#like being called circle or round and adjacent

[chryblossomjjk]

he has the most beautiful eyes

[yandere-toons]

Since you said you were into Danganronpa, what about a platonic scenerio or HCs with the warriors of hope ?

Nagisa Shingetsu, Jataro Kemuri, Masaru Daimon, Kotoko Utsugi, Monaca Towa (Platonic Scenario - "The Good Teacher")

WARNING: references to child abuse, home invasion, implied desecration of corpses, fantasy violence, blood, implied non-consensual drug use.

A.N. - Excuse me while I sleep for a week.

THE NIBBLING OF A SANDWICH being eaten was the loudest noise in the serene classroom, interrupted only by the ticktock of a round clock perched high on the wall above the door.

It took five minutes before Nagisa Shingetsu touched the food you had given him.

His eyes, blue as his horned hair, were lined with dark circles that contrasted with his pallid skin. He had spoken at length about how inappropriate it was for him to eat at his desk when you first presented the meal, but if one looked at him now, they saw nothing but a hungry boy eating his fill.

“It's nice to eat something that doesn't burn my throat,” Nagisa had thought upon tasting the fresh food with nothing hidden inside.

On your desk was a thick folder, the contents of which were so dreadful that you had avoided opening it for the past hour. A part of you wished for it to disappear by the time you looked near it again.

The door creaked open with a cautious slowness, and a young boy by the name of Jataro Kemuri poked his head through the crack to make sure there was no danger waiting to ambush him. The mask that wrapped around his head was a patchwork of leather flaps, obscuring every part of his face but his grey eyes and the straight line of his mouth.

Those same eyes raked the classroom as if worried that he had taken the path he walked every day and somehow ended up in the wrong room.

His mother liked to alternate between rushing to be rid of him for the day and forgetting to drive him here until the last minute. Judging from the half-hour still waiting to tick on the clock, it was one of the former days.

You considered calling out to Jataro but held your tongue at the memory of his dislike for loud and sudden noises, choosing to wave at him instead.

The gesture gave him the courage he needed to nudge the door open wider with his shoulder and step inside. His gaze never lifted higher than the floor until he had shambled up to your desk, but even then, it rose only to the cup of pens and pencils sitting on the corner.

Jataro kept his arms extended outwards from the front of his chest. He had pulled at the sleeves and stretched them until they were longer than his arms, falling over his hands and acting as a buffer from anything that sought to touch him.

Around his shoulders were the straps of a white backpack, the muffled rattles within it suggesting a heavy load.

“You told Kotoko she could bring her own clothes, so I thought maybe I could bring some of my art supplies.” Jataro pointed the top of his head at you when he suggested this, rocking slightly and perhaps hoping to soften the blow he expected from across the desk if he looked you in the eye.

You motioned to the adjacent wall running along the left side of the room, for it faced the outside and had a long window that poured sunlight onto the space below it. “You're welcome to draw all over these walls. The floors, too. Even the ceiling if you have a ladder.”

His head jerked up. “What?!” Jataro draped his arms over his mask, speaking in a combination of a whimper and a groan. “Are you messing with me? Figures you'd pick on me.”

You lightly shook your head. “No!” After peeking at a few of the walls in the classroom, you squinted in exaggerated disgust. “Look at this place. It's all grey and hopeless.” In addition to shrivelling your nose, you curled your lips to form a comical grimace. “We could use some colour.”

A tiny smile graced Jataro's face, and he ambled to the wall you had first suggested. “I'll give it some colour,” he mumbled. The bag slipped off his back, rode down his arm, and landed with a clunk on the floor beside the window.

The zipper on his backpack hummed as it was pulled to the opposite end, followed by the clatter of various tools spilling out around him.

A sawing noise alerted you to the sight of Jataro dragging a chisel across the wall. Chips of paint were bending away from the tool before falling to the ground, and you prepared a lie to tell if any of the other teachers or the principal asked.

Hanging from a clasp around his neck was a knee-length apron, its brown fabric splattered with dry paint and chalk powder.

You delivered a box of crayons and markers to the side of his backpack while he was engrossed in drawing humanoid figures. When you glanced in his direction several minutes later, the drawings had all been outfitted with streaks of crayon and the pungent scent of a fresh marker.

“Hey, teach! Heads up!” shouted an energetic voice.

Your eyes spun from Jataro to a basketball hurtling towards you, and your hands flew off the desk to catch it just before it would have smashed into your nose. You held the ball there for a moment then slowly lowered it with mild amusement.

The competitive smile of Masaru Daimon greeted you from the entrance as the door swung shut behind him, his hands coming up to lay a pair of headphones on his spiky, red hair.

“Gotta be faster,” you chided him in a way that was more playful than it was serious.

Masaru jumped to catch the ball when you tossed it back to him. He winced upon touching the ground, and the gravity of the fall revealed a bruise on his upper arm. Its purple and black colouration was hidden under the black hem of his short-sleeve shirt, its irregular contour matching the size of an adult fist.

You pushed your chair back as you stood.

Masaru was panting and bouncing the ball off the floor into his hands.

It was a common suspicion of yours that he ran to school, one that grew on the days when he arrived hours late with a limp or busted lip. Those days fed into your mental image of the person who gave him the injuries, but an angry excuse was all you got out of him when you raised a question.

His eyes were concentrated on the motion of the ball until you crouched in front of him. In your hand was a small bandage, which you extended to him with an open palm. The smile on his face shrank, but Masaru took the bandage.

“Gotta keep your throws strong, right?” The calm mix of sincerity and encouragement in your voice brought some of the joy back to his smile.

He bared his teeth in a bigger smile and dashed to his chair in the front row as if in a race, but he chose to dribble the ball next to his desk instead of sitting down.

You watched him with a frown that was lost in thought, eventually sighing and taking a seat at your desk.

The door thudded open as it was wrenched out of its frame and pushed to the wall, and in stepped a young girl with pink hair as long as she was tall. Her hands were clutching the strap of a duffle bag, which was decorated with heart and flower stickers.

“Kotoko!” came your pleased greeting. She whipped her head around at your call, a smile of excitement and relief overtaking any impatience when you beckoned her to your desk with a wave of your hand.

Kotoko Utsugi dashed forward and hopped onto the edge of the desk with her side facing you. She allowed her legs to dangle, for her attention was devoted to hugging the duffle bag and looking it up and down with the desire to bring its contents into the morning light.

“Some hall monitor tried to make me open my bag,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes and fiddling with the zipper. Like a candle flickering between light and dark, Kotoko wiped the discontent from her face and turned to you with a joyful laugh. “So I just told him it was girl stuff! That sent him running!”

Joining her amusement with a chuckle and a mental note to find her a more discreet method, you stood up and walked to the door. The hinges squeaked as it opened, but there were no footsteps or voices to fill the corridor. A quick scan of both directions proved it to be empty save for a couple of posters on the walls.

You nodded at Kotoko and held the door open for her, causing her to sprint across the hall to the bathroom.

You leaned back into the classroom to observe the hubbub unfolding in the third row, where Masaru had grasped fistfuls of Jataro's mask and was pulling him out of his seat. Jataro was flailing his arms in helpless defiance.

“Jataro's head is not a ball, Masaru!”

Masaru sounded a disappointed and exaggerated “aw” under the din of Jataro's protests, the amusement in his voice hinting that he had yet to let go. “But it's huge and round like one!”

His fun was brought to an end when Nagisa stepped in front of the desk with his arms crossed. Nagisa wore a stern frown that looked too much like that of a disapproving parent for Masaru's taste, and he gave Nagisa an equally scathing look in return.

“Our teacher asked you to stop.”

While you were focused on the staring contest between Masaru and Nagisa, Kotoko dashed back into the classroom with a twirl and a deep breath of excitement. “I am ready to perform!” She thrust her leg into the air and pulled her arms up in an improvised dance move.

On her legs were long socks with pink and white stripes, atop her head was a horned headband, and she had ditched the slip-on shoes for high heel boots.

From the way Kotoko was patting her hair and reaching out to nothing in pretend monologues, it was like she was wearing new, much more comfortable skin.

Masaru, with a groan of frustration, released Jataro and resumed his throwing the basketball at the wall and catching it when it bounced back.

Jataro sunk into his chair, letting out soft whines and scribbling on his desk with a marker. He trudged to his wall of drawings and slumped to his knees in front of it after a minute or two, and Nagisa watched him go with an inkling of sympathy.

You applauded Kotoko as she bowed for an imagined performance. A chorus of “thank you, thank you” came from her, the fake seriousness of her tone descending into laughter when you called for an encore.

“This actor is taking a break!” declared Kotoko, and she climbed onto her desk to stretch her arms above her head. It evolved into a vocal exercise of lowering and raising her pitch to test her control and lung capacity.

The folder on your desk reemerged as an eyesore as soon as you sat down, and you pulled it open to glower at the curriculum looking back at you.

Nagisa peered in your direction before turning and advancing to your desk. His steps were rigid and deliberate as if he were following a list of rules for how to properly approach you.

When he first reached your desk, Nagisa refrained from making eye contact with you. His arms were folded across his chest, the look in his eyes ranging from caution to curiosity. “Teacher, if I may ask a question.”

He addressed you with the reserved confidence of someone who believed themselves to be in the presence of a superior. You nodded, so he took a breath and held your gaze. “It's nearing the end of the school year. Should we not be taking a test right now?”

Casting a glance around the room, you leaned forward and whispered, “Just between the two of us, our tests are different than the ones they're passing around in the other classes.”

Nagisa looked down and narrowed his eyes, raising a finger to his chin. Still, a smile began to appear on his face at receiving what you had treated as confidential information.

You tapped the thick folder lying on your hand and reclined in your chair.

Nagisa returned to his desk, sitting a bit taller.

After minutes of sifting the endless pages and losing more energy with each word, you craved a break. Your gaze drifted to the chisel and crayons weaving shapes on the wall.

The way your shadow fell over his much smaller body caused him to drop the chisel, the tool bouncing like a seesaw in motion before ending its clatter by his feet. Jataro turned in an instant, and he kicked his legs against the floorboards in a vain attempt to scurry backwards. The resulting thwacks of his shoes on the wood were joined by the flaps of his sleeves as he swung his arms wildly.

With the look of a boy fearing for his life, he drew his arms across his face in a sloppy 'X' position. “I'm sorry!” He said the apology so fast that each one of his words bled into the next as if he were fighting the clock. “I'll get rid of it! I'm sorry!”

The mental fog of reading something horrible was still weighing on you, and you sat beside Jataro with a sigh. “Your art makes the room a lot better.”

Jataro slowly lowered his arms and peeked at you over the top of his sleeves. He turned back to the wall, hugging his legs and pulling them to his chest. “Are you gonna tell me to put it away?”

“No.”

The door opened a final time to mark the arrival of Monaca Towa, her green hair dishevelled and her green eyes puffy. Instead of walking into the classroom hand-in-hand with Kotoko, she was alone and in a wheelchair. The wheelchair, with its silver joints of pristine quality, was lined with a red cushion designed for utmost comfort.

The rest of the class flocked to her side and began to bombard her with questions, while you took a slower approach and glanced at the telephone on the wall beside the door.

“What happened? Have you been crying?” Nagisa had raised his hands in front of his chest out of panic and kept asking variations of the same questions.

“Your hair looks like rats live in it!” cried Kotoko. She balled her fists and squeezed her eyes shut to avoid seeing the ragged hair any longer, turning to the bag she had dropped at her desk. “That's so not adorbs! I'll get my brush!”

Masaru was kneeling with one hand on his knee and leaning from side to side to inspect the wheels, but he soon jumped to a fighting stance. “Yeah! Do I need to beat someone up?”

Jataro was struck by awe at the mobile chair and gazed at it with eyes as wide as saucers. “Why are you wearing a car?” he shouted.

As you reached the back of the group, Monaca looked between her classmates with a pitiful mien but perked up at the sight of you.

Her face brightened for a moment before twisting with sobs as she raised her knuckles to wipe away the tears wetting her eyes. “I,” whimpered Monaca, choking so hard on her cries that she repeated the word several times and panted after each attempt. “I had an accident at home.”

“My brother,” was all she managed to say for an explanation. Its effect ripped through the other kids in a silent wave of fury as though she had given a lifelike description of the event.

You had half a mind to report your suspicions to the principal, but his last meeting with you had ended with him saying, “Don't stick your nose in something you aren't willing to lose your job over.”

* * *

MASARU WAS THE FIRST to jump up and yell, “Done!”

He held the drawing as far up as his arm would stretch, his tight grip wrinkling the paper somewhat. The look on his face was one of pride, and he sprinted to you with the enthusiasm of a runner nearing the finish line. Masaru slammed the paper onto your desk and strutted back to his seat, arms crossed behind his head.

Just as you were preparing to examine his work, the screech of a chair's feet sliding across the floorboards echoed in the classroom.

Kotoko was skipping to your desk while hugging her drawing to her chest, and on her face was a bright smile that grew with each step. She stopped at the front of the desk and clicked the heels of her boots together. Leaning forward on her toes, Kotoko placed the drawing between your hands and covered most of Masaru's drawing with her own.

She bent her knees and twirled her hands in a playful curtsy before returning to her seat. Kotoko proceeded to stick her tongue out at Masaru, which earned a look of surprise and irritation from him.

When Nagisa rose from his chair, he stacked his paper despite it having but one layer. He kept his gaze fixed on the drawing as he made rigid turns around other desks, scanning it for errors and then scanning it again to confirm that he saw what he had seen the last time.

The shame in Nagisa's face grew more apparent the closer he hauled himself to your desk. He held the drawing at a precise distance from his body, and he made sure to drop it onto your collection in a straight line rather than at an angle. “It's not my best work,” explained Nagisa, keeping his voice at a mutter, “but I assure you, I did all I could in the allotted time.”

You lowered the drawing from where you had lifted it to see his work, meaning to remind him that the assignment was not for a grade. It was intended as a fun way of passing the time until the bell rang. Nagisa had heard you when you announced this to the class, however, so your slight concern eased into understanding.

He sat down with frustration and self-doubt gnawing on his face, creasing his forehead and whitening his knuckles.

“Teacher,” sniffled Monaca before you could say anything to him.

Stretching her lips into a deep frown and putting the gleam of a sad puppy in her eyes was a look she wore comfortably, even dilating her pupils for extra effect. Monaca tugged at the wheels of her chair in an apparent inability to make them turn.

As you walked over to help, she stopped fighting with the wheelchair and watched your approach like a helpless infant awaiting rescue. “Monaca finished her drawing, and she just wanted to give it to you,” sobbed Monaca, adding a tearful whimper at the end for emphasis. “But the wheels on her chair won't move!”

You went to retrieve her drawing, but as soon as your hands came near it, the wheels lurched forward so that she could rush the paper into your grasp.

The tears that were threatening to fall had vanished from Monaca's eyes. “You fixed them!” she exclaimed with a happy gasp, clasping her hands together in front of her chest.

The look on your face was a flash of puzzlement mixed with an iota of suspicion, and you shook your head both in denial of her statement and as an expression of confusion about how the sudden recovery came to pass.

During the brief journey to your desk, your head was brimming with thoughts about whether and why Monaca had just tricked you. It muddied your concentration a bit, but the end of the school day was closing in on you.

“Speaking of that,” you remembered, counting the number of drawings on your desk. Just as you were going to probe the classroom for the missing assignment, the scratches of a pencil on paper wormed their way into your ears.

The constant scribbling was the work of Jataro, who was hunched over his drawing as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. A backpack full of art supplies had spilled its contents onto his desk and the floor. In his hands were a ruler and a colouring pencil, but the excessive length of his sleeves caused him to hold the tools through the fabric.

An array of black and grey colouring pencils surrounded the drawing, their various shades tracing the underside of an eye and looping around the curve of the lips to perfect the shading. The usual wandering of his hands and mind was absent, replaced by the smooth twirls of pencils across a torso. His eyes never blinked as he dropped each tool in a unique place and retrieved one when needed without even glancing in its direction.

You debated whether to disturb him or not, but the ticking clock on your right pushed you to approach his desk. “Jataro? How's it going?”

He stopped the movement of his tools and looked away from the paper for the first time in half an hour. “I'm probably taking too long,” he started to reply, only to fall silent after realising that you were standing over him. The colouring pencil he had tucked into the fold of his sleeve was slowly pulled closer to him as his entire body tensed as if it were doused in icy water.

Jataro was fidgeting in his seat and keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, so you crouched and redirected your attention to his drawing.

It was a sketch of a sculpture the likes of which were fit to hang on the walls of museums and be the subject of crowds and analysis for centuries. The image of a tall figure locked in thought came together among the elements of Michelangelo's David, which were blended with Jataro's macabre twist on anatomy to form limbs that extended beyond human limits and rested at unnatural angles.

The indentations of another drawing were visible on this side of the paper, so you flipped it and beheld a mirror image of the sketch on the front of the paper. The arms were outstretched in a way that suggested they would overlap with the arms of the first sketch if placed next to each other.

Jataro took one look at the surprise blooming on your face and drooped. “I wasn't supposed to draw on the back, was I? I'm sorry,” he mumbled, eyes turning downcast.

The mirror image had all the skill and grace of the original sketch. A part of you imagined the grand sculptures standing side by side, not as pieces of paper but as monoliths carved out of marble and stone.

After giving the room a cursory scan to ensure that none of the other kids was watching, you lowered your voice to a whisper. “No one else thought to draw on the back.”

From his parallel desk on the opposite side of the classroom, Nagisa's head spun around to look at you with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. He then turned away and bowed his head in shame.

Jataro placed one hand on top of the other, watching you from his peripheral vision when you began to rise.

“I need to look this over at my desk, okay?” You grabbed the corner of Jataro's drawing, but you waited a few seconds before taking it to give him a chance to voice any complaints.

The long sleeves of his uniform were ruffled as he rubbed them together and focused his gaze on the repetitive motion of the cloth. “When you're done, can I have it back?” Under the light cascading down his masked head, you caught a glimpse of a smile finding its way onto his lips. “I wanna sculpt it later.”

With all five of the drawings collected, you spread them out across your desk in a semicircle formation.

It took several seconds of blinking and moving your head around to process all the varied images that had been shoved together in Kotoko's drawing. Among the teddy bears with sparkling fur and frilly dresses of bubblegum pink was you, a sight that caused your eyes to crinkle in bewilderment before earning a slight smile.

You glanced at Kotoko to find her looking at you, and she waved excitedly as soon as you met her gaze.

The lines in Masaru's drawing were hasty and lacked detail in many areas, jumping from one idea to the next without bothering to finish the previous ideas. Each corner was filled with crude images of different sports and exercise equipment, such as a dumbbell in the bottom left corner and a soccer ball in the top right corner. In the middle of the paper was the largest picture of them all: Masaru scoring a slam dunk.

Nagisa had depicted a series of books, with a smaller but more detailed image of himself and his classmates occupying the bottom right corner. The spacing of his drawing was methodical, evenly distributed, and careful not to have anything overlap. Eraser markings darkened and dirtied much of the paper, and a big portion of them appeared to have come from perfecting the smiles worn by his classmates.

Upon lifting Monaca's drawing off the desk to minimise the glare from the overhead lights, you saw how she was standing and holding hands with someone who bore no family resemblance to her. The person holding her hand was a blonde woman with thick pigtails that reached down to her elbows.

On either side of them were black and white bears who stood on their hind legs, their open mouths brimming with fangs arched in a permanent grin.

While your eyes attempted to unfold the mysteries of the drawings, a rumble of thunder crashed outside the Academy. The light pouring in from the window dimmed, and a grey veil fell over the grass and sidewalk outside the classroom.

The patter of rain began as soft plops, growing within a minute to heavier and speedier thumps on the glass. A gust of wind joined the cacophony of nature and swept the leaves of tall trees into a constant sway.

A few of the leaves were torn asunder and slapped the glass, which ripped Kotoko and Masaru out of their seats and to the window in a burst of excitable chatter.

Jataro raised his head to watch the light above his desk flicker like a twitchy eye. “If the power goes out, does that mean we get to stay here?”

Every other head in the room turned to you in anticipation of your answer. Kotoko and Masaru pulled their hands off the glass as they turned to you, leaving faint handprints that evaporated within seconds.

A swell of thunder rumbled as you looked away from the drawings and scanned the faces of the children, which held looks ranging from cautious optimism to intense curiosity.

You set the pen down beside the array of papers and considered many responses before settling on a neutral one. “If the storm's bad enough to cause a blackout, then it wouldn't be safe to send you home in it.”

Kotoko pressed her forehead and palms to the window. Like a preacher, she shouted, “Oh, please get worse, O Mighty Storm! Throw all the leaves and branches your rainy heart desires!”

“Maybe if we all hope for it, it'll happen!” chirped Monaca. Noticing his silence and blank expression, she eyed Jataro with a smile that pushed him in a certain direction. “Don't you hope for the storm to get worse too, Jataro?”

He rubbed his sleeves against the sides of his head, gaze turning downcast and focusing on the imperfections in the surface of his desk. “If I hope for the storm to get worse, the universe will probably do the opposite of whatever I want.”

The smile on Kotoko's face brightened, and she turned around to snap her fingers at him. “You're right! Hope for it to get better.”

Despite Jataro's best efforts to channel a supernatural ability and warp nature, the kids were sent home that day under the pitter-patter of flowing rain and the dim glow of school lights clinging to life.

* * *

THE NIGHT SKY was blackened with puffy clouds that roared and rumbled like distant beasts locked in combat, their shrieks building until a great tension was released in the form of a lightning bolt.

One had singed the stop sign outside your kitchen window half a dozen times in the past two hours. The once cherry-red gleam of the tall sign was stricken with a charred coating, and you peeked through the glass after every hit to see if it had finally snapped in twain.

Beats on your door, a sound you had dismissed as rain or the echo of thunder, were now reverberating through the walls of the house every minute. It led you to reconsider your theory about the source and leave your nighttime drink on the kitchen counter.

Instead of taking another sip, you crept to the entrance and peeked through the peephole.

A flash of lightning illuminated pink hair and a polka dot bow sitting atop it.

The pounding on your door ceased when you opened it inward, stepping back and allowing the door to swing to the side.

Kotoko stood on the doorstep in a white nightgown, her bright hair matted and sticking to her face like a wet mop. She unrolled her fists and retracted her arms from where they had been raised to strike the door. The storm had cast a shadow over the night, but enough silvery light broke through the clouds for you not to miss the small rips in her clothes.

Draped around her shoulders was a dark brown jacket, its soggy fabric appearing black under the relentless pour of the rain. The sleeves hung empty at her side, for Kotoko was hugging it to herself as if it were a blanket rather than an article of clothing. With knuckles buried and turning white from the pressure of her grip, she clutched the jacket with hands that trembled from the bite of the frigid wind.

An unending shiver was forcing itself across her body. The chatter of her teeth was halted by the fact that she clenched them as though suppressing a wail that had been climbing her throat and screaming to get out. The corners of her eyes were crinkled in pain and protest against the tears spilling over her cheeks, and Kotoko ducked her head at the sight of you.

She wore only one boot, the lack of the other leaving her left foot exposed to the cold water rushing through the streets. The lower half of the sock on her left leg was darkened and drenched in a failed attempt to shield her skin. Kotoko lifted her wet foot off the ground and winced as she bent her shaky knee to keep it in the air, holding that pose for a few seconds before lowering only her toes to the cold concrete.

You were careful not to touch her as you moved out of the doorway and ushered her into the house. A brief examination of the street proved that it was empty of all but the waves of rain blowing in the wind, many streetlights having lost their glow. The door was then pulled shut and locked to stop the growing puddle from draining into the floorboards.

Digging her fingers into her hair, Kotoko tore at the bow and hurled it against the wall after seconds of pulling out strands of hair with it. She then collapsed onto the floor and tucked her knees into her chest. Sobs came from her in uneven volumes as she hid her face in her hands, curling up into the smallest shape she could be.

It was a sound both muffled and unrestrained as if Kotoko were unsure whether it was safe to cry or not. Her willingness to weep grew with each second she was undisturbed, and the arms covering her mouth fell so that she could breathe out the full extent of her distress.

After shedding tears until no more came and inhaling until her chest twinged, the breaths rolling out from her were hoarse and parched. Kotoko was free of the desperate outpouring of wails, although a heavy sadness had taken its place.

She looked askance to find you returning from the darkness of the kitchen with a glass of water. You kneeled on the floor beside her and extended the glass, which Kotoko accepted with shaking hands and trembling lips.

Lifting a finger, you pointed down the hall. “My shower is in the first door on the right.”

Kotoko sniffled and glanced at where you had pointed. She drank more of the water, a shudder causing her to remember the soaked clothes freezing her the same way drinking a dozen milkshakes would have.

You slunk into your bedroom and had begun to ransack your dresser in search of a dry outfit for Kotoko. Some of the floorboards behind you creaked, and you turned to find Kotoko following your steps.

A crackling boom from the sky drowned the room in white light. Although the brightness vanished within half a second, the echo of the thunder fed into the constant patter of the rain for many moments after. You peered out the window and witnessed the sideways tilt of the rain as it pelted your home and others across the street, the fat droplets hitting so much like rocks that you worried about the possible coming of hail.

Reaching farther into the dresser, you presented Kotoko with one of your nightshirts. “Are you comfortable staying here for the night?” was your question, and you kneeled to her eye level when you asked it.

Kotoko accepted the nightshirt with quieting whimpers. The shaking of her hands calmed to a rare twitch, and she steadied her rapid inhaling until the occasional sniffle was all that interrupted her breathing. The tears had stopped flowing, their existence remembered by the dark lines tracing the length of her cheeks and chin.

She unclenched her jaw and with it came a sigh of despair about which she was not ready to talk. Her shoulders slumped from an untold weight, but relief poked through as she embraced the nightshirt. “I couldn't be more comfortable.”

* * *

THE LIGHTNESS of your eyelids as they opened without stinging pain or difficulty was jarring. Not having to resist the urge to fall asleep imbued you with confusion, and the lack of an alarm clock blaring in your ears allowed a cautious peace to fall over you.

Just as you were sitting up, a pair of footsteps thundered down the hall and a blur of red and white dashed into the room. The proud face of Masaru jumped onto the end of the bed. “Kotoko said you had eyebags last night, so I destroyed your clock!” The bed bounced as he shouted this, his fist rising.

You looked askance at the bedside table and confirmed that the alarm clock had been reduced to a jumble of torn wires and mangled plastic.

The question of how Masaru had entered your house slammed into you like a brick, and it was forming on your tongue when he sprinted away towards the kitchen.

The buzz of running water came from behind the closed door to the bathroom, followed by melodic humming.

The raps of an active and full washing machine shook the hall, which would have been inconspicuous if not for the curious mumbles that accompanied the noise.

Once in the corridor, the smell of freshly baked cookies wafted up your nose.

You paused and retraced your steps until the laundry room was visible again, losing another piece of calm at the sight of Jataro standing in the middle of the room. His side faced you, but his attention was directed at the washing machine running with a pile of clothes tumbling around inside it.

Jataro observed its spins with wide eyes, moving his head in an endless circle and mimicking the sounds of the thuds. His mouth was slightly open as if he were awestruck by the appliance.

The scent of baked goods was emanating from the oven and the kitchen counter, where a batch of cookies decorated a tray. Monaca, having rummaged through a drawer to slip mittens onto her hands, was pouring the contents of the tray into a green bowl.

Nagisa was standing beside her with his arms crossed. “We shouldn't still be here. We're imposing.”

Monaca tilted her head and straightened the tray before the last cookie had fallen, eyeing him with a smile that held no joy. “Imposing. That's quite an adult word, Nagisa.”

He held up his palms in surrender and gained the shocked look of someone who had been accused of a terrible crime. “You know I didn't mean it that way!”

After a few moments of silence, Nagisa turned away and resumed speaking with a quieter voice. “It's just if the school calls back with questions-” the thought he had been airing died on his tongue, as did his will to discuss it.

You slowed to a stop at the entrance to the kitchen, with Masaru sprinting past you to the counter.

Nagisa looked back at you with a facade of composure that failed to hide the way his fingers dug into his sleeves. The longer you held his gaze the more sweat gathered along his forehead, but he exhaled in silent thanks when Monaca's greeting distracted you from his crumbling mask.

“Good morning! You're up late.” Monaca closed her eyes and chuckled at her comment as though it had a special meaning known only to her. As Masaru lurched over the counter and reached for the bowl, Monaca grabbed it and raised it above her head. “You have to share, Masaru! These cookies were made for all of us.”

A groan of annoyance escaped Masaru, his smile falling. He leaned back to an upright position and crossed his arms behind his head. “Fine.” The word was drawn out in childish dissatisfaction, and he turned his gaze away from the cookies to quell his hunger for sugar.

Opening her mouth to give her smile a more endearing appearance, Monaca balled her hands into fists and raised them in a gesture of cheer. “Monaca baked cookies for you as a way of saying thank you for letting us stay!”

Nagisa glanced at her in a mixture of surprise and puzzlement, while Masaru threw his arms down in outrage and yelled, “Hang on! You said they were for all of us!”

Monaca pressed her index finger to her lower lip and turned her head slightly, looking up at the ceiling with a clueless frown. “Well, it's a gift for our teacher, so it's their choice who gets to eat it.”

Masaru whirled around and narrowed his eyes at you as if telepathically commanding you to grant him the entire bowl.

Nagisa alternated between looking out the window and peeking at you, his gaze darting to the cookies for a split second.

Monaca clasped her hands together and rested them on her lap, and the pleased look on her face was that of someone confident she would be among the chosen.

“Can I have a cookie?” asked Jataro. He had appeared next to you like a ghost from the mist and caused you to jump, your eyes racing to see him looking up at you with earnest curiosity.

On the right side of the hall, a door burst open and carried echoing laughter through the corridor. Kotoko hugged you from behind, the force of the hit as she ran into you knocking you forward a couple of steps.

You regained your balance and struggled to create a way to both diffuse the situation and remove yourself from it. “As great as a bowl of cookies for breakfast sounds, I need to go to work.” There was an unspoken “and you need to come with me” lingering at the end, a request that was understood by Nagisa and cast a look of guilt across his face.

The kitchen exploded in an uproar so potent that every voice was overlapping the others and fighting for vocal dominance.

Kotoko had yet to break the hug, and her fear of returning to a place with other adults prompted her to tighten the grip she had on you. “Anything you need to teach us -- you can teach it right here!”

Jataro began rocking back and forth on his heels, his words squeezing out of his mouth with great distress. “The janitor lady washed my drawings off the wall!”

Masaru stamped his foot on the tile floor, clenching his fists and baring his teeth in a scowl. “No way! That place is for wimps!”

While the other children spoke of personal grievances with Hope's Peak Elementary School, Monaca's yells were shrill and demanding. “Monaca! Wants! You! To! Stay! Home!” She swung her arms and shook her head in a mess of tears and fists.

At once, the desperation flooding the kitchen was redirected to Monaca in the form of complete silence from the others. This reprieve lasted but a moment and soon descended into a series of panicked shouts as her classmates surrounded Monaca, spewing apologies and assurances that her wish would be granted.

You peered at the digital clock on the microwave, and the knowledge that several hours of the school day had passed was your key to the deal compiling itself in a hurry. “If you come to school with me today, I'll buy you all ice cream before we go.”

* * *

CARRIED ON THE SPRING BREEZE were the shrill chirps of Brown-eared Bulbuls and the hoarser calls of Oriental Turtle Doves. From farther in the distance came the raps of a Japanese pygmy woodpecker, its short beak jabbing a twig again and again until it split open to reveal a caterpillar.

The sun hung unobstructed in the blue sky and shone its brilliant light across the lush grass in the park, for all the clouds had decided to hover elsewhere in the city.

A respite from the heat bearing down on them was offered when you returned from under the awning of a truck with a giant ice cream cone on its roof, each of your hands wrapped around a brown cone full of multi-flavoured ice cream. Despite having been lifted from a freezer no longer than a minute earlier, the dessert had begun to melt and drip over the edges of the cones.

Masaru and Kotoko accepted the treats like hungry travellers and splattered the ice cream on their lips in ravenous bites.

By the trees and thickets, under the shade of their lush brambles and leaves, was Jataro. He eyed a bright berry that was dangling from the jaws of a squirrel running up one of the trees. “Does that taste good, Mr Squirrel? Is it like fruity candy?”

The squirrel chittered and flicked its tail, darting into the cover of the leaves once you stepped on the corner of the swaying shadow provided by its tree.

This prompted Jataro to turn around and sneak a peek at the ice cream cone before looking away. “Is that for me? It probably isn't.”

You squinted at the leather mask he wore, and it was then, on this steaming spring day, that your distaste for his mother, who had never shown her face to you, swelled. “You must be sweating under there.”

Jataro nodded and began playing with his sleeves. “Oh, yeah. It feels like my skin is bubbling and popping like a big stew.”

Moving to the heart of the shadow, you exhaled in relief at the immediate wave of coolness that washed over your neck. “You could always take it off.”

Jataro looked as if you had told him art was outlawed around the world. “No way!” He waved his arms back and forth and jumped from foot to foot as though the grass was lava. “If you see me without my mask, your eyes will explode in your head and melt your brain!”

A groan of worry slipped out of him as he lifted his hands to his head, dropping his gaze to his shoes. “And I don't want you to die!”

His foretelling of the apocalypse that would unfold if his face saw the sun was giving him more reason to sweat, so you relented. “Okay, okay!” Still, you mustered a smile at his last comment and offered the cone to him. “At least take the ice cream.”

Jataro wrapped his sleeves around the cone with a quiet “okay” and a timid smile, not caring when the ice cream trickled onto the fabric.

“Teacher!” called Monaca, and you turned to see her waving at you from the middle of the park. She slumped in her wheelchair as soon as you spotted her to appear exhausted.

A third trip to the ice cream truck yielded the fourth and fifth cones.

No sooner than she tasted the ice cream had she pulled back and lowered the cone to just above her lap. With unfocused eyes and a lifeless frown, Monaca turned her head down and stared at the ice cream. “Monaca's favourite flavour?”

There was a quality of disbelief and slight confusion in her voice, but it was then replaced by a tone of hollow emptiness. “Whenever Big Bro Haiji gets me ice cream, he always picks the one he knows I don't like. Then I'm the bad guy for not wanting to eat it.”

The malevolence radiating from her green eyes vanished as soon as she raised her head to flash a pleased smile at you. “But you remembered my favourite flavour!” A laugh burst out of her, one so airy and joyful that it would have tricked a stranger into believing she had never housed a negative thought in her life. “You're the best teacher ever!”

Nagisa had been observing the handout of ice cream cones, but when you presented him with one, he merely blinked a few times. “Who is this for?” he asked, looking around to see if any of his classmates were empty-handed.

“It's yours.”

His eyes returned to you in an instant. Nagisa waited as if certain that he had misheard you, but the hand that was extending the ice cream cone to him did not waver.

On the rare occasions when his father allowed him to eat something that did not prevent him from sleeping, desserts were not an option because, in his father's opinion, they were a distraction from his work.

“Are you sure it's okay for me to have this?” mumbled Nagisa, his tone a combination of anxiety and doubt. “Sugar weakens your ability to concentrate, and if we take a test later, I need to be as focused as possible.” Those were his father's words, although he said them with his own voice.

You kept the ice cream cone within his reach. “No tests today. You deserve a break.”

He gripped the cone with both hands and slowly moved it closer to himself, eyes wide and brows damp with sweat.

Nagisa watched the ice cream glisten and seep as if he did not know what it was or what he was supposed to do with it. A quick look at the way Monaca bit into hers gave him the strength to adjust his hold on the cone, and he squeezed his eyes shut upon biting the dessert.

Holding a hand to your sweat-soaked forehead, you collapsed on a park bench. The breaths sailed out of you in haggard puffs, your arms coming to lay on the back of the seat.

Kotoko and Masaru clambered headlong onto the bench and flung ice cream on themselves and each other in the process.

A whine exploded out of Kotoko at the splash of ice cream that landed in her hair, which drew gales of mocking laughter from Masaru. After pouting at him for a moment, Kotoko smacked the bottom of his cone and caused it to fly upwards into his face.

Monaca parked her wheelchair next to the bench, while Nagisa volunteered to stand so that Jataro could sit beside you.

Nagisa stopped eating his ice cream and gazed at the rapid heaving of your chest. “You didn't buy one for yourself?”

It took a few seconds before you processed his question, and your answer came slurred through a disoriented breath. “My pockets are empty.”

A man shouted your name from across the park. It was the principal of Hope's Peak Elementary School, and his tired appearance sparked unrest among the children.

“Aw, man! He's here to make us go to school!” groaned Masaru, throwing his head back and clacking his headphones against the top of the bench.

Monaca and Nagisa noticed the calculating frown on your face. There was no surprise to it, nor was there any uncertainty in the speed at which you stood up.

“Wait!” yelled Kotoko, pouncing on your arm and clutching it after you took your first step in the principal's direction. “Don't go over to that old creep! Just ignore him.”

Jataro was gazing at his ice cream cone and chuckling to himself. “His face looks like a spider sucked on it.”

The principal called for you again, and his voice was elevated to a harsher shout by a degree of impatience. He would not come any closer to you and your class, however.

You kneeled to Kotoko's level and eased her hand off you while promising, “I just need to talk to him for a minute. We won't go far.”

Kotoko fixed the principal with a scowl as you walked away, raising her cone to her mouth and biting off a chunk of it.

Monaca observed your greeting to the principal with a fake smile. She pondered many a way to ruin his career and sink his reputation until his life was forfeit, but for the time being, she stayed a spectator who enjoyed her ice cream.

Stepping away from the group, Nagisa saw how your head lowered as the principal's lips continued to move. The principal glanced at the kids throughout the conversation, but his frown deepened every time he looked at you.

Just as you were turning to peek at your class, he grasped your shoulder and whispered something in your ear. The message prompted you to droop and let your attention fall to the ground.

Nagisa narrowed his eyes and clenched his ice cream cone, not realising how much force he was exerting until the cone splintered and oozed a dollop of ice cream onto his hand.

A regretful understanding crossed your face, and you nodded before trudging to the group.

When you were close enough for him to hear the grass crunching beneath your feet, Nagisa caught your eye and offered you a look of concern. “Wait with the others,” you said to him in scarcely more than a murmur, trying and failing to hide the way your mood had deflated.

The other children ceased their chatter at your arrival and turned to you.

Your gaze passed from one kid to the next until you had looked at all of them, and their unassuming smiles made the words impossible to speak without great strain. You almost failed to finish the sentence, wishing for a reason to delay it but finding none.

“I can't be your teacher anymore.”

* * *

PEEKING THROUGH the overcast sky, streaks of sunlight painted the road in splashes of red and orange. The cracked asphalt was stained pink from the people lying face down on it.

Most of your body was draped in a tattered blanket that you had pulled over your head like a cloak. The light of the evening sun caught the metal lids of cans huddled in a topless box, which you held to your chest and draped in the corners of the blanket.

The speed of your steps grew to uncoordinated staggers when you reached the edge of your property, and the clatter of the cans was greeted by all the Monokumas on the street turning their heads at you.

Every robot was frozen mid-walk as dozens of red eyes monitored your trek to the door, their round heads swivelling with the flexibility and haste of an owl. The robotic gaze was lifted once you shuffled into the house.

Notes drawn with crayons and markers were taped to the outer walls of the building, and the papers were adorned with childish illustrations of kids stabbing adults. “Stay out!” one demanded in rainbow ink. “No demons allowed!” said another, the first and final letters of the word “demons” having been written as a goat horn and a spiked tail.

While searching for a can opener in the tangle of utensils cluttering your kitchen, the rattle of a doorknob battling its lock brought your mission to a premature end.

On the opposite side of the door was a pair of teenage girls grappling with the doorknob. The brown-haired girl was armed with a megaphone that had been outfitted with an EMP generator, and she was dressed in the sailor-like uniform worn by students of St. Koa Girls Academy. Its white and blue colour scheme was in stark contrast to the dark uniform worn by the other girl, whose deep purple hair matched the purple fabric of her uniform.

The fearful chatter each girl was throwing in the air ceased when their heads lifted to meet your gaze, the dishevelled sight of you peeking through a crack in the door causing them to step back.

A flood of relief then unwound the veins bulging in the neck and arms of the brown-haired girl. The tears in her eyes started to dry, and the desperate grimace that had contorted her face fell to a hopeful smile. “You're not a kid!” she panted as if that fact was the greatest discovery of her life.

The purple-haired girl looked askance at you with her thumbnail between her teeth, biting it slightly.

You looked at their wrists and eyed the bracelets that flashed red like bombs waiting to go off. The black and white face of a Monokuma was stamped on the accessory, and its grinning fangs were all the evidence you needed to begin shutting the door before the girls could explain. “I'm not allowed to help anyone.”

A hand latched onto the edge of the door and pulled against you, digging its fingernails into the wood and struggling to wrench it open. The brown-haired girl stuck her face in the crack and focused her tearful, green eyes on you in a frantic appeal to the kindness she was hoping to reach. “Please!”

She swallowed a lump of panic lodged in her throat and steadied her voice a bit, but her hand continued to shake on the end of the door. “My name is Komaru Naegi. My brother is with the Future Foundation!” After minutes of straining her voice and tiring the muscles in her hands, Komaru rejoiced when your grip on the door loosened slightly.

Komaru took the opportunity to breathe out some of her tension and relaxed her grip as a show of trust. “He can get us out of here, but we need a place to hide.”

With a conflicted sweep of your gaze across the door and what little bit of the street was visible to you, the door opened. The rays of daylight that spilled into the entryway were poison to your sun-fearing eyes.

“Thank you! Thank you!” repeated Komaru, eyes fogging as though she might cry again.

You turned away from the direct sunlight and hobbled to the kitchen. The shadowy areas of the room were colder, and your absence from the doorway allowed the sun to illuminate the many dust particles floating in the air.

“Let's go in already. This street is crawling with Monokumas,” grumbled a low voice.

Komaru nodded with a hasty “right” and rushed to get under the roof. She glanced at her travelling companion then looked at you with wide eyes, lifting her hands to her chest and tapping her fingers together. “Oh! This is my friend Toko.”

Toko was peering around the unclean room with its raggedy couch and chipped paint as if expecting to see bloodstains on the walls and meat hooks dangling from the ceiling.

Komaru's gaze travelled to your wrist when you reached up to open a cabinet, her eyes widening. “You don't have a bracelet!”

“I never really liked jewellery.” After raising your shoulders for a shrug, you lowered them with a sigh. “Couldn't afford it.”

Toko pinched her nose as she walked deeper into the house, rearing her shoulders and crinkling her eyes at the tingle in her nostrils.

The mantel was barren except for a framed picture and a thin layer of dust rolling over it and the rest of the mantel like water. Cobwebs and dust bunnies dangled from the ceiling above the fireplace, dropping specks of grey to float down through the air and draw the occasional cough.

Nothing in the room had felt the touch of a brush or a rag in months, and the musty odour flowing through the halls was so prevalent that Komaru would not have been surprised to learn of mould in the walls.

From the sunken skin to the way you dragged yourself into the kitchen, it was as if you were undead and roaming the confines of your mausoleum.

Komaru found her eyes drawn to the picture on the mantel once again. The people in it were familiar yet different as if she were looking at a childhood photograph of a grandparent. Squinting, Komaru stepped closer to the picture.

The children who had threatened her life were all dressed in the elementary edition of the Hope's Peak Academy uniform, and they were gathered around a much cleaner and livelier version of you. A blackboard was visible in the background, its wide surface covered with drawings and crayon markings.

“Those are the same kids,” she murmured, although it took many more seconds of examining the picture to confirm it. Disbelief weighed heavier on her tongue and mind the longer she beheld their sincere happiness.

These smiles were not born in malice like those the kids threw at her. “What changed?” Komaru asked herself, and the answer came from behind.

“Someone gave them what I couldn't.”

Toko muttered an inaudible name, turning her head away from the mantel and glaring at the floor.

When she heard your footsteps returning, Komaru whipped around and pulled her arms against her body in alarm. She half expected you to scold her for snooping, but your steps were sluggish and unconcerned. You barely looked at her as you trudged past and grabbed the picture from the mantel.

Komaru watched in a mixture of confusion and curiosity as you tilted the photograph from side to side. There was an absentminded dullness to your face as if your mind was off wandering in distant fields, but when the memory came, it lifted the glaze that had fallen over your eyes.

Kotoko had looped her arms around your neck as you held her the way she said princesses were carried in all her favourite storybooks.

Jataro was hugging your left leg and looking away from the camera, a position which had taken several minutes of reassuring him that you would not break out in buboes from his touch.

Masaru had raced around the camera's view in a struggle to find the best and most awe-inspiring pose, and the winning choice was to launch himself off a desk and jump onto your back.

Monaca was sitting in front of you with her wheelchair situated in the bottom middle of the photo. This brought her the closest to the camera, which helped it capture the brightness of her smile devoid of everything but real joy.

Nagisa stood beside Monaca, and for once, he was not crossing his arms. He let them hang at his side and allowed his shoulders to relax from the rigid line he often forced them to make.

After the camera flashed, the kids' laughter was so genuine and carefree that, for one moment, all the bad in their lives had been forgotten. You had collapsed under the combined weight of Kotoko and Masaru seconds later, and the kids dogpiled you in response. “The back pain is worth it,” you had thought at the time.

Looking at it from the depths of your unkempt home with bodies littering the street and robots patrolling outside like prison guards, you could not imagine anyone in the picture laughing the same way again.

A sudden burst of knocks on the door caused you to slam the picture onto the mantel and whirl around in a rush of adrenaline. Komaru jumped and gasped, only to slap a hand across her mouth a moment later.

“Teacher?” droned a monotone voice. The knocks were soft as though something was cushioning what struck the door, and the repetition of the slow thuds brought your anxious stare down to a mindful frown.

“Get behind the couch,” was your instructions for Komaru and Toko, delivered after a quiet sigh of acceptance. You began marching to the door with no intention of stopping, which led to the duo sharing looks of alarm before diving behind the couch.

Komaru and Toko peeked over the top of the couch to gape at how you patted the dust and crumbs off your outfit and straightened your slouchy posture with the swiftness of someone removing a wig.

Toko ducked and pressed her back against the couch, sticking her thumbnail between her teeth. “I knew it! They're working for those brats!” She started to rise, but Komaru clutched her forearm and yanked her down. “Komaru! We need to get out of here!” sputtered Toko, her voice creeping up to a yell.

Even though dread and uncertainty were beginning to crumple her face and sprinkle it with sweat, Komaru clung to the bit of hope still wrestling with her queasy stomach. “We can trust them,” she said with narrowed eyes and such determination that Toko ceased her squirming and glanced at the door. “They won't give us up.”

Your hand was on the doorknob, so the two girls lowered themselves completely behind the couch.

“At least we can surprise the brat if they sell us out,” thought Toko, kneading a few strands of her hair and biting her lip.

Jataro Kemuri was rubbing the ends of his sleeves together in an up-and-down motion like someone rubbing a stick to spark a fire. He looked up at you when the hinges on the door creaked, and the attentive smile on your face was the same one you had always directed at him in the classroom.

You leaned forward slightly, making sure not to glance at the string of corpses and broken Monokumas decorating the street. “How's my favourite artist?”

From the folds of his oversized sleeves emerged a man of odd proportion and funny design. This miniature man was made of twigs, his one-too-many arms and legs sprawled at rigid angles that imitated the Vitruvian Man. The hands and feet were separate pieces of finger and toe bones that had been fastened to the arms and legs by way of string to give the illusion of movement when it was rocked.

The bones appeared unnaturally large on the much smaller body, and their smooth texture hinted that they had been polished by the careful licks of a paintbrush. Their smoothness was so different from the rough bark of the twigs that it was as if two worlds had been smashed together. The memory of life extinguished was there, although it took a far more discerning eye than yours to find it.

The head of the twig man was adorned with clumps of multicoloured hair, which had been glued to the wood with an adhesive that was still damp. It smudged your fingertips with a sooty black as if you had dabbed them in the hearth of a fireplace, and streaks of clotted red dripped from the hair and dotted your palm.

As you lowered the man to look upon his creator, Jataro gazed up at you with the hopeful, starry-eyed face only a child could give. Months of commending the uncanny brought a practised smile to your lips. “Any art gallery would be lucky to have this,” you said with a warm sincerity that concealed the twisting of your stomach.

Jataro dipped his head and tapped his sleeves together, but then a cruel sneer began to spread and infect his voice with a gleeful kind of malice. “I made a demon-sized one,” he started to say, glancing over his shoulder as if about to ask you to follow him somewhere. “But it was too heavy to bring with me.”

A part of you was grateful for this as you inwardly winced at the fleshy display it must have been, stinking of death and decay to someone whose nose was covered by a leather flap.

Listening to you chat with someone who had killed and mutilated dozens of people if not more was jarring for Komaru and Toko, the words shared by you and Jataro coming out like a pair of friends on a stroll.

Toko lowered her hand from the strands of hair she had twirled and raised her head to the edge of the couch. A coppery scent was stinging her nostrils and turning her stomach, prompting her mind to compensate for its lack of a view by filling her inner eye with grotesque images.

This allowed a particle of dust to tickle the inside of her nose like a feather.

The sneeze that followed had the shrill squeak of a kitten's wail, and it was the sole warning you had to lurch out of the doorway.

A blur of purple leapt over the top of the couch with shrieking laughter and a handful of industrial scissors.

Jataro flung his arms in the air and yelped, scurrying behind you to peek out and watch, trembling, as Komaru jumped after the blur and restrained the swinging blades by hugging both arms like a human straitjacket.

“Let me kill him! Let me kill him!” shouted the girl in Toko's clothes, her voice frantic and raspy. She squirmed and howled in protest when Komaru rushed her out the door, and the combination of grunts and grumbles spilled into the street.

You stumbled to the doorway in a hurry to see if any Monokumas were flocking to the noise. A fresh batch of robots swept over the remains of their comrades and streamed out of the darkness of alleys in every direction, eyes glowing the same colour as the proximity sensors lighting up on the outside of your property.

The purple-haired girl, “Genocider Jack” she had shouted as a reason for Komaru to release her, lunged into the heart of the horde and began slicing the mechanical bears in half like a gardener chopping a weed with shears.

Komaru brandished her megaphone and fired waves of blue light out of it, which caused the affected Monokumas to explode in a shower of frayed wires and sparking motherboards.

Recalling Komaru's promise that her brother would come to rescue survivors, you found yourself standing taller every time she destroyed a robot and slumping every time a robot dodged or scratched her. It must have shown more than you meant for it to show because you peered over your shoulder to find Jataro staring at you.

With the confusion and shock of someone witnessing the incomprehensible, he tilted his head and asked, “What are you doing?”

It was then that you looked down and realised you were still holding the twig man. “They broke in,” you blurted, disguising the tension in your voice as fear of the supposed invaders rather than fear of being exposed as a traitor.

Jataro lifted his hands to the sides of his head and looked at the dirty shoe prints on the floor. “Oh no, the demons got to you. Monaca said this might happen.”

Your eyes narrowed at the last part, but you struggled to hide the suspicion from your face when he shambled to the centre of the room. “I'll have to bless your house to send all the demon energy away!”

As Jataro began waving his arms and outstretching his right leg in a series of bizarre movements resembling someone's first attempt at a jiu-jitsu attack, you glanced at the street and noticed the dwindling number of functional Monokumas.

“Oh, Heaven! Change my words to life. Cleanse the home of its demons,” he chanted, stretching the vowels and exaggerating the consonants as if talking funny would grant him divine power.

The street was wrapped in the corpses of fallen Monokumas. Genocider Jack and Komaru had retreated to a neighbouring street with the few remaining units on their tail, and the urge to sprint for the city limits was tugging you closer and closer to the door.

Living on the outskirts of Towa City, a fact that had landed you in the middle of harsh traffic and cumbersome journeys to the grocery store for years, was now a source of immense gratitude. Just as you turned and passed through the doorway, Jataro's footsteps came thumping forward.

He hugged the arm that held his art project and matched your pace as much as his smaller stature could allow. “Getting out of here is probably a good idea,” he nodded, looking down at the rubble crunching beneath his shoes. “Who knows what kind of terrible effects my blessing will have on the world? Probably destroy it, fill it with diseases.”

The mumbles about his breath smelling foul enough to create a fungus tumbled out of him until you reached the end of your property. Here, Jataro let go of you and walked ahead for a step or two before turning back.

A gasp came from him as though he had just solved the greatest mystery of his time, and he flapped his arms with each word of astonishment. “You should come live with us in the sky palace!”

The old spot in your back ached.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

[squishmallow36]

Reading rumble Round 2

I chose to make a playlist for Dex. Is anyone surprised? I'm not.

@camelspit and @arson-anarchy-death if you don't want to read all of this, I don't blame you.

But before we begin: To help me put this playlist in a coherent order--which, to be fair, I doubt that it is. But it has been significantly worse--I used the circle of fifths. I’m just saying this hoping for extra credit. Basically I went and googled all of the tracks that I wanted to find what key they were in and if another song is the same key or an adjacent key on the circle to the right, then they’ll sound like less of an ear crime. The farther apart they are, the more disjointed they’ll sound. Anyway without further ado, the playlist: 

Sherwin and Johnathan - Arturo Cardelús

This one does not have lyrics because it is the score from the animated short In a Heartbeat by Beth Davis and Esteban Bravo. It is on YouTube for anyone interested. The plot is that there is redheaded disaster gay (Sherwin) whose heart flies out of his chest because of a cute guy (Jonathan) and then has to go chase it around. Bonus points for a happy ending. Not only does it sound like something Dex would do if it obeyed the laws of biology, Sherwin looks like Dex too. This is my most listened to track on Spotify and being that I cannot talk about Dex without at the very least a footnote about FedEx, even in mostly canonical contexts, it seems wrong to not include it here. An interesting thing to note is that there are technically 3 tracks that are the score; this one was the longest out of those and therefore allows for more development of the musical ideas and inducing more emotions for the listener, so it was the most reasonable choice. I would also like to mention that it was Kamiko’s FedEx In a Heartbeat au art that introduced me to this, so even if I did try to stay away from premade playlists to avoid plagiarism, the influence of other peoples’ very correct opinions are deeply entrenched. 

2. Meet the Elements - They Might Be Giants

Iron is a metal, you see it every day / Oxygen, eventually, will make it rust away / Carbon in its ordinary form is coal / Crush it together, and diamonds are born

Come on come on and meet the elements / May I introduce you to our friends, the elements? / Like a box of paints that are mixed to make every shade They either combine to make a chemical compound or stand alone as they are

Neon's a gas that lights up the sign for a pizza place / The coins that you pay with are copper, nickel, and zinc / Silicon and oxygen make concrete bricks and glass / Now add some gold and silver for some pizza place class

Come on come on and meet the elements / I think you should check out the ones they call the elements / Like a box of paints that are mixed to make every shade / They either combine to make a chemical compound or stand alone as they are / Team up with other elements making compounds when they combine / Or make up a simple element formed out of atoms of the one kind

Balloons are full of helium, and so is every star / Stars are mostly hydrogen, which may someday fuel your car / Hey, who let in all these elephants? / Did you know that elephants are made of elements? / Elephants are mostly made of four elements / And every living thing is mostly made of four elements / Plants, bugs, birds, fish, bacteria and men / Are mostly carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen

Come on come on and meet the elements / You and I are complicated, but we're made of elements / Like a box of paints that are mixed to make every shade / They either combine to make a chemical compound or stand alone as they are / Team up with other elements making compounds when they combine / Or make up a simple element formed out of atoms of the one kind

Come on come on and meet the elements / Check out the ones they call the elements / Like a box of paints that are mixed to make every shade / They either combine to make a chemical compound or stand alone as they are

I originally thought of ASAP science’s Periodic Table for this spot. It has the melody of the William Tell overture, except it is about the periodic table and then the one on Spotify was not the updated one with all the official element names. I got sad, so They Might Be Giants won. Of course, Dex works at Slurps and Burps, so he is good at alchemy, as seen in KotLC and then almost never again. Alchemy is the Elvin version of chemistry, and, in fact, human chemistry is based on human alchemy from hundreds of years ago because there were some chemical reactions that worked. Just…not turning lead into gold like alchemists hoped. That takes radioactive decay and it is probably better that they did not figure out how to make an atomic bomb. To read far too deep into the lyrics, the speaker is looking at the elements as an outside observer only familiar with the concept, not one himself, and it is by no means out of TMBG’s style to project onto inanimate objects. If one is to postulate that in this case Dex is the speaker because it is the Dex playlist, then the elements referred to could be him trying to take a concept that he understands, like alchemy, and use it to understand a concept he does not, like Elvin society. In the line “come on, come on, and meet the elements,” he is likely trying to convince himself to interact with this society because even if he does not really want to be a part of it, he will still have to endure Foxfire for many more years and into the future because being a hermit is not a valid career path while he is still young. The lines, “And every living thing is mostly made of four elements / Plants, bugs, birds, fish, bacteria and men” can also be interpreted to mean that he wants to prove that he is just like everybody else on a molecular level despite the fact that he is the son of a bad match and should not have to deal with society’s nonsense. From another angle, this entire song could just be Dex infodumping to a new person, especially in the line, “They either combine to make a chemical compound or stand alone as they are,” where a compound is a friendship and the song ends with, “stand alone as they are,” the state that Dex will inevitably end the song with. Elements that are typically found alone in nature are usually metals, especially the expensive ones, and Dex is a Technopath, thus working with lots of different metallic parts due to their ability to conduct electricity. So from a chemistry perspective and a large leap of faith, it can be concluded that a) Dex is alone in this song and b) he will be forever alone, even when he is best friends with Sophie.

3. Foreigner - LEDGER

Τhe feast is set before me / It’s on plates of platinum / Βut all I taste is ashes and my lips are turning numb / Τhe smiles in the beauty and the promises Ι see / Glοry, hallelujah never said it came fοr free / Ring arοund the roses / Ι see through yοur poses / Αshes tο ashes / Ιt all comes falling dοwn

Ι thought I would belong right here / When Ι was younger / Βut there's something in the atmosphere / Whispers οf wοnder

Ι, I am a foreigner / Gοt a fire in my sοul, never giving up / Αnd I knοw I don't belοng right here / Ι knοw I don't belong right here / Fight till Ι make it hοme / And keep my eyes tο the skies even if Ι don’t / Αnd I knοw I don't belοng right here / Ι knοw I don't belong right here

Ηold οut your hand of riches and display yοur rοyalty / Ι'm fine with my bloodline in a different dynasty / Wοrship at the altar οf yοur vanity / Ι'll be in the Promised Land and let you be / Lοndοn bridge is falling dοwn / Μy fair lady holds her crοwn / Αshes tο ashes / Where's yοur saviοr now?

Ι thought I would belong right here / When Ι was younger / Βut there's something in the atmοsphere / Whispers οf wοnder

Ι, I am a foreigner / Gοt a fire in my sοul, never giving up / Αnd I knοw I don't belοng right here / Ι knοw I don't belong right here / Fight till Ι make it hοme / And keep my eyes tο the skies even if I don’t / Αnd I knοw I don't belοng right here / Ι knοw I don't belong right here

Ι, I fix my eyes / Οn the Island Ηeavens / Ι, I fix my eyes / Οn the Island Ηeavens / (Ι knοw I don't belong right here)

Ι, I am a foreigner / Gοt a fire in my sοul, never giving up / Αnd I knοw I don't belοng right here / Ι knοw I don't belong right here / Fight till Ι make it hοme / And keep my eyes tο the skies even if Ι don’t / Αnd I knοw I don't belοng right here / Ι knοw I don't belong right here

There is a lot I want to talk about here so chronological order is probably going to be the best. First of all, I am divorcing the original intentions of the song in order to fit my ramblings so please be aware of that. The first verse describes the Elvin world--being both incredibly glamourous with the “plates of platinum” but that is directly contrasted with the taste of “ashes,” showing how their wealth is hollow. The last line, “it all comes falling down,” is unsurprisingly referring to how the Elvin system is crumbling, and given the first person pronouns in the rest of the verse, it implies that Dex is the only one that sees it. I also want to believe that there was a time that Dex was not aware of the world’s problems, before his status as the son of a Bad Match was aware to him, which is the motivation behind, “I thought I would belong right here / when I was younger,” and that plays into the use of both the ring around the rosie and london bridge is falling down references--children’s rhymes because he’s looking back to a time when he was innocent, and he could very well have been around that age when he started to realise the inequalities he faces. The chorus is fairly self-evident that Dex is determined to fight to make the world a better place and even if he is unsuccessful, he is going to have hope. The line, “I know I don’t belong right here,” is repeated four times in each of the three choruses, and that is an extreme amount of repetition, even for song lyrics. That much emphasis on this concept demonstrates the vast extent to which Dex feels as though he does not belong. The second verse sees Dex accepting his station in life and telling society to go fuck itself a little bit. Instead of being outside the system like in the first verse, he’s actively mocking society, and he is above their standards because of it. He also calls out their “vanity” and given how materialistic the elves are, this both demonstrates his anger and ties back to the first verse with its, “I see through your poses.” There is not a whole lot to say past that point, as it is mostly repetition of ideas already heard, but overall I picked this song because I think Dex feels like he does not belong in the greater elvin society and it was the Ledger song that I had memorized that fit the best. 

4. Reach - Skillet

You were the only one to see / Secrets locked inside of me / You were the only one / So tell me where you've gone / I've lost a little more today / Nothing more you can take away / Can I believe you still? / I need something real

No one ever wants to feel like this / No one ever wants to feel like this

Where are you? I can't find you / Broke in two, left behind you / Reach for me (Reach for me) / I'm falling deep (I'm falling) / Promise me you're never leaving / I'm still here, broken, bleeding / Reach for me (Reach for me) / I'm falling deep / Reach for me

No one could ever get me more / Nothing could ever fix me more / Did I scare you away? / Don't say I'll be okay

No one ever wants to feel like this

Where are you? I can't find you / Broke in two, left behind you / Reach for me (Reach for me) / I'm falling deep (I'm falling) / Promise me you're never leaving / I'm still here, broken, bleeding / Reach for me (Reach for me) / I'm falling deep / Reach for me

No one ever wants to feel like this / No one ever wants to feel like this / No one ever wants to hurt like this / No one ever wants to hurt like this

Where are you? I can't find you / Broke in two, left behind you / Reach for me (Reach for me) / I'm falling deep (I'm falling) / Promise me you're never leaving / I'm still here, broken, bleeding / Reach for me (Reach for me) / I'm falling deep / Reach for me

Nobody wants to feel like this / Reach for me / Nobody wants to hurt like this / I'm falling deep / Reach for me

This is going to be a similar process to the previous song; divorcing the original intention and placing Dex as the speaker as it is dissected chronologically. The first two lines can be interpreted to be talking about either Sophie or Keefe. Sophie would make sense as being the “only one” as his first and best friend but Keefe knows that Rex is talentless, a gigantic secret. It is revealed early in Stellarlune, but there was a time it was an actual secret. Then this person disappears in the next two lines, in the Sophie case, having other things to worry about and the Keefe case, they literally run away. Many times. Dex’s trust has been breached by either one of them. He even says, “nothing more you can take away,” showing his expectations are absolutely on the floor because if there’s nothing else now, that one person is all he had and, yes, everybody in the Lost Cities is dealing with a lot, but poor Dexter. The repetition of “No one ever wants to feel like this,” does make it seem like he has experience with these feelings of being alone, not like it is new and I desperately want to give Dex a hug now, wow. But the really interesting thing is that those two lines were probably recorded separately because they sound farther away than the rest of the vocals. Skillet did a similar thing in “Falling Inside the Black,” and in both songs it serves to make it feel like the speaker is, moving farther and farther away from hope. Another thing to note about the construction is that there is a “Reach (Falling Deep Mix)” and it features Ledger from above as she is Skillet’s drummer and occasional vocalist. That version implies that the speaker is not alone in feeling alone, but this version does not, amplifying the loneliness. Returning to Dex, the chorus has the line, “Promise me you’re never leaving,” touching on how desperate Dex is for friends, even touching on how he is a bit clingy at times, especially in the beginning part of the series, but he’s competitive and people only have so much attention, so it makes sense that he wants as much of it as he can in order to not be abandoned. The second verse where it says, “No one could ever get me more / nothing could ever fix me more” also makes my soul hurt because it seems as though the person in the first verse has returned and Dex is blaming himself for Sophie/Keefe leaving him alone and causing all the suffering in the chorus. And it could very well apply to either Sophie or Keefe, Sophie experiencing similar loneliness during her time in the human world with no friends and Keefe only having Fitz as a friend when their friendship has had a wedge driven into it in recent times, so they are in the same boat of loneliness too. This song is definitely a little bit more speculation than being able to directly point to canonical details about Dex, but it has been representing him in my mind since my old FedEx playlist, so it belongs here.

5. Do You Remember? (The Other Half of 23) - The Maine

Do you remember / The other half of twenty three? / All lit up together / Full of guts / And dopamine / Invincible / Or so it seemed

Do you remember the days we were golden / We would surrender / To just letting go / For worse or for better / Far from pretenders / We said forever / Forever ago / Do you remember?

Do you remember oh the Bayside / Out on rockaway / In June? / We'd leave the lonesome heat behind / For better weather / Sneaking out / And getting stoned / A time or two / Thought we were clever / But I know they knew

Do you remember the days we were golden / We would surrender / To just letting go / For worse or for better / Far from pretenders / We said forever / Forever ago / Do you remember?

Well do you remember / Oh the Bayside / Out on rockaway in June / Yeah on the coast where we got stoned / A time or two / Had a toast / For all the hopeful things we'd do / Well do you / Do you remember? / Do you remember? / Tell me, do you remember?

Do you remember the days we were golden / We would surrender / To just letting go / For worse or for better / Far from pretenders / We said forever / Forever ago / Do you remember?

Overall, this song is just looking back into the past at better times. If we presume Dex is the speaker, as has been done previously, it could be that he is looking back at his and Sophie’s friendship before everything got so complicated. That is, it is a late-book Dex thinking about early-book Dex. The last two lines of the first verse, “Invincible / or so it seemed,” points to it being before the kidnapping because that means it is before any of the near-death events that plague Sophie throughout the series. It is a case of invincibility until proven otherwise. It could also be that late-book Dex has realised that just because elves have an indefinite lifespan does not necessarily mean they are immortal. Early-book Dex was born after Jolie had already died and thus would not have understood the toll her death took on Grady and Edaline. Another line that is interesting is in the chorus, “We said forever / forever ago.” And this can very easily be applied to Sophie and Dex’s friendship as they have said they’ll be best friends forever multiple times, even to Dex’s comphet dismay. In the second chorus, I am not going to imply that Sophie and Dex “got stoned” at any point, but I am not going to say definitively that did not happen. Elves have weird plants and at least some of those will contain psychoactive compounds, so it would make sense to occur within the universe but early book Sophie is twelve, so I do not think she would be into that. The last two lines in the second chorus, “thought we were clever but I know they knew,” could refer to any of the various times Sophie has done something that was less than recommended by Grady and Edaline or her bodyguards. I do not have a specific example in mind, but it makes sense that Sophie and Dex would sneak away and believe that they did not get caught when they very much did, but (insert parental figure here) wanted to let them be normal teenagers for five minutes. The repetition of “Do you remember” throughout the song, especially at the bridge where it is most concentrated, shows how Dex is desperately trying to hang on to their relationship once again and reminding Sophie of all the good times they have had. It is also likely that he is the one replaying the good times in his mind and trying to transmit the idea of hanging out with him again into her brain despite him not being a Telepath. He is using his Jedi mind powers. As for the reason I picked this song in particular, I am currently very deep in a The Maine phase which is entirely due to Tumblr and that was enough motivation to go search their discography, or at least the albums to which I have listened so far.

6. Sic Semper Tyrannis - Mae

Tonight, a blackout / A panic attack plan with no time to figure it out / We've issued a code red, already dead / No hope in sight, no beacon of light that said

Don't give it away / You want the truth, get some answers now

All hands on deck we're going down / All hands on deck we're going down

Screaming the end is near / So rest in peace ‘cause we're the ones that put ourselves here / Water rises now hold your breath and count down / This ship of sinners and saints are just waiting to drown

Don't give it away / You want the truth, get some answers now

All hands on deck we're going down / No plan but ours can save us now / So try and understand / Since we got lost and we get tossed around / All hands on deck we're going down

Of all the chaos and order / There’s no drift to catch / No law of the unknown / To take refunds on your borders where / The truth is that we all must die alone

All hands on deck we're going down / No plan but ours can save us now / So try and understand / Since we got lost and we get tossed around / All hands on deck we're going down

I will fully admit that I did not have a very long thought process for this one. It was originally on the official KotLC Nightfall playlist and it says, “All hands on deck.” This is very obviously a reference to the first book when Fitz calls Dex Deck, and therefore this song is about Dex. A lot of lyrics are vaguely reminiscent of canon events, mostly the larger battle scenes but are not that specific to Dex himself. If I had to put it in a canon spot specifically, I would probably put it in or around Ravagog at the end of Neverseen with all the boat imagery and the line, “You want the truth, get some answers now,” referring to how the council covered up the first cases of the gnomish plague, and the “answers” are the, albeit fake, cure. The line “The truth is that we all must die alone,” has two implications behind it. First, it could refer to the fact that Calla sacrificed herself and while she was not technically alone in the loneliness sense, she was the only one to die. In the original Nightfall context, however, it most certainly refers to the aftermath of the Dexphie kiss everyone has collectively tried to block from their minds except for the person maintaining the registry files, which is kind of weird. The imagery of the actual ship also may reference ships in the fandom sense and once again refer to the disaster that is Dexphie. Both of these interpretations are fairly major events in Dex’s life, as after Ravagog, he is unbanished and after the Dexphie kiss we don’t get to see him for a while and he is probably still dealing with the rejection. As for the name of the song, it is unsurprisingly Latin and translates to “thus always to tyrants.” It essentially means that tyrannical leaders will eventually be overthrown, so the Elvin council or King Dimitar are equally arguable. 

This is unrelated to the narrative and Dex but the last line of the second chorus says, “This ship of sinners and saints are just waiting to drown,” but the subject and verb do not agree in number. “Of sinners and saints” is a prepositional phrase, meaning it acts as an adjective or adverb when taken together. This case, it is an adjective, but in either, it can be removed with no grammatical change. That leaves, “the ship are just waiting to drown.” If there were multiple ships, then it would be fine, but the plural “sinners and saints” does not mean the verb is also plural! Use worbs correctly!

7. Mouth of the River - Imagine Dragons 

On the mouth of the river / On the mouth of the river / Oh the mouth of the river

I want to live a life like that / Live the life of the faithful one / Wanna bow to the floor / With everybody else want to be someone / I want to make some love / I don't want no enemies / It's the curse of a man / Always living life, living life, living just to please

On the mouth of the river / And the wrath of the giver / With the hands of a sinner / On the mouth of the river (woah) / On the mouth of the river (woah) / And the wrath of the giver (woah) / With the hands of a sinner (woah) / On the mouth of the river

Oh I'm alkaline / I'm always keeping to the basics / I'm overboard / I'm self-destructive and self-important / And I'm anxious / Oh I'm self-assured / I'm nervous and I'm pacing, oh I'm pacing

On the mouth of the river / And the wrath of the giver / With the hands of a sinner / On the mouth of the river (woah) / On the mouth of the river (woah) / And the wrath of the giver (woah) / With the hands of a sinner (woah) / On the mouth of the river / On the mouth of the river / On the mouth of the river

And I am going under / Oh I am going under / I am going under / Oh I am going under / I am going under / Oh I

On the mouth of the river / And the wrath of the giver / With the hands of a sinner / On the mouth of the river (woah) / On the mouth of the river (woah) / And the wrath of the giver (woah) / With the hands of a sinner (woah) / On the mouth of the river / On the mouth of the river / On the mouth of the river

Did I think of this song because of the chemistry joke? Yes. We will get there eventually, don’t worry. Overall, this song is about the end of an era and a major change in life, using the imagery of a river opening into the ocean. To me, that places this in vaguely the Nightfall era and because I did try to keep this chronological while also taking into account key signatures and genres--yes, putting this in order was a fun time--I put this right after “Sic Semper Tyrannis.” The first verse overall is, presuming Dex is the speaker, mostly just looking into the future at all the possibilities that exist and wanting to take full advantage of all of them. The line, “Always living life, living life, living just to please,” does, surprisingly, relate to Dex’s position within society. Hear me out: he has been trying his entire life to prove himself in order to not be seen as a waste of a birth fund. He is not working on Technopath gadgets like the ability restrictor for self-fulfillment. He did not join Team Valiant because he is a council bootlicker. A lot of his motivation is split between the belief that the government is both dumb and stupid and a need to demonstrate that he is not dumb and stupid. As for the chorus, “with the wrath of the giver,” is doing a lot at the same time. First, there is the stark contrast between “wrath,” a negative trait, and “giver,” a noun that should be positive. In the Elvin world, this could be society. They collectively have given everybody a birth fund so that they do not have to work ever and because they can sometimes think Dex is not deserving of one, their wrath has turned against him. Then there is the line “With the hands of a sinner.” It would be funny if it was simply a euphemism that he is gay and doing something with those hands but I doubt that is the most logical explanation. Genius lyrics suggests that it could be an admission of mistakes the speaker has made in his life, so that could refer to the ability restrictor in Everblaze, almost killing Fitz in Neverseen, or something else. But now that he is moving into this new era, he is going to put the past behind him. And, finally, we get to the real reason why I wanted this song: “Oh I'm alkaline / I'm always keeping to the basics.” The joke is that alkaline is another word for basic. On the pH scale. Its purpose is to say that while this is a new era, not everything will have to change, his core values will stay the same. The rest of the verse utilizes contrast, which represents all the different ways the speaker’s life can go in this new era of possibilities, both in a positive and negative way. Finally the bridge is a repetition of “I am going under,” which goes back to the water motifs used throughout the song to represent how this new era, being that it is the ocean, has stronger currents, so it is more difficult to stay afloat. All of these possibilities for the future are too much, but that is not enough to keep him in the same place he has always been. 

8. Childhood Dreams - Unknown Brain

Sittin', sittin', sittin' / At the same old workplace / Was the point of this chase / To just bite our own tail? / Wishin', wishin, wishin' / That something would change / That we could turn back the page / And live like our favorite fairy tales

So alive, so free in / One of our fantasies / Flying on dragons through sky high cities

These are our childhood dreams / It's how it used to be / When we were kings and queens / In our childhood dreams / Our childhood dreams / Our childhood dreams

Feelin', feelin', feelin' / I feel so lightweight / When I think back to those days / But then we went our own ways / I'm thinkin', thinkin', thinkin' / About what needs to change / That we could turn back the page / And live like our favorite fairy tales

So alive, so free in / One of our fantasies / Digging up treasures and sailing 'cross the seas

These are our childhood dreams / It's how it used to be / When we were kings and queens / In our childhood dreams / Our childhood dreams / Our childhood dreams / Our childhood dreams

These are our childhood dreams / It's how it used to be / When we were kings and queens / In our childhood dreams

Continuing the theme of reflection into the past that a lot of songs I have chosen address, this one specifically targets the feeling of childlike innocence before reality sets in. Before the lyrics even begin, the intro is high and sounds really bright, evoking that sense of childhood even before the first verse comes in and describes the stagnancy of work in the adult world which does not seem to have any clear purpose. The world, not the lyrics. Then the next four lines bagun reflecting back into the speaker’s “favorite fairy tales.” This includes dragons and kings and queens and pirates, which are all easy to extrapolate that our speaker is queer if we so choose because pirates? Gay. Dragons? Ace. And given that I have many headcanons surrounding Dex’s queerness so it all works out. All of these concepts are also not found within the Elvin world, so far as we have met. Fitz has Mr. Snuggles but I have bigfoot Squishmallows, so that is no guarantee that dragons are real. Just like human kids, elvin kids would likely be drawn to daydreaming about fantastical stories and given that the Lost Cities is based in Germanic fairy tales and such, they will probably have similar concepts of fantasy. In the second verse, the rhyme scheme actually changes, showing a slight shift in tone into a bit more of a desperate desire to return to those simpler times. The speaker says he “feel[s] so lightweight” so that could be that he has completely disconnected from reality into this reverie and that could also be the reason the rhyme shifts--he is not present enough to find it. It could also be that words are hard and Unknown Brain is German but that’s not an answer I want to accept. As for how the concept as a whole fits into Dex’s life, as he canonically has never had a friend before Sophie, but I propose this: when he was young--like, 3,4,5--the triplets would have been babies or toddlers, so Juline would have her hands full and a half with them and Kesler would be trying to keep the store running. Dex could very well have wandered around Atlantis--not too far, just to a nearby park or something, and found another kid of around the same age and they were besties for an entire hour. We have seen that Fitz was not aware that Dex was the son of a Bad Match when they first meet, so that means it is plausible that the responsible adult supervisor might not realise who Dex is, therefore allowing Dex and the other unnamed small child to have fun and forget about reality. This would ideally be young enough that Dex has no recollection of it, ensuring that the no friends rule remains unviolated. I might have a terrible memory but I think my first one is in kindergarten, so I would have been 5 or 6 so anything in the 3-5 range would be plausible. I originally found this song because of Kamiko’s speedpaint background music that I have collected into a playlist and then listened to a Lot. I think this one was on a Dex? Maybe? That might be why I associate it with him. Listen, I did my best to avoid outside influences but I can only do so much. 

9. Compass (bonus track) - Two Steps from Hell

[image id: the original Norwegian lyrics are on the left and the English translation is on the right. Let me know if you want me to transcribe them. End id] 

We are in agreement that Dex listens to video game soundtracks, right? I believe TSFH was recommended to me on YouTube because I listened to too many of that kind of thing. TSFH’s discography largely sounds like a video game or, really, any other form of scored media, especially one that has a fantasy setting. Although I did hear one track in my US History class in a Vietnam War documentary thing and then spent the entirety of my lunch trying to track it down. It was “Protectors of the Earth” if you were curious. Dex also has a tendency to watch human movies, even if I have not reread the series to finally track down whether his mother or father is the human film nerd because I am not convinced it is consistent throughout the series. Regardless, he has watched them enough to know at least some English but not enough to know what French sounds like. It could be expanded that he would listen to music in other languages too because apparently this playlist is both what he might listen to and music that is about him now. If he only has a decent grip on 

English, it would be like what happens when I listen to music in Spanish: I can recognize one (1) word and feel proud of myself. So he, like me, could listen to a song that is in Norwegian and not understand anything. To be fair, he might be able to tell that kompass = compass in English but why would he need to know compass? What movies have compass in their dialogue? Pirates of the Caribbean? Maybe? I mean both of his parents are bi so having the bi awakening™ movie would be on brand. The fact that the song is in Norwegian is also tied to the larger KotLC narrative. And by larger KotLC narrative I mean when Forkle definitely did not fuck a horse. I don’t think I have any specific lines I want to pick out and when highlighting is more trouble than it would be worth and this doc is already much longer than it ever needed to be, I have no reason to do it. It’s just vaguely inspirational and Dex needs a little bit of that before the next song. 

10. When She Loved Me - Sarah McLachlan in Toy Story 2 

When somebody loved me / Everything was beautiful / Every hour we spent together / Lives within my heart

And when she was sad / I was there to dry her tears / And when she was happy, so was I / When she loved me

Through the summer and the fall / We had each other, that was all / Just she and I together / Like it was meant to be

And when she was lonely / I was there to comfort her / And I knew that she loved me

So the years went by / I stayed the same / But she began to drift away / I was left alone / Still, I waited for the day / When she'd say, "I will always love you"

Lonely and forgotten / Never thought she'd look my way / And she smiled at me and held me / Just like she used to do / Like she loved me / When she loved me

When somebody loved me / Everything was beautiful / Every hour we spent together / Lives within my heart / When she loved me

Okay first of all get the tissues before listening to this song because dear Exile this song makes me feel things. Toy Story 3 is supposed to be the one that causes emotions, not Toy Story 2. But, alas. I am here feeling things nonetheless. In an attempt to not conform to the template of analysis then my reasoning, today the reasoning will be first. Dex’s last name is Dizznee. I kind of had to include a Disney song somewhere in the playlist. This spot was originally going to be Part of Your World but I felt as though this fit Dex’s characterization a little more and both characters have red hair so it all works out. Also, before you start complaining, technically Toy Story 2 was released several years before Disney bought Pixar but it is under the Disney umbrella now, so it is a Disney song for my intents and purposes. The main message of the song is nowhere near the most corkboard conspiracy theory of any of the songs here. I think that honor goes to Meet the Elements. It is once again a song about Sophie leaving Dex behind. In contrast to Do You Remember? (The Other Half of 23) the speaker is resigned to his fate instead of trying to remind the other person of the good times they have had. I want to pick out one line in the fifth stanza, “When she'd say, ‘I will always love you.’” This once again ties back to Do You Remember?, referencing how “We said forever / forever ago,” developing this theme of the end of a relationship juxtaposed against a false eternity. Dex is simply looking back at his memories of them together and realising that there’s nothing he can do to go back to those days they were golden. The sixth stanza is also interesting because it says, “And she smiled at me and held me / Just like she used to do,” which is also reflected in canon. Dex’s page time has increased since its all time lows in Nightfall through Legacy, but it is still largely focused on what he can do to further the plot, not how he can develop his character, so in the way that Jessie’s owner is holding her to donate her, Sophie’s relationship with Dex has a similar hollowness. Canonically, he has become closer friends with Keefe in more recent books, so he is aware of this process and is trying to fill the void, but it will never be the same as it was when they were younger. 

11. The Communists Have the Music - They Might Be Giants

I got handed an Ayn Rand sandwich / Straight from a can it tasted so bland / I asked a lass to pass me a glass / Of Engel's Conditions of the Working Class / Right away they dragged me to the committee / To explain my un-American activity / They're gonna see they made a mistake / If they'd only let me play my mixtape

I'm not partial to the martial / Or the plutocrats in their beaver hats / And the fascists have the outfits / But I don't care for the outfits / What I care about is music / And the communists have the music

I hear a melody / And just as suddenly / I know who I'm / Supposed to be / I don't need a rationale / To sing the Internationale / I only need to plug in the headphone jack / So I can listen to my backing track

I'm not jealous of the zealous / Or anarchics with guitar picks / And the fascists have their outfits / But I don't care for the outfits / What I care about is music / And the communists have the music / Yes the communists have the music / Oh the communists have the music

I hear a melody / And just as suddenly / I know who I'm / Supposed to be / I'm not partial to the martial / Or the plutocrats in their beaver hats / And the fascists have the outfits / But I don't care for the outfits / What I care about is music / And the communists have the music

And finally we return to TMBG! And this song does not require a whole box of tissues! Good things all around. It has been a while since “Meet the Elements” so it is nice to be back. And, no, this is very much not their only song that has lyrics in a similar vein of ‘stuff you might not want to advertise you listen to’ while also writing the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse Hot Dog song. So have fun knowing that now. Moving on to the actual song: it is well documented that Dex does not like the Elvin government or society very much. You know what might put a stop to the Matchmaking system? Communism. Everybody is equal and then there is no such thing as Bad Matches being discriminated against or Vackers being better than everybody. It is more than just universal basic income because they already have that in the form of the birth funds; it is a complete shift in ideology. Talents will no longer be perceived as better than skills and some talents will no longer be more highly valued than others. Take, for example, how Tam’s abilities as a shade have been morphed into a stereotype where he admits canonically wears a lot of black because of it. In fanon andin Keefe’s mind, he seems more emo when he is, in reality, closer to punk. And now it is tin foil hat theory time. The “plutocrats in their beaver hats” are pretty obviously representing the council because I do not see a reason why they would not give themselves immense wealth even above the birth funds. They are in charge and that is enough for me to believe they are absurdly wealthy. Then, this probably will not hold up very long but there is a rebel group that is known for its “outfits,” and that’s the Neverseen. Ideologically it does not make much sense for the Neverseen to be Fascists because everyone in the Neverseen is gay but one has to admit the outfits are certainly a defining feature. Then we know Dex has joined the Black Swan and when a member of the Black Swan knows the end is nigh, they can send out a Swan song--so Dex supports the Black Swan and, they “have the music,” they’re the communists in the song. I was going to put the USSR anthem right after this just to be funny but I didn’t feel like explaining my choices in a long paragraph after spending a whole playlist spot on it and, besides it was in a completely different key so I had a reason to not do it. 

12. Uprising - Muse

Paranoia is in bloom / The PR transmissions will resume / They'll try to push drugs that keep us all dumbed down / And hope that we will never see the truth around / (So come on)

Another promise, another scene / Another packaged lie to keep us trapped in greed / And all the green belts wrapped around our minds / And endless red tape to keep the truth confined / (So come on)

They will not force us / They will stop degrading us / They will not control us / We will be victorious / (So come on)

Interchanging mind control / Come, let the revolution take its toll / If you could flick the switch and open your third eye / You'd see that we should never be afraid to die / (So come on)

Rise up and take the power back / It's time the fat cats had a heart attack / You know that their time's coming to an end / We have to unify and watch our flag ascend / (So come on)

They will not force us / They will stop degrading us / They will not control us / We will be victorious / (So come on)

They will not force us / They will stop degrading us / They will not control us / We will be victorious / (So come on)

Yeah, Dex is in his ‘hate the government’ phase and I can’t really blame him. The first verse says, “Paranoia is in bloom / The PR transmissions will resume.” The paranoia is mostly referring to the Neverseen in the Lost Cities and the fact that people are worried about them. But this threat can most certainly be used to hide the fact that the council is not very good at their jobs. It is largely not malicious, but sometimes it is. The PR transmissions are probably going to refer to the updates that the council will give the public about the situation and the fact that they are trying to project a feeling of safety. They have opened and closed Foxfire so many times, and each time it reopens, it is not truly safe, prodigies have just lost too much time out of their learning. When the chorus says, “They will not control us,” it is referring to the council. They have an immensely tight hold on where their citizens are allowed to go via their registry pendants. Not only do they report coordinates, there are also registry files with incredibly detailed accounts of the wearer’s life. The second stanza refers to “endless red tape,” and while there is not literal red tape throughout the series, a lot of what Sophie and co. want to know is locked behind layers and layers of secrecy, especially including the caches. The last line in the fourth stanza is, “You'd see that we should never be afraid to die.” Considering that Dex has almost died at least once during the kidnapping and has been in near-death situations almost constantly for the next two years, death is very quickly becoming less and less of an abstract entity and more of just something that just exists. Not a whole lot of characters have died, but the threat behind the concept of death is quickly becoming less relevant. Fitz sealed his brother away to die and the trauma of that is nowhere near explored enough. Then, in the fifth stanza, there is the line, “It's time the fat cats had a heart attack.” As previously established in The Communists Have the Music, the council is going to be the richest faction so, yeah, this line is very much ‘eat the rich’-coded. The “fat cats” also implies that those in charge are lazy, and given that the council takes a very long time to react to new developments, this is an apt description. I doubt heart attacks exist in the medical literature of the Lost Cities, but replace that with an equivalent they would have, like a mind break, and the metaphor holds. Finally, another line in the chorus, “they will not force us,” could be informed by Dex’s experience with the council and the ability restrictor in Everblaze when he was forced to put it on Sophie’s head. The outro guitar part is also very long, reflecting the length the series, and therefore the length of the conflict against the government that they have been addressing since book 1.

13. Bring Me to Life - Evanescence 

How can you see into my eyes like open doors? / Leading you down into my core / Where I've become so numb / Without a soul / My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold  / Until you find it there and lead it back home

Wake me up inside (save me) / Call my name and save me from the dark (wake me up) / Bid my blood to run (I can't wake up) / Before I come undone (save me) / Save me from the nothing I've become

Now that I know what I'm without / You can't just leave me  / Breathe into me and make me real / Bring (bring) me (me) to life

Wake me up inside (save me) / Call my name and save me from the dark (wake me up) / Bid my blood to run (I can't wake up) / Before I come undone (save me) / Save me from the nothing I've become

Bring me to life / I've been living a lie / There's nothing inside / Bring me to life

Frozen (frozen) inside without your touch / Without your love, darling / Only (only) you are the life among the dead / All of this time, I can't believe I couldn't see / Kept in the dark, but you were there in front of me / I've been sleeping a thousand years, it seems / Got to open my eyes to everything / Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul  / Don't let me die here

(There must be something more) bring me to life / Wake me up inside (save me) / Call my name and save me from the dark (wake me up) / Bid my blood to run (I can't wake up) / Before I come undone (save me) / Save me from the nothing I've become

Bring me to life / I've been living a lie / There's nothing inside / Bring me to life

Oh, look. It’s another song about Dex and Sophie except this time it’s vaguely romantic-coded. Oh well. Don't think too hard about it. At least it’s good for the key progression and that is why it is here. Also because it’s a banger of a song. First verse-when Dex and Sophie first meet. Dex’s “spirit’s sleeping somewhere cold” because he is lonely and Sophie can see him like no one else in the Elvin world can partially because she had no friends until that point and also because she does not carry the prejudices that are ingrained into Elvin society. Second verse-Dex has been abandoned once again. It is very sad. We have been over this. When the speaker says, “save me from the dark,” in the chorus, it can be the same metaphorical darkness all the way back in Reach. The speaker also says, “save me from the nothing I’ve become,” implying that they feel hollow. Now, hear me out--that’s code for get the tin foil hats--what if that hollowness is just the façade that Dex is presenting in order to fit into Elvin society in the form of Team Valiant. We know he has built weapons before and he is not the biggest advocate of keeping the status quo, so in order to fulfill his duties as a member of the nobility, only a part of his actual personality is allowed to shine through. And because he is presenting himself to a hollow world, he himself has to seem hollow. In the bridge, the line, “Got to open my eyes to everything,” could be referring to opening his eyes to the truth that the Vackers are not all as maliciously pompous as a younger Dex wanted to believe. He is opening his eyes to the fact that the world is not just in black and white, but shades of grey too. Murder is an acceptable grey when its owner has pink hair and bakes goodies. :) The death motifs are also very comfortable at this point, to the point that necromancy does seem plausible, and I know it’s metaphorical, but Forkle sort of came back from the dead at one point, so I’m not going to immediately write it off. All of the calls of “Bring me to life,” are once again a plea for someone to find him in the darkness and help him out of it, but given some of the other songs on this playlist, I find that unlikely. 

14. Fortunate Son - Creedence Clearwater Revival

Some folks are born made to wave the flag / Hoo, they're red, white and blue / And when the band plays "Hail to the chief" / Ooh, they point the cannon at you, Lord

It ain't me, it ain't me / I ain't no senator's son, son / It ain't me, it ain't me / I ain't no fortunate one, no

Some folks are born silver spoon in hand / Lord, don't they help themselves, Lord? / But when the taxman come to the door / Lord, the house lookin' like a rummage sale, yeah

It ain't me, it ain't me / I ain't no millionaire's son, no, no / It ain't me, it ain't me / I ain't no fortunate one, no

Yeah-yeah, some folks inherit star-spangled eyes / Hoo, they send you down to war, Lord / And when you ask 'em, "How much should we give?" / Hoo, they only answer, "More, more, more, more"

It ain't me, it ain't me / I ain't no military son, son, Lord / It ain't me, it ain't me / I ain't no fortunate one, one

It ain't me, it ain't me / I ain't no fortunate one, no, no, no / It ain't me, it ain't me / I ain't no fortunate son, no, no, no / It ain't me, it ain't me...

And to round off the playlist, we visit the 1960s. With that context, it becomes clear that the song is very obviously referencing the Vietnam conflict. But that does not mean I cannot relate it to Dex. The first verse is very obviously describing people that are patriotic for their countries in a political sense. This is decidedly /not/ Dex and the way that it is presented in third person also means that the original speaker is the same way. The second verse then shifts to rich people, which while the Lost Cities have the birth fund system, Dex decidedly does not have the privilege that comes with wealth because there is no privilege that comes with wealth. Fame is wealth and he is in deep debt from that point of view. It’s also interesting that the rich people in the second verse are able to make their house look “like a rummage sale” to avoid taxes. This could parallel with the Vacker family trying to cover up their connections to the troll hive in and after Flashback, and it does not seem out of the question that other families would have similar secrets they want to cover up in the same way in order to present the best image possible. 

The third paragraph returns to the idea of patriotism, this time focusing less on individual choices and more of bringing others into the system even if they weren’t inclined to agree initially. It’s also much more inherited of a trait than in the first verse. The second lines of each of the respective choruses refer to the sons of senators, millionaires, and people in the military, and given that Dex, and the original speaker, is not part of one of the aforementioned groups, he has no reason to want to participate in the conflict on the side of the government. Fitz does seem to fit these archetypes very well--on the surface, at least--and given how Dex and Fitz are foils for each other, Dex is the opposite of the hypothetical people described. Overall, this song is basically just Dex telling the Elvin system to go fuck itself and I think that is an important message for him to have. It’s a delightfully angry way to end a playlist that started with soft piano and strings while still being in the same key, so it all can be played on a loop. I was first introduced to this song by my US History class when we had to pick a song from the 60s that addressed protesting against society and compare that to a song from today. Even if the context has changed significantly from then until now, a lot of the themes hold steady and are able to be translated into the Lost Cities. 

If you somehow made it this far without skipping several songs, good job. I don’t think I could’ve done it and I’m the dumbass that wrote it. :) sorry about this; I never thought this would end up this long. Anyway I think I'm out of words for a while so bye have a nice day

[chthonicgodling]

🏳️‍🌈 PRIDE COLLECTION - ELYSIUM🏳️‍🌈 Part Four!

featuring: Ty [they/them, nb + bi] & Karpos [they/them, nb + bi]

june fun continues with the next round, another extremely random pairing to pose next to each other!! mind daemon Ty who’s  newly formally announced themselves as nonbinary shortly after the birth of theirs & fiancée Libby’s baby Vid;; and Karpos, one of the ghosts of Elysium, honorary Flower Shade as a former nymph-esque-mortal-demigod of springtime fruit or whatever before their untimely death, who has ✨always been✨ nonbinary, though they are among of the ranks of peak obscure background characters hence why prrob none of you know who tf they are- oopssss still cute though both of them!!

 DESIGNATED NOTES;;

🌈aaand once again a conspicuous absence of Ty’s aforementioned fiancée/WIFE TO BE ANY DAY NOW LITERALLY Libby, also of Karpos’ longtime boyfriend & actual Flower Shade Kalamos (ghost, the river reeds) - once againnnnn both of them just default into the bi umbrella so they get left out

🌈with pending marriage in the ol’ rpverse I have been circling through old convos like constantly and only just now realized after like 6 years that Ty’s (AND BEL’S) ears are supposed to be pierced so really most importantly this is an amendment picture to fix that detail forever after thank you

🌈quick worldbuild elaboration for the uninformed; Karpos the ghost was not actually turned into agriculture upon death hence the adjacent status to the Flower Shades, which have now been mentioned THREE times, so: Elysium, land of the blessed dead, chock full of shades (aka ghosts, spirits, etc), employs several specific shades as gardeners, due to their lucky statuses of dying as mortals and then being transformed into various flowers and plants by whichever deities had been in favor-granting mood (usually bfs and gfs). hence the little club called the Flower Shades!

🌈….Which I’m sure technically, due to Chal’s (yknow Libby’s sis, also engaged to Ty’s twinbrother) friendship with Gany, & Gany’s engagement to prominent Flower Shade Cinthy, &&&& the rest of the Flower Shades thus being around; probably at some point Karpos and Ty HAVE interacted but????? not in the sacred texts that I know of lmao sO??? Gosh they sure both are standing next to each other!!

stay tuned tomorrow for the next installment! Pride collection tag can be found here! Ty belongs to @fenixethekid!

[tonguetiedraven]

Shiemi gently set the flour on the counter and scooped some out of the bag. She lifted it out, sprinkling it on the counter like her grandmother had shown her, and pausing to make sure she dusted her hands as well. She put the cup back in the bag --you'll always find you need more, dear -- and picked up the bowl of dough. She always loved the way it looked. It was a pleasant sort of tan color, darker than most cookie doughs, and littered with colorful flecks. There were a variety of greens from the herbs, a few flecks of red, some yellow, black from the seeds, and a riot of browns from the grains. They were colorful cookies, even if they weren't that bright.

She glanced up as she grabbed the wooden spoon to help her get it out of the bowl. The window was open, and she could see a bird perched on the branch outside. A warbler.

Her grandmother had told her once that warblers only sang when they were in a group. She'd always found that a bit strange, because the idea of groups had always frightened her, and the idea of singing in one...

Terrifying. 

But Shiemi was older now, and perhaps a bit wiser. It had not occurred to her younger self that a group could include her family.

Shiemi, like the warblers, had always found it easiest to sing with them. Her grandmother brought the melody out in her even when no one else could.

She pushed the flat of the spoon against the back of the bowl and scraped down the side. She urged the dough out, smiling at the familiar and distinct 'ploomph' noise it made as it was turned out. A heavy sort of noise. The sort of noise that sounded oddly grumpy about moving, but resigned to its new location. She pat the top of the dough twice, just like her grandmother always had, and set the bowl aside. She licked the spoon -- it tasted like memories and laughter. Like dough being brushed on her nose and flour being dusted on her cheeks. Like dancing in the kitchen and singing to the old tunes on her grandmother's radio.

"Shiemi!" A voice called from the adjacent room. "Is the tea ready?"

"Not yet," she called back, offering a smile even though Izumo wouldn't see it. She had no doubt her friend was sitting at the table next to a fidgety Rin and slowly losing her mind. She should have made him heat the tea. He always managed it faster. Or perhaps she should have sent him out with Ryuuji and Konekomaru to fetch the eggs. 

How unlike it used to be. She'd never had friends over before. It was just her and them. Her grandmother more than her mother, because there was always the shop to mind.

Focusing back on the task at hand, she set to patting the dough flat. The warbler chirped outside, and a glance showed that another bird had joined it. They were nuzzled close together on the branch, perfectly content and in their own little world. She'd offer them some seeds once she'd washed her hands. Her grandmother used to set a dish out for them on the window seal while they cooked.

She sang a few notes at them as Izumo's shriek sounded in the other room followed by a laugh from Rin, Yukio, and Renzou. She could hear the faint voices of Ryuuji and Konekomaru outside, and it made her smile as she pulled out the little cookie cutter her grandmother had used. It was an old thing, the sort they no longer made. A bit of metal someone had hand shaped into a circle and attached a little wooden handle to. It was a bit wobbily now, and the cookies it cut not quite round, but she dearly loved it. 

"Shiemi," Izumo whined as she came into the room. Her hair was partly falling in her eyes, and it looked like she'd run her hands through it in annoyance. "Let me help. I can't stay with those boys."

Shiemi stifled a laugh.  "Of course. You can finish the tea or help me put the cookies on a tray."

Izumo eyed her cookies. "Is that your grandmother's recipe?"

Shiemi bit her lip and looked at her neatly cut cookies. (Rows of four because that's how many you could fit if you didn't waste space.) "Yes?" 

Izumo nodded with approval and ran her finger along the side of the bowl before popping it into her mouth. 

"Hmm," she hummed, licking thoughtfully, "it's sweeter like that." 

"I couldn't use honey last time. It's what my grandmother always uses--err, used. It's back in season now." She relaxed as she spoke, relief making her throat a little thick. She wanted them to like it. They were her favorite things, and it felt like a kiss on her head from her grandmother each time she took a bite. She could stand them teasing her about the sandwiches, but not these. They were too precious.

The birds chirped a bit louder as Shiemi busied herself with fetching the cooking tray. 

"These really are good," Izumo hummed as she stole another bite. "Bright and a bit crunchy."

Shiemi beamed as she set the tray down. "Thank you!"

"What tea did you make?"

"Dandelion."

"Really?" Izumo shuffled towards the pot and peered in. 

"It's a bit spicy and goes well." It was what her grandmother always made. They'd pluck them fresh from the yard and steep them while the cookies baked. 

The birds chirped again. A third one had joined the small group. 

Cookies lined neatly on the tray, Shiemi turned towards the stove, Izumo opened it, and Shiemi put the tray in. The oven closed with a bang that used to frighten her, until her grandmother had said it was just the oven smacking its lips. The idea of the oven eating their food had tickled her, and she'd loved it ever since.

"Now," Shiemi turned to Izumo who had somehow gotten a bit of dough on her chin, "what were they doing?"

"Ugh," Izumo looped her arm through Shiemi's and dragged her towards the other room. Shiemi went, letting her eyes linger on the window for a moment longer. There were a group of the birds now, singing together, the largest one at the center was staring directly at her, an old bird with kind eyes, and she nodded at it as she left the room with the scent of her grandmother's cookies like a blanket around her.

[yautjalover]

This is an excerpt from my fanfic “The Elder’s Mate”, available on WattPad and Ao3. For the full book, that’s still on-going, I will add the links at the end. Now, enjoy the entire first chapter! Also, excuse the horrid formatting as it’s quite difficult on mobile. 😅

Edit: I’ve tried fixing this so many times and the formatting is still fucked no matter what I do. It’s written professionally on the normal platforms, I swear. 🥲 Sorry again for the crappy formatting as I’m still reacquainting myself with this platform.

~~~~~

Chapter One

She didn't know how long she had stared at the adjacent wall. It must've been a long time because she had memorized how many grooves were in the white paneling. Sixteen grooves connected the large square pieces. They were always clean, shining under the artificial lighting high above.

Even through the huge glass dome she was kept in she could see the forty-five tubes. Each one bathed the room in perpetual day.

At this point, she forgot what darkness looked like — craved it, just to remember.

Artemis wanted to see more than just the space she was forcibly kept in. It had been a long time since she still had a will to fight. A will to escape back to her old life. Her old life being full of paintbrushes and blank canvases yet to be transformed.

In her prison she could stare at four blank walls that surrounded the bubble of her cage. Here there was only the clinical white on white and little colors to admire.

Her captors had left her to sleep off the injections they gave her for the ultrasound. An ultrasound that drove a stake of fear into her heart, ice flowing in her veins in its wake. This wasn't the way she wanted this to happen. A place like this was no place for a child. A child that had been created when they implanted her with the semen of an alien.

Doctor More had been ecstatic.

He had gone into detail how she was the first successful implantation in trying to hybridize humans with a creature from outer space. One they called...a Predator. Yautja — such a weird word — was what he claimed they were truly called. The father of the child that grew within her was an alien, one who was also being forcibly held in this stark white cage.

Somewhere in this place was an alien, a living breathing alien. Every time the scientists would see her they would chatter amongst themselves with excitement about the "creature" and how he was a "monster". She had never seen the alien and was curious to see what he looked like. Maybe it would help her to gain back some strength to claw her way back to her old life. Or maybe, what she really wanted to know, she would find out what their lab-born child would look like.

Despite her child being implanted within her, she felt a motherly bond that grew in strength. This baby was hers and she would not let them take it away from her.

They didn't feel the little kicks. They didn't have to deal with the side-effects of growing a life inside of them nor did they get to feel the bond that formed between mother and child. All of those Ivy League assholes hadn't the faintest clue the means a mother would go to protect her child, her baby.

Artemis knew for a fact that she was four months along, the little life in her growing rapidly. Many hours were spent lying in bed with her rounding tummy on display as she rubbed it in gentle circles. She would talk to it and sing. Amazingly, this helped her to keep her sanity. At least the baby seemed to like her affection since she'd get strong little kicks from wherever it was inside of her womb at the moment.

It was this that kept her going now. This child gave her strength. She would protect it with every ounce of strength she had.

• • •

Rhage watched from the shadows as the door to his prison opened. Standing on the other side were three large guards with another behind them carrying a small white clothed shape.

A human woman, he saw, whom they placed on the floor with her back facing to him. One whiff of her scent had ice chilling his veins. He finally understood the reason behind being held captive and it filled him with rage.

The door shut behind the humans and he was left to sit there, only able to study the unconscious female in the center of the room. A click alerted him to his hands and ankles being freed of their shackles.

This was a test.

Did they expect him to kill her? A pregnant human? To do so would be dishonorable. The very act would label him a Bad Blood. It would also be worsened since the female carried his scent, a natural occurrence due to his pup growing inside of her. These humans were idiots. They knew nothing.

Crossing the room in silence he knelt on the other side of her so he could see her face.

Being careful to not scratch her with his black claws, he swept her dark hair out of the way. A soft gently shaped face slept peacefully before him, a smattering of freckles dotting her face. Dark thick eyebrows framed long dark lashes that fanned across her delicate cheek bones. Every part of her was soft and so very different than the many females he had sired pups with previously. Her skin was pale, the result of her being kept locked up such as he, he concluded. This poor female had been bred with his seed like cattle.

In her deep slumber an arm cradled her gently curved belly. With his sensitive hearing he heard the tiny thumping of his pup's heart.

Several emotions swirled within his great chest. All of them a sign of weakness that would crumble his resolve. At least one of them was worthy of giving in to.

It was rage. Rage for this female's will and honor taken away from her.

To attack the weak was dishonorable.

When his careful planning finally paid off there would be no survivors but the female carrying his pup and himself. He would take her in and protect her. Doing this he would work to restore her stolen honor and take part in raising the hybrid. In his society it was the females that raised the young, the males largely absent from their young's' lives, but with her he would be her protector so it would be different.

He so very much wanted to lift the fabric hiding her maternal swell and assure his pup that his sire wouldn't abandon it.

For now he would restrain his urges, urges that had never been there before about a pup. To touch the female while she was asleep, vulnerable and unknowing, would be dishonorable — he was no dishonorable male. Elders such as himself knew better. They knew how to carry themselves honorably in every situation Paya threw at them. Cetanu, the Black Warrior, knocked at his door constantly but by Paya's grace and his own strength he had kept death at bay.

Now, in the face of a new situation, he was to learn new lessons that he didn't know he needed to learn. Perhaps he was finally reaping the benefits of an honorable and decorated life.

Here in these four walls where he was kept in partial darkness he had meditated much, each time a long mental exercise in training himself. Pushing the limits of his resolve and to quell the rage that he had carried for centuries as a youth. That rage and thirst for blood had been trampled long ago but since being held here by the humans it had resurfaced.

What kind of Elder Hunter allowed himself to be captured? His weakness was the reason. The reason why he was in this predicament to begin with. His weakness was why there was now a human that carried his pup. This pup was not made out of the instinctual need to breed or even love, as the humans did in their society.

Rhage's pup would be born of a weak sire.

For the first time in a long time he was upset, upset with his own failings.

The female was suffering because of him. To her kind, having a pup was an emotional experience and the mother would stay in its life until her meeting with death. Humans thrived on emotion and didn't have that stamped out like his at a young age. Their society was different than hers and he truly felt sorrow for her.

These scientists would try to take the pup once it was born and he knew it would tear her apart. A bond formed between a human and her unborn pup, the bond only strengthening when she first held it.

Whoever she was, she didn't deserve this.

His plan of escape now included her. There was much she would go through and he would have to strengthen his resolve and quell the unwanted emotions in order to get them both through his mistake. She would have to be strong for the trials ahead.

The female began to stir from her slumber. Soft throaty noises filled the silence of his cell as she began to wake up. They were noises he had never heard before, his predatory instincts taking over and making him more watchful of the small human.

As silent as a jungle cat he retreated back to the shadowy corner of his cell where he sat upon his provided cot, the metal groaning beneath his weight. He leaned against the wall watching the female sit up in the middle of the room. Her dark hair fell to curtain the opposite side of her face, a hand reaching up to sweep back the tresses that blocked his view that faced him. The beating of her heart increased slightly while she took in her surroundings.

From his cloak of darkness Rhage sat and waited. Waited for her to notice his presence.

• • •

Artemis awoke to darkness. She was in a cell similar to hers — only this one was just a large rectangular room and not a dome, large parts of the space was cast in heavy shadows. The lighting was low and most of the room was dark. It was very quiet, too.

Too quiet.

Wrapping a protective arm around her middle she rose to her feet and tried to peer into the dark shadows of the room. A rapid clicking noise, similar to a woodpecker or frog, drew her attention to the far corner where a bed much larger than hers sat. Twin blazing green eyes gazed back at her from the shadows; the almost lime-green orbs staring into her very soul.

Fearfully she took a step back when she noticed how inhuman they were and how they were at a height taller than her.

More clicking filled the room and mixing with her rapid pants as she struggled to not scream. The scream wouldn't come out no matter how hard she tried. Words and even sound completely escaped her.

Was this the alien Dr. More and his colleagues raved so much about? It had to be!

Those eyes had a predatory nature to them, similar to a hawk or even a tiger, watching with an intensity that sent shivers through her body. Sitting in shadow she could faintly see the outline of the alien's body. He was one big mother fucker, too. A vague outline of his body highlighted bulging biceps and a super jacked body to go with them.

The alien sat there in complete silence just...watching her. He sat so still that if it weren't for the occasional blinking of his eyes then she would've taken him for a statue instead of a living being.

This...Yautja?...was fucking massive. He was easily eight-feet tall, at the most. The male creature was not someone she wanted to piss off judging by how big he was. Did he know that she carried his child? Was he able to smell her fear?

She sure fucking hoped he couldn't smell her fear. She didn't know how he would react.

There had been a few times she heard the scientists talking about how his species were scary trophy hunters — their entire civilization obsessed with hunting for glory in some kind of species-specific pissing contest between each other. They were supposedly very tribal despite having such technology that far exceeded what humans were capable of. Frequently she had heard talk that when the Colonial Marines ran into the Yautja that it was bloody and full of casualties.

And here she was, locked in a room with one of them.

Artemis was four months pregnant, unarmed, and with no way to escape. They had locked her here with a feared alien species...who was also the father of her unborn child...their unborn child.

She let that sink in for a few moments as he continued to stare her down like a zoo animal.

Did his kind have paternal instincts? A need to protect their own no matter what? Surely the fact that she carried his child meant that he wouldn't hurt her...right?

Drawing a deep breath and steeling her nerves, she took a shaky step forward. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she worked to calm herself in the face of such a scary being. She had to be courageous, strong, for both herself and her baby. Instead of cowering in fear, she was going to stand tall and show him the might of a woman who faced the personification of death.

The massive Yautja said nothing as she stopped at the outer edge of the shadow he concealed himself in.

Exhaling the deep breath she had held she met his lime-green gaze head on. She trampled the nausea that rose in her stomach and faced death himself. The father of her child.

~~~~~

Links to the work on WattPad and Ao3. Enjoy. ❤️

[jeontaeil-archived]

Turn Right Onto Oh Shit Avenue //

~ for @renhyucks "The First" collab ~

Pairing: Haechan x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Crack, Non-Idol AU

Words: 2.27+

Warnings: 18+ content, Read at your own discretion

Your first road trip with your boyfriend Haechan was simply unforgettable.

~

You were out on a journey with no destination and that decision was proving to be worse than you thought. After getting on the path that you were on for four hours straight, Haechan suggested that you get off the highway and detour to a small little off-road lane. At first, the daring exit seemed promising. But before you knew it, you had driven over a sharp stone, thereby puncturing not only your front tire but also the back tire adjacent to it. Having only one spare, there was no way you could make the repair. To add to your misery, when Haechan attempted to call roadside assistance, he was unable to do so as there was no cell service. The only way you’d be able to get some help was if you went back to the main road. However, neither of you were willing to leave the car behind - even though you knew that no one would try and steal a broken down car - and so, after a competitive round of rock-paper-scissors, it was decided that Haechan would make the trip back to the highway on foot underneath the blistering midday sun while you sat in the car, chilling peacefully in the ac.

It took him quite a while to return. He came bearing good news. A tow truck would arrive at your location in about two to three hours. Until then, all you both needed to do was sit tight and try not to panic in the lifeless location that you were stranded in. That was easier said than done.

There wasn’t much of a view beyond the windows. Just miles and miles of dull, dead grass. Not having much to do other than sit idle, Haechan grew bored quickly. He turned to you with a stoic expression. “Wanna fuck?”

You scoffed at his ridiculous suggestion. “In the middle of nowhere? Umm, absolutely not,” you answered, earning a whine from him. “The fact that there’s no one here makes it like ten times more ideal. There’s no chance of us getting caught,” he urged. You rolled your eyes even though he had a point. “Still, I didn’t bring any condoms.”

Haechan narrowed his eyes at you. “When I suggested that we go on a road trip you should’ve known that car sex was included. I shouldn’t have had to explicitly state it.”

Was he being serious? If you guys hadn’t made this stupid detour and were still driving along the highway, was he going to pull over and bone you while unsuspecting civilians drove past you both? Or worse, would he book a room at some cheap hotel for twenty-something minutes of undeniable pleasure?

“Well too bad for you then,” you chided, crossing your arms. “If it was a part of your plan, you should’ve prepared better.”

Haechan threw his hands up. You were unbelievable. He never thought he’d see the day when you refused sex simply because you had no protection. “I can always pull out you know.”

You laughed sarcastically, though you actually found his words genuinely humorous. “I didn’t wanna be the one to tell you this, but your pull out game sucks ass Hyuck.”

Haechan gasped dramatically at your accusation, taking full offence. “Aren’t you the one who likes it messy? How can I not be messy if half-ass my pull out game?”

You raised your brows in a false sense of surprise. “So you’re telling me that you fake it then?”

“I don’t fake it. I just do it on purpose,” he corrects. You nodded, not believing him. “Oh really?”

“I could always prove it to you,” he presented triumphantly. You smirked. “Okay fine. Let’s fuck. but you can’t pull out and jerk yourself off. Otherwise, it won’t count.”

Haechan smiled and crashed his lips onto yours, pushing your seat back so that he could hover on top of you. He spread your legs apart, settling in between them and slipped his hand under your shirt, drawing small circles into your side. You tugged at his shirt, urging him to take it off. He was quick to do so, throwing the material in the back seat. Haechan peeled your shorts down your legs, bringing his hands to your clothed clit. You bucked your hips against his fingers, gasping into his mouth. Haechan took this as a chance to let his tongue run over yours. He squeezed your breast over your bra and pushed the flimsy fabric up to your neck. You fumbled with his pants, managing to grab his partially hardened cock. Haechan hummed and pushed his pants down all the way, letting his member spring free. You licked your lips in anticipation, playing with his tip. Haechan pushed your panties to the side and rubbed his tip along your plump folds. You held onto his arms when he finally pushed into you. He set a steady pace, rocking his hips into you comfortably. Your head fell back against the cool leather of the seat, legs spreading wider for him to go deeper. With one hand on your shoulder and the other on your thigh, Haechan kept his eyes glued to your cunt. He bit his lip, seething at how warm and tight your walls were. You began rubbing your clit, impatient to reach your climax. Haechan didn’t mind. In fact, he fucked you faster, pulling your body down the seat and throwing your legs over his shoulder. He held onto the headrest to maintain his momentum. Loud moans left your gaping mouth. The usually talkative Haechan said nothing, concentrating solely on his approaching high. You were the first to cum, walls clenching around his member. Haechan groaned as he felt your arousal gush down your walls, slicking up his cock. Gripping your thighs, he started rutting himself into you, ignoring your cries when the sensitivity started to settle into. Keeping your condition in mind, he hissed and kept going, right until he was about to nut.

An amused chuckle left you as he pulled out and haphazardly emptied himself over your pussy. You wrapped your fingers around him and stroked his length, milking him dry of every last drop.

“Does that count,” he asked, pulling his pants back up. He handed you a tissue to clean yourself up. “It barely makes the cut,” you replied, straightening yourself up again. Haechan snickered. “Just admit that you like it messy and we both win.”

~

About an hour into your wait for the tow truck, another disaster took place. The car’s battery gave out, leaving you to slow bake in the intense heat. Haechan had it easier, leisurely, splaying in his seat with his shirt off. You figured you could do the same, but there was no way of knowing when the towers would show up. Not wanting to waste the little amount of cool air in the car, Haechan forbade you from cracking the windows open. All you could do was sit and fan your face with the car’s insurance papers.

Almost a century later, a loud horn sounded from behind you on the road, startling you both. With a glance in the rearview mirror, you realised it was the towing people. Haechan scrambled to pull his shirt on and got out of the car, wincing as he shielded his eyes from the sun.

You watched Haechan talk to them from the window. He turned to you, motioning you to sit tight. After a while, They pulled your car up into the back of their truck and offered to take you back to their garage from where you both could book a cab and return to the city.

Since there was no space up front, they let you sit in your car, popping the windows open so that you wouldn’t die of suffocation. When the truck began moving, you were finally able to let out a breath of relief. It was still considerably hot out. But the sharp wind that hit your face was incredibly refreshing. Haechan’s once sweat matted hair was now fluffy and dry. Both of you were at ease, feeling grateful to have escaped that dreaded off-road where not a single soul was present. It was nice to be around life again.

It took some time but you eventually reached the garage in one piece. After collecting all your essentials from the car, you both headed out to a small diner nearby to recharge yourselves with some food and beverages. It was quiet between you, for the most part, both of you were equally exhausted from all the long and tedious travelling. It was safe to say that you’d lived out enough of your road trip fantasies for now.

After paying for your food, Haechan took out his phone, ready to book a cab. That’s the exact moment he realised that his phone was out of battery. A look of horror struck on his face. You cursed in frustration and pulled out your own phone. Luckily, it still had some charge, though barely surviving. Much to your dismay, however, you didn’t have a cab booking app and you knew downloading one would take ages. Still, you had to try.

As you had assumed, your phone ended up dying during your wait. Haechan was going to cry. Knowing that you both would be in the car for the majority of your trip, neither of you had brought your chargers. There was one back in the car but you couldn’t use it. Haechan was on the verge of tears. He had no idea what to do and neither did you.

“Should we just hitchhike?” Haechan stared at you blankly and shrugged. “Do we have any other choice?” You traced the rim of your cup, letting out a tired sigh. “Maybe we can spend the night at some motel and wait for our car to get fixed. We’ll have to come back to pick it up anyway so why not just stay till it’s ready?”

Haechan couldn’t argue with that. A waitress informed you of a cheap motel around the block. You both set out on foot, reaching it in no time. The building wasn’t too impressive. But it wasn’t like either of you were expecting much out of it anyways. You just wanted to lay on a soft bed and take a shower. You couldn’t stand how sticky and dewy your skin had gotten.

After booking a room, you both burst in through the door and headed straight for the bathroom. “Are we going in together,” Haechan asked when he saw you peeling your shirt off? You slipped behind the shower curtain and turned on the water without answering him. He got the memo and mimicked your actions before joining you in the small space. Leaning against his chest, you closed your eyes, letting the cool water cascade down your body. Haechan wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I can’t believe this is what our trip led to,” you spoke, snickering to yourself. Haechan scoffed. “At least we’ll never forget it.” You turned around, throwing your arms around his neck. “Never in a million years.” Haechan smiled at you, leaning forward to press a quick kiss on your lips. Pulling him closer, you kept his lips on yours a bit longer, not wanting it to end just quite yet. Haechan stumbled back towards the wall, smirking as things started to escalate. You could feel his member beginning to harden up. Haechan let out a choked moan when you took a hold of his length, pumping it with vigour. His fingers found your clit, rubbing quick circles into it. “Fuck, turn around,” Haechan voiced, switching places with you. He pulled your hips back, bringing his tip to your entrance. Pressing your face to the cool bathroom wall, you moaned as he stretched you out with his cock. Haechan gradually brought himself to a steady pace, grunting in delight. Your head fell back, breathy moans filling the expanse of the small bathroom. This was the perfect way to destress after your terrible day.

~

You guys had quite a lot of fun in that motel room. Two times in the shower and once on the bed. Now, you two laid next to each other, naked and completely drained. Haechan giggled at the ticklish sensation of your fingers drawing shapes on his chest. You were cuddled up into his side, leg thrown over his lap underneath the covers. Both of you were seconds away from falling asleep.

“You know what y/n,” Haechan whispered, not wanting to disturb the peaceful ambience of the room. You hummed, looking up at him. “I think we should go trekking.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous idea. “After today I don’t think we should ever leave the house unsupervised,” you retorted. Haechan shook his head. “Just think about it. We get lost in the mountains and get a chance to see life through Tarzan’s eyes.” He sounded fascinated by the thought. You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and go to sleep. You’re going crazy.” Haechan groaned. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s sleep.”

He turned on his side, facing you. Snuggling deeper into him, you wrapped your arm around his hip, sighing into his neck while closing your eyes. His gentle and calm breaths were like a silent lullaby, helping you drift off. Just before you blanked out, Haechan gasped. “What is it now,” you asked, ready to kick him if he said something stupid? “I think I left our keys at home.”

tagging: @chwe-yeeun | @jayvoir | @jisungismymom | @lqsience | @jakesavocado | @giveortake | @choijwiss | @treasuretaeil | @bts-txt-ateez | @heeslily | @sunoosi | @dong-hyuc | @borrovvedyoongi | @uwusforateez | @haechanswhore

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[wotanidiott]

maybe some draco angst with prompts 20, 17 & 15 (angst ones)? thank you 🤎

—————————————————

The Other Potter

summary - after a heated argument, draco finally confesses, or rather shows you, his hidden feelings

pairing - draco x fem reader, mentions of ron x fem reader

house - gryffindor

time period - 7th year

word count - 2.6k

warnings - very angsty, violence and a whole lot of swearing

a/n - ahhh this is my first official post skdjkssjskksjssk !!!! i hope it’s okay i made the reader harry’s sister? i just randomly came up with the storyline and thought it would fit well with your request ... anyways i hope yall like it <3

prompts

“are you going to cry now?”

“you’re scaring me”

“you’re nothing. you hear me? nothing”

"Y/N!" You heard the distant calling of your name amongst the chatter of the mass of students in the Great Hall. Cocking your head slightly forward from your seat at the Gryffindor table, you found the source of the noise as they barrelled into the entrance with a frantic look in their eyes.

"Neville, what's wrong?" You question him, as he flops onto Seamus Finnigan, seated adjacent from you. Seamus furrows his eyebrows at his friend's breathless state, then looking at you with the same confused expression on your face.

Neville audibly heaves for a good minute, catching his breath from the seemingly long run he underwent.

"Harry, he—" His sentence is interrupted by a lengthy inhale of oxygen.

You perk up at your brother's name. A plethora of questions surfacing in your mind. "Harry? What happened? What did he do now?" You stand up, placing both hands on the table as you peer over at the short-winded boy now laying flat on the floor, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“He ... he—”

"He what?" You persist.

"Courtyard. He's— A-And Malfoy. "

That's all you needed to snatch your bag off the floor and bolt for the courtyard.

You realised you had developed some sort of attraction to the infamous Slytherin Prince around the start of 5th year. Although, you had assumed it was just a phase. In what world could you ever be attracted to the one guy that makes you and your brother's lives a living hell?

So that's what you had concluded it was. Just a phase. One that had seemingly fizzled out once you started dating Ron and now call a silly mishap.

But that wasn't true at all, was it?

A series of scenarios flickered through your head as you begun to wonder just exactly what had happened for poor Neville to nearly faint from shortness of breath to fetch you.

It must've been urgent.

As you reach the Courtyard, a crowd has formed around the oak tree, most likely watching the interaction between the two boys. Your hand finds the wand tucked in the pocket of your robes, gripping it tightly as you push through the cluster of people to get to the front.

He sees you before you see him.

"Ahhh, how nice of you to join us. Now the other Potter's here, we can really have some fun" Malfoy announces. Sniggers erupt from the group of Slytherins behind him as you finally reach the centre of the circle.

Your eyebrows knit together in perplexity. Malfoy is stood in the middle, surrounded by his goons but there's no sight of Harry.

"Where is he?" You snap at Malfoy, hostility lacing your words as you look around the gathered students agitated.

"Y/N, I'm here!" Harry's voice calls from above. At first your skeptic but as you look up, there he was. Floating in mid-air. Along with Hermione and Ron.

"You bloody git. I'll get you back for this Malfoy. I swear—" Ron is cut off by the single wave of Blaise Zabini's wand, effectively silencing him.

"They look rather comfy up there, Potter. Don't you think? Care to join them?" Malfoy pulls his signature smirk, eyeing you up and down.

The hold on your wand tightens as you whip it out and point it at him, stepping forward. "Oh, I wouldn't if I were you. Unless you want a repeat of fourth year? Don't think we all forgot about you running stark naked around the corridors after your little ferret incident."

The crowd bursts into laughter at your witty comeback. Even Theodore Nott couldn't contain his laughter and eventually gave in when he saw the humiliated look gracing Malfoy's face.

Malfoy's gaze on you hardens, his upper lip curling in contempt as he too takes a step forward. If looks could kill, this would be it. He flicks his wand upwards, still maintaining eye contact and you hear the thud of 3 bodies on your left, followed by grunts from the hard contact as he relinquished the golden trio from his spell.

"Yeah? No wonder Weasel left you for the Mudblood. I would too considering what a bitch you are." He hisses with no remorse.

Gasps emit from the crowd at his harsh riposte.

As much as you'd hate to admit it, the comment hit a nerve. You remained civil with Hermione and Ron after having found out he cheated on you with her but the pain was still there. A guilty expression flickered over the couple's faces as they shot you an apologetic look.

"Awww, are you going to cry now?"

Your wand lowers slightly from the impact of Malfoy's insult and he takes this as an opportunity to cast a leg-locking curse.

However, he underestimated you. You managed to block the spell with a simple protection charm before quickly shouting "Expelliarmus!" Malfoy's wand jumped into your open hand in a fleet of a moment and he was left defenceless.

"I may be a bitch but at least I'm not a disappointment. It's obvious that your Father would rather have anyone— hell, he'd even have Harry rather than you as a son" you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him.

You felt a surge of satisfaction when an emotion that resembled hurt flashed across his face. But it went as soon as it came.

Something in Draco snapped. It was one thing to ridicule him in front of his peers but to bring up his Father? Now that was a whole different ball game. Before he could even stop himself, a barrage of insults came pouring out.

"Are you even hearing yourself? At least I have a Father. And I have a Mother. You? You have no one. Your parents are fucking dead, Potter. You don't even have any recollection of them—"

"MALFOY—"

"Shut the fuck up, Potter" He snaps at Harry then instantly directs his attention to you again. "And as for your sorry brother, I don't even see you two together anymore. He'd rather be around the two people that betrayed you—"

"Draco, mate, I think that's enoug—" Theo tugs on Malfoy's sleeve to get him to stop but he's persistent on speaking his mind.

"Piss off, Nott. A-Around the two people that betrayed you than— than a pathetic excuse for a witch. No one likes nor cares about you. You're nothing, Potter. You hear me? Nothing."

Malfoy appeared deranged in the way he lashed out at you, chest heaving from his rant and wild eyes that looked as if he could kill you right at that moment.

But you didn't care.

You were past the point of caring. You knew all the things he said to you were true, you sometimes even thought it. But it felt like a whole new revelation when he stated it aloud. In front of everyone. Soon the whole school would be talking about this.

But you didn't care.

It was then, Draco knew. He knew he messed up. He took in the wide eyes and gaping mouths of his peers around him. Harry's enraged expression. His friends' guilty body language; despite the fact they played no part in the insult.

Then his eyes swept over to you. He had knocked the life right out of you. You looked ... numb. With your faintly quivering lip and glassy eyes, he realised he had overstepped. Usually, you'd retaliate and he would too until you were both separated by your friends or the professors.

Though, this was different. This was overdoing it.

"R-Right." You managed to say flatly but the distress was clear in your words. The tears in your eyes were threatening to spill and you felt sick. Sick to the stomach about the fact everyone had heard and were most likely going to realise that about you too if they hadn't already.

You had to leave. Bolt out of there before you became a weeping mess.

You turned on your heel and made a beeline for the closest abandoned corridor you knew by heart. You couldn't go to your dorm because Harry would find you there and you wanted to be alone for the time being.

You ignored your brother's calls to come back aswell as Hermione's and a few other fellow Gryffindors you had befriended over the years.

Tear after tear came rolling down your flushed cheeks. Each one representing a time you had bottled up those feelings and refused to give into the 'let it all go' mechanism.

The past 2-3 years had been a blur of pain and heartbreak. Ron and Hermione's betrayal had hit you worse than you thought, combined with Harry's absence and the pitiful treatment your friends had been giving you.

"Potter, wait!"

You whirled round so fast at the all so familiar voice. Out of all people, you hadn't expected him to be the one to follow you.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy. Please— Just .... just please leave me alone" Your plead came out in splutters, unable to fully form a sentence with the state your mind was in.

You swivel back round and begin to continue further down the hallway but you don't get far as Malfoy calls after you again.

"Potter, stop."

"WHAT? WHAT IS IT? YOU WANT TO HUMILIATE ME EVEN MORE? IS THAT IT? WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT, MALFOY?" You turn, snapping at him.

Through the swelling anger and haze of your tears, you couldn't make out his expression as he stared intently at your face.

"I— I just wanted to—" Malfoy pauses for a second, struggling to find the right words. After a moment, he simply sighs, eyes travelling to your hand. "My wand. You have my wand." He points at your clenched fists that have both his and your wand in it's tight grip.

At that, you feel immensely stupid for lashing out at him. Huffing, you shove it in his hands and collapse against the vacant corridor's wall out of frustration.

You bury your head in your hands and replay the scene that had just occurred. It was humiliating. Utterly humiliating ... but it was the truth.

"Potter."

You started slightly at the sound of Malfoy's voice. You had expected him to go running back to his goons to ridicule your breakdown yet here he was.

"Wh-What are y-you still doing here?" You managed to reply in between hiccups as you kept your eyes wired shut to cease the ever flowing stream of tears. "Would h-have thought you'd ran off and celebrated this v-victory of yours with the other Slytherins."

"Potter, I—"

"No, you know what, I don't even care anymore." You get to your feet and push yourself off the wall. This would only satisfy Malfoy even further; watching every piece of the facade you managed to maintain, crack and fracture. He didn't deserve to see you like this.

As you swivel round, about to make a run to your dorm, you're pulled back by a harsh grip on your wrist. Cold rings digging into your skin as he spins you back round.

"Well, I do." Malfoy says in almost a whisper.

You shoot him a bemused look at his vague and random words.

He takes in your confused expression and further elaborates. "...Care. I mean." He says, flatly whilst looking around you as if he were avoiding your eyes.

You can't help the scoff that passes through your mouth as you yank your wrist free of his grasp. "You? Care? Yeah, right."

You go to turn again but he stops you once more. "Look, Potter—"

"Malfoy—"

"If you would just—"

"No—"

"Listen to me—"

"Why would—"

In a fleet of a moment, Malfoy shoves you against the wall. His large hand wrapped around the back of your head to mitigate the impact. And the other squeezing your hip to hold you in place.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, STOP INTERRUPTING ME. IS IT SO HARD TO SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND FUCKING LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY?"

You open your mouth to protest but you're quickly cut off by his hand leaving your head as it drives into the stone wall right next to your face.

"STOP IT. DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT LISTEN MEANS, POTTER?"

You jump at the abrupt act of violence combined with the volume and harshness of his words.

"LISTEN."

His fist rams into the wall again.

"TO."

And again.

"ME."

And again.

Your eyes screw shut as you let out a small whimper from the proximity of his punches between the wall and your face. Tears escaping and falling rapidly from the fear he had elicited out of you combined with the occurrence that had put you in this mess in the first place.

Malfoy is pulled out of his momentary ballistic rage at the sound of your small and helpless sounding whimper. He had yet again let his temper get the better of him. Culpability overcame him as he took in your cowering state and he instantly regretted spinning out of control.

"Potter." His voice, eyes and grip had softened drastically, completely contrasting his aura just seconds ago.

"Y-You're scaring me." You murmur.

Malfoy instantaneously takes a step back, releasing you from his hold.

Your eyes fly open and immediately register the immense shame etched on his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—" He pauses momentarily, sighing to himself before continuing. "I didn't mean to scare you. Or hurt you. I didn't mean the things I said earlier."

It was an understatement to say you were taken aback by Malfoy apologising. You didn't think he even knew how to.

"You're sorry?" You reply, dubiously.

"Yes. I am."

You squint your eyes at him in suspicion, "No, you're not. Why would you be sorry? You don't even care—"

"Fuck's sake, not again." He cuts you off, shaking his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose out of irritation.

You don't understand. What's his angle? Surely, he doesn't really care. Right?

"What? You don't. Or else you wouldn't have—" You attempt to explain your point of view but he interrupts you once more.

"FUCKING HELL, POTTER. I AM SORRY, OKAY? IS IT SO HARD FOR YOU TO BELIEVE THAT I'M APOLOGISING FOR HURTING YOUR FEELINGS?"

A moment of silence passes between the two of you as you stare at each other.

"Yes." You breathe. "I-I just don't understand why you would—"

Before you could even process what was happening, Malfoy has you pinned to the wall anew but this time with his lips pressed against yours.

You undergo a mixture of all sorts of emotions in the time span of a second. Shock, confusion, disbelief and most of all a tiny spark of exuberance.

He gives you little time to melt into the kiss before he's pulling away already and holding your face in his hands.

You've never been this close to Malfoy before, so needless to say you wouldn't have believed anyone if they said Malfoy actually had the most entrancing eyes. Like a storm brewing behind grey clouds, you thought.

"Does that answer your question?" He asks, a smirk creeping up his face.

You can't help the little smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you attempt to mirror his smirk. "Partly, yes."

Without a second thought, you smash your lips against his, hands travelling to his hair as you lightly tug on the ends.

He slightly moans at this and mumbles in between kisses, "You don't know how long I've been wanting to do this."

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

You both suddenly pull away from each other as you meet Harry's eyes from the end of the hallway.

Shit.

———————————————————————

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[sisterspooky1013]

Waldron Island Chapter 2

Rated X | CW for violence and suicide | read it here on AO3

“Ms. Nash, we show massive amounts of fertilizer being shipped to this address as recently as four weeks ago,” Scully said flatly, swatting away a fly that was circling her head.

The fly may have been attracted by the large quantity of fertilizer they could easily smell, or it may have been the beads of sweat gathering along both of their brows. High noon in Mobile, Alabama was particularly unforgiving on this early October day, approaching ninety degrees without a cloud in sight.

“And I told you that I don’t have any idea whatsoever what you’re talkin’ about,” Ms. Nash replied emphatically with a syrupy drawl, her heavily penciled eyebrows jumping animatedly as she spoke.

Mulder heaved a sigh.

“Look, Ms. Nash, we all know the fertilizer is on site. We smelled it from a mile away. If it’s not yours, then we need you to tell us who it does belong to. A boyfriend, maybe?” His tone was resigned, defeated. These bullshit assignments chasing manure all over the countryside was wearing on them both, but Mulder especially.

Ms. Nash smirked mischievously.

“Only boyfriend ‘round here is good old Bob at my bedside. And he best not be orderin’ anything or else I just might have to cut off his supply of double As, and that’d be a shame for the both of us.”

Scully bit her lip to suppress a smirk.

“Bob, was it?” Mulder inquired, taking out his notepad. “And what is Bob’s last name, Ms. Nash?”

Ms. Nash’s lips curled up even further, her tobacco stained teeth like a crooked Cheshire Cat. Scully cringed, unsure where the crass Ms. Nash would choose to take this.

“His last name?” she asked in a falsely sweet voice. “Oh, it’s uh..Hitachi. He’s got a real magic touch, Mr. Mulder, I can tell you that much.”

Scully dropped her head in order to hide her face until she could compose herself. Summoning all her resolve, she looked up to address the suspect.

“Thank you, Ms. Nash, we’ll be in touch,” she said tightly, turning to walk to their rental car.

Slumping into the passenger seat, she fanned herself with a brochure until Mulder arrived with the key and turned on the air conditioning. He took a few minutes to remove his suit jacket and take several swigs of water, finally settling in the driver's seat. Taking out his notebook and tapping at the page with a pen, he spoke.

“I suppose we should run a background check on this Bob Hitachi. Is that Japanese, do you think?” He turned to look at her and found the oddest expression on her face, a kind of pained smirk. Part grimace, part beaming smile. There was some pity in there, too.

“Mulder,” she began, then stopped and made that face at him again.

“What?” he questioned with genuine confusion.

“Bob Hitachi is...not a person,” she tried, but he just stared at her blankly. “‘BOB’ is an acronym for Battery Operated Boyfriend. And Hitachi is a brand of…” She turned to look out the windshield for a moment, then turned back to him and blurted it out. “She was making a joke, she was talking about her vibrator, saying it’s her boyfriend.”

Mulder’s mouth fell open slightly, his eyebrows coming together as he assembled the pieces in his mind.

“Ah,” he finally said, tearing the page from his notebook and crumpling it up. “Well, another fruitless day on the books, eh, partner? In an attempt to look on the sunny side, I’m going to choose to be grateful that your encyclopedic knowledge extends to sex toys and that I didn’t call that in to the local field office.”

He turned his head to give her a pointed look as he tossed the crumpled paper into the back seat, and she pushed her mouth into an uncomfortable smile, feeling heat rise to her already-warm cheeks. Sex or even sex-adjacent topics were ones they strategically avoided for reasons they didn’t discuss.

“What say we call it a day,” she offered, “and go find something cold to drink.”

They found themselves at a barbecue joint that offered air conditioning and potato salad, two conditions set forth by Scully and Mulder, respectively. It was too late in the day to fly home, which meant another miserable night at the Weary Traveler Motel, a ramshackle establishment that lived up to its name.

“I’m so sick of this shit,” Mulder lamented as he tossed a chicken bone onto his plate, licking sauce from his fingers before he took a long drink of his soda. “If the goal is to get me to quit, I’m afraid the opponent is in the lead.”

“You don’t mean that,” Scully retorted, picking at her salad. “You’re way too stubborn to quit.”

He flashed her a knowing smile that she returned, and they sat in comfortable silence for a beat.

While the work was a meaningless series of frustrations, they each took some solace in having a worthy companion to share it with. In addition to their friendship, of course, was the underlying current of something they’d almost admitted to each other in the hallway outside his apartment not too long ago. Whether to be relieved that the bee sting saved them from something they’d regret, or to resent the bee itself for preventing them from getting things out in the open, was an open and active investigation. As irony would have it, they each suspected the other landed in the former camp, while in reality they resided together in the latter. Like a twisted game of “who’s on first?,” they endlessly circled around the conclusion they both wanted to reach, thinking it was the other who was holding them back from reaching it. Unfailingly respectful of one another’s boundaries, they were stuck in a stalemate of their own creation.

“You have plans this weekend, Scully?” he inquired in an all-too-casual tone, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is my answer going to have any effect on what you’re about to propose?” she asked rhetorically, and he shrugged. “Go ahead,” she granted, taking another bite.

“There’s this family annihilation case out in Washington State I’ve been following,” he began. “The father killed both his daughters, then his wife, and finally himself while they were on vacation.”

“Jesus,” she remarked with a cringe.

“I know. But the strange thing is, this is the second time there’s been a murder-suicide at this vacation rental in the last year,” he continued, abandoning his dinner as he became engaged in his own storytelling.

“That is strange,” she agreed, waiting for whatever the ask was going to be.

“Right? So I was thinking, it’s Friday and we don’t have work on Monday because of the holiday, so maybe we can jet out there and check it out,” he finished, picking up his fork and shoveling a pile of potato salad into his mouth to punctuate the statement.

“Jet out there?” she asked skeptically. “That’s at least a seven-hour flight, if I recall correctly.”

“Give or take,” he replied around the food in his mouth. “But I guarantee you it won’t be hot there, and they have really good coffee. You game?”

She heaved a sigh and leveled him with a pained expression. She would’ve liked to spend her weekend relaxing, grocery shopping, and cleaning her apartment. Boring, normal things that people do on weekends. But he’d been so down lately, bored to tears by the work and champing at the bit for something interesting to channel his energy towards, and she didn’t want to disappoint him.

“We’ll fly home on Sunday?” she asked reluctantly, and was rewarded with a beaming smile.

“Sunday, scout’s honor,” he replied with a makeshift salute, and she couldn't deny the joy she got from making him happy.

———

They arrived at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport the next day at 11:00 am, local time. Scully spent the majority of the flight sleeping while Mulder restlessly bounced his leg and tried to read. He was wired and excitable, like a bull ready to be let out of his pen. It had been far too long since he’d had the chance to investigate something of interest, and he was as giddy as a child on Christmas morning.

After retrieving their luggage and securing a rental car, they got on Interstate 5 and headed north, Mulder behind the wheel. They journeyed through a wet autumn day, rain soaking the windshield as the leaves of the deciduous trees were just beginning to consider yellowing. It was a jarring, albeit welcome change in weather from the oppressive heat in Alabama.

“Looks like we’ll have to take two boats; a ferry to Orcas Island and then a charter to Waldron Island,” Scully informed him from behind a map. “This place seems pretty isolated.”

“It is indeed, by design,” Mulder began. “Waldron Island is totally off the grid. There’s no electricity or running water, and no paved roads. Only about a hundred people live there.”

Scully lowered the map, folding it up as she eyed him skeptically.

“And this is a place people go on vacation?” she questioned.

Mulder smiled with a shrug. “Everyone has a different idea of recreation, Scully. Some people like to totally disconnect from civilization. Rough it, so to speak.”

“Well you sure as hell won’t catch me spending my vacation days voluntarily forgoing indoor plumbing and heat,” Scully said flatly. “So tell me about this case, since you don’t have a file for me to review,” she continued.

Mulder nodded and began.

“Eight months ago, newlyweds Rob and Deirdre Milton rented the cabin for a week for their honeymoon. They were allegedly outdoorsy types, somewhat local to the area. The day they were scheduled to check out, they never showed up to catch the boat that would take them off the island. The cabin’s caretaker, a Mr. Tsuru, came in from Orcas to check on them and found Deirdre dead, apparently beaten to death with what would later be identified as a fire poker.”

“Yikes,” Scully said in response, “and what about Rob?”

“Rob was initially missing and obviously their lead suspect, but he washed up on shore at nearby San Juan Island a few days later,” he replied.

“Cause of death?”

“Drowning. Though he also had some wounds on his hands consistent with the attack on Deirdre.”

“Murder-suicide,” she remarked, and he nodded. “And then it happened again?”

“Three weeks ago, the same cabin was rented by the Davidson family for a four night stay. Adam and Taren Davidson and their two daughters, nine year old Lacey and seven year old Madison. Same thing happened, the family never showed up for their scheduled ferry, and Mr. Tsuru went out to see what was up. He found all four dead; Lacey and Madison were smothered, and Adam shot Taren before turning the gun on himself.”

“That’s awful,” Scully said with a grimace.

“The interesting tidbit we have from the Davidson family is that they went over to Orcas Island after their second night in the cabin to get supplies, and Taren called her mother. She reported that Adam was behaving strangely, complaining of constant nightmares, and Taren herself said she’d had some visual disturbances. They were planning to leave the following day, a day early, but they never showed.”

“So what are you thinking?” she asked, plucking her Starbucks cup out of the console and taking a sip. These places seemed to be on every corner out here.

“I haven’t fully formed my theory yet, but either there’s some kind of chemical exposure at the cabin making these people homicidal, or there’s some kind of spiritual influence, perhaps.”

“Spiritual influence?” she questioned with a sarcastic smile. “Are we out here to go ghost-busting, Mulder?”

“I sure hope not,” he retorted, “I left my proton pack at home.”

She gave him a sarcastic chuckle.

“Well, as far as chemical exposure, there are certain medications or elements that have been known to cause violent and sometimes even homicidal behavior. But that’s after prolonged exposure, not something you could suffer after a few days drinking leaded water.”

“So you’re on the side of spiritual influence, then?” he asked facetiously.

“Not quite, but we’ll have to see what we find,” she replied good-naturedly with a smirk.

Mulder switched on the radio, tuning the dial until he landed on a station playing a mix of top forty music and classics.

He found himself continually curious about what kind of music Scully really liked. Given the choice she’d often default to classical, though he suspected that there was a more lighthearted side to his pragmatic partner. He tested this theory by putting on pop music from different eras and watching her surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye to see which songs she’d sing along to. Exceedingly self-conscious about her singing voice (which he’d had occasion to confirm was not even close to on-key) she’d quietly mouth the words to herself, particularly to late seventies rock. He liked to imagine a young and carefree Scully singing along to Steve Miller Band in the backseat of a friend’s car, far away from government conspiracies and abductions and cancer.

Close to their destination, he caught her lips moving silently along with a song that was soulful and sultry, one he didn’t recognize.

I’ve been a bad, bad girl

I’ve been careless with a delicate man

And it’s a sad, sad world

When a girl will break a boy, just because she can

“It’s this next exit,” she interrupted herself, pointing to a sign that indicated it would take them to the city of Anacortes.

Flicking on the turn signal, he cast her a curious glance. Some days he felt like he knew her more intimately than he’d ever known anyone, and the next day she’d appear to him to be a complete stranger. He wondered if someday he’d truly know her, all sides of her many-faceted existence, including the parts she kept carefully hidden for reasons he didn’t fully understand.

They boarded a ferry in Anacortes, and Mulder noticed the somewhat pensive expression on Scully’s face as they boarded the boat and got in line behind an Oldsmobile.

“We can stay in the car, or we can go up top, whatever you like,” he offered.

“Let’s go up top,” she insisted, and they exited the car.

It was a mild day, though slate gray rain clouds lined the horizon, threatening to empty their contents at a moment's notice. They walked the perimeter of the deck until they located the spot that provided the most protection from the wind, and took a seat on a wooden bench.

“It’s beautiful here,” she remarked in awe, looking out over the lush green landscape that flanked both where they were departing from and where they were headed.

While she studied the scenery, he studied her. Her cheeks slightly pink from the chilled air, her lips a deeper shade of red. Even the way the breeze mussed her hair seemed to make her more beautiful as it disrupted her carefully coiffed exterior. As much as he respected her dignity and her desire to maintain an appearance of order and control, he liked her best when she let all of that slip away in favor of just being herself. Like a peek behind the curtain, exposure to an unguarded Scully was like seeing the great and powerful Oz; the incredibly human woman behind the magic. No matter that they'd spent thousands of hours together, he found her endlessly fascinating.

The ferry transported them away from the shore and towards the San Juan Islands, a cluster of land masses that took residence in the waters separating Victoria Island, BC from Washington State. Decatur, Blakely, Lopez, Shaw; the ferry captain named them off as they passed each smaller island on their way to Orcas, the largest of the bunch. Waldron Island was more isolated and set further West, a stone's throw from Canadian waters.

Scully shivered and tugged the collar of her jacket up to block the wind from sneaking in at her neck.

“Cold?” Mulder questioned, scooting closer and draping his arm over her shoulder.

She stiffened a little, and he could almost feel her debating. After a pause she stood, letting his arm fall away against the seat of the bench.

“I’m going to head inside,” she informed him, and he nodded in acceptance, following her into the warmer interior of the boat.

Roughly an hour after they had set sail the ferry arrived on Orcas Island and they disembarked, following the line of cars into a quaint town full of beachfront shops and tourist attractions.

“Do you want to check into the motel first, or go straight to the sheriff's office?” Mulder asked in an attempt to be especially deferential, given the fact that he was compromising her weekend.

“Let’s just get to it,” she answered in a neutral tone, pulling out the map and helping him navigate to the station.

The Sheriff's office was just as quaint and beachy as the rest of the buildings, dried out sea stars and sand dollars littering the windowsills that looked out onto the street. As they neared the front door, Scully stopped to say hello to a shepherd that was tied up outside, wagging his tail enthusiastically. Mulder watched fondly as she stooped down to scratch behind his ears, and then his belly when he rolled to his back, his rump wiggling with joy.

“Good boy,” she cooed, ruffling the scruff around his neck.

“You never talk to me like that,” Mulder commented flatly, and she lifted her head to look up at him from her spot near the ground. Her expression was decidedly neutral, but he caught something mischievous behind her eyes.

“You’re not all that good of a boy,” she retorted coyly, and his belly did a little flip.

He held the door for her and she walked into the station. Mulder cast a longing glance back at the pup, whose eyes betrayed how unhappy he was to have lost his new friend. “Lucky bastard,” he grumbled before following her inside.

———

“I’m not sure what exactly you’re hoping to find,” the sheriff expressed dryly as he pulled up anchor at the West End Marina. “Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

David Sharp wasn’t what you pictured when imagining a sheriff. He was relatively short in stature with a bald head and a bushy beard situated below dark, deep set eyes. He had an almost comically flat affect, his delayed smiles appearing forced and procedural. He wasn’t unfriendly, but he certainly wasn’t excited to have them, either.

“Two murder-suicides at a remote cabin in less than a year is straightforward to you?” Mulder questioned, and Scully shot him a look. He had a knack for alienating local law enforcement with record speed.

“No, but...stranger things have happened,” Sharp replied. “You know about Ted Bundy, right? And Green River Gary? This state attracts weirdos.”

“So you think this was a serial murderer?” Scully asked, and now it was Mulder’s turn to shoot her a look.

“No, but...shit happens,” Sharp said flatly, and Mulder and Scully exchanged looks. They’d dealt with many small-town sheriffs in their time and they usually tended towards being over-reactive, but this one was decidedly unperturbed.

They scuttled across the body of water separating Orcas and Waldron Islands in a small speedboat. The rumble of the motor mixing with the rush of chilled air eliminated the possibility of conversation, which was just as well given that the sheriff didn’t appear to be too keen on small talk. Scully took in the scenery in small bursts until her eyes became too irritated by the wind, at which point she averted them to Mulder’s shoes. She looked up only when the motor slowed and she heard the scrape of the shore as Sharp beached the boat, jumping out and pulling them in far enough for Mulder and Scully to exit without getting wet.

“The cabin’s just across the way up here,” Sharp explained as they made their way up the sandy beach towards a tree line.

“Does the owner live on the island?” Scully asked, thankful that she wore boots as her heels sunk into the mucky sand. Most likely the tide had just gone out.

“Stan?” Sharp clarified. “Oh, no, he lives over on Orcas. He’s a little too fond of his big screen TV to call Waldron home,” he said with just enough derision to make clear he wasn’t a big fan of the man.

“So there’s no electricity or water here at all?” she clarified further as they arrived at a thatch of wild grass that separated the shore from the woods.

“Yes and no,” Sharp explained. “There’s no running water, no water lines or power grid. Most of the folks who live out here get their water from private wells and store it in tanks on their property. Most of them have generators for power when they want it, but you have to go into Orcas for gas so that’s used pretty sparingly. A few of the better-off families have solar panels, and a couple have indoor toilets that work off their reserve tanks. But Stan’s cabin is one of the more rustic ones. No electric, no toilet. Just an outhouse and a whole lotta candles.”

“Sounds charming,” Scully retorted, and Sharp gave her a knowing smile.

“It’s not my idea of a good time, but the people who live out here seem pretty happy. And they were pretty shook up about the first death. The second one has them even more on edge, and there’s a bit of a movement to stop letting Stan rent it out. He’s not too popular over here at the moment, nor are any outsiders. So don’t take it too personally if you aren’t given an especially warm welcome.”

Just beyond the tree line, they crossed a gravel road and continued down a dirt driveway. As they rounded a bend, a quaint cabin came into view sporting weathered wood shingles and a small covered porch that was piled high with firewood.

“This is the place,” Sharp said plainly. “If you don’t mind, I have a couple things to tend to while we’re out here. Can I swing by and take you back over to Orcas in an hour?”

“Sure,” Mulder replied, peering in the dusty front windows of the cabin. “Do you have a key?”

Sharp made a face.

“Nobody locks the doors out here. No reason to. Just make sure it’s closed tight when you leave.”

Scully and Mulder gave each other a curious glance and then bid the sheriff farewell, watching him plod back down the dirt driveway before they turned back to the door.

“Shall we?” Mulder asked, turning the knob and pushing the door open stiffly, the swollen wood groaning in protest. “Ladies first,” he added with a gesture of his hand, and she cast him a mirthful glance before walking inside.

The interior hosted one small space with a loft covering half of the room. Wooden beams and rafters were exposed along the ceiling, the floor made of worn hardwood planks with drafty gaps between them. To the left was a living area with a wood stove in the corner and two couches facing it as the focal point, given that there was no TV. On the back wall was a small kitchen with a sink and a short counter, in addition to an antique wood cookstove.

“No fridge,” Scully remarked matter-of-factly, inspecting the cookstove with interest.

“No bathroom,” Mulder replied, pointing out a window to the outhouse at the edge of the property, complete with a quarter-moon cutout on the door.

Along the right wall was a hutch full of board games next to a set of stairs leading up to the loft. Scully ventured up first with Mulder right behind her and they found that it contained two queen size beds, one against each wall. On the wall between the beds was a large window that afforded a view of the shore through the trees, and the fourth side of the loft was open to the room below, a four foot rail protecting the inhabitants from falling.

“It sure is beautiful out here,” she said for the second time that day as she looked out the window, and he nodded in agreement.

“From the file that I saw,” Mulder began, jogging back down the stairs, “Deirdre was found here.”

Scully moved to the rail that overlooked the living space downstairs, leaning on it while Mulder set up the scene. He stood near the wood stove, gesturing to the floor beside it.

“The assailant was estimated to be under six feet tall, right handed, and would have stood about here,” he said, moving to the other side of the stove and extending his hand towards the stand of fire tools, one of which was a very new looking fire poker. “Come down here, would ya? I need a victim.”

Scully returned downstairs and stood in the approximate place Deirdre would have been when Rob attacked her. Mulder plucked the fire poker out of the stand and held it high above his head.

“Blood spray and wound count show an excess of twenty individual blows,” he continued, slowly lowering the fire poker until it rested gently on top of Scully’s head.

“And then he threw himself into the ocean?” she completed, and he shrugged. “Tragic, but not exactly an X-file,” she retorted.

Mulder lifted the fire poker off her head and returned it to the stand.

“Not yet, but then there were the Davidsons,” he soldiered on, walking into the kitchen area. “Taren was found here, near the stove, with a single gunshot wound to the back of the head. The posture of the body indicated that she was cowering, curled up in the fetal position at the time of her death. The children were both up in the loft, smothered by hand. Time of death indicates that Taren most likely died first.”

He walked back toward her, peering out the window that overlooked the front of the property.

“I can only imagine what those girls heard and saw in their final moments. And whichever of them died last…” Scully said with a pained expression, not completing the thought. Mulder knew better than just about anyone what those little girls probably went through, given his time in the VCU. “And what about Adam?”

“Adam had the common courtesy to go outside before he put the pistol in his mouth,” Mulder supplied.

“The gun was theirs?” she asked, and he nodded.

“They were big second amendment people. According to the statement from Taren’s mother, Adam never went anywhere unarmed.”

“I guess we can see how far that got him,” she commented, acutely aware as always of the weapon strapped to the small of her back. “So what’s your next move here?”

“I had intentions of interviewing some of the local residents, but given what the sheriff said I might hold off on that for now. I would like to talk to the owner of the house, though,” he answered, walking the perimeter of the room in a dozen or so steps.

“Back to Orcas we go?” she suggested, and they exited the cabin, tugging the door tightly closed behind them.

As they turned down the dirt driveway, Scully glanced at the outhouse, deciding that she could wait until they were back in the land of indoor plumbing. Mulder stuffed his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, plodding along beside her with a little pep in his step that made the corners of her mouth curl up a bit. As pointless as she was sure this whole venture would turn out to be, it was nice to see him in higher spirits.

“So you’d never want to live in a place like this?” He asked as they arrived at the gravel road and crossed it to return to the beach.

“This Island specifically?” she clarified. “Hell no. Camping is one thing, but I’m rather fond of my hot baths and cable, thank you very much. You?”

She cast a glance over to him, the soft breeze pushing his hair across his forehead as he smiled good-naturedly.

“Maybe for a little while,” he replied, “but I think the novelty would wear off relatively quickly. I do like the idea of being a little more isolated, but more from other people than from modern conveniences.”

They found a large piece of driftwood a stone’s throw from the boat and sat down to wait for the sheriff to return. The day remained overcast and gray, though thankfully dry. Small gusts of wind pushed in from the water every so often, sneaking in around the collars of their jackets. They sat in silence for a few minutes, looking across the water at Orcas Island with its dense evergreen trees interrupted intermittently by large, lavish homes.

“Now a place like that,” Scully commented, pointing to an extravagant-looking home with three decks on each story of the house overlooking the water, “I could get on board with.”

Mulder scrunched up his face in disagreement.

“Too opulent for me,” he explained. “What do I need five-thousand square feet for? Give me a TV, a toilet, a shower, and access to takeout, and I’m set.”

Scully heaved a sigh as she looked longingly at the private beach that accompanied the expansive property.

“I bet it has a really big bathtub, though,” she said wistfully.

“Consider it one of the casualties of your career path,” Mulder offered. “I think a house like that requires a doctor’s salary, at least.”

She did consider, for a moment, what her life would have been like if she’d decided to practice medicine. It was something she tried not to spend too much time thinking about, because it was futile to say the least. She could easily conclude that her life as a practicing medical doctor would have been simple and easy, that she’d be married and have children and her own private practice. The grass was greener on the other side of the fence, sure, but if she was actually living there she’d be able to see the moss overtaking it, and the broken steps leading to the house. She might have been married to someone she fell out of love with, or have a terminally ill child. There were no guarantees in life. That beautiful house may well have been full of misery and longing.

She looked over at Mulder, who was examining a collection of large stones at his feet. He flipped one over and reached down, bringing his hand up to reveal a tiny red crab perched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Check it out, Scully. Think we can convince him to sing ‘Under The Sea’ for us?” he asked jovially, and she smiled at him.

Her life was far from perfect, but she knew that parts of it were enviable to people on the other side of the fence. Her career was exciting and interesting, at least from an outside perspective, and she had the opportunity to get an education. While she didn’t consider herself remarkably good looking, she knew that she was conventionally attractive. And she had Mulder. Her best friend, her partner. Maybe the love of her life, if she’d let him be. Many people would kill to have the type of bond they shared, and half the time she took it for granted. Every now and then it would sneak up on her, slap her across the face and demand that she acknowledge how lucky she was to know him.

She was experiencing one of those slaps now, paired with a particularly strong gust of wind that plastered her hair across her face, weaving it into her eyelashes and blinding her. Mulder chuckled and reached over to brush it away, his fingertips cool and rough across her forehead.

“Thanks,” she mumbled self-consciously, and he caught her eye, now freed from its vermillion veil.

There it was again. That spark, that something they couldn’t name. Or wouldn’t, more accurately. She felt the tightening in her belly, the telltale jump of her heart. What a dichotomy their relationship was. How they could be disappointingly platonic one moment and desperately electric the next should have been an X-file itself. One of them always looked away, walked out the door, or was stung by a stowaway insect. This time, it was the scruff of Sheriff Sharp’s boots against the grass at the edge of the beach that shoved them back into column A: coworkers, friends. Column B was an unknown category that she hoped to someday discover, should she work up the courage.

After another windswept journey across President’s Channel, they arrived back on Orcas and Sheriff Sharp drove them to the home of Stanley Tsuru, who owned the cabin. Mr. Tsuru’s house was a small white clapboard cottage with a large satellite dish affixed to the roof. Mulder and Scully exited the squad car, pausing near the trunk to wait for the Sheriff.

“You can go ahead, I’ll wait here,” he finally called out his open window. “I doubt Stan would be too happy to see me.”

Heeding his direction, they approached the front door of the cottage and knocked.

“Hold on a second!” bellowed a grumbly voice, holding immediate irritation though Mulder had delivered a neat set of three knocks and nothing more.

After over a minute and much coughing and grumbling from the other side of the door, it opened to reveal a heavy-set Japanese man with wire rimmed glasses and salt and pepper hair. He was hunched over to a degree that looked uncomfortable, his expression confused and exasperated. Though this was their very first encounter, Mr. Tsuru seemed to already be fed up with them.

“Can I help you?” he asked gruffly, looking over their suits with displeasure.

“Mr. Tsuru, we’re agents Scully and Mulder with the FBI,” Scully began as they flashed their badges. “We’d like to ask you some questions about the cabin you own on Waldron Island.”

Mr. Tsuru huffed with irritation.

“I’ve already talked to David Sharp about this half a dozen times, I don’t have any clue what in the hell happened out there but it has nothing to do with me. Are you here to shut me down, is that it? How do you suppose I should pay my mortgage, huh?”

Scully could nearly feel his blood pressure rising as spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth. She suddenly understood why the sheriff hung back.

“We’re not here to shut anything down, Mr. Tsuru,” she tried, keeping her tone soft. “May we come in?”

He looked back and forth between them with wild, distrusting eyes.

“Just ask your damn questions and get it over with, I’m missing MASH!” he spat at them.

Mulder shot Scully a look, which she returned with one that cautioned him against pointing out that MASH had been off the air for years, and surely there wasn’t much to miss.

“How long have you owned the cabin, Mr. Tsuru?” Mulder asked.

“Oh for chrissakes, the sheriff knows all this, why don’t you ask him?!” he said angrily with a gesture towards the squad car parked in front of his house. “It’s been in my family for three generations, we’ve never NOT owned it.”

“And how long have you been renting it out?”

“A few years, since I retired,” he answered, leaning against the doorframe as though it were an effort to remain standing.

“And aside from the Davidsons and the Miltons, are you aware of any other crimes occurring on the property?” Mulder continued, making notes on a small pad of paper.

“No,” Mr. Tsuru answered with a little less vitriol. He appeared to be losing steam.

“What about any other strange events or unexplainable experiences?”

That got him an incredulous look.

“Like what?”

“Like guests hearing voices, seeing things, objects moving seemingly independent of any human influence?” As per usual, Mulder casually spouted these things off as though they were commonplace.

Mr. Tsuru huffed a nasty, derisive laugh.

“You think my cabin is haunted, Mr. Miller?” he said bitingly.

“It’s Mulder, and I don’t know, do you think it is?”

His humor fading, Mr. Tsuru stepped forward, pointing an ashy finger in Mulder’s face.

“My grandparents immigrated here from Japan. They were taken, locked up in those internment camps down in Puyallup. Considered enemies of the state for no reason other than their country of origin. They worked their tails off to make a good life for my father and his siblings, bought that property over on Waldron with their last red cent and broke their backs building that cabin. If you’re looking for ghosts, you can head on down to those fairgrounds and I bet you’ll find plenty behind the Ferris wheel.” Shaking from the exertion of his tirade, he stepped back into the doorframe and slumped against it. “I don’t know what happened out there on Waldron, but it had nothing to do with me or my cabin. And I’ll be damned if you government types are gonna come out here and take what belongs to my family, and that includes my income from that rental.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Tsuru,” Scully said courteously, then turned away from the door with a subtle gesture to Mulder that they were done here.

They started down the sidewalk, back towards the sheriff’s car, but were stopped by the stammering voice of Mr. Tsuru.

“Mr. Milder,” he called out, a softness to his tone that was entirely absent in their prior exchange. They turned back to look at him, finding his expression fallen and regretful. “I saw those people. That woman, Mrs. Milton, and the Davidson family. It wasn’t the work of a ghost, I can tell you that much. Only a man, a hateful man, could have hurt those little girls like that.”

The stark look in his eye was one they recognized, one they could identify with. Some things cannot be unseen.

“Thank you, Mr. Tsuru,” Scully reiterated, and they walked back to the sheriff’s car.

———

The Orcas Inn was a converted apartment building boasting large rooms with sweeping views of the water. Nestled into one corner of the ground floor was a small restaurant with less than a dozen tables, fishing nets and black and white photos of wind-beaten ships adorning the walls. The menu was a smorgasbord of seafood: salmon, oysters on the half shell, and fresh scallops.

“There are four direct flights to Reagan International tomorrow,” Scully said as she speared a shrimp with her fork. “Are you inclined towards morning or evening?”

Mulder considered the question while he chewed a bite of clam chowder.

“Better make it evening,” he finally said. “I’m hoping to go back out to the cabin tomorrow before we leave.”

“To do what?” she asked, puzzled. There didn’t seem to be anything beyond homicide happening here, which, while tragic, was not their purview.

He shrugged. “I’m not sure yet, but I have a feeling we’re missing something.”

She studied him, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie sagging around his neck. He had the rumpled, wired look of Mulder on a mission, and she’d be lying to herself if she claimed she didn’t like it.

“Something Mr. Tsuru said resonated with you,” she offered as a statement, not bothering with a question.

He shrugged again.

“I’m gonna sleep on it, see what feels right in the morning.”

“Sleep on it? Are those the investigative avenues we’re employing now?” she asked playfully, and he threw her a boyish smile.

“Excuse me,” said a small but insistent voice.

They turned to see an older woman, average height and rail thin with a mousy brown bowl cut and olive skin. Her face had a severe quality, stoic in a way that suggested it wasn’t prone to smiling.

“Can we help you?” Scully asked gently, setting down her fork.

“Are you the FBI people here about the murders out on Waldron?” she asked flatly, clearly already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” Mulder replied. “And you are…?”

“Paulette Mahoney, medium and psychic,” she answered, straightening her posture.

Scully cast Mulder wide eyes that told him this was his territory.

“And what can we do for you, Ms. Mahoney?” Mulder asked with interest.

“I don’t need anything from you,” she answered with a hint of offense, as though the suggestion that she would need their help were ridiculous. “I just wanted to tell you that you should stay far away from Stan Tsuru’s cabin, if you know what’s good for you.”

“You know Mr. Tsuru?”

A flash of discomfort flashed over Paulette’s face, but she quickly suppressed it.

“I know of him. What happened to his family. And that’s exactly why you’d do well not to go digging around at his cabin.”

“Yeah?” Mulder asked, leaning back in his chair. “And why’s that?”

“That place is evil,” Paulette began, her jaw quivering with restraint. “It wants to make people hurt like it hurts.”

“You’ve been there?” Mulder asked, his tone somewhat flat and disinterested, but Scully could see the glint in his eye.

“Never inside,” she said gravely, “I can feel it as soon as the boat docks. It draws people in. It consumes them.”

“We were just there today,” Scully piped in, unable to resist. “Seemed like a typical cabin to me. We left unscathed.”

Paulette’s face fell, and she leveled a fearful expression on Scully.

“You slept there?” she asked, part chastisement, part disbelief.

“No, just a quick trip out and back,” Scully replied, noticing the way Paulette wrung a handkerchief between her clenched fists, the skin blanching with her effort.

Paulette let out an audible sigh of relief.

“You might not be so lucky next time,” she said with a cool stare.

“Tell me more about the evil,” Mulder requested, leaning forward. “You said the house wants to hurt people. Why?”

Paulette shifted her gaze to him quickly as though she’d forgotten he was also at the table.

“Evil doesn’t need a reason,” she offered plainly. “It seeks only to perpetuate itself. To propagate, to spread. Any vehicle will do, yourselves included.”

“How does it work?” Mulder began to ask, but was cut off by the manager of the restaurant approaching the table.

“Paulette,” he hissed, touching her shoulder and leading her away from them. “I have asked you repeatedly not to…”

The rest of their conversation was inaudible as the manager showed her out the door.

———

Scully set her bag on the end of the bed and moved towards the sliding glass door, pushing it open with quite a bit of effort. It let out to a small balcony overlooking the water and she stepped out to watch the last dredges of daylight slip behind the horizon. The wisp of clouds were honey yellow, and the air smelled clean and wet. A gust of wind pushed in from the shore and she shivered, returning inside. She changed into a Stanford T-shirt and sweats, and was gathering her hair into a ponytail when she heard Mulder’s knock.

“Room service,” he called out in a singsong falsetto that made her smile.

She pulled the door open to find him in his undershirt and dress pants, hands behind his back and a mischievous smirk on his face.

“I didn’t order any room service,” she said with feigned confusion, planting one hand on her hip.

“Ah,” Mulder began, now in a fairly accurate British accent that immediately made her think of Phoebe Greene. “The gentleman you’re traveling with ordered it for you. He said something about dragging you across the country on your day off? He sounds a bit insufferable, Miss, if you don't mind my saying so.”

She cracked a smile and jutted out her chin with a glance toward his concealed hands.

“Whatcha got there, G-man?”

He brought his hand forward to reveal a bag of caramel corn.

“May I monopolize your leisure time in exchange for this genu-wine Seattle caramel corn?” he asked very formally, but in his own voice, gesturing to the bag with his free hand.

She narrowed her eyes at him as though considering turning him away.

“Does it have peanuts?”

He shot her a look.

“Do you really think I’d come over here with peanut-less caramel corn? I’m a behavioral scientist, Scully, I know what you like.”

“Do you?” she asked playfully, and Mulder quirked his head in surprise. A blush crept up her cheeks as she realized how it sounded.

She stepped aside to avoid him having to answer, gesturing for him to come in. He entered and sat in the middle of the bed cross-legged, tearing open the caramel corn as he began to speak.

“So what do you make of that woman, Paulette?” he asked as he popped a kernel in his mouth and held it out to her.

She crossed the room and sat on the bed facing him, also cross-legged with their knees almost touching.

“I think she’s a crackpot in a series of crackpots I’ve encountered since I was assigned to work with you,” she replied, reaching into the bag and extracting a sugar-coated kernel with peanuts clustered around it.

She popped it into her mouth and found that it had just the right amount of crunch without sticking to her teeth, and she hummed in satisfaction. Mulder glanced at her and then back to the bag, clearing his throat.

“Are you counting me as one of those crackpots?” he asked good-naturedly.

“The founding crackpot,” she replied with a soft smile, taking another kernel.

He bobbed his head in acceptance of that title, setting the bag down to rest against his legs.

“I’m thinking about what she said about the house being evil, wanting to hurt people. The idea that it’s the structure itself rather than an entity that inhabits the structure.”

“Structures don’t have feelings or intentions, Mulder,” she chastised him. “That doesn’t even make sense. At least the idea of a ghost is predicated on something that was a formerly sentient being.”

“Did I just hear you give credence to the idea of a ghost, Scully?” he asked sincerely, placing his hand over his heart.

She shot him a sarcastic sneer.

“Don’t get too excited. Ghosts are plausible only as compared to the idea of a building with a consciousness. You know the thing about ghosts that bugs me?”

“There’s just one thing?” he asked incredulously, and she threw a piece of caramel corn at him that landed near his eye, causing him to flinch.

“Why are ghosts always from the nineteenth century, wearing old-timey nightgowns or colonial garb?” she questioned as he plucked the weaponized kernel off the bed and popped it in his mouth. “If ghosts were real, shouldn’t we hear about sightings of ghosts with mutton chops or mullets? Shouldn’t there be a ghost wearing bell bottoms or daisy dukes?”

“A daisy duke-wearing ghost sounds like one I’d like to meet,” Mulder replied dryly, not answering her question.

“How unlucky for you that I’m a strong swimmer, otherwise I may be haunting the Salton Sea in a pair of daisy dukes right now,” she retorted.

He paused with a piece of popcorn halfway to his mouth, flicking his eyes up to hers.

“You wore daisy dukes?” he inquired, surprise evident in his voice.

She smiled sheepishly.

“I didn’t emerge from the womb an FBI agent, Mulder,” she explained, “and Missy was always trying to help me be a little cooler than I was, so the daisy dukes may have been her idea. So, what’s on the docket for tomorrow?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I want to find out more about the other people who rented out the cabin, the ones who made it home,” Mulder replied, “and maybe just poke around out there a little bit more.”

“You don’t think the local PD already contacted the other renters?” Scully asked, reaching for the bag.

Mulder scoffed.

“Not likely, they seem alarmingly disinterested in understanding what happened out there. But maybe the sheriff can fill us in on what happened to Mr. Tsuru’s family.”

They were quiet for a beat, the crunch of popcorn and the shriek of gulls competing with the hum of the mini fridge.

“Thanks for coming out here with me, Scully,” he said stoically. “I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend your weekend and I really appreciate it.”

She offered him a small smile.

“No big deal,” she replied as she reached for the popcorn. “After all the grunt work we’ve been doing lately, it’s kind of fun.”

He grabbed the bag and moved it out of her reach.

“I’m sorry, did you just say this was fun?” he asked in a playfully accusatory tone.

She glared at him, leaning forward to try and grab the bag from behind his back.

“I said it was kind of fun, and only as compared to chasing down manure.”

He switched the bag to his other hand, moving it further away.

“I knew it. You do like ghost busting,” he proclaimed.

Scully was now up on her knees, leaning across his lap in an attempt to swipe the bag. Mulder leaned back further, dangling it in his fingertips over the side of the bed.

“I never said that, Mulder, give me the popcorn,” she retorted, her hand mere millimeters away from it.

Crossing his other hand over his body, he stuck his fingers into her armpit and tickled her, and she clamped her arm down against her side with a shriek. In her reflexive effort to guard herself from being tickled, she lost her balance and fell on top of him. Pressed against each other chest to breast, their eyes met, faces so close their noses were nearly touching. Mulder’s arm slackened, the popcorn falling to the floor. He could smell her sweet sugary breath and feel the warm weight of her body. She smirked at him, and then rolled away swiftly, leaning down to grab the bag before she stood up, moving across the room. Mulder propped himself up on his elbows, smiling at her victorious chomping.

“Make sure to brush your teeth,” he said as he stood and walked to the door. “That stuff is nothing but sugar.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she replied sarcastically, closing the door behind him.

———

“This is Officer Dormir,” Sheriff Sharp said as he led them to a small bank of desks. “He can help you with the research you need to do.”

The man sitting at the only occupied desk was young, maybe in his twenties, with sandy blonde hair and a sallow complexion. There were pronounced bags under his eyes and his cheeks were stubbled and scruffy.

“How can I help you?” Dormir asked with a weary voice.

“Mr. Tsuru gave us this list of past renters at the cabin,” Mulder said as he slid a sheet of paper across the desk. “We’re hoping you can contact as many of them as possible and ask about their experience. We’d specifically like to hear about any visual or audio disturbances, strange dreams. You might ask them if they stayed for the duration of their reservation. You might also ask what they thought of Mr. Tsuru, if there were any red flags there.”

Dormir nodded solemnly, taking notes on a pad of paper.

“Sure, I can do that,” he answered with a pained smile.

“Thank you, Officer Dormir, we appreciate your help,” Scully replied.

Sharp walked them back to the front doors of the station. They’d made arrangements to use his boat without escort and he seemed pleased to learn that they’d be returning home that evening.

“Is Officer Dormir alright?” Scully asked as they exited. “He looks unwell.”

“He’s okay,” Sharp said with a shrug. “He’s been having some trouble sleeping, so we have him on desk duty for now, until he’s feeling better.”

“What do you know about Stan Tsuru’s family?” Mulder asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “A woman we ran into last night alluded to something happening to them, and suggested we should stay away from the cabin.”

“Ah, sounds like you met Paulette,” Sharp said with a grimace, and Mulder nodded in confirmation. “Truth be told, no one really knows what happened. It was a long time ago, back in the seventies, and Stan was over on Orcas for the evening hanging around with some friends. He said when he got home, they were all gone. His mother, father and his two brothers, just vanished. Stan’s been on his own ever since.”

“Was there an investigation?” Scully asked, and Sharp bobbed his head from side to side noncommittally.

“Kind of, but Stan seemed content to conclude that they’d just run off and left him, and his father wasn’t the most well-liked man on the island, so no one was particularly inclined to try and bring him back. It was a different time.”

“Well, thanks for having your officer make those calls for us,” Mulder said as he extended his hand to shake the sheriff’s. “We should be back in a few hours, then we’ll be out of your hair.”

Sharp lifted his eyebrows as he shook Mulder’s hand, neither confirming nor denying his relief at their impending departure.

The weather was less forgiving that day, slate gray clouds sitting low in the sky and emitting a sheer, misty rain, the kind of rain that seems to come from all directions and circumvents an umbrella. Having packed for a warmer climate, Scully had ventured out that morning to purchase a thin rain shell to wear over a blue sweater, happy to find a pair of dark wash jeans in her size. She wouldn’t normally wear jeans while working a case, but reasoned that they were off the clock and she’d need to hike around the island. In a stroke of luck, she had packed heeled boots rather than her typical pumps, which always made her feet sweaty in warm weather. Mulder, of course, had packed jeans and sneakers as he always did. Ever ready to go on a run or do middle-of-the-night recon, he was perpetually prepared.

By the time they beached the boat on Waldron Island, her hair was damp and frizzy, the time she spent blow-drying it that morning a complete waste. Mulder regarded her with interest as she produced a hair tie from around her wrist, sweeping her ruined locks up into a small pony tail at the crown of her head. The shorter hairs underneath refused to be contained, curling stubbornly around the nape of her neck.

The worn wooden cabin was just as they’d left it, the swollen door even more stuck in the wet weather and Mulder jammed his shoulder against it, forcing it open. It had the same stale woody smell as the day before, but with an added moldering dampness. They split up, Scully taking the loft while Mulder explored the ground floor, looking for anything of interest.

On a table near the door, he found books and pamphlets on the local beaches, wildlife, and history of Waldron Island. Thumbing through, he saw black and white photos of early residents and accounts of its use over the years.

Long before Europeans set foot on the island, it was called Schishuney by the Lummi people, which means “fishing place with a pole.” The island was a seasonal stop for fishing, clamming, hunting and harvesting camas. The island received the name Waldron from Wilkes Expedition officer Lieutenant Case who, with his group, surveyed the land in 1841. It was either named after the captain’s clerk on the Porpoise, Thomas W. Waldron, or R. R. Waldron, Purser of the Vincennes.

Mulder closed the book and moved it to the side, finding a small spiral-bound notebook underneath.

“There’s a guest book down here, Scully,” Mulder called up to her, and she joined him in the entryway to look through it.

July, 1996

We had so much fun finding sea creatures on the beach!

The Marriott Family

“I wonder if Officer Dormir will make contact with the Marriotts,” Scully commented, turning the page.

December, 1996

Quiet Christmas at the cabin. We slept on the floor in front of the wood stove.

Jamie and Josh Burnett

“Probably in the same spot where Dierdre’s life ended,” Mulder said.

April, 1997

Just me, my typewriter, and the hush of the waves.

Richard Coffer

Mulder flipped through several more pages, stopping when he found what he was looking for.

March, 1998

The beginning of a beautiful life together.

Rob and Deirdre Milton

“That’s sad,” Scully remarked softly, touching the page. She glanced over to the wood stove, imagining the scene that played out there. What the hell happened to these people? She flipped through the next few pages.

September, 1998

Getting back to nature!

Adam, Taren, Lacey and Maddie

Mulder closed the book and headed for the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers. Scully moved to a hutch loaded with board games near the stairs to the loft. She took out each box and checked its contents, stacking them neatly on a nearby table. In a game of Scattergories, she found a scoring sheet with “Lacey” printed neatly across the top and a series of words starting with the letter S.

“Anything?” Mulder asked, closing the door to the oven.

“Nope,” Scully replied, slipping the sheet of paper back into the Scattergories box and returning all the games to the shelf.

“I’m gonna poke around outside,” He said as he walked towards the back door, and Scully scrunched up her nose at him.

“What?” he asked hopefully.

She heaved a sigh.

“I have to pee,” she said regretfully, pushing her bottom lip into a pout.

Mulder smiled at her fondly.

“It wouldn’t be the worst place you’ve ever had to pee,” he offered, and she held up her hand to stop him.

“I thought we agreed never to discuss that,” she warned him with a stern look, and he clamped his hand over his mouth as he backed out the door.

Following behind him, Scully walked across the overgrown yard towards the outhouse, the legs of her jeans quickly becoming soaked by the grass. Standing before the door, she frowned at the crescent moon cut out in the wood. On the other side she knew she’d find one of two things: an inoffensive and well-kept outdoor toilet, or a rank, festering shithole, quite literally. Holding her breath, she yanked on the rudimentary handle and pulled it open.

Inside was the requisite wooden bench with a hole cut in it, a modern toilet seat affixed to the surface. A roll of soggy toilet paper sat nearby and she decided then and there that she’d be drip drying. Looking around, it wasn’t especially dirty and the floor wasn’t rotted with urine, both good signs. She peered into the hole and whatever was in there, it was too far down to see.

“Does it meet the Scully standard?” Mulder called out from the other side of the yard, and she turned to shoot him an irritated glare.

Easy for you to say, she wanted to tell him, you can just whip it out and pee wherever you like. Though it was possible that he didn’t realize that she was aware of his roadside urination habit. He only ever did it when she was asleep, and she never let on that the brief pit stop woke her up. Mulder seemed to have gotten the impression that she was an especially deep sleeper.

Stepping in and pulling the door closed, she took care of business as quickly as possible, gasping at the chill of the seat when it met with her skin. As she stood to pull her jeans back up, she saw some faded writing on the inside of the door, though it was hard to make it out in the low light. As she exited, she pushed it open as wide as possible, allowing the gray light of midday to illuminate the lettering.

“Hey, Mulder,” she called out to him, and he came trotting over from the shed he’d been exploring. “There’s some writing here,” she explained as he got closer.

He squinted at the door, moving his face closer, and then further away. Stepping back a few feet, he read what he could make out.

“New s-, something. Ends with an -er. I think that’s a date. Nineteen...sixty something.”

“New shitter,” Scully supplied, turning to smirk at him.

“What’s that below it? Handprints?” Mulder asked, moving closer.

Scully squatted down to examine four faded handprints pressed into the door. Each one had a name written beside it, though only one was legible.

“Stanley,” Scully read off, brushing her fingers over the letters.

After closing up the house, they trekked back towards the boat through rain that had transformed to a steady drizzle, soaking through the shoulders of their allegedly waterproof coats. Scully was fairly confident that her mascara was smeared all over her eyes, but Mulder was too polite to say anything.

“I am very much looking forward to being dry,” she commented, stepping over a puddle in the rutted gravel road.

“I think I’ll just have you cancel my ticket, Scully,” Mulder said, ignoring her comment. “I’m gonna stick around another day.”

She cast him an incredulous look. His hair was plastered to his forehead in front of his hood and a drop of rain hung off the tip of his nose, poised to fall any moment.

“What for?” she asked quizzically.

Mulder shrugged dismissively.

“I kind of want to see what this place looks like at night,” he offered, and Scully stopped in her tracks as they hit the sandy beach.

“Mulder,” she chastised him, “please tell me you’re not planning to sleep here.”

He stopped several paces ahead of her and turned back, a sheepish smile on his face.

“This is the most enjoyment I’ve gotten out of a case in months, Scully. I know it’s stupid, but you can spend the extra day off your way, and I’ll spend it mine. I’ll tell you all about how cold and pointless it was on Tuesday.”

Her shoulders sagged, and she walked the rest of the way to the boat without comment. Sitting at the back to steer, she watched him perched near the bow as she took them back to Orcas Island. He was as soaked to the bone as she was, his cheeks pink and his shoes soggy, but he looked happy.

After docking the boat, they returned to the station to give the sheriff his keys. Officer Dormir was standing near the coffee pot, a mug in his hand and a detached, far away look in his eye.

“Any luck contacting past renters, Officer Dormir?” Scully asked gently, and the man startled so violently that coffee sloshed over the sides of the cup and ran down his hands.

“Shit!” he hissed, then shot her an apologetic look. “Just left a lot of messages so far, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a nod, and then went to join Mulder and the sheriff.

“Well, I can’t have you keep my boat out there all night,” Sharp was explaining as she approached, “in case I need to jet out there or over to Shaw. But I can take you out there in a bit, probably just before 5:00, then come back and get you in the morning.”

“That would be great, thank you,” Mulder replied to the man gratefully.

Back in the car, Scully turned the heat all the way up, switching on both the defrost and the floor vents. She just wanted to get warm.

“I think we have time for me to take you to the airport and then drive back up so I can keep the rental,” he said as he buckled his seatbelt. “We can grab something to eat on the way. I’ve heard there’s a local burger place called Dick’s that’s really good.”

“You don’t need to take me to the airport, Mulder,” she replied, holding her hands in front of the vent as the air started to get warm.

“You’d rather take a taxi? It’s going to be a hell of an expensive ride.”

“No, I’m not flying home today, I’m going to stay,” she said resolutely, bracing for his objection.

He glanced over at her at a stoplight, gauging her motivation for doing this.

“You don’t have to do that, Scully. I can take care of myself.”

He knew he needed to tell her that she shouldn’t, but he also very much wanted her to stay.

She chuffed a little laugh.

“I’m not sure that’s the conclusion I’d draw based on past experience, but regardless of that fact, it would be irresponsible as well as against Bureau policy for me to leave you alone in the field.”

“This isn’t an official case, Scully,” he objected half-heartedly.

“That won’t matter if something happens to you,” she retorted.

“Scully…” he began, and she cut him off.

“I’ve already made up my mind, Mulder. Now take me back to the hotel so I can shower until I regain feeling in my toes.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw the smile he was biting back, and turned her face to the window to hide her own.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[groovybaybee]

Circle

words: 6.6k

(orgy!harry)

I’d had no idea what to expect, no notion as to what the evening may hold for me. All I had were bits and pieces, clues to lead me to a night I would never forget. A string of events which had brought me to that evening.

 A brief conversation with a friend, her experience at some new club sketched out vaguely for me, eluding to beautiful men and women and newfound passion ignited within her. My curiosity peaking, I had agreed to allow her to submit my details. She had sensed my hesitance at putting myself out there, assuring me privacy was of the utmost importance, something I later came to appreciate as an NDA was slipped through my letterbox.

I had let the document sit on my desk for a few days, finding myself drawn to it every time my mind wandered from whatever contract I was drafting or reviewing, allowing myself to slip open the manilla envelope and peer inside. Familiar with legal documents, I had assumed I would find errors in the form, legal loopholes one might exploit, however, it was iron-clad. The document covered all grey areas, ensuring that the signor would be well-aware of any legal consequences should they breach any of the terms set out. The letter stated plainly that anyone caught providing explicit details to another party, whether that be a personal acquaintance or the media, of the events bound to transpire, would be duly punished. It emphasised the importance of anonymity within the group of attendees, and ensured safeguarding measures taken on their part to protect the identities of all those involved. At this point I was wondering what I was letting myself get involved with.

 At first, I had assumed this would be some kind of nightclub full of high society types looking to partake in meaningless one-night stands without the ramifications of involving someone not in the industry who may be able to sell their story and make a financial gain, thus the need for anonymity. However, after signing and returning the document, trepidation began to set in, wondering what organisation I was getting into bed with. This was more than a night out. This was going to be, as my friend had explained, an experience that I would not want to forget.

 Trusting her, I let the mystery of it all excite me, adrenaline spiking when I received an envelope through my door. Inside was a small black business card, embossed with a golden circle on both sides. Alongside the card, was an acceptance letter of sorts, thanking me for my interest and inviting me to attend an event this Saturday. I was informed that a car would come to collect me, driving me to the location of the event and would return me whenever I desired to go home. If I changed my mind at any point until then, I simply had to text ‘OPT-OUT’ to a number at the top of the letter.

 I never sent that text. On the contrary, I allowed the excitement to pour through into my everyday life. I bought new lingerie, just a simple sheer black set that hung off my body in a beautiful way. Everything about this ‘club’ exuded exclusivity, and I wanted to blend in no matter what happened.

 When Saturday evening finally rolled around, I could barely sit still, nerves and excitement swimming around in my stomach as I sat in the back of the black Lexus I had been provided. The driver had opened the door for me, offering me a polite greeting, before slipping into the front seat and driving us to our destination without another word as I texted my friend, the anticipation growing almost too much to bear. Watching the city pass through the tinted windows, I allowed my mind to slip into thoughts about the clientele I would encounter. I had been ensured that all members signed the exact same form as me, so I assumed they also valued privacy highly. I wondered if they would also be involved in the entertainment industry, admittedly all I did was draw up contracts and aid in negotiations for a record label, but I found myself accompanied by celebrities and notorious figures more often than I ever might have expected, even forming friendships with some of the clients the label represented.

 Upon our arrival to the location, I almost asked the driver if he was sure that this was the right place. The building looked like any luxurious apartment complex, no loud music, no drunken patrons stumbling in and out of the building. Nevertheless, I thanked the driver, and made my way indoors. My heels clicking against the marble flooring was the only real sound as I passed through the lobby, making my way into the lift as instructed by the letter, selecting the button for the penthouse.

 As the lift rose, I wondered if this was about to be the revelation of some horrific prank. Perhaps when I stepped out on to the top floor, there would be everyone I knew with cameras pointed at me, telling me I had been Punk’d. However, I swiftly reminded myself that the show was no longer airing, and I was being moronic.

 Finally, the lift doors opened once again, and I was confronted with a large, white marble foyer, at the centre of which was a woman sat at a desk, another woman behind her. I began the walk towards them, finally hearing some faint music and beginning to relax under the knowledge that I was, probably, in the right place.

 “Hello,” the seated woman had said, offering me a polite smile once I reached the desk.

 “Hi,” I greeted her and showed her the small, black card I had been instructed to bring along, “I’m not sure I’m in the right place—”

 “Oh, you are,” she had replied brightly, taking the card from me, and scribbling something down on the desk. “It’s your first time here, yes?”

 “Yes,” I nodded, my voice sounding smaller than I would have liked it to, the formalities throwing me slightly off balance.

 “Welcome,” she said, her cheery exterior never faltering for even a second, “Rachel here will take you through,”

 The second woman had stepped forward by this point, offering me a genuine smile and gesturing for me to follow her down an adjacent hallway. I did so until we reached a cloakroom of sorts, providing me with a space in which to leave my coat and bag, ensuring that they were safe and would be returned to me upon my departure, explaining briefly that electronic devices were not permitted past this point. I had nod at intervals to show my understanding and complied with her requests. Then, she led me to a set of double doors, ensuring me that I would be well taken care of inside.

 “We hope you have a pleasurable evening,” Rachel finished.

 I had thanked her and listened to the sounds of her heels diminish as she left me on my own. Taking I deep breath to calm any nerves, I slipped my hand around the door handle and pushed it open. Inside the penthouse apartment was nothing like I had imagined. I was instantly greeted by a young man holding a tray topped with flutes full of champagne. I uttered a small thanks and proceeded through the space.

 Whatever I was expecting, it was not what I received. I found myself in the middle of a beautiful living space, with floor-to-ceiling windows and luxurious leather sofas. The space was filled with elegantly dressed individuals, reminding me more of an industry young professionals’ mixer than whatever sex-filled dungeon I had been expected. The atmosphere felt very relaxed, the whole room seeming to laugh and chatter freely. Perhaps this was some sort of speed-dating and I had just severely misread the information I was given.

 Taking a few more steps into the room, I made eye-contact with a woman around my age, brunette and beautiful. She had smiled gently at me, before excusing herself from her small group and gliding over to me.

 “First time?” she asked, a small smirk playing across her painted lips.

 “That obvious?” I replied, earning a genuine chuckle from her which helped put me at ease somewhat.

 “I can give you the tour if you like… I’m kind of a regular,” She offered.

 I had nodded appreciatively and allowed her to take my hand in hers to lead me around the place. She introduced herself as Samantha, call me Sam, as we ventured through the apartment, smooth beats lining the place. As we walked through, she showed me the ‘main room’, which was really just the living room, where the majority of the guests were mingling, her telling me that it was still fairly early. We delved deeper, heading down the main hallway of the place until we reached a fork and she had me choose left or right. I selected left and she walked me through the next section, showing me more rooms, a few bathrooms situated between bedrooms. Each bedroom seemed to house some of the overspill from the main room. In the first bedroom, a group were sat on the bed, laughing and talking as they sipped at their glasses of champagne. The second bedroom we reached held two women standing in the centre, making out. A little afraid of intruding, I moved to step back into the corridor, but Sam stayed in her spot, sharing a smirk with the room’s inhabitants.

 “Just giving a newbie the tour,” Sam had said, earning a wry chuckle from the couple.

 “Feel free to circle back round,” said one of the women before turning back to her partner, pushing her hair behind her ear, and returning to their previous position.

 “Are you into girls?” Sam asked evenly as she led me back out of the room, focussed more on leading me than the abrupt question.

 “Uh, yeah, I think I like a bit of everything,” I mumbled, my head feeling a little scrambled as I tried to comprehend where I was.

 Sam continued to lead me down the hallway. It was at this point that I noticed that all of the bedroom doors were propped open, people drifting in an out with ease. A pit of suspicion grew in my stomach as Sam led me further along the corridor. My hurried assumption was beginning to be confirmed when we reached our third bedroom, filled with about ten people scattered across the room, all comfortably watching pornography together on the large-screen television.

 “Sam?” I asked, pulling her attention away from the couple fucking on the screen and back towards me. When she prised her eyes from the spectacle, her lids were a little hooded as she eyed me, “Is this an orgy?”

 “Not yet,” was all she had said, a grin forming across her plush, red lips.

 I had involuntarily taken a step back at her response, shock overwhelming any other sensation. At witnessing my reaction, Sam had followed me and led me back into the corridor and away from the room.

 “Obviously, you don’t have to do anything, and you don’t have to stay if this isn’t what you thought you were signing up for,” she said in a calming tone, somehow understanding my surprise to find out that I had wound up at an orgy.

 Definitely not speed-dating.

 After allowing the information a second to sink into my brain, and a large sip of champagne, the shock began to subside, and curiosity took over. I mean, it was never something I had actively sought out, but had always been a bit of a fantasy, even just to attend and watch.

 Seeing the panic leave my body, the smirk I was quickly becoming familiar with returned to Sam’s lips.

 “I’m okay,” I told her, letting a small, breathy laugh escape from between my lips.

 “Want to go back to the main room? I have some friends you might like,”

 I accepted her offer with a nod and let her guide me back through the crowd of people in the biggest part of the property, the number of people having almost doubled since we went exploring. Still, the atmosphere in the room had not changed, everyone still stood talking and laughing as they got to know other people.

 Sam guided me to the group of people she had been talking to before she excused herself to speak to me. She introduced me to them, and we fell into conversation easily. Not long after, the majority of the group disappeared to explore the place and make use of the facilities, leaving myself, Sam, and a man a little older than me, James, clean-shaven and also a brunette. He was undoubtedly attractive, standing a full head taller than me and I certainly spotted muscle definition beneath his white dress shirt.

 The three of us spoke for a while, conversation lubricated by a glass of champagne or two. After discovering that we had a good rapport, the three of us decided to move somewhere a little quieter, Sam promising me to finish our tour. As we walked down the main corridor of the apartment, we took a right, peering through a few rooms as we passed.

 The first room we passed was fairly crowded, people undressing, lips and limbs tangled throughout. Collectively, we agreed to move along, finding the situation more interesting than inviting. We moved away, passing a closed bedroom which James explained meant the individuals wanted a little privacy.

 The second room we encountered proved to be far more enticing than the first. In that room two men lay either side of a woman, hands roaming gently across her naked body while they remained fully or partially clothed. While one pressed kisses to her mouth and neck, the other shimmied down the bed, licking and kissing his way up the length of her right leg, from her feet to her thighs he seemed to place hot kisses, occasionally adding a little pressure with his teeth until he was arching underneath the two of them. I found myself transfixed on the scene in front of me, my lips parting to allow for the heavy breaths in my chest to escape. They all looked so beautiful, bodies moving fluidly with one another as if they had been doing this for years. Maybe they had.

 Only the gentle touch of fingertips on my bare forearm brought me away from the congregation in front of me. It was Sam. That hooded look in her eyes was back, this time accompanied by the tugging of her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked starved, and all I wanted to do was feed her.

 “James says there’s an empty room,” she told me, her voice a few tones lower than it had been for most of the night.

 Wondering quickly how long I had been watching the trio, clearly enough time had passed for James to slip away, locate a vacant room, and communicate that information with Sam, all without me noticing his absence. I nodded my head and let her hand slip into mine yet again. We walked down the hallway together, until we reached one of the last rooms, finding James stood by the floor-length windows, looking down at the city. At our appearance, he turned back to us, a gentle smirk on his lips at our interlaced fingers.

 Sam pulled me into the room gently, making her way to the large bed and dropping my hand as she settled herself on her knees in the middle. James joined her, sitting closer to the edge, and sharing a quick, excited kiss with her.

 “Only what you’re comfortable with,” Sam reminded me softly, her gaze softening at seeing me stood a little way away from the two of them.

 I nodded, grateful for her care, before slipping a hand up the length of my back and pulling down the zipper of my dress. I allowed it to loosen, pushing it over the curve of my hips before letting it drop of its own accord and taking a step closer to the bed. The look in the pair’s eyes made any reservation or self-doubt leap out of the enormous window. Both assessed me with a darkened gaze. James’ sight trailed over the expanse of my body with a lick of his lips, reaching his hands out for me to take. I took them and allowed him to bring me over to the two of them, seating me between them.

 From behind, Sam’s hand reached out to touch my shoulder lightly, pausing to gage my reaction before receiving a positive and breathy sigh. Her fingertips traced lightly across my collarbones, trailing up to my neck to turn my head until our faces were mere inches apart. Her lips were soft and buttery when they met mine. Her kisses were delicate as they moved from my lips to my jaw, down my neck and to my shoulder while James reached a hand out to gently turn my head back to him. I could not help the smirk that tugged at the corners of my lips upon seeing his reaction to the two women in front of him. He had loosened his tie and was watching intently as Sam’s hands began to travel across my flesh. I pressed my lips to his, a hand coming up to reach into his hair as his lips moved eagerly against my own. His lips followed Sam’s path, beginning to kiss down my body. Grateful for the moment to catch my breath, my eyes wandered to the open door and I let a smirk cross my face, deciding to leave it that way.

 Returning to the duo, I pulled at James’ tie, bringing his lips back up to meet mine, hurriedly loosening the fabric knot and discarding it. His hands left my body, fingers worked quickly to unbutton his shirt and rid it from the scene. In the meantime, I placed my hands over Sam’s and guided them up from their position on my waist, up to lay across my breasts. I felt her groan against my neck as her hands gave an instinctive squeeze at the tender flesh. A gasp escaped my lips, my hips involuntarily rolling at her touch.

 “She making you feel good?” James uttered lowly; his voice throatier as lust overtook him.

 All I could do was hum in agreement, a small nod as my eyes settled back on James’, now shirtless, frame, enjoying the way his muscles seemed to flex and relax sporadically as he watched us. I felt Sam shift beside me, pressing a kiss to my breast through sheer black material. Her tongue slipped across the fabric, my nipple hardening against her mouth. Her hand reached up, slipping the cup beneath my breast, and encircling the pert nipple with her lips, providing a little suction that made my back arch into her. She gazed up at me with a smirk, clearly enjoying the physiological effect she was having on me.

 “Really good,” I said, a slight whimper accompanying my words.

 “Wanna feel even better?” she had asked, looking up at me with bright, mischievous eyes.

 I nodded and let her move me on the bed, settling me between James’ outstretched legs, my back to his chest as he leant against the headboard. He peppered soft, sucking kisses along my neck while Sam undressed completely. She had returned to us, fully nude, crawling up the bed, trailing her tongue up the length of my leg, just as the man in the other room had done. Clearly, she had been watching me intently, noticing the way my breath had hitched at the sight.

 “Can I?” Sam mumbled against the flesh of my thigh, her eyes drifting from between my legs up to my face.

 All I could do was nod, desperate to be touched by her. She pressed a kiss over the sheer panties before hooking her fingers under their waistband and tugging them down. Almost in unison, James licked a long stripe up the side of my neck as Sam copied the motion across the length of my pussy, a small smirk playing at her lips as she tasted my arousal. James’ lips passed along my jaw, settling over my ear lobe, tugging ever so gently. Meanwhile, Sam took her time to explore my preferences, observing each and every reaction within my body as she licked, kissed, and sucked different parts of me.

 My eyelids fluttered shut as the two of them worked to pleasure me. It was electrifying, understanding in that moment why my friend had encouraged me to come. The excitement in the room was palpable. Breathless moans tumbled freely from my mouth, back arching between the two of them, feeling Sam’s actions grow sloppier beneath me as she buried her face deeper into me, desperate to taste every last drop of me, while James grew hard against my back, his hands ghosting across my body, manipulating my breasts and playing with my nipples until I was writhing above him.

 “Mind if we join?” I heard a low voice ask, something familiar about its tone.

 My eyes shot open, instantly locking on to his own from his position in the doorway. It seemed strange to see him in such conventional, formal clothes. He was dressed in a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms, and tailored black trousers; no pops of colour, nothing necessarily to draw the eye. He looked like everyone else that night, I suppose that would have been his intention. Clearly, the majority of the attendees would recognise him, but he was not intentionally drawing focus, there to be a part of the experience rather than to be a spectacle.

 It didn’t shock me that he was with a man and a woman. They stood behind him; their fingers curled around his each of his biceps. Harry always attracted attention, something we joked about the last time I saw him; the two of us having a casual lunch while ironing out some contract details before being accosted by paparazzi. It didn’t really shock me to see him at an event like this either. It was no secret that the man oozed sexuality. Honestly, it made sense to see him at a place where he could explore that sexuality, push his limits, and make others feel good while doing so.

 What had surprised me, however, was the intense, hooded gaze he fixed on me. Not sure how long my friendly acquaintance had been standing there, watching as I unravelled at the work of two strangers, the thought brought an intense rush of blood and heat to my cheeks. Immediately, I began to worry about the repercussions of being seen like this. Then, I saw the look in his eyes, the way he followed every roll of my hips, the way he brought his bottom lip between his teeth. He wanted me, or at least a piece of me.

 “Up to you, baby.” Sam had muttered against me, not stopping her motions despite our new company. James nodded into the crook of my neck, confirming his comfort, agreeing that it was my choice. My choice to decide whether or not to allow the man I worked with from time to time to not only see me at my most vulnerable, but to allow him to touch me in that state.

 I nodded my head instantly. A reflexive smirk painted itself on Harry’s lips, quickly looking to his male and female counterparts before moving forward. After just one step, he slipped his hands to the buttons of his shirt, making quick work to rid himself of it before reaching the bed. He sat beside where Sam laid, watching her movements hungrily. His new friends sat themselves on the bed too, both disrobed to their underwear, watching keenly as we played beneath them, each starting to gently touch the other.

 “Can I share?” Harry asked, looking between Sam and myself to sense any discomfort.

 When we both nodded, the grin returned to his face before he dipped down, pressed a kiss to the top of my thigh then slipped his tongue between my legs. I felt a deep, rumbling groan against my dripping core, him moving deeper, sliding his nose and mouth up the length of my pussy. As he settled his lips around my clit, sucking lightly, his eyes cast up to mine. They were dark, his gaze unfocussed as he licked at me as though I held the magic elixir of life. He moved wild and free, occasionally flattening his tongue, and dragging it back and forth across the width between my thighs, his eyes shutting tight whenever he did, fully wrapped up in his motions.

 My body jolted under his touch, his mouth sending me into overdrive; hips rolling and grinding down against his mouth, back arched to the point it almost became painful, loud and desperate moans slipping freely from my lips. I had no control. And I adored it.

 Sam and Harry took turns sharing the pleasure they gave me, alternating between providing and watching with carnal gazes. Between the two, they quickly had me melting underneath them, on the verge of begging as Harry’s friends sat either side of me, each wrapping their lips around my nipples, licking and sucking deliciously. Ten hands on me, five mouths. I was a mess, calling on God to explain how one person could deserve this much pleasure.

 My eyelids squeezed shut tight, but the darkness only heightened the sensitivity of my skin, each graze of a finger or swirl of a tongue drawing expletives from my lips. I am not sure how many hands slipped beneath me, keeping me elevated until I felt like the queen of an ancient civilisation, but this new angle was more than enough to push me to my climax. My hips ground violently against whoever’s mouth, hands thrown outwards desperately seeking something to cling on to; some awareness that world still existed, and this was real. My body buzzed, blood fizzing through my veins as I came back down, lowering into the mattress as people pressed soft, sweet kisses to my body.

 My eyes eventually fluttered back open, seeing Sam in between the two people I did not yet know the names of, clearly excited by their presence and keen to get to know them.

 “Well done,” Harry purred into my ear, having placed gentle kisses up the length of my torso.

 At that moment, a look was exchanged between the two of us, our chests occasionally meeting through the heavy rise and fall of our breaths. My eyes flickered to his mouth, his lips and chin slick, covered in me.

 “Hi,” I greeted him, a breathy laugh exchanged between us.

 “Hi,” he replied softly, bringing his hand up to cup my face and press a gentle kiss to my lips.

 The kiss was warm and tender, however, the look that flooded his face when he pulled away was anything but. He looked at me hungrily, watching the way James’ hands gently caressed me as I came down from my orgasm. Sensing the effect seeing my body react to another’s hands was having on Harry, I slipped out from his touch, turning over and sitting up on my knees. I took a second to appreciate the two men beneath me, laying shirtless in almost-matching tailored trousers. Each excited me in different ways. James was muscular, clean-shaven, and seemed to be drawn most to watching others’ pleasure, while Harry was a little leaner, tattooed, and looked ready to pounce in the blink of an eye.

 Meeting James’ eyes, he smirked as I lowered myself to press kisses from his chest to his stomach, hands grazing up his thighs to unbutton his suit trousers. Feeling myself become antsy, I made quick work of ridding him of his clothes and taking him in my hand. It elicited a light gasp from him, clearly having been confined by his boxers for too long. I let my tongue slip across my lips before taking the very tip of him in my mouth, gently moving my hand along the length of his shaft. My gaze flittered upwards to his face, keen to see the parting of his lips as he allowed soft moans to tumble from them. To my surprise, he was watching Harry as much as me, his eyes jumping between the two of us as his hips drove up in search of more. Dropping my gaze, I looked to Harry, noticing the way he looked at me; half-lidded, his irises almost black with lust, observing the way I took James deeper in my mouth. He looked a little jealous. To this day I’m not sure who he envied more.

 “Can I fuck you?” he asked me deeply, swallowing hard while he awaited my response.

 Slipping James from my mouth, I nodded my head, a strong of saliva still connecting me to the man beneath me. Bottom lip tucked tightly between his teeth, Harry let out a mix of a hum and a growl. He pressed a quick kiss to my mouth before reaching behind him to grab a condom from the glass bowl on the nightstand, refusing vehemently to tear his eyes from the sight of James’ cock between my lips.

 Settling himself behind me, I felt his hands sliding across my back, unhooking my bra with one hand while the other roamed the expanse of my back. His fingertips glided down my spine, across the curves of my waist and hips before both hands ghosted over the swell of my ass, grabbing eagerly at the fleshy parts, and delivering a light smack to the right cheek. I could not help but smile around James at him, hearing Harry groan when his actions seemed to speed up my movements.

 I worked James with both hands, tongue swirling messily around his tip. My ears pricked up to the sound of slapping flesh, spotting to my right Sam laying on top of the other woman, lips reconnecting softly as she was fucked from behind. Excited to mirror her slightly, I felt my back arch, hips tilting towards Harry. I could have sworn I heard him chuckle breathily, before leaning over me, one hand moving my hair out of my face as his lips tickled the shell of my ear.

 “You want this?” he whispered, his free hand teasing his cock against my pussy, slipping the head of it between my pussy lips and taking extra time to guide it over my clit.

 I hummed, giving a little nod as my head continued to bob up and down James’ dick, each motion getting sloppier as I salivated at the thought of being filled by the two of them.

 “Sorry, didn’t quite hear that,” his voice was a little louder this time but still husky and deliberate, confidence growing.

 “Yes,” I had gasped, desperately rocking my hips against his for some kind of friction or stimulation; anything he could give me I wanted.

 I could feel him smirk against my skin before he pressed a kiss just behind my ear.

 “Good girl,”

 Before I had a second to drink in how good that sounded coming from him, he pushed himself inside of me. He leant back up, grasping my hips in his hands as he filled me completely. My pussy ached as he withdrew himself, desperate to feel him again. A needy whimper tumbled from my lips.

 Pretty soon I became a mess under him. I melted under his touch. Each thrust of his hips elicited a shocked moan that even James’ cock could not muffle. Every movement had my eyes rolling back and mouth-watering. Harry felt delicious. Every rut of his hips aroused me more and more, the sound of our bodies meeting repeatedly sounding like music to my ears, a sweet, carnal cacophony. From his grunts and groans of my name, and the way his fingers dug deeply into the flesh of my hips, I could tell the feeling was mutual.

 I hoped for bruises. I wanted some reminder of his hands on my body. I needed to know that the moment had been real, and that we had both been consumed with one another.

 A hand cupped the side of my face, bringing me back down to Earth. It was James, looking down at me with a dark gaze as I tried my best to pleasure him. Having Harry behind me really threw off my rhythm, each time our hips met my jaw slackened. His eyelids flickered up to Harry, he smirked, and then came back to me.

 “Too good?” James had asked, a slight teasing lilt in his voice.

 I lifted my head, pulling him out of my mouth but unable to fully shut my mouth as Harry picked up his speed. Meeting James’ line of sight, I nodded with watery eyes. He returned my admission with a gentle smile, removing his hand from my face and slipping it around his cock. He began to pump his hand slowly, his movements lubricated by my handiwork. Our eyes disconnected as he looked behind me and nod his head.

 At this, Harry took full advantage of my newly liberated upper half. One of his hands slipped from my hip around to my chest, using it as leverage to pull my body upright. Immediately, his lips attached themselves to my neck, puckering and sucking at the sensitive flesh. His breath was heavy in my ear, and this new position gave me a chance to appreciate the quieter noises I had missed; the soft pants and whimpers he made when my hips tilted to meet his. The new stance also allowed him to reach deeper inside me, each thrust almost knocking me forward.

 A hand in the centre of my chest was all that held me to him. The other snuck its way from my hip to nestle between my legs. His fingers made soft, gentle strokes around my clit. Tight, deliberate circles contrasted his messy thrusts, teeth nipping at the skin of my shoulder as his hips worked quickly and roughly against me.

 Still sensitive from my previous orgasm, these two sensations drew me close to the brink of a second in record timing. My body ached for him as Harry held me even closer to him, desperate to make me come by his actions. In an act of urgent desire, I grabbed at the hand on my chest, dragging it up to my throat. I heard Harry groan wildly at the action, his head lifting to press his lips against my ear.

 “You tap my hand if its too much,” he said softly but confidently, waiting until I nodded before applying any pressure.

 The pads of his fingertips began to dig into the skin at my neck, slowly controlling the blood-flow to my brain. Gentle choking was all I needed for my moans to become extended, head thrown back against his shoulder as he thrust harshly into me. It was all too much in the most delicious way.

 “Come for me,” he growled, his voice deeper than I had ever heard it, too raspy for me to be able to deny him.

 When his fingers started to move quicker, and sloppier around my clit I was a goner. A hand shot into Harry’s hair behind me, instantly grabbing a fistful as he fucked me through my second orgasm, uttering filthy words of encouragement as my body tensed, then relaxed into him. Removing his hand from my neck, he brought it down to my abdomen, holding me upright as my muscles lost their strength.

 “I want you to come…” I whispered breathlessly, my eyes shut as my head rested on his shoulder.

 “Yeah?” he panted, clearly creeping up to the edge of his own climax.

 “Come inside me,” I had nodded weakly, desperate to know what would happen when he came undone.

 I did not have to ask again. His hips picked up their speed, moans became more concentrated until he stilled inside of me. His body shuddered against mine, lips finding the skin of my neck one more time as he slowly rode out his high.

 A soft giggle left my lips as I titled my head to look at him. When he met my gaze, it was impossible not to press a kiss to his flushed cheeks. He looked so precious; hair an absolute mess and eyes barely open.

 “Hi,” I had greeted for the second time.

 This time he just gave me a soft chuckle, eyebrows furrowing at the sensation of still being inside me as we laughed. He pulled out of me gently, a kiss to my shoulder blade as he did before stepping off the bed to discard the condom.

 It was only at this moment I remembered my surroundings. Instantly, I looked to James, a slight pang of guilt for having left him hanging while Harry fucked me. However, the feeling quickly subsided when I saw Sam straddling him, both of them smirking at me.

 “Not bad for a rookie,” Sam managed to comment before turning back to James and pressing her lips flushed against his.

 “Wanna come get cleaned up?” Harry asked me softly as he returned to the bed. He had taken one of my hands in his and was looking at me with the gentlest gaze I had ever seen on him.

 I nodded and allowed him to lead me to a bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. He was patient with me as I stepped down from the bed, waiting as I adjusted to putting pressure on my weakened legs. Once inside, he locked the door and had me stand with him in the shower, already having grabbed the showerhead. He checked the temperature of the water before running it across my body. The water was just hot enough to melt away the strain in my muscles, continuing the dream-like feeling I was experiencing. I held my hair away from my body to avoid wetting it as Harry covered me, the showerhead in one hand and a soapy washcloth in the other.

 “Can I do you?” I asked softly, still feeling a little fucked out and floaty.

 Harry just smiled fondly at me, nodding his head, and passing over everything he held. Bathing with Harry was not what I had expected to come from this evening, but I could not say I minded as I watched the way his body melted under the hot water. Despite the steam, I could see the grin on his face as I washed him carefully, before nodding happily to myself when I deemed him clean.

 “Not bad for a rookie,” Harry had teased gently, shutting off the water and returning the showerhead.

 Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped me in a soft, pale blue towel, using it to pull my body to him. Our chests grazing, I peered up at him.

 “Was it obvious?” I asked, bottom lip tucked between my teeth as I wondered curiously if I exuded inexperience.

 “Not at all,” he had reassured me, “Kind of wish I knew you weren’t used to all this… Would have gone easy one you,”

 “I don’t want you to,” I quickly responded with a shake of my head.

 “You don’t?” Harry grinned smugly, catching my mistake.

 “Didn’t… Don’t, whatever,” I mumbled, casting my gaze to the ground in embarrassment.

 “Oh, now you’re feeling bashful,” Harry chuckled gently, tilting my face up to meet his gaze with a simple finger under the chin, “I really enjoyed fucking you. We should do it again.”

 “You have my number,” I managed to tease, earning a wry smile from him that made my stomach squeeze excitedly.

 “I was thinking tonight, my place?”

[daydreamed-snippets]

Part One Part Two

Personnel in crisp cream uniforms walked the brightly lit hallway with a purpose; either conversing with each other, gazing at datapads, or rushing off to who knows where. Supervillain nodded to some in passing; taking the time to pause with others. Sidekick squeezed in closer, stepping on the back of their boots, grazing their shoulder against supervillain’s arm in a pathetic endeavor to just hide. No one warned them about the trepidation that tugged at their soul, nor did anyone prepare them for the general neurosis of it all. The lights overhead strained their eyes, and the cloister of people moved like an insect hive, an incursion on their senses. They could feel a headache forming. Their various cuts and scrapes burned. Their knees hurt too, body still twitching from electrocution.

And they were all staring at them.

Keeping their head lowered, eyes affixed elsewhere, sidekick could still see all of them through their peripheral. Supervillain’s ‘team’ consisted of far more people than the association originally thought. They tensed as each gaze befell them; probably taking in their tattered costume, unkempt hair, and the collar around their neck.

Eyes curious, judging, questioning.

Shame itched at the back of their neck, screaming to be scratched, but they kept their hands in front of them where they could be easily seen. At least the supervillain wasn’t parading them around, so there was that. The leash was lax and discrete enough so long as sidekick didn’t resist.

But who were they to resist now? They were powerless. It was done and over. Supervillain won. Teammates had no idea where they were if they were even looking for them at this point.

Cramming their eyes shut, they tried to hold onto those little ribbons of faith that gleamed at them through this emblematic darkness. Usefulness dictated importance, which in the Hero’s Association meant a role working with the team. Here it would be no doubt ensure their survival. Usefulness drawing the line between life and death.

They wanted to live, but being of use to the enemy churned their stomach. Policy made no room for turncoats. An informant maybe, but they had no mercy for traitors.

So be an informant.

What was the layout here? What were the dimensions of this hallway? How many doors did they pass? Count the number of people, sidekick. Gather information, no matter how scant. Be docile to the enemy, but pragmatic to the team.

Sixteen. They already passed sixteen people. Good. The Hero’s Association would see just how useful they were once teammates rescue them out of this sterilized hellhole. They will rescue them.

Sidekick bumped into supervillain again, a warm, solid presence, and supervillain turned, looking down. “I’ll let you hold your leash, puppy, if that would make you feel better. At any rate, you keep stepping on me and I don’t want my boot scuffed." They made a motion of unwinding the wire from their wrist and handing it over. But when sidekick moved to take it, the supervillain drew back. "But remember,” they said, voice holding a dark promise. “If you choose to bolt know that I have hundreds of people under my command in this annex alone.”

Sidekick gulped.

Hundreds? Hundreds? So this wasn’t just an assortment of random villains and a handful of henchmen? This was an organization in of itself. One that could rival the Hero’s Association.

Holy shit.

In dismay, sidekick nodded numbly and the wire was placed in their hands. They murmured a thank you before realizing it, and the supervillain started again, sidekick stumbling to follow.

Let it be knowledge to tuck away at a later time. No matter how small, knowledge always proves to be advantageous.

They walked a few more meters and when supervillain stopped again. This time sidekick followed suit keeping a healthy distance between them, shuffling a bit, and looking dubiously at supervillain. They keyed something in a pad—out of sight—and a door swished open.

Their breath caught and, sidekick raised their chin. Here was their cell. They’d probably rot in here, or spend a majority of their time recovering from torture and wondering when their next session would begin.

Hope against hope, they wished it would be clean at least. Were they ever? The association gave no indication on cell parameters, or any information really save for the unpleasantness of it all. Sidekick wasn't delicate but they were averse to pain in general. They were told it made for a bad hero.

Sidekick hesitated, realizing that they should say something smarting. Brave. What would teammates say if they were in this situation? Something wisecracking and sarcastic. But then again, whenever sidekick opened their mouth the supervillain always had some observant retort. Something comment to off-balance them, and set them on their toes.

They opened their mouth anyway.

A hand on the small of their back maneuvered them through the threshold.

Supervillain stepped in as well, and the door slipped back sealing shut, leaving them in complete darkness. Walking past them, their captor roused a computer interface with a verbal command, and the area rustled to life.

Sidekick’s eyes widened at the sight.

This wasn’t a cell. These weren’t even quarters. This was a well-furnished apartment with a full kitchen, dining room, and living area. A hallway split off to their right, where sidekick assumed the bathroom and bedroom lay. No windows, but large light therapy lamps joined regular ones behind traditional furniture and on end tables. A sudden contrast to the hard lines and surfaces of the garrison hallways, an apparent appeal to a softer aesthetic.

What the?

“It’s late,” supervillain called making their rounds, checking on something sidekick was unaware of in the adjacent room. “You will take a shower, and have something to eat before settling in for the night.” Their words held no room for argument.

What kind of game was this? Sidekick leaned back against the door willing for it to open. Policy stated all enemies would treat captors roughly. That they would have no regard for their corporeal needs. Unless this was all a ruse. To get sidekick to trust them, to get them to join the supervillain’s team.

"Don't worry, your collar won't zap you if it gets wet. Medic isn't that sadistic. Not without permission." They came back into the room, eyes sliding back to sidekick with a hidden glint. “I could always bathe you myself, puppy…”

Ducking their head, sidekick shook it vigorously at supervillain’s knowing chuckle. Directing them down the hall, supervillain steered them towards the bathroom: a single shower, sink, and toilet. Newly cleaned. Immaculately decorated. They turned on the shower, showed sidekick how to adjust the temperate then left after unknotting the wire, unleashing their collar. The door remained propped open, a subtle warning not to close it.

A glance down the hallway to assure themselves that the supervillain had indeed left, sidekick shed their costume, tearing a bigger hole in the sleeve in their haste to behind obscure glass and out of the open. Granted, it wasn't like there was much preventing supervillain from entering again.

Still, they glanced back before quickly stepped into the shower, relishing the hot water on their stiff muscles. Blood and grime pooled on the tile floor, circling the drain. It shouldn't have surprised them how much there was. The team called them in to act as a diversion as much as an escape route. Sidekick was hit, but not hard as the wires spread paper-thin cuts along their arms and legs. It was not really that bad if you compared it to broken bones and missing limbs.

It stung like hell though.

The only soap available was one held in a dark grey bottle. Uncapping it, the scent of muted fern and something like vanilla filled their sinuses. Fresh. Admittedly soothing. Bringing it to a good lather, they quickly scrubbed themselves, breathing in the aroma more and more until it clicked. This was the supervillain’s scent they were covering themselves in. In fact, everything smelled like this. Everything in this part of the garrison smelled like it the moment sidekick stepped into the room.

It was maddening.

It was intoxicating.

Sidekick finished up quickly, shutting off the valve, and stepped out, wrapping a towel hanging on a large ring around themselves. It shouldn’t be intoxicating. It should be revolting, or at least off-putting.

Their costume was missing, they soon realized a little too late. In its place a crisp cream uniform, the same as the ones they’d seen everyone else don. Supervillain did sneak in when they were showering, probably when their back was turned. Color filled their face again, as they caught the reflection of themselves in the mirror. Neck red from maltreatment, and a bit too pale.

Taking no chances for their captor to return, and truly appreciate the view, they pulled on the uniform quickly, combed fingers through their shoulder-length hair, and called it a day. What did it matter how they appeared? They couldn’t go home. The team abandoned them, and the supervillain was being… odd. Nothing mattered and all the rules were bent.

They padded out and took a seat in the dining area where a chair had been pulled out for them.

“This will be soft on your stomach,” supervillain said, placing a plate before them before easing into the other chair. “I don’t want you vomiting on my carpet, puppy.”

“I don’t—” sidekick glanced up, searching the plains of their sharp face. The circles under the supervillain's eyes were more than noticeable, in the temperate light they were etched in stone. Supervillain made a noise for them to continue. “I don’t like being called puppy.”

“Give me your real name, and if I like it better than puppy, I’ll stop.”

Their already clenched jaw ground tighter; a compromise they were unwilling to make. Picking up the spoon, supervillain held it aloft, food tucked neatly on it, and directed it to sidekick’s lips. “I need you to eat puppy, so I can go to bed. I don’t want to your pathetic mewling in the night.”

Sidekick’s teeth ground together.

“Have you ever used your portals to injure anyone?” The change in subject was sudden, and sidekick’s lips slackened. “Have you ever cut someone in half before, or even just a limb?” Sidekick looked away, nervous fingers playing with their sleeve. They couldn’t help but tremble. The answer was a resounding no, but they be damned to articulate it.

“Have you ever killed anyone with your portals?” The question brought the sidekick’s attention back, and they tried to fix the supervillain with a dead stare.

They should have known by now it was impossible to win a battle of wills when they looked into the supervillain’s eyes. There was a darkness there so deep, it moved. It took shape. Haunting. Plotting. Sidekick could practically see the desire to devour them completely reflected in those stirring pools.

“I’ll take your silence as a no,” they said evenly, after a beat. “Have you been given combat training?”

Yes, the basics, sidekick thought, but nothing which could defend against a supervillain.

“Have they given you any training besides making you housebroken?”

“I’m not—!” The opportunity supervillain had been waiting for came, and they shoved the spoonful into sidekick’s mouth with a look that dared them to spit it out. They chew slowly, stomach in knots but it was good.

“Let me guess, you’re not a dog,” supervillain supplied lazily. “Eat.”

“I have had training. In multiple areas,” they picked up the spoon with a shaky hand, stomach rumbling. “But I’m not going to answer your questions. If captured, policy states that I am not to give out anything besides my affiliation to the Hero’s Association. I am not going to give you any information," they let out a shaky breath, a spoonful of food in their cheeks, "not even under extreme coercion. Teammates would never forgive me, and the Hero's Association has a zero-tolerance policy."

“What kind of ‘heroes’ organization punishes you for breaking under torture?”

Sidekick’s voice squeaked. “That’s not what I said. They’ve… been good to me.”

“In what way?”

“I-I’m not answering that.”

Supervillain relented, and sidekick ate in tense silence.

Once finished, the supervillain led them to the living room. A small cot pulled out from one of the couches. After dressing it, supervillain pulled out a chain from one of the end table drawers and clipped it to a ring recently drilled into the wall. They then handed sidekick a glass of water and tucked a small pill into their hand.

“No, I—”

“It’s melatonin, and it will help you sleep. It won’t put you to sleep.” They poured several into their hand and tossed it into their mouth as they wandered to find water. “You’ll need it," they called. "You’ve been shaking since you got out of the shower. Get some rest.” Their footsteps became more distant as they went down the hallway to the bedroom, bed creaking as they entered it.

The lights clicked off and the sidekick was left in darkness.

They shrugged into bed, pulling the light sheets over themselves while kicking off the comforter. A cold sweat claimed them, and they stared at the ceiling for the better part of three hours, thoughts churning, churning, churning.

So what if they’d never hurt anyone with their powers before, that didn’t mean they weren’t a threat. That didn’t mean that the supervillain could treat them like a patsy. It didn't mean that they were incapable.

They could do it if they wanted to.

They could do it to supervillain if they wanted to.

Why, they were just sleeping in the next room. Sidekick could hear deep breathing and the stutter of a dream-filled sigh. There was no need to use their full power to slip a link in the chain or to silently creep over to the room. They could make a sliver of a portal for half a second, and endure the buzz from their collar.

Sidekick set their plan in motion.

After the mini-portal, they blacked out for a second and woke with a gasp. Part one done. They were free, chain hewn in two. They probably had moments before anyone noticed, so they needed to move quickly.

Have you ever used your portals to injure anyone?

Supervillain's words came back to them, as they wandered the hallway, honing in on the dark bedroom. They stepped through the threshold, a thought sparking of how they were invading. How a bedroom spoke of intimacy, a cozy and solitary space.

A single red light blinked from the ceiling corner. Sidekick's eyes were already well adjusted to the dark that they could see supervillain's outline on the bed, lying on their back, arms spread out defenselessly.

They could picture it now. Sidekick fails the demon supervillain. Sure they might die in the process, but it would serve the association. It would cement them in the annals of heroic feats.

Have you ever killed anyone with your portals?

Moving to the side of the bed, sidekick’s hands hovered, not yet touching. Faltering in their pursuit. Where was that rage their felt earlier? Where was that appetite for vengeance? It was there, they could feel it under the surface, but it was a poor substitute for bloodlust. A poor replacement for the mindset needed to end a life.

Could they do it?

"Why don't you go back to bed like a good little labradoodle? You don't have to stomach for this."

Sidekick almost jumped at the sound. Hands reached up to boldly clamp onto their wrists.

"Let me go!"

"I warned you, puppy."

They lunged for the supervillain's throat, the heat back again. Volatile, it roared to life. Erupting, unpredictable, but sidekick was grateful for its presence now. It wasn't bloodlust, but it possibly could be damaging enough.

Supervillain pulled them on top of them, and sidekick's legs swung around their body, hoping to get a better angle to grip their neck. "You think I'm going to cooperate with you? I will fight you at every turn. You will regret keeping me alive. I will gather enough intel that once I escape, teammates will be able to take you down."

"If they want you back."

The statement made sidekick pause. "What did you just say?"

"If," the repeated, slowly, the next words in a rhythmic manner. "If they want you back."

"What do you mean if?"

Supervillain's eyes drift up to the red light winking steadily at them.

Blood drained from sidekick's face.

"It records video, but no sound. Makes it easier to edit, I'm told. And I have people in my employment that can edit anything. They can and will make this little tussle we've having look like a lover's tryst." They let go of sidekick's wrists and trailed a pitying hand down their cheek. "What would teammates think of you once I send them this video of us in bed together? Would they jump to the conclusion that we've been joined this whole time? That our affair was the reason why you closed the portal? Did you choose to stay with me? Or would they assume that since you have such a weak constitution, that it only took one day for me to seduce you?"

"This was a trap. You knew," sidekick licked their lips, and supervillain's eyes followed the movement. "You set this up from the beginning."

"I set up fail-safes in case you chose this path."

"You tricked me."

"You disobeyed me," they said, voice hardening and a chill crept down sidekick's spine. They sat up, moving sidekick to their lap, and gripped their chin roughly, face inches from theirs. "I was nice before, and you squandered my kindness. Now you will face the punishment."

Wire detached from the ceiling like vines, wrapping themselves around sidekick before they had a chance to scramble off the bed and bolt. Their feet lifted off the ground. Once again they were suspended, drawn tightly to the four corners of the room. Supervillain didn't spare a glance at them as they got out of bed, and left the room, all but ignoring sidekick's screams.

[nervousladytraveler]

The Alibi

Inspired by the kiss prompt: A + B are in an argument, then they stop, just stare at each other, and then crash their lips together, because, like i said... fuck this shit Ross and Demelza

Requested by the lovely @veryflowerobservation

---

“God damn it, Demelza! I told you not to follow me tonight!”

For the last eight miles, Ross had been looking over his shoulder while Demelza drove. No one was behind them on the dark road, and it was most likely they’d been unseen, yet he continued to anxiously watch. There was nothing that would quiet the churning adrenaline that came from such a close call.

“Well it's a good thing I did follow you, otherwise…” Demelza snapped back at him.

“Otherwise what?!” He cut her off before she continued in what sounded like another self-righteous justification. Her words rang empty to him--she’d acted impulsively and it was just dumb luck that she hadn’t made things worse.

“You seriously ask me that?”

“Demelza, I would have sorted it instead of both of us being in danger!”

“No, Ross. In case you didn't notice I just saved your skin before you had anythin’ to sort. And you can’t just sort a thing like this with the police, by the way. Not even you. But now that’s a moot point and no one is in danger. Of gettin’ hurt or bein’ arrested--precisely because I came.“

Without any warning, Demelza took a sharp left at the Blowinghouse Turn bus stop, then minutes later turned right on the B3284 towards Truro. This whole time she’d kept the tiny Kia Forte steady at 30 mph, a frustratingly slow pace that further agitated Ross--and she was well aware that it would, no doubt. But she was right in her refusal to drive any faster. The last thing they needed now was trouble for speeding.

“Why didn’t you stay on the…” he started but stopped once he caught the acid look she flashed him. “You seem to know what you’re doing,” he mumbled.

“Yes, Ross. Yes, I do.”

To their relief, the road ahead remained empty. Then again people didn't really tend to be out driving at 2AM on a Tuesday unless they had urgent business. Or shady business.

“So was this all your plan all along--that you’d come out tonight and spy on me?” he asked.

“Spy? You’re not very good at keepin’ secrets, you know,” she sputtered. “Besides, you already told me what you were up to, just not when or where…”

“For good reason! Because I didn’t want you involved. But you told me that you’d stay home--you lied to me!” Ross’s dark voice filled the little car.

“Lyin’? You’re really speakin’ to me about lyin’?” Her laugh, bitter and sarcastic, met his anger head on.

Demelza Carne had worked for Ross Poldark for years now--since she was a teenager really-- first as an all around office assistant and recently as his bookkeeper. And she’d shown him time and again that she wasn't cowed by his moods. She was one of the few people in his life who wasn’t. She was also one of the few people in his life who hadn’t abandoned him once his business prospects began to fail. He shouldn’t have expected anything different from her tonight.

“But no, Ross, I hadn’t planned on interferin’ with your business. I do have a life of my own you know...“

“Demelza--wait--are you claiming I lied to you?”

“When you omit somethin’ on purpose, that’s also a lie,” she said calmly, then a moment later her agitation boiled up again. “Jesus, Ross! What were you thinkin’?! Comin out here on your own to meet those smugglers? You didn't think it was a set up?”

Smugglers. It rankled him that she insisted on calling Trencrom and his men smugglers as though this were some 18th century French scheme or an Enid Blyton novel, rather than a simple business arrangement.

But no matter what term Ross preferred, tonight proved it remained a dangerous business. And while the charge of “improper importation of goods chargeable with a duty which has not been paid” certainly sounded less exciting than smuggling, it still carried a severe penalty.

Tonight would have been Ross’s third transaction with Robert Trencrom, a local businessman who had approached him last summer with a proposition. It seemed that from time to time Trencrom and his associates had in their possession certain goods acquired through less than proper channels. What Trencrom needed was an unassuming place to store these goods until such a time when they could be distributed without suspicion. Nampara, Ross’s derelict farm, might provide the perfect cover since there were so many unused outbuildings, several that still had solid walls and intact roofs. It had been decades since the farm produced anything that needed storing, so why not let the space to others whilst Ross made a little cash on the side?

The past two times it had been Belgian cigarettes--not massive quantities but enough that the whole endeavour still carried a risk. Yet Ross’s involvement had been truly minimal, just as Trencrom had assured him. In fact, Ross had not even been home when the goods were delivered. Trencrom’s men had tucked the plastic barrels behind some rusting mowing machines, and Ross was only made aware that the goods had been removed some weeks later when an envelope of cash was left for him in his car.

And since these were cash transactions, Ross considered hiding them altogether from Demelza, who minded his books for him. But in the end, he explained in vague details what he had done and asked her not to question him further. Clearly she hadn’t approved but she said nothing.

It wasn’t drugs or weapons--or people--so it could be worse, he’d told himself. And as soon as he just got a little more out of debt, he’d cut ties with the lot.

When Ross didn’t hear from Trencrom all winter, he’d assumed the connection had faded and sighed in relief. He’d miss the income but not the entanglement.

Then a few weeks into May, Trencrom reached out again.

This time Ross was to be more involved and actually take delivery of the cargo himself. Naturally there would be considerable compensation--a figure Ross didn’t think he could refuse considering his current financial status. Trencrom hinted he’d been worried about the loyalty of such a big crew and so for this job he wanted to keep his circle small. He’d instructed Ross to meet them at the Rugby Football Club carpark just after midnight.

In the hours leading up to the hand off, Ross was determined to pass a quiet evening at home. So when his friend Dwight stopped by unannounced for a drink and a game of cards, he’d welcomed the diversion. He was also relieved that Demelza, who lived in one of the tiny cottages adjacent to the main house, seemed to deliberately be giving him a wide berth that day. She knew about the “business” Ross had later, but having already made her objections clear, there was nothing left to say on the matter. Normally she would have stayed--she liked Dwight Enys and the two of them playfully teased Ross as only true friends could. But tonight she left Ross with Dwight and went home early.

It was around 11PM that Ross received another call--the exchange point had apparently changed. He was now to meet Trencrom’s men at the airfield at 1:30 and he was to come on foot--without his car. The barrels were already loaded in a van so there was no need to remove them to another vehicle.That last detail did seem odd to him at the time. But once Ross had left for the appointment, he found it was a mild night, and figured he’d park at the beach and enjoy the walk to the airfield.

He was still almost a mile away when the familiar black Kia pulled up next to him. His every muscle tightened and he could hear the blood pounding in his ears.

“Demelza,” he’d hissed. “Get out of here!’

“Get in the car now, Ross,” she’d said simply.

“Look, Demelza, I know you don’t approve of this...” There was something in her eyes that made him take notice. Like an animal being hunted, she was on high alert.

“Get in,” she’d said again. “It’s a trap.”

“What?!” he’d asked, shaking his head in disbelief but still he climbed into the car without waiting for a satisfactory explanation.

“Seatbelt,” was all she’d said. He could hear the tension in her voice but she concentrated on the road ahead of her and didn’t even offer him a glance. “There,” she said finally and bid him to look to the right.

She drove on without slowing down so it was only a flash to him, still the chilling sight registered in his brain. Just beyond the tall hedges at the entrance to the airfield were three police cars, and two others that looked unmarked, all waiting in a circle with their headlamps off.

Demelza had been right--it had been a trap. And one he would have literally walked right into had she not shown up when she did.

It was doubtful that Trencrom was the one cooperating with the cops--it must have been one of the others in his crew. So Trencrom did have good reason to want to draw his circle closer. Ross wondered if he’d actually known there was a rat amongst them or just suspected it.

Ross knew he should be grateful for Demelza’s timely rescue but he couldn’t help resenting that she’d been right. She may have had a right to be so smug, but he didn't have to enjoy listening to her rub it in.

“I knew this would happen…” she muttered and drove on.

“Oh, you most certainly did not,” he growled. “No one did.”

“No one?” she laughed. “Well let’s see, Ross...the cops knew and someone else most certainly knew--whoever grassed on you, that is…”

“I would have thought, knowing you as I do, that you’d understand why I had no choice…”

“No choice? What sort of bullshit is that, Ross? Have you run round in your head how that really sounds? You know that's not an actual legal defense?”

“I mean I needed the money. I have a mortgage payment due and…”

“Yes, I am aware of that, Ross. Knowin’ me as you think you do, you should have talked this over with me. I’m your bookkeeper, for fuck’s sake.”

He didn’t want to think about what he should have done and whether he’d pushed her away as she claimed. He had good reason not to involve her--he’d wanted to avoid just such an argument with her.

And he also wanted to protect her.

“Turn left up here then pull over at the top of the hill and let me drive,” Ross grumbled as she rolled into the sleeping town.

“You’re most certainly not drivin’ my car!” she huffed but nonetheless turned as he had directed and pulled into the car park at the back of the Star and Garter Inn.

It was a clever move. They hadn’t spoken it but they both knew their friend Jinny Martin would be working the desk tonight. Perhaps she could get them a room and they could wait it out there until morning.

Demelza switched off the headlamps and then after a moment’s hesitation, the engine as well.

Ross heard her take in a sharp breath--more like a hiss--and waited for the tempest to continue.

“Well, yes,” he said just a beat before she opened her mouth to speak. “When the pick-up location changed last minute, I might have seen it was a set up.” It wasn't an apology but he hoped he could buy himself some time before her next eruption. “But I never imagined anyone involved in this arrangement would ever inform on me…”

“Oh Ross! I would have guessed it, and am surprised it didn't happen sooner. Honour amongst thieves and all that.”

“They aren’t--we aren’t--thieves.”

“Ok, not thieves per se but it’s still criminal activity to take delivery of smuggled cargo. Ross, you think you’re such a great judge of character but that lot...they’re greedy bastards and they just aren't your friends.”

“And you are?”

She stared at him, wide eyed and open-mouthed, unbelieving that he’d actually questioned her loyalty when she’d just saved him from a possible seven year prison sentence.

“Demelza, that came out wrong,” he said. Again it wasn’t an apology. At least not in its tone.

“Everythin’ you say comes out wrong, Ross. Or do you actually mean to be such an absolute arsehole?”

“Can’t you just admit that you could have put yourself in danger back there? With both Trencrom’s crew and the cops?” He put his hand on her arm and was surprised at how strong her muscles felt as she gripped the steering wheel. Instinctively he pulled away.

“Can’t you just admit how stubborn and stupid you can be?” Usually so bright and reassuring, her voice was hoarse from such rough use tonight.

“I’m stubborn?” he asked.

“No one saw me, Ross. And the important thing is that the police didn't see you. So you’re safe.”

“Well…”

“I suppose even if the cops had your name as someone possibly involved, since they didn't actually catch you doin’ any illegal activity, they can’t arrest you. Besides I’m your allibi for this evenin’. We can stay here overnight in case they’re watchin’ the house, and I’ll take you back to to pick up your car in the mornin’.“

“Wait! What if there’s CCTV here?” Ross felt a renewed jolt of panic tear through him.

“All the cameras are on the front of the building and the side where the guests park. This section is for employees.” She pointed to the few other cars around them. Older, tatty, bought second hand on the cheap but still at a cost as they most likely required constant maintenance. These were the cars of service workers--night clerks, cleaners, cooks. He recognised Jinny’s old Skoda with it’s Leicester City FC sticker on the rear. That car had been in the Martin family for almost two decades now and somehow, through mechanical expertise or through sheer will, her resourceful father had managed to keep it running. No one would bother these cars with the shiny new BMWs and Audis on the other side of the hotel.

“What about traffic cameras? Back along the road?” Ross asked, not sure if he was being cautious or paranoid.

“Maybe, but Ross, there’s no law against bein’ out with a woman.”

“Who happened to pick me up on the side of the road in the middle of the night…”

“Well, let’s assume we had to meet up in the cover of dark to avoid gossip since you’re my boss...and because of your jealous girlfriend.”

“Demelza, you know I don’t have a girlfriend,” he grumbled. “This is ridiculous…”

“I know that, but the police wouldn’t. A clandestine affair--a fake one of course--is a perfect cover for sketchy behaviour. But if you’d prefer I not be your alibi…”

“This isn’t a game!” he snapped again. He couldn’t stand that she’d laughed just now. Then a thought hit him and he had to ask. “How did you even know where I was going? That I’d be heading from the beach towards the airfield on foot?”

“Dr. Enys told me.”

“What? This just gets more unbelievable! Dwight knew this was top secret--why the hell did he tell you?”

“Top secret but still you told him?” she snorted. “Well, I’m glad you did, I suppose. He couldn’t follow you himself--he’d a call from one of his ‘patients’, which I think was actually code for Caroline wanted him to come round’--so he thought I might be able to stop you. At least he has some faith in me.”

“Oh come on, this isn’t about what I think of you…”

“Isn’t it though? You clearly don’t trust me and you don’t think I can handle myself and you think I’m silly.”

“Silly?”

“Oh sorry--ridiculous was the word you just used. Anyway Dwight was wary of the whole arrangement and thought it stank to high heaven.”

“Why didn’t he tell me that himself?!”

“He said he did--did you actually listen? And before you get angry at him, you should thank your lucky stars that he was still at Nampara when Trencrom sent word of the ‘new’ meetin’ point...”

“It wasn’t Trencrom who rang me,” he corrected her. “It was Charlie who told me the meet up was moved to the airfield.”

“Charlie Kempthorne? That tosser? Are you shitting me? And you didn’t think it was suspicious that Charlie would be privy to some secret revised plan and you wouldn’t?” she scoffed. “But really, Ross, you should be fucking grateful to have Dwight as a mate. He’s a real friend, you know.”

“I never said he wasn't.”

“No, you just said I wasn't,” she snorted.

“Oh come on, Demelza. You know I didn't mean that. What are you going on about?”

“In case it isn’t clear, Ross,” she hissed, “I am still so angry at you.” She spoke through clenched teeth. “That you got involved with those weasels in the first place, that you shut me out, that you almost...”

“It’s none of your business!” he shouted. “Why are you being this way?”

“Okay, it’s not my business and I’m not your friend, just some stupid girl who works for you and is used to clearin’ up your messes--and who knows she’ll be out of that job if--no, sorry--when you get nicked. Fuck this shit. And fuck you, Ross!” Without looking at him, she stepped out of the car and slammed the door.

Ross immediately followed her, afraid that she’d keep shouting and wake the hotel. She stopped in her tracks a few yards away and stood silently. It might have been the first time in nearly thirty minutes that she’d stopped yelling at him. Ross leaned against the still-warm bonnet of the car and exhaled.

Perhaps she’d known what she was doing, parking the car in a farthest corner of the lot, under a broken street lamp. They were completely hidden in shadow, still Ross could make out her face--her narrowed, feral eyes, her gnashing teeth that gleamed in the faint moonlight. For a moment he thought she might bite him.

He cautiously took a step forward then paused to read her posture.

The chill in the air--and in the words they’d just thrown at each other--was causing her shoulders to shake. He noticed she was wearing a blue jumper just a shade darker than her brilliant eyes. The sleeves were too long, and she’d had to repeatedly push them up, but they wouldn't cooperate and now hung past her fingertips.

It was his, he then realised, the old one he usually left hanging on the peg by the front door.

He almost asked her what she was wearing--or rather why she was wearing it--but instead, aware that he’d been moved and not all sure of the reason, he did something else. He made two broad strides towards her.

Startled, she looked up at him. Her shining eyes lit the night.

“Yes, like you said...fuck this shit…” he laughed and put his hand on her elbow, pulling her towards him. He expected resistance, but he found none.

It was only a moment that they just stared at each other but it felt eternal, and then at some unspoken signal, they crashed together.

It was an untidy and urgent kiss--almost violent in its clumsiness had it not been fueled by such sincere desperation. Then, as they both found their breath, their arms found each other. A great weight had been lifted--one that neither Ross nor Demelza even realised they were shouldering until that moment.

He wove his hands through her hair and kissed her again. This time their lips worked together, carried by the flood of surging desire and long-sought release.

“Demelza, I’m so sorry I got you in this.” His voice was low but soft. Now his hands framed her face, afraid she might slip away like sand through his fingers.

“Ross, I was just so scared for you.”

He could hear the tears she was trying to hold back and understood why she’d been so angry with him. He’d been such a spectacular idiot, and in more ways than one.

“Me too. When you turned up, Demelza...my blood ran cold at the thought that I'd lured you into danger. I would never let anyone hurt you…” He ran the backs of his fingers gently down her cheek then kissed her pulsing temple.

“I couldn't leave you Ross, I just couldn't,” she cried into his neck.

“Thank you for caring for me even though I don’t deserve it. Come, you’re shivering. Let's go inside. We can talk more…” But instead of letting her go, he pressed her closer until he was certain he could feel her heart beating against his.

“I don't want to talk anymore,” she sniffled.

“Me neither. I just want to touch you and know you are safe.”

“Will you, Ross?”

Good god, I’ll never let you go, he thought.

“And can you trust me?” When she looked up at him, the hunted, defensive animal was gone. Now she was raw, vulnerable. She was softly opening herself to him, and doing so completely.

Ross understood what would happen next, what was happening now. He felt it in his gut and knew things would never be the same.

“Of course I do,” he whispered. “More than anyone.”

The darkness of the night--their secret accomplice--wrapped herself protectively around them.

Demelza lifted her face towards him and Ross kissed her once more.

[hb-writes]

A Little Raven

Written in response to Hauntober prompt #15: Raven.

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder universe! A chat between sisters-in-law followed by a chat between Lizzie and Tommy. This is a bit long and self-indulgent and might not be particularly consistent with canon but oh well. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Characters Featured: Lizzie Shelby, Clara Shelby (Shelby!Sister), Tommy Shelby

—–

“Frances said you wanted me first?” 

Lizzie turned from the window, allowing the passage of a brief smile as she glanced at her sister-in-law. Like her husband, Lizzie still saw a couple of kids when she looked at Clara and Finn, still saw the little girl who passed her time with books and papers while sitting on the stoop at Watery Lane, still saw the boy with a keen eye for mischief and a disposition towards unsanctioned sweets. She supposed those visions still held true. None of them were so different to be unrecognizable through the years. Some traits endured the transition to adulthood, no matter what transpired in the interim. 

Clara stripped out of her coat, placing it over the back of the chair before following Lizzie’s gaze out to the yard where Ruby and Charles played with the nanny, their squeals and laughter sharp and clear through the pane of the closed window. 

Clara sat in one of the armchairs, pulling her feet up and working on untying her boot laces while she waited. She was used to the reticent moments, used to people taking their time in revealing why she’d been summoned somewhere in the first place. She found it a pleasant change for Lizzie to be inviting her to the drawing-room for a visit rather than Tommy summoning her to his office for one of his chats, even if her sister-in-law was very clearly preoccupied.  

The thud of Clara’s shoes hitting the floor as she slipped them off her feet pulled Lizzie’s eyes towards her for a moment before she settled them on the girl’s discarded boots, understated but still expensive, something Tommy had probably paid for. 

Lizzie wasn’t ignoring her on purpose, Clara knew that. She was just distracted, caught up in her own thoughts, turning something over in her mind. Clara just wasn’t certain how she fit into those thoughts.

“Lizzie?” Clara said.

“Mmm?” Lizzie hummed, finally fixing her eyes on Clara.

“You did ask for me, right?” Clara said. 

“I suppose you’d prefer to go be with the children,” Lizzie mused. “Or to go say hello to your brother?” 

“Is he home already?” Clara asked, glancing down at the small watch on her wrist as she adjusted the clock face. It was barely past five.

Lizzie scoffed, gave a single shake of her head. Tommy was eternally late in coming home, and habitually premature in leaving it.

“Well, that leaves more time for us to catch up, then,” Clara offered, absently kneading the arch of her foot. “I came home to be with all of you, Lizzie.”

“Right, all of us,” Lizzie answered, sitting down in an adjacent armchair. “When’s the last time you saw all of us here, Clara? When’s the last time he graced us with his presence at a decent hour?”

It was the previous Sunday, Clara remembered, and he’d come out of his office just before dinner, played with Charles and Ruby a bit before eating with Clara, Lizzie, and the kids, but Clara had the feeling Lizzie didn’t want to be reminded of that.

“Did you talk to him?” Clara asked.

Lizzie took a deep breath and nearly gagged, feeling as though she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from conjuring up the contents of her latest meal, the sick feeling in her stomach beyond the typical bout of morning sickness, more of a nauseating dread which had settled in the pit of her stomach.

The last time she’d been here, in this condition, Lizzie had been optimistic. Nearly five years later, she felt anything but. And despite all the strength she’d decided on summoning, despite deciding to stay, to accept Tommy and his faults, to balance her head against her heart, she hadn’t planned on this as a part of the deal.

‘A little you and me,’ she’d offered Tommy when she’d told him of the first baby growing inside of her, a smile on her face, a bit of hope in her heart. 

She had little hope this time, little positivity about the life prospects for yet another child of Thomas Shelby, a little boy nonetheless, a little raven-haired boy who would have his parents’ blue eyes, his father’s strong jaw, the unmistakable markings of a Shelby.

If Tommy had kept all of his promises, if he’d done right and put a proper stop to the sport for anyone named Shelby. If he’d kept Finn and Clara away from the life, Lizzie might have thought differently. She might have felt nothing but happiness at the prospect of another child with a little tuft of raven hair and bright blue eyes, but in half a decade, Tommy had dealt her plenty of empty assurances.

She feared enough for the children already. Her Ruby was a different child around her father, a bit nervous, a bit quiet. The girl didn’t know the same Tommy that Clara and Finn knew, nor the father Charlie had had for a time, at least while he was young.

This baby would never know that version of Tommy either, not really. Her children would spend their lives distant from the man they called dad, and there was part of Lizzie that didn’t think it to be a terrible thing.

Clara reached out to clasp Lizzie’s hand. “Lizz--”

“Polly says it’s a boy.”

“Oh,” Clara answered, pulling her hand back. “That’s--”

Lizzie cleared her throat and continued. “A little raven-haired boy named James.” She opened her cigarette case, placed the fag between her lips. “Jamie,” she added. “And no, I haven’t told your brother.” 

Clara frowned. She was tired of holding the secret she’d accidentally overheard when Lizzie confided in Polly. She was tired of pretending with her brother, tired of avoiding him. It wasn’t easy work, withholding information from him because, despite the best of Clara’s efforts, Tommy possessed an uncanny ability to know when his sister was keeping something from him. 

“He loves being a father, Lizzie. He’ll be--”

“Happy?” she suggested. “I’m less worried about your brother being happy than I am worried for all of you kids.” 

“All of us?”

Lizzie lit the cigarette, puffing before she pointed it at Clara.

“Yes, you and Finn are included.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Lizzie.” 

“Right, with Finn running around getting himself shot and you--”

“What about me?”

“Neither one of you kids has a healthy sense of self-preservation, always pushing when you haven’t a need, and you’ve passed it right on to those two. Maybe it’s in the blood, an inherited recklessness that--” 

“Is that really what you’re worried about? That I’ve taught the kids to stand up for themselves and I’ll teach the baby the same?” Clara asked.

Lizzie glanced out the window again, the things she was truly scared about swirling in her mind while she watched Ruby and Charles holding hands as they went round in circles.

“It’s a bad omen, a raven,” she said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Clara answered. “A baby can’t be a bad omen.”

Lizzie was beginning to believe that the Shelby name was a curse and that despite her husband’s promises, not one of the kids would live a life unmarred by it, not Finn, not Clara, not Charles nor Ruby, and not the unborn son growing in her womb. And despite knowing Thomas Shelby loved the children, she feared what she already knew to be true, that loving a person wasn’t always enough.

These days, Tommy’s moments of softness were harder to come by. The types of moments Clara held on to when her brother was difficult, the moments that reminded her through the tough spots that he did much of what he did out of love, for protection or survival. Lizzie didn’t know her children would have that, didn’t know that a raven-haired boy looking just like his father could ever garner as much care as he’d deserve from the man, enough of the affection that he would need to someday to get through the tough spots. 

“He’s not how he once was with you,” Lizzie said.

“He’s not been like that for a long while, Lizzie, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love them.” 

“I know he loves them, loves all of you, but I worry someday they won’t have memories enough to forgive him as you do.” 

“I don’t forgive him because of the memories, Lizzie,” Clara answered. “I forgive him because he’s nearly my father and because I know he cares for me as much as I care for him. Ruby and Charles know that. Jamie will, too.”

Clara joined Lizzie on the couch. “And regardless, you care for us all well enough whether that fool joins us for dinner or not.”

Lizzie set her cigarette down in the tray and accepted Clara’s offered hug, allowing herself to release a breath of relief with the girl in her arms. 

“Well, that may be, but it doesn’t settle my nerves about you and Finn,” Lizzie said as she pulled away.

Clara rolled her eyes. “You’ve not--”

“Glad I’m not the only one concerned.” 

Clara glanced at her watch again before looking at Tommy where he stood by the door. “You’ve actually come early?”

He nodded. “Someone had Adam make it very clear in my diary that I was meant to be home at a respectable hour today.” 

Clara hummed, feigning an impressed surprise, as though she hadn’t begged Tommy’s personal secretary at the commons to adjust his schedule to accommodate him being back in Warwickshire so early on a Friday evening. 

“Right. I think I’ll leave you two and go say hello to Charlie and Ruby while we wait on Finn,” Clara offered, slipping past Tommy on her way to the door. 

“Forgetting something, Clara?”

Clara turned back to him, snatching the forgotten boots from his outstretched hand.

“When our brother gets in, we can have a talk about your excursion in London on Tuesday evening, eh?”

Clara sighed. “I think we’re a bit old for a lecture, Tommy. It was nothing.”

“Seems like you two idiots’ll never be too old for a lecture,” he answered. “But go on. Go see the kids. I’m sure they’ve been asking after you all day.” 

Tommy watched his sister leave before taking the seat beside his wife. “Now, while we wait for Finn, you and I can have a talk about that baby you’ve got growing inside you, eh Lizzie?”

Lizzie scoffed. "Polly told you then? Or was it Clara?”

Tommy shook his head. Of course, his sister knew. He cleared his throat. 

“It was actually you, Lizzie,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Been eating honey on everything. Last time you did that was when you were pregnant with our Ruby.” 

Lizzie nodded, looked out at the kids again, saw Clara had joined Ruby and Charles, and the three of them were laughing like a set of maniacs as they ran about the lawn.

“You’re worried,” Tommy offered, guiding his wife’s face to his. “Let me into that head of yours, Lizzie.” 

She leaned into his touch as he cupped her cheek, allowed herself that comfort.  

“To clear it out?” she mumbled.

Tommy nodded. “To clear it out. Just like we agreed.” 

Lizzie placed her hand on top of his.

“Ruby’ll be asking after another sister.”

“Well, she’ll be disappointed then,” Lizzie answered. “It’s a boy.”

Tommy nodded. There was a time when he thought it mattered, back when boys became blinders and girls were considered liabilities but Tommy had stopped thinking that way, started thinking that Lizzie was right. And Grace had been right. There was only one way to keep them all safe.

“Either way,” he answered. “Another little you and me, eh?”

Lizzie nodded and Tommy pulled his eyes away at the approaching footsteps and laughter as Ruby and Charlie piled into the room.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

“And what have you lot been up to, eh?” Tommy asked, pulling Ruby into his lap as Charlie came to sit beside them.

“We’ve been playing, daddy!” Ruby said.

“Dad, Aunt Clara said she and Uncle Finn are ready for a shouting at whenever you are,” Charlie said. “They went to your office.”

Tommy shook his head, glanced quickly at Lizzie before he looked back to his boy. 

“What are you going to shout at them for, daddy?” Ruby asked, turning her head to look up at him.

“Don’t you worry about that, sweetheart,” Tommy answered.

“He’s gonna shout because they’ve been naughty,” Charles said to his sister. 

“Don’t shout very much, daddy,” Ruby answered. “It’ll ruin our supper.” 

“I’m not going to shout. We’re just going to have a talk about them setting a better example for you kids.”

“And then we’ll have supper?” Ruby asked.

“Then supper, Ruby,” he said. “I had Frances ask chef to make a special honey cake for dessert.”

“For mummy?” Ruby asked. “Mummy loves honey cake.” 

“And for your baby brother,” Lizzie answered, pulling Ruby’s hand to rest on her stomach. “The one growing in my belly.”

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder stories here.

[moonflowerlesbians]

“choose your battles wisely”

Un-beta’d and written after surgery, so please take with a grain of salt. I’ll reblog with the AO3 link in the morning!

Rated T, ~4.1k. Fluffy, Hurt/Comfort

~~~

Jamie is an idiot.

Or, to be more specific, she is an absolute goddamn buffoon of the utmost clownery.

This is, more or less, Dani’s internal monologue as she follows the sound of pained grunts to a somewhat obscured section of the sprawling statue garden, where she comes across a rather disgruntled gardener lying flat on her back in the mud. Her oilskin hat has fallen to one side, and Jamie stares, bleary-eyed, at the grey England sky overhead. There is a decently sized marble sculpture on the ground beside her.  

“You alright, there?” Dani calls, after only a brief moment of amused silence.

“Jesus!” Jamie swears, her entire body twitching, which causes her outburst to dissolve into a groan. “Christ, Poppins, wear a bloody bell,” she grumbles.

Dani rolls her eyes. “You alright?” she repeats, quieter this time.

“Oh, who, me? Yeah, ‘course. Just, you know, enjoying some ‘me time.’” She moves to raise her arm in a weak attempt at waving Dani off, but the limb makes it mere inches off the ground before flopping unceremoniously into the dirt. “Taking in the views...”

“Some view,” Dani notes, with a playful, sardonic lilt to her voice. A pause. “Owen made sandwiches if you’d like to come in for lunch.”

“Be right there,” Jamie replies halfheartedly. She does not stir, her gaze still fixed on the dreary cloud cover, a firm set to her jaw. “Don’t wait up.”

“We might as well walk back together.” Dani crosses her arms. “That is, assuming you’re almost done with your ‘me time.’”

“Almost done. Right. Yeah.”

Dani watches the deep inhale as Jamie steels herself, the muscles of Jamie’s stomach flexing with effort. With a sharp gasp, Jamie pushes herself onto her elbows, but she only lasts a quick second before she’s once again lying prone, muttered curses falling from her lips.

Dani winces sympathetically. “Oh, baby, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Bit late for that.”

“What did you do?” She kneels at Jamie’s side, moist soil dampening her jeans, and brushes wispy brown hairs from her face.

“Picked a fight with the wrong woman.” Jamie nods at the overturned statue. “Credit where credit’s due, she’s stronger than she looks. Heavier, too.”

“So, you decided you were going to move a marble statue, on your own, after a rainstorm, which resulted in you, what, throwing out your back?” Dani translates. “And you thought this was a good idea because…?”

“Never said it was a good idea.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Right, well,” Jamie sighs, “we’ve established I’m not the sharpest knife in the block.” Her eyes meet Dani’s, defeated. “If you would be so kind as to lend me a hand, I’d rather not like to die like this.”

“All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” She thinks she catches a fleeting smile before it is replaced with a grimace.

Gingerly, Dani wedges her arm between Jamie’s shoulders and the earth below, murmuring gentle apologies at each indication of discomfort. She offers her other hand for Jamie to grab. Together, they work her into a sitting position. Jamie’s chest heaves, and her face is a ghostly shade of white.

They stay like that for a minute. While Jamie catches her breath, Dani’s fingers rub what she hopes are soothing circles into her back. How long has she been out here?

“Are you okay to walk?” Dani asks.

“Suppose we’ll find out,” Jamie says in a tone not at all reassuring.

Dani braces herself and takes both of Jamie’s hands in her own, digging her heels into the dirt. “One...two…”

On three, she pulls, and Jamie staggers to her feet, with Dani catching the majority of her weight as she topples forward and the air goes out of her.

“JesusshitfuckingChristfuckshittinghellgoddamnit-”

“Okay, you’re okay,” Dani says, trying to angle herself to best support the woman about to get herself excommunicated for blasphemy. She can feel the tension radiating off of Jamie in waves.

“I’m fine, I’m good,” Jamie promises, very much not fine and very much not good. “Nothing’s broken, I don’t think. Just, ah, a little crooked, s’all.” Her breathing is labored as they take a few tentative steps.

“Look, you just rest here, and I’ll run back and get Owen--”

“No, absolutely not,” Jamie cuts her off. “If that man finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it. Little shit still brings up the Rosebush Incident of Eighty-five whenever I break out the pruning shears.” Her arm drapes heavy around Dani’s neck as they round a corner.

“What--”

“Don’t,” Jamie wheezes, “ask.”

“You realize how dumb that is, right? And I’m definitely going to ask,” Dani says, guiding them toward the front door. Jamie stops short.

“Side door,” she explains, “servants’ hall. Won’t go past the kitchen. Can use one of the empty rooms until I sort myself out.”

“You might want to get your head checked if you think I’m leaving you alone like this.”

Dani readjusts her grip, while Jamie nimbly flips through a massive ring of keys Dani swears she’s never seen before, yet Jamie handles with the expertise of someone who does this daily. Which, Dani realizes, feeling rather stupid, she probably does.

“Fuck,” Jamie says under her breath as the door opens, revealing a hallway Dani has yet to explore. Dani sees the problem. She looks at Jamie. She looks at the narrow staircase. She evaluates her upper body strength.

Then, Jamie is making a rather undignified noise as Dani lifts her without warning, and Dani would be lying if she said the look on Jamie’s face isn’t extraordinarily satisfying. Something about seeing her stoic, mulish girlfriend, gone limp in her arms, looking at her, a little awestruck, well… it’s a sight Dani intends to cherish. And definitely not for the potential blackmail purposes.

Only after Dani gingerly deposits her on the blue quilt in Dani’s room does Jamie say, deadly serious, “We never speak of this again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dani says, “take these.” She plops two pills and a cup of water in Jamie’s hand and disappears into the adjacent bathroom.

“That’s the spirit, Poppins,” she calls after her.

“Come on,” Dani says, reappearing in the doorway. “We need to get you out of these wet clothes before you catch a cold.”

“I’m fine,” Jamie scoffs, visibly shivering.

“The mud stain on my duvet says otherwise. Come on. Up you get. The bath is filling.”

“I can’t ask you to let me use your bath.”

“Good thing you’re not asking, then.”

The half-formed rebuke dies on Jamie’s lips, and she nods as if to say, touché, but Dani is certain she will not be hearing the end of this. She beckons Jamie up and pulls her into the other room, leaning her against the countertop. Without thinking, she begins undoing the buttons on Jamie’s top.

“Blimey,” Jamie remarks, not pushing Dani away, but stilling her movements.

Dani can feel the heat rise in her cheeks. She backpedals. “I, um, I didn’t-- I’m so sorry.”

Jamie just laughs, “Only teasing, love. But, ah, I can probably take it from here, yeah?”

“Um, yeah. I’ll just… be in the bedroom. If you need me.”

Dani slumps against the door as it closes behind her. The sound of the water running mimics the rush of blood in her ears. They’ve only been doing... whatever this is between them for a month. Not long at all. Certainly not long enough to be undressing her in the middle of the day with people in the house while she’s in pain. Dani hadn’t meant it in an erotic way but, Jesus, Dani, show some restraint.

She exhales. Right. Organize. Jamie will need a towel. She’ll need dry clothes. Maybe tea? A warm compress. Or ice? What do people put on sore muscles? A massage? Dani swallows thickly and shakes off the thought of Jamie’s smooth skin beneath her fingertips, tightness dissipating as Dani works the knots away. She absolutely does not imagine Jamie melting into the mattress or the moans that might escape through her lips, and she decidedly does not dwell upon the rare sight of Jamie, pliant and entirely relaxed.

Absolutely not. Shove that into a box and come back to it later. It’s worked well enough in the past.

Right then.

Dani sets about making the necessary rearrangements, shuffling her boots into the closet, digging out appropriately loose clothes for laying about, and swiping a plate of sandwiches from the kitchen, making some excuse about Jamie being too busy to come in, but she sends her thanks. Owen raises an eyebrow at this, but apparently does not feel the need to comment. Hannah, however, takes one look at Dani’s muddy knees and frowns.

“Miss Clayton, you had better not be tracking mud through my house.”

“Yes, Miss Clayton, or else you will have to mop up the mess just like Miles!” Flora states, intently focused on the cucumber and cream cheese sandwich on her plate.

“I told you it wasn’t me!” Miles objects loudly, his drinking glass making contact with the table with a bit more force than necessary.

“It’s in the past,” Dani dismisses, before the situation can get out of hand. She turns to Hannah, and, in her best I’m-setting-an-example-please-go-with-it voice, says, “Of course, Mrs. Grose, I made sure to wipe my feet at the door, but I will clean up any messes I made because it is very important that we all clean up our own messes.”

“Right you are, dear.”

“Could I get a cup of tea to take to Jamie as well? I’d make it but…”

“Say no more,” Owen rises from his seat at the table. “Wouldn’t want to poison poor Jamie, now would we?” Then, with a chuckle, “She’s got you properly whipped, hasn’t she? Trekking lunch out to whatever corner of the grounds she’s wound up in.”

“Why’s Jamie whipping Miss Clayton?” Flora pipes up.

Dani feels her face flush. “Oh, sweetie, she’s, um, that’s not--”

“What Owen means to say, is it’s very nice of Miss Clayton to deliver a meal to Jamie while she’s working,” Hannah says pointedly.

Owen coughs. “Ah, yeah, to-tea-lly leaf-ly of her to help out.”

“Hannah, I was thinking of taking my lunch with Jamie. Would you mind keeping an eye on these two for a little while?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Hannah chaffs, “They’re an awful lot of trouble, these two.”

“You think,” Owen chimes in, “they’d behave if I told them I could use a hand baking biscuits this afternoon?”

“I suppose that might do it,” Hannah says, an expression of faux pensivity creasing her forehead. “What do you think, children?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Grose, that would be perfectly splendid!”

“Can we make snickerdoodles?”

“Don’t see why not,” Owen says. He hands a teacup to Dani. “Off with you. Go find your knight in mud and dungarees.”

Dani shoots them a grateful smile and heads back upstairs, delicately balancing the cup with the plate of food. She knocks thrice.

“Yeah.” Jamie’s voice comes muffled through the heavy wooden door as Dani cautiously turns the knob.

Dani lets out a moderately embarrassing squeak and immediately averts her eyes, intent on looking anywhere except at a very wet, towel-clad Jamie. “Oh, um, good. Y-you found the towel.”

“That I did. I, ah, wasn’t sure if these were for me,” she gestures to the neatly folded stack of clothes on the bed, “didn’t want to assume.”

“They’re, um, they’re for you.” There’s a fascinating crack in the floor Dani has never noticed before. It’s about four inches long and almost invisible.

“Hey, Dani, you can look.” Jamie sounds almost concerned. ‘S’okay. It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.” She grins wryly.

“No, no, yeah, I know. It just, I don’t know, feels different when it’s not for that reason.”

“Dani Clayton, not a fan of casual nudity. Noted,” Jamie teases.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t a fan.” Dani places the tea and sandwiches on the bedside table, stepping into Jamie’s space.

“That so?”

“Mhm,” Dani hums, “and I’m going to stop this runaway train right here. You’re injured.”

Jamie huffs. “Bloody rude.”

“How’s your back?”

“Feels fine. Right as rain. I’ll just get dressed and go back out--”

“You most certainly will not. You are going to get dressed and get in this bed and you are going to rest.”

“But I’ve still got to finish in the statuary, and Hannah’s brought up a crack she wants me to fix, and--”

“--and all of those things can wait. I’ve taken care of enough idiotic teenage sports injuries to know that straining it will only make it worse. So, put these on, and get into bed.” She leaves no room for disagreement.

“I can’t believe you just used your teacher voice on me.”

“I can’t believe you’re being this obstinate.”

“I’m fine!”

“Why won’t you let me take care of you?” It is not aggressive. It comes out softly, a hint of confusion combined with an ounce of desperation.

Jamie freezes. “I don’t…”

“You only took a bath after I practically forced you--”

“I wouldn’t--”

“You could’ve really hurt yourself.”

“I know, but--”

“How long would you have laid out there in the mud before calling for help?”

“Dani,” Jamie interrupts, an appeasing thumb running along the inside of Dani’s wrist, “look, I just…” she sighs. “It’s not that easy.”

“It is, though,” Dani insists.

“No, love, it’s not. Not when you’ve been… well, not when you’re me.” She pauses, sits on the bed, and nudges Dani down next to her. “I don’t like feeling useless, s’all. People look at you, see you laying about, they see weakness. Someone to be pitied or someone to be taken advantage of. Just once is all it takes for them to get the idea you can’t stand on your own two feet.”

She seems a million miles away, a decade, even, and Dani waits. Jamie will continue if she wants to.

“I don’t like being pitied. And I know that’s not...that’s not what you’re trying to do.” She chooses her words carefully, as if walking through a minefield. Dani stands on the other side. “No need to give me the talk about everybody needing help. ‘Cause, in theory, yeah, that’s true, but when you’ve always been the one doing the helping... it… it’s not all that easy to be on the receiving end.” The last sentence is rushed, and Jamie finishes with a humorless snort of laughter. Her thumb has halted its caress of Dani’s skin.

Dani is silent for a moment. Coddling would be met with rejection. Not outright, no, but Dani knows better. Jamie has lain bare this piece of her soul, held out a fragment of her identity in tender hands, and trusts Dani to take it under her care, treasure it. Jamie had woven the tale of her life under the moonlight, and Dani has spent the past month trying to unravel the threads, to understand. Now, Jamie has given her a new string to follow, but she cannot pull too hard, lest it fall apart.

Dani speaks, quiet, but firm. “We’ll just have to practice then, won’t we.”

A flicker of confusion passes over Jamie’s face as she processes. Then, she softens. Her thumb resumes its rhythmic movement.

There will be other times, Dani has said, and I will stay and I will be here for you because you aren’t alone anymore.

And that seems to be enough.

Jamie exhales through her nose.

“Bit nippy in here. Might, ah, might want to put on some clothes.”

Right. Yes. Of course. Jamie is still in a towel. Gooseflesh has risen along her legs, and she shivers.

“Oh, oh, yeah,” Dani stammers, “I’ll just--” She mimes turning around and is met with a chuckle.

“You weren’t this shy the other night, if memory serves.”

“That,” Dani reiterates, “that was different.” She makes a show of fussing with the corner of the duvet, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles.

Jamie makes a noncommittal noise low in her throat. “I’m decent.”

Dani had picked the clothes, sure, but for a woman who prides herself on preparedness, actually seeing Jamie in Dani’s old elementary school t-shirt and loose-fitting, flannel trousers causes the circuits in her brain to fry.

“Your tea’s getting cold,” she says dumbly. “I didn’t make it,” she adds, noting Jamie’s look of skepticism. Apparently satisfied with that answer, Jamie sips at her beverage and slides under the covers, gesturing for Dani to join her. She shakes her head. “I still need to clean myself up. Hannah’s watching the kids for now, but I really should get back to them.”

“A tragedy of Shakespearen proportions.”

“You need anything else before I shower?”

“No, thank you, love.” Modest affection shines on Jamie’s face, and she speaks so genuinely Dani’s heart aches. She smiles.

“Get some rest, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jamie gives a mock salute, at which Dani can only roll her eyes before exiting  into the bathroom with an extra towel and a change of clothes.

When she returns, wringing her hair out, she finds Jamie soundly asleep. The teacup has been placed on the table, next to the plate now missing a sandwich, and Jamie is curled on her side, puffing slow, measured breaths.

Chamomile tea. Who knew?

Dani makes sure to close the door quietly, and she does her best to herd the children away from that side of the house.

It’s about time for supper when Dani makes her way back to her room. When Jamie does not answer her knocks, Dani opens the door, praying the hinges will not squeak for once. Jamie is still nestled in Dani’s bed. She’s rolled over, though, facing the door, and Dani can see her bangs billowing slightly with every breath. Jamie’s nose twitches where the hair tickles it.

This isn’t the first time Dani has seen Jamie in her bed, and she certainly hopes it won’t be the last, but this, this casual intimacy, is something so precious to her. She wants it to last.

Dani perches on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to remove the offending strand of hair from Jamie’s face, and Jamie stirs.

“Hey,” Dani whispers, and Jamie cracks an eye. She presses a hand to her forehead. One of her shirtsleeves has fallen to the side, revealing pale collarbones.

“Hey.” Her voice is gravelly, sleep-laden, in a way that makes Dani’s stomach turn over itself. “Time s’it?”

“Around six, I think?” That grabs Jamie’s attention. Before Dani can stop her, she’s scrambling to sit up, completely forgetting that’s a terrible idea and acting surprised when she topples back onto the pillows with a grunt.

“Easy, easy…” Dani scolds sweetly, as Jamie gasps. “You’re okay. Just lay back. That’s it.”

“Christ.”

“Forgot why you ended up here in the first place, huh?”

“I can’t believe you let me sleep all day,” Jamie says, when the stab of pain fades. “Thought you’d at least wake me up after an hour or so. Had things to do.”

“We said they could wait.”

“You said they could wait.”

“You can’t seriously be mad at me for making you take care of yourself.”

“Feel like I wasted a day, s’all.”

“Well, you didn’t. Taking care of yourself is never a waste,” Dani says, effectively ending the argument. “Do you want to come down for dinner, or do you want me to bring it up to you?” Jamie opens her mouth, but Dani continues, “Before you answer, I want you to think about whether you’re making this decision based on what’s easiest for me, or what you actually feel capable of doing.”

Jamie’s brows raise. “Someone’s feeling bold this evening.”

Dani resists the urge to shirk away, to cave. She knows Jamie would drop it instantly, reassuring Dani that she hasn’t actually overstepped. Instead, Dani says, quietly, sincerely, “You don’t have to put your needs aside to make my life easier.” She considers, leans down so that she’s laying next to Jamie on the bed. “Besides, I like taking care of you.”

Jamie studies her. Whether she’s looking for the lie or for Dani to pull back and say, “just kidding!” Dani doesn’t know. Jamie presses a gentle kiss to her lips, a kiss that speaks the words she cannot. A kiss that says, I’m working on it.

Dani stays close when they break apart, their foreheads touching. “So, dinner?”

“Should probably make an appearance.”

Dani gives her a pointed look. “‘Should’ or ‘want to.’”

“Want to,” Jamie assures, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“You know,” Dani says, helping Jamie sit up slowly, “we should probably tell them how you hurt yourself, or they’ll assume it was from less, hm, virtuous activities.”

“Dirty bird.” Jamie swats her arm. “Owen, maybe, but not our good, Christian Hannah.”

“But do you really want to deal with the comments at the table?”

“Fine. We tell them I fell, and that’s it.”

“Right, so I shouldn’t mention your incredibly stupid idea to move a heavy marble statue without help?”

“Not ideally, no.”

Dani pouts. “Do I at least get to ask about the Rosebush Incident of Eighty-five?”

“You’re not gonna let that one go, are you?” Jamie sighs. “Fine. Ask Owen, then. Suppose you’ll find out about it eventually.” Dani places a gleeful kiss on her cheek.

“Come on, let’s get some food into you.”

The few hours of bedrest appear to have paid off, Dani thinks smugly, as Jamie is perfectly capable of walking herself down the hall. Jamie, however, seems to be rather content to use this as an excuse to lean into Dani, and Dani can’t say she minds all that much. She stands on her own as they near the kitchen and moves with only a slight limp and a wince Dani only catches because she’s looking for it.

At another time, she’ll wonder how often Jamie has hidden her pain.

“There she is!” Owen exclaims when they take their unassigned, assigned seats at the table.

“What happened, dear?” Hannah says simultaneously, as Owen does a double take, clearly trying to figure out what he’s missing. It dawns on him a moment later.

“Fell. ‘M fine,” Jamie shrugs.

“Must’ve been some fall,” Owen remarks, with a smirk that has Dani wary.

“Hm?” Jamie does not look up from the roll she’s buttering.

“You’re wearing Miss Clayton’s clothes,” Flora observes helpfully. Dani chokes on her water. Shit. How could she have missed that?

To her credit, Jamie continues without faltering. “Tripped, landed in a mud puddle, and I didn’t have a change of clothes in the truck. Miss Clayton was nice enough to loan me hers.”

Well, the first part, at least, is true. Dani pinches herself for not asking if Jamie had her own clothes to change into. Even if she does look divine in the free t-shirt they gave Dani when she started teaching.

Owen seems skeptical, but, blessedly, he drops the subject in favor of animatedly recounting the story of their baking adventures that afternoon.

Hannah catches them after dinner, just as Dani is preparing to send the children to bed. “Will you be staying the night, Jamie? In the unfortunate event your injury acts up, of course,” she says with a mirthful wink.

Jamie looks to Dani for an answer, her mouth moving but no words coming out.

“Yes,” Dani decides for them.

“I’m assuming I won’t need to make up the guest bedroom for you?”

“Oh, um, no, thanks. That won’t be necessary.” Dani isn’t sure why she’s blushing. It’s not as if the whole manor doesn’t know about them. They’d tried hiding at first, sneaking about and slipping into dark corners like teenagers. They were not very good at it.

Later, with Miles and Flora safely asleep and Owen and Hannah having taken their leave for the evening, Jamie returns to Dani’s bed, this time with Dani sliding in behind her. Dani nuzzles into her back, careful not to touch any sore areas.

“I know I was an idiot,” Jamie’s voice cuts nervously through the darkness, “but, ah, just wanted to say thanks. For caring about me. Not really...not really used to that.”

Dani can feel her entire body tense. She presses tender kisses along Jamie’s back. “Of course,” she murmurs, and she hopes her conviction comes across. “Always.” She hesitates. “You’re not wrong about being an idiot, though,” Dani giggles.

“You like it.” It’s not meant to be a question, though Jamie’s voice wavers.

“I do,” Dani confirms affectionately, “I do.”

Jamie relaxes against her.

[ahsokryze]

6 with Ahsoka and Padmé for the whump prompts?

Ooh yes of course! thanks for the prompt // from these prompts

6 - lap pillow

~~~

“We have powerful friends!” Padmé called out, both hands grasping the bold, metal cell bars she and Ahsoka were currently locked behind. “You will regret this!”

The remaining attendant—a young human male, who looked to be in his late teens—narrowed his eyes, sticking his tongue out at the senator in a teasing manner. There was a distant shout, then the boy swiftly fled down the hall, his shadow shrinking as he raced to catch up with the rest of the group of captors.

“Padmé, it’s okay.”

“Ugh, no manners...” Padmé muttered, watching as the boy’s shadow on the adjacent grey duracrete brick wall completely disappeared, the sound of his footfall fading beyond her perception. With a sigh, she let go of the bars, sitting back, turning to face her cell mate.

Ahsoka was sitting against the dirt-ridden duracrete wall at the back of their relatively cramped cell, favouring her left montral. With her brief plight of anger fading, Padmé was left with a flooding feeling of concern as she looked over the young togruta, noticing how she was still visibly trembling from the series of electrical shocks she had received during their…difficult abduction.

“Are you okay, Ahsoka?” she asked. She scooted over to sit beside her friend, who nodded with a wince. I wonder who she learned that from… Padmé mused, before she gently took Ahsoka’s trembling hands into her own. “You’re shaking.”

Ahsoka gazed down at her hands. She flipped over her palms, flipped them back again, watching how her fingers relentlessly seemed to quiver. Then she pulled her hands out of Padmé's grip, wrapping her arms around her torso.

“It’s just an after-effect from the shocks,” she murmured. “It’ll wear off.”

Padmé knew this. It would eventually wear off. But how long would it be until that would happen? She had witnessed this undesirable after-effect of electrocution more times than she would like, in her husband. There had been times where Anakin had come home, shaking and trembling from limb to limb, after some so-called "lively" mission. And it had taken hours for him to finally get relaxed enough to fall asleep. But even then, she couldn't forget the feeling of his faintly quivering muscles against her skin as she held him through the night. And the way it didn’t quite seem to stop, even for days afterwards.

Ahsoka closed her eyes, breathing out a slow breath with a wince. Padmé reached out to gently rub Ahsoka’s shoulder.

“How’s your head?” she asked. Ahsoka cracked one eye open to look at her before closing it again, letting out a sigh.

“I’ll live.”

“You got hit pretty hard,” Padmé said, making her voice a little softer. “Do you think you might have a concussion?”

Ahsoka opened both eyes this time and nodded gravely. But the movement seemed to make her wince, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight again. Padmé didn’t miss the small whine that escaped her lips.

"Here," Padmé murmured, taking hold of Ahsoka's shoulders and gently guiding her down towards the floor. "I think you might be a little more comfortable if you lay down right now."

She gently eased Ahsoka all the way down, letting her head rest comfortably on her lap, before shrugging out of her mauve velvet cloak and tucking it snugly around Ahsoka’s lightly trembling shoulders. "I'll be your pillow for a little while."

Padmé was half-expecting a protest, but instead Ahsoka surrendered to her words, settling into place across her lap with a slightly relieved-sounding sigh.

“Is this any better?” Padmé whispered. Ahsoka hummed.

“Yes, it’s a little better,” she whispered in reply. Her lips curled into a faint smile. “Thank you, Padmé.”

“You’re welcome, Ahsoka.”

Silence lapsed for a few moments, the only sound being either of their steady breaths and the distant plink, plink, plink of rainwater dripping outside the small, circular window at the side of the cell.

“I’m sorry, Padmé.” Ahsoka murmured.

Padmé glanced back down to her lap to see that Ahsoka now had one arm laid across her face, hiding her eyes from view.

“What for?”

“It was my fault that we got caught up in this mess,” Ahsoka said. “If I hadn’t—”

“Ahsoka,” Padmé cut her off. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But—”

“No, Ahsoka. If anything, it was mine. I was the one who convinced us to go investigate in that room. I’m taking responsibility for this. It was my fault you got hurt and we’re now trapped in this cell. I’m the one who should be sorry, not you.”

“Padmé…”

“I’m sorry, Ahsoka.”

Ahsoka let out a sigh, lifting her arm away from her face.

“Padmé, it’s not your fault that I got hurt. They were gonna do that either way, wether you were there or not.”

Padmé let out a sigh of her own.

"I suppose you may be right." she relented. Padmé then began to gently circle her thumb over Ahsoka's bicep. “But i’m still sorry that you got hurt.”

“It’s okay, Padmé.”

Ahsoka eyes were closed, but Padmé could tell that it was taking her a lot of effort to handle the pain. Her brows furrowed deeply, and Ahsoka released a slow, shaky breath.

“I’m sure we’ll get out of here soon,” Padmé said quietly, after a few moments, still rubbing gentle circles over Ahsoka’s bicep with her thumb. She hoped it was somewhat helping comfort her, even just a little bit. “I sent out an alert to Anakin’s comm just before we got captured. With any luck, soon your Master will come striding down that hall to our daring rescue.”

“You know, Padmé,” Ahsoka started, a lopsided grin creeping up her lips. It very much resembled Anakin. Those two are becoming so much alike. “You would make a great Jedi.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, you’re a genius,” she chuckled. “I didn’t even think to do that.”

“Well…you were being dealt a round of electric shocks at that point, so I wouldn’t be so hard on your problem solving abilities in that state.”

“Uh, I guess you’re right,” Ahsoka giggled. But then she sobered, gazing intently into Padmé’s eyes. “But seriously, you really would make a good Jedi.”

Padmé smiled.

“Really,” Ahsoka continued. “You love to help people. And you’re very intuitive. The Jedi would be blessed to have someone like you working among us.”

“Well, that was really sweet of you, Ahsoka.” Padmé blushed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, I do,” Ahsoka replied, as she pulled the velvet cloak more tightly around her shoulders and closed her eyes, turning her head, before snuggling up further in Padmé’s lap. She let out a soft, satisfied purr, before she whispered, “You’re amazing, Padmé.”

~~~