smug satisfaction he’s never known before through his veins. 

Even the prestigious Captain America is bothered, though he may try to hide it. He clears his throat, a flustered pink coloring his cheeks. “Peter, uh,” he says, barely maintaining the confidence to look him in the eye after witnessing his girlfriend like that. “We - we shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that.” 

“Uh-huh,” is Peter’s response, a hint of a smirk curling on one side of his lips. “Why don’t you guys call me after you’re finished with your cold showers, and we can actually train. Until then, I’m gonna go to my girl who’s more than eager to handle mine.” He pauses. “Maybe if you guys ask nice enough, I might let her show you how well I’ve trained her.”

[acraftedmistake]

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 15

CHP 15!!!!! Some good times and bad times lie ahead...... 

Enjoy!

“Everything okay?” Jess asked. Aiden was about to leave the house but had stopped halfway out the door, turned back around, and scanned the first floor while Jess and Olivia waited for him.

“Yeah.” Aiden said slowly as he began to close the door, twisting the knob to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally lock the three of them out, “Just thought I heard something.” He walked away from the house and patted his hair down. “You two ready to go?”

“Mhm!” Olivia finished zipping up the olive green jacket Stella had lent her. She was hiding her face with the hood of the gray sweatshirt Cassie gave her the day before as well. She knew there weren’t too many people out at this hour, but better safe than sorry.

Jess was wearing the leather jacket and beanie again, but he wasn’t too concerned about hiding his face this time. Earlier, he made a minor complaint that his clothes felt rather stiff after wearing them for a few days straight, to which Aiden promised that once they got back home he would throw their clothes in the washer.

“Let’s get going!” Jess said, adjusting the beanie on his head. Originally, Jess wasn’t too thrilled at the idea of going out at this hour. Knowing there might be Awakening members roaming around, or his alternate self--who had no problem beating Radar in broad daylight--made Jess uncertain over the safety of Obsidian Town’s streets. Aiden assured him that they’d be alright, it’d be three against one, and--in his words--he ‘Wants to do somethin’ nice for Olivia after last night’.

Jess appreciated the thoughtfulness, and in the end, visiting Olivia’s grave was up to… Well, Olivia, but he’d still be ready in case a creep tried to pull something.  

Jess couldn’t really blame Olivia for wanting to check out her grave. It’s her place of death. When would you ever get an opportunity to visit a place like that again? Not to mention, Jess had been wanting to get a better look at Obsidian Town rather than getting glimpses or constantly staring at the ground.

The three walked to the left and started their journey to the cemetery. Aiden and Olivia were making small talk, so Jess took this time to absorb his surroundings.

Up ahead, he could spot a tall, crooked, ivory colored tower in the distance. That must’ve been the library Olivia mentioned before. Even from all the way over here Jess could see how ruined the place was. Cracks stretched across it, it was riddled with holes, and it looked moments away from collapsing.

Jess scanned the streets. The long, thin black lamp posts on each side had thin string-lights tied to their tops that stretched across the streets in a zig-zag like manner. It’s a shame they weren’t on at the moment, they must’ve been wonderful when lit.

There were empty stalls they’d pass by occasionally. Colorful, patterned tents protected the bare tables, empty boxes, and scraps sitting underneath. Jess noticed each stall had string lights, small lanterns, or candles for light. He’d catch quick glimpses at folded signs tucked away and papers taped onto poles advertising items and prices. Seeing all of this reminded him of the farmer markets Beacon Town. Jess would always act so crabby when he woke up early for them, but it wouldn’t take long for him to get hyped up and dashing around the place until closing time.

The stalls and all were nice, but Jess couldn’t help but find Obsidian Town’s buildings to be… Underwhelming.

Many of the buildings, from what he could see, were constructed with the same materials: stone, wood, bricks, concrete, the occasional polished granite and diorite, and the rare terracotta. There were variations with the colors, but seeing the same materials got real tiring real fast.

And most structures here were just shapes. That’s all that could really be said. Squared, rectangled, plain shapes to fit the equally-plain materials. Even the sizes of the buildings felt plain. Many were one to two stories, a large handful reached three, and hardly any were four.

Jess was so used to Beacon Town’s monstrous structures, giant jungle trees sprouting from windows, walls of colored glass creating magnificent designs, and bridges stretching from roof to roof that connected the town together. The fun types of builds! It might sound chaotic but that’s what made Beacon Town feel like home. Obsidian Town was just that. A town.

‘Don’t think the people here can risk being experimental, to be fair.’ Jess told himself as he remembered how often quakes struck. He thought back to his town again. He thought about how so many homes would quickly collapse the moment a strong-enough quake would hit. Beacon Town was fun, but it wasn’t built with ‘sturdiness’ in mind, unlike Obsidian Town.

While the construction and sizes of these buildings were on the more ‘basic’ side, the way the citizens decorated the exteriors of their homes and stores was magnificent. Oh, how he loved their decorations. From markets using barrels, wagons, and carefully stacked crates to advertise their fresh fruit and flowers, to cafes that’d have their furniture with their own color schemes and accessories to make them stand out from one another. Some places had porches decorated with flowers and swinging benches, while others had balconies with tiny lights.

Jess would get a second to peer into windows they’d pass by, catching glimpses of interiors that’d tempt him to come closer and press his face against the glass to get a better look. Actually, he hadn’t noticed it right away, but so many windows in Obsidian Town were colored. They didn’t have any intricate designs--a majority of them were one solid color--unlike the stained glass back at the Order Hall, but they were still charming. He pictured in his head how vibrant the streets must be when night comes… The lights from the inside mixing with the colors of the glass must be magnificent.

One place that REALLY caught Jess’ attention was a stone gray building tucked between two larger ones. It had a simple square base, but had a noticeable tilt to it. It had a staircase that wrapped around it’s walls and led to the roof, where a smaller room sat atop, equally slanted. A wooden sign hung from above the door and had the words “Glass Art” on it. Purple, pink, and blue glass shards and chimes were held by opaque strings from the overhang; there was a large, round, beautiful stained glass window with the same colors beside the door.  

The glass art reminded Jess of Ivor and his potions. Man… How is Ivor? Is he doing alright? Is he worried? Hopefully he’s not working himself to the bone trying to find a way to save him and Olivia. Jess couldn’t wait to get back home and give that old man a big ol’ hug.

Come to think of it, has anyone mentioned anything about potions while they’ve been here? He doesn’t remember Olivia’s book talking about them, nor any of Aiden’s friends bringing them up… Are there no potions here? Or maybe there’s a lack of materials? They couldn’t go to the Nether or mine without a license--which STILL boggles Jess’ mind--so that probably made gathering resources hard. How would Ivor react to this? He’d probably say: ‘Pah! A universe without potions is a miserable one. Back in my day, we’d travel hundreds of miles to find the finest ingredients for our--’

“Jess!” He heard Olivia call his name. He spun around and saw her and Aiden standing under a stone arch. Olivia had her hands on her hips.

“You done dreamin’?” Aiden asked.

Jess didn’t realize how far he had strayed from the two. He hurried over and joined them at the arch.

“Sorry, sorry, I was busy thinking.” He skidded to a halt and fixed his beanie.

“Just glad nobody saw you.” Aiden said, “I almost stopped her from calling you cause I wanted to see how far you’d walk off.”

“Could you imagine if he got caught like that?” Olivia asked, “One moment he’s strolling through the streets, and the next he’s being pounced on by guards all because he was too busy sightseeing.” Her and Aiden chuckled at the thought.

“Oh, so it’s a crime to appreciate a town now?” Jess dramatically placed his hands on his hips, mimicking Olivia’s posture.

“It's illegal for you.” Aiden said, “Now come on, there’s a shortcut through the park.”

Aiden walked through the moss-covered stone arch. On each side of the arch were thick, green hedges that boxed in the park. Olivia noticed that, unlike the buildings in this town, the hedges didn’t form an actual shape; it would jut in and out at random, creating odd angles and corners. It was strange but charming.

A path that started under the arch and looped around the area, creating a horseshoe-like shape. Aiden ignored the path and continued walking straight through the grass. Olivia saw the usual things most parks had: Benches, lampposts, a sign telling people not to litter. She also noticed leftover chalk on the sidewalk, laying right beside children’s drawings of stick figures and hopscotch.

Obsidian Town’s park was small, nice, simple, and… Honestly a little dark. The thick clouds were already blocking most of the sun’s light, but the few, tall, thick trees had branches that hid nearly every inch of the sky. Despite how dim it was, Olivia could still spot wild flowers sprinkled around the grass, along with the bugs buzzing around them.

Honestly--and Olivia felt bad thinking this--she preferred this sort of park over whatever the heck Beacon Town had going on. Yes, Beacon Town was great in it’s own way. People could build whatever they wanted, and that’s wonderful, but sometimes she’d just like to take a walk without a constant ruckus surrounding her. Sometimes she just wanted peace and quiet--

“That guy’s missing his entire head!” Jess suddenly whisper-shouted as he lightly shook Olivia. Her heart started beating frantically as she hurriedly spun her head around. Her mind was going all over the place. Was it a decapitated corpse? A strange, alternate-universe monster? Or--or--

It was a statue.

“Jess, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” She sighed with relief.

“Sorry,” He took his hands off of her and pointed, “check it out though!”

Both Olivia and Aiden were looking at the statue now. It was a man frozen midrun, an axe held back--stuck in a swinging motion--while the other hand held up his battered shield, which covered his face. If he had a face, that is. It had to be The Impossible Man. Olivia wasn’t sure who else it could’ve been.

“He’s definitely seen better days.” She said under her breath. Besides his entire head missing, a majority of his body was covered in dirt, children’s chalk, and other strange stains. Cracks started from his broken neck and traveled to his chest, his armor was chipped and scratched, and a good portion of his axe had broken off as well.

“Yeah, I think there’s a couple more statues around here?” Aiden mentioned as they continued walking, “They’re all in pretty bad shape. The kids like to mess with them.”

Aiden scanned the park. “There’s one,” He pointed to the upper corner on the left side of the park. A statue was placed on a podium right in front of a tree. Despite the fact one of his legs was missing, he appeared to be sitting comfortably, gazing at the tree tops peacefully.

“Annnndddd…” Aiden kept turning his head in different directions, “I’m pretty sure there was a head somewhere… Oh!” He spun around, walking backwards now as he pointed to the direction of the entrance. Jess and Olivia followed his finger, their eyes landed on a wooden bench--and right beside it was a small column with a broken bust of the man on top. Olivia couldn’t make out much of the man’s face from here, but she kept getting the eerie feeling that his fractured eyes were somehow watching her. Constantly. Unblinking. She shuddered.

“You think the quakes are the reason they’re missing some parts?” She heard Jess ask aloud.

“I find it really hard to believe they somehow stood through all of those quakes and just lost a head or a leg. They might've been stolen.” Olivia theorized.

Jess put his hand on his chin, stroking an imaginary beard, “I think I remember seeing Hadrian have a couple of statue parts at his place…”

“What? You think old people just like to steal random body parts during their free time?” She grinned.

“That’s what I’d like to do when I retire!” He chuckled. Olivia rolled her eyes playfully.

The three came to a stop in front of a wall of hedge that stood a couple inches taller than Aiden. Unlike the rest of the hedges, this one probably hasn’t been trimmed in months. The surface was extremely uneven; hundreds of tiny branches and leaves stuck out and got tangled with one another. This hedge was also covered in flowers. Tons of them. Clusters of fluffy-looking, light pink flowers were scattered throughout, and were nearly as big as Olivia’s face. The ground was covered in old petals.

Olivia made sure that every strand of hair was tucked inside her hood. There was no way she wanted to spend the rest of the day picking out the twigs, leaves, and petals that’d get stuck in there.

Aiden walked to the right, staring into the bush and running his hand over it as he mumbled to himself, trying to remember where the shortcut was. Olivia and Jess awkwardly shuffled along. Aiden soon stopped, crouched down, then put his hand into the bush. He then took it out, huffed, scooched over a couple more inches, and repeated the process.

After a minute of searching, Aiden started talking to himself. “Maybe it’s on the left side? I could’ve sworn we--!” Aiden suddenly fell forward and into a large hole in the hedge.

Man, if Aiden hadn’t fell through, Olivia would’ve also thought he’d forgotten where the entrance was. The branches hid the hole well.

Jess helped Aiden to his feet. Aiden thanked him as he moved aside, motioning towards the hole.

“You guys go ahead.” Aiden said, “I’ll wait for you to go through.”

Jess and Olivia glanced at each other before Jess gave her a little bow, “After you.”

“How kind.” Olivia curtsied. She crouched and crawled through. The dirt was already making her pants a little damp.

Luckily, despite a few scratches, the crawl only lasted a few seconds.

She got up, cleaned herself off, and waited for the boys.

Jess’ head soon popped out from the hole. Leaves and tiny branches were caught in his hair. He wriggled himself out and brushed off his clothes.

“Here, let me help with your hair.” Olivia started plucking the sticks out.

“Thanks!” Jess said happily as he took off and shook the leaves off his beanie.

It was quiet for a couple of moments as they cleaned themselves up. Olivia felt her smile twitch.

“Hey, Jess,” She started slowly, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Jess put his hat back on, “What for?”

“I know you don’t have the best feelings towards Aiden right now,” She stared at her feet, “I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m dragging you along.”

“What? No, no, no!” Jess exclaimed, “Look, I was real mad last night, but I wanted to go with you!”

Olivia brought her head back up to Jess, a tiny smile of relief on her face.

“And I’m sticking to my word. We’ll stick together no matter what.” Jess shoved his hands into his pockets. “And uh… We don’t really have a choice when it comes to trusting Aiden and his friends, but things aren’t gonna get better if I keep blowing up like I did yesterday--” A sudden grunt interrupted Jess and caused both of them to jump.

They turned to see Aiden struggling to get out of the bush. How much did he hear? Hopefully not too much. Hopefully.

Aiden tries to use his free arm to pull the rest of his body out, but after a few more seconds he stopped fighting and let his face fall to the ground.

“... I’m stuck again.” He could hear Olivia and Jess snicker as they grabbed his hand and began to pull. They were able to pull him out in no time.

“Thanks.” Aiden said as he shook off the dirt--and the embarrassment. “The memorials are on the other side of the cemetery. Should only take a minute to get there.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When they entered the cemetery, Jess kept his eyes peeled for any familiar names on the gravestones. A few graves had rather unusual colors to them. There was a dusty red one, an uncommon shade, but not odd. Then he’d walk by a blue one; he’s never seen a grave that color before--well, Reuben’s memorial had bits of blue in it, does that count?--Then he walked by a purple grave, a green one, an orange one?

“This is… The happiest looking cemetery I’ve ever seen.” Olivia said as she beheld the rest of the graveyard.

“Is that a compliment?” Aiden asked.

Olivia kept staring at tombstones until she finally said “I don’t know, I’ve just never seen a place for the dead look so… Lively.”

Taking in the rest of the graveyard, Jess had to agree . What was usually a dark, gloomy, dreary place was so, so vibrant. Even under this cloudy, dull weather, the many colors still popped. This was more like a miniature festival than a cemetery! Many tombstone tops looked like roofs with their pointed tops and little overhangs. Their heights and widths would range from short and broad to tall and scrawny. Heck, Jess could spot a couple of graves as tall as him.

“What the heck are your cemeteries like?” Aiden glanced back at them.

“Plainer colors, I guess?” Jess shrugged, “You know, blacks, grays, browns, nothing too flashy.” The only exception Jess could think of was, once again, Reuben's memorial.

“Really?” Aiden sounded genuinely baffled by this. “We hardly got any of those. What do they mean?”

Olivia and Jess exchanged confused expressions with each other before Jess faced Aiden again, “Sadness? Loss? I don’t think there’s any real meaning behind those colors, honestly.”

“Right, we don’t typically associate bright colors with the dead.” Olivia added in, viewing the cemetery again. Scrawny trees and tiny flowers with stems that reached her knees that were peppered around the area; most were in between the graves. She thought about Aiden’s question, “I’m assuming the colors here represent something specific?”

“Yeah, buncha things. Too many for me to keep track of, but I remember the important ones.” Aiden started as they continued walking down the damp dirt path. “When a person dies, their friends and family can choose the color of their grave. It’s usually… Like… Hm. It’s supposed to show what the person was like when they were alive, ya know? Yellow for the happy people,” He explained while pointing to a shorter grave of said-color, “orange for determination, that sorta stuff. Stella’s memorized ‘em all. If you ever wanna know more, she’s the person to ask.”

As Aiden kept talking, Olivia and Jess kept taking in their surroundings. Jess had noticed something. Every single grave they passed was decorated with gems. The gems were placed close by the names and dates of those who passed, and seeing so many of them in various shapes, colors, and sizes made him curious…

“Hey, uh, what’s with the gems?” Jess spoke up, “Are they real?” He was wondering if maybe they were regular stones that were carved and painted. There was no way Obsidian Town could have an overabundance of minerals, especially since the citizens needed a mining license.

“Nah, they’re glass.” Aiden replied, “I thought they were real myself until we had to choose some gems for Lukas--” He suddenly stopped in his tracks. Jess and Olivia peered over and saw a lit redstone torch placed in front of a grave. Aiden plucked the torch from its place, a scowl on his face as he blew out the flame then chucked the burnt wood across the cemetery.

“Anyways, what was I sayin’?” He began walking again, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

‘What was that about?’ Jess thought to himself. It must’ve been linked to the cult, right? Why else would Aiden have done that?

“Right!” He snapped his fingers,” So the gems are basically like the colors of the graves. We had to go to this special place where the people there pulled out huge chests filled with those things. Took us forever to pick ‘em out.”

“Each color chosen means something for the person that passed…” Jess whispered to himself as Aiden’s words from earlier echoed through his mind. He was rather fond of how Obsidian Town remembered their dead. It was more uplifting than what he was used to. Maybe he could make some changes to the graveyards once they get back to Beacon Town.

Aiden was quiet for a minute before he added, “Gill took the longest. He was real worried his gem wouldn’t be good enough.” He paused. “He… he ended up crying.”

His voice got quieter, “I hated seeing him like that.”

Jess and Olivia both tried to think of what to say, what ‘s the next best thing to do, but Aiden immediately changed the subject.

“What do you guys put on your graves?” Aiden asked, he sounded ‘normal’ again, but kept facing away from the two.

Jess hesitated, “Names. Dates.”

“A description of the person who passed.” Olivia added.

“Just words? Doesn’t that get a little… Depressing?” Aiden narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, you think that’s sad? We once wrote out an entire dictionary on a guy’s grave back in our universe.” Jess answered jokingly. Olivia let out a little giggle, and they even heard a chuckle out of Aiden.

That small chuckle was all Jess needed to hear to continue telling quips and share short, funny stories at Aiden’s way to try and lighten the mood. Aiden was soon sharing his own experiences mixed in with his own humor. Aiden and Jess were bouncing off of each other, making fun of their own universes while Olivia would throw in her commentary every now and then.

‘This is so weird…’ Olivia thought to herself. The three of them laughing while walking through a cemetery… it’s something that’d usually feel inappropriate to do, but here she wasn’t all that bothered.

This whole experience has been surreal. Entering a rainbow of a cemetery through a bush felt like something that’d only happen in her dreams, yet here she was. Honestly, it was a nice change of pace to not feel worried for her and her friend’s life for a moment.

She had nearly forgotten the dread she felt when she originally suggested coming here.

And then Aiden spoke up.

“Okay, okay, we’re finally--” Aiden stopped. “Here.” All happiness in his tone had left.

That didn’t sound good. That didn’t sound good at all. Olivia grabbed onto the string of her hoodie and began to pull on it as she slowly peered over Aiden. Standing before him were two graves. Olivia’s eyes were drawn to the shorter one. She trailed down the grave, the coral color fading into a deep shade of red until she stopped at the flowers laying beside a lit, redstone torch.

Olivia held her breath. Jess got close to her as Aiden approached the torch. He grabbed it by it’s barely-scorched base and brought it to his face to blow out the flame. Instead of throwing it away like the last one, he just placed it to the side, only a few feet away from the grave. He wore an expression neither of them have ever seen on him before. Fear? Heartache? Pain.

“We’re here.” He said again. His voice completely devoid of energy. His body was stiff as he walked to the side of the grave, with his hands curled into tight fists and placed at his sides. There was another redstone torch placed in front of the grave to the right, but Aiden didn’t say anything. Olivia took a few small steps forward and gave him a small nod.

As she knelt down in front of the grave--in front of her grave--she heard Aiden tell Jess ‘Come on’, followed by the sound of footsteps growing distant.

She sat alone at her grave.

She didn’t want to read the text. She really didn’t. Isn’t that funny? That was one of the main reasons she wanted to come here. To see if there was a chance she could read about her death, what happened to her, but now that she was here, she was terrified. She looked everywhere else but the epitaph before her. She stared at the small bouquet of flowers on the dirt--the dirt… She noticed it seemed… Messier compared to the other graves. Like someone tried digging through it. The bouquet, though! There was a mix of flowers held together by a red ribbon. Clusters of tiny, magenta flowers, a few pointed, white flowers with many petals, and a type of flower she actually knew the name of: Lilys.

She then brought her gaze up, catching a quick glimpse of her name written in gold, to observe the gems placed into the tombstone. Two orange gems, one yellow, one gold, another maroon, and the gem in the center was amber. They formed an arch around the words in the center.

‘Stop avoiding it.’ She told herself, but she didn’t listen. She turned to Lukas’ grave. She had to see his. She had to. It was right here and--and he’s her friend.

His grave was turquoise and had thin, white stripes that stretched across the top, and seven gems instead of six. Three on each side, and the last gem placed above his epitaph. He was given flowers as well.

The words engraved in the stone read: “LUKAS: Courageous and loyal. An inspiring leader and a brilliant friend.”

Short but wonderful. It was perfect. Reading it over and over again, she thought about just how lucky she and Jess were with having their friend still around. He’s done so much for them. Constantly helping Jess run Beacon Town, aiding the citizens, always visiting her and Axel whenever he got the chance… He could’ve left them during that Witherstorm. He could’ve ditched them at any moment when things got too rough, but he never did.

‘I need to give Lukas a hug when I get back.’ Olivia thought to herself. Lukas could still leave them one day without warning. He could finally get sick of them, die in a brutal fight, or--or end up being kidnapped like this Lukas--Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to get those awful thoughts out. Don’t think about that. He’s still alive. He still cares about them. He loves them.

Olivia kept her eyes closed for a moment longer before finally bringing her attention back to her own grave. She forced herself to read the words written for her; “OLIVIA: An intelligent, creative, and hardworking engineer. A bright spark of joy even during the darkest of days.”

Olivia stared at her words. A weird sense of reassurance was arising. She’s never thought highly of herself. She’d sometimes convince herself that others couldn’t tolerate her, and that she was one mistake away from ruining everything. She wondered if this Olivia ever felt a similar way. Was she constantly trying to make sure she said and did the right things? Try to fix any issue immediately so her friends didn’t think she was useless? Always second guessing her own thoughts?

Did this Olivia know her friends always loved her? Or was she riddled with fears and doubts until her sudden end?

‘She died a couple of years ago, didn’t she?’ Olivia tried to recall any mention of her death from Aiden. She wasn’t certain, but whether it was a few years ago, or a few months ago, didn’t change the fact that she died so soon.

She was young.

Younger than her.

To have her life end on an abrupt note… It scared her. It scared her so much. Everything could be taken away one day.

As she sat over her body, she felt her fingers begin to dig into the dirt, like they were trying to reach in and find the other Olivia’s hand. A sick form of curiosity made her want to know more. More about this Olivia. Her life. Her mind. To have a connection with her. It was her body she was sitting over, afterall. Her corpse. Her--

“Olivia?” Jess placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you doing okay?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Come on.” Aiden gave Jess a light tap with his hand. He started walking away from Olivia. Jess hesitated. He looked at his friend for a second more before leaving with Aiden.

“We just needa give her some space.” Aiden said.

“Right, totally understand.” Jess wanted to stick around for a few minutes longer to study his friends’ graves, but that could wait. He didn’t want to make Olivia feel like he was breathing down her neck.

Jess thought back to the many instances where his friends’ lives were in danger, when they were so close to being taken away from him. He hated seeing his friends’ lives at stake more than anything; he’d go through Hell and back to protect them, and to be in a place where their deaths became a reality was so hard to wrap his head around.

Lukas left without a trace. No familiar faces to comfort him during his last moments, only enemies looming over him while he was in an unknown place. Just thinking about his fate made Jess worry sick about his Lukas back at home.

It was silent for a few minutes. Only their footsteps filled the void.

“So…” Jess started, wanting to make small talk, “What do the colors for Olivia and Lukas’ graves mean?”

“Olivia’s creativity.” Aiden replied, sounding short. “And Lukas’--” He paused and scanned the cemetery. He took a left turn and continued walking between the graves. “He’s…Don’t make fun of us, but his color stands for friendship.”

“Friendship?” Jess perked up at the word.

“I know, it’s probably super cheesy or whatever, but it fits him. It really does.” Aiden said.

“No, no, I completely agree! He’s a great friend--one of the best! If I had to recount all the times he’s been there for me, we’d be here all day.”

“Right. Same here.” They stopped at another grave with another redstone torch in front of it. This grave was short and purple, with many cool-colored gems placed in it. Jess didn’t recognize the name.

Aiden grabbed the torch and blew out the flame. Jess decided to ask another question.

“Any idea why The Awakening puts those torches there?”

“Probably for no good reason.” Aiden answered through gritted teeth as he chucked the wood as hard as he could across the cemetery.

There was something unnerving about the torches left at the grave. Their red glow would take over the colors of the graves, and their light under a thick, cloudy sky would claim your attention and make it hard to pull away. Their soft crackling would fill in the silence whenever he and Aiden didn’t talk; the occasional loud snaps from the flames would make Jess believe there was a threat following them.

Jess stopped at a tombstone and picked up a vase of flowers that had fallen aside. “The gems on their graves, what do they mean? Do you remember ‘em?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d remember what the gems on my own friends’ graves would mean!” Aiden snapped.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” Jess held the vase tighter. “I was just--I wanted to know more about them.” Great. Now they’re both feeling terrible.

Aiden’s demeanor softened when he saw Jess’ reaction. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’ve been--” He hesitated, “I’ve just been thinking about someone is all.”

“No, it’s no problem.” Jess carefully placed the small vase back upright. He folded his arms and joined Aiden’s side.

“I’m uh, still interested to hear bout those gems if you’re wanting to share.” He said.

“Yeah. I can do that for ya.” Aiden answered.

“For Lukas,” Aiden began, walking through the grass. “Gill chose blue. I remember that one’s loyalty. Gold for compassion. White for safety--he’d always double check our belongings every time to make sure we were prepared.”

Aiden stopped and grabbed a torch, “It was kinda annoying, but I miss it now.” He blew it out and threw the wood.

They kept moving.

“Rose picked pink.” Aiden started running his fingers over the grave tops, “She was real embarrassed when she chose it. Kept refusing to show us cause she thought we’d laugh at her.”

“I’m guessing pink’s for love?” Jess said, trying to make sure he wouldn’t trample any flowers.

“Yeah, and--” Aiden chuckled, “Rose wanted his description to be: Pretty blond dork with a decent sense of style. All of us were actually on board with it.”

“Did you end up pulling through with it?” Jess asked.

“Nah, the guys making the grave wouldn’t allow it.” Aiden spotted a couple of gravestones with torches by them. They were already burnt out. He grabbed two of the torches while Jess grabbed the last.

“What a bunch of killjoys.” Jess joked. Aiden laughed as he prepared to throw the burnt wood. Jess mimicked each step of Aiden’s. Hold, aim, then throw. Once they lost sight of the rubbish, they followed the dirt path to the entrance of the cemetery.

The cemetery wasn’t boxed in by hedges like the park, instead, it had a stone wall.

Aiden leaned against the wall. It didn’t look like the most comfortable surface--the rocks were jagged and would probably fall apart in moments--but he seemed unaffected by it. Jess stood nearby and took a peek through the gate beside them. Unlike the rough, uneven walls, the black fence was tall, sturdy, and had a huge, elegantly curved arch.

“Olivia’s got a few similar gems,” Aiden started, putting his hands in his pocket, “Two golds, yellow… She’s got amber--Man, I always mix those three up. They sound different enough but when they’re placed by each other, they all look the same. Amber’s slightly darker than yellow, but not as dark as gold. Amber’s positivity.”

“Lotta happy ones for her.” Jess commented. He’d been staring at the decorated buildings through the gate’s bars as he listened. He could spot bits of pots filled with flowers on the other side of the wall, their colors as eye-catching as the cemetery.

“Always made us happy.” Aiden said with a shrug. “She also had… Ah…” He pressed his lips together, “Orange! She had that one too. And then there’s…” He had to stop to think again.

“It’s not… Well, it looks like red, but it’s darker… Ah, shoot.” Aiden cursed to himself.

“Carmine? Maroon?” Jess tilted his head.

Aiden snapped his fingers, “Maroon! Right! Creativity; same thing as her grave. Picked it myself.” He said rather proudly.

“You guys really cared about her.” Jess mumbled. He tilted his head towards Aiden, “And I’m sure Olivia loved you guys all the same.”

Aiden stared back at him.

A small smile spread across his face, “Thanks.”

The two became quiet and looked over the array of colorful graves before them. The clouds slowly began to part; gems glistened as the rays of sun shone down on them.

“Should we check on Olivia now?” Jess asked after a few minutes of silence.

Aiden got off the stone wall and stretched his back, “Yeah, let’s go.”

~ ~ ~ ~

When the two returned to Olivia, the last thing they wanted to see was to see her in distress. The tips of her fingers were shoved into the dirt below, her eyes were stuck on the golden words in front of her, her mouth was parted--barely moving--with no voice to match. Jess couldn’t tell if she was trembling or not, but she was scared. Very scared.

Jess bit his lip and approached his friend. Aiden was right behind.

“Olivia?” Jess placed his hand on her shoulder, “Are you doing okay?”

Olivia jumped and jerked her hands out of the dirt.

“Yes--! Yeah, no, no don’t worry, I’m fine. Thanks--thank you for checking on me.” She replied frantically. She took deep breaths.

Before Jess could question anything, Olivia spoke up.

“Aiden, this uh--the substance mixed into the stone,” Her fingers trailed down the tombstone, “is it redstone dust?”

Her voice was shaky.

Aiden glanced at Jess, who was equally nervous as him, then said, “Actually, it is.”

He took a step closer to Olivia, “They don’t usually allow people to mix stuff like redstone or glowstone dust with the colors--especially cause they’re hard to find--but they made an exception for us.”

Olivia nodded along, blinking back tears.

Jess read her epitaph, “Guess all Olivia’s are just the greatest engineers out there, huh?”

“Damn right. She didn’t have a bunch of dust to work with, but she’d still crank out machine after machine like no tomorrow.” Aiden said, “Man, I remember every year for her birthday that’d be all she’d ever ask for. Not weapons, not new journals, not even a dang cake, just redstone dust. Course, the only places you could find ‘em were in caves or old shrines, right?” He asked while facing Lukas’ grave and grabbing the lit redstone torch below.

“Yup, we found a bunch of it yesterday.” Jess said, sitting besides Olivia.

“Right, and since it was so dangerous, she told us to not worry bout gettin’ it because ‘It’d be stupid to risk your life for some red powder’.” Aiden gestured with the torch, the flame getting frighteningly close to his hair.

“Well, I’d always lose track of dates and forget to get her a gift, so one of the other guys would back me up and tell Olivia we bought a gift ‘together’, and I felt so bad.” He thankfully blew out the fire after saying that.

“So then guess what I did one day?” Aiden said.

“Walked out and found a bag of redstone on the ground?” Jess asked sarcastically.

Aiden laughed, “I wish.”  

Aiden began pacing, the trail of smoke whirling around him, “But I decided I’d bust into one of those dumb shrine and find some dust for her, and I didn’t tell anyone bout it besides Jesse. He was on board with the plan, he was great at findin’ stuff, plus two people finding dust was much easier than one.” Aiden fiddled with the burnt wood, “We headed off to the nearest shrine and actually found enough dust to fill up a bag and a half, but cause of the state of that dump, some rooms would collapse after you opened the door!”

“You two ended up getting hurt, didn’t you?” Olivia had her hand on her head, already concerned over the direction of this story.

“Course we did!” Aiden threw his arms up. “I swear anytime the two of us were together, things would fall apart or we’d break a bone--” Aiden stopped his talking to quickly chuck the wood away. “Anyways, anyways, we got back home right on time for Olivia’s birthday and man did we look awful. Clothes were all dirty, got some real bad scrapes on my knees, Jesse grabbed so much dust it looked like his fingers were covered in blood, and I somehow got a black eye? I think the top of a chest smacked me...”

Olivia rubbed her temples, “You two really shouldn’t have risked your lives over a birthday present--”

“That’s exactly what she said!” Aiden exclaimed, “Went through all that trouble, and you know how she reacted?”

“Panicked?” Olivia asked.

“Bet she loved it.” Jess said, giving Olivia a nudge.

“She did--but Hero did she freak out! Dropped her cake and rushed over to get us cleaned up. Olivia was wrapping up one of Jesse’s arms--” Aiden thought to himself for a second, “--I think a big rock landed on it? But she was going off on us. Raising her voice and lecturing us like she was our mom, telling us it’s a miracle we were still in one piece, and why in Hero’s name we did something so stupid.”

“I mean, it wasn’t stupid if things worked out for you.” Jess pointed out.

“Yeah, but still.” Aiden chuckled, “It was stupid. It was so, so stupid. But after that, she loved our present. I’d never seen her smile so much. She was working on her machinery, telling me and Jesse how everything worked while we pretended to understand.”

Aiden carefully leaned on Olivia’s grave, “Hero knows I didn’t understand a single thing she was sayin’, but seeing her so happy…” His smile grew as his voice softened, “It was great.”

“That’s all so sweet…” Olivia spoke softly. “I love it.”

She was shaking again.

Jess turned to his friend to mention something, but stopped when he saw Olivia staring at the ground, fingers picking at the dirt just like she was when they came back. That same, terrified expression on her face.

“Liv--?” Jess mumbled, but Olivia started rambling nonsense.

“I don’t know if my words mean much to you--I know I’m not her--but you’re a good friend, Aiden.” Her nails started to dig into the ground, “All of this, all that you’ve done for Olivia--you--you--Even when I just--” She kept stumbling over her words, “Even when she died one day you kept being so kind to me--”

The more she kept talking, the more concerned--the more scared--Aiden and Jess became.

“Hey, hey are you alright?” Jess reached out to hold her, but Olivia shot her head back up.

“I’m under here.” She whispered. Her voice was so unsteady.

Jess was taken aback, “What?”

“I’m under here.” She said again. “I’m so close.”

Her hand began to claw at the dirt, “I’m so close. My body’s all mangled up in that box below, and--and my hair’s so long now.” She felt sick talking about this, she felt sick thinking about it. “It’d be so easy to just dig myself up. For Aiden to see her again. Jesse--Jess, we’re so close. I could look at myself. Look at my body. I’m--”

“Olivia!” Jess shook her, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Aiden wanted to offer his support, but Olivia instantly got on her feet.

“Yes. Yes I want to leave. I want to go home.” She kept repeating that last sentence while she hugged herself, breathing heavily. She was freezing.

“Right, we need to head back anyways.” Aiden’s stomach was in knots seeing Olivia like this. His hands turned to fists, “I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have taken you here. I’m sorry--”

“Don’t.” Olivia cut in. “I wanted to go. You took me. I saw--I saw what I needed to. I appreciate it. Thank you.” She was stiff as a board.

Olivia took one last deep breath, “Let’s go home.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Damn them.

Damn them all.

Locked every damn door and window in this house. They’re hiding her, he knows they’re hiding her.

Did they really think locking themselves in would stop him? He used to live in this Hero forsaken house; he knows every nail, screw, and plank that makes up this despicable place.

He still remembers that trapdoor on the roof. He knows how to claw his way up there. He’ll pry it open with his own bare hands.

He’ll find her.

He will.

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Guardian Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse of kidnapping. Again, details of murder/crime scenes, curse words.

A/N: Hello, hello, hello! So, again, I find myself having to cut this in half. I originally planned on the team getting to you at this point in the story but I got a little carried away. I’ve been thinking about this series so much that it’s ridiculous. Low-key wish I’d been able to direct a CM episode like this. The things I could do with a camera... solely focused on Matthew for a 45 minute episode. Heh. Anyways, remember to like, comment, reblog, send me asks, and basically do the job of producing serotonin for me like my brain is supposed to do naturally. Thank you so much for sticking around and I’ll be sure to get the next part out to you ASAP!

___

[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three ]

It was hours later before Spencer felt the incessant buzzing of his phone against his thigh.

Immediately annoyed and already tired of the day, he didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID before sending it straight to voicemail. Blindly, he rummaged around in the bottom of his satchel for his keys. Spots danced across the back of his left eyelid as he tried to rub the exhaustion away.

Everything about today had been awful. From finding out the girl of his dreams, who he had only known for three weeks, mind you, could be a serial killer to the fact that, without you, nothing made any sense in this case. Even if you weren’t the unsub, you were an integral piece to finding out who was.

After you had left the office earlier this afternoon, Spencer had made it his mission to investigate every other person connected to you. He’d even gone so far as to track down your father to the other side of the globe, having somehow made his way to Europe in order to stay out of you and your mother’s lives.

Try as he might, every possible lead led to a brick wall spray painted to say, ‘She’s the killer.’ Having spent most of the day trying to convince himself that you were the unsub, he was tired of fighting his instincts for fear of compromising himself. Something wasn’t right in this investigation and he just couldn’t figure out what it was.

When his phone started to buzz again as he pushed the key into the key hole, he couldn’t help the sudden surge of anger that seemed to take over his body. Hastily yanking one hand from the door, he reaches into his pocket and presses the answering button.

“Hello, this is Dr. Reid.” His tone is harsh and mechanically echoes back into his ear. Whoever is on the other side of the line is quiet for one second, then two. For five seconds no one responds and Spencer has the time to balance the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so that he could go about removing his bag and shuffling into his car.

“You really thought it was her, didn’t you, Dr. Reid?” Although the natural pitch of the voice suggests a woman, or maybe even a young boy, there is an underlying tone that suggests that it’s a man. Spencer is frozen in place, his bag sitting in the passenger seat of his car, one hand on the inside of the door and the other on the steering wheel.

Slowly, he reaches up to relieve his shoulder from the duty of holding his phone, his long fingers curling around the device. His eyes squinted, the way they usually did when he was thinking. With his other hand, nervously, he reaches up to push away a curl that has escaped from behind his ear.

“Who is this?” He regrets the question the moment it falls from his lips. Someone who has gone the painstaking lengths that this man has gone through to keep himself out of the investigation would not simply reveal his identity when no one even had a suspicion of him.

“Wrong question, Doctor. Try again.” Swallowing past the lump that has started to form in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action, Spencer stretches back across the driver seat of his car to grab his bag. The leather strap digs into the palm of his hand and he drags it toward him, feeling like he was stuck on rewind as he goes about undoing everything he’d just done.

“What do you want?” The click of the door lock is the only sound for three seconds before the man responds again, a sadistic excitement escalating the pitch of his voice.

“Out of life? From a specific restaurant? Be specific in your questioning, Doctor.” He laughs a little breathlessly. In the moments where he doesn’t talk, Spencer strains to hear anything that could help him, but he can’t even hear the guy breathe let alone identify background noise.

“What is your purpose in calling me?” Getting back into the building is a hassle while on the phone, but he manages it nonetheless. There would be no sleeping tonight after a call like this. The elevator button glows a pale yellow as Spencer stabs it with one of his long fingers. For now they are steady, his hands that is, but the full effect of what is happening and what it means hasn’t actually hit him full force yet.

“To inform you of two things; the first being that you are wrong. I killed all those people and I killed them because of you.” The breath in his throat hitches. All of his worst dreams and nightmares have come crawling out of the woodworking and across his skin like thousands of tiny spiders.

“The second being that I’ll be hanging out with our mutual friend for a while, so you may not see her for a little bit.” There is a creaking of a door before he hears you. Your voice is already hoarse from screaming and the sound of restraints clacking against a concrete flooring puts the picture of you in a dungeon deep into his head.

“Spencer?! Spencer his name i-” The sound of a hand making contact with skin makes Spencer’ blood boil with rage.

Curling into the corner of the elevator, hunching his shoulders into himself and covering an ear with the palm of his opposite hand, Spencer speaks slowly and deliberately into the speaker.

“Do not touch her.” The man on the line chuckles, reaching out to run a finger along the edge of your jawline. You snatch your head away, your slapped cheek already turning pink, and push back against the wall.

“I’m afraid it’s already too late for that. Happy hunting.” The doors of the elevator open as soon as the line goes dead. Everything in Spencer kicks into overdrive, his mind flying so fast that he could barely manage to keep up with it himself.

Hotch, ready to leave for the day, stands in the opening. The tired look in eyes only grows when he sees the young profiler standing in his way, his face drained of blood and his phone still desperately clutched to his ear.

“What’s happened?”

Not so far away, the door to the empty, concrete basement shuts you in by yourself. Around your ankle is a handcuff attached to a car chain that is anchored to the floor. If you crawl to it, dragging your injured leg behind you, you can see the shoddy soldering done to create this makeshift dungeon.

In the corner is a mattress with a thin cotton blanket probably from dollar general or somewhere equally as cheap. A lamp sits beside it, the wooden bottom nailed into the floor to keep you from using it as a weapon. The only other thing is a wooden chair that is planced just below a high rectangle window. A couple of desperate shakes against the leg confirms that it is also nailed to the floor.

With nothing of use, save maybe the blanket, you go about taking a collection of your injuries.

The top of your head is leaking a steady stream of blood that drips down the side of your face and sticks your hair to your cheek. The sight of so much blood coming from your head is alarming at first, but just as quickly as you started to panic, you remember that head wounds can bleed quite a lot. No matter how small.

On the opposite side as your head injury is a deep cut on your cheekbone. It has stopped bleeding, dry blood clogged around the torn skin and flaking along your cheek when you run your finger over it.

Your thigh is a different issue all together, the knife wound throbbing with pain no matter how you shift or apply pressure. You’ve coated your hands in gloves made of your own blood trying to staunch the bleeding, hissing and whimpering the whole time.

All three injuries had happened in a matter of minutes, starting with the knife to your thigh.

You drove for an hour and a half toward nowhere in particular, only pulling off the road when the gun jammed into your neck and Harvey snapped at you from the back.

“Turn right on the dirt road.” The tiny car bumped and bounced around the dirt and gravel, driving straight for another fifteen minutes. You were surrounded by nothing but trees and hills and although you’d been familiar with the area where you’d pulled off the road, you weren’t sure where you were.

When the gun jammed back into your neck and Harvey screamed for you to stop, you slammed so hard on the brakes that he rocked forward and hit his head on the back of the passenger seat. The crunch of his breaking nose was sickening to your ears, but the bite of the seat belt digging into your collarbone and neck was enough to keep you from vomiting.

“You bitch!” He cried, the hand not holding a gun to your neck flew up to catch the blood that fell from his nose. Despite his attempts, a drop or two still managed to fall to the floor and soak into the fabric. His DNA would be on this car, you could only hope that he was in some sort of system. Even now, after everything you’d been through today, you still trusted the team of FBI Agents to find you before it was too late.

The safety on the gun made a clicking noise, your entire body freezing in place as you looked at everything around you. You were in a big dirt field, trees surrounding a patch of land that may have once been the grounds for a home. Now, only your car, a red SUV, and red soil were the only things there to see.

Harvey moved around in the back seat, you could see him in your rear view mirror as he pulled tissues from his pocket and shoved them into his broken nose. When he was finished he pulled out a pocket knife. His eyes were two beady slits of black as he met your gaze in the mirror.

“We’re going to get out of this car, and get into that car right over there. I’ll get in the driver’s seat, and you get in the trunk. Understood?” Sweat slicked your hair to your temples as you shook your head, your grip on the steering wheel so tight that your fingertips had started to tingle.

“You aren’t a good shot, Harvey. The moment we get out of this car, I’ll run.” The knife in his hand popped to attention at your words, gleaming in the sunlight. Somehow, it was only four o’clock in the afternoon and you had already been through hell.

“You won’t be able to.” He said, his hand shooting forward and sinking into your leg. Through the shock of it all, you’d barely felt it even after he pulled the bloody knife back and flipped it shut. You gaped at the wound, watching as the blood seeped out, soaked into your pants, and smeared onto the leather covering of your seat.

The back door opened, the car still alive and thrumming underneath you as he hurried over to your side of the car. You didn’t think, you just acted, throwing the car out of park and letting the adrenaline pumping through your veins mask the pain it caused you to slam on the gas.

Maybe you would have made it, drove out of here and been able to make it to a hospital before you bled out in your own car, but it had been raining nearly nonstop for three weeks and your car was not made to go fast in mud. Your tires spun long enough for Harvey to throw your door open and slam the butt of his gun into your head, causing your face to slam into the steering wheel and render you unconscious.

By the time you came back to yourself, Harvey had been carrying you down the steps and into a basement or cellar of some kind. You had no idea where you were or how long you had been out, only that your entire body was sore and cold.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good. I wanted to apologize about earlier, you just made me a little angry. But we’re better now. I even took those bloody clothes off you. I’ve got your room made up for you and if you’re good, I might let you talk to a friend of ours.” His tone is cheerful, his dark eyes complimenting the dark bags underneath them.

Harvey had been in several of your classes when you went to Georgetown, a friendly face amongst all the older kids who used to sneer at you when you tried to do anything. You wouldn’t actually say you were friends, just two people who were kind to each other. Later, once you parted ways after graduation, he became the personal assistant of your agent. He told you he was just trying to make ends meet while he was going back to school for his masters. It was such a surprise to see you again!

Then last month he quit after the death of his mother, thanking your agent for the experience and moving back to whatever town it was he used to lived in that you never bothered to ask about. Agents have multiple clients, yours was no exception, so you thought nothing of the change in personal assistants based solely on the fact that you barely noticed. Her life didn’t revolve around you and yours didn’t revolve around her.

But now, locked in a basement wearing nothing but your underwear and a tank top, blood soaking through a bandage around your thigh, with the really cute man you’d based a character on believing that you were a serial killer, you wish you’d noticed him more.

...

Garcia was the one to suggest looking at the security footage of the parking lot. She’d been clacking away on her tablet and trying to not seem disappointed about being dragged back to the BAU so quickly, when someone asked where you would have gone from here.

“What if he took her from here?” Everyone had looked at her with varying degrees of peculiar looks. Someone being kidnapped from the parking lot of a building full of FBI Agents? It would be comical if kidnappings weren’t a serious issue. Ironic. That’s the word Penelope was looking for. It was ironic.

“I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look at the security footage but her lawyer walked her to her car, it was broad daylight. What are the-” Prentiss’ mouth snaps shut and her lips purse just a little when Penelope brings up the video on the big screen.

Just thirty minutes before you walk outside, a small and stocky figure jimmies open your back door and slides in. He must slide to the passenger side of the backseat because he disappears from view. While he isn’t dressed in an extremely unusual manner, the hat and the black hoodie he is wearing help to hide his identity from the camera hanging over him.

Fast forward thirty minutes and all eyes trained to you as you drop your keys and bend to pick them up. Guilt hits every single member on the team, Spencer probably more than the rest, when they watch your head drop into your hands once you’re in the confines of your car.

An arm extends across the backseat, coming into view of the camera as the unsub presses a gun into your neck. In a matter of fourty-five seconds, you start the car and pull out of the parking spot.

“So we can rule out Jeremy.” Spencer says plainly, shuffling the papers in front of him as he thinks. Across the table Hotch nods his head in agreement. Jeremy was tall, maybe an inch shorter than Spencer, and he while he had an athletic build it was more lean muscle than the wide and stocky build the unsub had.

Penelope is quick to gather her things and head for her office, already planning on trying to follow your path through traffic cameras. It would be a grueling process, but it was the least she could do after digging through your life to, unintentionally, frame you for eight murders you didn’t commit.

“We interviewed everyone she has a connection to, in state or not. She’s an extremely low-risk victim, her circles don’t run that big.” Morgan has his own tablet pulled into his lap and he tilts his chair this way and that. A coin weaves in and out of his fingers and his forehead wrinkles as he goes over the list in his mind.

“Then we’ve already talked to our unsub, we just have to figure out which one it was.”

The first names to go are those out of state; your mother, your father, your best friend, and a handful of people you were connected to through the publishing firm. While the remaining names are few in numbers, it still puts Spencer on edge. They didn’t have the kind of time to be wasting energy of persons of interest, they needed one name identifying their unsub.

Nevertheless, the names are split amongst the group of profilers who work tirelessly through the night. The sun soon rises and glares through the window of the BAU conference room, putting Spencer Reid right into it’s spotlight.

There are bags under his eyes, eyes that take longer to open every time he blinks. He’s read the same paragraph eight different times, his cheek perched against the heel of his palm and his elbow propped on the tabletop. When he pushes back from the table, taking the file with him as he tries to walk away the exhaustion, it isn’t for the first time that night.

All he can think about is that final look you gave him as you walked out the door. It was a look of complete and utter betrayal, like you’d been trying to convince yourself that he was somehow oblivious in your being accused of the murders and seeing him there had been a punch of truth in the gut. He’d gone forward when you stumbled, reflexively reaching out to steady you on your feet before his mind could process the action.

Spencer has been doing that since he met you, trying to protect you like he was a giant ball of bubble wrap around you. He’d done it that day in the bookstore, throwing all precautions to the wind when he held the back of your head to keep you from hitting that bookshelf. He’s done it several times at a coffee shop you both enjoy visiting on his days off, physically maneuvering your body when he realizes that your current trajectory will cause you to ram your hip into a table corner.

One time, he’d been walking with you across the street when a man on a bicycle had come flying out of nowhere. You’d been just a step in front of him, your head tilted over your shoulder and your hands flying around with animation as you told him a story. Truly, he wasn’t sure how he knew to reach out and grab your shoulders, you have a way of telling stories that makes the entire world fall away. Yet, as if he was Spider-Man or something, every cell in his body suddenly cried out and he didn’t hesitate in pulling you back.

The force Spencer used to pull your body into his chest had sent you both tumbling to the sidewalk behind you.

“Are you okay?” You’d said, turning so that you were hovering over him with the sun framing you like a halo around your head. Surely you could feel the rapid escalation of his heartbeat with the way you tenderly place one of your small hands over his chest.

In the end he had to pull you to the side of the busy street to put a band-aid on your elbow where it had hit the concrete. It had been in the bottom of your bag and it had Scooby-Doo on it.

Despite his eidetic memory, some moments always manage to fade a little more than others. Some moments stick out more, like when you had reached out to smooth a stray curl away from his face. Your fingers were featherlight against his temple, your head tilted just a little to the side, and a soft smile stretched your lips.

“You’re my guardian angel.”

Some guardian angel he was, accusing you of murder on eight accounts and then letting you be kidnapped by someone who had no qualms about slapping you. God only knows what else he was comfortable with.

“I’ve got a lead!” Garcia burst into the room, her chest heaving as she sent videos and pictures to the screen for everyone to see. Spencer couldn’t see her face as she bent over her tablet, punching in information and instructions, but he nearly peppered it with kisses when she started to explain what they were all seeing.

“I managed to track (Y/N) to a little town about and hour and a half away when she, probably on purpose, ran a red light just in front of a gas station.” The video of your car creeping through a four-way traffic light until it turned red and captured you on camera was time stamped for yesterday afternoon around four o’clock.

“If you look closely, she turns onto a dirt road just a few seconds later,” Sure enough, every eye in the room watches as your car disappears behind a cluster of trees across from the BP on the left side of the video. “Satellite pictures show that little dirt road leads to one house that burned down a year ago.”

Mouths open, cogs turns, but Penelope Garcia once again proves her intelligence when she merely waves one hand in their direction and uses the other hand to pull up several documents and articles.

“Don’t sweat it. There’s no connection at all. Belonged to a Martin and Elisa Lewis back in the fifties before it was abandoned in the seventies. It was a local haunt where teenagers went to smoke, get drunk, have parties, and do the crazy and reckless things teenagers love to do. One of these reckless things led to a fire and burned the place down. But what’s important is what leaves this place fourty-eight minutes and twenty seconds after (Y/N)’s car enters.”

The video jumps forward in time, resuming as a red SUV pulls off the road and comes back for the stoplight. They can’t manage to get a license plate, the car being recently purchased by the unsub and the paper temporary being stuck to the inside of a tinted window, and they don’t manage to get a good image of the unsub driving. It feels, for a quarter of a second, as if there is no lead at all, until Spencer jumps to his feet.

“We need to see if her car is still there.”

The hour and a half drive takes fifty minutes with their lights on, mud kicking up beneath their tires as they pull into the empty lot. Your car sits abandoned in the middle, your back tires sunk into a pile of mud. The mass collection of blood on your driver’s seat makes Spencer nauseas. Rossi gives him a reassuring pat on the back.

It does nothing for Spencer’s nerves. He is truly the worst guardian angel ever.

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

Lightning in a Bottle | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: None :)

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Music is Edmund’s love language, apparently. 

Request: Hey! Could you possibly do a cute high school au with Edmund? Maybe they’re both crushing on each other and everyone knows except themselves, anything you wanna do really haha 😂 thanksss :)

A/N: Thanks for the request!!  God, I love Edmund so much. And here, we have indie boi Ed. This oneshot is inspired by  Electric Love by Børns. (Specifically, the video linked) This is one of my favorite songs, and I thought it fit the indie-main-character-high-school vibe :) I didn’t really nail the “everyone knows but them” thing, but still crushes! Enjoy ~

masterlist | here is a playlist of the songs in the mixtape mentioned | read on ao3

Edmund Pevensie was obsessed with listening to music, particularly with old musical technology. While it wasn’t uncommon to have a fascination with cassette tapes or vinyl records, it hit a special chord within Edmund’s heart. Something about listening to music, old and new, on the outdated tech made the music sound better, hit harder, and stick in his mind better. He was the type of guy who took the AUX on long car rides to play one of his thousand Spotify playlists. 

Another notable thing about Edmund was that he was very intelligent with very high standards for himself. He was a natural at academics, having been in advanced classes since he was young, and he was the guy everyone hated in math class. After dozing off in class, and mouthing off to the teacher every now and again, he still came out as the teacher’s favorite and a straight-A student. 

The majority of the time, though, he tended to keep to himself. While he was genuinely liked by his peers and was rather charming, he didn’t really consider anyone his friend. Unlike his older brother, Peter, he liked to remain closer to the shadows with earbuds in his ears. He knew he could never fill his brother’s shoes; Peter had basically come into Cair Paravel High School to be captain of the soccer team. He was so good that even though his grades were subpar at best, he received a full-ride scholarship to Archenland University to study sports medicine and play on their soccer team. 

Then there was his older sister, Susan, who won her Student Body President campaign by a landslide. Everyone liked Susan; she was patient, gentle, and got along with pretty much everyone. She too got a pretty large scholarship to Beruna State College and is double majoring in child education and European history. 

Finally, there was Edmund’s little sister, Lucy. She was only a freshman at Cair Paravel, and very into student council. Edmund thought she was practically made to be an ASB kid; she was excited, friendly, and much too kind. Lucy made the switch to high school seamlessly and had a big group of friends by the time the final bell rang on the first day. 

Edmund was a senior now and he couldn’t wait to get out of high school. The people were unintelligent, he was constantly compared to his siblings and he was ready to start his life. Edmund had high ambitions to become a lawyer, specifically criminal law. He didn’t really have much to leave behind at this school, so he was just trying to get through it as soon as possible.

One thing he would miss was the quiet girl that sat behind him in his music appreciation class. Edmund didn’t really want to take the class, but at the last minute, he discovered he needed to fulfill an arts credit to graduate. He appreciated music and liked easy classes, so he chose this one. Little did he know it was mostly analyzing classical pieces. 

Y/N was super cute in Edmund’s eyes. She always mumbled sarcastic comments whenever their easily excitable teacher, Mr. Tumnus, would stretch when over-analyzing a stanza of music. By the time October passed, Edmund had grown quite fond of the girl. She almost always was reading a comic book of some sort instead of paying attention in class. Y/N even ended up lending Edmund a few for his viewing pleasures; he always made sure to return them in the exact condition he received them. Batman seemed to Y/N’s favorite. 

Y/N loved watching Edmund write. He held his pencil wrong and always had ink smudged all over his hand. Maybe it was because he was a leftie, or maybe it was because he wrote too fast. Probably a little bit of both. His handwriting was also weirdly slanted to the right, which didn’t make any sense to Y/N. He was left-handed but his letters slanted to the right? Not the mention how half of it was in cursive and half of it was in print. It was definitely messy but, oddly enough, still intelligible. 

“What are you listening to?” Y/N asked Edmund. “Better not be Christmas music. Christmas was last month.”

Edmund pulled an earbud out of his left ear and turned so he was sitting horizontally in his chair. He leaned an arm on the top of her desk and grinned. “Currently, I’m listening to Can I Call You Tonight? By Dayglow. What are you reading?” 

“Currently, I’m reading Volume 1 of The New Teen Titans,” Y/N copied Edmund. “I’ve never heard of Dayglow, are they good?” 

Edmund smiled, offering her his earbuds. “Listen and see for yourself.” 

As she listened Edmund searched her face for any clue to what she’s thinking. Her face housed a small smile so he concluded that she enjoyed it. Once the song ended, she took out one of his earbuds and placed it on her desk. 

“I like it,” She concluded, listening to the next song. 

“Good, so do I. It fits my mood for today.”

“What’s got you so happy today? You have a great way of showing happiness, by the way.” Edmund was dressed in all black with his hood up. Edmund rolled his eyes. 

“What I can’t be in a good mood?” 

“I never said that, Pevensie. You just look very Edmund-y today.” Y/N pulled the other earbud out of her head and held them out to him.

“No, keep listening. I’ll play some music for you throughout class and maybe you can tell me what you think at the end?” He pulled his hood off of his head and smoothed out his hair. “And what do you mean Edmund-y?”

“I don’t know, all black, hood up, dead look in your eyes.” 

“I don’t have a dead look in my eyes!” Y/N giggled at her own joke. “Just for that, I’m going to take this.” He snatched the open comic book that laid open on her desk. 

For the remainder of the class, Edmund dictated what Y/N listened to from his phone. He played everything from The Beatles, to The 1975, to COIN, to Duran Duran. Every now and then, Edmund would peek his head back to see her eyes glued to the back of his head. Her body swayed to the music almost lazily, and a smile graced her features. For some reason that made his stomach feel fuzzy. 

She returned his earbuds at the end of class, and he returned her comic. 

“That was fun,” Y/N complimented, shoving her materials into her bag. “I like the get better song you played.”

“I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers,” Edmund corrected her as they left the classroom. Music Appreciation was the class of the day for them, seeing as they were seniors who left at lunch, so the two started making their way towards the parking lot. 

“You have to meet your sister right?” Y/N asks, pulling out her I.D. so she could leave campus. “The really sweet freshman girl? Honestly, you two are so different I wouldn’t have guessed you were siblings.” 

“Oh, Lucy, yeah. We grab lunch every Thursday before I drop her back off for the remainder of her classes.” The two showed their I.D.’s to the campus aid and walked into the parking lot. 

“That’s sweet. We should grab lunch sometime, or something. It could be fun! We could do our analysis questions about Bach.” Y/N started to walk in the opposite direction and Edmund felt his cheeks warm. Luckily, Y/N’s back was now towards him. 

“Yeah, sure. Don Giovanni, right?” 

Y/N’s laughter could be heard as she grew further away. “That’s Motzart, Pevensie!”

Edmund shook his head and met Lucy. She was leaning against his car looking bored. 

“Who was that? Is that your girlfriend?” Lucy asks, opening the door once Edmund unlocks the car. This made his cheeks flush more. 

“No, she’s just the girl that sits behind me in Tumnus,” Edmund puts the key in the ignition and starts the engine. 

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not, Lucy. It’s just hot in the car, it’s been sitting out here for ages.”

~

 One day in the middle of March when Y/N walked into Music Appreciation, she noticed a small rectangle box on her desk. Upon opening it, she found a cassette and a note. The note looked as if it was typed using a typewriter. 

Y/N,

I’m not very good when it comes to words, but I’m good when it comes to music. Hopefully, this says it all. Enjoy, my love. 

Side A //

Electric Love / Børns

I Love You So / The Walters

Fallingforyou / The 1975

Your Song /  Elton John

Someone To You / BANNERS

Side B //

Babe, Can I Call? / The Hunna

Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy) / The 1975

Luv, Hold Me Down / Drowners

love somebody like you / joan

TV Dream / Larkins

Y/N didn’t recognize most of the songs, but just reading the titles made her blush. 

“Mr. Tumnus? Did you happen to see who left this on my desk?” She held up the cassette so he could see. He shook his head. 

“No, sorry.”

Other students started to trickle in and soon the bell rang, no trace of Edmund. It wasn’t uncommon for him to skip this class, it was basically pointless, but it made Y/N sad every time he wasn’t there. 

The door swings open and a drenched Edmund steps into the classroom. Without even looking up, Mr. Tumnus addresses him. 

“You’re late again, Mr. Pevensie.”

“Sorry, I got stuck behind a group of Sophmore girls who wouldn’t move.”

“In the rain?” Mr. Tumnus raised an eyebrow.

“No, if it was in the rain I would be wet right now, sir.”

He plopped into his seat and started raking his hands through his wet hair. His cheeks were slightly rosey, as were his nose. His lips were pinker than usual and they stayed slightly parted. Hair stuck to his forehead as he ran his fingers ran through it and the hair on the nape of his neck dripped down his back. Y/N had to stop herself from staring at him with her jaw unhinged. 

“What’s that?” He whispered, noticing the open present on Y/N’s desk. He had taken up sitting horizontal in his chair at all times so he could more easily talk to Y/N. 

“It’s a mixtape. It was left on my desk when I got here,” Y/N responded and handed him the note. Edmund took it and began to read; his eyes scanned the paper and his lips moved slightly as he read. Y/N couldn’t help her this time, so she allowed herself to stare. His lips were always so pink and so puffy. She fantasized about how soft they must be. 

“Wow, looks like someone really likes you,” He comments, placing the paper back on her desk. “Do you have a cassette player?”

Y/N didn’t even consider that. Who the hell has a cassette player in the year 2020? Apparently, her answer was evident on her face, and Edmund chuckles. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a walkman and a pair of earbuds. 

“Here, you can have mine. I got a new one last month and I don’t really use this one as much.”

Oh, Edmund has a cassette player in the year 2020. 

Y/N smiled, taking the player from his hand. “Thanks, Ed.”

“Wouldn’t want you to miss out on those songs. Whoever made that has good taste, you’re lucky.” 

~

When Y/N got home tonight, she took out her walkman. It sat easily in her palm, just big enough for the cassette to fit inside. On the bottom, “E.P.” was scratched into the plastic. She smiled and put her mixtape inside. 

As she listened, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Edmund. They had grown much closer in the past few months, even going lengths to hang out outside of school. Y/N learned that not only was Edmund extremely intelligent, but he was the funniest person Y/N had ever met. He always had a sarcastic comeback or joke to offer her, no matter the subject. He had also let many of his walls down, letting Y/N get to know him better. It all felt so comfortable and natural. No longer was he just the cute guy from Music Appreciation, but he was the pain in the ass that Y/N had fallen for. And Y/N had fallen hard. 

Against her first impression of the mixtape, Y/N had actually heard all of these songs. After the first day in January, Edmund had lent her his earbuds near-daily and she would listen to whatever he played for her. Her eyes widened. 

Why would Edmund carry around a cassette player he didn’t use? And to school for that matter? And the note; it was typed because Edmund had such distinct handwriting! Y/N rewound the cassette and listened to it again. Why didn’t she realize in the moment?

~

“Hello, Y/N,” Edmund greeted in the parking lot the morning, he happened to park next to Y/N. He gripped the coffee in his hand and got his backpack in the trunk. “How are you on this fine morning?”

“Tired, I stayed up, like, half the night listening to that cassette I got yesterday.” Y/N slung her own backpack over her shoulder. He closed his trunk and locked his car. 

��Yeah? And what did you think?” The two started walking towards the building. 

“I thought that the songs all sounded oddly familiar.”

Edmund took a long sip of his coffee. “Like you’ve heard them before?” 

“Mmhm,” Y/N hummed and walked onto campus. She held one of the straps of her backpack as she walked. “Almost as if this dumbass guy I know played them for me a while back,” Y/N’s voice was teasing and light. 

“Yeah? Who is this guy?” Y/N stopped walking and looked up at Edmund. 

“Thanks for the mixtape, Ed.” 

“Whaaaat...just because this guy has great taste in love songs doesn’t mean it was me. I’m flattered though, really,” Edmund took another long sip of his coffee. 

“Oh, what a pity. I actually got excited when I figured out it was you. Considering normal people don’t just carry cassette players in their backpacks. Especially not ones they don’t use anymore.” Y/N’s voice was thick with sarcasm. 

“Excited?”

“Yeah. I’ve kinda liked that Edmund guy for a while, but he doesn’t like me back so…”  

“You like me back?” Edmund was grinning from ear to ear. 

“Yes, babe, I like you back. I have since October since I started letting you borrow my comics,”

Edmund placed his coffee on a bench and pulled Y/N closer to him by the hips. 

“October, huh?” Y/N smiled bashfully at Edmund’s tone but nodded. 

“What? You’re cute, I couldn’t help myself. Plus, now you make me cute mixtapes.”

Edmund leans down and places his lips against hers. They were just as soft as she had imagined. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers quickly finding the hairs at the nape of his neck. He pulls away and leans his forehead against hers. 

“Be my girlfriend, then?”

“You nerd,” Y/N took a small step forwards and pecked his lips again. “I would love to.”

[lemonandhugs]

Stars Align: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

CPOV

Cait was already a basket-case of nerves, but arriving at the studio in LA, 23 minutes late, just made her even more so.  

“Fucking LA traffic…” she uttered to herself, as she quickly scrambled to get her purse and phone in one hand and open the car door with the other.

‘Fuck…I’m so late. I’ll be lucky if they even still agree to let me do this screen-test! Plus, what a great way to create a first impression…’ she thought to herself, with panicked sarcasm. ‘I don’t think this tartan dress will be enough to make up for it…’

She arrived at the door of the studio. Before knocking, she closed her eyes, took a long, deep breath, and waited until her heart slowed.

She put her shaky hand up to the door and knocked three times.

“Yeah, come in.” was the answer of what sounded like an older man.

Upon entering, this man stood up and walked towards her, a small smile on his lips. He had shoulder-length, grey hair, and a sensible, serious look about his face.

“Hello, Caitriona Balfe?” he held out his hand to her.

“Hi, yes. I’m so sorry I’m late!” she said as she fumbled to get a free hand to shake his.

“That’s alright. Traffic? You’ll get used to it. Ron Moore, good to meet you.”

Cait giggled nervously, “nice to meet you.”

She felt more at ease and could finally breathe a little slower.

“Alright, well that’s Sam Heughan in there. He’ll be playing the part of Jamie Fraser. You’ll be doing a screen-test with him today. We’re going to see what sort of chemistry you two have together. I’ll let you introduce yourselves, if you just want to leave your stuff here and step in,” Ron directed with his arm.

Cait peered into the screen-test room, through the rectangle, glass cut-out in the door, before entering. The man she saw quickened her previously calm pulse. A man with a strong jawline, finely-toned muscle definition visible in his arms, a head of chestnut-coloured hair, which slightly curled behind each ear. He was fiddling with his watch, bent over in the chair, with his elbows resting on his knees.

Cait turned the handle, opened the door and took a step. Little did she know there was a slight elevation in the door frame. She tripped quite suddenly, luckily with one hand still holding onto the door handle.

‘Fuck!’ she thought to herself, squeezing her eyes together, feeling her face flush.

It happened within a blink of an eye, but as she regained her balance and stood up straight, this man, Sam, was less than five feet away, coming toward her. The size of this man took her by surprise. She herself was tall, 5”9, but this man towered, at least, another half a head over her. Strongly built body, with a kind face.

“Oh, you alright?” he said, with concern in his English-Scottish accented voice.

Cait giggled nervously and straightened her dress. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m Caitriona Balfe. I’m sorry I’m so late, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” she said, shakily putting her hand out to him.

“Oh no don’t worry about it. I was late too, took me long enough to get here. The traffic is insane, twenty-four hours a day. Sam Heughan. Nice to meet you Caitriona,” he said sweetly, with a smile that touched his eyes. He gently shook her hand, his hand warm and large.

The second thing Cait noticed was this man’s eyes. Such a light shade of blue that stood out against his slightly sun-kissed skin.

‘His eyes…and so tall…quite handsome…and sweet too.’ Caitriona thought to herself, as she smiled back at him, shaking his hand. This man she had known for ten seconds had already put her at ease.  

“Great dress, very fitting,” Sam giggled, looking from the top to bottom, before turning around.

“Thank you, I thought it would make a good impression,” Cait smiled, looking down at it also.

Sam turned around and let out a little laugh and nodded.

Cait walked over to where Sam was, in line with the camera. She looked at the camera lens and saw Ron talking to a few other members of the crew.

“How are you feeling? Are you nervous?” Sam asked, turning towards her.

“A little,” Cait said, slightly biting her lip and peering up at him.

“Ah, I’m sure you’ll do fine. I’ll try and help you through it,” he said, with a small grin, giving her back a soft pat.

“Thank you,” she replied, with a small smile.

******

The screen test was only seven minutes long; a short but very passionate scene.

Sam softly pat her on the back again and let his arm fall around her, holding onto her upper arm, enveloping her with his large form. She reciprocated by slipping her arm around his waist; a subtle confirmation that she was comfortable. He then moved his hand from on top of her arm, to underneath her arm, so that he was touching her side. This gave her a pleasurable sort of ache in her stomach and chest. A feeling that shocked her; it was so sudden. It was slightly awkward, having to stand there with the camera still rolling, being put under that pressure to be comfortable. Especially since they had just met and had no time to talk prior. Cait gained enough confidence to slightly and briefly lean her head against his neck.

His body was very firm, and very warm against hers. She could feel the strong lines in his back, waist and arms. She noticed that he had big, armpit sweat patches. It didn’t bother her though, because his smell was intoxicating. She couldn’t figure out whether it was his skin or his clothes.

“I lost my ring, during that, as well”, Sam giggled, pulling Cait from her fantasy.

Cait glanced up at him, not being able to hide the fact that her smile fell, then she looked down and furrowed her eyebrows slightly. She tried to play it off as if she didn’t hear him or didn’t understand what he meant.

‘Ring. His ring. His ring fell off, during our steamy, passionate, and quite physical, chemistry test. Married? Most likely, look at him. Why wouldn’t he be. Well…plenty more fish in the sea. Him telling me that, right after I leant my head against his neck, was obviously his way of saying “okay, too much”. Right, you are going to let this slip right off. It doesn’t bother you, why would it…? You’ve known this man for 5 seconds, damnit.’

She nervously peered up at him again, and saw that he was no longer smiling, but had a tiny frown; he was questioning her.

‘Oh fuck!’

“Oh…oh! Did you?!” Cait forced herself to laugh, looking down behind them, trying to make it believable.

This seemed to have recovered things. Sam laughed and replied, “yeah it went under the chair!”

Cait continued to laugh. Then they both fell silent, looking at the camera.

“Well done,” Sam smiled down at her, giving her another soft pat on the back.

“Thank you very much,” Cait grinned, blushing slightly. She briefly looked at the floor, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry for putting you in a bear hug,” Sam giggled nervously, then bit his lip.

“Oh, that’s absolutely fine. I’m sorry for punching you in the face,” Cait peered up at him, laughing.

Sam laughed with her, “my fault. No, it was good”.

“That was pretty terrific…” Ron said, with raised eyebrows.

“Awesome, thank you very much,” Cait said, with a modest smile touching her lips.

“You should hear from us within a few days. Thanks for coming out,” Ron nodded, with a smile.

“Okay, no worries,” Cait replied, breaking away from Sam’s body, instantly feeling the difference, away from his body heat.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Sam”, Cait smiled up at him.

“Yeah, it was nice meeting you too, and good luck”, Sam replied, winking at her and smiling.

Cait quickly looked away, ‘don’t wink at me when you’re married.’

Then she nodded, “we’ll soon find out if I was good enough”.

Cait walked towards the door and said, “see you, and thanks”.

Sam was sitting back down on the chair, putting his watch back on. “Bye, see you later,” he smiled sweetly at her.

“Thanks so much, Ron”, Cait said, picking up her things and smiling.

“No worries Caitriona. Great work, see you later,” Ron smiled.

Cait walked towards the studio exit, then briefly looked back at Sam, who was still sitting in the chair. He suddenly looked up and met her eyes, through the glass, and she quickly whipped her head back and went through the door. On the other side of the door, Cait let out a huge breath of air, one that felt like it had been held in for hours. She leant her back against the door and closed her eyes.

 SPOV

Hearing the door open and a slight thud, Sam broke from his daydream. He looked up just in time to see a long-legged, brunette leaning over, mid-fall. He sprung to his feet and walked over to help her. When she regained herself and stood up straight, Sam was able to take her all in, and it startled him.

‘Flawless, fair skin…she’s tall…the most sparkling blue-grey eyes... Legs for days, too. This woman is beautiful, no denying.’ Sam thought to himself as he swallowed, trying not to stare.

Sam smiled at her, and shook her hand, trying to be as gentle as he could; she was tall, but also very petite.

Her hand was cold and clammy. ‘Poor thing is obviously nervous. Such a great smile. It lights up her whole face. Now I’m nervous. An Irish lass, with a Scot dress. It’s a fine dress. Well now comment on the dress! Don’t just look her up and down like that, you’ve just met her! Great first impression…stop biting your lip, she might take it the wrong way!’

******

‘My god…she’s got so much talent! If Ron doesn’t pick her, he’s an imbecile. Why the fuck did I put her in a bear hug though…got lost in the scene, I guess. I think it pissed her off when I restricted her like that…or was she acting? Shit. She gave me as much as I gave her. She wasn’t afraid to be so physical. She gave this scene her all.’

Sam briefly touched her back, to give her reassurance, and gently put his arm around her, testing the waters. He felt a boost of confidence after that very physical scene. Perhaps it would be alright to innocently touch her.

‘Well she’s okay with my arm, otherwise she wouldn’t have immediately reciprocated. It feels good…she’s moving her thumb…don’t bite your lip. Oh no I’ve put my sweaty hand on her skin…I hope she doesn’t mind me putting my hand underneath her arm…Wait did she just…did she just move her head into my neck? She did. I guess she’s quite comfortable. Don’t smirk. What…oh no, fucking ginormous sweat patch! Oh god please don’t notice. Need a diversion, quick…I’ll tell her how my ring fell off!’

******

‘Hmm, did she not hear me when I told her my ring fell off? Did she find it weird, me telling her that? She looks annoyed…or confused?’

******

‘Okay she obviously just didn’t hear me. This is good, she feels comfortable enough to joke right back with me. She makes me a bit nervous, but at the same time, she’s very easy to talk to. This could be good if Ron picks her…’

*****

Sam was getting out of the shower when he saw Ron’s name light up his phone.

“Hi Ron, how are you?” Sam asked politely.

“Hey Sam, good. Listen, so we’ve gone with Caitriona for Claire’s part. Now obviously you two are going to be working closely together for a good three years, if all goes well, so I’m going to email through her number and email, in case you’d like to meet up before we begin shooting. You both have perming appointments in London in a few days, all good?” Ron explained.

Sam’s eyes lit up upon hearing that Ron did indeed pick Caitriona. It’s what he’d been hoping for. He hasn’t been able to stop himself from thinking about her, since the chemistry test, two days ago. It was strange. He was both nervous and excited to see her again. His heart picked up the pace a little.

“Oh yeah, that’s great! Yes, it’d be nice for us to get to know each other better before we go to Scotland,” Sam replied happily.

“Yeah. Alright I’ll send that through. I’ll talk to you soon. Thanks Sam,” Ron said.

“Alright Ron, thanks,” Sam replied, then hung up and plugged in his phone.

Still with a towel around his waist, he sat on his couch, leant over to his coffee table where his MacBook was sitting and opened his email. The little beep felt like it took forever. As eager as he was to race to his phone and enter her number in, he thought better of it, and took a few things into consideration.

‘Wait. First, Ron would’ve only just gotten off the phone with her to tell her the news…I don’t want to pounce on her like some needy sod. Secondly, and more importantly, she could be fucking married! Or at least involved…Way to jump the gun there Heughan…I don’t recall any rings…although I didn’t look. Alright. I have a good excuse to spend time with her, should she allow it. It’s important for the show that the characters’ chemistry remain top-notch, even though we seem to already possess that natural chemistry together…Ach! I’ll wait until tomorrow and see what she says. Getting to know each other involves learning about each other’s life. I’m sure a husband, boyfriend, or even a child would be mentioned straight up…’

Sam let out a loud sigh and cracked his knuckles. “Patience,” he said to himself, as a reminder.

 CPOV

The next day, Cait was busy running around her LA apartment, packing up furniture, for the impending adventure in Scotland, in a couple of short weeks. She would be living in Glasgow for the next 12 months or so, once getting to Scotland. She had to be in London the next day, to get her hair permed. She was quite preoccupied with organising her handbag when she heard the muffled sound of her phone ringing. She buried underneath the pile of clothes on her bed and grabbed her phone. The incoming call was a number she didn’t recognise. She was about to hang up, but her instincts told her to answer, and so she did.

“Hello?” Cait answered.

“Hi Caitriona. It’s Sam Heughan. Congratulations on getting the job!” Sam replied shyly.

It felt like her heart had stopped, jumped up into her throat and got stuck. Then she couldn’t help but grin like an idiot.

‘Okay, breathe. Don’t sound like an absolute moron!’

“Oh, hi! Thank you so much. How are you?” Cait managed to say.

“I’m good, I’m good. How are you?” Sam replied happily.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Nervous and excited for what’s ahead. I’ve never done anything like this before,” Cait replied, biting her lip, and stroking her forehead.

“An all-new experience for you. Don’t worry, it’ll be good. Erm, anyway, so I just…you know I just…was wondering…erm, since you and I will be working together for a large amount of time, would you like to just spend a day getting to know each other? I think it’ll make, erm, the transition easier, going from total strangers to working closely together every day. If, if you’d like, erm,” Sam suggested nervously.

Cait moved her face away from the phone. She couldn’t help but giggle at the fact that he was so obviously terrified.

‘Is this a good idea though? I mean…he’s right, it would be good for work. It would be very hard working so closely with someone I know basically nothing about. Okay.’

“Yeah, that would be good. Ron told me you’re also going to get your hair destroyed tomorrow in London,” Cait giggled.

Sam laughed softly, “yes, unfortunately has to be done. That’s why I thought tomorrow would be a good opportunity.”

“Yeah, definitely. We would have the same flight too?” Cait asked.

“Erm…11:20am?” Sam asked.

“Yep, that’s mine. Alright, well I’ll see you at the airport in the morning, say 10:30?” Cait said.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then! It’ll be good. Okay, see you later Caitriona!” Sam said happily.

“Bye Sam,” Cait replied. Then she hung up and exhaled slowly.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33179176/chapters/82373746

[sa-gt-tarrius]

Liars Ahead: Proceed with Caution

Warnings:

Foul language, needles, lots of injuries, character death. Tread carefully!

@cakercanart @secret-shifters

This fic is a bit gritty, moreso than what I usually write. If it’s too much for you to handle, or if it’s just not up your alley and you don’t really like the harsher elements, please feel free to let me know! I’d be happy to edit it down to make it less angsty.

***

No one knew exactly how many secrets MIRA Incorporated kept under wraps.

Their kind of work demanded secrecy, of course. When a company is involved in such groundbreaking fields, they are bound to draw prying eyes. MIRA specialized in relativistic aeronautics, atmospheric engineering, and long-term spacefaring. These terms were new-age babble that roughly translated to “living in outer space.” MIRA studied things that science fiction nerds could only dream of seeing. 

However, MIRA understood that profits would tank if any old Joe Schmoe could walk into their headquarters and leak their data. It was no surprise, then, that the employees of MIRA knew so little about their own company. Most workers had to stay on their assigned floor for their entire careers. Three whole levels of clearance were required to use the fancy upstairs bathrooms!

But there was one thing that was no secret to anyone: MIRA was planning something big. Something amazing. And whatever it was, it was going to happen soon. Excited whispers swept through every office and laboratory—the company had something in store that would rock the world. 

But to Henry Newground, this was all a bit underwhelming.

Henry had been tirelessly working at MIRA HQ for five years. He was an accountant for MIRA’s payroll, which meant he spent most of the day staring at lists of numbers and rummaging through file cabinets. When he was first hired, Henry naively believed that he could climb the corporate ladder and become an astronaut if he just worked hard enough. But alas, it was not to be—even after long years of no sick days and lots of overtime, Henry was still a simple accountant. He fought tooth and nail for a goddamn raise, so it was no wonder that his dream job was a mere fantasy. 

At least, that’s what he thought. But then a letter appeared on his desk one morning. 

Mr. Henry Newground,

We at MIRA have accepted your application to join our spacefaring and research apprenticeship program. Enclosed in this letter is a Level 10 Clearance Card. You will need it to access the upper office on the 50th floor, where more details will be provided. Please come to the office as soon as your shift ends. 

Kind regards, 

Elliot Rose 

Chief Executive Officer of M.I.R.A. Incorporated 

At first, Henry thought this was just a joke. His boss Kerri didn’t mention the letter all day, so she must’ve not known about it. (Either that or she had been in on it the whole time. She was a well-known jokester, after all.) And none of Henry’s coworkers spared him a second glance as he quietly left at five o’clock to head upstairs. 

The security guard at the elevator tried to turn Henry away, which seemed to confirm his just-a-prank theory. But as Henry fumbled over a frantic apology, trying to explain that he must have been set up by his coworkers, the security guard spotted a shiny blue rectangle dangling from Henry’s neck: a Level 10 Clearance Card. The guard opened the elevator door without a word, ushering the confused man inside and pressing the button for the fiftieth floor. 

“Ms. Rose doesn’t usually let people into her office,” the guard murmured as the elevator ascended ominously. “You must be helping with that big project they’re talking about. All the nerds upstairs won’t shut up about it.”

“Sh–she said she’d give me details when I got to her office.” Henry spun to face the guard, his face scrunched up anxiously. “Do I look okay? I didn’t have time to put on a suit…”

“You look fine. Stand up straight, we’re almost there.”

Given the air of mystery surrounding the upper floors of the building, Henry had no idea what to expect. But what he didn’t anticipate was to be met with a gust of wind. Henry shielded his eyes as a glare of sunlight began to burn his retinas. He was outdoors—on the roof of the building. It looked like a helicopter pad, only much, much larger. 

The security officer cleared his throat, gently ushering Henry out of the elevator. He jutted his finger towards the other side of the launch pad, towards a hallway that led back inside the building. “Just follow the path for a bit, and then take the left path at the fork. If you make it to the greenhouse, you went too far.” 

“Er, thanks…”

“And make sure you knock. Ms. Rose hates when people barge in.”

Henry nodded tentatively. He took a deep breath and marched towards the entryway, determined to get to the office before chickening out. 

The upper floors weren’t that unusual, Henry thought as he trotted along. He passed by a smelly locker room, a tiny medical bay, and a grimy computer room. Nothing about this place seemed particularly flashy or elite. Henry was starting to think he was on the wrong floor. 

Henry made the left turn, as the guard told him, and arrived in a small alcove with three rooms. One of the rooms was a lab of some sort, although it was barren and empty for the time being. The room ahead was filled with bushes and shrubs, with a large glass tube in the centre. And the last one was closed—a sign reading “please knock” hung nearly on the doorknob. 

Henry knocked three times and yanked his hand away like the wood was searing hot. 

Then the door creaked open. 

No one knew much about Ms. Elliot Rose. Even the managers and supervisors scarcely spoke of her at all. Henry honestly had no idea what to anticipate from her, aside from the cutthroat ruthlessness most company owners tended to have. But instead of a snide, fierce woman who could tear him apart with a glance, the woman standing in the open doorway was hardly remarkable. She was just barely taller than Henry, no older than thirty, and her red hair bristled out in all directions like she hadn’t brushed it in days. Her eyes were bagged and sunken, almost sickly, and her gaze was panicked and wild for a moment before locking onto Henry. 

She frowned. “Can I help you?”

“Ms. Rose?” Henry tried, unsure if he was truly talking to the CEO of the largest corporation on the planet. “My name is H–Henry Newground. I was told to come here at five, I–I have a clearance card if you need to see it—”

“Oh, right. Henry.” The woman suddenly straightened up, swinging the door open fully and gesturing for Henry to enter. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry to inconvenience you like this.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry for the delay.” Henry stepped inside, clearing his throat in a sorry attempt to appear composed. The room was nothing special—just a small office with four computer desks and a box-shaped radio. The woman took a seat at the messiest desk, leaning back into the chair. Henry claimed an empty chair from a desk nearby, bouncing his leg anxiously. “So, um… about this spacefaring program…”

Elliot Rose smiled, sinking into the chair cushion and leaning back. “I’ve looked over your application and was very happy with what I saw. I think you have potential, Henry.”

“Thank you,” Henry sputtered, baffled and giddy that the CEO was singing such high praises of him. “I’ve always loved learning about space, you know. That’s why I applied for this job. Even as a kid, I—”

“That’s great, Henry,” Elliot hummed, slipping out a gaping yawn before continuing. “Anyway, I just wanted to run a couple of things by you before we send you off. You got your master's degree in microbiology from Harvard, correct? I’ve also heard you’ve taken courses in astrophysics.”

Henry nodded eagerly. “That’s right. I’ve also taken extracurricular classes on geology, I was the leader of the chess club… a–and I sold drinks at the campus football games,” he finished lamely.

“You see, Henry,” Elliot drawled, twirling a pen with her fingers, “I have thirty-four other applicants with higher education than you do. Half of them have three or more doctorates. I don’t care much about your education.” She leaned forward, crossing her arms firmly over the desk. Something glinted behind her eyes—it was impossible to read. “But you have special skills, ones that could greatly benefit my crew.” Elliot leaned forward, crossing her arms firmly over the desk. “Our coordinators are getting ready to send supplies to Polus on a small dropship. The trip will last about two days. I want you on that ship before it takes off.”

“Y–you want—” Henry choked on his breath. “You want me to go to space?”

Elliot smirked. “Is that a problem?”

“I–I just— Y–you don’t— W–well—“

“Use your words, Henry.”

“I’m just…” Henry sputtered, struggling to find words to say. “Don’t I need training?”

“You don’t sound very excited… I thought you would be happy about this. Didn’t you apply to join our spacefaring program last year?”

“I mean, yeah.” Henry shuffled in his seat awkwardly. “But my application was turned down. I didn’t have enough education for it. Why do you want me now?”

“Things change,” Elliot laughed. “I’d like to personally ask you to join the Polus crew and help document alien life.”

The two fell silent. 

Elliot smirked coyly. “Is that a yes?”

“I–I mean, absolutely,” Henry sputtered. “I’m just… a little confused. Are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

“I most certainly do,” Elliot replied. 

“Okay,” Henry muttered, unsure of how he managed to get into this strange situation with no warning. “So… what now?”

“Go home, get some sleep, and come back here tomorrow. Same time, of course. I’ll get you all the details by then.” 

“Okay.”

“Have a good night, Henry.”

“Th–thanks.”

Henry’s head was still spinning as he made his way out of Elliot’s office. 

“You alright, buddy?” the security guard piped as Henry entered the elevator, his eyebrow raised curiously. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m fine.” Henry gripped his forehead, fighting off another dizzy spell. Butterflies were forming in the pit of his stomach as the elevator descended. “I just need to go home.”

And that’s exactly what Henry did. As soon as he fetched his lunch kit from the office fridge, the young man hopped into his SUV and drove straight home. Not even bothering to change out of his work uniform, Henry collapsed on the bed. His head continued spinning. 

Surely this was a big joke. 

Elliot herself said that many people were far more qualified than he was. So why was she so adamant about having Henry on her crew? It made no sense. 

Henry knew he wouldn’t have gotten any answers that night, not by muttering and mumbling into his pillow like a lunatic. He’d have to get the details tomorrow like Elliot told him to. So instead of uselessly mulling it over, Henry plucked his phone off the side table and quickly dialled a number. The phone barely had time to ring before someone on the other end picked up. “Hey, sweetie. How was work today?”

“Hi Henry, it was good! What about you?”

“Well, I–I was called into a meeting by the CEO. She said she wanted me in her spacefaring program.”

“Oh, that’s… hang on. Are you serious? They accepted you?!”

“Yeah. She asked me to help with some research. She said she was impressed by my application and—”

“You’re going to space!” A young woman’s voice bubbled ecstatically over the phone. She laughed and giggled, even belting out an excited shriek for good measure. “I’m so proud of you! I knew you’d get in, I just knew it!”

“You did, yeah.”

“God, I wish I could be there right now,” the woman chuckled. “I want to give you a big hug.”

Henry smiled faintly. “Thanks, sweetie.”

“I’m going to go buy a bunch of chocolates for you today. I don’t know if it’ll get delivered before you leave, but it can at least be a welcome-back present.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, Sigrid,” Henry replied. “How would you even send it? The post office won’t accept packages that big. I don’t even know if a box of chocolates would fit in the mail truck.”

The woman, presumably named Sigrid, huffed indignantly. “Well, fine. I’ll just think of something else.”

Henry had never actively sought out a relationship. He was too focused on work to consider dating, and his social circle wasn’t large enough for him to start dating around. And yet, for three years now, Henry had been in a lovely relationship with a woman named Sigrid Brandson. She lived in northwestern Canada (according to her), far away from any large cities, and Henry wasn’t yet lucky enough to meet her face-to-face. 

The reason? Sigrid was a giant. 

There few places giants and humans could casually be together—and much fewer ways to travel to each other—so they usually spent their time on the phone or video calls. Henry didn’t mind much, although it was disheartening to have never kissed Sigrid even after years of being committed. 

It was thanks to Sigrid that Henry learned to speak and write Riesian, the language of the giants. When the two first met on an online fan forum, Sigrid spoke very little English, and Henry didn’t even know the Riesian language existed. But with time and effort, the two were able to cross the language barrier, eventually teaching each other their native tongues. 

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yeah, she said I’m going to a planet called Polus. They have a research base set up there.”

“Polus?” Sigrid repeated. “Oh… that’s… that’s nice.”

It was then that Henry realized Sigrid’s voice had become a tad crestfallen. He frowned. “Everything good?”

“Just… be careful out there,” Sigrid murmured. “I know it’s probably fine and I’m worrying about nothing, but make sure you stay safe, okay? And call me if you can. I’m so proud of you, Henry.” She suddenly stopped speaking English and switched to Riesian. 

“Bai tcho eim, honey.” 

Be safe.

***

On the days leading up to takeoff, Elliot had been vigorously training Henry. He learned how to fix wiring issues, how to power up engines, how to use the weather nodes, and how to examine and sort specimens that were brought into the base. Henry was very quickly becoming a rather competent spacefarer. 

But still, Henry was on edge. Despite the training and the reassurances from Elliot, something didn’t sit quite right. But none of that mattered—before he knew it, Henry was stuffed into a white spacesuit, complete with the MIRA logo and the American flag emblazoned on the shoulders. Dozens of people swarmed around him, talking to each other and furiously taking notes. A brisk wind punctuated the murmur of the crowd. 

Elliot knelt before him, her hands running along the fabric to make sure the suit would fit Henry. 

“You’ll be accompanying Aesir Vidstrom while you’re on Polus,” she said as she worked. “He’s the new chief of medical staff. He’ll meet you at the landing site and help you get settled in.” Elliot fiddled with the straps on Henry’s waist, tightening the suit until it fit. Henry was quite a few inches shorter than prior astronauts, so his spacesuit needed to be altered before he could use it. “You’re to stay with Aesir at all times unless he says otherwise. Is that clear?”

Henry nodded and glanced away, choosing to stare at the looming spaceship atop the crowded launchpad—a dropship, Elliot had called it. The ship was fairly large, about eight meters in height and width, and the nose stretched outwards almost twelve meters. The jet black paint glistened in the early morning sun, and Henry’s nose crinkled at the smell of something burning. 

“And remember, my crew is always on standby. We’ll be ready to help you whenever you need it.”

“Th–thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it.” Elliot finally stepped away from Henry, admiring the finished spacesuit. “I think you’re ready. Let’s get you out of here.” She turned around, facing the crowd, and raised her voice. “Five minutes to takeoff!”

“Five minutes!” someone screamed over the din. “Fire up the reactors!”

“Starting reactors! Diverting power to the left and right engines! Standby…”

“All clear, ma’am! Someone get Newground on board!”

“Let’s go, Henry.” Elliot shoved Henry towards the dropship. The large metal plating began to slide up, similar to a garage door. A pair of men in uniform guided Henry up the steps and into the cabin of the ship. Ten plush seats lined the walls—Henry took a tentative seat in the closest one, the farthest to the left, and began to buckle himself in. The men in uniform quickly left as the engine roar increased in volume. The other staff members gathered along the edges of the launch pad in anticipation. 

“Good luck, Henry!” Elliot hollered, waving her arm up over the crowd. “You'll do great, I know it!”

Before Henry could reply, the door began to slide shut. The ship shivered and groaned, and within seconds, the whole thing began to rise and sway. Henry barely had time to squeeze his eyes shut before the ship suddenly lurched forward at unimaginable speeds. 

The poor man clenched his seatbelt like a lifeline. He knew takeoff would only last a minute or two, and yet the ordeal seemed to last a lifetime. Henry felt his body being squished against the chair, constructing his lungs and preventing him from breathing. As much as he tried to, he couldn’t even scream. 

And then, as quickly as it began, everything started to slow down again. The roar of the engine faded somewhat, and the whole cabin gradually stopped shaking. Henry wasn’t quite confident enough to get out of the seat, so he remained strapped in, gasping heavily as he tried to soothe his racing heart. 

Finally, when everything was calm, Henry shakily unbuckled himself and rose to stand. As he shuffled through the cabin, he took the time to properly examine the interior of the dropship he would be riding in. There were various steel crates scattered about, each containing canned rations and various tools. A small laptop was placed on the smallest crate, detailing the dropship’s velocity, fuel levels, turbulence, and current distance from Polus. He made a mental note to check on it later to make sure everything was normal. 

And then, on the starboard side of the ship, a solitary window glimmered.

Henry dared himself to peer outside. 

He paused, then gasped.

Even after seeing outer space countless times in photographs and videotapes, Henry was still gobsmacked by the vast starry void before him. To his right, the planet Earth was rapidly shrinking as he blasted further away, and the sun was a mere speck of light in the distance. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore—Henry was hurtling through the solar system in a spaceship, making his way towards an alien planet. 

A childish grin crept onto his face. 

This was it. After years of daydreaming, Henry was a real-life astronaut—his younger self would be so proud. Henry was so ecstatic that his earlier anxieties and frustrations were completely forgotten, left behind on his home planet. 

In less than two days, Henry would arrive on Polus to begin his spacefaring apprenticeship. He kept thinking about Sigrid, imagining all the stories he’d get to tell her when he got back to Earth. 

This was going to be amazing.

He just hoped nothing would go wrong. 

***

The trip to Polus was progressing faster than Henry ever expected. He wondered how MIRA’s ships could move so quickly and yet use so little fuel—it was a blessing of science, to be sure. 

But by the twentieth hour of the trip came and went, Henry felt anything but blessed. 

There wasn’t much for entertainment in the dropship. Henry could only fumble around on the laptop, gaze out of the window, or pace the cabin a few times. The boredom was excruciating, but the anticipation was even worse. Luckily, Elliot had reached out to him a few times via video calls, answering questions and keeping him company during the arduous journey to Polus. 

“Any turbulence today?” she asked. 

“None,” Henry replied. “No asteroids, either. Everything is fine so far.”

Elliot smiled. “Good. The dropship has a bit of a reputation for rough rides, so I was worried about engine damage. Seems like I was worried about nothing.”

The two made idle conversation every four hours or so, which was a welcome distraction. As much as Henry adored being in space for the first time, he couldn’t deny how lonely and boring it was. And having someone like Elliot to guide him was another welcome addition, even if her presence unnerved Henry somewhat. 

Two more days passed. Henry was munching on his lunch ration. He’d opened the package to find sliced canned meat—bland and oily and smelly. But with the addition of some crackers and canned oranges, the meal made for a decent lunch. However, before he was even halfway finished eating, a rumbling began to overtake the cabin. His lunch contained tumbled onto its side, spilling cracker crumbs all over the floor. Henry instinctively latched onto a nearby crate, trying his best not to fall over as the entire ship swayed. 

A synthetic voice rose over the fray. “Entering the Polus mesosphere,” it announced in a polite, monotonous tone. “Current velocity: 326 miles per hour. Engine temperature: nominal. Distance from indicated landing site: estimate of 833 miles. Please fasten your seatbelt and prepare for landing.”

Henry was knocked to the ground as the shaking intensified. The ship was approaching Polus, and fast. He crawled to the nearest seat, restraining himself a bit too tightly in his haste. The voice continued droning on as the ship entered the planet’s atmosphere. 

“786 miles… 721 miles… 678 miles…”

And then a deafening screech sounded from above. Henry winced and tightened his grip on the seatbelt as the ship suddenly did a nosedive. 

“504 miles… 452 miles…”

A siren overhead wailed loudly. Bright red lights flashed in the corners of his eyes. 

“310 miles… 259 miles…”

Something was very, very wrong. 

“199 miles… 97 miles…”

He braced himself. 

“12 miles… 2 miles…”

Everything went white. 

***

“Come on, don’t die on me.”

Black dots continued to bounce in Henry’s vision as his mind stirred. The young man let out a miserable groan, clutching his forehead painfully. 

“That’s it… Wake up, little guy…”

Henry paused. It took him a moment to realize that the voice overhead wasn’t speaking English. It took two more seconds to realize that the voice was extremely loud, almost like it was coming from a speaker. 

Both these mysteries were solved as soon as he opened his eyes. 

A monstrously large figure loomed above, blocking out the light of the bulb dangling overhead. Ginormous eyes, hazel and bright, were locked onto Henry’s trembling body. And it—he—was smiling gently. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” the giant man murmured in Riesian. “I’m not gonna hurt you, little guy.”

Henry swallowed hard. He took a moment to gather himself so he wouldn’t have a panic attack, then turned his attention back to the giant face hanging above him. The huge, strange man cocked his head curiously. “Ah geez, I hope you’re not broken or anything… That would suck.” The voice boomed and shook Henry’s core, even though the giant was trying to speak softly. Henry couldn’t even keep eye contact without his heart dropping, so he kept his gaze locked onto the giant’s chest. He only barely noticed the white MIRA spacesuit the giant wore, identical to Henry’s suit in every way aside from its massive size. “Oh yeah, you can’t understand me, huh? Maybe we have a translator lying around here…”

“I–I am fine,” Henry fumbled in awkward Riesian, forcing his voice not to waver. He wasn’t even sure if he was even speaking correctly—but he was too nervous to care about his grammar. Fluency was the least of his problems. “I am okay.”

“Sweet.” The giant nodded, froze, then gasped. “...Wait, you can understand me?”

“I d–d–do.”

“But you’re human.” The giant’s face descended further—huge strands of curly brown hair brushed along Henry’s stomach. “Humans don’t speak Riesian.”

“Y–you’re right,” Henry murmured, flinching away from the enormous eyes drilling into him. “It’s a long story.”

The giant suddenly scoffed, his sheepish half-smile giving way to a full grin. “Cheeky bugger, huh? The name’s Aesir. What’s yours?”

“You are Aesir?” Henry perked up. “Aesir Vidstrom?”

Aesir’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, yeah. You’ve heard of me?”

Henry licked his lips, trying to remember some difficult Riesian words. “You are a… scientist. A space e–explorer. B–b–but Ms. Rose… never said you are a… giant.”

“How about that,” Aesir laughed, stroking his chin. “Never thought I’d meet a human like you.”

Thinking for a moment, Aesir snapped his fingers in a sudden realization. 

“Oh, wait—then that would make you what’s-his-name, right? HQ said some random new guy was on his way. But they never said you’d be a human. That’s MIRA for you, I guess… If they were stupid enough to wreck your ship, then they’d forget to mention that.”

“Wreck my ship?” Henry repeated slowly. Memories began flooding back into his mind. The alarms, the flashing lights, the sudden nosedive…

The dropship crashed. 

“Wait, then I—” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, buddy.” The giant winced when Henry scrambled to sit up. “Take it easy, yeah?” Aesir paused for a moment, tapping his foot a few times. “Actually… Wait here for a sec, alright? I need to grab something.”

With that, Aesir moved away to shuffle out of sight.

With the enormous face out of his vision, Henry was able to sit up and finally assess the surrounding area, hissing a bit as he aggravated his injury. He was sitting on a mattress that stretched several meters in every direction. The blue sheets and white pillow were reminiscent of a gurney, like ones you might find in a hospital. And sure enough, upon closer inspection, the room appeared to be a small medical bay, white walls and smell of disinfectant included. There were three other identical beds lined between curtain barriers, just like the bed he was sitting on. Henry peered to the right. He could see the silhouette of Aesir leaned over a countertop through the wall of curtains. 

What was he doing over there?

Henry forced himself to speak. “This is Polus?”

“Sure is,” Aesir replied from beyond the curtain wall. “You were lucky you made it this far on that hunk of junk—if your ship malfunctioned any sooner, you might’ve crashed into an asteroid or something.” Aesir came back into view, sidestepping the curtain to approach Henry. “Now stay still.”

“I… uh…” Henry held up his hands, carefully scooting back a few inches. Aesir hadn’t come back to Henry empty-handed; in his left palm, the giant cradled a glass syringe filled with a bluish liquid. The needle was almost six feet tall, taller than Henry was. “I–I do not need that.”

“Yes, you do. Come over here.” 

“It is t–too big,” Henry wavered, curling in on himself as Aesir continued to approach. “Nothing hurts. I am… un–uninjured. Do not need that. Do not need it.”

Listening to Henry’s trembling voice and weak attempts to dissuade him, Aesir’s face fell. “Look,” he whispered, getting onto his knees to kneel by the bed, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be. When we’re in medbay, I’m the boss.” The giant slowly reached out his free hand, grasping Henry’s shoulder with his enormous finger and thumb. His other hand, the one bearing the syringe, began to drift closer to Henry. “Now stay still, or this will hurt more than it needs to.”

In a fright, Henry leapt away from Aesir’s hand in a frantic escape attempt. He scrambled across the sheet, making a beeline for the white pillow at the head of the bed. 

“Shit—” Aesir cursed under his breath, tossing the needle to the side. He made a lunge forward, both hands outstretched, reaching for Henry’s tiny form. Before Henry could reach the pillows, the terrified human being suddenly found himself encased in musty, cramped darkness. His stomach sank when he realized what just happened—Aesir had trapped him in his hands. 

A feeling of intense vertigo overcame him as Aesir stood up straight; he felt himself being slammed against the giant palm beside him. Despite being very obviously trapped, Henry continued to squirm, searching in vain for an opening to crawl through. He pawed at the skin surrounding him, growing ever more desperate. 

And then a light shone through the fingers above him. “Stop being a brat,” Aesir muttered. Henry opened his mouth to retort, but his breath hitched in his throat when a sharp pain pierced his lower back. He let out a strangled sob, trying not to thrash around and hurt himself more. 

Aesir hummed contentedly. “There we go… nice and easy.” The needle retracted as quickly as it was injected. Henry took the moment of reprieve to dry his eyes and ease his pounding heart. “Told you it wasn’t that bad,” he chuckled. “Just be thankful it wasn’t worse.” 

Henry refused to reply—he focused on keeping his eyes locked downward. Aesir’s lack of empathy was beginning to unsettle him; although the giant paid lip service to Henry’s discomfort, he ultimately seemed to care very little about the pain and terror he was causing. 

Aesir, oblivious to Henry’s plight, lifted his hands to his face, staring down the sniffling, petrified human with unbridled excitement. “Well, now that you’re all drugged up, I figure we’re good to get your suit back on. Don’t want you freezing out here, you know.”

“Suit?” Ah, yes. They were in space, after all. It made sense that he should have to wear a spacesuit, even if they were indoors. “O–okay.”

Aesir pulled his left hand away from Henry, reaching for the nearby countertop. His hand returned quickly, dangling the white spacesuit with his index and thumb. “Legs up, bud. Let’s get you dressed.”

“I can do it,” Henry said quickly, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. 

“Yeah, nah,” Aesir chuckled. “Doctor’s orders. Now hold still this time, you brat.”

Henry huffed pointedly, knowing that he wouldn’t be getting out of this. With heavy reluctance, Henry slowly raised his legs into the air, allowing Aesir to slip the pant legs on, followed by the sleeves and the helmet. Unfortunately, the visor was cracked along the upper edge, but Aesir urged him not to worry. “The glass is three layers thick,” he explained. “You’ll be fine until we can get a replacement.” Surprisingly, Henry didn’t quite believe him. 

Henry had only just gotten the suit fitted (or rather, Aesir did the fitting for him) when someone suddenly spoke up. “Aesir.”

At the sound of the firm, strange voice, Henry flinched. His eyes landed on a figure standing in the corner of the room, dressed in a bulky green spacesuit. Henry couldn’t see her face—the light of the room reflected off the visor, obscuring whatever was behind the glass. Henry briefly imagined that she looked like a war veteran, stoic and hardened, probably with lots of scars decorating their skin.

“Oh, Svikari!” Aesir whirled around at the voice, clearing his throat and donning a lopsided grin. “What brings you here?”

“I came to see the human.” The woman, presumably named Svikari, barely budged as she spoke. It was like she was a statue with a voice of its own. “But I see you’ve taken care of things. I’ll be on my way, then.”

Aesir choked on something. “W–wait! Hang on a tic, alright? Why the hurry?”

Svikari cocked her head, acting as though Aesir’s question was incredibly stupid. “I have work to do. I came to see how the human was doing, and now I have to go.”

“Well, hang on,” Aesir stammered, fumbling over his words. “How about you come with me to storage today? I have to do some refuelling there.”

“I don’t have any tasks in storage today,” Svikari replied curtly.

“Come on, boss,” Aesir urged, lowering his voice. “It’s safer in groups. You know that.” He perked up a bit, raising his cupped hands. Not expecting to be jerked upward, Henry was almost launched off his palms. “A–and I know you wanna meet the human! He’s kind of bratty, but I think you’ll like him.”

Svikari paused. “Hello, human,” she said softly. “I trust you’ve been treated well?”

Henry hesitated. What was he supposed to say? He was tempted to start ratting off all the bruises he was getting thanks to Aesir, but he bit his tongue. Would he get in trouble if he told the truth? This Svikari character seemed far less sympathetic than Aesir, so perhaps there would be no point in complaining. They might even hurt him even more for speaking up. So he swallowed his pride and nodded slowly. “Y–yes, I am fine.” 

Svikari paused, glancing between Henry, who shuddered under her scrutinizing gaze, and Aesir, who smiled hopefully. 

“If you’re that afraid to go alone, I suppose I can come,” Svikari sighed. 

“I’m not scared!” Aesir retorted, tightening his painful grip on Henry. “I just don’t wanna get jumped in there.” Shrugging, Aesir once again prodded Henry in the stomach, chuckling as he did so. “I guess if an imposter shows up, I can use Henry as bait. You wouldn’t mind, right bud?”

Svikari laughed in reply, although something about her tone seemed… off. Henry wasn’t able to tell if the laughter was genuine or sarcastic. Henry said nothing at first, focusing on clutching his stomach to keep himself from throwing up. 

“I–imposters?” Henry finally coughed. “What are imposters?”

“Oops.” Aesir winced painfully. “Uh, well… we weren’t supposed to tell you.”

“I see no harm in explaining,” Svikari interjected. “If he’s going to stay here, he should know.”

“But Ms. Rose said—”

“I’ll handle Rose. Just keep your mouth shut.”

Aesir groaned, scrunching up his face in discomfort. “I mean… you’re the boss, dude. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s scary when she gets mad.”

“Thank you, Aesir.” Svikari nodded, finally turning her attention back to Henry. “I assume Elliot never told you about the strange happenings on this base?”

“N–no.”

“I thought not. It’s in her best interest to keep this all a secret, after all.” Svikari folded her arms, exuding that terrifying, ominous energy that only giants were capable of. “Elliot probably told you that we found life on this planet. The life forms we discovered are what we’ve been calling imposters—carnivorous, man-eating shapeshifters that we’ve been trying to get rid of for the last few months.”

Henry felt his stomach drop. Carnivores? Man-eating? Shapeshifters? Someone had to be pulling his leg at this point. “Ms. Rose said you found plant life,” he countered quickly, not willing to believe Svikari’s wild claims. “She said nothing about aliens.”

“That’s because she was lying.”

“B–but why would she lie?”

“Telling people would be bad for business, I guess. Who knows what goes on in her head.” Svikari shrugged weakly. “Imposters have been wreaking lots of havoc lately. They kill the lights, mess with the reactors, cut off the oxygen supply… and I’m willing to bet they caused your ship to crash.”

“You’re right,” Aesir gasped. “I didn’t even think about that. They probably messed with the radio signals or something.” 

“We’re pretty sure we got rid of them for now, at least.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Aesir corrected. “Remember what happened to Tor?”

“Of course I do,” Svikari huffed. “It took Bastion weeks to get the blood out of the carpet.”

Oh, dear god. 

There was no room for doubt, then. Henry began to tremble, tears causing his eyes to glimmer. What sort of cruel joke was the universe playing on him? After so long, he manages to achieve his dream of becoming an astronaut, only to find himself stranded on a faraway planet with malicious giants and man-eating aliens. Some malicious deity had to be laughing their ass off right about now. 

“Aww, don’t worry, little guy!” Aesir cooed behind his visor, bouncing the human seated in his hand. “Big bad imposter people can’t hurt you out here.”

While Aesir continued to coo condescending reassurances, bouncing his hand in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, Svikari stared thoughtfully at the minuscule human. Henry had no idea what was going on in that strange head of hers. Henry simply gripped the coarse fabric of Aesir’s glove, trying his best not to descend into a full-blown breakdown. 

“We should be going,” Svikari said suddenly. “Let’s take care of refuelling so I can finish my tasks.” 

Aesir hummed in agreement. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

***

If Henry was being frank, which he usually wasn’t, he’d say that Polus was a bit… underwhelming. If he wasn’t looking at the dank, snowy, barren landscape, or the abnormally large scale of everything around him, Henry would truly believe he was still on earth. Still, Aesir seemed determined to remind Henry just how small he was at any given opportunity. He’d croon, poke, and tease him incessantly, despite Henry’s continual whimpers of disapproval. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Aesir to fill up the fuel tank in the storage room, which was a cramped little building in the centre of the base. Svikari decided to just follow Aesir around until all his tasks were done, with the promise that Aesir would return the favour afterward. 

Svikari offered to carry Henry while Aesir worked. The giant was visibly hesitant about this proposition, refusing the offer the first few times Svikari asked. But eventually, Aesir relented, and Henry had been relegated to riding in Svikari’s hands. Henry sat in silence, rubbing his newfound bruises absently. He briefly wondered if someone would give him painkillers if he asked, but he pushed the thought away. There’s no chance they’d even consider the idea. 

“Almost done,” Aesir announced after a while, leading the group down a long hallway. Small patches of snow crunched beneath their boots as they trudged along. “I just gotta check the oxygen supply. Svikari, what tasks do you have left?”

A beat of silence passed before an answer came out. “O–oh, I need to fill the air canisters,” Svikari said quickly, stumbling over her words a bit. “And then I have to upload some data to HQ.”

“Cool.” Aesir glanced behind him, eyeing Henry with a cheeky grin. “You good back there, pipsqueak? Need anything?”

“No,” Henry mumbled. 

Aesir laughed, unfazed by Henry’s sneering tone. “Alright, don’t get your panties in a knot.”

After his initial wave of terror had passed, Henry found himself becoming increasingly agitated. He was upset with Aesir for terrorizing him in the lab. He was angry at Elliot for sending him to Polus. And he was mad at Svikari, too. He didn’t have a reason to be, but darn it, he was mad anyway. 

Henry was broken out of his thoughts when something brushed against his shoulder—a thumb. “Hey.” Svikari tapped him gently, her head tilted to the side. “You look upset. Is everything ok?”

With her intimidating presence, Henry could barely keep his eyes on Svikari. His eyes drifted to the ground, locked into his feet as he replied quietly. “Yes.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” the giant prodded. “Did he... Did Aesir hurt you? You don’t look too good.”

Henry bit his lip nervously. “N–no, he didn’t.”

Svikari sighed. “You’re lying. I can tell.” She adjusted her hands, swiveling Henry around so he had to face her completely. “Tell me what happened.”

“I–I...” Henry backpedalled, scooting as far away from Svikari’s looming face. He found his back pressing against Svikari’s curled fingers, and through the shimmering glass, he could almost see two pleading eyes locked into him. “H–he didn’t mean to. I just... wh–when he tried to give me those medications, I tried to run away—”

“What?” Svikari frowned. “Hang on, back up. What medications? What are you talking about?”

“U–um, he didn’t say what it was. Maybe it was a painkiller.”

“...Did he use a needle? Was it a blue liquid?”

“H–how did you know that?”

Svikari fell silent. She glanced towards Aesir, who was walking a ways ahead, and her muscles tensed. “That wasn’t a painkiller,” she said lowly. “It’s an experimental drug that our old medical chief was working on. We aren’t allowed to use it until we test it, since it killed our test subjects a few days ago. Aesir seriously could have killed you.”

Henry’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“I knew something was fishy,” Svikari growled, her grip on Henry tightening slightly. “Aesir was just an intern until our old medical chief got killed by impostors. No one thinks he’s cut out for the position, but we don’t have anyone else who’s even remotely qualified.”

Silence overcame them for a few minutes.

“Aesir,” Svikari finally called, a hard edge lining her voice. “Can we talk?”

Aesir stopped in his tracks. He turned to Svikari questioningly. “Hey, boss. What’s up?”

“About that drug you were working on... Have you tested it lately?”

Aesir paused, tapping his foot as he descended into thought. “Hmm... No, I don’t think so. Not since the rats died on me.”

“I see.” Svikari huffed indignantly. If she weren’t holding Henry, she most certainly would be crossing her arms. “So you haven’t used it at all since then?”

“Nope.”

“That’s funny,” she laughed. “Because I’m pretty sure you used it on the human this morning.”

Aesir’s arms and shoulders locked up.

“Am I right?”

“...Did he tell you that?”

“No, I figured it out.”

“Oh.” Aesir looked down at Henry, a faint scowl crossing his face before he turned his attention back to Svikari. “Don’t tell anyone,” he breathed. “Please. I could get fired.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Svikari snapped. “You weren’t worried about killing him? God, it’s just like you to pull a stunt like that. You only care about yourself.”

“I–it’s not like that, boss. I promise.”

Svikari groaned, rubbing her face with her free hand. “I won’t tell anyone. But you have to get your act together or I’m bringing this issue to the captain.” Her fingers curled inward, shielding Henry from Aesir’s view. “And until then, I’m revoking your jurisdiction over the human. He’ll be accompanying me from now on.”

“But I—”

“Is that a problem?”

“N–no, ma’am,” Aesir replied shakily. “You’re the boss.”

“Good.” Svikari nodded firmly. “Now, then... let’s finish our tasks before I change my mind.”

Aesir nodded, ducked his head, and continued walking in silence. His footsteps clomped much faster than before, but Svikari continued at her usual slower pace.

“I’ll take care of this, Henry,” she whispered. “Don’t worry.”

Way to make an impossible request. Henry wasn’t just worried—he was terrified. Not only did Aesir try to make him a test subject for his weird new drug, but now he had to face the wrath of the very giant that could have killed him. The only thing standing between himself and Aesir was Svikari, who Henry wasn’t even sure he could trust.

Svikari probably meant well. At least, Henry wanted to believe that. But something was off about her that Henry couldn’t quite pinpoint. The way she carried herself, her odd way of speaking, her constant bouts of silence… She was weird. No one would deny that.

But there was something else. Svikari wasn’t just strange—she was downright creepy. She obviously knew much more than she was letting on, and Henry couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d met her somewhere before. 

And then a thought struck him. 

Henry craned his neck up to look at Svikari’s visor, and through the glass, he could almost spot the outline of two large eyes. “How do you know my name?” he asked. 

“You told me earlier, remember?”

“No, I didn’t. I never told you my name. Neither did Aesir.”

“Oh.” Svikari slowed to a stop. She glanced at Aesir, who was too far ahead to hear them conversing. The giant huffed and lowered her voice, a frantic tinge lining her words. “I’ll… I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.” Henry wasn’t sure why he felt so brave all of a sudden; maybe he was fed up with being constantly treated like a child, or maybe he was just experiencing an adrenaline rush. But he felt he had nothing else to lose at this point—Henry wouldn’t be giving up until he got an answer. “What’s your deal?”

“Deal?” Svikari laughed nervously. “I… I don’t have a deal. I’m just Svikari.”

Henry found it a bit strange that Svikari was caving so easily to his interrogation. She had no problem shutting down Aesir, so why was she losing face in front of a human? It made no sense. But Henry was beginning to put puzzle pieces together. Svikari knew Henry’s name. She was invested in keeping him safe. She was able to tell when he was lying. And here she was, her tail tucked between her legs, being verbally grilled by a human being. 

This Svikari person… seemed awfully familiar.

“Are you?” Henry glared daggers at Svikari’s visor. “Because I don’t think you’re telling the truth. Is that even your real name?”

“It’s—!”

 “Tell me the truth!” Henry hollered, throwing his arms to the air in frustration. “I’m tired of being babied! I’m tired of you two hiding things from me! Tell me the truth right now!”

“Okay, okay!” Svikari hissed. “Keep your voice down, alright? I don’t want Aesir listening.”

At that, Henry sobered a bit, tossing a cautious glance at Aesir walking ahead. Luckily, he didn’t seem to have heard anything. “So out with it,” Henry snapped, facing Svikari with a scowl. “What’s going on?”

“...You were onto something when you mentioned my name,” Svikari said slowly, every word hushed and deliberate. “Just so we’re clear—my real name is Svikari. But you wouldn’t know me by that name.”

“You used another name,” Henry finished, the dots finally connecting in his mind. “When you talked to me.”

The giant’s empty hand falling limp at her side. “I… I was hoping we’d get to see each other on peaceful terms, and… I wanted it to be on Earth, to be honest.”

Henry swallowed hard. “You… You’re Sigrid.”

Svikari smiled, trying her best not to look intimidating. “It’s nice to meet you, Henry.”

“This is impossible. I–it can’t be you. You’re a—”

“You fellas good back there?” Aesir called, swivelling his head around to peek at the pair. “Sounds like a real bout you’re having.”

Svikari cleared her throat. Her hands lowered, taking Henry out of her field of vision. “We’re fine. Just keep going.”

Aesir simply shrugged. “Alright.”

The group hooked right when the hallway abruptly ended. They found themselves standing before a small room secluded in the corner of the building. Something akin to grass lined the ground, and a large, towering tree stood proudly in the centre of the room. Embedded in the trunk of the tree was a small monitor, complete with wires looping in and out of the bark. While he couldn’t be certain, Henry wagered that this was the oxygen supply Aesir mentioned, although he didn’t expect the oxygen supply to be a plant of all things. 

“This won’t take long, ma’am,” Aesir stammered as he stepped into the threshold of the room, bending over to peer at the monitor. His face contorted into an expression of disgust. “Yeesh. Who messed with the RAD settings?”

“Beats me,” Svikari hummed.

“Whatever... Hang on, I just gotta fix this mess real quick.” With that, Aesir fell silent, sliding his fingers rapidly along the screen. Svikari simply stood nearby and waited, while Henry fidgeted anxiously. He couldn’t get their earlier conversation out of his head. Svikari’s words—or rather, Sigrid’s words—echoed in his brain, rattling his thoughts around. 

Svikari, meanwhile, was extremely quiet. Henry gazed at her, opening his mouth to ask a question, only to have a giant finger press against his mouth. Shh. 

Henry blinked, a little unnerved by how Svikari was acting, but nodded slowly. Svikari lifted her head and peered at Aesir, who was still focused on the monitor screen. Then, moving as slowly as possible, Svikari knelt down and tilted her hands, sending Henry sliding onto the grass below. 

It took Henry a moment to orient himself. He diligently wiped off the grass that clung to his suit and looked skyward just in time to see Svikari approaching Aesir from behind. The human watched intently as Svikari snuck up on Aesir, a kitchen knife clutched tightly behind her back, wondering what she was up to.

… 

...A kitchen knife?

Before Henry could even think to look again, he was subjected to the sound of a hideous squelch. There was a flash of red, a pained grunt, and suddenly Aesir collapsed to the ground, motionless. 

Svikari loomed ominously over the limp body, her hand still latched onto the knife that she’d plunged into Aesir’s back. Murky blood was beginning to pool at her feet, staining the grass a horrid shade of crimson. And then Svikari’s head pivoted like an owl, boring her gaze into Henry. 

“Don’t scream,” she heaved.

“Y–you—” Henry’s hands flew to his mouth. “You killed him.”

Svikari faced Henry fully. She extended her hands slowly and carefully, taking cautious steps forward as she spoke. “I know. Just… please stay quiet,” she whispered as she drew closer. 

“G–get away from me,” Henry choked, stumbling backwards and throwing his hands up to protect himself. “Please, don’t— d–don’t kill me.”

“Henry!” Svikari suddenly exclaimed, speeding up and making a beeline for Henry. “Be careful, you’re going to—”

Seeing Svikari quickly approaching, Henry made the split-second decision to spin around and bolt. But by the time he noticed the gaping crater in the floor below, it was too late. His foot whizzed through thin air, and with no further fanfare, he tumbled down into the pitch-black abyss. Time froze—a shout echoed from above. 

Then he hit the ground. Hard. 

Something snapped. Henry yowled in agony. He found himself unable to budge without pain coursing through his battered limbs. Tears began welling in his eyes, but he fought the urge to sob—crying would make it hurt even more. Thankfully, his visor was still intact, although the same could not be said for his bones. He simply laid motionless on his stomach, his arms and legs spread out, praying he would just pass out already.

“Oh no.” Svikari’s voice echoed off the crater walls, but Henry couldn’t see where she was standing. Even if the human was able to move his head and look around, the darkness cloaked everything in the vicinity. There was no telling where the giant was, but she was close. “Henry… It’s alright. I’m going to help you.”

“N–no,” Henry hissed, weakly hacking out the taste of copper from his mouth. “Not like this. Please.”

“Stop that. You’re hurting yourself. Please… let me help.”

“But you killed—” Henry couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He began to cry softly, despite how much it hurt him to do so. Every sniffle was excruciating, wracking his body from the inside-out. “You’re an i–imposter, aren’t you? And you’re going to kill me next.”

“No no no, honey… I would never hurt you.” Svikari’s voice was right next to his ear at this point. A huff of hot breath washed over Henry, rustling his hair. Wasn’t Svikari wearing a helmet, though? How could he feel her breath? “Listen… you’ve gotta trust me. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Henry cast a bitter glance to the side, unsure if Svikari was even standing in that direction. “You’re a liar.”

Svikari didn’t grace Henry with a reply. Instead, two long fingers slowly and deliberately dug beneath his stomach and hoisted him into the air. Henry squeezed his eyes shut as he was pressed against Svikari’s chest. Maybe this would be quick and painless. He could only pray at this point.

“Let me think…” Svikari inched her way forward, snaking through the dark underground pathway so as to not jostle Henry too much. In his daze, Henry failed to realize that there was no way Svikari could fit into the crater, let alone move around freely. But the only thing he was focused on was making peace with his life, knowing that he was about to die at the hands of the one he loved more than anyone else. 

Suddenly, Henry was blinded by sunlight. Svikari had begun crawling out of another crater located outside of the building. The holes in the ground seemed to be interconnected. But how did Svikari know that? And where was she planning on taking him? 

Before Henry could voice any of these questions, a deafening alarm sounded from above. He looked up just in time to see a flashing red light next to a speakerphone attached to the roof nearby. “BODY REPORTED,” a voice blared. “ALL PERSONNEL TO THE OFFICE. REPEAT, ALL PERSONNEL TO THE OFFICE.” 

Svikari swore under her breath. She lifted Henry out of the crook of her elbow, quickly swooping him towards a pocket located on her chest. “I’m gonna need you to stay quiet for now, alright?”

Henry’s breath hitched, eyeing the pocket warily as his legs were swallowed by it. “Why do I—”

“Shh.” Svikari cut him off. “Just trust me. I’ll explain everything once I take care of this.” With those ominous words echoing in his head, Henry was once again plunged into darkness, trapped in the front pocket of her spacesuit. 

There was no way this would end well.

***

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter Ten: To Home and Friendship

(Images are not mine)

Rated: PG

~With every small disaster I'll let the waters still Take me away to some place real

'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone Is where you go when you're alone Is where you go to rest your bones It's not just where you lay your head It's not just where you make your bed As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?~

Home.

That wasn't a word I was used to. Not anymore.

"I stand by what I said earlier, Jack. You make an excellent pillo― Oh holy crap."

I gasped as Jack lead me inside the literal bunker that these guys apparently lived in. I wondered if I would ever get used to it, because their bunker was enormous.

We entered through a non-descript entrance, that nobody would have noticed, onto a platform that was less of a balcony and more of a catwalk which I guessed was the second floor, though I couldn't tell exactly because it was a bunker and it probably had more levels than I could see. The wrought iron railing of the balcony was formed into a design of circles atop rectangles. The catwalk ended with a set of steel stairs that curved with the wall.

My feet clanged on the metal as I descended the stairwell. At the bottom of those stairs on my right was a doorway that led somewhere else and on my left was what I guessed was the entryway. There was a big glowy-table-thing with a map on it in the center of the space, surrounded by several chairs. There was this big, greenish panel thingy attached to one of the tan tiled walls that looked like some sort of old timey computer equipment. Through a big gray archway, I could see into another room that looked like a library with a huge telescope at the end of it. On the far left of the room there was another hallway going off somewhere else. Dean stepped off the staircase and spread his arms out.

"Welcome to the Batcave!" He said, grinning. "I see you're impressed." Only then did I realize my mouth was hanging open. I closed it and shook my head.

"This place is colossal," I said in awe.

"Yeah, it's a little pretentious but you get used to it." Sam shrugged, passing me. Jack just stood over my shoulder, watching my reaction.

"True, but if you want protection, this is about the safest place in the world. It's got warding against every evil thing out there. Vampires, werewolves, demons, ghosts, you name it," Dean boasted. Just then, Isaac appeared on the catwalk, as far from us as he could.

"Ha! Then how did I get in here genius!" He jeered. It took every last drop of will power I had not to facepalm right then and there. It was warm in here and the hunters would certainly notice a sudden temperature drop. Was Isaac trying to get us discovered? (I'd say killed but he's already dead.)

"Yep, nothing gets in here unless we let it. Or, you know, bring it in accidentally." Sam shared a look with Cas and his older brother.

"Scooby-dooby-doo!" Dean laughed, shaking his head. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the story behind that or not. Meanwhile Isaac wore a sheepish expression.

"Oh, guess that’s how I got in then." Words cannot express how much I wanted to kick my brother at that moment. After he was finished laughing, Dean looked to Jack.

"Kid, you take Mcfly here, find her a room, get her all settled, then give her the grand tour. I'm gonna hit the sack." Dean turned on his heel with a wave and whistled his way out of the room. Castiel mumbled something about research and crossed through the arch into the library.

"We're gonna find the monster that took your family away, Marty. But until then, think of us as your new one." I looked up at Sam and was reminded again of how huge the guy was. His head was in a totally different weather system than mine and I wondered if it was harder to breathe all the way up there.

"Thanks Sam." I took three steps higher on the stairs and made grabby hands at him. "Come here."

Sam raised an eyebrow at me but obeyed anyway. I took a tiny jump and wrapped my arms around his neck. He stumbled back a bit in surprise but quickly recovered and wrapped his arms around me with a chuckle.

"Shut up, Gigantor. I gotta hug ya’ somehow!" I rebuked, defending my height... Or rather, the lack thereof. I guess his laughter was justified though. My feet were dangling at least a foot from the floor. I let go of him and dropped back to the ground, it felt like falling off Mount Everest. Sam just shook his brown mane, smiling down at me.

"If there's anything you need, like help reaching the top shelf, just ask." I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, whatever Sasquatch. So, what are you gonna do?" I asked. Sam shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

"Put my stuff away. Then I'm gonna go reorganize the pantry, make sure you can reach the cereal," He smirked, and followed Dean's path through the other door-way.

"Way to rub it in, Sam!" I called after him. I heard him chuckle as he rounded the corner out of my sight. Then I rounded on Jack, who had been waiting patiently. "Well, Jack, if you wanna make fun of my height, now's the time to do it. Lead on!" I opened my arms, preparing for insults.

"It is rare that I get to feel tall, but I'm not going to make fun of you," He said, turning on his heel to lead me through the door-way behind us.

"Good. Cause' I might have slapped you if ya had." Jack looked back at me questioningly, but I just shrugged.

I followed him through twisting and turning hallways that I knew I wouldn't be memorizing anytime soon. We kept walking for what seemed like forever. Honestly, I was ninety-eight percent convinced that we might pass a sign that said: 'Now Entering Nebraska.' It didn't help that all the halls looked exactly the same.

"Back at the motel, the night we met, Dean said you had this thing," Jack remarked, turning to face me and walking backward.

"What thing?" I asked.

"I think he called it ‘A Napoleon Complex' or something like that," Jack said, innocently. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

"And do you know what that is?"

"No. I haven't looked it up yet. Do you know?" I snorted.

"Oh, yeah. I know," I said. Already thinking of a comeback for the next time I saw Dean.

"What is it?" Jack was simply curious. I smirked at him.

"Do you know who Napoleon was?" I asked him, I was pretty sure of the answer.

"No." Just as I thought. The Winchesters needed to teach their half-angel some history. As for now though, I could give him the watered-down version.

"Napoleon was a French dude, not to be confused with the ice-cream. He was five foot six and when people called him short, he blew them up." I told him. Jack nodded seriously.

"I see, so he was insecure about his height and used violence to compensate for it. Then, the complex was named after him." I had to give it to him, the kid was smart.

"Yep. Never mind the fact that he took over almost all of Europe, he will always be famous for being a human chihuahua." I had to at least teach Jack something remotely accurate. Jack frowned and his eyebrows pulled together as if remembering something unpleasant. I guessed he had come into contact with a chihuahua before, it didn't look like he was fond of them.

"So, Dean thinks you're insecure about your height," Said Jack, returning us to the original topic.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Are you?" I shrugged.

"Not really. I'm just obnoxious." Jack laughed, coming to a stop in front of a black door that looked just the same as the rest that lined the hall except for the plaque with the number 22 etched into it.

"This is my room," He said. "And that's Sam's." He pointed to the door on the left of his which had a 21 on it. "You can pick any of these other rooms." His eyes flicked to the door next to his on the right, room 24. I briefly wondered what had happened to 23. When I met his eyes, he looked at his feet, as if his shoes were much more interesting than me.

"Does anyone live in here?" I tapped the door with 24 on it.

"No, it's empty but you don't have to take that one if you don't want to." Jack glued his eyes to the polished cement floor and ran his hand through his hair, a tick I was sure he picked up from Sam.

"Why wouldn't I want to?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and putting my hands on my hips. I watched as a pink tint started to creep up Jack's neck.

"I don't want you to think that you have to stay in that one just because I want you too," He muttered.

"You want me to stay next to you?" I pointed out. Jack's expression went blank, his eyes wide as quarters.

"Um, I-I-I don't- I didn't mean--" Jack stumbled over his words. His gaze drilled straight into the floor, his hands were fidgeting, and his right foot twisted its toe against the concrete. His body language pointed at nervousness. Why was he this nervous? Was it me? He hadn't been this way before, what was different now? I decided to ease his nerves with a little humor. I stuck my hand into his line of sight and waved.

"Yoo, hoo! I'm up here, Jack." He flicked his eyes up to my face but kept his head down. "Well, not up per-say but you know what I mean," I joked. His smile was still pointed at the concrete. I guessed we'd just have to work on that.

"S-sorry." His laugh was a breathy one. I sighed, planting my hands on my hips.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jack. It's nice to have someone who wants me around, I haven't had that in a long time." I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly way. Jack rocked back and forth on his heels and his mouth did that crooked smile of his. He even flicked his eyes up at me.

"Well, uh, what are friends for?" He sounded like he was reciting something he heard in a movie.

I wondered whether Jack was trying to flirt with me or not. A tiny part of me hoped that he was and another part of me kicked myself for hoping for that. How could I think that way? Jack was two, he was probably too young to understand feelings like that, if he even had them. He probably didn't have them. He was probably just doing his best to make a friend, by going off what he had seen. I mean, the movies are pretty against a boy and a girl simply being friends. Besides if he knew what I was, he wouldn't be standing here talking to me. He'd be trying to kill me. Isaac was right. Any friendship I made here, would never be real. It never could be.

"Right," I said softly. Now I was the one looking down at my feet. But I wasn't doing it out of nerves. I was doing it out of shame. Glancing up at him through my lashes, Jack's smile faltered for only a moment. He grasped the doorknob and turned it and as the door swung inward, Jack flipped a switch and the white florescent lights buzzed to life.

The room was simply decorated, and by that I mean it wasn't decorated at all. The walls, ceiling, and floor were grey and a built-in shelf stuck out from the far wall. In the center of the space sat a full-size bed with a plain white duvet, white sheets, and down pillows. There was a dresser pushed up against one wall, a desk pressed against the other, and a tiny night stand next to the bed, all of which were fashioned out of wood the shade of walnut.

"Um, it's not much, but we can get you some stuff to make it yours," Jack smirked down at me and I ducked past him into the room.

Other than those objects, the room was bare, but I found myself overwhelmed. My chest tightened and my eyes stung, it was so little, but it was more than I'd had in five years. I shrugged my backpack off my shoulders and placed my violin case on the bed. Keeping my back turned, my face hidden from Jack, I blinked rapidly to dispel my tears.

"It's wonderful, Jack. I-I love it." I took a deep breath and pasted a smirk on my face. When I had control of my emotions, I swung back to face him. "Now, how bout' that grand tour?" Jack's brows pushed together.

"Don't you want to put your things away, first?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Nah, I can do that anytime. This place is pretty awesome, I wanna see it all!" I grinned at him, pressing all the excitement I could muster into my voice. Jack grinned back.

"Well, um, what would you like to see first?"

"No idea! What's your favorite room?" Jack's eyes flicked to the side as he thought about his answer for a moment.

"The kitchen," He decided. His seriousness made me chuckle.

"I like the way you think. You lead, I'll follow!" This time, instead of smiling at the concrete, Jack smiled at my shoes! We were making good progress. Now if I could get him to smile at my face, then we would really be getting somewhere.

Jack swung around on his heel and walked about four paces before opening a door on the other side of the hall. This one was labeled with 23. 'So that's where it went.' I thought, as Jack pushed the door open and walked through. Inside was the kitchen. It wasn't the kind you have at home. No, this was one of those industrial sort of kitchens, all polished steel and florescent lighting. (The buzzing of those light bulbs was extremely annoying, but I would just have to get used to it.)

There were pots and pans everywhere. Any sort of cook where you could imagine was in there, hanging on racks, dangling from hooks, sitting on shelves, or habitually left on the stove. What looked like easily one hundred white plates were stacked neatly on the shelves of the giant stainless-steel island that dominated the space. Two ovens, stood side-by-side in a little nook, one of which had a griddle attached to the top. Hovering over the two ovens were large vents of gleaming steel.

To the right of the cooking station was the preparation area and a sink as big as your average tub. I'm not kidding. The thing was gargantuan. Above that monstrosity of a kitchen sink sat an array of porcelain cups, and a tissue box, on a shelf. To the right of that, there sat a large stainless steel shelving unit that was home to various cooking supplies and four white drawers in the middle.

On the far wall, was a brown bulletin board decorated with various notes, covered in scribbles and sketches, tacked to it. Beneath the bulletin was a table crafted from some dark colored wood, that was either oak or mahogany, and was attached to the wall. Affixed to the table were eight stool-like seats constructed from the same dark material as the table itself. Directly to the right side of the door, was a coat rack and six small lockers stacked vertically. The right wall was an archway and set of stairs that lead off into a hallway branching to the right and a different set of stairs to the left.

As I peered around to the left side of the door and past another steel shelf, I laid eyes upon what could only be the freezer/refrigerator combo. It was this enormous floor-to-ceiling white panel with five varying sized doors built into it. The far most door on the right was taller than me so I assumed that was the refrigerator and the other four doors were freezers. Why one would need four freezers, I had no idea, but I found myself liking the concept. Now that I had finished taking in the grossly oversized kitchen, I whirled to Jack and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. I stared him dead in the eyes.

"This. Place. Is. Awesome." I pointed at the refrigerator. "Five bucks says I could fit in there!" Jack's gaze followed my finger and he nodded.

"I think you could," He said. I took another glance around the space. I couldn't help it. The laugh bubbled up from my stomach, filled my chest, and bloomed in my throat. It had been a long, long, long, time since I had laughed like that.

"I went from having nothing, to living in this place! This is amazing!" I flung my arms around Jack. It was quite the feat on my part to refrain from crushing his ribs. I was so excited I could hardly contain it. I was bouncing up and down on my toes like a little girl! Though I guess, in the eyes of Jack and the others, that’s sort of what I was.

"I'm glad you like it!" Jack said, grinning.

"I don't like it, Jack. I love it!" I exclaimed. My stomach growled like an angry bear, just being in here was making me hungry. "Hey, as long as we're here, got anything good to eat? I'm starving!" That last bit was nothing new, I was always starving these days, always craving. But I was never craving food. Jack's throat suddenly looked extremely tasty. Thankfully, his voice broke me away from that train of thought.

"I like ice-cream," He said, brightly.

"Jack?”

"Hm?"

"We are gonna be awesome friends."

No, home wasn't a word I was used to. Not anymore. But I realized with a start, that for the first time in five years, I had one. A real one.

It looked like I was gonna have to get used to it.

Jack knelt down and opened the door on the bottom left of the freezer/refrigerator combo that I then dubbed 'The Wall of Cold Stuff'. He reached in, grabbed a tub of ice cream, then stood and kicked the door shut.

"The bowls are down there and the spoons are in the top left drawer," He said, pointing to the shelf in the back. I made my way over and grabbed two of each. We both sat at the table, across from each other, and Jack served up the ice cream. I then got the chance to glance at the ice cream's label. It was chocolate-chip-cookie-dough.

"This is my favorite flavor. What's yours?" I asked him, shoveling ice cream into my mouth and moaning as the sugary goodness coated my tongue. Jack must have found that funny because he ducked his head and laughed.

"I don't know. This one is pretty good, but I love the mint and brownie ones as well," He told me. I had noticed that Jack always took great care to think about his answers before he gave them. He took and asked every question seriously. I got the feeling that Jack was the sort of person who's curiosity was never satisfied.

"I can vibe with that," I agreed. Jack's brows furrowed, he placed his spoon down on the table, folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what that means. Could you explain it?" He asked. I liked the way he behaved when he was curious about something, Jack just dropped everything to learn and focused entirely on whatever it was he was trying to understand. Right now, that thing was me. I found that I didn't mind his undivided attention.

"Oh, um, it means that you agree with something somebody said. Its like saying 'you're right' or 'I agree with you' or 'that's cool'," I explained. Jack nodded.

"I think I understand." I gave him a thumbs up and scooped another spoonful of ice-cream into my mouth, closing my eyes and savoring the flavor with a deep sigh.

"You know, it's been five years since I last had ice cream," I said. Jack froze his ice cream eating with his spoon still stuck in his mouth, his expression morphing into one of horror and pity.

"That's awful!" He said, he'd removed the spoon, but his mouth was still full of the dessert, "No one should have to go without ice cream for that long!"

"My friend, you are absolutely right," I replied, pointing my spoon at him. "Here's to ice cream and sugar highs!" I tapped my bowl with the spoon and Jack copied me, albeit somewhat confused as to what I was doing. Speaking of sugar highs, I could already feel one building up already. It had been way too long since I'd had this much sugar.

"Marty?" Jack wanted my attention.

"Hm?"

"I had a dream about you last night," He said, changing the subject. I stared up at him, pulling my spoon out of my mouth.

"Should I be worried?"

"No."

"What was I doing in this dream of yours?" I asked, straining to keep the nervousness that was building in my chest out of my voice. Jack frowned, picking at his ice cream.

"You said-- You told me you were dangerous and I shouldn't trust you, that you're hiding something."

I bit my lip, my eyes widening with shock. I struggled to keep calm and natural, my reactions could give me away. Just as I'd settled my expression, Jack looked up. "I can trust you, right?" I smiled as genuinely as I could, which was difficult to do with his gaze piercing into my soul like it was.

"Of course, you can! I may be clever but I'm not exactly diabolical," I said, giving my best laugh. Jack smiled and nodded, though I got the notion that he was reassuring himself more than anything. If he was going to say something else, he never got the chance because at that moment, Sam strolled into the room.

He stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of us at the table. Our heads snapped up at the same time and we froze. Jack had his spoonful halfway to his mouth and mine was already there. The three of us just stared at each other for a moment but Sam was the first to react.

"Come on guys, really?! It's six A.M.!" He exclaimed. I shrugged, removing the spoon from my mouth and pointing it at him.

"AM, PM. What's the difference? Live a little!" With that comment alone, Sam figured he wouldn't be getting anywhere with me, so he turned to Jack.

"Jack, come on, be an example." Jack glanced at his spoonful of dessert and shoved in in his mouth, quickly.

"Technically," He pointed out, directing his spoon at me, "She's older than me!"

"Hey!" I protested.

"What?"

"This was your idea!"

Jack shrugged. "I know, but you agreed. I was just stating a fact," he said. Sam sighed, shaking his head. The two of us turned our attention back to him.

"Jack, throw it away and put the container back in the freezer. If you want ice cream, you can have it at dinner. Not at six in the morning," He scolded. Jack swallowed his mouthful of ice cream.

"But Sam, look at how happy she is! Marty hasn't had ice cream for five years!" He tried. I nodded vigorously to emphasize the point.

"It's true, Sam. You only live once!" I said, shoving another bite of ice cream in my mouth. Sam's eyes flicked back and forth between us.

"Fine. Just this once," He sighed.

"Thanks Sam!" Jack and I grinned.

"Yeah, whatever." Sam rolled his eyes and left the kitchen, but I could hear the hint of a smile in his voice. When he was gone, Jack sighed with relief.

"I take it you do this a lot," I said to him. He looked at the ice cream with a guilty expression.

"I wouldn't say a lot."

"But often enough for him not to be surprised?"

"Yeah." Jack grinned sheepishly.

"Does he always catch you?" I asked him.

"Every time, yes."

We finished our ice cream and put our dishes in the sink. Then, Jack proceeded to show me the rest of the bunker. Sometimes I would ask about what was in few of the rooms and he would reply with an 'I don't know' or a few times a rather disturbing 'You don't want to know'. To say that his cryptic warning had no effect on me would be a lie. He spoke the words in a light hearted way that just made me more worried. So, I tried to push any speculations as to the contents of those rooms from my mind but kept step slightly closer to Jack from then on.

He showed me a garage full of a bunch of old-timey cars that I found myself figuratively drooling over, a room full of antique electronic equipment he told me not to touch, an impressive gym with an adjacent shower room, an infirmary, a shooting range that looked like a lot of fun, something they called the 'War Room' which was where the glowy table was, the extensive library, and an alcove with an gigantic telescope that Jack claimed nobody could figure out how to use. According to him, the glowy table in the war room could supposedly track monsters, but the Winchesters weren't sure how to use it. Much to my relief.

Jack also showed me a room where I immediately knew I would be spending most of my time. Jack rather confusedly referred to it as 'The Dean Cave'. I later noticed the paper sign tacked on the back of the door that was labeled with said name. Inside there was a flat screen TV, two recliners, a bar that I'd never use, a foosball table which I would definitely use, a record-playing jukebox that I hoped had some decent tunes, and a shelf full of books. The whole room was lit by these cool red and blue lights that looked to be made out of beer kegs. This was a place I could get used to.

"Jack, I think I found my second favorite room," I said, trailing my fingers along the rim of the foosball table.

"You'll have to ask Dean if you can use the T.V. he and Sam are still trying to figure it out." Jack sat cross-legged on one of the ugly plaid recliners.

"Remind me to help em' with that. I'm tech-y," I replied, walking over to observe the jukebox. I didn't know most of the titles displayed on the devices list of records, but my eyes landed on one that I'd know even if it was written in Chinese. "Oh my gosh! Jack, how do I use this thing?!" I squealed, excitedly. Jack hopped up to help me.

"You turn this knob to select which one you want, then you press this button to start it," He explained. I followed his instructions and watched the machine grab the record and put it on that spinning thing before it dropped the needle. I grinned ear to ear as sweet music filled the air.

~Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn't have to wait so long And wouldn't it be nice to live together In the kind of world where we belong?~

"What's this one called?" Jack asked over the notes.

"Wouldn't it be nice, by The Beach Boys! It's one of my favorites!" I was surprised that it was here considering Dean's bias when it came to music.

~You know it's gonna make it that much better When we can say goodnight and stay together~

"I dare you to sing along, Jack-Jack." I grinned and nudged his shoulder.

"No thank you," He said, shaking his head with a pleasant smile.

~Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up In the morning when the day is new? And after having spent the day together Hold each other close the whole night through~

"Awww! Why not?"

"I don't know the words." He shrugged.

~Happy times together we've been spending I wish that every kiss was never ending Oh, wouldn't it be nice?~

"Fine!" I sighed in over dramatic disappointment, flopping onto one of the recliners. "But that excuse is only gonna work once!"

Jack chuckled, leaning his arms on the back of the recliner to look down at me. "I guess I better come up with more excuses then!"

~Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray It might come true Baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do Oh, we could be married (oh, we could be married) And then we'd be happy (and then we'd be happy) Oh, wouldn't it be nice?~

"You can't evade me forever," I declared, kicking my feet back and forth to the beat of the song.

"True," Jack agreed, nodding. "But I can try."

"And try you will, young Skywalker," I said.

"I like Star Wars!" Jack noted, suddenly seeming to shift from being older than me to younger by about five years. It was an odd thing to watch.

"Who doesn't?"

~Goodnight, my baby Sleep tight, my baby Goodnight, my baby Sleep tight, my baby~

The music faded away but I maintained eye contact with Jack in a spontaneous staring contest. Why? Because, naturally the first one to break was a weakling and I was not going to take that title on my first day with these people.

"Is this a staring contest?" Jack asked, tilting his head a bit. He didn't blink.

"Indeed. We maintained eye contact for longer than twenty-eight seconds, so it's obligatory," You replied, still refusing to blink.

"I did not know that those were the rules," Jack said, sounding somewhat confused.

"Well, they're not. That's just how my family always played." You were quick to clear your throat and rid your tone of any sadness that slipped past your defenses.

"Oh, I see."

"I take it you two are having fun."

"Agh!" I shot up from my reclined position in shock and whipped to the doorway where I took in the sight of Castiel standing just outside the door frame, the ghost of a smile visible on his otherwise expressionless face. How long had he been watching? Embarrassment warmed my cheeks and I hoped we hadn't looked like idiots.

"Hey Cas! I don't know about Jack, but I'm having the time of my life!" I said. Then I turned to Jack. "Whattdya' say, buddy? Am I torturing you?"

"I've been tortured before, this isn't anything close to what that was like! Don't worry, Marty. You're a lot of fun." He stated, matter-of-factly. My eyes went wide and I tilted my head at him. I mean, what was I even supposed to say to something like that? "Oh, and you I won the staring contest." I found myself nodding slowly.

"Well, good for you. And that's got to be the weirdest complement I think I've ever gotten, but I'll take it." Jack grinned at me in his lopsided way and I turned my attention back to the other angel in the room. "Any particular reason for this visit or were ya just passing?"

"Sam asked me to check up on you two," Cas answered.

"Alright. Well, I was just about to ask Jack to help me find my way back to my room."

Cas simply nodded and walked off.

"So, why do you like that song so much?" Jack inquired as we strode back through the endless identical hallways.

"It was in one of my mom's favorite movies so she was always singing it. I love the tune as well and sometimes, when I'm sad, the words make me feel better," I answered. Jack frowned.

"I don't understand song lyrics. They never make sense to me."

"Would you like me to explain it to you?"

"Yes." Jack nodded and once again gave me all his attention.

"So, that song is about two young people who feel like they're living their lives stuck in place. There's so much they want to do but everybody says they're just to young to do it. They feel like they've outgrown the stage of life that they're in and they just want to move on. By being stuck where they are, they're afraid they'll miss their opportunity for happiness. So they dream about a day when they'll finally be free to do whatever they want, even if they that day may never come around." My thoughtful tone surprised me.

I hadn't meant to put so much of my own emotion into my explanation of the lyrics. If I kept on like this, the hunters would figure me out in no time. But there was just something about Jack, about the way he listened to my every word, that made me want to tell him everything about everything. I was weak around him. He made me let my guard down. I'd have to learn how to keep it up if I wanted to survive.

"Do you feel stuck sometimes?" Jack asked. His tone was sincere but his expression gave me no clues a s to what he was hoping to learn from his question. I nodded.

"I used to feel like I was living a loop, like every day was the same. It sucked." I rolled my eyes and shoved him playfully. "But then four weirdos in an Impala showed up and my life is finally moving again!"

~With every small disaster I'll let the waters still Take me away to someplace real

Cause' they say home is where your heart is set in stone Its where you go when you're alone Its where you go to rest your bones Its not just where you lay your head Its not just where you make your bed As long as we're together does it matter where we go?~

Lyrics from: Home by Jasmine Thompson

[barnesbabee]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ - ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ

WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

⇜ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ - ᴛᴡᴏ -  ɴᴇxᴛ ⟿

CHARACTER LIST:

 White Rabbit - Choi Jongho

 Absolem (Blue Catterpilar) - Kang Yeosang

 Cheshire Cat - Kim Hongjoong

 Mad Hatter - Choi San

 Haigha (March Hare) - Jung Wooyoung

 Tweedle Dee - Song Mingi

 Tweedle Dum - Jeong Yunho

 Bloody Red King - Park Seonghwa 

 “Hatter!”

 “Hatter!”

 “Hatter!”

 “Hatter!”

  Two jumping boys dressed identically interrupted your conversation with the hatted man. Both boys had a blood-red vest over a frilly white shirt, tight black pants, and white tights. They approached the table and exchanged looks before talking to him. One of them opened their mouths to say something, but his eyes caught yours.

  “And who is she?”

  The other one of the pair frowned as he noted your presence.

   “I have never seen her!”

   “Neither have I!”

   “Likewise I have never caught sighy her around here!”

   “And I’ve never seen her walk by!”

   You were a little too amused and overwhelmed by their conversation to be able to reply or introduce yourself. Your eyes jumped from boy to boy as they kept talking. The Hare laughed loudly, twitching his neck to the right a couple of times while doing so.

  “That would be Miss Y/N! She’s not from here! She’s celebrating out unniversary with us!”

  You were thankful Haigha had cut them off and spoken for you, or else you’d just freeze up and say nothing. The boys approached you and each of them took one of your hands in theirs, shaking them violently. Your body wobbled in a silly way as they shook your hands.

  “Nice to meet you! I’m Tweedle Dee,” The smaller one with orange hair said “and he’s Tweedle Dum.”

   “Contrarywise, I’m Tweedle Dum and he’s Tweedle Dee!”

   "Nice to meet you boys!” You said, your voice a little wobbly from all the movement “But would you stop shaking me for a second?”

  They instantly dropped your hands, folded their own hands behind their backs, and nodded quickly at your request. The synchronization of their movements scared you a little, but it was amusing nevertheless.

  “Tweedles, what did you come here for, tea mayhaps?” The Hatter asked and giggled, while he supported his chin up with his right hand.

  The tweedles moved their attention to the tea party’s host. They stood next to each other as they looked at the Hatter.

   “You wouldn’t guess who is coming!” The taller one of the pair said.

   “Certainly not! You surely couldn’t guess!” The other one continued,

  You looked at them weirdly, confused as to why they spoke in such a funny way all the time.

   “Just tell us boys,” Cheshire spoke with his grin from ear to ear, already tired of all of their chitter-chatter “no use giving us riddles.”

   They giggled and looked at Cheshire.

   “The Queen’s army is on the way!”

   The second those words settled in, Cheshire’s face fell and he disappeared into thin air, with no further notice.

  The tension among everyone grew, and worried looks took over all of the guests.

   “Take her away! Immediately!” The Hatter said pointing at you.

   The Hatter grabbed your hand and attached one of the boy’s hands to your wrist, pushing them away to another road, so they’d hide you away safely. However, the second the boy had a grip on you, the whole group started hearing tens of synchronized steps approaching. They became louder by the second and the Hatter’s eyes widened. He realized there was no time for the Tweedles to escape with you without being seen by the Queen’s army, so he quickly lifted the white towel, exposing the bottom of the large table.

   “Hurry! You must hide under here!”

   The hurry and preoccupation in his voice made some worry raise in you, so you quickly fell to your knees and crawled under the table. You did your best to hide and not make any noise while under the table, as you started to feel the ground shake slightly, and the sounds of footsteps become louder. Suddenly it all stopped, and you heard Haigha, the Hare, giggle a little.

   “What is so funny?” A deep voice asked.

   There was no response, only laughs from the Hatter, from the Hare and from the Dormouse. 

   “I should send you to the King and have you lose your heads!” The same voice yelled.

  The Hatter giggled, and looked at the man in amusement.

   “But we already have lost our heads!”

   “Now, why don’t you calm down and have some tea!” Haigha grabbed one of the teacups on the table, one that was filled with hot tea, and threw them at the head of the Queen’s Army man.

  It shattered in his helmet, and the three of them burst into laughter once more. The man, who had had enough of the trio’s crazy antics, smashed his fists down on the table with a loud noise- You were caught off guard, and accidentally yelped at the sound and sudden movement of the table.

  The atmosphere around you grew silent. You covered your mouth with your hand and widened your eyes, praying to whatever God they might have had in that land that he hadn’t heard you.

  Unfortunately for you, the tablecloth lifted from the other side of the table and a black helmet looked straight at you. The man crouched down and walked until he had a hold of your arm. He pulled you out from under the table while you screamed and squirmed, trying to free yourself from the man’s grip on you, but to no avail.

  “What do we have here?” The rude man asked, inspecting you from head to toe.

   “Well, a girl.” The Dormouse replied smugly, earning a glare from the soldier.

  You looked around, panicked, and came across a sight that bothered you. The man that held your arm obviously had a body and a head, but the rest of the army were... cards with heads, hands and feet. Metallic red cards with numbers and suits (mainly Hearts and Spades) holding spears. How could cards be alive!?

     The man chuckled at the little mouse’s comment, although he certainly hadn’t found it funny.

   “Let’s see what the King thinks about your little tea-party guest.”

   You and the Hatter exchanged panicked looks, he had just told you to avoid the King at all costs, and no you’d be being taken to him.

   “Hatter!” You yelled and reached your free hand to him, as the cards started escorting you to the castle. 

  The Hatter lowered his head and looked at his tea.

  “I’m sorry...” He mumbled, loud enough for you to hear.

  The cards forced you to hike the long way to the castle. After about thirty silent minutes of walking, you could see an enormous castle in the distance. It had a squared shape, and what seemed to be five stories, judging by the placement of the windows. Each corner of the square had a long, cylindrical tower. Each tower had its own ceiling, one being a Heart, one a Spade, one a Diamond, and the other one a Club. The ceiling of the centerpiece was similar to the one you had seen in the Taj Mahal, except its color was red with black stripes. The whole castle was black, with gilded window frames, door handles, and small decorations, along with some nuances of red here and there.

  The outside of the castle was a big garden, decorated with beautiful white roses and tall bushes that had taken the shape of rectangles.

   Its inside, however, had a completely different aura. The air seemed to be heavier, and even though there were many lights on the walls and chandeliers on the ceilings, the whole castle seemed dark. The entrance had chess-like flooring, and dark wood stairs with a red rug on them. The army stayed behind as the black knight lead you somewhere. You walked with him through the red hallways covered with portraits, you could only assume were the King, until you arrived a big door. Again, it was in the shape of a huge heart.

   What is it with this man and hearts?

   The knight ordered the two servants to open the doors, and so they did, allowing you two to enter. The room, surprisingly, wasn’t red. The walls were black and the columns holding the ceiling were made of marble, as was the floor. The red carpet from the hallway extended itself inside the room and guided you to a big black throne. It was decorated with red hearts and the little details around it were all made of gold.

  On the throne sat one of the most beautiful men you’d ever seen, his skin was pale, his eyes were as dark as his hair, and his lips were plump and red. For a second he reminded you of Snow White, however, his stare was not docile like hers. Even though a long fringe covered one of his eyes, you could still tell he stared down at you intensely, with his chin tilted upwards and leg crossed over the other. One of his hands played with the gold on the chair’s arm, while the other was in the air, fingers playing with one of his rings, supported up by the elbow he sat on the chair’s arm.

  “And who might this be?” He asked, obviously bored at the presence of more people.

  “We don’t know Sir, she doesn’t seem to be from here, the Hatter was hiding her.”

  The man on the throne straightened himself and took a better look at you. Suddenly he took interest in your person. He smiled, but not a welcoming smile, one that suggested second intentions. The King took a couple seconds to analyze your image.

   “Well then, why don’t you take her to my dining room? We shall treat the guests of this land accordingly.”

  The knight seemed a little taken aback at the King’s reaction, but complied nevertheless. He bowed at his superior and started guiding you to the room he had instructed.

   “Oh and take that hideous dress off of her. Give her something red.”

  The man turned around for a second, bowed once more, and said ‘Yes, my King’.

  He took you to a fitting room, where the tall woman in it gave you a red dress, just like he had instructed. You didn’t want to comply with the King’s wishes, but then again, your previous dress had been ruined by all the struggling from before. You slipped on the piece of clothing and inspected it in the mirror. You weren’t particularly fond of the way the heart-shaped neckline exposed your chest, but you went with it anyway (not like you had much choice). You adjusted the black, box pleated skirt, that was decorated with red shiny hearts (predictably) and red ruffles on the hem.

  You could tell what the King liked to see...

  Once you were done you opened the door and met the knight who was waiting for you, very impatiently. 

  He grabbed your arm harshly, once more, and pushed you inside the dining room. 

  The flooring was similar to the entrance’s floor, as it was like a chessboard. The table in the room was dark and had a black and golden table cloth over it. The chairs had the same wood as the table and were very extravagant. Over the table was a big chandelier that illuminated the room, and numerous paintings and statues decorated the the walls and corners of the room.

  You found that the King was already in the room, staring out of one of the windows, looking ominous with his big black jacket and hands in his black pants’ pockets. 

  The door closed behind you, making a loud noise, and he turned around to face you. He smiled at your figure and approached you. 

   “You look beautiful in red.” He complimented, running a finger down your figure.

  You noticed a small red heart painted under his eye. You hadn’t seen it before, and you wondered if he had done it to himself or if it was a birthmark and the reason why he loved hearts so much.

   “Thank you.” You simply replied.

  The King chuckled and pointed at a chair, his hand never leaving your body.

   “Why don’t you take a seat?”

  You stepped back, to free yourself from his touch and slowly shook your head.

   “No, thank you.” You replied dryly.

  The King looked at you, shocked.

   “You know, the people of this land call me My King, and take all my orders.”

  You gulped, a little intimidated by his sudden deep voice and ruthless stance. He stepped towards you as he spoke, and looked you in the eye intensely. 

   “Well, you’re not my King.”

  The both of you seemed a little shocked at what you had just said, but to your surprise the King’s expression turned into amusement, and even a fond smile.

  He stepped back and opened the door.

  “What if we go for a walk?”

  Seeing that you had no chance but to accompany him somewhere, you agreed, and walked alongside the tall man as you appreciated the garden, which seemed to be the only thing in the castle that wasn’t red, black or gold.

  “You’re witty. No woman, Hell, no man or animal has ever dared to speak to me in such a way.”

  You shrugged and looked at the roses around you.

   “I simply told you the truth, I am not from this land, therefore you are not my King.”

  The man chuckled, his stare never leaving the side of your face. He was truly curious about you. He wanteed to know where such bravery came from, how and why you had the guts to speak to him like that.

   “Where are you from?”

  You sighed and looked at him for a second before averting your look.

   “Somewhere... A place I thought was the only one to exist.”

   “Somewhere... I have never heard of that land.” The King looked into the sky, thinking if he had ever visited such a land.

  You looked at the King, and laughed a little at his silliness once you realized he was serious. You couldn’t believe that a man seemingly so sharp believed that you came from a land called somewhere.

   “Would you... Would you do that again?” He asked, looking at you with a surprised expression.

  His odd question made you look at him with a confused expression.

  “That? What is that? I did nothing...”

  “Laugh... You laughed. I don’t hear that often, it’s a pretty sound.”

  You were flustered at his comment and honestly, a little sad... You chuckled at his flattering comment and he laughed with you.

  You were torn... Your thoughts were torn. Haigha and the Hatter spoke so terribly of this man, but he seemed to be a regular person... Mayhaps a tormented one, that had been misunderstood and turned to fear to make himself known. His comment was so pure, so innocent...

  Your train of thought was stopped when the King abruptly came to a halt. You looked at him and you were instantly scared at the expression on his face. He was staring at the roses you loved so much with a disgusted, enraged, and even tyrant expression.

   “White!? White!? I ordered red roses! Who dared plant white roses in my garden!? Guards!” 

  Upon hearing the King’s screams, three cards came running to the two of you. He shot them a furious glare. He was breathing heavily and his eyes lost any life they might’ve held before.

   “Find whoever painted these, and off with their heads!” He stopped for a second to breathe and yelled once more “And paint these roses red!” 

  Drops of spit flew out of his mouth during his psychotic speech, and you couldn’t believe your eyes or ears.

  When he turned to look at you, you were long gone. His terrifying behavior at something so small, his heartless order, and lack of compassion scared you beyond anything. Your legs moved faster than your head, without even thinking, you started running and running, until you were lost in a maze made out of bushes. You didn’t even care, you just ran around and hoped that the King wouldn’t find you. Ever.

[journeymanwithpen]

The first memory

— Happy birthday, — she sings. — What would you like to do today?

— Thank you, Love! — They kiss.

— I don't want anything special, — he says — It's a day like any other.

— It's not, — she insists. — It's your birthday. And because of that, it's special!

— I think we humans are drunk on our own sense of self-importance, — he says. — We like to mark everything, but in fact all we celebrate is ourselves. It's quite pathetic, actually. Birthday is an anniversary of someone's coming to being. It's a folly celebrating that I existed. Now, if I knew exactly how long I have on this Earth, that'd be a completely different story, then I’d celebrate how long I have left. As it is, we all burn our wick, but none of us know exactly how long the wick is. We have our little birthday celebrations to mark how much of it we burned. Let’s celebrate any other day, a good day spent with you, for example.

She watches him, smiling silently. — Tell me about yourself, — she says.

— What's to tell, you know everything, — he says.

— I want to know who you were before me.

— Ah, — he sighs — you want a story.

— Always.

She nestles on his chest and pulls his arm around her shoulders.

— I already told you all I can remember, — he says. — My recollection is fuzzy, I can't separate what really happened from what I wished to happen.

— That's alright with me. That's why we call them 'stories'.

---

What's your first real memory? Not the story about yourself told by the parents or relatives? Nor the moments frozen in old photographs from the time before memories? The first thing you were aware of as a kid?

Mine is of a summer before I started school. A clear, warm sunny day. It must have been warm because I remember wearing shorts and a short sleeved shirt. I was riding a bike, the small green one my dad brought from Italy for my birthday. Everybody else had a "pony" - a locally made bicycle with low, U-shaped frame which folded in the middle and had horn-shaped handlebar. My Italian bike was special, if for nothing else, then for not being a pony. The model was Julia, proclaimed in stylish bold letters along its metallic-green frame. Even its name sounded better, I thought. It was smaller than a pony, true, but also lighter. It had the horizontal bar from the seat to the handlebar. It also had a slightly better chain and pedals size, which made it speedier. I liked to ride it fast, although for 6-and-a-half-year-old everything faster than walk seemed fast. That day Pop, my best friend, and I rode around the building where we lived, an ugly 5-story rectangle with four entrances and a facade made of corrugated tin panels. He had his old, slightly rusty blue pony. Pop was half a head shorter than me and even though I wasn't much more than sinews and bones back then, I was the larger of the two. Naturally, that meant I was stronger and faster too. When we tired of chasing each other in the same old circle, we ventured on the parking stretching to the side of our building. It was out of sight of our parents who occasionally glanced through the windows to check on us, and therefore forbidden.

Pop lagged behind, showing off in front of the girls from our building who liked to congregate at the parents' blind spot too. I could tell he was trying to catch some girl's eyes by the way he constantly blew up a light brown fringe of hair that always hang over his forehead. I sped up and made a swift turn at the end of the parking, then pushed the pedals hard heading back. Dean rode his pony in the middle of the parking coming toward me. Dean was a boy from the building across from ours, two years older than me, a tall, skinny kid with thick-rimmed glasses. He looked down at his pedals and rode straight at me. I moved all the way to the curb to avoid him, moving fast. When he finally looked up, he jerked his bike, handlebar wobbling toward the curb right into my path. We collided in a tangle of limbs, bicycle frames and wheels. I fell on the curb. It was a pretty high one, built that way to keep the cars from parking on the grass. The rest of us - Dean and both bicycles - fell on top of me. If you ever had a naughty spill, you may remember that the first moment after it happens everything is kinda hazy. The sound is muffled and the picture is out of focus.

I was dazed from the collision. Dean quickly jumped on his feet and pulled the bikes off me. I remember pulling my legs under me to try and stand up. And I remember the pain like I never felt before, nor after. I screamed.

Dean's glasses were askew. He was panicked by my howling. I don't remember if he said anything, my brain was a fireball of pain and my lungs and throat were working independently of it, creating a wail in decibels that could cause hearing loss. I remember Dean's forearms hooking in my armpits from behind, trying to help me on my feet. But, it couldn't work,because my right thigh developed an extra joint. It was bending in a weird angle right in the middle where it shouldn't have bent.

A woman who lived in the ground floor apartment under whose windows we crashed appeared in a rush. She shooed Dean away and took me in her arms. My legs hung over her arms, the left one bent in the knee, the right in the new joint in my thigh. She carried me toward the neighborhood clinic which was only a couple hundred yards away in another building. Her every step caused agony of molten lava shoot through my thigh. Days later, Pop told me what was happening outside my fiery bubble of pain: the woman shouted at the kids to call my parents. Pop rushed to our apartment and told my mother what happened.

In the clinic the woman put me on the bed. The nurse in charge called the ambulance. With my legs laid unmoving on the bed the excruciating pain subsided slightly, giving me a respite to catch my breath and whimper down from full-out screaming to sniveling. That was until the nurse had a strike of genius and decided to tie my legs together. As soon as she pulled my broken leg to align the knees together so she can wrap a bandage around them, my world exploded with pain all anew. By the time the ambulance arrived, although I was later told it was only minutes, I was so drained and afraid of more pain, I didn't want to move. But, move I did. Or, rather, moved I was - onto a stretcher and into the ambulance car where I tearfully pleaded with the driver to watch for the potholes because each one he hit felt like a hammer slamming into my broken femur.

In the hospital I was promptly taken to X-ray, then into the surgery. My part of the drama was almost over, at least the most painful part. A man in scrubs told me they have to make me sleep. He asked in kind, soft voice, would I prefer the needle or the mask. I haven't quite grasped what he meant by "mask," so I said needle. He turned to a small tray next to the bed and took what looked to me as an enormous needle, like the ones they used on horses. I called him in trembling voice and said I'd rather have a mask, whatever that was. He smiled kindly, put a rubber cup with some kind of hose attached to it over my nose and mouth and told me to count slowly to ten. I don't remember how far I managed, but it wasn't to ten.

In the meantime a parallel drama was happening outside the surgery. Mother was pulling connections, people she knew. There was a female surgeon from her hometown who owed a favor to grandparents. Mom called her on it. They discussed the available options - the usual procedure called for a surgery to insert a metal plate that'll screw together the broken parts of my femur. That was going to leave a long, ugly scar along the side of my thigh.

— There's another thing we can try, — dr. Metzger told mother — but it's risky and you'll have to take the responsibility for the outcome.

— What's that? — mother asked.

— It's a clean break, the bone didn't fragment and there are no visible damage to the muscle tissue. We can try to set the bone under the X-ray and plaster him in a really long cast.

— Okay, — mom said — what are the risks?

— The risk is that the bone can move after we set it. The first two-three weeks he should be completely immobile in bed. And we won't know the result until then.

— But there'd be no scar? — mother asked.

— No scar, and no cutting. Just a very long cast from his chest to the toes of his right leg, — dr. Metzger said. — But, you have to decide right now, because he's already put to sleep.

— Okay, — mother said after short pause — do it. Please!

---

I woke up in the cast. As promised, it wound around my torso starting under the ribs and entubed the right leg. The only opening was for the toes. I was held in its grip for the two summer months. It came off in the early days of September, just in time for the first day of school. The first week of the school I walked on crutches. It made me special, I guess. But, that's another memory, for another story.

[srhlsx]

CHAPTER 11

master | ch. 10 | ch 12

You didn’t know how to react or what to do.

The match ended when the cannon of an ace from Shiratorizawa sent a rocket right past the Seijoh blockers. Oikawa and Watari had both dove for the ball to save it, but in the end they were just centimeters away. You watched from your seat up above, hand covering your mouth in shock, as the boys in teal and white fell to their knees on the floor, their fists clenched in pain and anger. The team in purple huddled together, slapping one another on the back and cheering happily.

Your stomach turned over in sickness but you couldn’t look away from the sad scene in front of you. You chewed at your thumb, unsure of what to do next. You saw that the Seijoh cheering section was clearing out and you decided to wait and avoid the crowd before moving.

When you finally got down to the main lobby some time later, you of course ran into the team in purple and white and had to stop yourself from obviously turning around and walking the other direction. You looked directly at the tall red-head, a smug smile on his face when he saw you.

“Sure you want to stick around with those guys?” He called out, cupping a hand around his mouth for added volume. A few of his teammates turned to see who he was talking to, the boy with bangs sputtering a little. “There’s plenty of room on our bus for you to ride~”

Your upper lip curled ever so slightly at what he was suggesting and you sent him a sickly sweet closed-lip smile. Initially you started to wave back at him but quickly flipped your raised hand around and extended your middle finger. “Eat my ass, Tendou.” You called back, earning a few alarmed glances from the spectators that were still around.

“Some day!” He replied, biting his lip and watching you as he walked backwards, being pushed away by the ashy-haired teammate.

You turned back around and easily found the Seijoh team walking out of the locker rooms, solemn expressions on all their faces. They looked tired, worn out physically and mentally from the two-zero loss they suffered. They were close games, but you had a feeling that in their minds close wasn’t enough. You saw Oikawa and Iwaizumi towards the back of the group and in a moment of confusion, you almost didn’t know who to go to first.

“(y/n),” Oikawa greeted, his tone was sad but he put on a smile for you anyways. Iwaizumi snapped his gaze up to you, locking eyes then turning away abruptly which stung just a little. You understood though, he didn’t have the best of games and you didn’t want to bother him more.

You reached up and brushed a few locks of hair away from Oikawa’s forehead, a pout on your face and you looked into his eyes to try and read the situation. “What do you need from me?” You asked.

He looked a little taken aback at your question. He was expecting you to compliment him, tell him that he played well; he was expecting to hear everything he didn’t want to hear. He let out a relieved sigh and leaned ever so slightly into your touch that had reached up to him. He didn’t want to be told he was perfect for once, he wanted to be left alone.

“Honestly,” He sighed, grabbing your wrist gently and pulling it away. “I need to be alone. I need to go over tape and I need to go for a run.”

You nodded, you hadn’t really expected to be with him or any of the team members whether they won or lost. Of course, you had been hoping it would be because they were celebrating together. “Okay,” You mumbled, a sad smile aimed up at him. “Please ice your knee some? I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“We wouldn’t miss it. Text me when you get home.” He said, giving you a tight hug and a kiss on the top of your head before walking away to return to his team. 

Your eyes followed him and landed on the wing spiker who was waiting for his captain. You looked at Iwaizumi sadly, a brief thought flashing through your mind that you wish you could comfort him too, but there was no time or place for that. You wanted to shove those lingering feelings down, way down into the deepest part of you so they could be ignored. 

So you stood there alone as the boys left, unsure about what to do next.

- - - - -

“Oikawa! Iwaizumi!”

Both boys looked in the direction of their names being called. They saw the tall figure of Kindaichi, their first year middle blocker, waving at them excitedly from a few rows above where they stood. They climbed the steps and slid across the seats to sit down next to him, greeting one another with a variation of handshakes that boys always seem to do.

“Kiko told me (y/n) said you guys were coming,” Kindaichi said. “Pretty grateful, I didn’t really want to be alone.”

“If we knew you were coming we would’ve picked you up,” Oikawa told the younger boy, settling into his seat and looking around the packed space. They were back in Sendai Arena again, but it looked completely different from when they had been there the day before. 

Rather than volleyball courts set up on the floor, there were barriers blocking off a single large rectangle right in the middle. On one side, below where the boys were sitting, there was a designated judges table. Scattered around the outside there were cameras, photographers, and what looked like officials of some sort. The boys had never seen anything like it and were not embarrassed to admit it was impressive.

Kindaichi reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Opening it up, he showed it to Oikawa and Iwaizumi so they could read over it. “Kiko gave me instructions,” He laughed, pointing at the neatly written list of notes. “She said it’s really important that we cheer for them at the right times because it hypes up the crowd and the judges notice that.”

Oikawa and Iwaizumi both looked over the handwriting, noting they were in fact strict instructions, and getting a laugh out of them. Iwaizumi read out loud, “When to cheer: A boy’s guide to dance competitions.

When they do something particularly athletic or aerial 

When they do something with a lot of attitude

Whenever there is a solo--”

The list went on but the boys seemed to get the idea. “I think I’ll just cheer when everyone else does,” Oikawa mumbled, handing the paper back to Kindaichi who nodded with wide eyes. He then turned to Iwaizumi with a teasing grin, “All these pretty girls around, maybe we’ll finally find you a girlfriend, Iwa?”

The comment earned a hard elbow to the ribs, making Oikawa cry out dramatically. Iwaizumi couldn’t voice the thought that flashed through his head. The fact that if Oikawa had asked any other girl to fake date him, Iwaizumi would have said no to coming to their club event. You were here. He wanted to see you. 

Your team was on deck for the next group routine to perform. You saw a few nervous faces in the group you stood with, but you weren’t overly concerned. After the dead weight had dropped off, your confidence in the team you led grew immensely and you were sure they could perform under pressure. You saw Kiko spacing off just a little bit and you were wondering if she was looking for Kindaichi in the crowd. You reached out and tugged at the strap of her costume, letting it snap back against her skin very lightly but enough to get her attention. She blinked a few times and looked at you, you smiled and tugged at her cheek teasingly as she blushed.

You stood as a group in the designated waiting area, stretching and preparing for your turn, when your school name was called and it was time to start. Walking out together, you all plastered on the smiles that the judges adored, fluffing your hair a little as it fell down your back, and got into the first position of the routine. 

The music blasted through the speakers of the arena clearly and you felt it pound in your chest and you all went through the motions you’d spent hours perfecting. It was a hip-hop contemporary routine, so the moves had to be clean and precise each and every time. And they were.

Up in the stands Oikawa, Iwazumi, and Kindaichi all watched with the same enthusiasm as if they were watching Olympic volleyball - it was amazing, captivating, and very exciting.

Iwaizumi cheered whole-heartedly along with his teammates when he was supposed to, but he couldn’t take his eyes off you the entire time. Whether you were in the front making a solo statement, your hair flipping around in a way that made his stomach drop, or if you were just in the back doing moves with the rest of the team. It was clear you were the leader, and he didn’t want to miss any of you.

The way your black spandex, accented with teal and white, clung so closely to the body he had once gotten familiar with made him want to go back to that night that wasn’t so long ago. He could remember how you moved beneath him in ways that made his mind drift with thoughts he probably shouldn’t be having. Your movements were athletic, meticulous, passionate, and powerful - and they made his mouth suddenly feel very dry and his chest clench painfully. 

God, did he want you so badly in that very moment. The realization was alarming to him and he hoped he did his best to hide his emotions.

When the competition was over, and Seijoh took home awards in almost every event they performed in, you and Kiko managed to find the small group of boys who were your own private cheering section. You smiled genuinely at them, carrying your many bags filled with clothes as you walked up to them.

“You were amazing!” Oikawa cheered, spreading his arms wide. He ruffled your hair affectionately and smiled down at you. “Wasn’t she so great, Iwa?”

You looked over to Iwaizumi who stood next to Oikawa with his hands in his pockets. You saw the slightest flicker of a spark in his eyes when they caught yours and you nearly wanted to pass out from the feeling it gave you, a shock shooting straight through you in a familiar way like it did that night you shared with him. “Yes,” He agreed. “She was amazing.”

“Here, Kindaichi, take a picture of us!” Oikawa motioned to the phone you held in your hand, which you handed over to the first year and then settled together with the two third years.

You stood between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Oikawa’s arm draped around your shoulders in the same way he always did. You pulled your own arms back and looped them around both the boy’s waists, pulling them close as you aimed a wide, genuine grin up at the camera phone. You felt Iwaizumi’s arm snake around your own waist, gripping the supple flesh right above your hip tightly, not unlike how he had handled you in your bed. 

His grip was under your warm up jacket, so no one would’ve been able to see how tightly he held you, but you felt it. You felt it down to your core.