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allsassnoclass · 4 years

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my only weakness (you know all my secrets)

I have had the great fortune to participate in @ashesonthefloor‘s Halloween fic event this year! Honestly it was a blast and I’m super excited to see everyone else’s creations!

Event Masterlist

For this event, we all were assigned a pairing, then got to choose from a list of prompts. My prompt was as follows: “You’ve told me three separate times now you have a vampire kink and I’m starting to wonder if you know I’m a vampire.” Or, pretty explanatory. One person is a vampire. The other has a vampire “kink”. (Can also be them saying they like the aesthetic, or trying to hint that they know and don’t mind. Literally do what you want with it) I strayed a little bit, but the prompt idea is still there! Hope you enjoy!

Michael is having a hard time figuring out if the amount of vampire jokes and references is due to Ashton knowing his deepest, darkest secret, or if that's just his sense of humor.

Read on ao3

The first time it happens, they’re heading to their first date.

Michael hasn’t really dated anyone since the 90s, because dating is complicated. He doesn’t age. He can’t eat regular food. Going out in the sun is dicy at best and results in extremely painful sunburn at worst. He shows up in most mirrors now, because they rarely have silver backing anymore, but pictures are a no-go because his eyes cause a lens flare.

The last person he went on an actual date with was Calum, because they’ve been friends for centuries and figured they might as well give it a go. Michael wishes they could have worked, but it took some making out before they both agreed that, as much as they love each other, it’s all platonic. The date itself was fun, but there were no romantic butterflies to be found. Michael has seen Calum naked many times before, and while he can appreciate a handsome man, when it’s Calum it does nothing for him.

Ashton is very handsome. He’s also funny, and passionate, and he’s got more than enough snark to speak Michael’s language. He’s got tenacity and determination, and for some reason part of that determination got directed towards getting Michael on a date with him.

He didn’t have to work very hard. Michael said yes at the first opportunity.

For the first date, Ashton asked if he could pick him up, so Michael waits nervously in his living room, listening to his grandfather clock ticking. (He’s had it since 1733. It was made specifically for him by the clockmaker, a parting gift because if Michael stayed in the area for too much longer, his lack of ageing would get suspicious.)

(This is such a bad idea. Even if this date goes well, Michael can’t be in a relationship with a human for very long before his secret will slip.)

His phone vibrates with a message, and he nearly jumps out of his skin before he realizes that it’s just Calum, not Ashton about to cancel or spring a sudden change of plans.

Cal: have fun on your date ;) wow him with your Biting sense of humor

Michael: i hate you the puns got old centuries ago

Cal: you love them

Michael’s doorbell rings, startling him enough that he fumbles his phone and effectively cutting off any sort of argument he may have started to get into. Michael stands from the couch, takes a deep breath, and answers the door.

Ashton looks really fucking good. Michael has only really seen him in their work clothes, when Ashton is writing up articles about the local music scene and Michael is busy approving things to put on the website, but he dresses up very nicely. His hair is artfully tousled in a way Michael knows must take a little bit of time, and Michael thinks there might be just a hint of glitter under his eyes that would make his heart palpitate if it still did stuff like that. His shirt is short sleeved, showing off his arms nicely, and there are roses printed against the white fabric that match the ones in the bouquet in his hands.

Michael doesn’t know the last time someone gave him flowers.

“Hi,” Ashton says. “You look amazing.”

Michael feels like he’s underdressed now. He’s got on a black long sleeve, because the sun hasn’t fully set yet and he’s trying to cover as much skin as possible, and a pair of black jeans. It’s a nicer shirt of his, something name brand that he can afford due to decades of saving here and there, but he’s well aware that his overall style leans more casual than dressy.

“Thanks,” he says. “You look absolutely fantastic.”

Ashton glances down and smiles, pleased. Michael likes that he can make him react like that.

“I got you flowers,” Ashton says. “I hope you aren’t allergic. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but I’d feel silly.”

“I’m not,” Michael smiles, taking them from him. There are a few sprigs of lily of the valley tucked in amongst the roses and ferns, and he takes a deep inhale. He loves the sweet scent of roses and how lively fresh flowers can appear to be even when they’re dying. Maybe it’s self-centered, but he likes to think there are some similarities between him and the plants. They’re not alive anymore, but they’re still going, and they can still bring people a little bit of joy for a few impermanent moments before moving on.

“I’ll put these in some water. You can step in for a second, if you want.”

He had excessively cleaned the entry and living room earlier in the evening, paranoid in case something like this forced Ashton inside. At least now he’s certain that there’s nothing incriminating lying about.

“Nice place,” Ashton says.

“Thanks,” Michael replies, already booking it for the kitchen to grab a vase. Once he gets there he takes a moment to try to stop the slight shake to his hands and compose himself.

You are an ancient, immortal being who has lived through the fall of empires, he scolds himself. You can handle one date with a cute boy who brought you flowers.

Ashton beams when Michael says he’s ready to go.

“I was thinking we could walk, if that’s okay,” he says while Michael locks the door behind them. “It’s not far.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re actually going, yet?” Michael asks. Ashton mimes zipping his lips. The only information he gave Michael was that it’s going to be a pretty casual setting (and yet he showed up to Michael’s door looking like that) and that Michael won’t have to eat. That’s something he specifically requested, making up a bunch of excuses about being gluten free and severely lactose intolerant and giving a list of other allergens a mile long.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Ashton laughs when he pouts. “Come on.”

He grabs Michael’s hand to start leading him down the street, and Michael absolutely will not admit to himself how nice it feels, warm and alive against his.

They go through some basic small talk on the way there, touching on current work projects since they’re in different departments and learning a bit more about each other’s families. Michael makes an excuse about his being in Australia and tells Ashton about Calum instead, and Ashton fills time by describing his mom and siblings. It’s cute to see the way he lights up, seeming radiant in the light of the setting sun that Michael has to squint harshly against.

“Wow, you really don’t like the sun,” Ashton says eventually.

“What? Oh, not really, I guess.”

“I should’ve known, but I wasn’t sure if all of you are fully nocturnal or not.”

“What?” Michael asks, alarm bells ringing. “Why would you--what makes you say that?”

Ashton shrugs nonchalantly.

“You know. You’re just so pale and pasty,” he says, obvious tease in his voice. “Definitely closer to a creature of the night than an early bird, I’d guess.”

He’s joking. Ashton has not, somehow, discovered his secret ten minutes into their first date.

“Oh fuck you,” he laughs. “Not all of us can have perfect natural tans. I burn really easily.”

“Do you glow in the dark, too? Turn fluorescent under blacklights?”

“Shut up,” Michael says, but he leans a little into Ashton as he says it to let him know that the banter isn’t unwelcome.

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

Michael doesn’t have a chance to ask what he means before Ashton is pulling him towards the doors of a large building. He holds it open for him like a gentleman, and Michael misses the contact of their hands but appreciates having all of his senses free to process the new environment, which is full of a plethora of new sights, sounds, and smells.

“Roller skating?” Michael asks, looking around the large arena. It’s dim, but his eyes adjust immediately to take in the wondrously tacky carpet outside the rink, highlighted in brief bursts by rotating colorful lights. Loud music plays over the speakers, and in the arena people in small groups or pairs are making their way around the track. He can smell fried food and various types of beverages coming from a bar in the corner, mingling with the scent of unfamiliar people. He takes it all in for a moment, then dials back his senses to make it more bearable.

“It’ll be fun,” Ashton says. “Willing to give it a go?”

“Definitely.”

They go get their skates, and Ashton pays for the shoe rental and the entrance fee. Michael hasn’t been roller skating in probably around a decade, and he’s excited Ashton picked this as their date location. So many date ideas these days have to do with food, the only thing Michael absolutely can’t participate in, but Ashton found something that will hopefully be fun while still allowing them to talk and get to know each other better.

“Ready?” Ashton asks. Michael nods, and then they step out into the rink.

Ashton, it turns out, is worse at roller skating than Michael is. That makes sense, because Michael did it a lot in the 70s and 90s and has gone a few times since to keep it fresh, and Ashton isn’t awful, but there are a few instances where he wobbles and his hand immediately reaches out to grab at Michael’s arm before he rebalances and apologizes. Michael laughs at him good naturedly and does a few circles around him until Ashton huffs and Michael slips an arm through his.

“Come on,” Michael says. “Once you’re used to this in about fifteen minutes, I’ll race you around the track.”

Michael wins the first race, but Ashton wins the second, although Michael is giggling too much for it to count, in his opinion. They spend a lot of time making laps and talking, and Michael skates backwards to show off at every opportunity while Ashton dances to the songs that come on over the speakers to make him laugh. It’s one of the best nights Michael has had in a long time, and by the time they leave they’re both walking slowly, stretching their time together as much as possible.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Ashton says when they finally reach Michael’s door. His front light makes the glitter under Ashton’s eyes sparkle, and Michael technically doesn’t have to breathe, but his breath still catches.

“Me too,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“So...do you want to do this again?” Ashton asks.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot. I’ll take you out, next time.”

“Okay,” Ashton smiles, ducking his head. Michael catches a faint blush on his cheeks, blood rushing up to color them, and he loves that he sees Ashton like this. At work, he’s always cool and level-headed, confident in what he says and strong in his opinions. Michael has managed to turn him bashful, and that is possibly the best thing to come out of the date.

“I should let you get on with your night,” Ashton says eventually. Michael tries to find some sort of excuse to get him to stay, but then Ashton leans forward and presses his lips to Michael’s cheek, soft and lingering. When he takes a step back, Michael wants to pull him in again to memorize the scent of his skin and feel of his warmth.

“Good night,” Ashton says.

“Night,” Michael makes himself reply. Ashton smiles again, then sets off down the street. Michael watches him, smiling when he glances back and waves again, and continues to stand on his front stoop until Ashton is fully out of sight, even for him.

His phone buzzes as soon as he steps inside, and Michael pulls it out in case it’s something important or work related (or Ashton).

Cal: how was the date? or are you two still going…?

Michael: really fucking good

On the third date, Michael gets to see the inside of Ashton’s apartment.

Michael took them stargazing for their second date. There was a meteor shower he wanted to try to watch, anyway, and he found a good spot outside the city where it would be mostly visible. Ashton likes being outdoors, and Michael doesn’t mind it at night, so he drove them out of the city, made the trek up a hill, and laid out a blanket for them to cuddle up in. All in all, it was a great night. Even the car ride to and from the location was amazing, because Michael told Ashton to make a playlist for it and they spent the entire time discussing favorite songs. Ashton is such a snob about it sometimes, since he’s a music journalist and is always evaluating in his head, but there were a few surprises that he put on there simply because “good music doesn’t always have to be good music, Michael.”

Ashton kissed him on the cheek again when Michael walked him to his door. Michael thinks that something so simple shouldn’t occupy so much space in his thoughts, but he’s been replaying it in his head over and over. It’s a little distracting at work, especially when he gets one of Ashton’s articles to upload to the website.

They head to Ashton’s right after they both clock out. Ashton doesn’t live far and typically walks (he really likes walking places, Michael has noticed), but Michael drives them so he’ll have his car handy at the end of the night. It’s a relatively nice building, and Ashton holds the lobby door open for him, which counts enough as an invite to allow him to enter. They take the elevator up to the fifth floor, then Ashton unlocks his door and steps in.

From what Michael can see, it’s a nice apartment. The entry, kitchen, and living room flow easily together, and there’s a hallway off to the side that Michael assumes leads to the bathroom and bedrooms.

He can’t step over the threshold. He hasn’t been invited in this time, not explicitly enough for him to freely enter despite knowing that Ashton wants him there.

“My roommate is out for the night. I swear I cleaned before I left for work today,” Ashton says, puttering around the living room and picking up what looks like a stray sock, righting the pillows on the couch and straightening some books on the coffee table. Michael leans against the doorframe and watches him. Fluffing the pillows doesn’t really matter to Michael, but if it makes Ashton feel better it’s no hardship on him.

Ashton finishes, then glances around until he spots Michael still in the hall.

“Oh. I didn’t really invite you in, did I.”

“It would’ve been the polite thing to do,” Michael teases. “I’d hate to intrude, you know.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Ashton says, coming forward and taking both of Michael’s hands in his. “Michael Clifford, I formally invite you into my home. You are welcome here whenever you’d like.”

“A simple ‘hey, come in,’ would’ve been sufficient, but thanks,” he laughs, stepping forward.

“Absolutely not,” Ashton says. “If you’re going to be vampiric about entering my home, I’m going to treat you with the proper respect, Count Clifford.”

Apparently the vampire jokes are going to be a thing. Michael can work with that, instead of panicking over it. If he turns it into a bit, maybe Ashton will brush things off longer.

“Thank you, mortal. Now, I vant to suck your blood,” he says, exaggerating the awful stereotypical (absolutely false and insulting) accent. It gets a laugh from Ashton, though, which is what he wanted.

“If you manage to beat me at chess, I’ll let you,” Ashton says.

Michael hasn’t let himself think about Ashton’s blood. He can control himself very easily around humans, and bloodlust isn’t really a thing with him unless he hasn’t eaten in over a week. He has a specific concoction that he picks up from the magic shop like clockwork, a mixture of animal blood, some herbs, a few drops of human blood (humanely donated), and whatever the fuck is the flavor for that batch, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely forgotten how amazing it tastes to drink pure, living blood. It’s incredibly intimate, and Michael hasn’t been that close with a human in a very, very long time.

“Okay,” he chokes, once the silence has stretched on too long. Ashton quirks an eyebrow at him, but moves to get the board games without comment.

Michael loves board games. He loves all games, really, and he mostly deals with video games now to keep as up to date as possible (and because he doesn't have to invite friends over to play most of them). What’s nice about games, though, is that they can change every time. Michael has been playing chess since it was invented, but he’s never played against Ashton, and it’s going to be an entirely new experience.

Unfortunately, Ashton is extremely good at chess.

“What the fuck,” Michael says, king toppling after a five-move checkmate.

“Darn,” Ashton replies, faux innocent. “I guess there’ll be no bloodsucking tonight.”

“Wait, I want a rematch. I’m good at chess, I swear.”

Ashton wins twice more before they move on to another game. They cycle through a few before landing on a card game from Ashton’s family, one that Michael hasn’t heard of or played before. It has a lot of complicated rules, and Ashton walks him through it slowly. If Michael feints misunderstanding more than necessary just to have Ashton’s focus on him, leaning close to look at his cards and explain the best moves, then that’s his business.

Michael doesn’t realize how much time has passed until Ashton’s stomach grumbles loud enough for him to hear.

“How is it already nine o’clock?” he asks. “Shit, you haven’t eaten yet. You could’ve had something.”

Ashton just shakes his head.

“I’m not going to eat in front of you if I don’t have anything to feed you, too,” he says. Michael wishes it were possible for him to digest human food, because while Ashton does have a nice amount of blood he could tap into with permission, somehow Michael doesn’t think that’s on the table

“I have a weird meal schedule, anyway,” he says. “I eat a really big lunch, then only something small late at night. I really don’t mind.”

“I’ll remember that for future reference,” Ashton says. “Although someday I hope you let me feed you.”

It is such a good thing that breathing is an option for Michael, rather than a requirement. Ashton may not have any clue how what he’s saying sounds, but that doesn’t mean Michael isn’t affected.

“We’ll see,” he says, although there’s no chance that’ll ever happen. “I should probably head home, anyway.”

Ashton checks the time.

“You can stay longer if you want. My roommate will be back soon, but he wouldn’t mind.”

Michael wants to stay, but he’s not sure he’d ever leave if he did.

“I think I’ll go. I’m not sure we’re at the “meeting the roommates” stage yet.”

Michael stands, and Ashton follows to walk him out.

“I had a good time. Again,” Ashton says as they walk down the stairs.

“Me too, even if I think you were somehow cheating at chess.”

“Hey,” Ashton complains, then pauses. “I was going to say that jealousy isn’t a good look on you, but everything is a good look on you.”

“Shut up,” Michael says. “That’s not true at all. I have made some bad fashion choices in the past.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ashton says. Michael wishes he could show him the pictures from the 80s, as embarrassing as they are. They reach the bottom landing entirely too soon, but Ashton walks him out to the parking deck until they’re standing next to his car.

“So,” Ashton says, squaring his shoulders. “We’ve been on three dates so far, and I really like you, Michael. Hanging out with you has been some of the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I was wondering if you wanted to officially be my boyfriend.”

Fuck. The smart thing would be to cut this off now, before either of them get too attached, because Michael already thinks it would absolutely shatter his non-existent heart if Ashton found out and thought he was a monster.

“Absolutely,” he says instead, because he’s an idiot who wants what he can’t have. “These past few dates have been the most fun I’ve had in a long time, too.”

Ashton beams, like the sun breaking through clouds. He has dimples, and Michael really wants to press his fingers into the divots. He just wants to touch Ashton everywhere, really, to feel the soft skin and know that there’s blood bringing heat to it from his heart to every corner and crevice.

There’s something so absolutely tantalizing about how alive Ashton is. Michael knows that he can’t be more like him, not even if he was actually alive still, but he’s content to have him near. He’d be content to watch from a distance, honestly, but if Ashton wants him close then Michael is going to stay close.

He should not be this whipped after only the third date.

“Well,” he says once they’ve spent too much time grinning at each other silently.

“I should let you go,” Ashton says. “I’ll text you.”

“I’d like that,” Michael says. He goes to open his car door, but Ashton’s hand on his wrist stops him. He leans forward and to kiss Michael on the cheek, just like the past two dates, but this time it lands a bit lower and closer to the middle. The corner of his mouth hits Michael’s and lingers there for just a second longer than he can bear.

“For fucks sake,” he breathes, then slots their lips together properly. Ashton smiles into the kiss before he can get it under control and properly kiss back. Maybe it’s dramatic to say that this kiss feels like it’s filling some hole in Michael that he didn’t know was vacant, but Michael is a dramatic guy, and there’s something special about the way their noses bump and how instinctual it is to shift closer. Michael doesn’t really want it to end, so he gives Ashton another peck before pulling away fully. Ashton’s eyes take a moment to flutter open.

It’s definitely far too early to be in love, but Michael is very self-aware after being around for so long, and he knows he’s going to have to actively try not to fall head-over-heels for Ashton.

“Have a good night, Ashton,” Michael says.

“You too. Drive safe.”

Michael keeps his composure as he pulls out of the parking space, aware of Ashton’s eyes on him. He manages to keep it together all the way home, actually, but the moment his door shuts behind him he’s leaning against it, giddy with a crush and wondering what he’s just gotten himself into.

Movie nights become a bit of a thing. It’s a low-maintenance way to spend time together, and sometimes they’re both too tired after grueling work days or hard weeks to be around a lot of people. Michael’s house has a pretty nice tv, and he has an extensive movie collection, including some horrible b-movies on VHS that Ashton finds endlessly amusing. A lot of Michael’s favorite moments are spent snuggled up on the couch under Ashton’s arm or with his feet in his lap, watching the way the light from the screen plays off of his face more than the movie itself.

Ashton hasn’t seen the Twilight movies, which is almost a travesty. Michael watched all of them in theaters with Calum, both of them weirdly captivated with how completely bonkers and inaccurate they are, and they’ve seen them often enough to quote them almost completely to each other at the drop of a hat. Michael is tired today, and he wants something he doesn’t have to pay much attention to.

He sleeps significantly less than humans do, but that doesn’t mean that staying up for the past week and a half straight was a good idea. He was also on his feet more than usual at work, and everything is hurting a little. His body has better-than-average healing, but it’s also over a few centuries old. Today, he’s feeling it.

Edward has just gotten the first sniff of Bella and looks like he’s about to puke when Ashton turns to him. Michael is leaning against the corner of the couch, head lolling to the side and feet tucked up next to him. He’s been looking at Ashton and letting his thoughts drift, and he should probably be more embarrassed than he is that he was caught at it.

“What’s up with you today?” Ashton asks. “You’re suspiciously quiet.”

“Tired,” Michael says. “My feet hurt.”

“I can help with one of those things,” he says. “Give me your feet.”

“What?”

Ashton gestures until Michael uncurls, stretching his legs out until his feet land in Ashton’s lap. He starts at Michael’s ankles, gently rubbing and then moving to the bottoms of his feet. Michael jumps when he presses down on a particularly tight tendon, but it’s already feeling leagues better.

“I can’t believe you’re touching my feet,” he groans as Ashton presses a knuckle into the center, making his toes curl. “That’s so gross.”

Ashton snorts.

“I don’t mind, but I’ll wash my hands after if it makes you feel better. I just want to make you feel good.”

Michael’s face would be completely inflamed if he had the blood for it.

“Shut up. This better not be a fetish for you.”

Ashton laughs this time, a full belly laugh that Michael would enjoy hearing more if it didn’t make him stop the massage.

“Would that be a deal breaker?” he giggles when he’s calmed down enough. Michael takes a moment to evaluate if he’s actually joking or not, because he really likes Ashton and has loved being his boyfriend for the past couple of months, but feet might be where he draws the line.

“No, I don’t have a foot fetish,” Ashton says after a moment of Michael staring at him like a deer in the headlights. Michael lets out a sigh of relief. He can be adventurous about stuff like that, and he’s been around long enough to try basically everything, but someone being aroused by his feet will always be just a little too weird.

“Do you have any embarrassing fetishes or kinks?” Ashton asks conversationally. “Just… for future reference, if that’s something you want.”

They haven’t done anything besides some lazy making out, which Michael is grateful for. He likes that they’re taking their time with it. He doesn’t want to rush this, but the thought has crossed his mind before.

He swallows. Ashton’s alternating between glancing at the tv and paying attention to his massage, and Michael doesn’t know if he should be grateful that he’s not trapped under that gaze or upset that he doesn’t have Ashton’s full undivided attention.

“Nothing embarrassing,” Michael says. “I’m open to a lot of things, but I really like being taken care of. I’ve been told I can be demanding and needy. Sometimes I like… being held down, I guess. Nothing excessive, but…”

He’s an extra-strong, extra-resilient being. Every time he feels like someone else has the control, it’s a special kind of rush.

Ashton glances at him from under his eyelashes, the blue-green light from the tv casting strange and otherworldly shadows over his face. Michael swallows thickly again.

“I like taking care of my partner, so that works out,” Ashton says. Michael nods. Ashton turns back to the tv and tilts his head in consideration, putting his neck on full display.

“You know,” he says, “I never really was into biting, but now…” He trails off, then brings a finger up to his neck, tracing along the length of it subconsciously. At least, Michael hopes that it’s subconscious. The air is thick with tension, and if Ashton is doing this on purpose than he knows a lot more about Michael than he’s let on.

“It might be nice to be marked up a bit,” Ashton says. He glances at Michael, the corner of his mouth turning up in a small smile. “Maybe Bella had the right idea, going after a vampire.”

Michael snorts and the tension dissipates like a balloon popping.

“I hardly think anyone in this movie counts as a real vampire.”

“You don’t think real vampires sparkle in the sun?” Ashton asks. “Darn. What’s the point of vampires if you have to dump glitter on them for the sparkle effect?”

“You’re an idiot,” Michael laughs.

“I’m the idiot? You’re the one who’s all the way over there when you have a perfectly good boyfriend right here who’s ready to cuddle you.”

Michael rolls his eyes and shifts to tuck himself against Ashton’s side.

“Happy?” he asks.

“Very,” Ashton says, taking a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over them. It’s cozy. Michael sighs in contentment.

“Do your feet feel a little better?” Ashton asks, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“If you want to take a nap now, you can.”

Michael hums and seeks out Ashton’s other hand, tangling their fingers together sloppily. He’s tired, but he probably won’t drift off. He has all night for a power nap, and right now he doesn’t want to miss a second of his time with Ashton.

The door bangs shut behind them, and Michael doesn’t have a moment to reorient himself before Ashton is on him again, lips incessantly seeking his and body caging him against the wall. Michael’s own hands are already slipping under his shirt, desperate to feel the warm expanse of his back and pull him even closer. He’s always run cold, even before he was turned, but right now he feels like he’s burning up from the inside out, flames igniting with every point of contact between them. Ashton gets a hand in his hair and tugs, and Michael makes a noise he wasn’t expecting to come out of him.

Don’t drop your fangs, don’t drop your fangs, don’t drop your fangs, he repeats to himself. It’s typically effortless to keep his fangs retracted and unnoticable, but he hasn’t done this with someone he truly likes in a very, very long time. He can’t allow himself to get so mindlessly overwhelmed that they slip down.

Ashton detaches their lips to take a breath, and Michael takes the opportunity to trail kisses over his jawline and down the column of his throat. Ashton hums into it, the sound reverberating through his vocal chords, and Michael nips at his throat to turn the hum into a groan, sucking at it again to ease the sting.

There’s a particular feeling of satisfaction at leaning back briefly to take in his progress, knowing that the blood is pooling just under the surface of Ashton’s skin. When he returns to his ministrations with a slightly harsher bite, Ashton jolts, rocking into him.

“Fuck, Michael,” he breathes.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Michael asks between kisses, trailing over his collarbones now because Ashton never buttons his fucking shirts.

“Anything. Everything. I--” He’s cut off by another groan that dissolves into a breathless laugh. “You’re so fucking distracting; get back up here.”

He tugs on Michael’s hair again, guiding their mouths together. It’s easier than breathing to let Ashton take control, and Michael could stand here all night and let himself be kissed against the wall if there weren’t other things he wanted to be doing in the bedroom. Still, he whines when Ashton pulls away.

“I know you don’t sleep, and I’ll keep up as much as I can,” Ashton pants. “I can’t fucking wait to take you apart.”

“So do it,” Michael says, not able to care about how desperate he sounds. “No one’s stopping you.”

“You’re such a mouthy little shit,” he says, leaning back in for a kiss that Michael feels all the way down to his toes. They don’t part again until they’re in the bedroom and falling onto the mattress.

-/-

Afterwards, Michael watches, amused, as Ashton fights to keep his eyes open. They never turned on the lights, but Michael can see just fine with his vampire eyesight and the early rays of sunshine beginning to paint the sky outside in pinks and oranges.

“Just go to sleep,” Michael laughs, tracing another mindless pattern onto Ashton’s ribs. “We’re done. I can’t handle anything else.”

“Weird to sleep when you’re not,” he mumbles, eyes already slipping closed again. “Can feel you watching me.”

“I won’t watch you,” Michael says. “I’ll probably fall asleep right after.”

Ashton snorts halfheartedly. Michael rolls his eyes, then nudges Ashton onto his side and fits himself behind him. Ashton sighs and relaxes again almost immediately, a heavy weight at his front while Michael slides one arm under the pillow and anchors them together with the other. He gets a great view of Ashton’s sweaty and tangled hair, and that’s about it.

“There,” Michael murmurs. “Now I can’t watch you. Happy?”

Ashton hums. He’ll be out in less than a minute.

Regardless of all of Ashton’s jokes about Michael never sleeping (he resents that he looks tired enough at all times for that to be an assumption), Ashton managed to tire him out. He doesn’t need to sleep right now, but there’s no harm in it. He lets the steady push and pull of Ashton’s breathing and the heartbeat he can barely feel under his palm lull him, and he drifts off soon after.

“You want me to meet your family?” Michael asks, eyes wide in the face of this new information.

“If you’re comfortable with it,” Ashton says nonchalantly, but the way he’s avoiding Michael’s eyes tells him this conversation is anything but casual. He’s focused on throwing things into a blender, raspberries and peaches joining ice cubes and yogurt for a smoothie that Michael has watched him make dozens of times before. Michael can drink smoothies if they’re blended enough, and honestly he’s got a bit of a blood hunger going on because the last batch of his concoction from the magic store tasted gross and he’s supposed to go in today to get the new one. Still, a smoothie wouldn’t help with that, and he turned down Ashton’s offer in favor of a cup of coffee, wanting a warm mug in his hands. He’s glad to have something to keep his arms from flailing at this new curveball, in any case.

Ashton turns on the blender, the angry sound filling the previously-serene morning.

He can’t meet Ashton’s mum and siblings. He’s a vampire, and he’s already entirely too attached to Ashton as it is. It’s easy to fantasize about revealing his secret and Ashton being okay with it when it’s just the two of them, but there’s no way he can get to know his family only to break their heart when he has to leave Ashton for his own good.

Michael can’t watch Ashton grow old without him. He could do it for a few years, maybe a few decades, and he wants to spend as much time with him as possible, but eventually it would get too hard. Michael’s good at running, and he’s good at being alone. It’s harder to do both of those things with a family involved.

“That’s a big step,” Michael says once the blender stops.

“I’ve met Calum, and you said he’s closer than your family.”

“Against my will!”

Calum had insisted on meeting “the guy who’s got you wrapped around his finger,” and Michael had been powerless to stop it. They get on like a house fire and Michael gets teased about five times more than he used to, but he secretly loves it. Calum and Ashton are by far the two people he loves most in the world, and it’s nice to see them also enjoy each other.

“Michael,” Ashton says, pouring his smoothie into a glass and still refusing to look at him, something unfamiliar in his expression, “I’ve never gone this long without introducing them to someone I’m serious about. They really want to meet you.”

“I--I want to meet them, too, but…”

Ashton sighs and finally faces him head-on. Michael has never felt this small.

“Are you serious about us?”

“Of course,” he says, but it comes out more like a question, and he watches something shutter in Ashton’s eyes. He turns back to the blender, starting to dismantle it so he can rinse it properly, always trying to keep the kitchen neat, and Michael knows that he has to say something to try to fix this, anything to stop the sad slope of Ashton’s shoulders and that hurt look in his eyes.

“Ash, I have to tell you something,” he says before he can think twice. Ashton hums, and Michael steels himself for whatever reaction is about to occur, whether he has to bolt for the door or not. “I--um, well, I…”

He hasn’t had to confess to someone in over forty years. He doesn’t know how to do it anymore. He swallows and tries again.

“I don’t really know how to say this, but… I mean, I--”

“Shit,” Ashton exclaims, something clattering in the sink.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asks, and a second later the metallic tang of blood reaches his nose.

“Cut my thumb on the blender blades,” Ashton says, turning around and sticking the pad of his thumb in his mouth. Michael stares at him, unable to move.

The thing is, Ashton’s blood smells really good. He knew it would, because if he loves everything else about Ashton it makes sense that he would love him down to the blood in his veins and the DNA it carries, but this is the first time Ashton has split skin in his vicinity, and it’s more to handle than Michael thought it would be. He’s hungry, and he’s upset, and Ashton is right there in front of him, bleeding.

He shakes himself from that train of thought.

“Are you alright? How bad is it?” he asks. Ashton takes his thumb out of his mouth to check, and that just makes the smell intensify. Michael feels a bit of saliva pool in his mouth and swallows it back.

“It’s not too bad,” Ashton says. “It mostly just hurts, but once the bleeding lessens I’ll put a bandaid on it and it should be fine.”

He goes to put it back in his mouth and glances up at Michael, freezing at whatever he sees there. Michael doesn’t know what his face is doing, or why his posture feels so stiff, or what the fuck he’s supposed to do with Ashton just standing there with a bleeding thumb, and for a long moment they just stare at each other. Michael forgets to breathe.

Slowly, like he’s coaxing a startled animal towards him, Ashton reaches out his hand towards Micheal. A drop of blood drips off his thumb and onto the floor. Michael couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

“You know,” Ashton says, low and calm, “you could help me stop the bleeding, if you wanted.”

Michael stares at him, not comprehending the words, when he feels two pinpricks on the inside of his bottom lip.

His fangs dropped.

“I have to go,” he says, scrambling out of his seat and hastily putting his coffee on the table. He probably spills some, but he can’t look back to check, shoving on his shoes and sprinting out the door, Ashton’s questions echoing behind him.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

He’s scrambling for his phone as he tries to unlock his car, tears starting to cloud his vision with the panic. He presses Calum’s speed dial as soon as he gets the door open, tearing out of the parking space without putting on his seatbelt.

“Hello?” Calum finally answers.

“My fangs dropped,” he says, consonants coming out in that strange way they do when his mouth has more teeth than usual.

“What happened?” Calum asks immediately. He knows how serious something like this can be, especially for someone like Michael, who tries so hard to avoid it. He sniffles and blinks the tears out of his eyes so he can see the road better. Calum’s house is close, and he just needs to get a few more blocks before he has backup.

“I was with Ashton and he cut himself on a blender. I--we had a fight, or--I made him feel bad, in any case, and I haven’t eaten enough, and then he cut himself and I felt the fangs and ran out of there with no explanation. He’s going to hate me. I’ve ruined everything!”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Calum says, but it’s not like Ashton is his boyfriend. Michael doesn’t know how to recover from something like this.

Calum tries to console him for the rest of the short car ride, stopping once Michael pulls into his driveway to turn an assessing gaze on him instead. His expression tells Michael that he’s leaving much to be desired right now.

“Alright, Mikey. Let’s get you out of the sun, yeah? We’ll figure this out.”

He holds out his arms, and Michael falls right into them, letting Calum lead him into the house. His fangs still prick at his lips, a sharp reminder of everything he ruined due to one second of lousy control.

The bell to the magic shop digs as they enter, and Michael pulls down his sunglasses. Calum got him to stop crying and gave him a bit of his own leftover concoction, because he hadn’t drunk all of it due to the taste, either. It was enough for Michael to be able to get his fangs back under control, but it doesn’t stop how miserable he feels about the way he left, or the conversation they were having beforehand.

He can’t let himself be around Ashton if his fangs are going to drop like that. He would never hurt him, he knows that, but there’s still the potential that he can’t ignore. Ashton’s safety and comfort isn’t something he can risk. Even if Ashton was somehow okay with him being a vampire, they wouldn’t work.

Michael has known this since the beginning. He let himself fall in love, anyway.

There are three missed calls and over a dozen text messages that he still has to try to answer on his phone. There’s no way to do that without breaking both of their hearts, but Calum told Ashton that Michael is physically okay and that he’d talk to him tomorrow. For now, he needs to sort through his own feelings and calm down, and for that they need to pick up the weekly blood supply.

“Hi!” the witch at the counter says. His name is Luke, and Calum’s been flirting with him ever since he started working there. It would be cute if it didn’t make these excursions so tedious, and if Michael himself wasn’t currently mourning what is soon to be the end of an absolutely spectacular relationship.

“Our usual, please,” he says curtly. Luke glances between him and Calum, who gives a beaming smile, then heads to the back storage room.

“Maybe it’ll taste less like shit this time,” he mutters. Calum nudges him, but doesn’t get the chance to say anything before the bell over the door chimes again. Michael knows who it is before he turns around, the scent and rhythm of his heartbeat as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.

Ashton freezes in the doorway. He has changed into a sweatshirt, the one he wears when he’s having a bad day because it feels like a perpetual hug without having to be touched, and Michael is probably going to cry again. Out of the three of them, Calum pulls himself together first.

“Hello, Ashton. I didn’t know you frequented this shop.”

“Ashton!” Luke says, returning from the back with their order in a crate. “Did you bring it?”

Michael finally notices the tupperware in his hands when he hands it to Luke, who opens a corner and sniffs.

“You know each other?” Michael asks.

“Oh, sorry!” Luke says. “This is Ashton, my roommate. I’d never eat lunch if he wasn’t there to bring it to me.”

“You’re the roommate?” Michael asks. In all of their months of dating, he never managed to meet the roommate, even though Ashton has known Calum for weeks. Weird schedules and Michael’s aversion to meeting and possibly getting attached to more people prevented it. Luke looks between Michael, Calum, and Ashton, and then a lightbulb hits.

“You’re Ashton’s Michael!”

“How many other vampires named Michael do you know?” Ashton asks, and Michael reels back, Calum’s hand on his spine the only thing keeping him upright.

“You know?” Ashton frowns.

“Michael, I’ve known since the first day I met you.”

“Wh--you never mentioned it!”

“I made some references, then figured it wasn’t something you were comfortable talking about.”

“Wait,” Luke says. “You know Ashton is a minor deity, right?”

“What? ”

Michael turns desperately to Calum, because none of this makes sense, but Calum is having some sort of silent conversation with Luke.

“You two need to talk,” he says eventually.

“I need to show Calum something in the back, anyway,” Luke says, grabbing Calum’s sleeve and tugging him around the counter, shutting the door to the storeroom behind them. It’s not the slickest move that Michael’s ever seen, but he’s having a crisis and can’t be bothered to laugh at Luke for it.

“So,” Ashton says. “It seems there’s been a bit of miscommunication here.”

“You’re a deity?” Michael asks. Ashton starts to blush, which is cute. He clasps his hands together and nods once.

“Yeah, my entire family is. The religion died down centuries ago, so it’s mostly our belief in each other that’s keeping us alive. I’m basically just an immortal human now, but I’ve been around long enough to recognize other non-humans when I see them.”

“And you’ve known I was a vampire the entire time?” he asks. Ashton nods. “Oh.”

“I thought that you knew that I knew,” he says.

“I didn’t,” Michael says. “I thought you would hate me when you found out.”

“I could never hate you,” Ashton says, taking a step forward and reaching for him before he aborts the movement. Michael looks at his feet and wonders if what he says next will change that.

“My fangs dropped earlier, when you cut your thumb.” His voice is steadier than anticipated, but he can’t help but brace himself for Ashton to back away or run screaming. He doesn’t do either of those.

“Is that why you left so quickly?”

He nods, shame pooling in his stomach.

“I was offering, you know? I wouldn’t have minded if you had a taste.”

“But I didn’t know that at the time,” Michael says, focusing on the shame so he doesn’t do something horrible like start thinking about what it would really be like to have some of Ashton’s blood. “I just… lost control. I can’t do that. I won’t let myself.”

“I think you’re being a little hard on yourself,” Ashton says gently, stepping closer until he can put his hands on Michael’s arms, then sliding down to grasp his hands. “Can you look at me?” Michael tries, then shakes his head. “That’s okay, and your fangs dropping earlier is okay, too. You had a lot on your mind, were probably a little hungry, and I was waving my bloody finger under your nose, even if you didn’t recognize it as an invitation. What’s important is that you didn’t try anything without asking. You didn’t hurt me; you removed yourself from the situation. I would say that that’s keeping things pretty under control, wouldn’t you?”

“But I could’ve hurt you, even if I didn’t.”

“Michael, you’re not a mindless beast,” Ashton says. “The fact that you’re this upset about your body’s natural physical reaction shows that. You’re not going to do anything to hurt someone else like that. You have to trust yourself.”

Michael wrinkles his nose, then finally makes himself meet Ashton’s eyes. There’s nothing but compassion there, no fear or disgust.

“You’re not going to hurt anyone,” Ashton repeats.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone,” Michael agrees. “I can trust myself with that.”

A grin breaks out on Ashton’s face.

“Good,” he says. “I trust you, too.”

“And, about meeting your family,” Michael starts.

“Don’t worry about that,” Ashton says. “I was a little pushy. We can talk about it and figure out something that works for both of us.”

“I was going to say that I’ll do it,” Michael says. “Half of my worry had to do with me being a vampire and you and your family being unsuspecting humans, but that’s not an issue anymore.”

“What about the other half?”

“Just normal meeting-the-family jitters,” he says. “They’re really important to you, and I don’t want them to hate me because I didn’t meet them earlier.”

“They won’t hate you,” Ashton says. “You’re a delight.”

“I hope they share that thought.”

“They will. I love you, so they will, too.”

Michael feels like he’s going to burst. He also feels menally exhausted from this entire affair and the emotional whiplash it’s giving him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. Ashton answers by leaning forward, and Michael sinks against him, melting into the feeling.

“So,” Calum says loudly, startling them both. “Are you guys good now?”

“What do you think?” he snips.

“I don’t know, Luke,” Calum says, turning away from Michael and towards him. “Do you think that they’re good now?”

“They did look rather cosy,” Luke says. “In fact, I’d say that Ashton looked ready to pledge himself to Michael as his personal blood bank. His little ketchup packet, if you will.”

Calum bursts out laughing. Michael tries to be affronted, but Ashton starts laughing incredulously next to him.

“Ketchup packet? Is that what I’m reduced to?”

“There are worse titles,” Calum says between bouts of laughter. Luke looks ridiculously pleased at this development.

“Please never refer to him as my ketchup packet again,” Michael says. “I’m begging you not to.”

“If the fangs fit,” Luke says, which makes Calum dissolve into laughter again. It’s not even funny. Honestly, they deserve each other.

“Come on,” Ashton says. “Let’s go back to my place. I want to hear all about your vampire antics from the olden days, now that I know you’re okay with talking about it.”

“Only if I get to hear stories about being a minor deity,” Michael says, grabbing his part of the blood order. “Cal, you’re paying for this one!”

They’re out the door before Calum can protest, and Ashton puts an arm around his waist as they walk. It’s uncomfortably sunny out, but Michael feels no rush to get back inside. They’re both immortal, and they’ve got the rest of their lives.

#5soshalloweenevent2020 #my writing #mashton #5sos fic #this was super fun #I had a great time tbh #I like being forced to write au fics because I do so many canon-verse ones #disclaimer there is a joke at the end that I felt compelled to include #due to it being so ridiculous #but it is ainslee who originally said it. I cannot take credit :)

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sweetwritertanya · 4 years

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Still In The Attic (Original)

Summary: You move with your boyfriend to the same house that you both managed to buy for an affordable price. But the very first day tells you exactly why it was sold so cheap.

Warnings: HORROR! Kind of, nothing too scary. There will be mentions of blood and injuries, so take that into consideration.

Word Count: 1863

The last boxes, as unbelievable as that sounded to you, surrounded by a dangerous sea of brown boxes all day in front of you, were finally out of the truck. The moving men were finishing the paperwork and about to head out, leaving you and your partner alone at last, in the new house you had just bought.

You still couldn’t quite believe it. Even after going to the bank and all that bothersome process, after signing the papers for the property, after the renovation that had to be done and packaging all of your stuff from your old apartment and moving it to the truck, it was only now starting to sink in that this was going to be your home now. This house belonged to you and your boyfriend now. All of your stuff was now here.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” you boyfriend says in the silent living room, filled with boxes that didn’t belong, knowing by the look of your face you were starting to become overwhelmed.

“Beyond crazy. Did we really just do all of this?” you whisper in a startling voice, looking around.

“Hey, we can do this. We wanted this, remember? A space just for us? Our own little nest to come home to?” he reminds you as his strong arms come around your plush waist and he pulls you for a comforting back hug.

“Yeah… You’re right, I’m just feeling weird right now” you confess, leaning in to him and sighing with eyes closed as you tried to focus on his warmth and familiar scent, rather than the smell of freshly painted walls and dust.

He kisses your temple and soon you are encouraged to start working on rearranging things. Mostly, you wanted to finish the day with at least every box in its proper room, where it belonged.

The house in itself wasn’t too big. It was just you and your boyfriend for now, so the two-bedroom detached house was more than enough. It had a massive backyard and a cemented driveway out-front, separated from any neighboring houses by at least two hundred feet. Even with it being a long drive to the nearest town, the low price was more than appealing and you managed to buy it and have it properly renovated within the small budget provided.

As you busied yourself upstairs while your boyfriend moved the boxes and later started organizing the ground floor, your eyes caught the hanging string at the middle of the hallway, just high enough for you to reach it in your tiptoes, attached to a panel in the roof. You had almost forgotten that the house had an attic.

Keeping that in mind, you started on your bedroom and put aside the few boxes you brought with keep-sakes that you didn’t really had a place for. You decided the attic would be a perfect place for it. Three medium boxes were now on the hallway bellow the attic to be put away.

“Hey, babe, is it okay for me to check out the attic?” you yell down the stairs, too lazy to go down them.

You are met with silent and frown. You call him by his name louder, hoping he would ear you now. But nothing. You walk down the first step and startle when a loud sound from outside catches you by surprise. It’s a muffled bang and then a scrapping dragging of metal on the cold floor. Walking to the nearest window facing the driveway, you sigh in relief when you see your boyfriend outside, cleaning the snow from the floor so he can put his car in the garage.

Focusing back on what you were doing, you decide to not bother him and just go up yourself. Pulling the string down, a set of wooden stars come down to the hallway’s floor. A shilling shudder runs down your back as the cold air hits you, smelling of dust and mold. You wonder how long has it been since people have gone up there.

“I guess the inspection man must have gone up” you murmur to yourself, answering your own thoughts out loud as you start climbing up, no box in your hands just yet as you wanted to observe the space you had to work with. “Right?”

It was bigger than you thought, the ceiling falling to the sides in a triangular shape, but the center being high enough for you to actually stand straight. There was the smallest of windows bringing in enough light for you to see it all. No sign of any kind of animal creeping, no visible leaks or holes in the ceiling. You go in, careful to walk in the middle where the roof was high enough and watching your step.

There were still one or two boxes from previous tenants laying around, next to the window, one with a bunch of what seemed like photo-albums and the other with miscellaneous stuff, including a big night-stand lamp standing up right with webs all over. Your eyes are drowned to the albums and you take one out and start flipping through it.

It was all normal family pictures at first, a mother and father with three little children and a dog living in that house, the lay-out so much different than it was back then. They were all photos in black and white and you couldn’t quite figure out when they must have been taken, you just knew they were old. But then it gets weird.

Instead of photos, the last few albums had newspaper articles. Just a few headlines from the local newspaper, most of them covering a story about people disappearing and bodies found in the woods. It makes your stomach turn and a weird feeling closes up your throat as you feel nauseous.

You slam the album shut and throw it back to the box, getting up and starting to clean your clothes as if you felt dirty from touching them. As you do so, your eyes wonder to the window and you notice something. The glass had condensation all over, even though you felt very cold. A droplet of water falls from the inside side of the glass down to the windowsill as if calling your attention to something.

Right on the lower right corner of the window, invisible to the naked eye but enhanced by the condensation, was the mark of a handprint. Four fingers and half of the hands palm. On a window of the attic of your house.

Chills make your skin crawl but this time it has nothing to do with the temperature. You swallow and slowly take a step back, both trying to rationalize it – maybe it was the inspector, maybe the window was changed recently even though it looks old – and get away from it as quick as possible, never taking your eyes off the foggy window.

Downstairs, you heart your boyfriend’s voice and it sounds like he is calling for you. You want to call for him, your mouth even opens to do so but just as sound was about to come out, a breeze crosses your neck like a whisper and it steals any words from you.

You try not to panic, you truly do, but then your partner calls for you again, closer this time, and all he gets in return is the loud sound of a door slamming. And you can hear him struggling with the door to get it open.

Body trembling, you try to walk back again and you look at the ground only for a split of a second, to try and find the stairs down. All of you freezes, your muscles, your breath, your heart, even your mind, when you realize there were no stairs. At all. It was just the attic floor all over.

“N-n-no… N-no! No! Where are the stairs? Where are the stairs!?” Any intent of staying calm vanishes at the impossible events, you falling to your knees and banging on the floor where the stairs should have been. “Help! HELP! SOMEONE!”

You couldn’t even hear your boyfriend any longer and you couldn’t be sure if it was because he stopped banging on the door or because your own battering was so loud. Your hands were hurting from how strongly you were using them to hit the unbreakable floor, eyes swollen up with sudden dreadful tears.

The wind outside starts picking up. You look towards the window and squeal in terror as the glass was not covered with handprints, small and large hands pressed against the clear crystal. This large, overpowering and intimidating feeling has you twitching on the ground, every inch of your body screaming at you to leave, to run.

“I have to get out of here. I have to get out!” you whimper between sobs, using the back of your hand to clean your tear-stained face.

But there was only one way out.

Slowly, you raise yourself up and crawl to the frightful window, your only opening to the world outside. As you grow near, the wind starts sounding less like wind and more like screams, warnings, voices from the past.

Suddenly, a flicker of light glows up the corner of the room and you look with terror at the lamp. It turned on and was glowing a sickly yellowish light. The lamp that has been up there for decades, stuck on a box. Without being plugged in.

Frantic, you reach the window and bang on it with your bare hands. It didn’t open, it was a closed dormer window with no latch.

The most terrifying sound suddenly comes from the farthest wall at the back. A dark, hostile deep laugh that slashes to your bones and rips your voice from your blaring throat. And the impossible light from the unplugged lamp goes out with a broken glass sound.

The last thing you remember is forcing your body to move, fighting the invisible force that tried to keep you still and slamming your body against the window.

After that, only darkness filled with strange unrecallable nightmares, before waking up at the hospital with your body all bandaged up, multiples cuts across your skin painfully keeping you from moving.

Of course, no one believed your story. Even as you told it in a panic to the doctors, you yourself could hear how crazy it sounded. Your boyfriend could only verify that he, indeed, got stuck in the bathroom when the wind closed the door on him and it wouldn’t budge for a while after. When he was finally out, searching for you, he found you outside in the snow, surrounded by the broken glass from the attic’s window, staining the white with your dark red blood.

The doctors concluded that you had some sort of episode, a mental breakdown due to the stress of moving, making you see and feel things that weren’t there. You were subjected to several tests during your stay in the hospital, trying to diagnose you with the correct mental illness.

But you knew. You knew it wasn’t just in your mind. It was in the attic. It was still in the attic.

#horror #halloween special #13 stories for halloween #original story #original fiction #chubby reader #horror story #horror one-shot #reader pov

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years

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Like We Used To: 28

A/N: The dramaaaaaaa!!

*WARNING* discussions of abortion.

[Click Here For Previous Chapters]

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CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT:

The flight back home was painfully long and Elizabeth had no one sitting in her row to talk to. By the time she had landed back in England it was 9 AM on Monday, and she decided to spend the whole day by herself, relaxing. She knew that she should have gotten back to work and gotten as much done as possible so that she didn’t have to worry about completing everything before her and her friends flew to New York on Friday, but all the traveling was starting to catch up to her. Instead, she spent the day eating, watching movies, and napping.

The time difference between her and her boyfriend was easier to manage now that Harry was in New York. He seemed to have a good amount of free time right now, just having occasional meetings with his performance crew since his band wouldn’t be flying in until Wednesday, so they facetimed and texted a lot.

Tuesday she had planned to hang out with Kate, Mitch, and Sarah, so they four of them met up for a hike and some lunch. Harry had another meeting that morning, so they just texted each other their daily ‘Good morning, I love you’ texts and did their thing, Elizabeth putting her phone on silent to enjoy her time with her friends.

During their hike, the group continued discussing their plans for after Harry’s show in NYC, wanting to wander around the city, and discussed the headlines that were released from the Fashion Show after Harry and Elizabeth made their relationship public. The response seemed to be, for the most part, in favor of her relationship with Harry. And thankfully it hadn’t affected her work.

After a couple hours of walking, they eventually decided they were hungry and decided to grab some lunch inside to get away from the crisp autumn air. They settled into a booth, collecting their menus and discussing their orders with each other while Elizabeth glanced outside. Most of the golden leaves had dropped from the trees, swirling low on the ground from the breeze. Families had walked hand-in-hand with their children who were bundled in warmer jackets and boots. Pumpkins and chrysanthemums line the walkway into the old stone building they sat in, and the smell of warm tea and hot cocoa mixed in the air as people drank them to warm up. She grinned, dreamily. This was her favorite time of year.

Their drink orders were brought out and Elizabeth lightly blew onto the surface of her English tea before taking a little sip when Mitch pulled out his phone and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Lizzy?” Mitch questioned, looking up at her, “have you checked your phone recently?”

“No, why?” she asked, confused, pulling her purse up and digging through it.

“I just got a text from Harry asking if I was still with you and to tell you to call him ASAP.”

Her friends looked worriedly at her as she pulled her phone out, realizing she had dozens of missed calls from Harry, Jeffrey, and Lisa, and a few unread texts. Without hesitation, she dialed Harry’s phone numbers, looking at her friends in wonder. Almost immediately Harry picked up.

“Lizzy? What’s going on?” He asked.

She hesitated, hearing the worry in his voice, “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“You didn’t see any of my texts?” He asked, “It’s all over the internet.”

“No, I didn’t see your texts. What’s all over the internet?” she hushed, not wanting anyone in the restaurant to overhear her.

Her friends watched, puzzled by the seriousness of her tone. What could possibly have happened in the past four hours to make Harry and his team go into a frenzy?

He spoke, his tone sounding more upset than it had a second ago, “Kyle went to the press. He released a bunch of pictures of the two of you and made a statement. He said that you two were engaged. He said you were pregnant with his child. He didn’t go into specifics, but he made it seem like you had gotten an abortion and that’s why your relationship ended. Is this true?”

Elizabeth’s stomach dropped, heart rate speeding up. She could feel the color in her face flush and her friend’s noticed because they all sat up taller, leaning into her to make sure she was okay. Elizabeth nodded towards Kate to let her out of the booth and she slid out, ignoring the intense expressions of her friends as she quickly crept outside so no one could hear.

“Lizzy? Hello?” Harry echoed.

Elizabeth stuttered, “I-Harry...I didn’t….”

“So it is true?” Harry cut her off, disgust dripping with each syllable.

“No, it’s….well. Yes, it’s partially true, but I…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Harry spat, “After our argument the other week. All that talk about ‘3 years of history with him but 12 with you. It’s no big deal. It’s over’. You were engaged to be married, Lizzy! You were pregnant with his child! How could you not tell me that?”

“Because I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, Harry. It isn’t that simple! I wasn’t-”

“And I had to find out through news outlets? Do you even know how shitty that makes me feel?”

“Babe, please just listen. I-”

“No, you know what. I need a minute,” Harry’s voice sounded numb, “I’ll call you later.”

Elizabeth sighed, stomach churning when the call ended. She gripped her phone tightly, letting her phone fall to her side, tears forming on her waterline as she looked up to the sky trying to refrain from crying. A soft hand touched her back and Kate rounded her friend, her eyes wide with concern.

“Are you okay?” she hushed.

Elizabeth stood, looking her best friend in the face before she faltered, collapsing into her arms, tears pouring out. Kate wrapped her arms around Elizabeth, squeezing her tightly and letting her cry for a moment, gently stroking her back. Her sobs were shallow, trying to catch her breath. As she regained composure, Kate wordlessly asked what happened.

“Kyle went to the press. He told them everything.”

“Even-” Kate muttered, eyes widening in shock.

Elizabeth nodded, wiping her tears and runny nose, “Everything,” she repeated. “And apparently he’s trying to tell people I got an abortion.”

“No,” Kate breathed in disbelief. She kicked a rock on the ground, “What an absolute fucking prick! What did Harry have to say about it? He knows the truth, right?”

“I’ve never talked to him about it, Kate. I wasn’t ready. And now he’s pissed. He doesn’t even know the full story, but he’s furious that I didn’t tell him first. I mean, I understand, but I don’t know what this means for us now.”

“But he didn’t break up with you, did he?”

“No. Not yet at least.”

Kate nodded, giving her friends one more tight squeeze, “It’ll be ok. Just give him time to think. I’m sure by tomorrow he’ll have calmed down and be ready to talk. Mitch and Sarah will be flying out to New York tomorrow, maybe they’ll be able to get him to see things clearly. And on Friday we’ll be flying out and everything will be back to normal.”

Elizabeth nodded, taking a deep breath and shaking off her pain. This past year has been the most tumultuous of her entire life, so of course something like this would happen just as it starts going well for her.

“Come on, then. Should we explain to Mitch and Sarah what’s going on?” Kate motioned back towards the building.

She could see their new friends glancing out at them through the window, looking utterly confused. Elizabeth agreed, holding hands with her best friend and trekking back into the restaurant. Their food had arrived while they were outside and she noticed that Mitch and Sarah didn’t touch their food yet, waiting for the other two to return. They slid back onto the booth bench and explained in full detail what was going on, watching their expressions range from bewildered, to shocked, sad, and furious. Mitch’s fist clenched tightly against the table, listening as Elizabeth finished, looking out at the window.

“Oh, Lizzy,” Sarah consoled, reaching a hand across the table to take hold of hers. “I’m so sorry.”

Mitch shook his head turning back to face her, “Don’t worry. I’m sure Harry will be ready to talk by the end of the day before you even go to bed. And Sarah and I land at 2 PM New York time, heading straight to rehearsals from the airport. We got your back.”

Having the support of her friends meant the world, especially right now, and she was sure that they were right. Harry just needed a few hours to digest everything before he was ready to talk to her. She didn’t blame him, it was a lot of info to take in and the stress of traveling and work on top of it didn’t help much. But as the day grew longer and the sun began to set, she felt herself starting to panic. She tried her best to take her mind off of it, frantically completing work and sorting through all of her emails.

In attempts to reach out to Harry, she sent her boyfriend a couple quick texts, but didn’t want to bombard him with too many and annoy him even more. He never responded. By 2 AM, she realized that he probably wasn’t going to call her, and that she would wait until tomorrow late afternoon to reach out when she knew he’d be up.

However, when she woke up the following morning she was immediately drawn to the attention of several missed texts from Mitch and Sarah. Her messages were riddled with things like ‘I’m sure it’s not what it looks like’ and ‘We’ll talk to him, don’t worry.’ Instantly panicking, she went online to google Harry’s name. The first thing that popped up was a TMZ article that read ‘Harry Styles on a Romantic Night Out with Ex? We’re confused too’. She clicked on the link and pictures popped up showing Harry smiling and walking side by side with Camille, and another one with his hand on her back, leading her into his hotel.

Elizabeth felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. How could he do this to her? Her one request was that he didn’t hang out with his ex without her there, and now he’s bringing her to his hotel? He cheated on her? After he knew, at least partially, what she had gone through with Kyle? Harry knew how hard it was for her to trust people again. He knew that’s the reason it took so long to start dating him in the first place. He pushed their relationship when she was perfectly fine just hooking up with him. He told her he loved her, for fucks sake! He didn’t even know the full story, but he got pissed off anyway and decided to take it out on her by cheating?

No. She deserved better than that.

KEEP READING

#Harry Styles #Harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #smut #one direction #one direction smut #one direction fluff #one direction blurb

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coraxaviary · 4 years

Text

Sister-in-Arms | CHAPTER 3: Mess

(Part I, Run the Gauntlet)

Summary: June is thrown into the fray, and meets some of the company.

Word Count: 5.1K

AO3 | Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Author’s Note: This chapter is unbeta-ed! I apologize for any gross mistakes.

Warnings: Minor canon-typical profanity and slurs.

Taglist: @keoghans @papercinders @junojelli (ask to be added)

“So, why?” came a voice behind June. It was Lipton.

“Why did I join the Army, sir?” June stalled, not wanting to have to explain yet again the full-context history of her personal past.

“Yeah, why? A woman like you – you could marry, settle down, have kids,” he said, boots crunching in the coarse dirt. “Isn’t that nicer than slogging around with a bunch of men?”

June had wondered that at some point, too. Why did she have to be different, so ambitious? Why couldn’t she just have met a nice guy and lived somewhere on the California coast: no job to worry about, maybe just two or three children and a kitchen to cook in. She’d have tea with friends or something, have a content life with a husband, and live quietly. No newspaper articles nationally decrying her and her class as products of the radicalized communist youth. No men calling her names. And certainly no physical pain and pushing her body to the limit.

She was no stranger to inordinate challenges.

Only her and a few others in the class had been less connected to politics, but they’d been top of their classes anyway and somehow worked their way up to get Senatorial nominations after being mutually made aware of the girl’s class that year. She’d seen the article in the San Francisco Sun and applied the following month. June had been working as a secretary assistant at the local district office. It took hounding and convincing. Some other girls from less progressive areas had to pull teeth and do favors to get that nomination. She wasn’t exactly sour about it, though. Anyone who had the grit to withstand the West Point treatment had to have the commitment to get in.

She couldn’t help it. June was just how she was. She had tried to reason with herself the year she went to West Point. Why did she have to make her mother so upset? She was selfish, putting her own astronomical ambitions above her own family’s stability. Financially, they had barely been able to afford West Point for the first year. Thankfully, the Depression didn’t hit them particularly hard, but the real strain had been the conflict between June and her mother.

June tried to organize her thoughts. She’d always been like this, she realized, always reaching for some impossible point far in the distance and getting as close as possible – pulling herself along the broken road of life by her own bootstraps. She got some satisfaction out of doing things. But it had to be alone. She’d broken her high school’s 10,000-meter track record on her own. She’d gotten into West Point on her own merit and by her own networking. West Point itself had sabotaged her efforts by forcing her class to graduate a year early, but June had done as much as she could by herself. It was exhausting sometimes, June knew. The loneliness was almost crushing at times.

But once she wanted to do something, she had to do it. Failure was not an option, or else she’d implode on herself. Failure was not the way June did things. She would not fail now. But she’d give Lipton the simple answer.

“I wanted to be with the best,” she said. “I want to fight for our country.” She left it at that. Is that so offensive? That a woman feels patriotism too? she wanted to say, but that would have been bordering on disrespectful to her new fellow trainee.

Lipton fell silent and the mess hall grew in the distance as they neared the building. The din of men talking loudly overtook the crunching sand. “I suppose not. Why not a nurse?” he persisted.

“If you saw men killing themselves because they were denied health clearance to enlist, wouldn’t you feel at least a little motivated to try and fight if you were able?”

He mulled this over. “I suppose,” he said, not sounding very convinced. June sighed, and the three of them stopped in front of the door, where light spilled out from inside the building and some vague smell of cooking wafted out.

Lipton got in line, then Coates, and then June dropped to the back of the group, already feeling like a burden. With Coates starting to seem very concerned over the reactions June elicited from the other men, June felt like she was being babysat by him. He was constantly looking out in other directions. June would have liked to think he was naturally cautious, but she also had a suspicion that Sink assigned Coates to tour her around base because Sink knew Coates would watch her back.

June took in the crowded mess hall. It was almost overstuffed: absolutely exploding with raucous conversation and occasional bursts of laughter. Men moved between tables and benches, which were sandwiched so close to each other that the walking aisles between tables were about the width of one man. It was a sea of soldier trainees from wall to wall.

A few men roughly pushed by to get out the door or to put their trays to the side when they were done. June reflexively ducked her head down in hopes that no one would specifically notice her. No one did, for the time, and men flowed by June as if she was a rock in a river.

June held onto some futile hope that no one would notice her right away. Things were looking up for the few seconds it took for the chow line to move down, but June didn’t relax. Coates handed her a tray, and she moved down, getting a single serving of whatever they had made that day. June didn’t really pay attention: she’d seen the sign and the information went out the other ear. She was too hyper-focused on her surroundings, looking out into the crowd for potentially hostile faces.

Coates turned around to check on her, and June met his look with a stressed, darting look. Lipton had disappeared, probably to eat with his friends, and June wondered if Coates would leave her too and find his men – HQ Company, she remembered.

He cast a glance around the room, eyes snagging on a certain cluster of tables near the right side. He’d found whoever he was looking for, and June felt a nervous ice-cold feeling wash down her spine. He was leaving now. This was where she forged her independence. In the midst of the ocean of men – taller, menacing, threatening, and hostile – she would have to find a seat and do it on her own.

“You a broad?” came an unfamiliar voice, and the frozen feeling of panic came over June with renewed intensity. Her head swiveled up, back and forth rapidly, trying to find the owner of the voice. “Or just a John wearing lipstick?” June turned around and was met with the close stare of a recruit, leaning in.

A smile grew on his face slowly as his eyes took in June’s unamused poker face.

“I’ll be damned,” someone else said close by, and June felt a nudge on her arm from someone else. She jerked away, and leaned in the opposite direction from them, shoulder touching Coates’s back, who was already turned around. June looked pleadingly at Coates, and he looked to identify who was harassing her.

“What are you doing here?” said the same voice again, and June shrunk back, clutching her tray but unable to leave the scene. She had to eat, find a seat somewhere, but more and more recruits were being alerted to her presence.

June had stayed silent, but it was getting increasingly harder. Like before, the attention spread quickly, and soon she felt the mess hall become quieter and quieter until after another minute, the noise level had been halved. June glanced above the shoulders of the nearest men, and found eyes directed towards the small gathering in front of the mess hall.

Her heart was in her throat, and the press of more and more attention was starting to make her sweat. She bit her lip, being stared down by multiple men. She only had two options: run or eat. She intended to eat, because it seemed that this was the way she’d have to elicit eventual acceptance.

“Shiiiiiiit, out of those ODs you’d be a knockout,” said yet another unfamiliar voice. June cringed. “We could find out–” he was cut off by another voice.

“What’s going on here?” said a new soldier, pushing through the crowd. Apparently he had some authority, because the men yielded slightly more easily when he elbowed men to the side. He was tall, dark-haired. Heavy five-o-clock shadow. June eyed his patches. An officer. She straightened, and so did the men next to her, including Coates.

He directed a long, perplexed look at June. He looked quizzically at a soldier next to him, who shrugged in turn.

“Who are you?” he asked, looking down at June.

She internally sighed. The men were going to have a kick out of this. She couldn’t salute, so she just stood and firmly spoke.

“Diedtrich, June. Private, sir.”

Near-silence had come over the mess hall, save for constant shifting, the sounds of the kitchen – which had also dulled – and the occasional scrape of silverware or glass.

A slightly condescending smile came onto his face as he nodded, looking as if he found the situation entertaining. He looked as if he was going to try to hold back a laugh. June looked at him seriously, never breaking eye contact – her most valuable West Point skill. June felt the eyes of the entire hall on the pair of them, wondering what she was going to do next. It felt as if the room was waiting for something to happen. Clearly this was a man who many of the men knew. They held the staring contest for a couple more seconds, and his mocking expression fell away slightly as he seemed to realize something.

“Damn, Private,” he said, breaking the silence, comprehending some mysterious fact. “Easy Company?”

“Yes, sir,” said June.

The man ran a hand through his hair, exhaling powerfully.

“Well, uh…” he said, clearly at a loss for words. The weird, slightly disoriented half-smile came back. “Welcome to Easy, Diedtrich.” He started to turn away, going back to whatever table he was at, then turned around as if he’d forgotten something.

“I’m uh, Lieutenant Nixon. Lewis Nixon,” he added, looking down at June’s hands holding her tray, evidently not free for a handshake. “See you later,” he said, turning and disappearing for the last time.

“Sir,” June muttered, a beat too late when the crowd had already coalesced where Nixon had been standing a moment before.

The quietness of the room was unnerving. June looked about, taking in the various forms of confusion displayed on the faces around her. There was a great deal of muttering, and the atmosphere of the room took on a slightly louder tone, gaining decibels as June stood awkwardly in the center of the crowd.

June looked down at her food, which was quickly cooling. She didn’t necessarily mind, because it was almost stifling in the mess hall filled with bodies, the kitchen radiating heat, and trapped sun-warmed air. She looked at Coates, who was looking at her. She raised an eyebrow, wondering if he had any comment to offer. He shook his head tiredly.

The exchange drew a few hoots – Coates, you know her? – and June cursed herself for dragging this innocent man along in the wake of her troublemaking presence. Coates nodded to a nearby table where one half was free, and June squeezed through the press of bodies, careful not to get food on anyone, which at this point was a major achievement; with her luck, she’d have already spilled something or dropped the tray. He sat down across from her, and June set her head in her hands, waiting for the attention to fade away.

June did remember one thing, though, as the men whirled around her like a hurricane. She quickly located her napkin and dipped it into her water glass, and scrubbed off her lipstick without checking her appearance in any reflections. Her hands itched for a mirror to hold whenever she touched her face, but she stowed the ingrained desire somewhere out of mind, and got to eating the food, trying to distract herself from the continuous looks being directed her way.

Coates watched her carefully, and picked up his fork. June tried to ignore the feeling of guilt she now felt when she looked at Coates. She pushed the food around on her plate after eating about half, feeling too nervous to try and consume the rest; she hadn’t eaten since that morning, but the nerves of the situation were making her stomach contract. She hoped she didn’t throw up later. She needed the protein.

June remembered the sign telling her to finish everything on the plate, and she tried to swallow a few more bites. After eating calmly for a few minutes, the attention had dispersed except for the stares. She wouldn’t be able to do anything unnoticed, so she waited for Coates to finish his food before following him like a lost child.

On the way to the exit, a passing soldier hit the bottom of her tray upwards with a glancing blow. Luckily, her dishes stayed on the tray, but her fork and knife flew off. June stood without turning around silently, while another quiet lull blanketed the room. An annoying tingle of heat started in her cheeks, and her heart pounded harder than when she’d finished a sprint, picking up speed when it had just calmed down to a sub-normal pace. Her ears heated. She breathed hard for a couple of exhales and bit the side of her mouth.

He’s just tryna get a rise, she told herself. Coates waited nonchalantly by the doorway, watching her to see what she did. June was glad. Him helping her would turn into something worse, and she’d possibly be seen as someone even weaker.

“There you go, babe!” someone yelled from far behind her. Scattered laughter drifted up from the hall.

She bent down and took her time collecting the silverware, trying to conceal the shake in her hands. She turned around, dumped the contents of her tray in the washbin, and without another backward glance, walked out with the eyes of the entire mess hall on her back, again.

“Yeah, go get her, Coates!” someone said from inside. Within a few seconds, he was again by her side.

June grew more furious and upset by the second, walking wherever her feet were taking her – far away from the mess hall, out beyond the paths and between the barracks, passing billet after billet, picking up speed. The evening air cooled her face, and she went faster and faster. She heard feet crunching on the dirt behind her, and she walked even more rapidly, hoping to lose him.

“Private!” called Coates, and June immediately slowed for the NCO. She wiped roughly at her eyes, dragging her fingers under them, stretching out her skin and massaging circles into her temple, hard.

“Yes, sir?” she said, turning around. They were caught between two billets, and she hoped both were empty.

Coates looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he decided against it, rubbing the back of his neck and kicking at the dirt with one boot.

June wondered what he thought of her at this point. Some weak, delusional woman trying to fulfill some fantasy of a man’s world? Maybe. That’s what it seemed most of the men thought. She didn’t fault them. That was almost exactly what she was doing.

“I think this is where we part, Private,” said Coates after a long pause. June knew this was coming, so she took it with a nod. “I’ve served my purpose for the day,” he continued. “I work at Battalion HQ, so you know where to find me.”

“Yes, sir,” June said, overwhelmed by guilt yet again. She needed to say something, apologize maybe, but Coates talked on.

“Make sure you get back to the billet at twenty-two hundred,” he said. “You have free time until then, and then lights out. I don’t think you need guidance on the rest of the schedule. I hear your CO is… particularly demanding.”

June nodded, not wanting to say goodbye even though she was probably being too melodramatic about it. He was, after all, never going to be more than a number of yards away at the Battalion HQ. But to June, it was as good as miles. She’d probably never have a reason to enter HQ soon, unless Sink saw fit to talk to her or release her from base.

“You have an uphill fight, Diedtrich,” he said, leaning back against the billet and looking southwards, towards the rising mountain that arched above the camp, brushing the fault of the skies..

“Thank you,” June said suddenly. Coates looked at her, eyes widening. “Thank you, Sergeant, for sacrificing your day. Without you I would have been alone.”

He nodded, surprised. “It wasn’t any problem, Diedtrich. I got a free day out of it, as far as I’m concerned. Away from Sink and all the top brass, anyway,” he said, cracking a smile. “Brighten up, Diedtrich. You have Sink on your side, even if he doesn’t look it. If he saw something in you, there’s hope yet.”

June pondered the words. “Thanks, sir.”

“Go light on the smoking,” he said in response, easing off the wall and starting to turn back onto the path that would lead to the HQ billet. “Good luck, Private Diedtrich.”

“Goodbye, sir,” June said, wishing she could say more. Her gratitude vastly outstripped the brief words she’d gotten out. But it seemed that the final goodbye was sufficient, so she watched Coates’s retreating back until he disappeared around a corner. Her first ally was gone, and June tried to settle into the familiar loneliness that was her default these days. It fit, much to her relief, like an old, worn jacket.

She checked her watch. It was half-past seven. She looked out onto the empty, darkening field. The track around it was inviting. Her final conversation with Coates had made her rage almost completely dissipate, but she needed the outlet, even more than a smoke.

She set off for the track, intending to go around for an hour or two. When she stopped, though, she’d been going at it for two, walking and running away her thoughts until it was her and the pounding pavement and her blistering feet.

♤

June reported back to her billet thirty minutes before 2200. Light streamed through the crack in the door, and she stopped outside, listening to the voices. It would have been nice, if only her disturbance wasn’t going to destroy whatever peaceful comraderie had been developing before she arrived. Again, June was a burdensome intrusion on the lives of soldiers just trying to learn to fight. She had calmed down after the blissful emptiness of the run, and she opened the top few buttons of her ODs, flapping the chest a little to encourage ventilation. She waited for longer than necessary, then nudged the door open a few inches, watching the small view the door permitted.

Some of the men were having a rather loud conversation about something.

“No, I swear that’s her stuff,” someone protested loudly near the door. “Who else would be joining this billet?”

“Nix says she’s in Easy,” another voice added. “Of course she’s in here.”

“Hey, that’s Lieutenant Nixon to you, Perco.”

“Come on, it could be someone else. Volunteers are coming in each day,” said someone else. “We can’t assume–”

“Let’s ask Lip,” someone said. June stiffened, suddenly alert. “What were you doing in here before she came out–”

June opened the door before Lipton could respond, and looked at the men who had apparently been gossiping about her. The billet fell silent, and thirteen pairs of eyes snapped to June. She’d schooled her face into the customary one, again. When she’d be able to relax around these men who were supposed to have her back, she didn’t know; she didn’t know if it would ever occur. She pushed the discouraging thought of her mind and kept it carefully empty, gathering information quickly; she also quelled her reaction to the smell of the barracks. It should have been expected, but the wood, smoke, and sweat hit June all the same with unpleasant surprise.

Lipton was sitting on a bed to the immediate right of June, in the first row nearest to the doorway, looking rather tired of June already. Some faces she almost recognized from the incident outside the billet that afternoon, but she didn’t know their names. And then there was Guarnere, fifth row down to the left, almost exactly across from June’s empty bed, with an unlit cigarette between his fingers, and a deadly expression daring June to look a little longer.

Almost every bed was filled except for two or three near the center of the billet, and there was a man on or near each taken bed. June’s cheeks heated again under the scrutiny – something she couldn’t help – and she made a beeline towards the bed where she’d laid her things down previously. There was no more privacy, not even a semblance of one. June looked down her nose at the man sitting on the bed nearest to hers, vaguely aware that there was a fine line between making an impression that was unyielding and one that was bitchy.

She figured the men were going to call her one anyway, so she erred on the side of strictness. She said nothing, just lowered her eyelids into a mockery of passive calmness and silently took in one face at a time, praying that they didn’t hear her blood pounding deafeningly, and the miniscule tremor in her muscles as she locked them into place.

She figured she didn’t have to introduce herself. Everyone already knew who she was. As she got halfway to her bed, Lipton cleared his throat pointedly. June turned around.

“You want to uh…” he waved a hand, “introduce yourself, Private?” Lipton asked haltingly.

June cast another gaze over the rest of the billet. She saw no other alternative.

“Uh, hello,” she started, pausing and mentally cursing herself – way to make an awkward introduction even more awkward. “I’m June Diedtrich,” she said without tone.

No one said anything in response. Her statement seemed to echo in the empty air, caught in the energy of unsaid thoughts. June watched a few men exchange glances with each other. With considerable effort, she unglued herself from her stationary position and resumed her walk to her bed: fourth on the right.

When she got there, she sat down on the side next to the empty bed, feeling as if she’d exerted herself more in the five-second journey than her exercise in the past few hours. She felt simultaneously light-headed and heavier burdened, and she sat silently without making eye contact with anyone. Gradually, the men started talking again, but nowhere near as loud as before June had entered.

She waited and waited for the right time, and convinced herself she had to do it. After a few more minutes, she knew she couldn’t wait any longer, and further stalling would only be willful hesitance on her part. Just get it over with, she thought, and she started on the first few buttons, opening her ODs to the PT gear underneath. She tried to muffle the button snaps as best she could, but there was no avoiding the looks.

June fixed a murderous glare somewhere in the distance between two other bunks opposite the room – refusing to look at anyone – and undid the belt, slipping off the OD jacket quickly and setting it on the bed next to her. The conversation in the room had died down again, and she was once again the center of attention. She huffed quietly, and began undoing the buttons on the pants.

Some subtle shifts in her periphery told June that some men were trying to turn away slightly or direct their eyes elsewhere. She knew most of them still wanted to look, maybe if only for the novelty of a woman doing the same routine that they had been going through for about a month or two. She got the pants over her hips and thighs by standing slightly, and sitting back down for the rest, shucking the whole article off after pulling the bottoms out from her boots. She threw the pants down on her bed with probably more force than necessary, feeling the satisfying crinkle of fabric when it hit the jacket.

June stood up to readjust her shorts, fiddling with the tie. She looked up, feeling like she had to at some point. About half the men were openly staring and about half were acting like they weren’t when she knew they had been. She hadn’t even had to strip down to her undergarments and she felt debilitatingly embarrassed.

She packed up the ODs and laid them in her trunk, the amount of air hitting her legs feeling unnaturally inappropriate. She’d never been this unclothed in front of anyone before, other than at the beach or when she’d had to get clothing tailored, very rarely. She had no time to prepare for the unsettling exposure. She’d been thrown into it, and today was a day of firsts.

No one made any comment or whistled, to June’s minor relief. She figured that in a smaller setting, men were less inclined to single themselves out. It was the nameless mob she had to worry about, or at least she hoped.

There was another thing June had to do before bed. She unhooked her rifle from its hook above the bed, and heard more than a few hushed mutters. At least she was confident in this procedure: at West Point, the girls had learned how to disassemble, clean, and reassemble their weapons: essential Academy stuff. They had practiced with something similar to the M-1 Garand, which was what June weighed in her hands.

Someone beside her made a sound, and June turned to find the nearest man looking reasonably nervous at June’s handling of the gun. She scoffed, looking briefly at him, and then turned back to her rifle, sliding the bolt open and checking the chamber before she flipped it over on her bed and set to taking the trigger assembly out. She subsequently laid out all the parts as she deconstructed the gun, little by little. She was a little rusty, but back at the Academy, she’d mastered the skill, and the fine movements were coming back to her. She got up to retrieve some tools and a towel from her trunk, and cleaned the parts before slotting them back together.

There was nothing June could do about the mood of disbelief emanating from most of the nearby men, but she finally snapped the trigger guard back into place and played with the safety a few times to finish. She wiped her hands off and gave the bolt a few satisfied pumps. June knew a clean gun was Army standard, and that they were expected to regularly clean them. She knew no one expected her to already know. She was quietly smug, basking in the brilliance of proving the others wrong. It was a special type of fulfillment.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” came a voice from June’s left. It was the man next to her, sitting cross-legged on his bed, looking at her gun intently.

June gave something that was almost a smile, but then buried it under indifference, remembering her need for respect. Friendliness was not an option.

“West Point,” she said, turning to hang the rifle up again. There was a long silence – something that was growing very frequent in the billet.

“Bullshit,” came a voice from the other side – the second-to-last row on the left. “West Point doesn’t accept girls.”

June shrugged, trying desperately to sell an image of nonchalance. “Guess they decided to.”

“You been living in a hole, Skip?” said her bed neighbor. “It was all over the news. They have girls now,” he said.

Skip scrunched his eyebrows together, taken aback. “The hell. Why?” he said.

Most of the men shrugged. Lipton looked at June without saying anything.

“Where ya from?” asked a new voice from beyond Skip. Why anyone was interested in knowing was beyond June, but she answered.

“San Francisco.”

A few heads turned to a bed near the back. The man on it looked around, annoyed. “What?” he said.

“Lieb, aren’t you from San Francisco?”

“Kinda,” he said, mildly irritated, as if sharing a city of origin would somehow contaminate him with the association of June. “Family moved down to Oakland later.”

There were a few nods. June knew all the men were showing restraint. Normally they’d probably be talking freely.

“I’m Skinny, by the way,” said the man nearest to June. He didn’t offer a handshake, but there was something close to a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It was there for sympathy. “You already know Lip, I guess, but…” He slapped the shoulder of the guy between him and Lipton. “Introduce yourself. She’s gonna have to know for drills, unless you wanna run an extra mile for her mistakes.”

June did not want to be reminded of the impending marches and group drills, and especially group punishment.

The man rolled his eyes. “I’m Alex Penkala.”

“Carwood Lipton,” said Lipton.

“Martin,” said the man with the thousand-yard stare across from Lipton. And the sequence ran down the left row.

“Grant.”

“Perconte.”

“White.”

Everyone looked at Guarnere. “Come on, Bill,” said Lipton when Guarnere didn’t say anything.

“We’ve met,” he growled.

“Roe,” said the dark-haired man next from Guarnere after an awkwardly long pause.

“Skip,” said the next.

“Malarkey,” said the man who asked her where she was from.

The last man on the right column started after Malarkey. “Tipper.”

“Liebgott.”

“Hanson.”

June looked around, trying hastily to remember all the names. There were too many, and she blinked. She was never great with names. Maybe the quirk of their nicknames would help somewhat.

She sighed. This was already hard, and they hadn’t even gotten physical yet.

“We have a few more minutes, and then lights out,” said Lipton over the billet. “I don’t know about you, but I feel a night march in my bones,” he warned, and the men groaned. Some of them threw malicious glances at June, as if it was her fault.

As June would find out, it was nearly impossible for anything to not be her fault. Their CO was demanding, as Coates had heard. In fact, Sobel was much more than demanding. He was, in June’s eyes, the devil incarnate.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fic #hbo war #hbo war fic #band of brothers imagine #fanfic #sister-in-arms #run the gauntlet #writing #lewis nixon

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falseroar · 4 years

Text

Is This Your Card? Part 3: Special Delivery

((Conversation around the table is awkward enough before a strange package arrives with envelopes addressed to everyone in the house.

Like I mentioned in the beginning, this story swaps between Abe and the District Attorney, and this time it’s the DA’s turn.

Links to Part 1 and Part 2 here.))

There seemed to be genuine surprise in Damien’s voice when he greeted you, not that you could blame him. Ever since he discovered your invitation lying out on your desk last week and your less than enthusiastic response, he had been putting the same determined effort into making sure that you came as he put into everything else in his life, and you had been just as determined not to commit one way or the other.

If the Colonel hadn’t been standing at the door, you might have been tempted to turn back around and give some excuse later, but at least when you entered together it soon became clear that this would be nothing like Mark’s usual kind of party. That kind of overstimulation, especially with the full moon only two nights ago leaving your senses sharper and more sensitive than ever, would have been too much to bear.

When Mark leaned in close at the table and said, “You’ve barely touched your food, Y/N! Is something wrong?”, it was all you could do not to wince.

“I’m not hungry. Maybe that perfume you’re wearing killed my appetite.”

You meant it as a joke, especially when you couldn’t exactly tell him why you were avoiding picking up any of the silverware (Who actually had real silver silverware these days? Most of yours could barely be considered metal.), but half a second after the words left your mouth you realized that maybe they might not be taken that way.

But Mark just smiled and threw an arm around your shoulder, nearly pulling you half out of your seat in the process. “What, you don’t like my cologne? It was a gift!”

“Did you get a receipt?” you managed to gasp out without coughing. You couldn’t place the smell exactly, but there was a heady floral overtone that seemed to cling to your nose and the back of your throat with every breath, not helped by the suspicion that Mark must have bathed in the stuff. You pushed him off as he laughed.

On your other side, the Colonel made a small noise into his plate that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but when you glanced his way he wasn’t smiling. While Mark turned to Damien and asked him something about a recent news article, you wondered if Mark and the Colonel had shared even a single word between them since he arrived.

Then again, they weren’t the only ones avoiding a conversation. You glanced at Abe, just in time to see the monster hunter’s eyes dart back down to his plate. You hadn’t seen the man in months, not since the case you two were forced to work together.

Not since he let on that he knew.

Not to say that there hadn’t been issues in the city that might have benefited from having an experienced hunter around, but Damien was keen to prove the local authorities could handle things after the fallout from when that story leaked out to the papers.

What were you supposed to say after something like that? What could you possibly talk about that wouldn’t drift toward topics you’d rather avoid around strangers, much less Mark?

You looked down at your food and realized you really weren’t hungry.

“Best not to force it,” the Colonel said, noting your expression. “A few bites of bread to keep the nausea down, and try again later, that’s what they used to tell us back when I was a private. Of course, that was usually because we were going into battle the next morning, or had just come out of a scrap.”

“You said you fought in Europe, correct?” you asked. It was hard to be sure, as the Colonel often jumped topics midsentence and you had yet to hear the end of one of his stories. “You mentioned the Rhineland, right? Isn’t that where…”

“The outbreak started, yes.” The Colonel shrugged. “Or one of the places, but it’s hard to tell where exactly, with how fast nasty stuff tended to spread in the trenches. Guy next to you starts coughing, and you can’t tell if it’s the fever or he’s about to turn and take a bite out of you.”

The Colonel took a bite out of his steak, which was so raw that a thin line of red dripped down his chin before he caught it with his napkin.

“Of course, that changed things a bit, and suddenly it didn’t matter what uniform the other guy was wearing so long as he still had a pulse.” The Colonel smiled, and you saw the flash of a wink behind his glasses. “Not exactly the way we wanted the fighting to end, but we routed those zombies, homo necrosis, from one side of the continent to the other. Why, there was this one time, in a little town up near Naples or maybe Paris, I always get those two mixed up—”

A knock at the door followed by the gong of the doorbell interrupted the Colonel, who seemed miffed at the distraction. Not as much as Mark, who watched the butler pass through the hall with a frown before recovering. “Not sure who that could be, but Benjamin will—”

“Uh, sir?”

And Mark’s smile was gone in a surprising rush of anger as he called back, “Tell whoever is at the door to go away! If it’s important, it can wait!”

There were voices at the door, both rising higher until the door shut with more force than necessary. Any thought that would be the end of it disappeared when Benjamin stepped into the doorway of the dining room, a small package in his hands.

“Sir, this is highly irregular, but the delivery person insisted this was to be delivered to you, at this time, in the presence of everyone in the house. I feared if I did not take the package, he would force his way into the house.”

“You’re joking,” Abe said, voicing the disbelief of the others. “What delivery company was he with?”

Benjamin shrugged. “A local one that we’ve used before without issue, although he wasn’t a driver I’ve met before. He was quite insistent sir, and taking the package seemed to be the only way to get rid of him. I assure you, I will have a conversation with the owner on Monday about this behavior.”

“This all sounds ridiculously melodramatic and pointless,” Mark said. He smiled. “So let’s do it. Benjamin, get the Chef.”

“Sir?”

“You said everyone in the house, that includes him.”

“Are you sure about this, Mark?” Damien asked while the butler did as he was told, but the actor only shrugged.

“It’s probably just a joke or a stunt from one production company or another looking to get me interested in some new project. And if it’s not, well, good to have some witnesses, am I right?”

Damien seemed doubtful at that, but before he could waste any more time trying to reason with Mark, the chef entered the room with a growl.

“What, one of you got a problem with my cooking?”

His glare seemed to find you in particular with your nearly full plate, and it was all you could do not to sink down in your chair. Earlier, you had barely even looked in the direction of the kitchen and he had threatened you with a ladle until the butler stepped in and given you a chance to escape.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Mark said, gesturing toward the empty chairs. “You two take a seat and we’ll see just what this mysterious sender thought was so important for us all to be here to see.”

You heard the butler explain the situation to the chef in a low murmur as they passed by, his voice almost drowned out by Abe asking, “Speaking of mysterious senders, there a name on that thing?”

“Just mine,” Mark said, turning the label so everyone could see before picking up his steak knife and using it to cut the tape. “Hm. Just a bunch of envelopes—Oh.”

Without any explanation, he pulled a stack of envelopes out and spread them out in the center of the table for all to see before tossing the empty box aside.

There were seven in all, each bearing a single word on their otherwise blank faces: Actor, Mayor, Colonel, Hunter, Attorney, Chef, Butler.

All of you stared down at the envelopes for a minute before the chef said, “Well, I’m the only Chef around here, so I’ll be taking that.”

He grabbed the envelope, and following his lead the other six were picked up, the rasp of paper filling the otherwise silent room as everyone looked inside to see what theirs contained.

You found two cards inside your own envelope, both identical in size, but while one appeared to be a Tarot card with an elaborate picture of a hooded figure bearing a weapon, your eyes were drawn to the other card, blank except for the one word typed on it: Werewolf.

Your pulse filled your ears as the room began to swim around you, barely able to register as Damien eventually said, “What is the meaning of this?”

Mark laughed, the sound startling you enough to look up and find that he was showing his own card to the table. “Looks like I drew Death. That’s not ominous at all, is it?”

Abe, whose eyes were bright while the blood seemed to have drained from his face, croaked out the words, “Is this a threat?”

“A joke, maybe,” the Colonel said, closing his envelope with a scowl. “A really bad one.”

“Oh, come now, don’t take it so seriously,” Mark said. “Y/N, let me see—”

Your protest came too late as he pulled the envelope from your hands and took out one of the cards to examine it before showing the rest of the table.

“See, Death just like me. We all got the same card, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Damien hesitated before speaking. “That’s not the card I received.”

He showed his Tarot card, revealing a regal figure seated on a throne, the letters below proclaiming “The Emperor.”

Beside him, Abe frowned but rather than show his card asked instead, “Did anyone else get a Death card?”

He looked around the table, but the other three shook their heads, the chef muttering that he didn’t even know what a "Hierophant" was.

“That’s…not the only thing concerning about this situation,” Benjamin said, but when all eyes turned on him, he paused before clearly changing his mind about what he meant to say. “Whoever sent this…bizarre package, knew who would be here tonight. Of course, the package was meant for Master Mark, and Chef and I are hardly surprising, but I took care to ensure no one outside of this room knew about this party.”

“Like anyone can keep secrets for long in this city,” Mark said, and you were not the only one at the table to flinch. “Come now, look at these faces! This is supposed to be a party, isn’t it? Benjamin, please, grab some drinks for our guests and join us. Chef, if you would—”

The chef snorted, his chair legs scraping as he stood and walked out of the room, his envelope crushed in his grip.

“Okay, you’re busy, I can see that,” Mark said, momentarily deflated. “I think the rest us are ready to have some fun with real cards, am I right?”

He stood, the others following suit, and you tried not to sound too urgent as you said, “Mark?”

“Hm?” He followed your gaze and smiled. “Right! Could make a good souvenir for the night, if nothing else.”

He handed both the Death card and envelope back to you, which you immediately shoved into a pocket before anyone else tried to take a closer look. You weren’t the only one to keep your envelope close as you saw Abe bury his deep within his jacket and Damien neatly fold the envelope around the silhouette of his card before tucking it away, while the Colonel absentmindedly put his in a random coat pocket. Even Mark, despite his dismissal of the whole thing, put his in a pocket of his robe, not that the thing seemed to have room for something like that.

When Benjamin followed the group into another room bearing a tray of glasses, you may have downed yours a little faster than you meant to. And maybe the next one as well.

You don’t remember the exact line when you went from buzzed to roaring drunk, although from the little you could recall of the night later, you weren’t alone on the journey. Said memories blurred together in a blend of alcohol, too loud music, and laughter, as each round of poker grew more ridiculous than the last until the cards lay forgotten, the party roaming through the house in a blur of images that you still had trouble piecing together after the fact.

Why did Abe and the Colonel both bring a gun to a poker party? What could have possibly possessed them to think it was okay to start waving them around, comparing pros and cons of their models while they were so drunk they could barely stand?

Speaking of stand, who knew Damien still had it in him to do a keg stand like that?

Did you really flip off the butler?

Why?

Not that you didn’t think he probably deserved it, even if you weren’t sure of the reason, just as part of you suspected you might have partially deserved the punch from the monster hunter that sent you sprawling later.

You remembered Damien’s concerned face close to your own, his words lost under the overwhelming music and the darkness quickly swooping in, and the only thing after that was the relief of your body hitting a bed, your blurred eyes just making out the time on the clock before you gave in to sleep: 1:30 A.M.

You tried not to drink much, and especially never to let yourself get as drunk as last night, and you remembered why that was when you woke up and realized you were in the shape of a wolf.

((End of Part 3. I hope you all don’t mind the big deviation from the original WKM story with the cards. I just thought they’d add a little extra twist/mystery to the story, and it kind of grew from there.

Link to Part 4.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch ))

#markiplier #fanfiction #wkm au #werewolf au #monster hunter au #wkm district attorney #wkm detective #wkm damien #wkm mark #wkm colonel #the cards have been dealt #sleight of hand check #the party animal jokes are coming in the next chapter #or I'd make a few here

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ashsilla · 5 years

Text

Losses (Part Three)

Book: Platinum

Ship: M!Raleigh Carrera x MC (Suiko Hono) with hints of M!Avery x MC

Rating: T

A/N: A charity event brings every major player in the game under one roof: Suiko, Raleigh, Avery, and a special guest to add extra drama for the headlines. Suiko struggles with her conflicting feelings as she interacts with Raleigh for the first time since the fight...

Tag List: @lunalixo @furiouscloddonutpeanut @lovedrakewalker @topsyturvy-dream @padfoot0415 @omgjasminesimone @parkerattano @cordoniasmost @poor-bi-choices @msjpuddleduck @mallorycortez @coffeebeandragon @lizeboredom @perriewinklenerdie @greek-elsa

Other Parts: PART ONE - PART TWO

Zadie jerked Suiko’s shoulders. “I said, keep your head straight,” the stylist snapped, speaking around the pins jammed between her lips. How she managed not to cut herself, Suiko would never know.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She met her own eyes in the mirror. Zadie had really outdone herself for the charity gala tonight. It was an event to bring attention to climate change, and clearly that had been the inspiration for her dress.

It was full length and dark green silk. A sweetheart neckline cut across her collarbone, where a vintage emerald and pearl necklace settled. The sleeves wrapped around her upper arms, ringed with gold. The bodice of the dress pulled in tight on her waist, embroidered with beautiful gold gilded leaves and sewn with pearls. The leaf designs flowed down the full skirt of the gown, creating the illusion of a cascade of foliage and precious gems towards the floor.

It might be the loveliest dress she’d ever worn.

Currently, Zadie was adding finishing touches: pearl earrings to match her necklace, hidden pins to hold back the elegant barrel curls of her hair, an extra dab of blush on each cheek.

Suiko really, really wanted to be excited about the fantastic outfit. But all that hung in the back of her mind was the fact that Raleigh and Avery would be at the gala. In the same room.

It was a terrible thought.

She caught Zadie’s eye in the mirror, and the other woman gave her an impatient answer-my-statement-please look.

“What?” Suiko said stupidly.

“I said, when you’re on the red carpet, hold out the folds of the dress so the cameras get a look at the embroidery,” her stylist answered shortly. “You’re even spacier than usual. Trouble in paradise?”

“Just...” she trailed off.

Zadie sniffed. “Yeah, I know. Raleigh and Avery and all of this angst and shit. At least that means the pictures of you will be posted everywhere for sure.” Catching Suiko’s eye again, her tone softened slightly. “If you need to hide during the event, I’ll help you.”

“Thanks,” Suiko mumbled.

The door to the room swung open. “Your date has arrived,” said a familiar voice.

Avery stood in the doorway, smiling softly. Only a shadow of his black eye remained, but that thought disappeared from her mind when she took him in completely. It was immediately obvious that they had been styled to match. He was wearing a suit of green just one shade darker than her dress, a matching tie with golden embroidery similar to hers, and a pin inlaid with pearls.

They looked like a couple.

Sensing her hesitation, he gave an apologetic nod. “Fiona’s idea.”

Suiko could feel Zadie’s eyes on her. Waiting to see her reaction. “It’s a beautiful set,” was all she said. It was worth it. Zadie actually smiled.

Avery stepped forwards and offered her his arm. “Our ride awaits,” he announced, thickening his accent in a cartoony way.

He was trying to cheer her up. And why shouldn’t she let him?

Suiko stood and looped her arm through his. “Thank you, Zadie,” she said.

“If you stain it, I’ll kill you,” Zadie replied cheerfully.

The ride was Avery’s limo. As they approached the vehicle, the window rolled down to reveal Hank. When he caught sight of them, he let out a loud gasp and removed his sunglasses.

“Is this what it’s like to send your daughter off to prom?” he asked, and dabbed at his eye with his sleeve.

“I don’t think most dads drive the limo to prom,” Suiko answered, clambering into the back. Avery followed her, helping all of the fabric of her skirt make it safely into the limo.

Hank smiled fondly. “Lucky you!”

They began driving. Avery handed her an empty glass. “Care for a drink?”

Suiko considered. When Raleigh’s face popped into her head, she quickly decided on champagne. Maybe if she was a little tipsy when she got there it would be easier to navigate the situation.

Avery filled their glasses. She’d had three by the time they pulled up to the venue. A pleasant warmth had taken up residence in her chest, and her nerves were delightfully fuzzy. The world was softer and brighter. Avery somehow smelled better.

Fantastic!

He helped her out of the limo, like the gentleman he was, and then took her arm as they walked onto the red carpet.

Immediately they were swarmed by cameras and recording devices. Avery’s hand tightened on her, something steady to hang onto amidst the craze.

“Suiko! Suiko!” A particularly aggressive reporter shoved to the front of the mob. “Is Avery here as your date tonight?”

“We shared a ride,” said Avery smoothly, and cast a winning smile.

A different reporter jammed a recorder into their faces. “Have you and Raleigh Carrera finally split? What do you have to say about him?”

Suiko blinked. She didn’t even know the answer to that question. How would Fiona want her to answer? “I’m excited for everyone to hear the new single he’s dropping this week,” she said brightly, and grinned. “I love it. Once you hear it you’ll love it too!”

There. They could chew on that. That little, unsatisfying answer.

“No more questions,” Avery cut in, and led her off of the carpet and into the banquet hall where the event was taking place.

It was a beautiful old building with arching ceilings and marble columns and murals and huge windows inlaid with stained glass. Crystal chandeliers cast light across the dinner tables and the dance floor.

Everything was lovely, but all Suiko saw when she stepped through the entrance was Raleigh.

He was leaning against the bar on the far side of the hall. His dark hair was freshly washed and adorably tousled. That crimson suit he wore fit him perfectly...garnet slacks and a matching vest over a fine dark gray shirt embroidered with black roses. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to expose the tattoos gracing his forearms.

Then his head lifted and his eyes met hers.

They were both frozen, staring at each other. Raleigh blinked, and his feet shuffled, like he was about to walk over, and Suiko didn’t know if she’d kiss him or slap him when he got close enough.

And then she saw her.

That blonde girl from the EE! News article and pictures -- Leona Lastrum. She wore a skintight black dress with a snakeskin pattern that clung to each curve. Despite herself, Suiko felt a wave of insecurity wash over her, suddenly felt so childish with her narrow hips and small chest.

Then the anger and hurt hit her so hard her vision went white. Raleigh didn’t bother to call, and then he went ahead and brought Leona Lastrum?

Avery followed her line of sight. “Oh,” he said. “Suiko, I --”

“Can you get some drinks for us?” Suiko said, and didn’t recognize her own voice. It was so cold.

“Um...sure. What do you want?”

What would get her drunk the fastest? “Something strong,” was all she said, because she didn’t actually know.

Avery slipped away and Suiko ripped her gaze away from Leona Lastrum, away from Raleigh, away from the two of them completely.

The headlines from the past week flooded through Suiko’s head again, so quick and fast that she almost heard them.

Suiko Hono -- from sweetheart to homewrecker! How she went from rising star to Raleigh’s other woman.

Raleigh Carrera’s newest two-timing scandal forces silence between him and Suiko Hono.

Every piece of evidence that Raleigh and Suiko are broken up for good!

Avery Wilshere and Suiko Hono reportedly dating in wake of Raleigh Carrera cheating scandal.

It made her shake with anger, with embarrassment and mortification. The way that she’d sort of trusted Raleigh. The way the tabloids made it sound like she was the cheater. That she’d thought any of his affections had been remotely real. What a fool she was, to have thought that their PR relationship had grown to something more.

But no. The whole time, he’d been going back to some girl in his free time, and not even bothered to mention it to her. Some small part of her had hoped that it was untrue, but here he was at the gala, standing there with Leona.

She was physically trembling now. Suiko bunched her hands into her dress, ignoring Zadie’s directions to be careful with the fabric, and tried to take a deep breath.

A hand landed on her back and she jumped. “Just me,” Avery said, and slid a drink into her hand. It was light pink and smelled fruity. And strong.

“Can we sit down?” she asked in a small voice.

He brushed her hair back. “Of course.”

They found an empty table and Avery pulled out her chair for her. Suiko collapsed into the seat and took a long sip of the drink. “I thought it wouldn’t be true,” she said into the top of her glass, fogging it up.

Avery placed a gentle hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles into her skin. “I didn’t expect him to bring her like that,” he said, and his voice was low with anger.

“Suiko, can we talk?”

She turned slowly, so slowly. It was Raleigh. Of course it was him. The whole party was orbiting around him.

Avery tightened his arm over her shoulders. “I don’t think so,” he said coldly.

Raleigh’s hands, at his sides, clenched into fists. “Get your hands off of her,” he said back with equal ferocity. “What I need to say is between me and her, not me and you.”

Around them, the room was falling silent. Everyone was watching. Waiting. Anyone with eyes could see that Raleigh and Avery had unsettled business.

Not this again. She would not let them fight again, and especially not here.

“I’ll be fine,” she told Avery, and stood.

Avery frowned but didn’t object. Raleigh led her out of the main room, into a darkened hallway. Apparently that wasn’t secluded enough, because he spent a long moment picking a lock on a door off of the hall. When it swung open, they went inside, letting the door shut behind them.

It was what looked like a storage room. Shelves ringed three of the walls, each crowded with boxes and crates. The space left for them to stand was small, so small.

Suiko crossed her arms. “What.”

Raleigh’s face fell with surprise, and something else. “Are you really mad at me?”

She stared at the floor next to his shoe. “Well, from what I’ve seen, I have a reason to be.”

He was silent. Then she felt his hands, calloused and familiar, slipping carefully around her waist. “Let me explain everything.”

Suiko finally looked up. His face was so close to hers. Those dark eyes she knew so well were wide and earnest. “Okay,” she said into the tiny space between them.

When he spoke, his breath ghosted across her lips. “After...that night. I was trying to figure out if my PR team had anything to do with it. So I looked back into my past appearances. She had been at some of them, but I never talked to her Suiko, I swear. So I went to my manager.” His hands tensed on her waist. “He said that our relationship was getting ‘stale.’ That we needed a new element. So they’ve been paying her to talk to the press and follow me around.” Fury laced his words.

She closed her eyes. “But Raleigh,” she murmured. “It’s...have you even seen what the media is saying about me? They’re calling me a homewrecker. A whore.” A couple of hot tears stung at her eyes, and spilled out onto her cheeks.

“And if I could kick all of their asses, I would,” vowed Raleigh.

“But you can’t,” Suiko replied hotly. “And for some reason, instead of setting the record straight, you’re letting them tear me apart, and you’re bringing her to events with you --”

“I didn’t bring her!” Raleigh exploded, a little too loud. He seemed to realize and lowered his voice. “I mean...my team told me to. I refused. So they sent her an invite of her own.” His face soured. “But I won’t give them the satisfaction of going along with it.”

“Then tell them,” she said, and hated that she was begging. “Tell them all that she lied, and that I...that I’m not...”

Raleigh lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. “I will,” he promised. “I just need some time. I’m trying to work something out with my team.”

Suiko shifted away from him, making his hands fall away from her. “Thanks for explaining.” She felt cold and shivery all over. “I’m going to go.” Her hands closed around the door handle.

“Wait,” Raleigh said, sounding confused. “That’s it?”

“The last thing I need,” Suiko said, suddenly furious, “is the paparazzi to find us in here together, and say how I’m still driving a block in your picture perfect relationship with your other girlfriend. Avery is waiting for me anyways.”

At the mention of the blonde pop singer, Raleigh stiffened. “What is it between you two?” His voice was deadly.

Suiko’s mind flashed: Avery, throwing a punch at Raleigh; the bouquet of peonies that had been sitting on her doorstep; him holding her hand and accompanying her to events. “I...don’t know.”

Raleigh flinched like she’d slapped him. “You either want him or you don’t,” he said. “Which is it?”

“Why do you even care?” Suiko snarled, angry that she didn’t have an answer. Everything was so confusing. “You and me? We’re not even really dating!”

“Because I do care!” snapped Raleigh, seething. “I fucking care, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Tell me. That day he was in your apartment. In...in your bedroom. What was he doing there?”

The intensity of his words, of his expression, scared her. “Raleigh...I thought we were just pretending.”

Hurt lanced across his face. “Were you just pretending? All this time?”

Suiko’s breath caught. He was actually waiting for her answer. He cared what she would say.

“Only at first,” she whispered.

There it was. Everything, all laid out on the table. They both stilled -- her hand still poised on the door’s handle, him stiff and alert.

Then, before she could even think of another thing to say, he had pushed her up against a shelf of boxes and was kissing her.

He was everywhere. His lips moved desperately against hers, his hands running over the silky bodice of her dress, his cologne’s smell invading her senses. Suiko could barely breathe.

And then she kissed him back.

Her hands lifted, wrapping around the back of his neck. She slid her fingers up into his curls, having missed their softness, and he let out a soft groan against her mouth. Then he nipped at her lower lip, and her mouth was opening under his.

The door to the room swung wide open.

Avery stared at them, surprise swirling in his blue eyes. “What...” he said, and his voice broke off.

Then a camera flashed behind him, and the sound of footsteps raced towards them.

Suiko froze.

Oh no.

#raleigh carrera #raleigh #raleigh x mc #raleigh carrera x mc #fanfiction #fic #fanfic #losses #ashsilla #playchoices #choices #platinum #pb #pixelberry #pb platinum #platinum choices #avery wilshere

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exobyharu · 5 years

Text

PCY - Ch3

Chapter 3: Could you believe it?

(Part 1)(Part 2)... (Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6)

Summary: Your day was quite the show and PCY believes that he could do something about it. You finally give him the benefit of the doubt.

⏰ 10:52 PM 🌏 Hotel (S), City of (L) 🌘 Too many clouds, it threatened to rain 👥 YN, Park Chanyeol, your parents, your parents’ friend’s son, and a bunch of other minor characters mentioned

Notes: I’ve been busy lately (I finally got accepted after a job interview! 🙃) But I’m writing two updates because this one’s pretty short. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Words: ~1,500

💙💙💙

What did I do to deserve this?

You had been asking yourself this question quite often these past few weeks, but you had never found yourself questioning why so bitterly until tonight.

This day – this cursed day – was not the day you signed up for. Your psychiatrist always advised against making lists on how bad your day was, let alone how else you would have wanted it to be, so you were not going to do that. Still, you knew that you’d had enough the moment a pregnant woman materialised from nowhere to pour sangria on the rocks over your head because your family-arranged date – this beef jerky, she called him - was said to be cheating on her with you. That summed up your eventful dinner that ended with you, leaving the restaurant without your pathetic date, while you walked back to your hotel in your white dress that had pretty much turned blood-red.

So that happened.

You made a mental note to tell your parents to quit setting you up with their friend’s son from now on. Along with this was your promise to not explain anymore because arguing with your dad never ended well. There was nothing more annoying than feeling your toes sticky under the straps of your heels and that was enough suffering for one night.

The doorman was quick to assist you the moment his eyes chanced upon the state of your dress. “I’m okay,” you waved at him, even though your body language said don’t touch me, instead. You could not fault him for panicking because you did look like you had murdered a beast somewhere in the rose gardens.

“Just a wine accident, sir.”

You earned a similar reaction when you entered the lobby, only this time, more eyes were on you. It was a little late in the evening, but having about ten pairs of eyes turning to stare at you all at once was a bit overwhelming. You gave the front desk a quick thumbs up to reassure them that neither the hospital nor the cops had to be called, but even before they were able to say anything back, they were cut off by someone who was calling for you.

“YN???”

The voice came from a hooded figure seated in one of the lofts at the far side of the lobby. You squinted and saw that he was wearing a mask as a disguise of some sort. No problem. Somehow, you were sure to recognise who it was from now on. Park Chanyeol, you though bitterly, the guy you needed to apologise to because it was already past ten in the evening. Why did he have to catch you entering the hotel? You had hoped to never run into him again. Still, you paused, maintaining eye contact as a form of acknowledgment as he hastily made his way towards you in quick, long strides.

Standing now at a couple of feet’s distance, his height was still as overwhelming as the last time you saw him. You felt small and even smaller as you noticed how his eyes quickly scanned through your face, your ruined dress and then all the way down to your sticky heels. After that, he pulled the mask off his face and said, “you look like shit.”

There was no offence taken because he was absolutely right. You looked like shit and that could have been an understatement. There was no other way that you would describe how you looked. The tone in how he said it was also simple and matter-of-fact. Why bother thinking up a smart remark when you were too tired for that too?

“Thanks,” you said, a genuine frown accompanying your approval. “I probably deserve this for standing you up.”

Chanyeol mirrored your expression. “You…” he trailed off, and you could tell that he realised how there was not really a good answer to what he just said. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like that. You just… Here, cover yourself, will you?”

Cover myself? you thought, almost laughing because wasn’t it too late for that? You were one elevator ride away from a change of clothes.

It was not only until the guy took off his jacket and draped it on you that you realised how cold it had been, walking out there in the streets in your dress that was half-drenched in alcohol. His jacket that was still warm from being worn, pressed down on your shoulders and provided comfort that you did now know you were needing. Even though it was silly how it was huge – your dad’s jacket was not even close to how loose it felt – wearing Chanyeol’s felt like laying on warm sheets on a cold winter day. Or drinking hot chocolate by your bedroom window on a rainy night. Or simply, a hug. Yes. It was an indirect hug.

“People are looking at you,” he said, bringing your thoughts back to where you were. You glanced around and indeed, some new people were filing in and you did not even notice. Maybe you ought to stop thinking about Chanyeol’s hugs, no matter how bad your day had been.

“It’s all right,” you retorted. You made your way to the elevators, away from sight. “I already walked three blocks down the street looking like this.”

“You what? Why? What happened?” Chanyeol screwed his eyes shut for a second and combed his fingers through his hair as if the thought was too bizarre that it gave him a headache. “How’d you get all this red stuff on you like this anyway?”

You sighed because elevator was still a good twenty floors away. You took your frustrations out on the glowing button instead. “Someone poured wine over my head so it spilled down my dress. What does your imagination tell you?”

“That’s crazy.”

“I know. Shit, right?” You had seventeen floors to go. Sixteen. Fifteen. It took a while for Chanyeol to say something. His breathe has heavy before he spoke.

“…Shit indeed. You wanna talk about it?”

It was your turn to pause. Your mind quickly revisited these past few exchanges you had. They were very brief, and not one of them even was close to pleasant. They were not conversations that would have ended with a pleased to meet you or a hope to see you around. First of all, you were not pleased to meet him, and nope, neither did you really want to see him around.

And yet you were not entirely comfortable with what you wanted and what you did not want. “Right now?” you questioned, in a tone implying that maybe, if it meant some other time, you may agree to it.

“Maybe after you’ve taken a shower and changed?”

You had five floors left to decide. Four. “It’s almost eleven, Mr. Park.”

Three. Two. One. When you looked up, Chanyeol was smiling.

“I know. I’ve been waiting for more than three hours. Could you believe it?”

His smile made you decide to go.

This was why, thirty minutes later, you found yourself standing outside the hotel rooftop’s posh café, regretting your choice because you had forgotten to put on makeup. You knew that your barefaced state made absolutely no difference for Chanyeol – he had seen you looking much worse just earlier – still, everyone else was impeccably dressed to spend the remaining couple hours of the evening there. It was something that you had overlooked: you were at the penthouse of Hotel (S).

Sweatpants and a baggy shirt with Chanyeol’s oversized jacket slung on your arm made you appear perfectly out of place. Even as you saw the rapper approach you, dressed in pretty much the same fashion with a simple backpack on one shoulder, there was nothing about how he carried himself that hinted commoner.

Ethereal.

It was how an online article described Park Chanyeol when you Googled him up the night before. You were finally agreeing with it – all of it, that the hundreds of people on the comments section raved about. You saw this as he gracefully stepped out on the elevators and walked down the path to the café. When his eyes found you, it was easy to notice how much better he looked without the skin bunched up in between his brows, and his chin pulling down on his lower lips to force a grin. Just this once, the legend about his looks had merit because you were sure that it only applied when he was not being a douchebag.

“You look great.” You could not help it. The compliment had to be said. When he got closer, you would have made a comment about how he smelled different today too, but that did not make you observant. That made you a creep.

And a creep you were not.

“I usually do,” Chanyeol responded, and you allowed that. With a subtle shake of your head, you found yourself smiling at the character that he was and the way you kept on vacillating between liking and disliking it. You could not make up your mind. At least the evening had a fifty percent chance of getting better.

💙💙💙 - to be continued -

#chanyeol #chanyeol scenarios #park chanyeol #exo scenarios #exo #park chanyeol scenarios #exo fanfiction #kpop scenarios

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chaniters · 6 years

Note

Can I have one where M! Steel finds out about the MC's scars? Thx!

Sry for the delay answering this one! Was having a hard time with Steel!

Here goes

CHEETOS AND FAILURE

You run through the streets, at top speed. He’s trailing behind you, his armored legs leaving cracks on the pavement, gaining ground with each second.

You won’t lose him by running. But you’re not going to let him catch you.

You stop and face him. He charges in, ready to strike you down.

“Let us end this, Steel!” you bark.

“With pleasure!”

Left. Right. Duck. Counterattack.

Your kick sends him stumbling backward, but as you leap to take advantage of it, he takes your hand and slams you into the ground, hard.

And then he activates his dampeners. Fuck.

You break free, standing with a spin, sending your leg at his face. He blocks you again, and his fist sends you flying against a car.

The armor begins losing power rapidly. IT’s sustained heavy damage. The fight’s been a long one, and his armor protected him better than yours.

He approaches you. This isn’t ending like this… you can’t…

You release the nanovores at him.

The cloud approaches him. He stares at it in confusion… then terror, as he realizes what the cloud is.

It surrounds him… ready to devour his implants… awaiting your signal.

One thought and Steel will be gone. He won’t be able to survive without his mods.

The nanites are especially aggressive. The dampener diminishes your control over them. They are about to start devouring …

And you pull them back. The cloud reluctantly comes back into your glove.

Freed from Danger, Steel steps in, looming over you.

He lifts you effortlessly with his modded arm.

“Why did you hesitate?” his eyes fixed intensely on your mask.

“The only way for me to win now is to kill you” you answer reluctantly. “There are lines I won’t cross. Even to protect myself.”

“How noble of you, villain,” he says, a hand reaching for your mask. He struggles, trying to take it off.

“Allow me” You sigh. You don’t know why… but you’re not terrified. You thought you’d die if this happened. It’s your worst nightmare. But now, all you feel is… relief? It’s over. He grumbles as you take it off. Revealing your own, beaten self.

His eyes narrow onto you. “I fucking knew it!”

“Then why didn’t you get me sooner?” You can’t help it… Berating Chen is the only way you know how to interact with him.

“WHY?” he asks ignoring you and slamming you into a wall, his fist holding your armor’s chest-piece.

“You’re the only one who investigated after I went missing. And I know you found stuff. Why don’t you tell me?”

“I… I know what you are! You are one of them!”

“You fucking knew?!” you say bewildered. “Why in the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“What, reveal the Special directive agents had infiltrated us? I’m smarter than that. You fuckers keep kidnapping people off the streets. I kept you close so I could investigate you. And now your plot keeps getting weirder!”

You look at him in shock.

“Wait… you think … I’m a Special Directive Agent?”

“Obviously!” he says, getting enraged. “Don’t you try to deny it!”

You can’t help it… you smile… then grin… and start laughing. You can’t stop.

His left hand reaches for your neck. Chocking you. Oh wow… Maybe it’s a rangers salute. You thought Argent was the only one.

“STop laughing you monster! You used Ortega! You used us all!”

You cough, seeking air, and finally manage to calm yourself and stop the laughter. Chocking to death isn’t fun.

“Let.. *cough* LEt me… explain…”

“Why should I hear anything you say?” he asks.

“Because… ” you gasp for air “I have proof.

“Proof?” he looks at you with disdain. “You can’t trick your way out of this one!”

“Take off my armor… ” you can’t believe these words out of your own mouth, but there they are.

“Take off your.. why?”

“Just do it. Or are you going to let me keep it?.”

He takes a few seconds and sets you down. You look around… there’s no one watching. And even if they were… what else can you do?You press the hidden switches… and the armor begins unstrapping. He takes the pieces away. You are in your shirt and nanomesh underneath. “ONe moment…” you ask while lifting your shirt… then the mesh. You expose your chest.

Your tattoos glow. Of course, they’d make them glow in the dark, better to prevent escapes.

“What… ?”

Seeing Chen’s reaction is a consolation prize at least. You look down, shivering under his gaze. Hells know how long has he thought you were a special directive agent.

“See? I could never be an agent. I’m on the run from them. Simple as that.”

He is at a loss for words… You hear some police sirens in the distance.

“So. You won Chen. After all these years, you’ve got me. Trapped me in a mess so great that I can’t possibly get out of it.” you ask staring blankly at him. The adrenaline rush is ending, and you don’t feel nearly as brave now…

“I…” he doesn’t answer. You feel sick… you walk a step to the side… and throw up on the floor. You clean your mouth with your nanomesh from the floor.You kneel… this is bad. You’ve failed. He’s going to do the worst, he’s Steel after all. And now he can do whatever he wants. He can kill you. He can hand you over to the Police. He can drag you to Ortega so he can see how wrong he was about you.

He can send you back to the farm. No. That’s.. not going to happen. He can’t do that.

“Steel,” you say turning. “I’m done. It’s over. I don’t want to be their science project ever again. Kill me. Tell Ortega anything you want. So he can finally move on… I shouldn’t have come back”.

The sirens get closer. Yet he just stands there. He’s going to hand you over to them. That’s that. You’re going back to the farm.

A part of you knew you were going back. This was all a stupid fantasy. It couldn’t last. You can’t possibly expect to fight against your makers and wi…

Steel lifts you with both arms, tossing you over his shoulder. Then, he picks up all the pieces of your suit, and places them inside a nanomesh bag he produced from… somewhere.

“HNr… What the fuck are you doing?”

“Shut up” is his only answer. “And I mean it”

He starts running through the streets, carrying you. It was awkward when Ortega did it. Embarrassing when it was Herald. Very scary when Argent tossed you around. But with him, it’s just humiliating. And where the fuck is he taking you. He’s not going towards the Sirens. He’s not heading to the rangers HQ. What the fuck…

He takes you up to a parked car… opens the trunk, and sets you down.

“Go in there!”

“What?!” you ask.

“Do It unless you want to get caught”

“I am already caught you, moron!”

“You… just do as I say!” he just pushes you towards the trunk.

“Ok! OK! You win! I’ll go into your stupid trunk!”

You try to fit in there. It’s a good trunk… large enough for supervillains and their suits. But it smells.

He sits on the wheel and starts the engine. You can view him if you pull the cushions of the back seat apart.

“Where are we…”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!” he says, tossing an empty beer can at the back seat.

You curse and close the peek hole. Fuck him.

The drive takes a while, with several turns. Finally, the car stops, and he goes down to open a gate…

You could probably escape while he’s busy. He’d have an empty trunk then. But You can’t figure the next step in that plan. So you just stay. Let’s see what fucking Steel has in store. It can’t be worse than the farm.

The car enters a garage. The garage door closes… and he gets off.

He opens the trunk, warily, as if expecting you to have escaped already. His gaze seems to calm down as he notices you’re still there.

“Get out of there” he simple asks.

You stretch and stand up. You just glare at him. You can insult him… fight him… It’s good that fighting him is so familiar, else you’d be having a panic attack right now.

“I’m out. What now?”

“Follow me” He guides you. It takes a moment for you to realize that you are inside his house.

You did not see that coming.

“Wait here” he motions to a sofa in the living room.

You just raise your arms in disbelief.

“Or stand. Whatever you like. Just stay here a minute. And don’t touch anything!”

You are beginning to question his sanity as much as yours. In the end, you simply sit on the couch.

“Fine. I’m sitting.”

He nods and heads out. You hear him rummaging through bags and boxes in another room.

You study his living room. It’s tidy. There are no pictures of family, but plenty pictures of the rangers. You sense a mind making a beeline for you.

Spoon licks your face as he approaches. You pet the dog.

“Good dog,” you tell him.

You’re wearing only nanomesh pants. In Steel’s house. Petting his dog. Your tattoos in plain sight. Your suit on a bag at your feet. You put your shirt back on.

This is your worst nightmare.

You begin curling into a ball on the sofa, looking down. As Spoon licks your hair.

This is the end of your journey… and it’s fucking weird nothing is as you expected.

Steel comes back with a briefcase.

Maybe a truth serum inside? Or a gun… no why would he need a gun? he has Machineguns in his suit.

“Alright… just… give me a second…” he says opening the case.

“You have all the time in the world I guess” you try to sound sarcastic, but your facade is gone and your tone betrays your misery.

“Just… wait,” Steel says giving you a less hostile look. It’s like he tried to calm you down. More weirdness.

Spoon jumps on the sofa and lies his back next to you. You just keep rocking, holding your knees with your hands, wondering how is he planning to get rid of you.

“Ok look” he finally speaks, sitting opposite to you, holding a bunch of papers.

You give him a blank stare. He motions for you to look at the papers again.

If you weren’t freaking out you would probably say something demeaning. But you just want to get it over by now. You start reading.

Paper clips. News articles. internet articles. Rumors collected trough Headbook, Chirper, and other sites. There are accounts of conversations with witnesses.

Everything regarding the Farm. It’s really thorough.

There is evidence that you were taken by the farm after your fall. Notes from him, thinking you were an agent sent to infiltrate the Rangers and find out everything about them.

You finally turn, looking at him. You are perplexed.

“Do you see what I mean? I thought they took you out and pretended you where dead because you were one of their agents! I thought you were just trying to fool Ortega and steal our information! The Special Directive always wanted to replace the rangers program!”

You freeze. But your brain wants to make sense of it. It can’t help but keep asking.

“Wait… s…s… so…”

“Yes! I was sure you were an enemy… and when you got injured, they just extracted you and pretended you where dead!”

“W…” Your lips… your body… your hands… everything trembles “Why… didn’t you tell… O… Ortega”

“He was a total wreck back then. And he wouldn’t have believed me! What do you think he would have done if I told him his best friend he had a crush on was actually alive, had always lied to him, and was an enemy?”

“I… I … s… see..” You feel light. So light. But you have to keep asking “So… why did you… why did you think I was an enemy?”

“There was always a bad vibe between us… and you were very suspicious. I thought you had wires on you with that many layers of clothing! And you didn’t tell us you were a telepath from the start. I was sure about it… But Ortega didn’t want to hear anything bad about you.”

You can’t control the trembling. The tears. The lightness.

If you hadn’t fought with Steel for all those years… then perhaps…

Steel speaks. You can’t hear what he says.

You just close your eyes. You wish you were dead right now. He could have been on your fucking side. You could have done this so differently. He could have helped you back then.

“Hey… are you… ok?” His hand is on your back. Touching your tattoos. Somehow he’s sitting next to you.

You freak out. You jump back and dart for the door. Then the lobby, and straight to the front door…

“And where are you going to go next then?” he asks you. He’s standing behind you. Of course, he is, he’s faster.“What’s your brilliant plan?”

Your hand starts turning the handle… and stops.

You turn. He’s looking at you… with a look, you’ve never seen before. Is he concerned?

“I… don’t… I don’t know Ok? I don’t fucking know where I’m going!”

“Then… why don’t you spend the night here?”

“WHAT?!”

“Your suit is in pieces, your nanomesh is ripped and it isn’t exactly a common type of suit to go around wearing. And it’s 2 am. You can stay here, and we can talk in the morning?”

“Why… are you being so fucking nice?” You really want to know by now.

“What? You’re seriously asking that?”

“YES! You and I were never friends. Why did you fucking bring me here?”

“Because now I finally understand you!”

“You do?” you ask. Because right now you don’t.

“Yes. It all makes sense now, you wearing that outfit and terrorizing the politicians… yet you don’t kill anyone and only attack criminals? You take us out to gain attention and then go on with your scheme. You are after them!”

“Well, I failed! My suit’s a mess, you fucking discovered me and I’m done. Why am I not in jail, or dead, or back at the Special directive?”

“BECAUSE I WANT TO HELP YOU, IDIOT!” he yells at you exasperated. “YOU WHERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE SMARTEST ONE. SINCE WHEN ARE YOU SO FUCKING DENSE?”

“You… you…” you point at him, now knowing what to say.

“Just follow me, dumbass!” he shoves you around

“You…” you keep saying.

“Here’s the guest room. Stay here. Rest some, you look like an insane gremlin. I mean more than usual. Let’s talk in the morning. And don’t feed my dog” he asks, whistling for Spoon to follow him around.

“I’m going to take the armor off but I’ll keep the dampener on. So don’t try anything. Also, if you want to run away to the streets and hide in your hole again, be my guest, but then I’ll have to stop you. Keep that in mind, will you?”

He leaves through the corridor, slamming the door shut.

“You…” you say pointing at the door, out of it.

…………….10:39 am………………..

You wake up.

More nightmares. Mostly Steel chasing you around, throwing you inside his trunk that stinks of cheetos and failure.

Fun times.

There are some clothes by the bed. That crapola must have left them there.

It’s better than nothing, so you put them on. It’s a tad too big, but that’s actually a good way to hide the nanomesh.

You walk out after a few minutes of indecision. The smell of coffee is everywhere.

Spoon barks at you. You sigh. Can’t be mad at him for just doing his job.

Steel raises his gaze from the living room.“Good morning”.

You walk up to the living room and sit on the sofa, crossing your arms, looking away from him. “Morning” Finally, the word comes out, reluctantly.

He serves you some Coffee. “Here”You take the offered cup, add some sugar, and take a sip.

And then your eyes finally fix on him. You finally feel brave enough for a staring contest, if this is where it’s all headed.

He’s wearing a robe, his chest and some of the mods visible. Bold. Seems he didn’t assume you’d try and stab him in his sleep.

“Feeling any better?” He asks finally.Your eyes narrow. “Compared to what?” you retort. “Last night”“Oh, you mean if I’m having another panic attack? I’m fine thanks for asking,” you answer sarcastically. “I’m still stuck in your house so I’m not sure if that counts as better.”“I told you I wanted to help you”“Help me?” you smile bitterly. “How could you possibly help me? You know what I am!”“Yes, I do. But we can work together! You must have knowledge of the Special Directive. You must know a lot of details that can complete the puzzle!”“Just enough to get you killed” you answer. “Chen, you can’t help me. You know I can’t fight them in the open.”

“Cyrus… those bastards released Heartbreak. All the evidence points to that. And they are… creating people now? Is that what you are?”

Your eyes fill with tears once more. But you nod.

“Alright… all I need for now… is that you tell me your story.”

“Ho.. how can that help?”

“It’s a start. I want to know exactly what they are”

He passes you some tissues. Fuck. Chen, your arch-nemesis is passing your tissues. Because he can see just how pathetic you are. And you accept them.

“So… whenever you feel ready… you can start. Ok?”

It takes a very long time before you finally nod with your head. You pass him the cup. He serves some more coffee.

He sets a recorder on the table.

And you start speaking. A few words at first. And you choke. But then you start again. And again. And again.

Until you manage to go in whole sentences. He needs to bring two more boxes of tissues. And a LOT more coffee. He orders some burgers for lunch… hours pass. You are still speaking. You thought you could never speak about these things.

But once you started… you just can’t stop. You feel like if you stop talking now, you’ll die.

You go over it all. Back and forth. He has to stop you several times, ask questions. IT’s all a mess in your hearth and your mind. Bleeding over to him.

It goes brighter after you speak about your first break away from the farm. Your thoughts as a free agent. Knowing the rangers. Becoming a hero.

But then you get to talk about the Heartbreak. And you get stuck. You can’t. You try several times but you just can’t. It makes you tremble so hard you think you might die if you talk about him.

Steel puts a hand on your shoulder

“Don’t rush it. You can do it. It’s not a race.”

It takes you a long while… before you can even… try… to describe what happened. How Anathema died. How you should have stayed under the dampener. How you thought you could fight Heartbreak. How he made you take the gun… and…

He stops you there. He knows that part.

“We can skip the rest of that, ok? No need for you to recall that”.

You go on, talking about the return to the farm. How the fixed you. How they punished you. How they tried to break you.

Your plans. Your second escape. Your new powers.

And then you go silent. It’s dark outside.

Steel just stares at you. He finally stops the recorder.

You feel like you’re descending back to your body. IT’s over. He knows the whole story.

You can’t believe you told someone. And least of all, him.

You finally raise your gaze to him. He’s tearing up.

“Fuck…” he says, taking one of the tissues. He rubs his face for a few moments after that. “Fuck, Sidestep… I never thought…”

“No one could have imagined a story like it,” you say looking down. "Sometimes, when I first escaped, I stopped believing it too. Being out of there… IT’s easy to think no such place can exist. But it does. It does and I… “ you can’t help it, you break and start crying again.

It’s too much. Nothing fits. He can’t help you, no one can help you… it’s hopeless. He’ll get killed if he tries. You’ll get sent back. There is no hope and …

His hands on your shoulders. Startle you.

You look up.

“I’m going to help you. And we’re going to take them down… together”.

Even with the dampener still on, you can see he believes that’s true.

Fuck.

____________________________

My Fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

#fallen hero spoilers #fallen hero: rebirth #Mc #Steel #fanficion #Wishful thinking about Steel

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greencrusader13 · 6 years

Text

All Were Innocent Once: Chapter 7 - Future Jedi

A little late, but like I said before I’ve had a lot on my plate these past couple weeks. This chapter was originally meant to be much longer and comprise three POVs, but after I realized how long that would take and how much longer of a chapter it would end up being I decided to just break them up again. So this one is a little shorter than usual, but not by much. We finally start seeing some of the characters meeting each other now! Yay!

If you’ve been enjoying please Like, Reblog, and Follow for more content. Any and all support is greatly appreciated. And please feel free to provide feedback and constructive criticism. I’m always looking to improve :)

The Republic transport craft hummed as it hovered above the atmosphere of the sprawling city encompassing the entire planet. Even without breathing it in Tyar knew the surface would have cleaner air compared to the smell of refuse that would fill his lungs back home. Coruscant was already a far cry from Nar Shaddaa, at least from above the skyline. He’d never been so high up on his home planet.

His adventure had contained little excitement after leaving home, mostly comprising a considerable amount of sitting and waiting as they took one shuttle after the other on their way to the heart of the Republic. The Jedi who’d found him, Master Valara Vartil, spent most of her time meditating in perfect silence during the lengthy transits, unperturbed by the turbulence they sometimes encountered or the questions he’d ask. She’d always urge him patience, but explain little. Eventually Tyar grew tired of asking at all.

This ride had been no different, and there was at least some comfort in the fact that it was the last one for a while. It didn’t change his boredom. Tyar sat slumped, all but lying flat on his seat while the cabin gently jostled around him in its descent. There was a pile of three holomags to his right, only some of them interesting. He didn’t care for galactic gossip or dining or anything of a banal nature. One series of articles about swoop racing held his attention for an hour, but even the stories grew dull as he ran out of pictures to admire.

Continually he’d look over and expect to see his big brother there too, but always found the space he should’ve occupied empty. Cirak was still on Nar Shaddaa. They were entire systems apart now, and the space between them felt heavier on Tyar’s shoulders than it had in any of the past days. He’d cried the first night without him, pouring his tears into the blankets he’d been given so no one would see. Somehow when Cirak said everything would be all right, Tyar believed him. Even without Dad he’d felt safer with his big brother around. It didn’t feel right not having him there where he couldn’t hear his words of comfort.

Tyar glanced to the seat across from him. Master Valara sat cross legged in a meditative posture, her breathing so slow it seemed almost nonexistent. Both seats on either side of her were empty; in fact there were few people aboard anyways. There was the odd Republic soldier standing guard at the front and back of the shuttle, but from what he could see the rows were mostly empty. Tyar’s eyes lingered on one of the soldiers who was leaning against a wall with crossed arms. Growing up he’d seen gang members loitering on the streets of Nar Shaddaa with the same sort of posture, but their expressions had always been hardened and intense, territorial. Here, though, his arms were not held so tight, and there was a slight grin from the corners of his mouth. For this soldier, it was home.

Grabbing a holomag. Tyar pushed himself upright and slid out of his seat, holding the reader close to his chest. The Jedi Master remained unperturbed by his sudden decision to rise, and so he slinked off without alerting her to his departure. He moved through the sliding doors at one end of the shuttle to another section of the ship. It appeared equally empty, with only a few individuals resting in their seats.

Master Valara had said something about a war going on, and Cirak had said something similar a bit ago too. Sometimes, late at night when his big brother thought he was asleep, Tyar would find him watching some programming on the conflict, only to turn it off as soon as he noticed him. It must be pretty bad, Tyar figured. People probably aren’t traveling a whole bunch if bad things are happening around the galaxy.

Still, he couldn’t imagine it being any worse than daily life on Nar Shaddaa. He didn’t feel the same tension on Coruscant, neither within himself nor the other passengers.

Each of the rooms aboard the smaller transport were identical, built for efficiency and maximizing occupancy rather than the comfort of its occupants. Two columns of seating split the hold into thirds with plenty of space to meander as they endured their travels. A window spanned the entire space on the wall to the left. A few errant passengers looked out it down at the metropolis below, one of them a Zabrak boy who couldn’t have been hardly any older than Tyar himself.

Tyar hadn’t seen many children since leaving Nar Shaddaa. Even on his home planet he knew very few other children. Dad had always said school would be a waste of time and that he’d enroll him in it once they moved to another planet, and their apartment complex had housed few other families besides their own. Cirak had been the closest person in age that he knew. He felt vaguely intimidated at the prospect of meeting someone close to him in age, but he felt a pull towards the Zabrak, similar to the one he’d felt from Master Valara. With cautious steps Tyar began his approach.

The Zabrak – an iridonian – turned to face him. Tyar froze, still several steps away, and looked over the boy. Faded outlines of cuts lined his face and neck, the scars mostly healed but still visible. Like all other Zabrak he had horns atop his head, but his were still short, barely grown in. His tunic, of a similar make as the ones Valara wore under her robes, appeared deceptively new in the face of his more weathered physical features. Golden lights from the cityscape below illuminated his face in such a way that it emphasized its damage, and Tyar spotted in his brown eyes subdued caution, confusion.

“You’re like me,” Tyar said.

The Zabrak said nothing at first, his confusion more evident as he narrowed his eyebrows. After another moment his expression softened. “Are you a Jedi?” There was a subtle wonder in his tone.

“No. Are you?”

He shook his head. “I’m being taken to the Temple though. One day I’m going to be. Did a Jedi Master find you too?”

“Master Orgus did. He took me here with his…uh…” the Zabrak boy trailed off and cocked his head. “I think he called him a ‘paddle won.’ His name’s Bengel. He’s nice.” He smiled slightly.

Outside another Republic ship sailed past them. The planetary lights shimmered off the metal and rippled across the boys face, drawing attention to his irregularities again. Tyar regarded the boy’s facial features. “Why’s your face all weird?”

The other boy recoiled, reaching up to gently touch his cheek with his hand. “It’s not weird…” He turned away, obviously hurt by Tyar’s statement.

“I didn’t mean it like it was a bad thing. I’m sorry.” Tyar watched as the other boy’s expression remained cautious, perhaps even a little frightened. Deep down it wasn’t too unlike what Tyar was feeling himself. “Do you like holotoons?”

“I’ve never watched any holotoons.”

“You’ve never watched holotoons?” Tyar couldn’t restrain his shock. “Do you like swoop?”

“I had an old master who raced swoop. Sometimes I would hold lights while people worked on them so they could see.”

Old master? Tyar wondered, and slowly he comprehended what he meant. The scratches and scars on the other boy’s face suddenly made sense. “You were a slave?”

The boy nodded. Tyar knew that a similar fate could’ve befallen him if Cirak hadn’t saved him from the gangs on Nar Shaddaa, even if his older brother had thought he hadn’t realized it. To think that someone actually lived through it, and that he was nearly the same age as him. The times growing up that Tyar played with toys, this boy was probably forced to do hard labor. Pity swelled in Tyar’s chest. In another life their positions could’ve been reversed.

But now they were the same, regardless of circumstance. They would be Jedi, heroes. It couldn’t have been chance that they were both here now, both on their way to Coruscant. If the Force really was in all things like Master Valara said, then maybe it was why they’d met.

After a pause Tyar held out the holomag and turned it on, flipping it to a page on a swoop bike he’d found notable. He approached the boy and handed him the device. “Do you want to look at swoop bikes with me?” The boy stared at him blankly. “You can take it,” Tyar urged.

The Zabrak took the holomag from his hands. His posture loosened, and he smiled again.

“This one’s called the Amzab ZB-2,” Tyar said, “It’s one of the fastest models in racing right now.”

“What kind of repulsor does it run on?”

“I don’t know.”

“They should use an Aratech Whirlwind Y6 model repulsorlift. It has great lift and helps stabilize the bike during acceleration. That’s what my friend taught me. He knew a lot about swoop bikes.” The boy swallowed hard, as though fighting back a lump in his throat. “His name was Jowporin. He died before Master Orgus found me. I think he would’ve liked this bike.”

“My brother and I always wanted to get speeder bikes of our own one day,” Tyar said, “We’d talk about it a lot.” He looked back at the boy. “Do you miss your friend?”

“Yeah.”

“I miss my brother too. His name is Cirak. He knew a lot of stuff about bikes and swoop too.” Tyar paused. “I’m sorry about your friend. Cirak almost died once too, and it made me really sad and scared. Is that how you feel?”

“Master Orgus has been trying to make me feel better, but…I still really miss him.”

Their transport rumbled, and outside the window Coruscant seemed to draw closer. Skyscrapers took shape rather than being a conglomerate of lights and outlines, and though they were as small as flies Tyar thought he could see traffic whirring on busy lanes below. They’d be at the Jedi Temple soon, no doubt.

“If you’d like I can be your new friend,” Tyar said, “We can talk more about speeders and starships and do Jedi stuff and everything. Maybe one day we can even get one.” Before the other boy could respond Tyar shot out his hand. “I’m Tyar. Tyar Kiht.”

The boy glanced between Tyar’s hand and his face. After another pause he shook it. “I’m Eonur.”

Tyar beamed and continued shaking Eonur’s hand. Not knowing if he should let go or not Tyar instead playfully swung their grip side-to-side. He giggled, and Eonur began laughing as well. It was silly, but it was the first time he’d laughed in days.

And for the first time since leaving home Tyar didn’t feel quite so alone.

#awio #all were innocent once #swtor #swtor fanfiction #my swtor #tyar #sith warrior #my ocs #oc fanfiction #eonur #star wars the old republic #my writing #fanfiction #cathar #zabrak

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sugaskoffee · 6 years

Text

Priceless | 004

÷ | Min Yoongi × Reader × Jung Hoseok

÷ | Genre: Fake dating au, rich boy/poor girl au, v soft angst, fluff.

÷ | WC: 3k+

÷ | Synopsis: Min Yoongi was a rebellious rich kid who needed a fake girlfriend. You were a friend of someone he knew; a girl who just needed the money that he offered.

001. 002. 003. 004(finale).

a/n: omg this is the last part!!:') thanks so so much to all who showed love for this story!🌷✨💛 I'm so so touched😔✨💓

Days piled up to weeks. Weeks turned into months. Before you knew it, an entire six of them had passed by.

Now you were standing at your graduation ceremony, dressed in the polyester graduation gown, sweating from the early summer heat. Your sleep-deprived eyes managed to find Hoseok and Jimin between the seated crowd of proud parents and bored-looking siblings and classmates.

You tried to smile when you met their gazes. Hobi waved at you with enthusiasm, a bunch of pink flowers rested on his lap. And out of habit, your eyes swept over the number of people, in search the number of a blonde head and a familiar smirk. No sign of Yoongi. You weren't even disappointed anymore; your hope to see him again was driven on miracles, not expectations.

Yoongi left the country a while ago. You did your best to not count the number of days, but the calendar reminded you that it passed more than six months; approximately 182 days. He disappeared without a word. The call never came. Instead, you got three sentences inked on a white page. To this day, the meaning behind his sudden absence remained unresolved to you.

You had been patient with Yoongi even after he left, which was more than your heart could take. You hadn't seen him since the day after he dropped you off at your apartment; since he picked you up from your night shift and passionately kissed you goodbye. That day you would never forget, and you did your best not to.

Two weeks of waiting for his call, your phone finally rang during lunch period. Only... the person on the other end turned out to be Hoseok. He had asked to meet up and you agreed. Although you didn't expect him to be waiting for you in the school parking lot once the last bell rang of the day.

After some meaningless small talk, Hobi finally handed you a white envelope. With anxious eyes, he explained that it was from Yoongi. You believed him, recognizing the handwriting on the page. A big-numbered paycheck met your eyes, and behind it; a few words written in blue ink: "This is my call. Sorry it all turned out like this. This is your final paycheck, so let's end everything here."

Let's end everything here. You didn't get it at first. Not until Hoseok explained that Yoongi had to leave the country for business due to unfortunate circumstances -he couldn't evaluate what kind exactly. But you were no idiot. You knew that Yoongi leaving the country had to do with his father's threats. When you asked for how long, the brunette remained quiet for a pregnant beat. Then told you that you shouldn't wait for Yoongi to come back. He told you he didn't know if Yoongi even will. You didn't want to believe Hoseok's answer.

That night, with Yoongi's letter crumpled against your chest, you cried harder than you believed you ever could. Even your mother didn't bother to give you her daily drunken lecture when she saw your tear-stained face.

Let's end everything here. Those words wouldn't stop flashing in your mind. They kept forming cracks in your heart until all pieces were a bleeding, shattered mess. It took a good while of Hoseok’s and Jimin’s company along with a bunch of food and movies to help you get through the fact that you'll probably not see Yoongi again -not anywhere near the future, at least.

Now... well, now you had finally graduated. And, thanks to the collected money that you earned by working for Yoongi and the other side jobs, the other half of your tuition was fully paid off and you were moving into the dorm in a weeks time. You were more than grateful for Hoseok's help in this; he kept promising to help you with the move-in even though you told him he didn't have to. There really wasn't much moving to do besides your wardrobe and books.

"Congratulations, princess!" Hobi grinned as you made way through the crowd toward him. "You made it!"

The ceremony was over with and you had already gotten out of your graduation gown. Everyone was now in the spacious parking lot taking pictures and talking loudly with their groups of people. With a backpack in your hand, you've never felt more relieved to leave a place in your life. To be quite honest, you felt completely beat; mind and limbs fatigued.

"Thanks, Hobi," you smiled back tiredly, accepting the bouquet and the two envelopes he handed you. His arms came around your shoulders in a tight hug. You smiled against his neck; he smelled of cinnamon and sweet cologne. The complete opposite of Yoongi. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Are you kidding? I couldn't just miss seeing you take your first step into the adult world!"

You rolled your eyes as you pulled apart. Hobi placed a subtle kiss on your forehead before he caught your gaze, hand cupping your jaw. "Let's go to Kafe Bean? My treat."

"Wait, where's Jimin?"

"Something came up with his girlfriend, so he had to leave early. But he told me to pass you his congrats."

Grinning, you lightly shook your head. With how Jimin was, you weren't surprised at the least by this. "Remind me to call that bratt later, then."

Hoseok laughed and wrapped both arms around your frame, nudging you along toward his car. With one arm being around your waist, he supported all the weight that you leaned against him.

You felt a special kind affection, respect, and appreciation for Hobi. You couldn't lie by saying you weren't attracted to him in some way. You believed he played a very big part to why you weren't crying over Yoongi anymore. Over the six months, you've grown very comfortable around the brunette, in ways you haven't been with anyone other than your cousin and Yoongi. Whatever this relationship between you and him was, you were grateful for it. Because of it, you've learned to accept many things -including yourself. Because of it, you've finally let yourself take a small step toward moving on from Yoongi.

There were nights you believed you never would be able to erase the blonde from your heart. You'd spend hours and hours scouring the web for news of him, only to find nothing besides countless old articles of his past. His number was long ago declined and so was his social media. You saved the number of his father's company but every time you'd press the call button, you disconnected the call a second later; Yoongi's words about you going to his father rang loudly in your head, making you put down the phone.

It was as if Yoongi was erased from the face of the earth. You haven't searched his name for a solid month now. You believed if there was news on him, Hobi would tell you. Even though you didn't talk much about Yoongi with him. Hoseok's sunlit energy dimmed just a bit whenever you'd ask about Yoongi in hopeful manner. So you didn't. And it helped. The less you spoke of Yoongi, the less your chest ached from his absence.

You've come to realize that it wasn't a bad thing to keep Yoongi in your heart -not really. You didn't have to sweep away your memories with him; he was your first in many ways, after all. It's just you had yet to fully accept the fact that he wasn't going to be your last.

"Y/N? Helloooo?"

You blinked, eyes averting to the voice calling your name. "Yeah? Did you say something?"

Hoseok raised his brows. "Nevermind that. With how long you've been looking out the window, your coffee's got cold already."

"Right. Sorry." guilt lifted the ends of your mouth. "I'm the worst. It's just... I spaced out."

"You always do." the brunette chuckled. "But why the gloomy face, princess? I thought you'd be happy that you finally graduated."

"I am happy."

At the pitch of your tone, Hoseok gave you a look. "Y/N, I know enough by now to see through your lies."

You chuckled. "Well if you claim to be so good at that, then you wouldn't need me to tell you why I'm not in the highest spirits today. I mean.., I am leaving in a few days, after all."

"Isn't that all you wanted, though?"

"I do want that. It's just hard leaving... everything behind, you know? The familiarity of this place, the memories, Jimin, you," Pausing, you were about to say Yoongi next until your mind caught your tongue in reminder that he wasn't here anymore to leave behind. He left you. Still, it felt like you were betraying him in some way; like you were betraying your memories with him.

Hobi tilted his head to the side. There was a smile on his face but it was tightly pursed and didn't reach his eyes. You figured he'd joke off your reply; it wasn't meant to be taken in all seriousness. All Hoseok did was slide his hand on the table to yours, clasping his palm over your closed knuckles. His dark eyes met yours and you couldn't look away. Something hopeful glistened in them.

"You know, I was going to make this a surprise," he spoke slowly. "But I really can't keep my mouth shut when it comes to you.."

"What.. are you talking about?"

The boy exhaled a long breath. For the first time ever, you've seen doubt form his features. His charming self-confidence was replaced by nervousness and fidgeting. "Let's just say...you're not the only one who's leaving town."

Your brows furrowed. "Wait. Are you saying..."

"Yup. I'm moving to Chicago too."

"What!?" Your heart leaped up in your throat in excitement and surprise. Your mouth stretched into a hopeful smile. "For real?!"

Hoseok seemed happy by your reaction. "For real." He confirmed with a chuckle.

"You're not moving there because of my whining about not wanting to be alone, are you?"

The boy laughed. "If that was the case, I would've moved around a lot by now." He said. "I was going to move there before I knew about your acceptance in the university, actually. My uncle started a new business in Chicago and he needs my help with managing a few things. I'll only be living there a few months, though. So, who knows, we may just be neighbors." He winked.

You couldn't contain your joy and clapped your hands in excitement, "This is just- the best graduation gift, honestly!" Hoseok laughed pleasantly and enthusiasm filled your veins. "You know what this means though, don't you?"

"What?"

"You're stuck being my tour guide.." you said.

Hoseok chuckled. "Oh I think it's the other way around," he said. "You're stuck with me dragging you to places that will really test your introverted ass."

A hearty laugh erupted from you. Shaking your head, your hand slid over to his and fingers fit between his. "I mean, if it's with you, I know it won't be that dreadful." You said this with a genuine smile.

Hoseok's been taking you out a lot the past few weekends, and never once were you tired of being the new girl -the girl attached to his arm all night. Because Hobi didn't just introduce you to his many acquaintances, he made sure you were involved in everything; conversation, games, crazy vodka-shot challenges and 3am car rides. With him there, it was easy for you to climb out your shell of problems and let go for a few hours -of problems, of a certain someone. He held true to his words after all.

"Not that dreadful, huh?" Hoseok raised a brow. "Wow y/n you're a real charmer."

Your smile turned sweetly mischievous. "And a pretty damn good one since you're still here."

The boy sighed as if he gave up. His almond eyes sparked with an emotion you couldn't detect. "I am, aren't I.." he tilted his head, lips pursing into a soft thin line. You felt his thumb brush the back of your hand.

The air around you grew heavy with intimacy and you didn't know how to react at the sudden change of tone. Hoseok looked uncertainly certain about something again -a something you knew- and you let out a breath, amused and nervous. Getting up from your chair, you stepped over to his side of the coffee table, his eyes followed your movement.

You got close enough for Hoseok to be able to rest his head on your chest and your arms comfortably circle around his neck. You leaned into the boy as both of you shared a sigh. His arms rested around your waist, your chin on top of his head. You sensed his hesitancy and tightened your hold on him. You hoped this intimate gesture -this foreign step further- was enough to show that you were ready to try and move on. With him. That he shouldn't doubt your intentions even if they aren't on the level he'd want them to be. You felt something toward Hoseok. You just had trouble deciphering what those feelings meant exactly. And carrying a bleeding and scarred heart in your chest for the past six months didn't make it any easier.

Hoseok knew this. He decided to stay anyway. You were glad he did.

"I hope," you murmured. "That our mediocre coffee dates will continue in Chicago."

Hoseok breathed out a chuckle, clearing the tension. "Just can't get enough of me, can you?"

"Mmm...can't get enough of annoying you, maybe."

"If this is your way of annoying me, then I don't mind.."

Rolling your eyes, you quickly straightened up enough to wack him playfully on the shoulder. "Okay, I'll stop, now," Hoseok said through a chuckle. He turned his chin upward, smiling eyes meeting yours, heart-shaped lips coming into a pursed grin. Your hands rested on his shoulders. "I'll take us to every coffee place in Illinois until we find one we like."

"Hilarious."

"Oh but I'm serious."

Your brows raised. It took a second for you to realize he really was serious. "You're crazy." You shook your head but smiled nonetheless. The idea of visiting endless coffee spots with him didn't seem all too bad. Eyes catching the darkening sky, you sighed. "You wanna head out already? Or.."

Hobi hummed and leaned in closer, "Let's stay for a few." He said, taking your hands in his. "There's this song I still wanna show you real quick.."

Amused, you let the boy pull you down on his lap and give you his pair of tangled headphones. Cheeks pressed against each other, you shared your taste in music whilst finishing off the rest of your coffee cake.

You only parted ways with Hoseok a few hours after dinner, a big grin kept your lips from dipping. The giddy expression you wore was genuine. For once in a long time, you felt a small flap of butterfly wings in your gut. After Hobi told you he was only gonna be living just thirty minutes away from your dorm, you couldn't have felt more light than you did. It was a relief to know you weren't going to be alone in a place so big and new and strange.

That feeling stayed with you the entire time you changed, showered, and got ready for bed. You've been sleeping over in Hoseok's garage the past few nights since you were leaving town in a few days anyway. It was definitely a lot better than staying in your previous apartment, hearing your mother cry drunk tears while yelling what kind of trader you were. You left her with a promise of getting her into rehab when you got enough money to do so.

With two large duffle bags of all your belongings, you took up space in the upstairs room in Hobi's garage. You thanked him greatly by bringing him his favorite coffee and muffin during his lunch hour at work -you'd never forget the pleasantly surprised look on his face when you saw you.

Sure, the place itself brought back heart-aching memories; nostalgia faced you every time you laid down on the bed or couch or made yourself a cup of coffee, but you pushed it all away. Just as you did right now. Tucking yourself beneath fluffy white blankets, you forced old memories out of your mind. You thought about Chicago instead; who will be your roommate, what kind of places you'll see with Hoseok, how the classes were going to be.

Then your phone beeped with a text.

Hoseok, You thought as you grumbled and shuffled to reach the device on the nightstand. Who else would bother you this late? The bright light of the screen almost blinded you, but the message itself still made a grin stretch your lips.

| Hobi💛 Rest well nd sleep tight princess. C u tomorrow ;)))

Shaking your head, you typed back a quick reply. Just as you set the cell back on its rightful place, your phone buzzed a few times against the wood of the table. Then once more. Sighing, you reached for the Android again.

Tapping the message box open, your breath trapped in your throat. Your hands curled tighter around the device as your spine sprang up into a sitting position. With trembling hands and wide eyes, you blinked and squinted in every way just to make sure it wasn't your imagination that was fooling your sight.

| [Blocked Number] Congratulations babe (11:56)

| [Blocked Number] You looked beautiful today (11:56)

| [Blocked Number] Hope you get what you always wanted (11:58)

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phaniecastello-blog · 7 years

Photo

Practice Challenge 1

((Well, here it is, finally!! I know it is long, but maybe you will like it, I hope so.))

The promise

“…plie, releve, plie, releve…” I was listening to Miss Dorothy words as she was instructed the ballerinas to do the correct positions. I raised my glance from my sketchbook to verify the details on the blonde lady’s tutu; the texture of the tulle had to be properly capture in here, as well as the subtle folds that make the outfit look so feminine. The gratifying whisper of the graphite as it strokes here and there has always been one of my favorite things about drawing; it’s just as if the pencil has his own dance on the paper that once was blank.

I was there again, sitting on the flat wooden floor in the corner of the big white room. Even though I always have been way better with portraits, I had decided to practice making some complete body drawings. I just needed a good sketch to keep the image on my mind and then make it come to life in my free times at home; those times when my mother lets me breathe from all the runway rehearsals and photo shooting sets.

“That would be all for now ladies, I will see you all at our next class” Miss Dorothy paused the classical music in the middle of a violin solo, while the young ballerinas started walking towards the dressing rooms, braking the peace of the room with their voices.

Wait, what?! I was going to be here just a few minutes. Loretta is going to kill me.

I stood up as if something in the floor suddenly had pinched me and put my sketchbook and pencils back in my purse as quick as I could.

“You lost track of time again, don’t you, pretty girl?” I turned to see the thin, tanned skinned woman with the simple black dress and leggings. She has a sarcastic little smile on her face.

“Yes…! Thank you for letting me in, again, Miss” I answered. She nodded. She was a kind but strict person. I have always wanted to be part of her ballet class, but my mother never let me try; the day she found out I signed up without her permission and that I used to spend my Saturday afternoons there, she showed up making a scene in front of everyone! Since then, Miss Dorothy had never let me sign up again. It wasn’t like she was afraid of my mother, she was just a refined and pacific woman, that had no need to be involved in those kinds of problems with anyone; I didn’t want to cause her any problems either, so, I was absent for a long time, until I consider the danger had passed, and beg her to let me stay at least in one corner, quietly, just to do some sketches. A week ago, she finally accepted.

Although, I was never safe, never free. Having a high caste in this country had a price to pay, and a big one. Several eyes following you at least 3 days per week. I’m talking about the media; paparazzi, reporters… A picture of her daughter with the Dance Academy as a background wouldn’t be my mom’s favorite.

Before getting out of there I put on my sunglasses, the heels I took off when I arrived in order not to scratch the wooden floor and pulled the edges of my gray hood further over my face. I knew it wasn’t the best disguise, but it had surprisingly worked for a complete week, I also knew that ritual was pathetic, but every time I remembered all the reasons the media had given me to avoid them, I forced myself to ignore the embarrassment.

The media “love” my mother because she gave them drama and juicy news back when she was a selected; and now she is a famous and successful fashion designer, so, they can’t ignore her, even if they wanted to. But me… the fact that my personality isn’t like Loretta’s seemed to disappoint them. The good thing is some of them were creative enough to made up things about me, others just liked to have fun calling me “hypocrite” every now and then… No matter what I did, they were never content with me.

“Hey, Loretta, I’m here!” I greeted my mom as I entered to her office. I had to run into thousands of photographers, magazine staff and a big bunch of skinny, narcissist, superficial… people to reach her. I have to mention that I had been part of that bunch since I pronounced my first words, but for a change, I had never fit in it.

Everything was being settled for the new autumn/winter collection to come out to the world, so, the place was a chaos. It was always a chaos. Before this one we had the “creative chaos”, my personal favorite, when you can see all kinds of fabrics of many different colors on every table, people around my mother trying to make the best suggestion to impress her, people sawing some details on the unfinished dresses, assistants running from here to there, and, the best part, beautiful sketches of all the designs, posted on every wall… I liked that environment, where you could almost touch the ideas floating in the air and then you see them turning into beautiful clothes.

I can’t lie, Loretta was one of the best fashion designers in the whole country, maybe even in the world. I mean, not for nothing she was a very famous woman, although, being part of the -now- King Spencer selection could have helped a lot!

“You are late, hun” she said scowling, while she was fixing the sleeves of a tall brunette girl; she must had been new, because I didn’t recognize her.

“I know, sorry. I had to stay late at the school to do some… project, but Peter drove as fast as he could” Pete was my driver and bodyguard. He and I had an agreement, he wouldn’t tell mom about my visits to the Dance Academy and I would let him use my car for his personal use, twice a month on his free days.

I kissed her cheek and she gave me a fake grin, a sign that she wasn’t convinced. “Well, then, what are you waiting for!? Nancy is waiting for you”

I sighed, relieved that she didn’t react like I expected. Actually, she had been acting surprisingly indulgent, lately; and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

I entered to the makeup room and noticed that Nancy suddenly hide something behind her back as soon as she spotted me. She waved at me with her free hand.

“What are you hiding from me, now, Nancy?” I asked to my young, personal makeup artist.

“Nothing, Miss. Just wanted to keep this magazine I liked, to cut some hot guys from it” She answered with a nervous tone, fanning the magazine in front of me as it had no importance, but when I noticed the name of it I understood what she was trying to hide.

I scoffed a smile, moved by her failing efforts to protect me. “…Girl! I receive almost all the magazines of the country and even international ones at home every week. I’ve read the article this morning. There’s no need to hide it” I acknowledged, sitting in the chair in front of the big mirror, as straight as I could to show my strength.

The magazine contained the announcement of my ex-boyfriend engagement with a French actress, Arlette … something. The news shocked me, but only because it had been just a year since I rejected his offer to run away with him and travel the world together.

“Are you alright, then?” She asked in a shy tone while she was preparing the face lotions, brushes and makeup to start working on my face.

“Yes, I am. You know more than anyone that we ended in good terms, and surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard to let him go. The problem still is…”

“I know.” She interrupted. Nancy was the closest I had to a friend, sometimes I feel like the makeup sessions are more like therapy for me or maybe a confessionary. We had discussed the Dylan situation before. After he left I was upset, but he wasn’t the reason. I was upset because I hadn’t had the courage to run away, to go to an adventure and leave this… good, but not satisfactory life.

We remain in silence for some minutes while she cleaned my skin with an oiled product that had a peculiar citrus smell “Besides, there are tons of better guys out there. This could be a perfect timing to be single” Nancy continued, handling me a magazine which read: “Nathaniel Schreave, Illéas most eligible bachelor. Ready for the selection?” on the cover it showed a very good picture of our Prince, he looked very handsome.

I raised an eyebrow glaring at Nancy. “What? I know you like him. Once you said you admire people that has real power and stays humble, like him. I remember it, because I was thinking: What I admire are his nice abs. But your reasons were good, too”. I tried not to laugh at her words, failing.

“I had read this magazine, too, and, you know what? … I have been considering this since then” I said smirking. She grins. I looked down to the magazine on my lap, again “I wonder what she would say” My mother hated the royals for a simple reason. She couldn’t be part of them.

“Oh no! Not again!” Nancy said raising the volume of her voice and leaving my eyeline unfinished. “You can’t lose this opportunity too, because of your fears!” A frustrated look appeared on her face.

I suddenly feel annoyed. How dare she talking to me like that. “Hey! Watch that tone, Nancy!” The true was that the only reason I felt offended, was because I knew she was right. She looked down at her shoes ashamed and disappointed at the same time and then continued working on my face.

I spent the next 30 minutes of silence meditating about what she told me, about the selection, about how I was going to fix this…

“You are ready” She said with a barely audible tone. I stood up and brush my shirt with my hands, even when I knew it was as clean as it could be. I opened my mouth to speak but she did it first. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have to talked to you like that. It’s just… I think you’re kind of nice and I don’t want you to have anything else to regret…”

I half smiled “Thank you… I’m sorry I shouted at you. I didn’t have to take out my frustration on you” She nodded and gave a grin. “Also, I already took my decision about this selection thing.”

“…and I also think it will be great to experience what you once lived… Ugh no! This doesn’t sound convincing, does it?” I asked Moe. He was looking at me with his little bright black eyes. I was sure mini pigs are easier to convince than Loretta Castello. I had been rehearsing my words for almost half an hour inside my room. It had been a long day at the fashion studio, but I didn’t want to prolong this anymore. I sit on my bed, holding the application letter in my hands. I realized it doesn’t matter which words I use, she will never say yes to this, but I don’t care, this time I will do what I want to do. I filled the letter with all my personal info and when I finished I felt determined to talk to her. I was walking towards my door when I listened to a knock on my door “Are you still awake, bambolina? She asked with a sweet voice. The one she used when she’s going to ask me to do something. Like that time when she asked me to be part of an underwear photoshoot at 5 am at the theme park. The good thing was that time I had the opportunity to negotiate my art classes. “I need to talk to you” she added. I kept the application letter in the first drawer of my desk and opened the door. “Yes, I’m still awake, come in” I invited her, although she was already inside my room, sitting on the edge of my bed. She patted the bed at her side for me to sit with her. “Okay, what is it now?” I said with a smirk as I took my place beside her. “Don’t say it as I always ask you crazy things, Estefanía!” I scoffed and make a sign with my hand for her to continue. She took a deep breath as if it was hard for her to pronounce the following words. “I think you should apply for the selection” Loretta most have noticed the shocked look on my face because she tried to justify her words “… before you say no, just listen to me for a second. I think you have not entirely recovered for that break up you suffered with Dolan, and...” “His name was Dylan, mom” I corrected her, still surprised by her words. She never showed much interest about that matter. The day I told her about it she just hugged me tight and said “I told you so” and she never mentioned it again. I guess she just wanted to give me space. “…whatever! That jerk doesn’t deserve to be remembered. So, I think you should take this opportunity to heal and to try to get a new love” She conclude. I couldn’t believe my ears. I thought she hated the royals, since Prince Spencer eliminated her from his selection. “That arrogante, privo di tattoo…” She always shrieks, even when I have read a whole different story in the magazines. With all she did and said about the other selected on the interviews, I was surprised she didn’t get kicked out sooner in the competition. She had been trying hard to change since then, but something in her words just didn’t fit fine, this time, but I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. “Hmm… I think you might be right, mom, luckily I last as much as you, there” I said in a reflexive tone. “Sure, why not? I will apply!” I agreed before she changed her mind. “Estefanía, take it for me when I say, those girls will do whatever it takes to win… and you have to promise me you will do the same! No matter what, you have to fight hard!” Her tone was scaring me, it’s like something had possessed her. But 5 seconds ago, she was all sweetness! When she saw my terror face, she changed her tone “…I’m just telling you this, because I don’t want them to hurt you, bambolina” She said pulling my head closer to her shoulder and stroking my curly hair. “Just promise me you will do it” I didn’t like that tone or what she was suggesting, that wasn’t my idea to apply to this competition, I just wanted to meet Nathaniel and get the opportunity to know him more; also, the experience sounded appealing, I could finally meet real friends, real people, and in the process, I could show the Illéans I wasn’t the superficial, hypocrite girl that the media had made them believe. But this wasn’t the time to argue with Loretta, if making a simple promise was what it takes for her to let me do this, I will do it. “I promise”

#practice challenge one #selection oc

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lexiseigneur · 5 years

Text

Chapter twenty-eight: Blind justice

Quinlan was reinvigorated when the familiar smells of the Greystone grounds reached them. The ratios of the different tree species, the individual animals and their unique scents, all together their perfume reminded him of Lexi’s smiles and of tender moments.

“I’m glad to be back,” she said when he drove off the asphalt road to join the cover of the trees.

It did not take long for the media to explode with educated guesses and speculations regarding the two Dhampir. Lexi would watch the evening news, standing by the couch and scowling anxiously the entire time. Questions were asked and people discussed their possible answers endlessly. What were their true intentions? Why had they not stopped the Master centuries ago? Those who knew the couple personally were sought out feverishly and harassed for interviews. Ambushed outside the Sun Hunter headquarters, Gus tried to avoid a journalist throwing questions haphazardly his way. The journalist, a young man in a frayed suit, trotted behind Gus and the image bobbed up and down from the steps of the cameraman.

“How did you come to trust non-human creatures like this?” asked the journalist while speaking in a microphone which he then thrust toward Gus.

“’Cause they didn’t ask no stupid questions like you, puto.”

“How did you turn your back on them without fearing a stinger bite?”

The wings of Gus’ nose flared.

“Bitch, they saved my life so many times I only have a good night sleep when they’re around.”

Gus strutted away because his exasperation was turning into rage.

“Do you believe they should be allowed to live around humans?”

Gus flipped around, his expression murderous. He got so close the journalist tucked his head between his shoulders to avoid their brows touching.

“They saved your life too, shitstain. When people talk about my family like this I feel like going medieval on their asses. Now fuck off.”

Quinlan stared at the screen even after Lexi turned it off. He was not shocked by Gus’ uncouth behavior; he was rather used to it. Family. Of all words, this was the one that struck him.

“I wonder when that happened. This really, really sucks,” said Lexi with a sigh.

Quinlan was already picking up the phone and Gus answered after a few rings.

“Sup?”

“We were watching the news and…”

Gus whispered a string of swear words.

“You saw it, huh?”

“I’m afraid we did.”

“Well, fuck.”

Quinlan hesitated before saying the very thing he had called to tell him.

“Thank you, Gus.”

“Don’t get all lovey dovey, it creeps me out,” replied Gus with his usual joviality.

“I assure you that I won’t.”

“Good! And don’t watch the news too much. They’re a bunch of dicks.”

Lexi stretched a hand to claim the phone. Her worry was gone and she stood very close to Quinlan as she spoke to Gus.

“We just wanted to see just how screwed we are.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries and jokes then she hung up.

“I love you so much right now,” she said and hugged him so tightly it knocked the wind out of his lungs.

“Why is that?”

Quinlan hugged her back, playing with the wild hairs tickling his throat. The swell of her affection ran warm throughout his body. Suddenly, they both purred.

“It just is.”

***

One evening as Quinlan picked up the blood rations and the newspaper, he noticed a written note across an article. It was Nigel’s messy handwriting. “What an arsepiece.”

The article was titled: “Dhampir, friend or foe?”

“An evolutionary link between Strigoi and Humans lies in a species only recently uncovered, the Dhampir. However the main commonality they share with their cousins is also the most important one: they are predators. Specifically, they prey on us…”

Quinlan skimmed the rest as he walked back to the house. It was the usual mix of prejudice and the pretense of objectivity. It made him snarl in revulsion. The last sentence caught his eye.

“Why should the lamb he happy that the lion chased away the wolf?”

Should they expect pitchforks and torches during their next visit to New York? Quinlan was tempted to tear away the article and spare Lexi that grief. But she would not like it. She wanted to see and hear everything and Quinlan could not help but think that this desire was not motivated solely by pragmatism. It felt like self-flagellation.

The air was frigid and the sounds of the forest were quieter than when they had first arrived. Through the large window doors, he spotted Lexi busying herself at the stove.

“What are you making?” he asked after entering the house and putting the cooler on the countertop.

He tossed the newspaper on the dining table, retaining no hope that she would remain ignorant of the hatred within its pages.

“I missed making pancakes. At least this time no one will complain that they supposedly taste weird.”

Her phone buzzed softly. She took a quick look at the screen, made a surprised “huh” sound then put it back.

“Laura says we should check out Costello speaking to the press. It will start in forty minutes. Let’s have breakfast before then.”

Quinlan took two large glasses from the pantry and filled them with blood. He slid the newspaper to the side of the table and sat down. When she joined him with a plate full of food, he was about to speak. Quinlan wanted to tell her about his travels to Asia…or perhaps those in Northern Africa. Something exotic and strange which would take her mind off of the present. But she was quicker.

“Quinlan…I had an idea,” she said and her smile was facetious.

“When you smile like this, mayhem usually follows.”

Several pieces of furniture had needed replacement the previous time. He did not mind. There were oak planks in the attic which he thought about using to reacquaint himself with carpentry.

“Not that…not now…maybe later.” – her smile widened – “have you ever wished you could enjoy human food?”

“No. I think the equivalent for you would be imagining drinking blood when you were human. Not particularly appetizing. Though, I can appreciate certain smells. The scent of your meal is not disagreeable for example.”

“Would you like to try?”

“It would make me sick, I believe.”

The thought of swallowing solid foods was revolting.

“Not my food…like this.”

She tapped her temple and he leaned back in his chair to consider it. What a strange proposal. But she seemed too enthusiastic for him to refuse.

“Show me.”

He almost startled when she did. The smell was strong, rich and sweet. Though he expected her to share the memories of the meal she had been consuming at this very moment, he had been mistaken. The little cube melted as soon as it touched her tongue and coated it in an oily and smooth substance. He recognized the perfume and closed his eyes to fully appreciate the brand new sensations of the savors that accompanied it.

“Chocolate?” he asked.

“Ha! I knew I could not surprise you!”

Quinlan reached across the table to kiss her brow and nuzzle her temple.

“If anything, your surprising me is what doesn’t surprise me.”

“Really?”

“Your very first action came so unexpected I thought I was delirious from starvation. I was sitting in the sun waiting for an army to rush me, and without warning Strigoi exploded left and right.”

She burst out laughing and they kissed, but with difficulty because their lips were stretched by amusement. Lexi pulled away from him and peered into his eyes with curiosity.

“Did you like it? The chocolate?”

“I did.”

An entire world of sensations that had just came to light. It was a wonderful present and he was thankful.

“We can finish our meal later,” he said and at the same time rattled lowly.

Quinlan walked around the table and pulled her to her feet.

“Not now? Why?”

He hugged her and bit gently into her neck.

“Mayhem.”

***

Costello’s press conference sent a very clear message. Though she understood the apprehension and fear, she insisted on two points. Firstly, the Dhampir were under control and not a threat. Secondly, the harassment by the press would cease. They could ask for interviews in written form and if the answer was no then it would be the end of it.

“Everyone and by that I mean everyone, has a right to privacy. Those who refuse to understand that fact can continue their stalking and other paparazzi-like behaviors outside of New York.”

She gathered her notes and ignored the shouts of furious journalists. Under flashes and accompanied by police, she left.

Quinlan was relieved that their Sun Hunters would not have to suffer the unpalatable strategies of the press any longer. Lexi agreed that this part was certainly good news but was bothered by one thing.

“Only dangerous things need to be kept under control.”

“We are dangerous, beloved. That’s undeniable.”

“Not to them. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

But that was usually the case until humans stood in his way in some fashion. And particularly when they pointed weapons at him. Or if they hurt Lexi, just like Hinata had done and to a lower extent, Arturo.

He switched off the television and enticed her to a walk in the forest. Their breaths condensed into clouds ahead of them and the air smelled a little metallic. Quinlan had decided against telling her about East Asia because it might remind her of Hinata.

“Have you ever been to the Dead Sea?”

“Haha! No! I think it might be simpler if I tell you where I have been. It would make a much shorter list.”

“Please do so. I’d like to hear it.”

Her fingers twined into his and they walked on.

***

Two days before the next hearing, Lexi and Quinlan were in New York for yet another training session. The extermination of the Strigoi plague could not bear a delay, even with the current events. Both Dhampir exited the unmarked police car and regarded the brand new coat of the paint on the Sun Hunter Headquarters with suspicion. Massive, industrial and a little shabby, the building had never required any change apart for purely practical considerations. Why should the Sun Hunters suddenly care about its outward appearance?

Quinlan approached the wall and touched it. It was still tacky. Lexi lifted her nose and sniffed the air.

“Some parts are more recent than others, they smell wet,” she said.

Once they were buzzed inside, Gus and Raul greeted them as usual.

“Hey, why did you paint the building? It’s weird,” asked Lexi.

Raul scratched his nose and looked away. Gus made the same face he used when telling trainees to pack their stuff and go home. He would not react that way unless it concerned the Dhampir directly.

“Some little assholes started writing stuff on the walls, it ain’t important.”

“It was important enough that you felt the need to hide them,” she said.

“From us,” she added for Quinlan’s benefit only.

“Please, do not feel obliged to spare us grief. We much rather be informed of such incidents as they come,” said Quinlan.

“Alright guys. Well, it was mostly random words like bloodsuckers, or collaborators. Once it was Quisling and I had to google that one. None of it made any sense,” said Gus.

“And some animal blood at some point. Splashed all over the sidewalk too. Nasty,” said Raul with a grimace of disgust.

The cousins avoided their gaze for a while.

“We should tell them,” said Raul.

“The other day we got a letter and it was for you guys but it gave me the hibbie jibbies so we checked it. There was powdered silver hidden inside. Just some people being assholes.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Lexi.

“Huh, you got it backward Lex,” said Gus and he laughed.

“Lexi, they are ashamed. I suspect this might be the main reason they chose not to disclose those incidents.”

Lexi appeared even more dejected. It distressed Quinlan that she should make herself responsible for every evil remotely connected to her. He did not consider it healthy.

“Ha! I hate it when you make that face! Come here,” said Gus and he grabbed Lexi by the shoulders pulled her along as they advanced toward the back of the room. A group of trainees waited for the next lesson. She slid an arm around Gus’ waist and inquired about Aanya and Angela. Quinlan and Raul followed them.

“I ain’t hugging you so don’t get your hopes up,” said Raul.

“I am overwhelmed by disappointment,” said Quinlan with a deadpan delivery.

***

The defense had a new strategy and it was quite simple. Two facts contradicted their strategy, that the Master was locked in a coffin when Zach pushed the trigger and that he had shot Quinlan when the Master was without shell. The veracity of those points relied on the Dhampir’s testimonies alone. And if their word could not be trusted for one reason or another, then it remained plausible that the Master had indeed controlled the accused.

“Is your stinger identical to a Strigoi’s?” asked Finnigan, a defense lawyer.

Quinlan was not surprised she would ask him this. For humans, this was by far the most displeasing part of his anatomy.

“It is somewhat shorter,” said Quinlan.

“Can you show it to the court?”

His lips remained firmly sealed and he looked at the lawyer, imagining what her reaction would be if he were stupid enough to carry out her request.

“Your Honor! Their stingers were clearly visible in video evidence and this is a blatant attempt at feeding the prejudice against our witness,” said Uru as she sprung from her chair.

“I agree. Counsel Finnigan, this is not a circus. We do not demand of anyone that they expose themselves without a very good reason,” said Judge Smith.

“I retract my question. Have you ever killed human beings?”

“I have.”

“Have you ever killed human beings with your stinger?”

“I have.”

The judge peered around the room, waiting for an upheaval which did not come. The media had discussed that point so often that no one was surprised to hear it confirmed.

“Did you use that stinger against Zach Goodweather?”

“I did, before he could shoot me once more.”

“Where did you supposedly get shot?”

“In this shoulder.”

“Your shoulder looks fine to me,” said the lawyer dismissively.

“So does your client. One could say we are even.”

“I meant that only two people witnessed my client supposedly shooting you. You and your companion. Do you have a scar?”

“I do not scar from normal bullets.”

“But I can see clearly from here that you can have scars. It is awfully convenient that you should have no mark at all from what my client supposedly did to you while we can clearly see traces of other injuries from that very same day.”

“There is nothing convenient about it. We do not scar from normal weaponry or injuries, only from silver and for a reason unknown to me, from the Master’s direct attacks.”

“Is there any person who can corroborate this, beside your companion?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Mister Elizalde has witnessed Lexi healing from a deep wound in her forearm. The knife which caused it was steel and by now, there is no trace of it. Perhaps he should take my place at the stand.”

Gus very briefly confirmed that he saw Lexi cutting her arm open and soon after she was also asked to speak.

“If the judge will allow it, could the witness uncover her arms?” asked the defense lawyer.

“I’ll allow it.”

Lexi unbuttoned her cuffs and folder her sleeves up. Her alabaster skin was smooth on both her arms.

“Can you scar at all? Contrary to Mister Quinlan, you bear no apparent sequels from that day or at all.”

“Are you proposing that only Quinlan is unlucky enough to get marks but not me? That’s far-fetched, even for you.”

Quinlan repressed a growl and the growing animosity he felt toward that lawyer. Alvi gestured discretely in his direction, made big eyes at him and shook his head. The prosecutor had been quite clear that Quinlan should strive not to stare at people when he felt irritated. So he detached his gaze from the Esquire Finnigan and focused on Lexi alone.

“Well, you are not identical and we know little of your species. You can eat solid foods, he cannot and you have hair and he doesn’t…this could extend further than what you have disclosed so far.”

Judge Smith cleared his throat and with more hesitation than he had never shown before he said,

“Madam Lexi, please do answer the inquiry.”

“I can scar and I have scars.”

“Could you show us?” asked Finnigan.

Quinlan could tell Lexi did not want to. Her jaw had tightened and he could hear her small heart accelerating. A gentle rattle escaped him and Alvi turned in his direction and gave him a reproachful glance.

“Your Honor, we’ve been through this. We ask that our learned friend cease such demands,” said Uru once more.

“Overruled. I tend to agree with the defense on this one. We only know of the Dhampir what they chose to tell us so far.”

Now her heart was aflutter, impossibly loud to his ears. She looked at Quinlan, worried. It was so very petty and easily disprovable. Quinlan suspected that if Lexi had not reacted so defensively, the lawyer would not have pushed the question further. Finnigan seemed to smell discomfort like a shark sensed blood.

“Don’t. To Hell with them,” said Quinlan.

“It’s stupid, really…I hate it when you see them. It’s a reminder of everything I did wrong that day. And they are also hideous.”

It had been so long and she still dressed quickly or turned away from him so that he would not have a clear look of her scars. It pained him more as time passed. Sometimes, during brief moments he instantly regretted, he also resented her for it. How could she think him so shallow?

“Those are the medals of your victory over the Master. They are not beautiful but since they are yours, I love them all the same.”

She shook her head and smiled but it did not reach her eyes.

“You say the darnest things sometimes.”

She stood, pulled her shirt out of her pants and raised its hem just enough to reveal the five scars marring her midsection. They were larger than the size of the fingers which had inflicted them because Quinlan had burned the skin over and around the original wounds. They looked a little sunken, as though her flesh had melted shut over empty holes.

Most Sun Hunters averted their gazes, either in surprise or because they knew Lexi enough to recognize her uneasiness. The defense lawyer did not appear particularly disappointed and as soon as Lexi sat back down, she switched her line of questioning.

“Could the Master see through the eyes of all Strigoi?”

“Yes, he could and he did,” said Lexi, her cheeks still whiter than usual but her voice steady.

“What would that look like to a person facing one such Strigoi?”

“They would see the Strigoi’s eyes turn red, like a glow from inside.”

“Why did your pupils glow in much the same way just before you killed the Master?”

“Ha. People won’t like this at all,” she told Quinlan.

“Yes, that is the point. It changes nothing.”

“Because Quinlan and I can see through each other’s eyes as well.”

“Can you control humans?”

Lexi laughed and shook her head.

“Of course not! And we cannot control Strigoi and certainly not each other. Look at this mess of a world. If we possessed such incredible abilities, why would we let it devolve into chaos which only makes our lives more difficult?”

“Could the Master control you?”

“If he could, he would not be dead.”

She made a show of switching on the screen and fast forwarding through the video depicting their fight against the Master.

“Why did you hesitate here? You could probably have ended it and avoided a painful injury.”

“He showed me images of someone I loved that he had turned. It took me by surprise.”

“Interesting. Did you not know he could do that before that very moment?”

“No,” said Lexi between clenched teeth.

“So he had abilities you knew nothing about?”

“It appears so.”

“How could he do that if he could not control Strigoi at that moment? Because of the jamming devices.”

“We do not operate at the same…frequency…as them.”

“That’s also convenient. Is it possible that the Master had other such powers you did not know about?”

“Possibly, yes.”

“Could it be that just like the jamming devices did not affect his ability to reach you, that other hindrances to his ability to control his Strigoi did not apply to all his powers?”

“Objection! Leading question!” said Takaha.

“Overruled. Please, answer the question,” said Judge Smith.

“It could be, yes.”

“Very well. No more questions your Honor.”

Takaha took over and Quinlan was thankful for it. When he stood and spoke, Lexi’s quick heartbeat slowed.

“I would like to question Lexi here as an expert witness since she took over Dutch Velder and Dr. Goodweathers’ work in building those jamming devices.”

The judges agreed.

“How does a jamming device function, in laymen’s terms please?”

“It floods a specific frequency which the Strigoi used to communicate. It would be like a dog whistle, so loud, dogs cannot hear themselves bark anymore.”

“And you function on a different frequency level?”

“Yes.”

“If the ability to control humans truly existed, it would function on another frequency yet?”

“Possibly.”

“Much like a radio?”

“Much like it, yes.”

“What happens if you put a radio in a thick lead lined container?”

“It goes silent,” said Lexi with a grin.

“Would it block all such signals?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Could the Master have forced Zach Goodweather to trigger the nuclear bomb from inside the coffin?”

“No.”

“Could the Master communicate with you in any way while formless?”

“We could feel his pain but he made no attempt at stopping us with images as he had before.”

“In your expert opinion, why?”

“Because without a brain he could not control anything. He was crippled. The worm was like a seed and it needed a body to reach its full potential.”

“Thank you. I do not have more questions.”

Lexi returned to sit next to Quinlan and took his hand. The prosecution announced that they were done and the defense also confirmed that they had finished with their line of questioning. The judges put an end to the hearing.

***

The news had been taken over by the expectancy of the verdict. A date was set and on numerous television channels, a countdown showed the time to that last hearing to the minute. This time, when they talked about the Dhampir, it was mostly in the context of reiterating the evidence and testimonies again. There were still occasional debates regarding their trustworthiness. The Dhampir had killed the Master and had founded the Sun Hunters but they were not humans. So far the division had been clear. Though humans could be corrupted to work for the Strigoi, the opposite had never been true. What was Strigoi was the enemy and since the Fall it had been a truth for all. A division, neat and reassuring. But now that the existence of Dhampir belied that clarity, the dissonance was too much for many. Troubled minds did not deal well with blurry lines.

There were still protests in front of the courthouse as the countdown progressed. It was impossible to appreciate the architecture of the large-face granite building because of the large crowds. They were noisy and chanting vulgar slogans while brandishing cardboard cards on which they had written their anger.

“They are more bloodthirsty than we will ever be…” said Quinlan as they watched the news reports.

“It’s not directed at us this time but...Let’s just say I really hope they’ll be found guilty.”

Quinlan had little doubt on the outcome. So when the time came he was calm and shared that state of mind with Lexi as much as he could. The courthouse filled and Laura arrived last, though Lexi had kept her a spot. She had been running. Quinlan greeted her then listened to their conversation.

“Since school is out I could not find a babysitter,” Laura whispered then took long breaths to calm herself.

“Everything is ok though?” asked Lexi.

“Yeah, Maria stayed outside with her. She said she can’t be bothered to listen to more of this shit.”

“Maria, huh? You guys have been hanging out quite a lot lately.”

Lexi had a crooked smile and Laura blushed but did not seem too bothered.

“We could extend the invitation to include Dr. Miller, if you wish. Greystone is large enough to accommodate everyone for any length of time,” said Quinlan.

“Well…if instead of driving directly out of the city we could do a little detour then she could pick up her things. That is if she even wants to, of course,” said Laura.

Both Laura and Emma would leave the city with the Dhampir and spend a few days in Greystone. The weather had lost some of its cold bite and their grounds had been free of any Strigoi activity for months. Quinlan had crafted a new chess board himself and planned on surprising the little girl with it. Lexi leaned toward Laura and whispered as if conspiring,

“Of course.”

They all fell silent when the judges entered the room. It was followed by closing statements by Alvi then by Finnigan. When Judge Smith stood to announce his verdict, Lexi was incredibly tense next to him. But he knew it would be short lived suspense.

One by one, he named the accused and their crimes and the corresponding verdict. Thirty-four were found guilty of committing crimes against humanity. Judge Smith finished his statement on a dark note,

“Even if you were indeed controlled by the Master, you had at least one occasion lasting almost an entire day during which you could have made others aware of that fact. We have to conclude that your defense was purposefully misleading and untrue. Your actions which led so many to atrocious deaths were voluntary and will be punished accordingly.

“But we are not Strigoi. You will not die kicking and screaming. You will be put to sleep humanely by medical doctors and when completely unconscious, you will be bled until death. Your bodies and blood will be cremated and your ashes scattered into the ocean. If you have a god, may they have mercy on your souls.”

Quinlan looked a last time upon the face of Zach Goodweather who stared at his own feet. His rage was gone, replaced by the fear of a young boy. It was a sad spectacle.

The courtroom remained quiet for the most part. Some were grave, a few still staring angrily at the accused and many cried. The room quickly emptied into the hall and toward the front exit.

There were no sounds of protests outside. New Yorkers had been ordered to stay confined inside their homes for the last installment of the trial. Costello wanted to avoid riots in case the masses disliked the verdict. In one hour, the curfew would be lifted but that left plenty of time for the Dhampir and their friends to leave the city safely.

They walked out of the room amongst the last, giving time to the crowd to clear out first. The great hall was not yet empty. Teams of journalists recorded the people exiting while commenting on the events. Cameras and their crews stood neatly behind a corded area which Quinlan considered with satisfaction. In a corridor leading away from the wide doors of the courtroom, Maria waited with Emma. As soon as the little girl spotted Lexi and Quinlan, she called on them. Quinlan’s traits softened when Emma escaped Maria’s grasp and ran in their direction.

Someone shouted in the vast and majestic lobby of the courthouse.

“Bloodsuckers!”

All eyes were on the man. He was dressed like a bailiff and wore a hat which did not fit with the rest of his clothes. Quinlan did not recognize him. The man took an object out of his pocket and threw it at the feet of the Dhampir.

The grenade rolled noisily on the stone floor. It looked handmade.

Gus was already pulling Aanya and Laura back in the courtroom. Time slowed for the Dhampir and all the humans surrounding them stood almost still. They could run away before the thing had a chance to explode. But it struck Quinlan that this was not even an option. Emma was still running at him. He jumped toward the little girl who could die if shrapnel hit her at this distance. He crouched over her little body and glanced above his shoulder. Lexi grabbed the explosive device with both hands and pulled it apart.

There was no explosion. The fuse burned in her right hand without touching the explosive material enclosed in Lexi’s other fist. Quinlan’s relief was so short as to be almost non-existent

The sparks from the fuse highlighted a scintillating metal cloud from within. The silver sand contained in the device formed a fine mist which spread between Lexi’s arms, as though she was embracing it. She closed her eyes and turned away.

But it was too late. Her pain shot through the Bond. Lexi screeched and her unfettered agony tore roars from his chest. Emma cried and trembled against him. He let go of the girl and flew to Lexi because his mind was on fire. He had felt it when Hinata had driven a silver knife into her. It had been nothing compared to this.

And as he rushed, tripping over his own feet from the blinding loudness of her screams, he wished he could shut it all down. He wished he could will himself unconscious and not feel like this anymore. Then he saw her, almost convulsing on the stone tiles as she attempted to claw the silver off. And he disgusted himself for forgetting that this was her pain. She needed him.

Quinlan yanked a large water bottle from a nearby fountain and shoved it in Gus’ arms. With violence he wished he could avoid, Quinlan forced Lexi’s arms down and kneeled on them. The he pinched her nose close and forced her mouth shut. Gus poured the water over her face. But the pain was not going down.

“Make her open her eyes!” screamed Maria at Quinlan as she took a water bottle out of her purse.

He did, he held her drenched head down and forced her to open her eyelids. Her eyes bled and her feet smacked the marble, as if attempting to run away from this torture. Maria poured water over the burning sclera, irises and third eyelids.

Lexi’s body contracted and she lost consciousness. Quinlan felt guilty at how much relief this brought him. The water ran down her cheeks and temples, milky and shimmering with silver particles. The more water Maria poured, the clearer the liquid became.

Outside the room people screamed and ran but a line of Sun Hunters prevented the chaos from approaching them. In the distance, sirens.

When the ambulance came and they drove to the nearest emergency room at neck-breaking speed, Maria barked orders at the EMTs who were too scared of the two Dhampir to be of any use. Exasperated, she pushed them out of the way and injected Lexi with an anesthetic. Her gestures were blurry. Everything was blurry. He removed his gloves and wiped his face. When had he started tearing up? He had not noticed until now.

Lexi regained consciousness when they reached the hospital. Her thoughts were sluggish and dulled by the anesthetics but still she whimpered. Quinlan pulled her up against him, enclosing her small frame in his coat. Her words tasted like grief when she shared them.

“I can’t see you.”

Through the Bond he was a shapeless grey form. He wished he could reply that all would be well. That she would be fine. But through the Bond, he could not lie. So instead he stroked her damp hair and rocked softly until the double doors of the ambulance opened.

#mr.quinlan #mister quinlan #quinlan #quintus sertorius #the strain fx #the strain fanfiction #the strain fanfic #the strain

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c-e-d-dreamer · 8 years

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Hey idk if you are still looking for prompts because I scrolled pretty far back, but if so, how about "that's the dumbest shit I've ever heard let's do it" or ”it’s a long story that involves a lot of blood, a couple squirrels, and one hell of a headache” for any of the foxes? Thanks, I love love love your writing and I've really enjoyed looking through your blog!

I’m always accepting prompts! And thank you so much for the lovely compliments! I hope you enjoy! This is basically a shitpost in fic form. It’s a crack fic. I’m not even sorry. Also you probably need to suspend a lot of disbelief for this; just roll with it

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard; let’s do it”

—

Neil is still trying to get the hang of his new phone. Nickyhad insisted that he upgrade to this century and had practically dragged Neilto the mall to purchase an iPhone. The rest of the Foxes were more than happyabout the change, some money even exchanging hands, but there’s so much goingon with his phone now. Before, all Neil had to worry about were text messagesand phone calls, but now there’s a bunch of apps that Nicky keeps trying toteach him. He thinks he’s starting to get a handle on Snapchat thanks to thedaily snaps from Allison. At the very least, he’s no longer confused by the waythey disappear after opening them. And Instagram seems easy enough, so Neiltries to keep track of that so he can see Renee’s posts from around the world.

Neil can admit that the ESPN app is great. It’s set up tosend him notifications for Exy news and score updates. It’s that app that iscurrently dinging at Neil as he makes his way across campus. The trade deadlineis coming up for the National Exy League, and Neil’s been trying to keep up andfollow the changes. After Neil reads the latest update, the striker tries tosee the current NCAA standings, but his new phone isn’t cooperating. He bats atthe screen a few times, but when it finally switches over to NCAA Exy, it’s thenews page. Neil lets out a frustrated noise and is about to just give up when aheadline catches his eye.

Neil scrolls through and reads the article the whole wayback to Fox Tower. He still has his phone out and the page open as he unlocksthe door to his dorm. The room is full of people, but Neil has learnt to beunsurprised by that. Nicky and Aaron are in the beanbags, a video game of somesort blaring on the television. Kevin is sprawled out on the couch with hislaptop in his lap while Andrew is perched on his desk by the window.

“Hey, Neil,” Nicky greets, not taking his eyes off the gamehe’s playing. “How was class?”

“Did you guys know someone tried to steal the University ofTexas’ mascot last night? Not the costume; the actual longhorn.”

“How unoriginal,” Nicky says. “That’s like the oldest prankin the book. I mean everyone’s—”

Nicky cuts off as he finally draws his eyes away and meetsNeil’s, his face contorting into a mix of guilt and regret. The backliner openshis mouth again, but whatever rambling remedy was on the tip of his tongue, he swallowsit down and snaps his lips shut. When no one else in the room has anything toadd, Neil resigns himself to his desk. He can feel Andrew’s eyes boring intohis cheek, but the striker focuses on outlining his upcoming essay until practice.

The news story gets forgotten, blurred away by drills andbickering freshmen and a scrimmage. But it’s still nestled a place in the backof Neil’s mind, niggling in the periphery of his thoughts persistently. By thetime he’s changing out after practice, it’s made its way back to the forefront.

He thinks about the article, about Nicky’s cut off words, ashe and Andrew sit up on the roof, the nighttime humid and inky around them. Hismind is a whirlwind of thoughts tangled up with the billows of smoke wisping inthe evening breeze. He almost doesn’t notice the distinctive smell of nicotineor the way his cigarette has burned down to the filter. He doesn’t realize he’szoned out on the twinkling lights of the campus until the cool, feather lighttouch across the back of his hand pulls him back.

When Neil looks to his right, Andrew is already watchingback. He raises an eyebrow in question at the striker’s silence, and Neil stubsout his cigarette.

“Do you think I’m missing out?” Neil asks. “Having not donea prank before?”

Andrew doesn’t say anything in response. He watches Neil fora few more moments before he stubs out his own cigarette. He beckons his headtowards the roof door, and Neil tries not to read too much into it as the tworetreat down to their dorm.

The next morning before heading to the gym for workouts,Andrew drags Neil and Kevin next door. The goalkeeper picks the lock with anease Neil feels he shouldn’t be surprised by at this point. The three burstinto the room where Aaron and Nicky are tucked into the kitchenette withsteaming mugs cradled in their hands. Neither bats an eye at the intrusion.

“We’re stealing a mascot tonight,” Andrew says to the room.

“What?!” Kevin squeaks out from just inside the doorway.

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard,” Nicky says,setting down his mug. “Let’s do it.”

“What.”

“Oh, come on, Kevin, it’ll be fun!” Nicky reasons. “I betyou’ve never pulled a prank either. And it’ll be like a senior prank for you.It works out perfectly!”

“While that’s all well and good,” Aaron pipes up. “Where areyou going to steal this mascot from? Most schools don’t have real animalmascots these days. We certainly don’t have a fox running around.”

“University of Texas has a real animal mascot,” Neil says.

“You want us to travel all the way to the University ofTexas?” Aaron asks, tone deadpan.

“There has to be somewhere closer,” Nicky offers, fiddlingwith his phone for a moment. “University of North Carolina! That’s not too farto drive.”

“There’s no way we’re fitting a ram in my car,” Andrew says.

“Matt has a truck,” Neil suggests.

It’s at that moment that Matt walks out of the bathroom,toothbrush hanging between his teeth and phone pressed to his ear. Hisexpression startles when he notices all pairs of eyes on him.

“Hey, Matt,” Neil says. “Can we borrow your truck tonight?”

“We’re driving up to UNC tonight to steal their mascot,”Nicky jumps in to explain. “You in?”

Neil thinks it must be a sign that Matt’s been living withNicky and Aaron too long because the backliner just shrugs in acceptance.

“I’m going to have to call you back, Dan,” Matt says intohis phone. “We’re kidnapping Rameses.”

- - -

Researching during lunch reveals that UNC has a small farmon their campus. It acts as a training center for students studying veterinarysciences, but it also doubles as Rameses’ home. It seems easy enough to get to,and the farm being tucked away from the dorms means students shouldn’t bemilling about.

It should be easy.

Their first complication arrives before they even get oncampus. After dinner, everyone changes into black clothes and piles into Matt’struck, and then they’re heading up north along the interstate. It’s a bit of ahike through North Carolina, but luckily, the sun has long since set by thetime they’re nearing the campus. Matt directs the truck towards the entrance thatwill bring them closest to the farm, but security stops them to check forschool ID’s.

Despite Matt’s sweet talking and Nicky’s attemptedexplanation that they’re attending an on-campus party, the security guardremains unimpressed and stubborn, turning them away. Matt ends up parking thetruck outside a row of off-campus houses, and the group sneaks onto the campus.

UNC is bigger than PSU, and as Neil looks around at thedifferent buildings looming over him, it’s a bit disorientating, and yet there’sno mistaking that thrum of excitement. They keep mostly to the shadows and keeptheir heads down, trying not to draw attention to themselves. As collegestudents themselves, they at least blend in a little.

After a few wrong turns down campus roads, they find thefarm. They hop over the fence and make their way up the dirt path to the barn. Neilmakes quick work of picking the lock and they all slip inside. The poignantsmell of manure and livestock hits them like a tsunami wave, and Neil puts ahand over his mouth to try and stifle it. Similar reactions ripple through thegroup. Nicky, Matt, and Aaron pull out their phones to provide light as theymove further into the barn. Neil peers into the first cubby on his left only tocome face to face with a horse.

“Aw this one has a cute little pig in it,” Nicky says fromfurther down. “We should take this too.”

“Focus, Nicky,” Kevin snaps.

Neil has to stifle a laugh at Nicky’s muttered response ashe continues to look for the ram. The next cubby he checks has a donkeysleeping inside, though.

“Hey!” Matt exclaims. “I found him!”

Everyone joins Matt and crowds around the cubby. Rameses hasbacked into the far corner. He stares at them all for a few moments beforeletting out a bleat. Matt, Nicky, and Kevin begin a murmured argument aboutwhat to do next when Andrew opens the door to the cubby and steps inside, arope in his hand that he ties around Rameses to lead the ram out. Once they getRameses out of the barn, they move as a slow huddle down the road in an attemptto hide their deed. Andrew ends up handing the rope over to Aaron so he canlead the group when it becomes apparent no one else can remember the way backto Matt’s truck.

A security guard is making rounds around the campus, so theyhave to duck between the shadows of two buildings while they wait for him topass. It’s at this moment that Rameses becomes fed up with his captors. A swiftkick to Aaron’s shins leaves the backliner recoiling in pain and dropping therope. Rameses takes the opportunity to escape, darting out from their hidingspot. Matt and Neil are quick to chase after the ram, but running into thelight of the streetlamps reveals that the security guard isn’t as far away asthey anticipated and the bleating has drawn his attention.

“Hey!” the security guard shouts, already running in theirdirection. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Oh shit,” Neil says under his breath.

“Time to go,” Andrew says, grabbing a fistful of the back ofNeil’s shirt and tugging.

“Wait! What about Rameses?” Matt asks, gesturing towards theparking lot the ram is tearing through.

“Leave him!” Nicky shouts, taking hold of Matt’s wrist andyanking him away.

They can hear the security guard getting closer, his poundingfootsteps and his shouts of needing backup. No one needs to be told twice. Theysqueeze out the other side of the buildings and break into sprints, scatteringin different directions.

Neil can feel the adrenaline thrumming in his veins. Itleaves his ears ringing and his heart pounding in his chest as his feet smackagainst the ground. Andrew veers off to the right in front of him, and Neilfollows. The shortcut takes them through the brush, and branches cut at Neil’sarms and ankles. It does nothing to quiet the thrill bubbling in his chest.

Matt’s truck comes into view, Aaron and Kevin alreadywaiting in the bed. Nicky and Matt come tearing in from the other side, yankingthe doors of the cab open to clamber inside.

“Do you think the ram is alright?” Matt asks, out of breath.

“That’s not important right now, Matthew! Drive!” Nickyshouts.

Andrew practically bodily throws Neil into the truck bedbefore jumping in himself. Matt kicks the truck into gear and peels away fromthe curb, tires screeching in his wake. As Matt speeds off, Neil can’t help thegiddy laughter that bubbles out of him, taking him over until there are tearsin his eyes.

“Well that was fun.”

“Junkie.”

// Send me prompts!!! //

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