#the teams on set are the only ones nailing it sandwiched between something wrong in both pre and post production

[utterlyinevitable]

pb let me *redact* Tobias challenge 🥲

not me turning your tobias thirst asks into a 3-part mini series 😂🙈

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC (Becca Lao) x Tobias Carrick Rating: Teen+ Summary: Ethan’s still pissed at Becca for her Tobias stint when he was in the Amazon. What happens when the narcissist joins the team? Trope: Angst; Broke Up; Ethan’s POV; Fighting; Jealousy

A/N: the toxin plot didn’t happen in this universe btw.

Part 1  |  Part 2

___________________________

Godly Sins: 3. Parting Wrath of Hera

That evening Tobias and Becca spoke late into the night about anything and everything. Well, everything that didn’t involve Ethan, June and hospital drama, nor their two brief wanton stints - truly getting to know one another and starting fresh.

As days and shifts and weekends rolled by, the sparkle they’ve shared began blooming into a friendship.

It was rather inevitable, really.

Two people who shared an indubitable attraction, forced to spend all their time together out of their boss’ sight - It was kismet.

Meanwhile, Ethan Ramsey had been ignoring them both for weeks outside of Diagnostic Team mandated functions - even then, interactions were brief and mediated by Harper. He’s been on edge since Tobias joined the team as Bloom’s nark, presumably. Or at least that’s what he told himself - convinced himself that nothing good could come from whatever this was.

Oh, how things go horribly, horribly sour.

Becca was sitting in the office waiting for the daily Diagnostics Team meeting to start, busying herself by scrolling through social media over eleven times in the last five minutes.

Steps away, Ethan sat at his desk, keeping a cold shoulder and looking over files he purposely keeps on his desk for awkward times just as these. The air between them stiff and stale, as heavy as it was months ago when they had their falling out. They should have acclimated to the unrelenting suffocation of being left alone together - the third shadow accompanying whatever was left of them.

But they hadn’t. Never really could once she realized Ethan would never forgive her for forming a survivalistic attachment to his biggest adversary. Rebecca Lao wasn’t going to let a man’s misplaced pride stifle her. So, she refuses to stroke his ego by hiding - even through the rancor of being alone with him, and the twangs that erupt when they’re this close. She’s not going to idly hover outside, biding time until Harper or Tobias or Naveen or a nurse, or anyone else enters the office first. She’ll sit and she’ll wait for work to begin.

And Ethan Ramsey will sit at his desk and pretend she’s not there. He’ll pretend he can’t smell her perfume, or hear the tapping of her nails to her phone or the heel to the floor as her leg jitters. He’ll pretend she’s nothing more than a ghost of the past lingering in the cornerstone of his conscious, like all the others. He’ll convince himself he’s angled away from her just enough to keep a peripheral eye on the door in case there’s an emergency, even if that line of vision is really just of her.

If Tobias noticed Ethan staring blankly ahead, he didn’t dare attempt to feign interest. The olive-skinned addition sauntered straight over to Becca, hands full and a thin, satisfied smile at home on his lips.

He set down a large coffee and sandwich wrapped in white paper in front of her. Ethan could just about read the stickered logo from where he sat. But he could see the undoubtable way Becca’s eyes lit up.  

“Is this from...”

“The one and only,” Tobias had a cheeky grin - a kind of unbridled simper.

“That was fast.”

“Said I’d buy you breakfast, and I did.” He pulled out the chair closest to her and sat with his signature nonchalant grace. “Did you think I’m not a man of my word?” His hand was waving, palm up, towards the small feast before her.

“More like a flubber.”

Becca’s playful tone matched his in the most complimentary way.

Ethan caught the shining smile they shared - one that could only indicate an inside joke. One that could only mean they were spending too much time together. One that could only mean they were getting along.

Then Tobias plucked a strip of bacon off her sandwich.

And that was when something snapped in Dr. Ramsey.

They weren’t meant to be comfortable. They’re meant to suffer. That was the whole point of constantly pairing them together. These two flawed and moralless people were meant to be a punishment. Just for a while. Just until...

They made a house out of crushed stones.

They flipped the script on how this was meant to play out, and Ethan vehemently resented them for it.

As soon as Harper entered the office, Ethan bolted to his feet and rattled through the meeting. Swift, succinct and blinded by the need to be alone. Alone to plot what comes next.

He was gruffer with them for the rest of the day, and this time they noticed. The scorn seeped through Ethan’s characteristic distain like nuclear waste. Neither Becca or Tobias were guilty of whatever Ethan was holding them accountable for this time - a scapegoat for his repressed feelings. Then why did Becca feel guilty? She did nothing wrong - then or now. This is a natural progression to the seeds he sowed by banishing them.

Ethan will just have to live with the consequences.  

***

The consequences came two weeks later. Powerful and damning and freezing Ethan in place, right in the middle of his office. Right in front of them. 

Tobias and Becca were perched on the diagnostics’ couch. Becca’s hand is in his and he’s rubbing gentle circles of adoration to the soft skin. He didn’t stop his ministrations as the air around them, once a glorious heated serenity, now turned icy. The chill wafting through with the large presence of their past.

“I don’t want to know,” he grumbles as he pulls himself out of his stupor and storms towards his desk.

The words of her off-handed response were as hard as a lingering look into Medusa’s eyes. “Yes you do, Ethan. So ask.”

The contempt. The exasperation. The overall vile irksome in her tone… It was baiting him. She was baiting him to lose his temper. To acknowledge it all. Ethan didn’t mean to say his inner thoughts out loud, didn’t mean to revert on the divine separation he’s put between them all. And he certainly didn’t mean for her to mistake this moment as an olive branch. However decrepit it is. 

Ethan didn’t ask. Just shakes his head and tries to fall back into his ignorance. 

He hears the creak of the couch as the pair stand up and the shuffling of two people moving as one. Ethan’s trying so hard not to watch them - trying not to assess their every move and read too much into it. The pair move towards the door when he speaks -

An authoritative statement pegged directly at her. Eyes devoid of feeling, blue irises creeping down the Marianas trench.

“It is unethical to be involved with a colleague.”

Ethan Ramsey was foolish. Especially so to believe he could have the last word - the last victory of battle in the war he started. For Rebecca spun around with such purpose, the skirt of her dress catching on the wind. Her hands at her sides balling, sharp nails grazing palms.

A rueful snort escapes her, “Thought it was only unethical if there’s a power imbalance?”

She had him there. With the forced team democracy Tobias wasn’t technically a superior. Never mind that they aren’t together. Not really.

If he was a better man, Tobias would intervene and set the record straight. He’d position himself in the five feet between these two Edenbrook legacies instead of behind her. Watching. Decoding every tell tale in the tableau.

The way they were glaring at one another, well... The suspicion that floated as his reasoning to send the basket all those months ago was more than confirmed. And Tobias Carrick just realized what he’s just gotten himself into.

“There will be no fraternizing within my team,” Ethan’s voice strained to keep calm. Tried not to bellow the rule he’s kept in place when it comes to Rebecca Lao. His ears beginning to redden and the vein of his neck protruding. 

Becca huffed a dry laugh, folded her arms across her chest and looked away. Towards Tobias.

In a few seconds many things happened. Becca’s eyes locked on Tobias, shooting him a look that could only mean one thing. Tobias smiled just for her. Ethan’s heart shattered. And Becca turned back to Ethan.

Her once copper eyes now almost entirely black. “Define fraternizing.”

That had Ethan sputtering and Tobias’ sly smile broadening.

“Because friendship is one thing,” she continued. “Sexual intercourse, another.”

That got a rise out of both men for very different reasons.

“Either way, the nature of my relationship with Tobias is none of your concern.”

They’re staring one another down. His sapphire eyes darker than she’s ever seen - all the hurt they’ve caused one another swirling between. Becca can feel the regret in the tension of his shoulders and the stiffness of his jaw. But for what, she doesn’t know - doesn’t want to. The longer she stands here, looking at him for the first time in months, she fears she’ll see every facet of pain she’s caused, and every reason to back down. And that’s too much to bear. Even after it all there’s still a part of her that loves him, always will. 

She’s strong as stone before him, refusing to waver.

Tobias itches to say something, anything. Something that wouldn’t just cut through the tension... 

“If it makes you feel better we’ll disclose to HR.”

Ethan’s neck could have snapped with the force of the swiftness as his head whipped towards his rival. Eyes narrowed and sizing Tobias up - decoding every subtext of the phrase. Every little bit of their unknown closeness. 

With his steely gaze stuck on Tobias, Becca found the strength to pull away. Turned her back on Ethan and began walking out - not a single glance thrown back over her shoulder for either man. Tobias less than half a step behind her. Leaving Ethan with one final look. 

As Ethan watched them walk out, he deflates. A knife stabbed straight to the heart he wasn’t sure he still had. Red blood that beat because of her. 

For her. 

Still.

***BONUS POV***

As soon as they were out of earshot, down the corridor and away from any lingering ears, Tobias spoke; 

“Ever going to tell me what happened between you and Ramsey?”

“A mistake, apparently.”

He squeezed her hand and that’s all that was said on the subject.      

______________________

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

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[13uswntimagines]

We Know Your Tells (Soran x Reader)

Lindsey x reader x Sonnett where Reader tries to hide being sick from Lindsey over Facetime and Lindsey shows up to take care of her?

Hey dudes, I hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it! Hit me up with Requests, Questions or if you just want to say hi! 

You were a lot of things. You were a fantastic forward for the US Women’s National Team. You were a great baker and a fantastic girlfriend to both Lindsey and Emily. However there were a few things that you were not good at, and lying was at the top of that list. Your girlfriends had learned your tells within the first month that the three of you had been together, and their ability to read you like a book had grown exponentially in the three and a half years you had been together. 

Though you had never tried to lie to them on FaceTime before, so you could only hope that your sister’s spotty internet connection would be bad enough to prevent them from seeing right through you. You loved your sister, but not including 2 plus ones in your invitation to her wedding had been a major mess up on her part. She hadn’t budged on the “just one girlfriend” Mantra, and you would never be able to pick between Linds and Em, So here you were trapped in Kansas City alone. Alone and suffering from major food poisoning from her shitty wedding food. 

You had spent the entire day practically glued to the porcelain throne, unable to do anything but be miserable. You knew that you had missed texts from your favorite duo and that if you missed your nightly FaceTime, they were going to freak out more than they probably already were. 

You dragged yourself back to your bed and tried to make yourself look remotely presentable. Just passable enough to not draw the suspicions of your very overprotective girlfriends. 

You took a deep breath just before clicking the accept button, forcing a smile as your blond-haired beauties appeared on the screen. 

“Babes!” You cheered, praying that there was enough pep in your voice. 

“Hey beautiful, you alright, you look a little pale,” Lindsey smiled at you, leaning closer to the screen to get a better look. You could see the worry in her eyes and felt a small rush of nerves. 

“Yep I’m great, just a little tired,” you waved nonchalantly, doing everything in your power to prevent your hand from traveling to the back of your neck. It was your most prominent tell and the most difficult for you to stop. 

“You sure, because the way your squinting makes it seem like you haven’t quite gotten over your hangover yet,” Emily said, quirking an eyebrow at you, worry leaning into your tone. You weren’t nearly as smooth as you thought you were. Your eyes were bloodshot and your face was pale. They would have to be living under a rock to not recognize the signs. Still, you rolled your eyes at the girl as though she was crazy. 

“You two know how to make a girl feel good… and yeah I’m fine,” You huffed, running a hand through your hair, and tucking a more stubborn piece behind your ear. 

“Whatcha been up to?” Lindsey asked, eyeing you suspiciously. She was more worried than anything that you ignored them for the entire day. They knew that you had a fairly contentious relationship with your family and that you had probably gone overboard with the alcohol at your sister’s wedding. She didn’t like that she wasn’t there to protect you both from your mother’s silver tongue and your unhealthy reactions to it. 

“Boring family stuff,” You yawned, your fingers migrating to rub soothing circles on the back of your neck, your eyes closing for a moment without your permission. Being around your family was exhausting. Your parents wouldn’t leave you alone when they found out that you weren’t feeling good. But instead of doing helpful things like rubbing your back or holding your hair, they were more concerned about if this would ruin your sister’s wedding weekend. What you would give for Linds and Em to be here. 

“Hm,” Emily hummed quietly, worry etched on her features. Your hands were your biggest give away when something wasn’t right, but why would you be lying to them and ignoring them?

“Did you get our texts?” Lindsey questioned after a few seconds, your eyes blinking open in surprise. You had been pretty preoccupied with your stomach issues to answer them. You had known that they were texting you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. 

“I didn’t get to read them,” You mumbled guiltily, and you saw the telltale tick up of your girlfriends’ lips. Yes, they were worried about you, but your guilty pout was too cute to not smile at, though they would never tell you that. You hated being called cute and adorable, though your bedhead right now was making you just that. 

“That’s a shame because we kinda got into a little bit of a contest,” Lindsey smirked at you, seduction leaking into her tone. They had both planned this as a way to help you… relax… while you were away. The three of you barely spent time apart, and when you did, you always got antsy. 

“You two and your competitiveness. What was your contest,” you laughed humorlessly, forcing a small smile onto your lips. You were typically excited about their stupid games. They were always entertaining, but you weren’t feeling it right now. If you told them that, then they would know that there was something wrong. So, you would pretend for their sake. There was no sense in worrying them when there wasn’t anything they could do to help. 

“It was the TikTok dirty photo challenge,” Emily said, bouncing in her seat and shaking the phone around. 

“The what?” You furrowed your eyebrows at her, both from trying to quell the nausea that all her moving was giving you and because you had no idea what she was talking about. You weren’t a big fan of social media and stayed off of it for the most part. You balanced out Emily’s over involvement nicely.

“You send a dirty photo to your significant other while they’re in a public setting,” Lindsey explained, grabbing the phone from Sonnett’s hand and steadying the camera, squinting at the suddenly green sheen that had washed over your face. 

“And then record their reaction,” Emily screeched, and you recoiled from the piercing sound, nearly dropping the phone. 

“We changed it to who could get the best reaction out of you, so we need you to tell us who won,” Lindsey hummed, placing a settling hand on Emily’s shoulder. The pained look that crossed your features confirming that you weren’t ok. She sent you a sad smile, as you groaned. You usually didn’t mind being pulled into their antics, but right now all you wanted to do was sleep. 

Rather than respond with words, you nodded to them halfheartedly, missing the worried glance they shared. You had the dirtiest mind of the three of you, and you loved it when they sent you “surprises” as the three of you called them, especially after being separated from them for a week. 

You flipped through the photos, that on any other day would have stolen your breath away, squinting to minimize the effect of the bright screen on your eyes. You head throbbed as you took in the two photos, the difference being that Lindsey had chosen a blue number while Emily had chosen red, both of which were decidedly your favorite colors on the women. They had pulled out all the stops. 

You barely looked at the photos, before switching back to the call, grumbling out an “I can’t choose, so it’s a tie,”. 

“That’s not the reaction we were hoping for,” Emily visibly deflated on the screen. You were usually the most articulate of the three of you. You loved to tell your girls how amazing they looked, and to point out exactly what… features you were enjoying the most. It was nice because you weren’t gross about it. They didn’t feel objectified under your gaze, because you always made sure they knew that you loved them and how lucky you felt that they felt confident enough to send you stuff. You were never shy about telling them how sexy they were and you always made sure to make them feel gorgeous. 

But right now, you looked like you were half asleep, and if dirty pictures couldn’t wake you up, something had to be very wrong. 

“You sure you’re feeling alright?” Lindsey asked again, no longer trying to hide just how worried she was. You let out an audible groan at their continued questioning. Yes, it would be nice to have them here, but you didn’t want them to have to deal with the family bullshit that always came with it, and they had important Adidas obligations while you were gone that were more important than your stupid sister’s wedding. 

“Hey y/n I brought you food because you haven’t eaten all day,” Your sister burst through the door, carrying what looked like a sandwich, and you scrubbed your hands over your eyes in frustration. Of course, she had to choose this moment to finally care about your wellbeing. You were known for your snacking abilities, and you not eating was like the nail in the coffin of your lie. Plus it meant that you had broken one of the rules that the three of you had. Sometimes when Emily got stressed, she skipped meals. To fix that, all three of you had made a rule that you had to eat at least twice a day. You were usually the best at not breaking it, so it was shocking when you did. 

“What?!” Both your girls exclaimed, and you winced. 

“I told you guys I’m fine,” You growled, glaring at your sister with all your might. 

“Bullshit,” Lindsey hissed back, utterly tired of you lying to them. Something was wrong and she needed to know what it was. 

“Look, I’m tired and I just want to go to bed,” You grumbled, yawing again. You didn’t want to eat the stupid sandwich your sister had brought you, as you probably wouldn’t be able to keep it down anyway. You didn’t want to argue with your girlfriends either. You didn’t feel good, and without them, you just wanted to cuddle your stuffed Dino and go to sleep until you could fly home to them. 

“We love you,” They whispered worriedly after a few seconds of watching you. 

“I love you too,” You hummed, closing your eyes. 

“Sleep babe, we’ll stay on until you’re out,” Emily said quietly, and your grip on the phone tightened as though you were trying to hang onto them. It only took a few minutes for your breathing to even out. Your sister watched you fondly from her place at the door, listing as Emily and Lindsey talked quietly to themselves, trying to figure out what was wrong with you. She was regretting not allowing you to bring the two women. 

She walked over to you, gently taking the phone out of your death grip, and glancing at the women on the screen. 

“She’s super sick, and she won’t tell you this, but I think she needs you to come. We can’t get her to eat and this is the most comfortable she’s been all day,” Your sister listed off, glancing down at your sleeping form, Lindsey and Emily told her their thanks before hanging up. They had a flight to book. 

*****

You weren’t sure how long you had been asleep, but as you became more conscious, you could hear light voices very close to your ear and feel warm bodies surrounding you. Emily’s perfume permeated your nose, and you dug your face deeper into the pillow that smelled like her. You knew you still had to be dreaming because it felt like her neck, like your favorite hiding spot. 

The weight around your middle tightened comfortingly, almost like when Lindsey rubbed your tummy to get you to settle in your sleep. You sighed contently, what a great dream this was. 

“She’s been asleep since your call,” Your sister’s voice broke through your internal monologue. You’re ears perked up. Who could she be talking too? The pillow under you shifted, and a careful hand was run through your hair. 

You lifted your head at the action, staring at your two girlfriends in shock. 

“Em, Linds, told you I was fine,” You mumbled quietly, snuggling back into Emily’s neck, and pulling Lindsey’s arm tighter around you. 

“You lied that you were fine, but we forgive you,” Emily chuckled lightly, gently running a finger over your cheek. 

“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” You said halfheartedly, holding onto them tighter. You had missed them, and you still didn’t feel good. You were able to put up a brave front while they were on the phone with you, but with them here, you knew there was no hiding. 

“And we’ll always come for you,” Lindsey hummed quietly into the back of your neck, placing light kisses into the skin she found there. They knew that you were a tough cookie and that you could handle yourself, but they were still happy that they were here to take care of you. Your mother had barely let them in the house, so they could only imagine the shit she had put you through, and your sister said you still had a low-grade fever. 

“Love you guys,” You mumbled leaning up and kissing Emily cheek, before turning slightly so you could do the same to Lindsey. You settled onto the midfielder’s chest, sighing in contentment. You were so happy that they were here. You released a dinosaur yawn as you snuggled deeper into her chest. 

“Trust us, we love you too,” Lindsey smiled, running soothing circles down her back. 

“Sleep babe, we’ll be here when you wake up,” Emily murmured, joining Lindsey’s hands. 

“Promise?” You asked, cracking an eye open to look at her. 

“Always,” She said, kissing your nose and tucking your Dino under your arm. They were here to take care of you now, and there was no way they were going to leave you now. 

[tangledinmdzs]

are you gonna be my best friend? - wen siblings hcs

best friend hcs with our wens!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Wen Qing

you meet Wen Qing during your residency, a time when you don’t think you’re going to be making any friends at all

it’s the battle of the fittest

survival of the best

there’s no times for friends!

but you can’t deny Wen Qing’s skills the first time you meet her

and really, you’ve always been more of a team player than a competitor

and also, you know when its good to have someone as an ally

so you call on all your socialite experience and befriend Wen Qing

[...] but [...]

it hadn’t been easy

the first time you try to talk to her, is when you find out that you finish your hospital rounds at the same time

and you had both in the changing room, getting out of your scrubs

and you had said, as an opening line, 

“wow did you see when the patient in room 43B snorted applesauce out of his nose from laughing at Wei Wuxian’s joke?”

 you don’t get a response, let alone any acknowledgement before Wen Qing has silently changed out of her clothes and walked off, away and out of the changing room like she wasn’t even there

but luckily you are persistent

and you continue to befriend her in that way of yours (the only way, sadly that you felt wouldn’t come off as creepy)

it’s a few awkward commentary on the day’s rounds or what you thought was interesting from lab work and class

and yes, the beginning was quiet between you both

but you learn that maybe it’s not that the things you say aren’t interesting,

perhaps its more because Wen Qing is just...shy

you don’t believe it the first time you found out,

but it’s true

you find this out in the middle of your afternoon rounds

when you end up walking into Wen Qing’s back where she’s stood a bit awkwardly in the middle of the hallway, staring at something a little ways down

you turn to follow her gaze, and you’re surprised to see someone you don’t know very well

he doesn’t seem to be in any scrubs or anything, so he can’t be a student at the teaching hospital-

“oi my little bro” none other than Wei Wuxian’s boisterous voice rings out the from the opposite side of the hallway

and it takes you only half a second to put two and two together

you wished that it took you half a second to study for your medical exams too, but alas we can’t have everything

“you like him” you assert and Wen Qing whips around to look at you as if you had chosen death

but you’re undeterred, smiling when you realize that you’ve hit the nail on the head

“you totally like him!” you squeal and Wen Qing pulls you away and around the corner just as the two brothers turn their heads down the hall

she hushes you, but her silence and new company with you isn’t a denial

and from that you two steadily become friends,

or at least, you are the person that helps play a matchmaking role between her and Jiang Cheng

it’s not easy

not when you both don’t want to ask his brother for help

no offense, but Wei Wuxian was a bit  of a blabber mouth

and also because Jiang Cheng wasn’t in the department at all,

he only comes once a twice a week to pick his brother up on his motor cycle

“his motorcycle,” you hear Wen Qing swoon for the first time as you’re having lunch with her, sat farther away from the rest of the other students

everyone has their own niches by now

but you’re glad you’re with Wen Qing

and also happy that you’ve discovered this girlish side hidden behind her cold doctor persona

“yeah, and i’m gonna make sure you’re gonna ride that,” you tell Wen Qing with a wink and she nearly chokes on her sandwich

once she gets her breath back she stares at you, the ‘look’ on your face

it’s the sarcastic look that you’ve gotten better at reading since you’ve spent more time with her

“but trust me, if there’s anything i’m good at, it’s matchmaking” you promise her and she just shakes her head at you as you guys move on to talk about the lab work and other portions of the lab

besides, if there’s anything that you’ve learned in your friendship Wen Qing, it’s that she trusts you a lot more than she says she does

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Wen Ning

you meet Wen Ning when Wen Qing invites you over her apartment to help her pick out an outfit for her !first date! with Jiang Cheng, courtesy of your hard work of course

and Wei Wuxian’s too, when he found out about your matchmaking plans

but that’s a story for another time (^_-)—☆

anyways

when you first meet, Wen Ning comes off with the same quietness as his older sister, if only for the meekness of his posture

but he’s nice and quiet, falling to the background as you and Wen Qing end up staying in her room and you dazzling her up for a night of fun and romance

Wen Ning is actually so quiet, that you forget his presence almost entirely

you’re too preoccupied ransacking her entire closet to find a 

“casual but still high class outfit, it’s a dinner date” you tell her, when she wanted to go for a simple summer dress

to doing her hair and make up

“no you cannot just put your hair in a ponytail and call it a day,” you tell her when she tries to ruin your hard work with a scrunchie

and finding the perfect shoes to match with everything

you’ve dolled your friend up pretty well and only await her little brother’s thoughts when she has 30 minutes left until her date

when Wen NIng sees his older sister, he simply smiles then turns back to the show that he’s got on TV 

he really is such a boy, you think to yourself at his reaction 

and you wonder if Wen Qing is underwhelmed

but, when you look at Wen Qing, she seems more worried than offended by the lack of reaction

it’s not the worry about the date, you know that

it’s the look of worry that she has whenever she has to study for an exam, basically a deeper worry

and only an extra second of looking at her that you can pinpoint what’s wrong

she doesn’t want to leave her little brother alone

“i know, he’s 19 now, he’s not a little kid,” Wen Qing tells you when you’re both standing outside of her apartment

“but he hasn’t ever gone outside or done much since he was a kid and sometimes, i wish that i could put more time to be there for him... i...”

“don’t feel guilty about doing something for yourself,” you immediately tell Wen Qing, when you see her giving you that look

the look of just staying home, 

she cares so much for Wen Ning that she really forgets about her own happiness

“i’ll stay around for another hour or something; besides, someone has to fix up the thunderstorm we made of your closet,” you tell her with a smile

and Wen Qing looks like she’s about to tear up

but you stop her right away,

“keep it in, for the eyeliner” you remind her

when you re-enter the Wen apartment, closing the door behind you, you’re happy that you are able to help Wen Qing go on her date at ease

Wen Ning looks up from the couch at the noise, surprised at your return

“hope you don’t mind if i stay around for a little bit?” you ask him, as you slip off your slippers and walk into the living room

Wen Ning stares at you then into his lap

when you don’t hear a response, you turn away awkwardly to go and fix the clothes in Wen Qing’s room

“if Jie asked you to stay here for me, you don’t have to. i’m fine being alone,” 

the words stop you in your tracts

and you turn around to look at him

he’s not looking at you,

but the TV is turned off

the apartment is quiet

“well... it’s more so because i’m a medical student and need to destress. plus i think my friend’s little brother isn’t too bad of a choice for company” you find yourself saying

Wen Ning stares at you, 

you can’t read the expression on his face quite well

“would you mind keeping me company?” you ask

and somehow you’re holding your breath

but after a second, he nods and you smile at him

“just let me go take care of your sister’s closet first, i promised her i would clean the mess i made” you excuse yourself 

once you’re in Wen Qing’s bedroom, you get to work on organizing the pile of clothes you both threw onto her bed as best as you can

but it still takes you a good hour until you emerge from the bedroom

when you come back out to the living room, you’re more than surprised at the set up you see

snacks and drinks on the coffee table

the throw pillows on the floor

and...

“Woah! is that a wii controller??” you ask excitedly

you hadn’t seen one of those since... since you started this medical school journey

study, study studying 24/7

“well, whenever i’m stressed, i always think games are a good way to relax,” Wen Ning explains in his quiet voice

and you couldn’t agree more

“definitely; but i’m going to let you know now that i’m probably the most competitive person you’ve ever met,” you warn Wen Ning

“can’t be worse than my sister,” Wen Ning says, surprising you

and you let out a laugh, hopping straight into the game

it’s been so long since you’ve played

but with each round your fingers and joints loosen and relax, reminding yourself of the time when you were good at these kinds of things

it’s so easy to play with Wen Ning, who’s quiet and cheerful in his own subdued way

and actually has quite a lot of zest despite his calmer, softer temperament

you get along with him so well, that you don’t realize all the time that has passed until you both hear a voice from behind

“you’re still here?”

you turn around to look at Wen Qing, looking the picture of surprised at your presence

Wen Ning uses your momentary distraction to seal the win, and his cart crosses the finish line before yours for the umpteenth time

“no fair! Wen Qing came!” you shout 

and Wen Ning just smiles at you an easy “you can try again,” on his lips like he’s said for the past 5 hours

you laugh at his words, but pull yourself to your feet, sighing happily

“i wish, but i think i have to go now,” you tell Wen Ning 

and you almost laugh at the pout that instantly shows on his face

“but don’t worry, i’m settling the score with you the next time i’m free, or whenever you sister invites me over again” you tell him and send a wink at Wen Qing

when you turn back to meet his eyes, Wen Ning looks at you with eyes that hold you to your word

“next time, i’m playing too” Wen Qing pipes up as you gather your belongings to leave

that gets a laugh out of everyone

[shadow-assassin-blix]

A Picture is a Poem Without Words

Chapter 3

A/N: Swearing. A lot more setting up the basic background of the plot. The museums listed are real museums. Gifs by @nomoregoldfish and @gif-hunts-for-you

‘Thoughts’

“Spanish”

The next morning Blix woke up lying on her stomach, her face buried into a very soft pillow. She became aware of slight tickling situation. It took her a second to realize it was a hand, the fingers tracing over her various scars.

“That tickles, handsome,” She whispered as she blearily opened her eyes, as she turned toward him.

She reached for the sheets and pulled it up to cover her naked chest as the chill of the room hit her. She looked him over as he rested his hand onto her hip and watched his eyes roam over her skin, pausing at various scars.

“Surely, not all of these are from work, are they gorgeous?” He asked with a frown.

“No. Not all of them are from work. Many are from my traumatic childhood that I am not quite ready to divulge,” She explained quietly as she tried not to think too heavily on the memories that tried to creep to the forefront of her mind.

He nodded once and said, “I can understand that. Maybe one day I’ll share my past with you as well.”

She smiled softly and stretched, wincing when she felt the aches and pains from last night make their appearance.

“Last night really happened eh? Guess I wasn’t that hard to get after all?” She conceded as she shifted onto her back.

“I wouldn’t say that. Most women tend to become putty within 5 minutes of meeting me. You made me chase after you and work for it,” He commented as he dragged her closer to him. “It was a bit exhausting.”

“Oh yes. How terrible it must be to have women and men alike fall for you at the drop of a hat, Pacho. What a horrid life you lead,” She teased him as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Truly. It’s awful. Can’t have a moment to myself at all,” He joked as well, with a chuckle.

They fell into a comfortable silence, and she almost fell back to sleep when she suddenly heard the sounds of rain pattering against the windows.

“Lovely. That will be fun returning home in,” She said with a sigh.

“Gilberto and Miguel will be here in an hour. They wish to talk out the details and finalize the deal. So, the storm may have passed by then,” Pacho replied as he sat up. “I had my men buy you a change of clothes, we should probably shower.”

Blix nodded her head and sat up as well. Her shoulder gave a twinge of pain at the change of pressure and she rotated her arm a bit to work out the kink. He glanced over at her as she quietly groaned as it continued to cause her pain.

He motioned for her to follow him and as she does, he leads her into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and allowed the temperature to heat up before stepping in, pulling her in with him. They washed their hair quickly, and as he gathered body wash into his hands, he gently began to massage it on her shoulders. He found a couple of knots and softly worked them out. She couldn’t help the moan of content as he worked out a particularly large knot. Once her shoulders had fully relaxed, they finished up their showers and stepped out. She dressed in the clothes that was provided, a camisole and some jeans, and new underwear/bra.

Once they were dressed, a light lunch was ordered for them both, and as they ate, Gilberto and Miguel appeared. They walked in and sat across from them in the living room.

She took a couple more bites of her sandwich, surveying both men before her. She finished it and took the initiative to start the conversation.

“So, shall we begin with your demands, or mine?” She asked with a raised eyebrow and glancing between the two.

“Please, tell us what you wish from us first and we shall see if we can work with them. Pacho told us some of it, but believed there were others?” Gilberto inquired leaning forward; elbows propped on his knees.

“I need assurances from the both of you that your men, will not interfere with my work. That means no dragging me to your places. No Marta or any other child of yours, to spy on me at work, as the first condition,” She began.

“Second, I am trying to gather info on art thieves, and various other crimes. I need to know who is moving what. What is on the market. That sort of thing. My bosses think that there are criminals selling art on the black market to fuel communism,” She continued with an eye roll at the last part. “I believe there’s something bigger going on. I just need proof of it.”

“I do not mind creating a deal for you with the government. Does it make my skin crawl to be even considering this nonsense? Yes. But you are far better than Escobar and his men who are absolute freaks,” She concluded taking a sip of her iced tea.

They both chuckled a bit at her and Gilberto conceded, “Those are acceptable conditions my dear. As Pacho told you previously, we do not wish to be in the cocaine business forever. We know that it’s only a matter of time before Escobar and his cartel are taken down. We want to be at the top, for a time, and do the bare minimum of prison time, before continuing our life.”

“Does everyone, aka all four of you, agree to this?” She confirmed with the three of them.

“Yes, and Chepe is aware of the plan as well and agrees as well,” Pacho verified as he lit up a cigarette.

There was something in the way he spoke and refused to make eye contact that made her somewhat doubt that. She, however, was not going to push the subject, just in case she was wrong.

“Okay. We can iron out full details in the future. This is all predicated on the idea that the Medellin Cartel will be gone, and as of right now, that is not the case. So, write down everything you want, and when the time comes, I will do what I can,” She assured with a nod. “Shall we shake on it?”

She held her hand out to them, to seal the deal. They nodded and Gilberto shook her hand firmly. As she moved to shake Miguel’s he held her hand and threatened lightly, “Remember Miss Lage, this also means that you do not rat on us. It would be such a shame, to see such a pretty face die because you didn’t respect us or show us loyalty.”

She cleared her throat, shoving the panic that tried to appear back down and shook his hand once.

“Now then, we have business to attend to. Pacho? We shall see you this afternoon, yes?” Miguel asked his tone doing a 180° as he spoke to him.

Pacho nodded and showed them out. Blix stood up and dusted herself off. Once they had left, Pacho walked back over to her.

“I will take you home now, and then in a few days, I was thinking about coming around and maybe we can chit chat over any information we find?” Pacho suggested as he stood before her.

“Sounds good to me. You do have something other than your motorcycle, right?” She inquired as the sound of the rain grew louder and harsher.

He chuckled lowly and nodded his head in response. She grabbed her things, and he handed her a jacket, that was slightly too big. As she put it on, she realized it was one of his, as it smelled just like him. She smiled to herself for a moment and then followed him out. He led her downstairs to the parking garage of the hotel, where a red thunderbird waited for us.

She snorted loudly as she looked at it, causing Pacho to look over at her and raise an eyebrow.

“A Thunderbird? Really? Really nailing that ‘bad boy” persona eh?” She teased as he opened the door for her.

“Hm. But you like that persona, no?” He hummed back pressing a kiss to her lips, as she stepped into the car.

She just shook her and buckled in as he got in on the driver’s side. The drive to her home took a few minutes longer due to the blinding sheets of rain, but when they arrived, she told him goodbye and ran inside, unlocking her door as fast as possible.

She closed the door behind her, and shook off the raindrops, as she took off the jacket and her shoes. She set her things down on the table by the door before heading over to her answering machine to check for any messages.

No messages played. She sighed in relief and then called Jacque at the bar, to see if he wanted her to come in tonight due to the heavy rains. He told her to not bother and enjoy her night off, since the rain was meant to last well into the night, meaning hardly anyone would be coming in.

She made her way into her office and looked over files. She looked over at her crime board, aka the entire left wall of her office. She read over some case files, trying to make more connections, and fill in more blanks.

Shipments of art meant for the Museo Nacional de Colombia in Bogota, Antioqua Museum in Medellin, and Museum of Colonial Art and Religious la Merced in Cali, have gone missing. However, the biggest concern was the heist done at the Gold Museum in Bogota. 20 crates full of gold artifacts, all valued at hundreds of millions of dollars, missing. There were rumors that there were buyers located in Medellin, but the sellers were hiding out somewhere in Cali for the time being.

Every time they got close to figuring out who was selling them, and where they may have hidden the art, they disappear. Blix suspected that there was a high possibility that there was spy amidst her team.  

She spent the next couples of hours going over her stack of files, noting details of each one that she found somewhat important. It wasn’t until there was a large crack of thunder that she looked up from her work. She glanced over at the clock and noted it was after 6pm. She stretched, before going into the kitchen to make herself something to eat. Her dinner consisted of some chicken and pasta drizzled with alfredo sauce.

She quietly ate and put away the leftovers before going back to work for a couple more hours. It wasn’t until about 11pm before she stopped for the night and went upstairs to change, sliding under her covers as soon as she was in comfortable clothing.

The next morning, she woke up and as she stepped out to pick up the newspaper, she noticed a yellow manilla folder peeking out of her mailbox. She pulled it out, looking around suspiciously. She slipped back inside, tossing the newspaper onto her coffee table. She flipped it over and saw the words “For your eyes only” in Spanish.

She walked into her kitchen and stepped up to her kitchen island; opening it after getting settled onto one of the seats.

She shook out the contents of the envelope, and out came a handwritten note along with a stack of photos.

“It appears you have spy in your midst, lovely. Do not trust this person with anymore information. I look forward to speaking with you in greater detail, in a few days. -Pacho”

She looked at the photos and saw that it was the one person she didn’t personally hire. It was someone that the ambassador had recommended and that her boss forced her to hire because of his political ties. He was the son of one of the senators here in Colombia, and stated he had an interest in law enforcement.

She glowered at the images before her and had to take a deep breath to calm herself down. On the back of one of the images there was a name written down: Augustus König. She looked at the name with wide eyes. She leaned over and grabbed her satellite phone. She dialed the one person she knew on her team that wouldn’t betray her.

“Hello?” A male voice came through after the phone rang twice.

“Theo. I have a lead but I need for this to stay between us,” She began. “Look up the name: Augustus König. Don’t let Marcos aware of what you are doing.”

“Do you think he’s the one spewing intel on our missions? And how do I spell that?” He asked lowly.

“Yes. In fact, I’m quite sure of it. Let’s just say, I have new CI and let’s keep it at that,” She explained vaguely before spelling out the name for him.

“Alright. I’ll let you know what I find and fax it over to you,” He assured as soon as he got the info he needed.

“Thank you. Hopefully, this is the break we need,” She said with a sigh.

“I know, right? I’ll get back to ya boss asap,” He replied with a small laugh.

She hung up and looked at the photos once more and got annoyed all over again.

She made another phone call and as soon as the phone connected, she started, “Horacio. Need a favor.”

“Hello, Blix. I am well, how about you?” He answered back in a mocking tone.

“Sorry. Hi, Horacio. I really need a favor,” She amended with a slight eye roll.

“What’s up?” Horacio asked.

“Do you know Diego Marcos?” She questioned.

“Yes. The senator’s son that’s on your team, correct?” He confirmed after a moment.

“I need for you to investigate him. I have reason to believe that he’s leaking intel on us,” She requested.

He hummed, “He has taken a recent interest in the DEA as well and has been loitering around the office randomly. Explains why a recent mission to find La Quica went to hell.”

She shook her head at that. “I don’t trust him. I didn’t even want him on my team but the powers that be said I had to take him. But… if we gather enough evidence to prove that he’s not on our side, then we can get rid of him.”

“Let me see what I can do, little fox,” Horacio replied, determination in his voice. “Anything else? And how is your Cali situation going?”

“Thanks. It’s settled for the most part. Had to make a deal with the devil but at the very least, I don’t have to worry about dying anytime soon,” She informed him with some bitterness in her tone.

“I hope you know what you are doing. Stay safe. I’ll keep you updated,” He stated before he hung up.

She sat her phone down and studied the photos some more, examining each one. She gets to the last two and paused, blinking rapidly. They were photos of both Miguel Gallardo and Pablo Escobar, meeting with König, paintings in the background; paintings that she knew very well. She had been staring at photos of them for hours just last night.

“Fucking hell. Those bastards. They bought from him… which would mean that… the Cali also probably brought from him. Those fucks. Imma kill them. That’s.. that’s what is gonna happen. I’m going to beat them all to death. Fuckin. Fuck,” She angrily spoke to herself.

She looked on the back of them to see if he had written anything, and there was one note that said, “He has tried to sell art to us before but after making it well known that he does not… tolerate men like me, we washed our hands of him”

She squinted at it with deep suspicion. ‘Uh huh. Sure. We will be talking about this when we meet.’

She tossed the photos down, sighing, a hand running down her face in exasperation. As she tried to decide what to do next, she heard her fax machine come to life. She got up and walked over to it looking at what was coming in.

The first page literally just read in huge handwriting, “Huge files. I found a great deal on him. Apparently, he’s wanted by several agencies. Prepare for a long week of reading, boss.”

‘Great.’

She left it to do its thing, occasionally checking on it to remove stacks of paper, and make sure that there was plenty of paper and ink within it. It took about 2 hours before the fax finally stopped. She began the long process of sorting the papers sent to her. Fortunately, Theo was kind of enough to code each paper with a specific number in the upper right-hand corner to note what files they belong to.

By the time she was done, several hours had passed, and she had 5 different piles sat upon her table. She only stopped every now and again to eat. She was exhausted by the time she had finished and was thankful for having work that night. She needed some space away from work or she was going to set it on fire.

That night at the bar was fairly normal, and she spent part of the night supervising the new bartender.

About 2am, trouble walked in, in the form of the Gentlemen of Cali. She ignored the three of them for the most part, allowing the newbie to take their orders, and see how he did with them.

She was busy jamming out to the rock n roll blasting from the stereos. Most of the time, the music was just a local music station. Every now and again, Jacque allowed them to play mixtapes. Currently, Uptown Girl by Billy Joel was playing, and Blix was singing along loudly. Some of the waitresses would walk up and join in with her. They would dance around and be silly between orders.

The night was coming to close; she was ready to go home and sleep. She watched as Pacho worked his magic on a guy that he settled up next to a few minutes ago. She chuckled when it barely took him two minutes to convince the guy to leave with him. She watched him walk out, with his arm wrapped around the guy.

Gilberto and Miguel stayed until bar closed and walked up to her. “Your tip. Thank you. You were very entertaining,” Gilberto said with a secretive wink. “Pacho also left his tip with us to give to you as well.”

He handed her an envelope and before he and Miguel walked out. She shoved the envelope into her bag, not bothering to look at it, as she gathered the rest of her tips, and stuff. Jacque usually had the new personnel stay behind to learn the closing process, like cleaning and such, so she was able to leave a few minutes early.

She made her way home and sighed in relief once she stepped into her home. She walked upstairs to shower and change. She chewed on her lip as she sat on her bed, thinking about the envelope she had in her bag. Curiosity got the better of her and she opened it up. Inside was about $1k.

“Ooh. Oh boy. Uhhh. Wha-“ She stammered as she stared at it wide-eyed.

‘Great. Now, I have to be responsible and return this when I see them again. This is... far too much… and is essentially a payoff.’

She threw it back into her bag with an annoyed sigh, throwing herself onto her bed. ‘One of the best tips I’ve ever gotten, and I cannot accept it… because it’s from… cartel members.’

She made herself comfortable and as she fell asleep, she thought, ‘New rule: no more ridiculous tips, which I can’t believe is a thing that needs to be discussed.’

As she slept, another museum in Cali, Museo La Tertulia, was in the midst of being robbed.

[visionmarred-archive]

Old Habits - set between Act 2 and Act 3 of the Jedi Knight story line

Somehow, Iaze had forgotten how truly disgusting Hutta could be.

When Orgus had discovered her those years ago, she never thought she’d find herself sleeping in alleyways and scraping the street’s muck off of her boots again. Stepping off of the shuttle and setting foot onto the planet again had brought a plethora of emotions surging into her mind - bittersweet nostalgia, resignation, numb frustration.

Mouth full of whatever mystery meat sandwich she had purchased ten minutes ago, Iaze stared blankly at the wall in front of her, unable to stop her mind from running wild. Somehow, it had been both simple and difficult to fall back into old habits. The old gang recognized her, and some had been happy to have her back. Others called her a traitor, spitting in her face, but backed off and accepted her return when her fist had shattered the cartilage in their noses. Just like old times… but then, the melancholy accompanying those punches hadn’t been there before.

This is where you belong, Ygdri’aze, she tried to tell herself. Being a Jedi was a fun experiment, but it hadn’t worked out, had it? The other masters on the strike team were still missing. The Emperor had played with her mind, taken control of her so easily. She screwed up. It was simple as that. You failed. This is where you belong.

“I wouldn’t eat that, if I were you.”

Iaze startled, turning to her side and finding herself face-to-face with a white light taking form. She bit her tongue as Orgus Din came into view, her fist clenching around the sandwich.

“Yeah? What’s it gonna do, kill me? That doesn’t sound so bad.” Iaze grumbled a moment later, waiting for her heartbeat to calm down before she spoke.

Orgus’s ghost merely shook his head before moving to sit beside her - did a Force ghost need to get off his feet? Iaze pushed the thought from her mind, huddling into herself.

She looked to the ground when Orgus turned to look at her, finding herself unable to meet his eyes. “Iaze, what are you doing here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m eating my dinner.” She said dryly.

“You know what I mean.”

She almost wanted to laugh. It was just like when he was alive, really. Whenever she’d been having a bad day, Iaze would try to brush it off with a snide remark, and Orgus would see through it every single time. She’d always given in and confessed what was on her mind to her master, and he’d always had a word of wisdom for her and some snarky comment that made her laugh.

But he was dead, and she wasn’t sure he could fix this problem.

“What’s there to say, Orgus?” Iaze put the sandwich back into its container and set it onto the ground, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m just coming back to what I’m good at.”

“Shaking down civilians and breaking bones for credits?”

“Heh heh... Yeeeep.” Iaze nodded, finally turning to look him in the eye. “I screwed up back there. They told me I’d fall to the Dark Side if I went on that strike team, and I went anyway. And guess what happened?”

“You truly blame yourself for what somebody else did to you?”

“Yeah, well… how can I not?” She asked, fingers picking at the grass next to her. “If I was stronger, if I was better, maybe I could’ve… but I didn’t, and you had to come save me.” She closed her eyes and sighed, resting her head against the wall. “I don’t know what I did. I don’t ever wanna know. I just know that I can’t - I can’t…”

“You’re scared.” He said it so matter-of-fact that Iaze couldn’t help but scowl.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m scared that I killed people. I’m scared that the reason those masters are missing is because I, personally, cut them up like they were meat at a butcher shop.” She opened her eyes again. “You should’ve just left me here years ago, Orgus. I wish you had.”

Orgus smiled, albeit a sad one. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I do!” Iaze said, clenching her fists and driving nails into her palm. “I’m no Jedi, Orgus. I’m just… just a…” Lazy, whining, good-for-nothing crybaby. “I’m no Jedi.” I’m sorry I failed you.

The two sat in silence for a moment before Orgus sighed once more. “Iaze, do you know why I asked you to join the Order all those years ago?”

Years ago, when they’d been little more than a myth to her. One that had come very much to life when the dead Jedi before her had caught her after she had filched his credits. “I always figured you just needed more bodies in the Order after the war. Build up numbers. Get ready to beat down the Empire again.”

She’d known that, and she’d taken the offer anyway. Anything was better than staying on Hutta.

She was surprised when Orgus chuckled, shaking his head. “Wrong answer.”

Iaze blinked, a lump in her throat. “Then… why? Why’d you do it?”

“Because I knew you had a good heart, Iaze.” Orgus said, smiling warmly, and she felt the sudden, strong urge to cry. “Because I looked at you and knew that you were somebody who would do the best she could, who’d keep going no matter what. Because I knew you were meant to be a Jedi.” He chuckled again, adding, “It was kind of obvious.”

Meant to be a Jedi. Iaze swallowed, feeling another lump in her throat. “You… you don’t mean that.” Nobody could mean that. Nobody ever wants me.

“No, I do.” Orgus said firmly. “Iaze, you’re better than you think you are.”

“But I fai - ”

“Iaze.” He cut her off, face deadly serious. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault.”

She sniffed, clenching her fists again.

“I wish I’d taken more time to tell you this when I was alive, but training you was one of the greatest privileges I’ve ever had.” Orgus said, that sad smile back again. “I got to watch you grow from a smart-mouthed teenager into a compassionate young Jedi Knight who never hesitates to do the right thing, even if there’s no chance of coming back alive. I only wish I’d gotten to recruit you sooner.”

Iaze couldn’t help but smile at that, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Master…”

“So, I’m going to ask you something again.” She had missed that warm smile of his. “What are you doing here?”

She looked down, unsure how to reply for a few moments. “I… I want to go back,” she admitted quietly. “But can I? I… I kinda turned in my resignation.”

“Do you really think the Jedi Order wouldn’t accept you back?” Orgus chuckled. “Bengel Morr. Lord Praven. Sajar. They’ll welcome you back home, too.”

Back home. The lump was back in her throat, and Iaze knew she was crying again. “Master… I just hope it’s not too late to help again.”

“It’s never too late to try.” Orgus smiled, the two standing up. “Go home, Iaze. Your family’s waiting for you.”

Iaze wrapped her arms around herself as Orgus’s ghost disappeared from view. “Thank you, Master.”

[cilliansaccent]

The Peaky Designer - Cillian Fanfic, Chapter 5

Hello, welcome back. Below is the next instalment of my fanfiction!

Leave a like or a comment if you liked it, or if I can do anything better! Please, it would mean the world and to understand if anyone is enjoying my writing. Also, sharing/reblogging would be even better.

PLEASE READ:

I will not be including Cillian’s family as it’s kinda weird since he has children lmao. Just a mention of his parents and a previous lover.

I will indicate in a chapter if there is smut in the beginning and before the actual scene!!

I will add trigger warnings if there is any!!

There is a variety of levels of swearing during a chapter, I will not hold back, everyone swears.

The timestamp for the Fic is now 2016 and onwards!! 

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Background: Gabrijela Babic is a Croatian girl from Sydney, Australia. She is born in the year 1991 on the 24th of December. She studies a Fashion degree in a University with a major in Game Design as well. Her teacher in the fashion designer class managed to nail an Internship on the set of Peaky Blinders with the shows very own Costume Designer, Allison McCosh. There, she travels to London for under a year to learn how to be one, working alongside the actors as well the man she admires, Cillian Murphy. But, her platonic feelings for the man begins to grow into something more, and she wonders whether she should pursue them or let him go for fear of her strict parents and her three older brothers…

Characters:

Swantje Paulina as Gabrijela Babic (swalina on Instagram)

Cillian Murphy

Word Count: 2,234

!!Warnings!!: None.

Date: March 2016

Chapter Name: We Need to Talk, Gab.

Brief Chapter Outline: Waking up a little sore, Gabrijela avoids Cillian all day, spending time with the crew and getting to know them better. 

Sorry for a short chapter, didn’t have much inspo today! 

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When morning came, it was weird for Gab to wake up. She was sore between her legs from how hard Cillian had fingered her. 

But her body never felt so... Relaxed. Content. She couldn't lie to herself, what happened last night was wonderful. She loved how he touched her, kissed her. 

It was something she would remember. 

She rolled on to her back, he wasn't beside her but in the little kitchen area making coffee. She groaned softly and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She checked her phone, it was about seven in the morning and she had a million messages from her father and her friends. 

Cillian heard the soft groan that emitted from Gabrijela and began to make another coffee. He could hear the clicks of her typing away, a little giggle came from her. 

He gripped the edge of the counter, sighing through his nose. Last night was still very clear in his brain and he had woken up with a throbbing hard-on. He had satisfied himself in the little bathroom, unable to hold back the soft moan of her name, visualising those perfect red lips around him. 

The mere thought sent him again and he shook himself, trying to rid the growing need. 

"Good morning," Gabrijela said, walking out and startling him. 

"Oh. Morning." He said, giving her a pleasant smile. He looked away hastily, not wanting to stare at her too long at those long legs and the protruding curves that were her breasts. "Coffee?" He asked. 

"Sure. I'd love some." She said as she took her seat. 

He turned and placed the mug before her before he slowly sat across from her, his own steaming mug in his hand. 

Silence. 

It weighed heavily in the air and Gabrijela was getting fidgety about it. She hated this kind of silence. They both needed to talk but she had no intentions of starting it. Not yet. 

"Gab-" 

"No," She cut him off. 

"We need-"

"No, we don't. Nope." She shakes her head, sipping her coffee. 

"Gabrijela we have to. We need to-"

"Cillian. Stop. What happened, it will not happen again. One time thing. Forget it." She set her cup down not to kindly. 

He sat back, staring at her with absolute annoyance. "You know we can't just push aside. We have to-"

"No!" She raised her voice, meeting his eyes finally. "No." She downed her coffee and got up going into the bedroom, closing the shutter. 

Cillian sighed, resting his elbows on the table and holding his head as he shook it. He could hear her moving around and she came out, dressed and had her bag in hand. 

"Gabrijela, I'm sorry. I don't want to make you upset-" He looked at her. 

"You did. I don't want to talk about last night. I don't." She shook her head and headed out, but bumped into Paul who played Arthur. 

"Hello, morning Gabrijela. Didn't think I'd find you here." He raised a brow. 

"Don't worry, you won't next time." She walked past him, heading to where she needed to go. 

"Damn, woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Paul muttered before he entered the trailer to chat with Cillian. 

 Later that afternoon...

She kept her game face on the whole morning as she worked with Allison and the other cast members. Today she was made to dress the other members, which meant she was able to stay away from Cillian. 

But, in the dressing rooms, she always caught his eyes. She didn't react, staying focused the best she could. 

There were times in the morning when she was to clean up outfits or make sure there were no faults before bringing them out for Allison and her little team. She was thankful for the change, she was able to stay in the back. 

And while they filmed, she stayed back to write her report and chat with Allison. 

Then it was back to work once more, rushing around to get things for the cast or repairing things quickly. 

She hadn't even realised lunch came and people were given a break for a bit. She was going to go into Manchester with Logan to grab food. 

As she crossed the set, Cillian had caught her and came into her pathway. "Hey." He said. 

"Hello." She stopped, looking up at him. 

"Do you have a moment?" He asked. 

"Uh..." She frowned. 

"It'll be quick." He insisted. 

She knew what he wanted and she shook her head, "I have to go get lunch." She said. 

"Please, Gabrijela. Just- Please." He frowned. 

"Gab! Hey!" Logan called from afar, waving.

Cillian turned around, seeing the man. 

"I have to go." She said and walked past him, not looking back but she knew he was watching her leave with Logan. 

"You seem rattled? You good?" He asked as they left the set together, heading into the main district. 

"Yeah. I'm okay. Just tired." She laughed softly. 

They talked on the walk and she learned they had the same interests in TV Shows and even books. 

They ordered something from a sandwich store, both of them excitedly chatting about their favourite characters in a book series. 

Once back on set, she joined him with the other crew members. She learned their names and what they did and they all talked excitedly about this and that. 

"Hey, I know it may be soon but, I'd like you to come with me and some of my friends this Saturday night in London to celebrate my birthday," Logan said with a swoon-worthy smile. 

"Uh, alright." Gabrijela said excitedly, "Didn't you say to a pub here?" 

"Yeah. But decided to go to a club instead. Besides, most of us live in London so it'll be easier." He said as he scrunched up the wrapping of his sandwich and chucked it into a bin. 

"Okay. Here, I don't have your number." She said and they exchanged numbers, "Now it'll be easier for us to talk." 

"How about Facebook?" He asked, "I got a group of all of us on there." 

She gave him her name, but since the other young crew members overheard it began a swapping game and giving each other numbers and social media. 

She had Logan's Snap, "Only certain people may have that." He said with a smirk. 

"And you think I'm already special enough for it?" She asked, looking into his eyes. He was so fucking handsome. It had to be illegal. 

"I do think so." He winked at her. "You catching the train home tonight?" 

"Yeah. I am. You?" She asked, his smirk and wink made her stomach do a flip. 

"Yeah. London. Let's catch it together." He said, "We finish nine tonight or hopefully around that time."

"Okay sounds good. I'd like someone with me on the train." She said before the parted ways to resume their busy work for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. 

Nighttime...

Gabrijela helped some crew around to move things into place or cleaned up. It was a hectic day, a lot of repetitive stuff, running around. She had somehow lost focus and messed up a few times, copping an angry lecture from Allison. 

Now, Gabrijela waited where Logan had said to wait as he spoke with the director. 

And it gave Cillian a good opportunity to seize it as he came to her, "We need to talk, Gab." He said, voice hard and no room to argue. 

"You are so persistent, huh?" She narrowed her eyes at him. 

"Yeah. And what happened last night," his voice went low, "Where do we stand with it?" 

She pressed her lips together, "I don't know, Cillian. Where do you stand?" SHe shot back. 

He gave it a thought, "I don't want it to ruin our friendship, that is for sure." He said. 

"Then we won't let it ruin what we have. Let us put it aside as a... drunken night fuelled by deep desires and alcohol. Alcohol does that to people, especially red wine." She said softly, looking up at him again. 

He nodded, "I agree. Next time, we lay off on the red." He gave her a small smile. 

"Yeah, we will, Cilly. We back as friends, and no more." She murmured, giving him a quick hug. 

He returned it, "You going somewhere to stay?" He asked, changing the subject. He seemed better now that he knew where they stood. 

"Nah, heading back to London with Logan." She said Logan was almost done talking by the way his body language was. 

"Logan? The Set Designer?" Cillian asked with raised brows. 

"Mhm. Hopefully, I can go home with him most of the time I'm here." She smiled. "But I'll pack my bag properly." She giggled. 

"Good idea. You take care yeah? Call me when you get home, please." He said, that concerned expression back. 

"Of course. Keep your phone on you, Peaky Boy." She nudged him. 

"Okay. Let's head off, Train leaves soon." Logan said as he came over. "Hey, Cillian! Good job on today, splendid as always." 

They shook hands, "Keep her safe, okay?" Cillian gave Logan a look, but she wasn't sure if it was a threatening manner or just teasing. 

Logan laughed, taking it as a teasing way, "I will! I will don't you worry." He said and with that, they parted. 

The trip home was about two hours and Logan stayed with her all the way through. 

He got out, letting the cab go. 

"Why did you do that?" She asked, blinking. 

"You would not believe it, but I live down the block in a studio. Literally ten minutes." He said. 

"No way?" Gab gasped. 

"Yeah. We can... hang out and stuff if you'd like?" He smiled. 

"God yes! We can binge-watch Supernatural since you gave up on Season two." She said, nodding excitedly. 

"Sounds like a great plan. I'll see you here at six?" He said. 

"Yep. Six O'clock. Goodnight, Logan." She said, waving and went into the apartment building. 

It was a wonderful relief to be at home. She dropped her bag on the bed, turned on some music through her boombox and undressed. She prepared herself a bath, lit some candles she had bought today. 

She let her clothing fall on the floor and got into the bathtub after the bath bomb had dissolved, she let out a soft sigh as the warm water surrounded her.  

She picked up her phone and gave Cillian a call, "Hey." He replied. 

"Hi," She smiled, his voice made her shiver. He sounded sleepy. 

"You got home safe?" He asked she could hear him getting comfortable. 

"Yeah, I did. Good to be back here, having a relaxing bath as of now." She giggled. 

"Oh, lucky you." He huffed, "I have to suffer a small shower." 

"Whiny baby. If I can fit in there, so can you." She laughed. 

"You calling me small?" He gasped. 

"Maybe! Small, Irish boy!" She taunted. 

"No Gab! Not nice." He was laughing softly. But then it died down and he sighed. 

"What's wrong? Did I hurt your feelings?" She asked, worried she may have. 

"No uh... I... I just miss you." He murmured. 

She shut her eyes. Going silent. 

She heard a shift on the other end, "Gab? You still with me?" His voice had gone softer. 

"Yeah, still here. I miss you too." She replied, her hand slid up her thigh. "But I'll be there tomorrow morning. I'll bring you coffee?" 

"That would be nice, get me an americano." He said. 

"Americano with extra care for a little Irish boy." She giggled like a little girl. 

"I'll make your coffee extra strong and bitter." He threatened. 

"So mean! Nothing for you then." She growled. 

"Fine. Nothing for you either." He bit back. 

They laughed before they went quiet again. 

Her hand had paused close to her slit, "I should get going." She finally said. 

"Ah... Okay." Cillian said in a way that he didn't want her to go yet. 

"We'll see each other tomorrow," She reminded him, "You get some sleep, goodnight." 

"Goodnight, Gab. Rest well." He said and hung up. 

She smiled a little to herself, settling back into the bath to contemplate. 

She didn't spend long in the bath before she got out and dried up, drying her hair, then packed her bag for tomorrow, shoving two sets of clothing in.

She crawled into bed, groaning, "Much better." She mumbled into the pillow. But it didn't smell like Cillian which made her sad. 

She heard her snap go off and she sat upright to grab her phone. It was from Logan. 

She opened the message and let out an audible gasp. He sent a picture of himself shirtless and in his boxers. In bed. He was toned. The caption said goodnight with a winking emoji. 

She bit her bottom lip, holy fuck, she thought. She replied with a picture of the balcony and a winking and a blushing emoji. 

He replied back with 'I'd rather see you' alongside a heart and a winking face again. 

She rolled her eyes, "Goodnight." She murmured and typed the message. 

He didn't reply back and she set her phone down and turned it on silent. 

She laid back, staring up at the ceiling. It took some time for her to fall asleep, her thoughts drifting to Cillian, alone in his trailer. 

[marjaystuff]

Elise Cooper Interviews Lynn H Blackburn

One Final Breath by Lynn H. Blackburn is the last in the Carrington County, North Carolina Sheriff's Department Dive Team series. Fans of these books will enjoy this action-packed, suspenseful, romantic read, but will also feel a bit melancholy since these characters will be put out to sea as this nail-biting series ends.

The plot begins with a gunshot.  A teenager has been discovered murdered as he and his friend are swimming near a dock across the cove. The team, who was having a picnic nearby, jumps into action, grabs a boat, and rescues the body as well as another teenager in the lake. Blackburn excels at putting the reader into the investigation as they feel the depths of the water.

The heroine, Anissa Bell, captain of the dive team investigators, has had a problem with Gabe Chavez since before he was on her team. He worked undercover and would only dive once or twice a year, not enough in her opinion to stay up to speed with the rest of the team. Now they must figure out how to put their issues with each other aside and work to solve this case. Yet, because of the comradery of the whole team they have become friends and start to realize that there is an attraction between them. Both of them realize that they are fascinated and frustrated with each other.  

As the investigation takes hold, dive team captain Anissa Bell discovers a link to her past and suddenly her life is in extreme danger as she becomes the killer’s next target. She wonders if it has anything to do with a cold case that directly involved her. Anissa grew up with missionary parents and planned on joining them, after finishing college, on the Micronesian island of Yap. But she remained stateside, determined to solve the crime that haunts her, the murder of her best friend and the disappearance of a three-year-old child. While working both cases Anissa and Gabe must find the killer before more bodies pile up, while attempting to keep each other safe.

Unlike many authors, Blackburn allows the reader to enjoy all her characters. Throughout the series she inserts them into each other’s featured book. Readers enjoy their comradery whether they are working together, or just enjoying each other’s friendship that has become family-like. Previous characters are revisited from the series, but reading the earlier books isn't necessary to enjoy this one.

This story will take readers’ breath away as they hold it wondering how the suspenseful story will end. People who enjoy a good mystery sprinkled with romance should read this series.

Elise Cooper: This year you lived in the Hurricane area?

Lynn H. Blackburn:  It was not that bad for us, not like in the Bahamas. But the storm that came last year in Florida is something I had never seen before.  It had to be a really big storm, a category 5. The storm actually sucked all the water out of Tampa Bay.  This was a phenomenon that literally pulled out all the water.  It sucked the bay mostly dry. People were actually walking around where there used to be water. It was really freaky looking. As the storm passed it released all that energy and created floods.

EC:  Being a mystery writer did you think about a story?

LB:  I did think that it would be interesting if someone threw something into the bay thinking it would never be recovered. Then the hurricane comes and after pulling the water away it becomes discovered.

EC:  Why the environmental angle with this story?

LB:  Having a degree in Chemical Engineering, my first job was as an environmental engineer with the South Carolina Department of Health and Environmental Control.  Part of my job was dealing with water treatment. I thought of the potential threat to the water supply. Because the lake and divers are always in my story, I decided to do something along this line. Since I still have friends working there I brainstormed with them for ideas.

EC:  There is also the part of the story where a child is kidnapped and sold to a parent?

LB:  Sometimes as writers we do terrible things to our characters.  I wanted something to happen to the heroine that would keep her in the states instead of going with her parents on a mission to Yap. I understand it is a fragile thing, to want a child and not be able to have one.  There is also the fact that adoption is so expensive. All of a sudden someone comes up with this opportunity to have this person able to sell a child.  I had thought if I wanted the adoptive mother to know or be in the dark regarding the kidnapping.  This was a case of, ‘if it is too good to be true it probably isn’t.’ But having that level of emotion is easy to overlook because we want it so badly to come true.

EC:  How did you find the disease Cryptosporidium?

LB:  There was a couple of cases in the 1980s where there was a run-off with a lot of fecal material that contaminated the water supply.  It is a horrible disease where people can actually die. For most people, it is a bad stomach virus, but for some it can affect those that are immunocompromised.  The young, the very old, anyone who is currently on chemotherapy, is HIV-positive, or has had an organ transplant are at risk.  

EC: The characters in your series do not drift off into the sunset after their featured book?

LB:  I have a lot of readers comment on how they like seeing the friendship grow between the six characters.  It was not something I set up intentionally with this series, but it is something I will do with the next series.  It was a lot of fun not having to say good-bye to all the characters.  What I do differently is that for the featured characters I get in their head.  Each character has their voice, but in their book, I flush them out to give them a unique voice, something that is sometimes a challenge.

EC:  How would you describe Gabe?

LB:  Fun, charismatic, the life of the party, and does not think he wants to be serious in a relationship. Gabe is a tease. He was the class clown, but Anissa sees his deeper side where he is loyal and compassionate.  Some of the humor and sarcasm is a defense mechanism on his part. His relationship with Leigh is like the little pestering brother.  No one can stay mad at him for long.

EC:  How would you describe Anissa?

LB:  Serious, confident, and loyal. She comes across as more rigid that the others. Justice is important to her.  She has a cold case, which is the hallmark of her existence, and is something she cannot let go.  Anyone wronged or mistreated will have her help.  I think she is a pragmatic leader who is kind, smart, and intense. She does have survivor’s guilt because of the cold case.

EC: Where did you come up with some of the personality traits of the characters?

First, Getting up on the wrong side of the bed?

LB:  My sister and I used to share a Jack and Jill bathroom. I never spoke to her after both of us just got up.  If I started to have a conversation too early it was not going to go well.  She was the type like Anissa, ‘leave me alone until I have three cups of coffee.’  When she approached me, then it was safe.

EC:  Do you dive?

LB:  I was certified last year in the lake I used for a prototype of the fictional Lake Porter in my stories. Most lakes are murky and can be a little claustrophobic with a visibility of 10 to 15 feet. Last summer I got to dive in the Florida Keys.  It had such clear water and visibility of about 50 feet. We were able to look up and see the bottom of the boat and all the fellow divers.  It is just amazing.  Diving in the Keys helped me to understand why people dive.  But diving in the lake helped me to understand what my character divers would go through.  Diving in the lake requires more of a reliance on touch.

EC:  Do you eat cupcakes like Anissa where you tear off the bottom and make a cupcake sandwich?

LB:  No, but I did try it for research.  I actually do not like icing.  If someone gives me a cupcake with a ton of icing I scrape 75% off.

EC:  Did you write the Spanish phrases?

LB:  I took a course in college.  I also went on a mission trip where I learned to read and write it.  But that was many years ago.  For Gabe’s Spanish phrases, I had my friend who is Puerto Rican help me out.  I told her what I wanted to say and she helped me with the syntax.

EC:  How do you name characters?

LB:  I usually give my bad guys with names that begin with K, D, or X, because they have a lot harsher sounds.  I try to make sure I do not use the same sounds or names. Because my divers already had their names I would avoid ones that start with R or A. I don’t want it to be confusing and have readers get mixed up.  The only time I did have my characters start with the same letter is when I did it intentionally, such as when I had all of Adam’s family all start with the letter A.

EC:  Next book?

LB:  This series was released between 7 and 10 months apart.  The absolute minimum I need is 9 months.  With the new series, I told my publisher there is too much change in my life so I need a longer deadline.  I am truly thankful for it.  The new series will come out in February 2021 and the focus is on the US Secret Service.  The setting is not in Washington DC, but in a local resident office in North Carolina.  If I get into the groove, I may try to write a novella tying in the two series.

THANK YOU!!

[harryandmolly]

The Long Way Home - 8-

Summary: His world is a little rocked when Shawn is joined on his 2019 world tour by Emma, a former child star with a chip on her shoulder and a voice that haunts him.

Warnings: Language, a dream or two fulfilled

Word count: 5.5k

Emma’s eyes burst open.

She can’t see anything, she can’t figure out why. It takes her far too long to realize it’s because her room is dark -- it’s the middle of the night.

There’s sound coming from… everywhere. It’s impossibly loud. She sits up and pulls her knees into her chest, but something’s wrong, she can’t stay upright. She tips over and falls off the bed with a thump. With her hands clamped around her ears, she can’t catch herself – she falls directly onto her arm and cries out, breaking the whining of the sound with her sharp yelp.

Disoriented, and unsure why, she looks around, still blind.

The sound feels louder down here. She has to turn it off. It has to stop. She can’t think, she can’t breathe.

Emma only wants one thing when she’s feeling like this.

She fumbles for her phone and dials.

“Emma, what is that noise?” Shawn barks, bolting upright on the too-firm hotel mattress.

“Sh-shawn?” she stutters.

His already pounding heart goes right into overdrive. He’s standing before he realizes he’s moved.

“Emma, what’s going on? Are you ok?”

She’s quiet for too long. He thrusts a hand into his hair and snaps his eyes shut, trying to force air into his lungs.

“It’s too loud,” she whimpers.

“What is it, honey? What’s that noise? Where are you?” he begs.

“I’m… I’m home. It’s my alarm,” she gasps. She’s started to cry.

“Is someone in your house?” he screams, reaching for his jeans and almost dropping his phone as he pinches it between his chin and shoulder.

“I don’t know,” she sobs, “I can’t see.”

Something’s off – he thinks maybe she’s taken something. He’s never been so fucking panicked in his life. His head is whistling like a kettle. His hands aren’t reacting as fast as his brain needs them to. He has to try to slow down.

“Emma, listen to me,” he pleads, “Will your alarm company call the cops?”

“Y-yes,” she moans.

“Ok,” he breathes, nodding desperately, “Ok, go outside. Just go outside right now and wait for the cops. I’m on my way—fuck. Fuck, I don’t have a fucking car. Ok, I have to get a Lyft. Emma, can you text me your address?”

She mumbles a yes and pulls the phone away from her ear, squinting through the shrieking din to focus on texting him.

“Em, stay on the phone with me. Please,” he calls, knowing he has to yell over the alarm noise. He curses his shaking fingers as he plugs in her address to the Lyft.

“Shawn, I—”

Her voice cuts out. There’s a loud clatter – she dropped the phone. He races out of his hotel room, bounding down the hallway and opting to sprint down the stairs rather than take the elevator.

Of course, his fucking hotel is downtown and she lives in the Hills so even once he’s in the car, it takes them half an hour to get to her. She did eventually get back on the phone and go outside to sit in her driveway and listen to him talk to her while he begs the Lyft driver to please, go a little faster.

Shawn’s heart plummets into his stomach when they turn up the long, winding driveway. He sees flashing red and blue lights through the whispering palm trees. Shawn flings himself out of the car before it’s stopped, muttering thank you and reminding himself to leave the driver a very large tip later.

Shawn barrels up the driveway, gaining the confused attention of the two officers standing beside Emma, standing barefoot and pantsless, looking bleary, but no longer panicked.

“What happened?” Shawn barks, launching himself into her, wrapping his arms securely around her waist, leading one up her back comfortingly to tangle in her hair when she nuzzles her face into his chest. He eyes the officers carefully.

“Her alarm battery was low,” the taller, tired-eyed officer explains, glancing at Emma almost accusingly. Shawn bristles, “Her security company informed her six months ago that a replacement needed to be installed. She ignored it.”

Emma mumbles something into Shawn’s right pec. He looks down.

“What was that, honey?”

“Margaret. Margaret does it,” she says weakly, keeping her eyes shut and mouth half-buried against his shirt.

Shawn notices after too long that the sound is gone. The officers take him aside, leaving Emma shivering and blinking slowly, to explain they’ve disabled the alarm and notified the company. They start to lecture him about whatever it is she may have taken, because she’s clearly not sober, but he shuts it down and sends them away.

He’s left in the dark, silent driveway with Emma staring at him like she’s not sure how he got here. He finally feels his heart rate return almost to normal – or what’s normal around Emma. He nods at the house.

“C’mon, let’s… get you inside,” he murmurs, trying not to look down at her naked, shivering legs.

Even though the cops did a check of the place to make sure the alarm battery was the only activity at the sight, Shawn feels creeped out. Emma’s house feels like a museum – unnaturally cold, dark and way too quiet. Like no one really lives here.

She’s stumbling a little, guiding him to her bedroom, which he’s trying not to think about too hard. Her room is a different story from the rest of her house.

The only way he can think to describe it is he feels like he’s stepped inside Em’s head. There are photos everywhere, collaged teenage-girl style. Em with Georgie, with Ashley, with her parents, with her Fake It costars, with boys she’s crossed out the faces of. That makes him chuckle. Her bed is enormous but it’s clear she only sleeps on the one side. He grins at her Ravenclaw duvet and sheet set, complete with an authentic-looking luggage trunk at the foot of her bed scattered with stickers – The Three Broomsticks, the Holyhead Harpies, Zonko’s Joke Shop, to name a few.

He’s distracted from his anthropological study of her inner fortress when she stumbles on a stray pink Nike sneaker and he has to swing his arm out to catch her. She goes limp in his arms and he sees her eyes are closed.

“Oh god, Em,” he whispers, “Hey, hey listen.” He slides a hand under her chin to tilt her face up as the other arm is holding all her weight. She blinks at him, dazed.

“What did you take?”

She smacks her lips and frowns, opting to bury her face in his arm. He has to chase after her, holding her head up by the back of her neck.

“Emma, please.”

“Don’ call m’that,” she mumbles, turning her face toward him. Her eyes are shut. She’s getting heavy.

“Don’t… why?” he probes, brow wrinkling.

“You always call me Em,” she explains like it should be obvious. She’s not slurring as much as she was on the phone, which is encouraging, “You’re the only one. No one calls me Em. I like it.”

Shawn doesn’t mind holding her up because her legs are about as stable as a baby colt’s, not when she’s talking like this. Even so, he thinks she’d be more comfortable lying down. He pulls her face away from his arm so he can secure her around his neck and scoop her up. She’s definitely heavier than she looks and he figures it’s all that lean Pilaticardio muscle she works so hard for. If he ever gets the chance to pick her up again, when she’s sober and carrying her to bed for another reason, he’ll be sure to tell her how fucking great she feels.

“Em, what did you take?” he asks a little more gently as he settles her against an enormous overstuffed Hippogryff plushie. She sinks into her wide array of pillows and pouts. He rearranges them behind her so she can sit more upright. She grabs at the Hippogryff pillow to hold onto in her lap. He smiles again.

“Ashley… sleeping pills. Lit—little ones. Just two,” she sighs, like it’s a chore, glancing at the glass of melted ice. Shawn picks it up and smells vodka. He puts it down and bites his lip.

Shawn doesn’t know much about prescription meds but she’s sobering up and if she were going to be in bad shape, she’d already be there. But just because she’s physically safe doesn’t mean anything else is ok.

He looks her over, again avoiding the bare legs that make a shiver rip up his spine. Her hands are twitchy and picking at her perfectly manicured nails. Her skin looks sallow and cold. He absently tugs her duvet up around her and squishes the pillows a little closer to cocoon her in warmth. She doesn’t notice. She’s staring at one of the emblems on her Ravenclaw quilt, looking so sad he wants to peel inside her brain and find out what’s hurting her. He wants to make it stop.

That thought aside, he takes one of her fidgeting hands and stills it between his own. She looks up at him.

Her dark circles are usually covered by her team of make-up artists. Her hair is all over the place. Her lips are bitten and swollen. She looks ready to apologize for something she hasn’t done.

“What happened, Em?” he breathes, bringing her hand up, still sandwiched between his, to kiss the fingertips peeking out from between his palms. She watches, confused as he attends to her, keeping his eyes trained on her closely.

“Nothing,” she says automatically. She winces. That won’t fly.

She keeps her gaze down until she’s sure her hair will set on fire from how hard he’s staring at her. She looks up. He doesn’t look angry or disappointed or resentful or any of the myriad of things she was expecting to see after the stunt she pulled. She’s still feeling loopy enough to get this off her chest now.

“I had a bad day,” she tells him softly, her quiet voice a little shredded from exhaustion. He nods, watching as she settles in. He’s still perched on the edge of the bed, reaching across to her, sitting on his folded leg. She frowns and tugs at his hand, jerking her head to imply he should join her.

He doesn’t really know what to do other than kick off his boots and crawl up to sit against the pillows stacked up on the unused side of the bed. He nestles in and holds on to one wing of the Hippogryff, rubbing his thumb over its soft fur as she prepares to speak.

“They kept touching me,” she says, stroking the Hippogryff’s beak. He sees the fur looks a little worn away there. He wonders if she does this a lot when she’s sad or anxious.

His eyes snap up from the plush toy. “Who?” he hisses.

“The video… it was supposed to be a meadow,” she hums, closing her eyes. She’s not making sense. He’s trying not to get frustrated.

“Who touched you, Em?” he almost begs. Shawn doesn’t have a temper, he really doesn’t. He’s the most level-headed popstar ever. But he could snap necks with his bare hands right now if the people that made Emma uncomfortable were put in front of him.

He takes a breath, wills himself to relax.

“Boys in the video… they were grabbing me. Kissing me. Biting me,” she chokes.

Shawn feels like he’s gonna be sick.

“Maybe I should call Georgie…” Shawn offers, glancing to the night table to look for her phone.

Emma springs to life. “No! No. She can’t know. She—she can’t ever see that. She’d—oh god,” she barks, slamming her eyes shut and closing in on herself, folding over her stomach and wrapping her arms around her knees like she’s being torn apart inside out.

“She’s going to see it and she’ll know. She always knows. She sees right through me. She’ll be so scared. And hurt. How… how can I protect her if I can’t protect me?” Emma sobs.

Shawn feels his chin wobble. A building tear spills out down his cheek. He thinks about pulling her into his chest and letting her cry like he wants to – but she’s been touched enough today.

“Em, listen, listen,” he pleads, squeezing the Hippogryff like it’ll get her attention for him. Her cries quiet enough to let him talk.

“Georgie’s ok. You won’t let anyone hurt her. She doesn’t have to see the video. We can talk about it in the morning. Georgie is going to be ok.”

Emma blinks at him wide-eyed, childlike. He skims his fingers over the plushie’s wing to reach hers. He just wants to comfort her, not scare her. She looks down at the tips of his fingers on her little hands, the bones as delicate as a bird’s. She turns one hand over to let him trace the lines in her palm. Her breathing calms. Her body is heavy, her soul feels a little broken. Nothing that can happen tonight will fix her, she knows that. Nothing he can do can make her feel like herself again. It’s a feeling of deep resignation, a reality that’s been building for years, if she’s honest with herself.

“I think you should try to sleep,” he tells her, moving to stand, “Those sleeping pills you took are going to kick in again and—”

“Please don’t leave,” she whispers, unable to look him in the eye.

He shakes his head, reaching for the phone he dropped on her bedspread, “No, I’m not, I’ll just sleep on the couch and then—”

“Please stay,” she says again, even softer. She raises her eyes to his. He can tell she can hardly bear to ask. He drops his phone on the night stand and slouches back into his pillows.

“Ok. I can stay here.”

She looks a little flummoxed, like she’s surprised he agreed. She turns on her side toward him and her hair falls back a little, exposing a small hickey on her shoulder. Shawn tries not to grimace but she doesn’t notice. She closes her eyes and breathes like she’s trying to push out the memories of the day but she’s choking on them. She reaches for his hand again but when she takes it, the firm contact of his warm skin startles her into dropping it.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I… can… can I?” she squeaks timidly. Shawn swallows and nods. He offers his hand to her. She takes it slowly, linking their fingers, watching in intoxicated fascination as their hands join. She absently rubs her thumb over his, looking a little lost.

A thought occurs to him. He shifts closer, the Hippogryff still wedged between them like it’s guarding its mistress. She looks up from his fingers.

“Do… do you want me to—I mean, I know you… fuck, sorry, I’m being weird,” he mutters, looking away.

“Shawn?” she whispers. With a heavy flush hanging around the tips of his ears, he lifts his eyes to hers.

“Do you want me to hold you?”

The relief on Emma’s face validates his bold offer immediately. She nods as eagerly as she’s done anything all day and pulls Buckbeak away from his perch to shuffle into his chest. He gingerly folds an arm under his head and pulls her in with the other. She nuzzles her nose against the fabric of his undershirt and warmth blooms under his skin comfortingly. He gently works on untangling knots in her hair with his free hand. She’s snoring against his chest in no time, squirming further into him under her heavy blanket of sleep. He’s a little keyed up from the events of the evening so it takes him a little longer. He presses his nose into the crown of her head. She smells like expensive salon shampoo. He leaves his arm resting heavily over her waist and snuggles in, chasing after her in sleep.

+

Shawn wakes up to a curtain of butter blonde hair over his eyes. He blinks and it’s a mistake because he gets some of her hair trapped in his eyelashes and he swats at her head sleepily.

For just a few seconds, he’s comfy in bed, snuggled up against someone warm who smells nice and it’s a feeling so viscerally comforting that reality takes longer to reach him than usual. But it does eventually and he’s faced with the instinct to check and make sure she’s breathing, which she is. In fact, she’s drooling a little. So that’s good.

He takes stock of the situation. They’ve ended up under the covers which explains why he’s sweating. He’s still in jeans and a t-shirt. She’s pressed up against his chest, still, but now she’s the little spoon to his big spoon and her ass is nestled right up against his hips and he should probably move away before she wakes up and he feels like a 16-year-old again, a little.

But he’s still thinking about the way she looked at him last night when he offered to hold her, which is one of the weirder things he’s ever said to a girl, and it makes this weird feeling of deep-seated affection and distaste for whoever made her feel that way bloom in his gut. He’s battling with it quietly when she stirs.

Watching her wake up feels creepy in the periphery of his mind but she’s so fucking stunning he can’t bring himself to care. It starts with a twitch of her fingers which are curled up under her chin. She pops her lips a little and tilts her head back and forth on the pillow. Awakeness takes hold, spreading down through her shoulders and hips and knees and ankles as she wriggles gently like she’s saying hello to all her limbs. He’s enthralled. He almost doesn’t notice when she stiffens upon finding someone else in her bed. She rolls over onto her back to get a look at him.

“Hi,” he croaks, guilty. He should’ve gotten out of bed when he woke up. She wasn’t sober when she asked him to stay. She probably doesn’t even remember how he got here. He’s about to open his mouth to start spewing apologies when her lips curl up gently and she brushes a hand up his arm to his shoulder.

“You’re still here.”

He noses at her temple. “Still here.”

She’s quiet, admiring the glint of her glittery blue nail polish against the pale pink skin of his arm.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes, shaking her head a little, closing her eyes and tightening her jaw.

“Don’t be. I’m glad you knew you could call me,” he tells her, “Especially after what happened the other night.”

She smirks and he’s so delighted to see it he could cry. “The other night? You might have to specify. We have a streak of weird nights going.”

His eyebrows lift. She’s right.

“Yeah. Do you… I mean, do you want to talk?”

She mashes her dry lips together, considering. “I do. But can we Postmates breakfast?”

She wants him to stay for breakfast. He pecks her forehead. “Fuck yeah.”

+

Forty-five minutes later, Emma is pouring French press coffee into two mugs while he accepts the Commissary delivery box from the Postmates guy and it feels so goddamn domestic Shawn can’t keep the stupid smile off his face. He thanks the guy profusely, telling himself he’s just happy because he’s got pancakes waiting for him.

Emma sets out plates and napkins and utensils and it’s all kind of adorably formal but she seems to do it automatically. He guesses she doesn’t have a lot of people over.

He seats himself at the breakfast bar across from her and places her overdressed avocado toast on her plate. She moans at the sight of it.

“God, yes,” she murmurs, stroking it with her fork lovingly. He snorts through a bite of lemon ricotta pancakes.

“Ok. I’m ready to start apologizing,” Shawn announces, wiping his mouth on his napkin after his second or third massive bite. Emma puts down her toast and nods at him, ceding the floor.

“I’ll start with the night of the “Bad Rep” thing. I… I was out of line. I don’t know Ashley. I don’t have the right to judge your friendship with her. I won’t keep bugging you about it,” he tells her earnestly.

Even through her embarrassingly fierce hangover, she wants to throw herself at him and barricade them inside her house away from the world. Instead, she bobs her head shyly.

“Thank you. But for the record, after some soul searching, you were probably right about Ashley.”

“Oh thank god,” Shawn gasps, bowing his head over his mug and shaking with laughter. Emma chuckles, poking his shoulder playfully.

“But,” he continues, holding up a hand in peace, “But I still got all weird and preachy and in-your-face so I’m sorry.”

She tilts her head. “Apology accepted.”

“And the “Bad Rep” thing was a little… extra.”

Her face turns down toward the plate. Her smile falters. He regrets bringing it up.

“That song is so beautiful, Shawn,” she tells him. He realizes with a start it’s the first time she’s talked to him about his music directly. His eyes go a little wide, “You should be so proud of it. And your performance. Don’t be sorry for that. For leaving it all on the table.”

Shawn goes pink and bashful. It makes her smile.

“I… should also apologize for the other night at Trench. I went off the rails a little seeing you with Kyle. I’ve never done anything like that before in my life. I… I don’t get jealous. I don’t know what that was,” he admits, clearly still bothered by it.

She leans in. “We were fighting. If you showed up at that opening with a girl, I might’ve done the same thing.”

He smiles. “No, you wouldn’t have. You would’ve just gotten up and danced and made me forget anyone else was there.”

Emma releases a surprised giggle. “Maybe.”

They’re quiet for a while as they eat. Emma is in her own world, focused on her coffee and toast. She doesn’t seem bothered at all by his presence. She seems soothed by it.

“We’ve never really gotten to do this. Just hang out like this. Eat a meal together,” he points out. He blinks hard, flinching at how sentimental and vulnerable he sounds.

Emma looks up from her mug thoughtfully. “We haven’t,” she confirms.

“Do you… do you want to talk about yesterday?”

She swallows. “I don’t even want to think about yesterday. I feel disgusting.”

Shawn’s heart sinks. “You can kill the video, Em. If you hate it that much you can kill it.”

The look on her face says she’s already thought of that. “Can we not talk about the video? Please?”

He surrenders the point and nods. He looks around. The house feels a little less hollow in the daylight. He warily checks his phone. He’s got a couple “where are you, man?” texts to attend to.

“Do you have to leave?” she asks, clearing her throat like she’s trying to pass off her wounded whisper as morning voice.

He jams his phone back in his pocket. “No. I mean—not if you want me to stay. I have a thing tonight, a dinner. I’m off today.”

She blinks. “Me too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, “Wow.”

They’re quiet again. “You should stay. Hang out,” she says.

He nods. “Sounds good.”

+

Emma gives Shawn an awkward, stilted tour of the house. He gets the feeling she didn’t pick it out. It doesn’t feel like her, anyway. Neither does anything in it.

Until their last stop.

She takes his hand before they go in, so he’s already grinning like an idiot, and then she opens the door and he’s in Valhalla.

The room is full of guitars.

They paper the walls in a colorful gradient, but there are also racks of them throughout the room. She’s a collector.

And, he notices, a restoration expert?

Upon noticing his curious glance, Emma guides him over to her work table. It’s covered in intricate tools and an old acoustic she’s fixing up.

“My grandfather taught me,” she tells him proudly, looking around the room, “A lot of these were his.”

Shawn smacks his lips as he gazes around. She giggles.

“Were you close with him?” he asks softly, squinting at an old Gibson that makes his fingers twitch. She notices and gets it down for him. She hands it off and feels a rush of pride at seeing him preciously holding something she brought back to life. He smooths his hand over the surface as he clutches the neck.

“My grandfather was not a good man,” Emma explains plainly, sounding detached, “He was an old, close-minded bigot who raised his children to be obsessed with money because he had very little. This guitar collection, and the records in my room, are all that’s left of him and I think it’s better that way. But he taught me everything I know about country music.”

Shawn’s eyes remain turned down to the instrument as she speaks so casually about her family dysfunction. He clears his throat.

“Well, then the guitars aren’t all that’s left. He did one good thing, at least. Gave you your passion.”

Emma’s gaze goes soft. He lifts his head and smiles at her. She smiles back and reaches behind her for what she knows is there – her old Taylor, her favorite acoustic, sitting on a stand where she’s always kept it. She nods at the door and he follows her out, with one last lustful glance around her room of treasures.

They wind their way back to her bedroom. Shawn’s hesitant at first, because the bedroom feels very intimate, but he recognizes it’s the only room in this sprawling estate that feels like her. She plops down on her bed cross-legged, little sleep shorts riding up her thighs. She pays them no mind – she’s plucking out the opening chords to something he doesn’t recognize but it sounds a little twangy.

He listens to her play while he tunes up, bobbing his head. He keeps looking up at her but she seems to have forgotten entirely that he’s there until he speaks.

“What is this?”

Her head jerks up and she chuckles at herself. “”’Til I Get It Right” by Tammy Wynette.”

He smirks. “Should’ve guessed. You’re obsessed with her.”

Emma tries not to blush at his observation. “She had quite a life. I find her fascinating. And she was the First Lady of Country Music. Can you imagine? Being the First Lady of something? Or, like, whatever, being the President of something?”

Shawn’s quiet, listening to her pluck away, watching her bob and sway her head, mouthing the words like he does when he plays alone in his bedroom.

“Your album. The real one, the one you wrote when you… I mean, when you finished Fake It. It’s a country album, isn’t it?”

Emma doesn’t look up from the guitar but he sees her eyes move from her fingers on the strings to the sheets below her. “Yeah.”

His jaw tightens. “But your mom—”

“My mom does what the label and Margaret tell her to do. At the time, before the label, it was Margaret and Disney. She doesn’t—I mean, honestly, she doesn’t care as long as we’re making money. But she said no.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “I shouldn’t have let her.”

Shawn blinks. He watches her fingers slide around gracefully, watches her hair fall over her shoulder and onto the neck of the guitar. He reaches out and moves it for her before she tangles it in the strings. She closes her eyes and stops playing.

“I’ve been meeting with Andrew for a few weeks.”

He frowns and looks up from her hands. She’s staring at him, expression flat.

“Why?”

“I asked his advice about replacing Margaret. I needed to talk to someone I could trust, someone who could help me headhunt quietly so she won’t see it coming. He was the only person I thought, maybe, if I’m lucky, won’t fuck me over. But at this point, I’m so close to not caring what happens to my godforsaken career.”

Shawn makes a mental note to shake Andrew’s hand when he gets the chance.

“Ha—have you gotten anywhere?” Shawn almost chokes, still in shock.

Emma plants her hands on the top panel of the guitar and looks at him earnestly. “I don’t know. I mean, we’ve looked at a couple people – good country managers. I just—I’m so wary of ending up in the same situation all over again. Having my every move controlled. I—”

“But you’ll never let that happen to you again,” he interrupts, leaning toward her slightly and feeling his eyes widen desperately, “Not after yesterday. Not after what they’ve put you through. Em, you… you deserve so much better. I hope you know that.”

Emma closes her eyes and tilts her head to rest on the headboard. “I’m trying to.”

Shawn feels the air crackle between them when she looks up. She fidgets with the guitar in her lap like it’s an extension of her. He wants to pull it aside and kiss her. He doesn’t.

“I don’t really know much country music, you’re going to have to teach me,” he says softly, glancing down at his guitar that he’s gripping too hard. She smiles in his periphery.

“What’s not much?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Couple Luke Bryan songs. Florida Georgia Line. Old Taylor. And Hunter Hayes.”

Emma tries not to wince and he laughs.

“Can you play any?” she asks.

He shrugs noncommittally. “I can do some justice to “I Want Crazy.””

She lifts her guitar back into place with a knowing smile. She starts off. He scrambles to keep up. It feels kind of perfect.

She charges ahead with vocals so he harmonizes where he can. They’re grinning, playing faster, allowing for a few deviations from Hayes’s version to add their own flares. They’re giggling, wiggling a little in their seats, headbanging, watching each other sing and play like they never have before. And they never have like this.

Shawn howls as Emma trails off on an impressive vocal run. He feels his cheeks go red. They finish the song slowly, reluctantly. Emma’s smiling until she’s not. Her face begins to crumple. Shawn panics.

“Em? Wh—what’s wrong?” He puts his guitar aside. She clings to hers.

“Sorry,” she hiccups, smiling through her tears like she’s well-trained to do, “Sorry, I just—fuck. I’ve—never really done this before. Played with—someone. Played… with someone like you.”

The words weigh heavy in the air. Emma looks ready to take them back as soon as she says them. Shawn carefully, ever-so-slowly edges forward, looking for signs of panic on her face as she sniffles and watches him. He takes the guitar and puts it aside. His eyes bear into hers. She blinks quickly.

He reaches out for her, inhaling sharply as she throws herself into his arms and almost tackles him onto the bed. He catches them to keep them from sliding off the end. Once they’re secure, he cradles his arms around her and breathes into her hair. She’s racked with sobs.

He doesn’t need to know exactly what’s in her head or heart right now. He holds her as tight as he’ll allow himself, closing his eyes and willing her to let it out.

She doesn’t really know exactly what floodgates this moment opened for her. But she has somewhere to cry other than a pillow. She’s probably drenching his t-shirt with snot and tears but he’s holding her so securely she’s pretty sure he doesn’t care.

Emma notices the way he strokes her back, not lecherously, not leading down to the swell of her ass or around to her breasts, but just to soothe her with the rhythm of it. She notices the way he shifts them so she’s not resting her weight on her arm. She notices the way he buries his face in her hair and inhales. She notices the way her breath leaves a riot of goosebumps on his neck.

She pulls away when she feels her chest empty of whatever hell she was holding onto. He’s looking at her, not with pity, not even with too much concern, just… Shawn. Watching her, waiting to see what she’ll do next.

She sighs, resigned. She sweeps a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck. She leans in and kisses him, soft and sweet. It lasts only a moment. His lips are a little rough and taste like morning and lemon. She shudders.

He has lost any sense of the world around them. He shrugs an arm around her, uses the other to move some hair out of her tear-streaked face. He leans back in and she shuts her eyes, waiting for another kiss. Instead, he trails his lips over her hair, her cheekbones, her nose, her fluttering eyelashes.

“Emma,” he breathes into her ear. Her body tightens against his in response.

The name doesn’t sound so scary anymore.

Taglist: @the-claire-bitch-project @smallerinfinities @crapri @stillinskislydia @carlaimberlain @abigfatmess @rosecolouredtimes @heavenly—holland @wanderingmendes @blush-and-books @oyesmendes @embracehappy

[jmsebastian]

Middle Child Syndrome: Fatal Frame III

Fatal Frame III: The Tormented sits in a weird place among the entries in the classic horror series. After the novelty of the first game and the refinements of the second, The Tormented starts to retread some very familiar territory. There are more old, abandoned and haunted mansions, more hostile ghosts that need exorcizing, and the same Camera Obscura with which you take pictures to solve puzzles and rid said haunted mansions of the undead. The general idea of the game is identical to its predecessors. If you’ve played through the entire series, you know that there is a familiar sense of core elements and a consistent quality that invites comparisons to the NES line of Mega Man games. As such it’s easy to overlook the game as just another sequel that does more of the same. Done and done.

That would really be selling the game short, though. While not nearly as celebrated as Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly, or as controversial a release as The Maiden of Black Water, The Tormented veers off the beaten path in surprising ways. Sure, you spend the majority of your time doing the exact same things you do in every Fatal Frame game, but the story has a more personal side to it. It also isn’t all haunted house all the time. There are things to do outside of playing paparazzi to the angry spirits of people who met untimely and gruesome ends. There are characters that you can interact with, and loads of quiet time.

I haven’t talked at great length about the story of the other Fatal Frame games for a couple of reasons. First, they are all set up as mysteries. Going into a lot of detail about them would diminish the rewarding sense of discovery you get when you uncover more journal entries or newspaper clippings that allow you to fit the timeline of the story’s events together. Second, the stories being told were never all that satisfying to me. Learning exactly how the ancient ritual that keeps the spirits of hell away got botched for the third or fourth time loses a bit of its luster. There’s nothing wrong with that framework, and you have to expect it to some degree with a series that is self-referential and takes place in some semblance of a timeline. Still, the possibilities to go beyond the failed ritual scenario have been surprisingly unexplored. Fatal Frame III makes a valiant attempt.

In The Tormented, you follow Rei Kurosawa in the aftermath of the loss of her fiance, Yuu Asou. Rei bears the responsibility of Yuu’s death, as she feels it was her inattentive driving that caused the accident he was killed in. Having survived the accident, Rei suffers from tremendous guilt. That is a heavy stage to set and contrasts wildly with the previous setups of “my brother is lost and I think he might be in this creepy mansion” as seen in the original game, and “we were running through the woods and now we’re in some creepy, abandoned village that appeared out of nowhere”. The themes in the series have always leaned very hard into dark and disturbing territory. Who could forget the slightly hinted at taboo relationship between twins Mio and Mayu from Crimson Butterfly, or the horrifically unethical medical experiments performed on mental patients in Mask of the Lunar Eclipse? Where the series had previously begun its games with big, open-ended mysteries, III was the first to begin its story with such a specific focus on the details that ground both the lead into the plot and the character whose the lens the player will be experiencing the plot through.

Rei’s grief and guilt are the emotional frameworks upon which The Tormented is built. That subtitle essentially gives the theme of the game (and the entire series, for that matter) away right off the bat. It’s one thing to have an interesting story framework, though. It’s another to elevate that story through the integration of its themes into something the player can take part in. To that end, Fatal Frame III is comprised of two distinct phases. There’s the dream phase, where Rei (and occasionally other characters) explores The Manor of Sleep and uncovers information about various ghosts she encounters while there. This is also where the player does all of their ghost hunting with the Camera Obscura.

There’s also the waking phase. This phase is set in Rei’s home, which she shares with Miku Hinasaki. Miku is the protagonist of the first Fatal Frame and she works for Rei as an assistant. While awake, the player can develop certain pictures taken while in the dream state in her home’s dark room. Those photos can then be given to Miku to investigate the characters or events revealed in the film. The other main component of waking up is simply to take a breather from the harrowing experiences of investigating the mansion while eluding the tattooed woman hell-bent on tracking Rei down. Having structured quiet time makes the difference between the emotional highs and lows of the game more pronounced and even. The house, taking the role of refuge, completely recontextualizes the nature of the mansion exploration as set forth in the previous entries in the series. Where before the game’s protagonists were forced deeper and deeper into exploration in an effort to find what they were looking for or free themselves, Rei gets to act more like a spelunker. She explores the same horrifying locations and situations as the characters in the other games, but she does so with a rope (somewhat) firmly tied back to reality.

The cyclical nature of sleeping and waking is then twisted over time. The safe haven of Rei’s home, which included having Rei’s health restored and her film replenished, begins to feel less safe over time, especially as night falls. Apparitions tucked away in corners can be seen flickering in and out of existence, the constant rainfall outside acts as somewhat of a psychological barrier to leaving the house. It’s as though Rei’s dreams are forcing their way into her consciousness slowly over the course of the game, which is a more oppressively sinister emotional path to walk for both Rei and the player. What was once a welcomed relief erodes into more uncertainty, cementing the effects of the trauma that Rei undergoes.

The subtlety of Rei’s descent into the trappings of guilt is propped up in some unexpected ways. There are the aforementioned hauntings in Rei’s home introduced over time, but there are more subtle touches that magnify the effects of her emotional deterioration. Elements as omnipresent as the UI seem oddly understated compared to the games it’s sandwiched between. Compare how busy the viewfinder is of a mildly upgraded camera is in Fatal Frame II and a similarly upgraded camera in III.

Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly

Fatal Frame III: The Tormented

The highlighting around the reticle, which indicates the charge of your spirit power, is so subtle that upon picking this game back up again, I completely missed it for the better part of my first fight. I’m not exactly sure why the Camera Obscura has such a minimalist representation when the trend in the rest of the series was to amplify its feedback to 11. It’s not even like it fits in with the rest of the UI features, which saw more shortcut buttons and menu options than previously provided. It certainly seems that breaking immersion wasn’t particularly on the list of worries, so the only options left seem to be that the developers just wanted to give the player more screen real estate with which to frame the ghosts they would be taking pictures of, or they felt that toning down the flashing lights and alarm bells would keep the mood somber, preventing it from clashing horribly with the tone of the narrative. It could be both at the same time. Whether intentional or accidental, Tecmo completely nailed it.

Being the third installment of a series means there were plenty of opportunities to adjust and fine tune features that might have been underdeveloped in previous games. There is still some redundancy in how the player takes pictures, for example, being able to use either the R1 or X buttons, but that’s much better than the three possible buttons used in the previous title. A big improvement was getting rid of having two camera viewfinder control options active at the same time. Fatal Frame and Fatal Frame II allowed for movement of the Camera Obscura’s viewfinder with both the analog stick and directional pad, an odd choice considering the PlayStation 2 had integrated analog control built in from the beginning. The Tormented fixes that, leaving control simply with the left analog stick. By doing this, they freed up the D-pad to be used for swapping film types during combat without forcing the player into a series of menus, which would take them out of the action and ruin the pacing.

Fatal Frame III is full of these small improvements. The system menu options were moved from the Start button to Select, which allowed for the game menu options to be moved from Triangle to Start, which then allowed the Camera Obscura to be raised or lowered with Triangle instead of Circle, putting it much closer to R1, which is used as the shutter button. The map, a huge time saving and confusion busting tool, was moved to the L2 button, which went completely unused in previous entries. One of the best improvements involved implementing an older constraint from the first game that had been “corrected” for the sequel.

Film in Fatal Frame is finite. If the player does a poor job managing their film either in combat or when taking pictures of wandering ghosts or other things of interest, they can either run out completely (admittedly difficult to do as there is more than enough scattered around the mansion), or more worryingly, run low or out of the most rare and powerful film types because their damage capacities weren’t maximized. The team at Tecmo realized that there was a real possibility that players could put themselves into an unwinnable situation, and to make sure that couldn’t happen in the sequel, they introduced a type of film that was infinite. Its capture power was very weak to compensate for having an unending supply, but it was a nice safeguard against both running out of film completely and also against being forced to use more powerful film when it wasn’t really necessary.

Fatal Frame III rides the line between these two extremes. All film types have a limited supply, like in the original game. Two of those types, Type-7 and Type-14, refill to a set amount when Rei wakes up from her dream hours. This accomplishes the goal of heightening the tension of each dream by forcing players to be conscious of how much film they’re using and for what, and also provides an extra dose of relief once players reach the end of a dream segment. There’s an additional benefit to aiding players in mentally pacing the game, as they can form a pretty good idea of about how far into a segment they are based on how much film they’ve consumed, assuming they haven’t gone above and beyond in exploration and searched out every possible film drop possible. The mixing of old and new series ideas demonstrates the importance of looking at the games in a franchise holistically, as there can be great ideas tucked away in entries that can easily get overlooked in the rush to keep things fresh.

Unfortunately, refinements don’t really make for huge selling points, which may be part of the reason why the game is underrepresented when it comes to the series as a whole. It looks the best and typically plays the best of the PS2 games, but not because it made any huge design overhauls. It simply examined what it was that players most often spent their time doing in Fatal Frame and made those features more logical and accessible. It’s as if the Camera Obscura viewfinder’s visual design was a representation of the elegance that this game was going for.

For all that it gets right, Fatal Frame III does, of course, have flaws. Those flaws largely derive from the expectation that players of the game are familiar with the series. Aside from relying upon up the stories of previous games, it also borrows much of its level design from them as well. Revisiting levels familiar to seasoned veterans of a series can be a nice surprise. The Tormented takes this idea to its logical conclusion and basically creates a new game using the locations of the previous two games. The Manor of Sleep, for all intents and purposes, is a combination of Crimson Butterfly’s Lost Village, and Fatal Frame’s Himuro Mansion. There’s really nothing wrong with this in principle, but Tecmo’s reliance on familiar architecture allowed them to slip a little with regard to guiding the player along the right path. Far too often it feels as though players need to rely on past experiences with the games in order to figure out where to go because Fatal Frame III doesn’t really bother to give them adequate clues. This is an intermittent problem. The first quarter of the game is fine, and there’s even one section when controlling Miku where the player has to rely on audio cues to figure out where to go which works extremely well. There are other sections, however, such as Hour VI, where guidance is a little less straightforward. You don’t really take any pictures revealing other locations, there aren’t spirits walking about to point your way, you just have to wander around a bit until you stumble upon the place you’re supposed to be. It’s clunky and does a great disservice to the sections that are well planned out.

The difficulty of the game is another issue that normally wouldn’t be worth mentioning except that it’s tied to the lack of context clues seen in previous games. During Hour VII, Miku ventures into a crawl space beneath the house in order to reach a previously inaccessible area. This area of the map is set up beautifully by way of Rei commenting earlier in the game on her inability to pass through it if the player inspects the opening while in control of her. There’s also a later section where a ghost can be seen hanging out, her body contorted in an off-putting way. When it’s time for Miku to crawl through this space, the player is ready for something. With a set up that good, it’s a shame that the payoff is so weak. What the player finds is an incredibly difficult enemy to fight. While crawling, the game forces you into first-person mode, whether you have the camera raised or not. This limited view makes the ghost, who crawls around on all fours with the frantic pace of cockroach, very difficult to locate quickly. Her attacks are swift, as well. She approaches the player abruptly before pausing ever so slightly and ringing the neck of Miku.

Her spider-like ceiling walk is especially frightening.

It’s obvious there is something wrong with this encounter based on how little damage this ghost does to you upon each attack. If you fail to get a shutter chance on her (and you will), she hangs on to you for a long time. During that time, she drains a minuscule amount of life compared to even the weakest of enemies in other parts of the game. With such little health at risk, it suggests that players are not really meant to engage with this ghost at all, which makes one wonder why they bothered putting her in the game in the first place. After getting strangled weakly for the third or fourth time, I figured I’d just keep on crawling so I could get to my destination, which worked out perfectly. My constant movement made it so the ghost could no longer land hits on me, and she was unable to follow me out of the crawl space.

To say this whole section was a disappointment is an understatement. Because the situation is treacherous, it seems that Tecmo just couldn’t resist putting an enemy here, which would be fine if that enemy had animations that the player could deal with more comfortably. It doesn’t. To compensate for how difficult the timing is for landing shots in her, they simply made her incredibly weak, which takes away all tension from the situation. Players can fail time and time again on this fight without real risk of dying, so the overall scare factor drops to nothing. The animations no longer frighten once seen repeated fifty times. A better option would have probably been to have some clue that a ghost is nearby, but never actually reveal her. Having the player go into a confined space was already enough to ramp up the tension, so much so that actually executing on that tension made for the least scary scenario possible.

Another reason why this particular ghost encounter sticks out is that it occurs roughly halfway through the game. The halfway mark is where the game starts to falter a bit. Where it hits the pavement is in the sheer number of ghost hostile ghost encounters. There are tons. On top of the scripted fights, which must be completed to progress, ghosts can randomly pop up all over the place, even in areas once thought safe. There’s an element of surprise here that serves to undermine whatever sense of security a player might have developed when going through certain areas of the Manor of Sleep, but it becomes overkill almost immediately. Sometimes two ghosts can show up back to back, other times you might fight one, move on, then have the same ghost reappear during a backtrack to a different part of the mansion.

Having repeat ghosts already feels unsatisfying because it eliminates any sense of accomplishment the player had when taking them out the first time. The point of the Camera Obscura is to exorcize spirits, and if it isn’t actually accomplishing that, then the integrity of the narrative completely falls apart. The other major side effect of this is fatigue. The Fatal Frame games are not easy. Exploring takes time, the puzzles, though not mind melting, take a bit of thought or planning to complete. Throwing in fights every other room is daunting, reduces the impact of those encounters, and gives the player incentive to avoid them at all costs. This takes away opportunities to get points to level up the camera and additional abilities, crucial elements of the game that must be done in order to combat the spikes in difficulty. It’s a shame when games appear to actively discourage players from participating in the mechanics that make up the core of the experience, and The Tormented is quite guilty of this in several chapters.

The middle section of the game is also where the training wheels come off with regard to figuring out where to go, not something that makes a great deal of sense considering the amount of backtracking the players are required to put up with. Traveling back and forth between the same rooms dozens of times requires some guidance so that players don’t begin to wander about aimlessly. It’s inevitable that a player is going to run into some blocked doors or impassable spaces, but it doesn’t take hitting too many of these in a row before the adventure starts to fall flat and the feeling of frustration dominates the experience. As a general rule, leading the player on is something Fatal Frame III does really well. There’s a night where Miku’s destinations are signaled by the sound of singing. Locating the sound becomes the game, and it’s an interesting way to provide the player with the solution of where to go without simply jotting down the right room on the map. The uneven application of these unique guidance tricks makes the game feel longer than it is, and horror games are particularly damaged by wearing out their welcome.

Having a bit of a slump in the pacing is an issue, but can certainly be overlooked when viewing the game as a whole. What can’t be ignored is how Tecmo treats its main protagonist, Rei. It shouldn’t be a surprise that the developers responsible for the Dead or Alive series would have some issues regarding representations of women. Sadly, the Fatal Frame series is not free of this problem. With the protagonist of The Tormented being an adult woman, Tecmo was able to overtly sexualize her in a way that feels a lot more familiar to fans of Western horror movies (not to mention sexualization of the main antagonist, who goes bare-breasted throughout the game). Sure, you could read incestuous undertones into the relationship between twins Mayu and Mio from Fatal Frame II, but that served to make the characters more enigmatic and eerie, a reasonable thing to do for a horror game. The fanservice content that did exist was reserved for bonus content and was entirely optional. This is not so with Rei. Even jiggle physics make it into the game, if subtle. Rei’s breasts don’t heave or sway like Mai Shiranui when she runs or quick turns, but there is a distinct butt bounce that is noticeable when she runs. It can be hard to see as it requires the camera being placed close to Rei in an area where she would be moving away from the player’s view, but it’s definitely there, and it’s difficult to justify a reason for its existence. It ended up distracting me quite a lot once I’d noticed it. Maybe that doesn’t say something so flattering about me, but one has to wonder what the intent was with including it, as it seems animated too well to be accidental.

To further Re’s unfortunate portrayal, we get a scene of Rei taking a shower in a half-hearted attempt to convey her difficult time coping. It’s a bit difficult to empathize with her situation, though, when the scene is served with a very generous side of boob. It’s jarring because Rei is just an average woman who’s lost the person she loves most and feels immense guilt about it. She isn’t action star Aya Brea from Parasite Eve running around shooting mutated monsters with a shotgun. Trying to mix in a bit of sex appeal here just doesn’t sit well. The shower trope is repeated later on to more mixed results.

This scene is more Nightmare on Elm Street than Fatal Frame.

This mixed messaging doesn’t hurt the narrative to an irreparable degree, but it certainly does the game no favors, and when your main problem as a game is that you are easily overlooked, it’s this kind of objectification of its characters that makes passing the game by not feel like such a bad thing.

The biggest regret of the game is that its most dramatic moment, the showdown with the Tattooed Woman, has a fatal flaw. That flaw is an instant fail state. One hit deaths feel bad in pretty much every game, but for Fatal Frame, they are especially cheap. The series has these littered throughout, and normally they are easy enough to avoid. Maybe you get caught once, but after that, it’s a good lesson learned. Fatal Frame III decided it would make half of the final boss fight subject to them with a healthy dose of randomness to make the medicine go down. The fight begins normally, with the Tattooed Woman becoming hostile while also becoming vulnerable to your camera. Intermittently, however, she will transform the scene so that it takes on the black and white film grain look that’s been peppered throughout other Hours. During this time, the Woman appears in a random location and you must run from her until things go back to normal. The randomness of her appearance and her ceaseless pursuit of your character make avoiding her challenging, and sometimes, literally impossible. If you get touched, you die. Death at this stage is especially punishing because the player must quit out to the game’s main menu in order to reload their last save. If the last possible save point, the trek back to the boss room isn’t especially far, but it’s enough that the time going back for another try after a death caused without fault from the player really adds up. This is a horrible choice for any boss, let alone the final one.

For this fight alone, it’s hard to blame anyone who honestly hates this game. It’s so bad that it is hard to remember anything else about the game as you fight back the tears of frustration. Of the three games, The Tormented easily feels like the most difficult for me, and poor design decisions like this are a big reason why. It would be one thing if the difficulty had some semblance of fairness to it. Maybe the Tattooed Woman’s moveset could be especially varied or challenging. Maybe she would have a fairly simple moveset but hit very hard in order to punish impatient players with jumpy trigger fingers. Taking control away from players is great for instilling fear, but it’s equally good at instilling rage, which is really all this boss fight accomplishes. What’s amazing is that even upgrading my camera as much as possible and using Type Zero film exclusively, which is the most powerful in the game, I still died numerous times simply because I couldn’t turn around fast enough to avoid some grabby hands.

With all games, you have to weigh the good with the bad. Fatal Frame III’s lows are certainly low due to their feeling of cheapness with regard to eliciting thrills or titillation. Those lows, however, far from sink the game to the level that its reputation seems to have sunk it. Maybe the quick development of these games simply led to oversaturation. Half of the entire series was released in about a three year period, which is remarkable. With that, you’re going to see a lot of corners being cut. The Tormented lacked originality in its locations and ghosts, but it more than made up for those shortcomings through its unique use of those existing assets. From a lore perspective, it’s also crucial, as it expands on the original game’s story and incorporates elements from the second to create a cohesive fictional universe for the fans who really crave that kind of thing. Fatal Frame and Fatal Frame II are more complete games because they have the third game to connect all the dots, even if they didn’t really need to be connected in the first place.

The series would change drastically with its next iteration, moving away from the fixed camera, adopting a whole new control scheme, and abandoning the characters that had established it as one of the premier horror titles. Given that it never made it out of Japan, it’s hard to see those radical departures as being completely successful. The Tormented, then, sits in the kind of limbo that the player strives to make their way out of. It’s the point between staying true to what works and reinventing the wheel. What risks it took were overshadowed by where it played it safe, not unlike what happened to Capcom’s Resident Evil 3. There are far worse fates than good, if not spectacular. If you choose to play Fatal Frame III for yourself, you’ll come across plenty of them.

[fandomseverywhereassemble]

With the bingo, can you do Public torture with Keith from Voltron? I love my child but I love angst so here am as one cruel mother

Anonymous asked: If you’re taking requests for your bingo: would you be up for public execution/torture featuring Keith (Voltron)?

I was actually really excited for this one because I love Keith’s angst.  Don’t get me wrong, I love Langst, but Keith is just begging for some angst.  So here you two are.  I’m still taking requests as well.

Also: a bit of a warning, there is a lot of cursing.  (At least for me)

Bang!

“Let us see him!”

“You can’t keep him locked away like this!”

“I’m sorry, paladins, but you may not see your friend.”

“It’s been three days!”

Huh.  Three days?  It felt like so much longer to Keith.  The darkness made everything worse.  It made the beats of his heart seem longer.  It made the hours seem longer.  It made his breathing seem long and weak like he was already dead.

“You can’t just bar him away from us.”  That must have been Shiro.  Shiro, who was always watching out for the team and making sure that they didn’t do anything wrong.

Well, that did so much for him now, didn’t it?

“We can, and we will, black paladin.  Your red paladin has broken one of our cardinal rules.”

“He was trying to save one of your people!”

“Lance, calm down.”  That was Shiro again, “Yelling isn’t going to solve anything at all.  Our best bet is to just wait until he’s released.”

“And how long is that going to take?”  Lance again, there was an alarming amount of concern in his voice, “It took us three days to get this far and we still don’t know what’s going to happen or how long he’s going to be in there.  I think that we’ve waited long enough.”

Keith tried to call out, and tell them that he was alright, but his voice was hoarse and scratchy.  Out of all the luxuries he had been given: a single cell, a bucket to piss and shit in, cold handcuffs to make sure he couldn’t sleep right, and a lightbulb that occasionally flipped on to burn his eyes with its light, water had not been one of them.

Neither had food now that he thought about it.  The cold stone floor was as much of a bed as he could hope for.

Why was he even being punished anyway?  He hadn’t known that touching was considered incredibly offensive on this planet!  He hadn’t known that grabbing that child’s hand was the equivalent of having sex with them.  What were they?  Fucking Vulcans?

He had saved that girl’s life and all he got for it was to be locked up in a cell for three days.  Three fucking days.  He didn’t deserve this.

“Keith!  Keith was that you?”  Lance shouted down and there was a bustle up towards the top.  Keith smiled vaguely as he pictured the blue paladin trying to push his way past the guards and into the prison.

“Yeah.”  He called back, but his voice cracked in the middle of it and made him sound a whole lot worse for wear than he actually was.

A Clang! echoed against the barren walls of Keith’s cell as his guard hit his weapon against the bars.  The weapon was shaped like some sort of crescent that was sharpened on both sides, and there was a short dagger that poked up through the center of it.  Keith had eyed it warily when he had first arrived on the planet, but now that he was closer, he realized that it was just a really inefficient design made to look intimidating.

The guard wasn’t even taking good care of it, the metal was tarnished around the hilt and wherever the two different pieces of metal met.  Keith took much better care of his weapons.  He wouldn’t be caught dead with tarnish on his blades.

“You, keep your mouth shut, klanzit.”  The guard spat at him.  He actually spit, there were new spots of moisture on his face that Keith wasn’t able to wipe off.  The guard quietly continued, “You will keep your mouth shut until you can’t help but cry out.”

Keith’s eyes darkened and he clumsily made his way to his feet.  When they were both standing, he could tell that he was taller than the guard by at least a head.  For a millisecond, the guard emitted an aura of pure fear, who wouldn’t when a paladin of Voltron was hovering over you, and giving you his undivided attention.

Then, he hit his blade on the bars again, hard enough to send sparks up.  He laughed when Keith flinched away, trying to shake the afterimage effects from his eyes.  “You try and act so high and mighty now, but in two days, you won’t be shit.”

Footsteps reverberated down the stairs, probably another guard to change shifts.  As he left, he let his blade drag against the wall and created a sound reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard.  Goosebumps rose across Keith’s skin and he waited until the guard was completely gone before he shivered.

At least he knew that in two days he would get out.  Two more days of taunting, cold, and darkness.

Keith settled down to wait.

“Get up, klanzit.”  It was another guard this time.  Keith had started calling the three of them names by the weapons they carried.  This was Clean Blade, because his blade was flawless.  Keith doubted that he had ever swung it maliciously in his life.

Clean Blade sneered at him, “I told you to get up.”

Keith tried to get up, he really did, but he still hadn’t been given water.  He really should have been dead and he sure as hell wasn’t going to spend the rest of his energy just to save the guard a bit of extra energy.

Cursing, Clean Blade unlocked his cell and his handcuffs.  He must have not been very scared of a dehydrated, malnourished human.  Keith just… didn’t want to fight.  That was it.  He wasn’t too weak to even fight back here.  That wasn’t it at all.

The guard laughed as he tossed Keith over his shoulder easily, “Look at the klanzit now.  You aren’t so scary now that you’re weak.”  He turned and exited the cell.  The keys on his waist jangled as they climbed the stairs.

“I’ve got him.”  Clean Blade said, Keith could tell from his voice that he was smiling smugly as if he had fought some great battle and hadn’t just picked the red paladin off of the floor.

Weathered Blade stepped up to him.  Her blade was the most used.  There were nicks on the metal that spoke of war experience.  She was the one whom Keith was the most afraid of.

She grabbed his head in her hands and turned it so that he could see her face, “Are you ready for today?  You get one of the best punishments our little planet has to offer.”  She smiled sweetly, but her scarred face made it seem nothing but sinister.

She looked at Tarnished Blade, “Go ahead and skin his hands before we go out there.  We can’t have it look like he came out of our Prisons unharmed.”

Keith felt his own eyes widen, what type of barbaric shit was this?  He had saved a little girl’s life.  He wasn’t going to be able to hold a weapon in his hands for months.  The smile on Weathered Blade’s face let him know that she knew exactly what that meant for him; his blades had been confiscated on the first day.  They all knew his weapon of choice.

“You fuckers”  He tried to say to them, but all that came out was raspy air that set off a coughing fit.  How long had it been?  Five days?  Five days without food or water was really taking its toll on his throat which was dry as a desert.

Tarnished Blade smiled at him before looking up at Clean Blade, “You can drop him now.”  And Keith was on the ground.  He didn’t even have it in him to groan.  Not when he hit the ground, and not when Tarnished took his tarnished blade to the skin of Keith’s palm and pulled.

He panted heavily and tried to pull his arm away, but the blade only cut deeper and deeper, and the hand anchoring him in place was too strong and he was too weak.  He just grit his teeth and tried not to let the tears spring from his eyes; he would not give them that satisfaction.

In the end, he was left with two blocks of bloody flesh that vaguely resembled hands, and eyes full of unshed tears.

“Get him up and out there.”  Weathered smiled, “The people want to see the klanzit’s pain.”

Keith was hauled viciously to his feet by his hands and he bit back a cry of pain.  Sandwiched between them, Keith was forced along down the path and up towards the surface.  As they got higher and higher up, Keith could hear people.  A lot of people.  There were jeers and boos that got louder and louder as they neared the top.

Doors in front of him opened and for a few moments, he was blinded by the sheer amount of light that assaulted his eyes.  It was so bright that for a moment, he forgot about the throbbing pain in his hands for the sharp pain in his eyes.

Before him stood thousands of people.  Thousands of people that had come to watch… whatever was going to happen to him.  As he was moved along, he saw four figures in white armor standing near the front.  The rest of his team was standing in an area cordoned off from the rest of the population.  They were being watched to make sure they didn’t try and free him from whatever was about to happen.

As he watched them, he saw Pidge cover their mouth with their hands when they saw his bloody hands.  Hunk turned around to try and avoid looking but was quickly pushed back around to watch.  Lance’s fists balled up at his sides, his knuckles were white.  And Shiro…

Shiro looked furious.  His eyes were dark with hatred and everything about his posture screamed that he was going to attack.  His hands twitched at his sides, wanting desperately to summon his bayard.  Keith looked him straight in the eyes before he shook his head, no, that would only make it worse.

Weathered Blade stepped to the front of the platform, was she some type of big general or something like that?  She began a speech in her own language first, pausing at the appropriate times and waiting for the crowd to quiet before she began.  Was she a public speaker now too?

After she was done, she continued in English for the paladins to hear, “The red paladin of Voltron, Keith Kogane, has committed one of the most heinous crimes of our people.  In order for him to rectify himself, he must endure five days devoid of nourishment and sixty lashings in the set of twenty threes.  After all sixty lashings have been delivered, he will be released back to the remaining paladins of Voltron, whether he lives or dies.  If any have any objections to the ways of this planet, please, speak up now.”  She smiled her scarred smile.

All of them looked like they wanted to speak up.  Every single one looked as if they were on the verge of spouting out how unjust his treatment was, but Keith shook his head.  If he survived this, then there might be a chance of repairing these burned bridges at a later time.  If they tried to stop this, then there would be no chance that this planet would join the coalition.

After seeing that no one had any objections to the treatment, Weathered Blade spoke again, “Then we may begin.”  A roar went up from the crowd.  Not just a cheer, a roar these people were here to see the red paladin bleed.

The guard stepped down from her perch on the platform and she addressed Keith privately, “You will die today, red paladin.  No matter what you and your friends may believe.  You will die.”  She smiled again.  That smile was going to mock him in his nightmares, “Now remove your armor.  You may keep your undergarments, but everything else must go.”

Keith glared back at her, but the sun was getting to him and he was so thirsty and so, so tired.  What did she want him to do?

She gestured to Clean Blade and Tarnished Blade.  One of them held him still while the other ripped the shirt from his body.  “You can remove your pants.”  Weathered told him, “Or we can have my friends here do it for you, and they will not be gentle.”

Keith scowled back at her, but it was getting more and more difficult to concentrate on her words.  Weathered Blade gestured again and Clean Blade took his weapon, shining in the bright light and none too gently slashed a line down one pant leg.  Keith held in a hiss of pain and he squeezed his eyes shut to avoid looking at the dark line of red that ran from the meat of his thigh to his ankle.

He repeated the same action on the other side, and all of a sudden, Keith was practically naked in front of thousands of aliens and the friends he had made over the last few months.

“You may hold onto this stick to keep yourself upright as long as you can.”  She told him as she motioned to a wooden, splintered pole standing vertically in the middle of the platform.  She smiled again, “That is if you want to cause any more damage to your hands.”

She smiled too much for someone so cruel.

Keith was manhandled to the center, right in front of the pole, and he didn’t even have it in himself to fight against their grip.  He heard the crack of the whip and raised his eyes enough to see a vicious looking flog.  It was made of three separate pieces of leather with a piece of polished metal affixed to the end of the middle strand.

Only one thought went through Keith’s mind at the sight this was going to fucking hurt.

The first strike was fire and he grabbed on to the pole in front of him to keep himself from falling over.  He felt the splinters slide in along his bloody palm, but he only gripped it harder.  Warm liquid dribbled down his back in rivulets.  At this moment, he knew that he would die.

The second strike struck him vertically and he couldn’t bite back the gasp of pain that burst from his lips.  He bit down on his lip.  If he was going to cry, it wasn’t going to be now.

The third strike surprised him.  It was so quick after the second and the piece of metal finally did what it was supposed to do.  It dug into the flesh of his back and tore a layer of skin straight from his back.

Keith glanced up, straight into Lance’s blue, blue, eyes.  Hunk was beside him trying to wipe away tears as quickly as they were coming to fruition.  Pidge didn’t cry about the tears streaming down their face.  They watched with such a fierceness in their gaze that Keith almost forgot about where he was.

Almost, until the fourth strike.  Keith saw Pidge’s lower lip tremble and he saw them mouth to him, “I can’t lose another brother.”  Shiro wasn’t looking at him.  He was looking at the person who was holding the weapon, and if looks could kill, Shiro could have committed genocide.

He was twenty percent done.  Twenty percent.  He just had to endure everything he just had four more times.  That thought brought him back to Lance’s eyes, which were so blue in their color and their feelings.  The tears only made them more vibrant.

The fifth strike descended and Keith felt the pain overtake him.

[arjyles]

i originally meant to accompany this w an art piece but i forgot to finish it so heres the fic for now

wrote this for @taylorearhardts for trimberlydwarves secret santa-- MERRY CHRISM MY DUDE!!!! HOPE U LIKE IT!!! BC I LOVE KIMZACK NOW 

-

They really couldn’t be friends without constantly pushing each others’ boundaries.

Kim 4:42pm: zack i need ur eyes and opinion

Zack 4:43pm: im not giving u fashion advice unless it’s for lingerie

Kim 4:43pm: ik ur joking but that’s deadass what i was gonna ask

Kim 4:44pm: don’t make it weird

Zack 4:44pm: no hetero right babe ;p

She rolls her eyes at his choice of words, and snaps the picture anyway. Scrolling down her list of best friends on Snapchat, she captions the photo, “no hetero x,” before selecting Zack’s name and hitting send, no pause or hesitation needed. It’s just Zack, after all.

Immediately after it’s sent, the red triangle turns white, indicating that he opens it right away. After all, there are basically no boundaries in their friendship, and if there are, they’re quickly broken, since the two of them run the reckless impulse decision kingdom.

Zack 4:49pm: it’s hot but why pink. why not black ;(

Kim 4:49pm: it’s my fav colour ok. this is lingerie for me not u

Zack 4:50pm: fine

Zack 4:50pm: is there a v-shape version of the bra tho. ur tiddies look flat in that

She grins and shakes her head at his honesty. There are about 8 more pink bras she needs his opinion on, anyway.

-

“Anyone seen Kim yet?”

“Nah, T. She wasn’t in bio?”

Trini glares at Zack’s question. “Of course not. Why else would I be asking?”

“Jeez,” Zack says, raising his hands in surrender. Trini was very protective of Kim, for some odd reason. With Kim not there, she’s especially more cranky. “Relax, dude. We can check on her. Who’s free?”

Trini’s about to volunteer, until Jason puts his hand on her shoulder, “you can’t, dude. We’ve got that math test next period,” she sighs, and Jason turns to Billy and Zack, “can one of you?”

Before Billy can say anything, Zack speaks out, “I guess I will!” he says enthusiastically, saving Billy from having to ruin his perfect attendance, “I was already gonna skip, anyway.”

“Are you sure you can?” Billy asks, looking conflicted between wanting to be a good friend and wanting to be a good student, “is it really a good idea for you to skip more classes?”

Zack waves him off, relieving the others of worrying about his grades, “yeah, it’s fine. I’ve got a spare third period anyway, and we’re only watching a movie in fourth.”

Then, he gets up from their shared lunch table to make his way to Kim’s house, leaving Billy to tutor Jason and Trini in the last bits of trig they need help with.

-

Normally, she wasn’t one to take days off like this, but her mother called her last night reminding her how she was no longer living up to her parents’ standards, and now she can’t really bring herself to leave her house.

Instead, it’s nearing 1pm and she’s still in bed, listening to her Depression Playlist™ on repeat, while watching her ceiling fan rotate over and over. She can’t tell if it’s making her dizzy, or if her head just hurt from oversleeping.

Just before she can transition from humming along to belting out the bridge of Hands Down, Chris Carrabba’s voice is interrupted by her phone ringing.

Groaning, she rolls over to check her caller ID, and is only mildly surprised to see Zack’s face grinning at her before she hits the answer button.

“What,” Kim says into her phone, sounding irritated.

“Well, hello to-” he grunts, “you too.”

Kim raises a brow at that. “Why do you sound constipated? Did you call me while you were on the shitter?”

He laughs, but it sounds slightly strained, “no. I’m scaling a building, actually.”

Kim tsks, showing her mild disapproval at his risqué antics. “Don’t scale the fucking school, Zack,” she scolds him, “you’re gonna get yourself expelled and Zordon’s gonna murder your ass for taking advantage of your powers.”

There’s a brief pause on the phone, like he’s readjusting his stance to a more ergonomically proper way of climbing, “who said I was scaling the school?”

“What building are you scaling?” She asks, slightly worried that he might be putting himself in danger. Well, as much danger as a ranger can face. “Zack, what the fuck.”

He giggles again, sounding like a giddy school girl, “here’s a hint,” he says, and she can basically see the grin on his face through the phone, “open your window to find out. NOT CLICKBAIT.”

And then it clicks. (ha ha get it) She looks over to her window only to see one set of fingers on the outside sill, where Zack must’ve been dangling from.

“Why haven’t you at least pulled yourself up?”

“Because-” he grunts again, probably shifting his hand a little bit so he can get more comfortable, “my booty is poppin’ way too hard to fit onto the ledge. Let me in, Kim!”

She sighs exasperatedly before pulling the covers off herself to make her way towards the window. Once there, she glances down at the boy still hanging on with one arm, a phone in his other.

He waves at her with the phone-hand, before putting his phone back to his mouth, “so are you gonna let me in, or nah?”

She grins at him and shrugs, “I wish I could, but I have a screen on my window.”

His face drops. “Are you serious?”

“No, I just wanted to see how long you could hang onto that.”

“Probably forever-- I’m that buff,” he says, winking at her, “but someone might see me.”

She reaches over to open the window, but pauses, “to be fair, you’re in my backyard.”

“Kim,” he pleads with her, his voice cracking. “C’mon.”

“Fine,” she relents, but not before dramatically sighing and hanging up, as if all of this was physically taxing on her.

She unlocks the window and pushes it open, watching as Zack pockets his phone and pulls himself up, landing ungracefully onto her floor face first. Despite the fall, he still comes back up smiling.

“So, what’s up, Kimmy? You good?” He asks, while toeing his shoes off before Kim can give him shit for it. He was really the only one of her friends who did that automatically, the other rangers being absolute heathens, wearing shoes indoors. “Why’d you stay in?”

“Honestly,” she sighs, grabbing his hand and leading him to her bed and he lies next to her, like it’s routine, “I’m not feeling the best right now.”

He hums, and she can feel the vibrations from his chest. Then she feels his hand come up to her forehead, and he presses it there for a minute.

“You seem okay, though. Is it a different kind of sickness?”

She purses her lips. They never really hide anything from each other. If they didn’t know something about each other, it’s probably because they just forgot to tell the other.

This time, though, Kim feels a little bit of hesitance.

“Yeah, kind of,” she says instead.

He doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting for her to elaborate.

“Just, y’know…” She clears her throat, trying to decide if this is something she can share with him. “Good ol’ depression, hittin’ me up.”

He’s silent again. Kim feels like she’s finally found the boundary between them that she shouldn’t have crossed.

“Depression?” He finally questions, and Kim holds her breath still for whatever he’s about to say next, “isn’t that just a fancy word for feeling ‘bummed out?’”

Relieved, she feels her heartbeat relax, and grins against his shoulder. “Dwight, you ignorant slut.”

He chuckles at that, and waits a minute before asking, “so, do you want me to go, or can I stay?”

“You can stay, but only if I can paint your nails.”

“Do you have Vantablack?”

-

“Sorry I wasn’t there yesterday. I really wanted to be.”

“It’s okay, I get it,” Kim says, and she really means it. She runs through the combination on her lock again-- it’s a little rusty, “Zack was more than enough.”

Trini nods, and Kim takes that as her cue to accept that they’re done with the topic, and takes her textbooks out of their shared locker to shove them haphazardly into her backpack.

She’s about to ask Trini how her math test went yesterday, when Zack’s familiar voice greets the two of them.

“Hey, Trini,” he says, ruffling her hair, then, “hey Kimmy.”

But before Kim can even get a ‘hey’ out, Zack is ducking quickly and throwing Kim over his shoulder so she’s squealing loudly as he tickles her sides.

It isn’t anything new, the two of them were the most physical and touchy people on the team, but with how loud and obnoxious they’re being, it’s almost similar to how the couples Kim rolls her eyes at in the hallway act when they do major PDA.

Regardless, she can’t care less about her reputation.

“Put me down, Zack!” She giggles, her bag on the floor, now forgotten.

“I will, if I get this one thing wrong,” he promises, and there’s suddenly a mischievous undertone to his voice that worries Kim only slightly.

“What is it?” She asks, despite herself.

He pokes at her side once more so she’s laughing again, “you’re wearing that pink bralette you sent me, aren’t you?”

“Oh my God,” Kim laughs, and hopes Trini isn’t still there to hear that, “fuck you.”

Then the bell rings, but Zack doesn’t even drop Kim-- he just picks up her backpack off the floor and slings it over his shoulder, continuing to carry her to Trini and Kim’s bio class.

She feels a slight pleasure at the confused looks some people give her on the way— the question, ‘are you two together?’ written on their faces.

It’s just Zack, she reminds herself, trying not to think about why she gets a warm feeling from the thought of her and Zack being together.

-

They’re on their way to the quarry, Kim sandwiched between Billy and Trini, while Jason drives, and Zack sits in shotgun.

Kim originally intends to sit next to Zack, who unintentionally ruins that plan by calling shotgun before anybody else can.

She’s perfectly content with getting to sit next to Trini, however, even though she’s recently had a sudden wave of warm appreciation for the black ranger.

After that first period in the morning, Zack had carried Kim from every class so that her feet had basically never touched the halls of their school that day because ‘princesses should be treated as such.’

They were both not shy about touching, but it was the first time Zack had been that extra about their physicality, and Kim found herself grinning wide from how grateful she was that he was trying so hard to cheer her up after her day off the day before.

Finally, Jason pulls up to the quarry, and before she can even get her seatbelt off, Zack says, “last one there has to finally wear black underwear!”

Jesus Christ. What is it with that boy and underwear?

Meanwhile, the other three rangers aren’t phased by this comment, instead moving at a speed that showed no indication they felt threatened by this challenge.

Kim tries to be patient, she really does, but Billy and Trini were moving so slow, and knowing Trini would mind  less  about the sudden contact, she unbuckles her belt quickly, not even bothering to wait for Trini to exit the car so she can climb over the smaller girl in an attempt to beat Zack to the pit. It’s pretty clear the race is only meant to be between the two of them.

She catches up quickly, the taller boy having tripped earlier on the mud.

“So if I win, what do I get?”

“Me in pink underwear,” he smirks, and trips Kim before running ahead.

-

Zack wins, but only because he had a head start and cheated. Or at least, that’s what Kim tells herself as she wrings the water out of her hair while glaring at the cheater.

“You did me dirty, Taylor,” she says, attempting to unstick her wet shirt from her body.

He grins. “How else am I going to do you, Hart?”

She narrows her eyes at him, and he only shrugs.

They make their way over to the ship, all the while side eying each other, another unspoken race in the midst.

“I win,” Zack says, and then smugly adds on, “again.”

“Um,” she starts, trying to imitate her lawyer mother’s tone in court, “we didn’t even say that was a race,” she points out, knowing full well if she beat him she would’ve said the same thing.

He scoffs, “whatever. Potato, poh-tah-to.”

But Kim is already stripping quickly, trying to change before Zack can. Everything is always a competition between the two of them.

Zack, only now noticing what she’s doing, quickly throws his shirt over his head and makes a grab for his dry shirt.

Kim stops him before he can reach it, though. “Wait, hold up,” she says, only having one leg through her pants, “I think I like you better shirtless.”

If he thinks her flirtatious behaviour is weird, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he flexes his pecs back and forth, “is it because I have better nipples than you?”

Kim rolls her eyes at him, finally finished dressing herself, “no, actually, it’s because I win.”

“Touché, Kimmy,” he remarks, looking slightly impressed.

Then there are sounds of splashing coming through, indicating the others have finally caught up.

“You lost earlier, though,” he reminds her, throwing a shirt on, ineffectively covering his nipples, since it’s so cold down there anyway, “so this Friday? You and me. Black underwear shopping. Don’t forget.”

Kim watches him walk away to greet the others, and is unable to fight the grin that forms on her face.

-

“Can we take a break?” Zack asks, answering Kim’s question about the deeper meaning of Ophelia’s death, “my brain is fried and my stomach would also like something fried.”

“I’d tell your stomach to eat your brain, but honestly, I am so sick of Shakespeare right now,” Kim agrees, cracking her back as she stands up from her bed to stretch.

“Thanks for your help, though,” Zack is sure to say again. Without Kim, it was unlikely he’d even be passing this class, let alone getting a 72.

She chuckles at his hourly need to thank her for helping him, “no problem. But what do you want? You wanna order a pizza or go to Krispy Kreme?”

“I’m not really feeling Krispy Kreme tonight,” he admits, now sick of all the donuts from there. Why the team had adopted that restaurant as their go-to, he’d never know. He didn’t even like donuts that much. “What about Burger King?”

“That’s like, on the other side of town,” she points out.

He shrugs, “yeah, but you got wheels.”

“Well, yes,” she agrees hesitantly, “but I don’t really feel like driving. We can go, but you have to drive.”

“I don’t know how to drive,” he says, and looks at her as if this should be obvious information.

Her brows furrow in shock and confusion. “What?”

“I don’t know how to drive, Kim,” he repeats, “it’s gay culture!”

“Dude, what. I can drive?”

He brushes her off. “Whatever, dude. I just never learned how. Like, how would I?” He questions, “I don’t even have a car.”

There’s a brief pause as Kim lets that sink in. Logically, it makes sense. They’re only 17, which means that they only had two years to have learned how to drive, and between taking care of his mother, and not having a car, it really should’ve been obvious.

“Okay, c’mon,” she says, finally breaking the silence to pull him up from her bed.

“Are we going to Burger King?” He asks, as he follows her to her car.

She doesn’t answer him until they’re in the car. “Yes, but I’m also gonna teach you how to drive.”

“Kim,” he starts, as he buckles in his seatbelt, “you saw me driving my Zord. Are you sure your BMW’s gonna be okay?”

She waves him off while backing out of her driveway, “shut up. You’re gonna make me not want to teach you. Let’s just see how this goes.”

-

Their bellies are full and they’ve just finished their share of mozzarella sticks and King Burger meals and are now in their empty school’s parking lot.

“Okay, so first, you probably wanna adjust the mirror to your height,” she says, the last bit of fries in her mouth, “Jesus, why are you so tall?”

He discards his burger box into the takeout bag. “Maybe you’re just short.”

“Ex-squeeze me, bitch, I’m 5’5,” she states, her hand on her chest in mock offence, “that’s the national average.”

“Whatever,” he says, and he adjusts the mirror so that he can see his rear, “there. It’s fixed.”

“Okay, good. Now start driving.”

“Wh- you didn’t even teach me how to,” he says, looking over at her in bewilderment.

Her voice is calm, and soothing, like a yoga instructors’, “just do what feels right. That’s what I do on a daily basis, if I’m honest.”

“How the fuck do you have a license?”

“I stop at stop signs-- isn’t that enough?”

He shrugs and pushes down on the pedal but the car remains still. “Why isn’t it moving?”

“Babe, you’re still on park,” she chuckles, “switch to drive.”

He looks around at all the buttons on the BMW. There are probably more in there than in his Zord. “What?” He asks, looking to her for some guidance.

“On the PRNDL.”

“The PRNDL- oh!” He exclaims, now understanding that episode of The Suite Life, “the PRNDL! I know some of these words!”

“Yes,” Kim smiles patiently at his childish antics, “now switch to ‘D.’”

“I’m always on D,” he winks.

She pauses, trying to think of a reply to that. “I’m gonna ignore that,” she says, instead, “just start slow.”

He follows her instructions, switching the function to ‘D,’ and presses lightly on the pedal. They’re only moving at 5mph.

“Good shit, good shit,” Kim says, appreciatively, “now try a little faster.”

Zack nods, and he practically stomps on the gas pedal, switching from 5mph to 90mph.

“Okay, wait, not like that, hit the brake!”

But Zack isn’t sure which pedal is the brake— there are at least three pedals, and they’re nearing the school’s dumpster.

“Which one’s the brake?” He asks, trying to decide between the 50/50.

“BITCH-!” Kim exclaims, and then she’s ducking down and hitting the brakes for him.

The car screeches to a halt, just about an inch or two away from hitting the science lab.

“Wow, good save, Kimmy,” Zack laughs, still thrilled from the close call, “but if you wanted to get on my lap you could just ask.”

She glares at him from her compromising position on his lap. “Oh my God, shut up.”

Somehow, Zack convinces her to let him try again, and by the end of the night, they’re blasting One Direction songs and singing at the top of their lungs, while drifting in their high school parking lot.

-

Kim never really lets herself think too much about something before doing it, but for some reason, when it comes to Trini, she’s always second guessing herself.

Needing a little push to help her decide whether or not this decision is a good idea or not, she quickly runs through her friends to decide who would be best at talking her through this.

Her first thought is Jason, but she quickly pushes that thought away. Things were still a little tense between them since they made out at his house that night, even though they talked about it, so asking him for his opinion on this would just ruin everything.

Billy is a sweetheart, but also a definite no. She isn’t sure if she should run the risk of making him uncomfortable.

Then there’s Zack, who… Would make total sense to ask.

Kim 9:52pm: zack can u rate my nudes idk if they’re good enough to send to tr*ni

She throws her phone back on her bed as she waits for him to text back, digging through her closet to find her cutest lacy bra, before throwing it on. It’s her most trusty piece of lingerie, always guaranteed to make the viewer drool at the sight of it.

Her text tone goes off, and she practically dives onto her bed to read it. Zack 9:55pm: only if u finally got lingerie that isn’t fuckin pink

She looks down at her current attire, and then sits up again to look back at her closet. Without having realized it, she’d slowly sifted out the other colours of lingerie she had, and now only owned pink. It isn’t like all her bras are pink, but all the cute ones are.

Kim 9:55pm: fuck

Groaning, she lies back down onto the bed dramatically, trying to figure out a solution. She needs to send these nudes tonight , or her impulse would run short and she’d have too much time to think about it for the next time. Kim 9:56pm: k wait what if there was no lingerie

His reply comes almost immediately after that.

Zack 9:56pm: .... SEND i needed these nudes like yesterday

Grinning, she strips her bra off and makes her way to the bathroom, flipping her Snapchat camera over to regular instead of selfie mode.

She dims the light slightly so it’s less bright, and uses her arms to cover her nipples, while pushing her boobs together, in the way that she knows drives her conquests to call her a ‘fuckin’ tease.’

Once satisfied with how it looks, she snaps the photo, and captions it “will this pic make trini understand im tryna get it?”

As usual, he opens it immediately, but it takes a minute for him to reply.

He snaps her back, and it’s a photo of him losing his shit, captioned “kIM NO ONE WAS READY FOR THAT HOLY SHIT!!!”

She chuckles at his reaction, and he texts her while the snap is still opened.

Zack 10:01pm: Kim holy shit ur hot

Zack 10:01pm: send that shit to trini bitch will nut on the spot!!!

Zack 10:01pm: biitcchhhh god has BLESSEDT my eyes

She throws her shirt back on, and shuts the bathroom light off, all the while still texting Zack.

Trini remains forgotten, and Kim doesn’t end up sending any more nudes that night.

-

It’s finally Friday, or the day that Zack has come to collect his winnings from Kim.

“Kim, are you ready?” He asks, as he balances precariously on her window sill, his butt not quite fitting on it.

Kim turns as he taps on the window again, and she covers herself up out of reflex, scolding him, “Zack, do I look like I’m ready?” She asks, throwing a shirt at the window to scare him.

“Let me in,” he insists, still tapping on the glass.

“No, I’m not done getting dressed,” she says, and turns her back toward him in an attempt to stay decent in front of him while changing her shirt.

“It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but still lets him in anyway, even though her shirt isn’t on yet.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling smugly, and he rubs his backside slightly. The ledge really was too small for his butt.

Finally, she gets her shirt on, and makes her way to her desk where she knows her keys are, only to find that they’re missing.

“Okay, let’s go,” Zack says, redirecting her attention to his hands as he jingles the keys, so that it’s evident that she hadn’t misplaced them. “I’m driving.”

Kim’s grinning, but shaking her head as she follows him to her car, “I knew it was a bad idea to teach you.”

“It’s for a fun surprise, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she mutters, locking the door behind her.

-

The ‘fun surprise’ turns out to just be the Victoria’s Secret at the local mall. Kim figures he was just excited to use his newfound skill of driving.

As soon as they enter the store though, Zack’s already grabbing all kinds of black bras from every section, making Kim wonder if he’d ever done this before.

“There you go,” he says, handing her at least 12 bras with their matching underwear before pushing her into the fitting room.

She glances at the first bra he’d handed her, and is surprised. He hadn’t even needed to ask for her size, but he’d grabbed the correct one for all of them.

Throwing on the first bra, she admires herself quickly in the mirror. It’s a lacy black push up bra, with a scallop cut at the bottom of it, so it accentuates her abs perfectly. She probably wouldn’t say it out loud, but Zack definitely had an eye for good lingerie.

She takes one last glance at herself to ensure everything’s in the right place, before stepping out of the dressing stall, now dressed in the complete set of underwear he’d handed her.

“If I send Trini nudes in this, do you think I could finally get it?” She asks, as soon as Zack sees her.

His jaw drops, but then he closes it and nods quickly to agree, “holy shit babe, black is your colour,” he says, still slightly dazed, “you look like such a thirst trap.”

She flushes slightly from his comment, before remembering it’s Zack. “Honestly, it’s everybody’s colour,” she says, trying to brush off the blush on her face, “black is the colour you wear when you wanna get laid-- at least, that’s what it’s like according to 10 Things I Hate About You.”

“What’s good?” he winks, gesturing to his all black outfit.  Then his face turns serious again, “if you don’t cop that shit, I’m buying it for you.”

Kim grins, delighted, “hang on, dude, there are like, a million more bras I still need to try.”

Zack sits back down, trying to relax how hyped up he was for Kim, while giving her a thumbs up, letting her know he was ready for her to continue on with the show.

She closes the door behind her once back in the stall, looking at all the equally cute sets he’d chosen, if not cuter.

It was pretty clear for Kim that she could never go underwear shopping ever again without the tall boy.

-

Kim’s in the middle of Beyoncé’s Partition when she’s suddenly reminded that she never sent Trini those nudes the other night.

Without thinking, she gets up immediately to open her bags from Victoria’s Secret, grabbing the matching set that Zack said made her a tease, because of how sheer it is.

She throws on the set— but before she can snap a picture, she texts Zack first for his approval.

Kim 9:23pm: k dude im boutta to send trini nudes in the shit we bought today lms if its a bad idea

Zack 9:24pm: nudes from u r always a good idea tf flaunt what u have while u still have it get it sis!!!!!

Zack 9:24pm: but also. i have eyes so dont forget to send them to me too ;p

Kim laughs at his response. Of course she will. It’s not even a question at this point. But she quickly gets back to business.

She lies back down onto her bed and covers the lower half of her body with her blanket, just slightly above her bellybutton. Her right arm extends as she flips her Snapchat camera over to selfie mode, and she’s sure to crop out her face from the shot, using her left index finger to push down on her lower lip as she smirks at the camera. She adjusts her bralette once more to ensure her nipples are on optimal display before snapping the photo and captioning it, “translucent nipples bc u don’t deserve to see the real thing yet.”

She selects Zack’s name, then hesitantly adds on Trini’s, and hits send before she can overthink it.

Zack opens his immediately, while Trini’s is still left unread.

Zack 9:31: holy shit

Zack 9:31pm: ur such a fuckin tease

Zack 9:32pm: ur nipples still remain a mystery but at least now i know they exist

Kim 9:33pm: just take my word for it dude my nipples are perfect

Zack 9:33pm: ill believe it when i see it

Zack 9:33pm: anyway what did tr*ni say

She flips back over from her texts to Snapchat, only to see that it’s still unread.

Kim 9:34pm: idk she hasn’t opened it yet tf

Kim 9:35pm: pls keep talkin to me though i can’t keep thinking about it or im gonna get nervous

Zack 9:36pm: dont be nervous tf!! bitch is gonna nut to that pic but if she doesn’t hey baby what’s good

Kim smiles at that, despite the vulgarity of the sentence. He’s always been good at distracting her.

Kim 9:36pm: thx so much ily wtf

Kim 9:36pm: bitch still hasn’t replied yet!! tf is she doin it’s been 5 mins

Zack 9:37pm: ik ilyt x

She tries to ignore the fluttering in her stomach after that text. It’s probably just nerves building up about Trini.

Zack 9:37pm: wow i can’t believe T is rly out there having a life

Kim 9:38pm: jks she just opened it lmao im not freaking out

Zack 9:39pm: omg ok dw it’s just trini

Kim sighs. Right. Just Trini. There’s nothing to be nervous about.

She paces around her room for a bit, trying not to think too hard about what Trini’s reply might be, before she decides to abandon her phone for a bit while she goes to pick up a glass of water from her kitchen.

Trying not to rush back, she takes her time going back up the steps to her room.

All this is pointless, though, because once she crosses the threshold in her room, she’s diving onto her bed to check her Snapchat.

Opened 5 minutes ago, it reads, under Trini’s name. Kim feels her heart sink.

Kim 9:43pm: trini isn’t replying i don’t think she was ready for the nudes

Zack 9:44pm: wtf T.., i thought she had eyes

Zack 9:44pm: mayb she’s busy tho

Zack 9:45pm: lmAo can u imagine if u sent her nudes while she was babysitting that would suck haHa

Kim breathes a sigh of relief at that. Right. Maybe Trini’s just not in a position to reply to a picture like that.

Kim 9:46pm: omfg do u think i did., rip

Zack 9:46pm: how inconsiderate

Kim 9:46pm: fuck man im emo why can’t she take the hint

Zack 9:47pm: just let it marinate she’s the kind of person u need to b direct to

She frowns at that. Kim is used to playing games— it was basically cheerleading code, back in her day.

Figuring Zack is right, though, Kim accepts it, quickly getting a vague idea on how to be more straightforward.

Kim 9:48pm: tru I’ll tell her on monday i wanna have her babies

Zack 9:49pm: sounds good

-

It’s third turning fourth period on Monday, and Kim has a spare last period, but she tells Ms. Appleby that there’s a cheerleading meeting to get her out of third period early.

She’s been out of the squad for months, but it’s pretty clear the teacher has other things to worry about than high school drama, since she lets Kim out anyway.

Now, she’s pacing outside of Trini and Jason’s math class, watching the clock on her phone as the period comes to an end.

She only has to wait about two minutes after the bell rings for Trini and Jason to walk out together, the two still talking about whatever lesson they’d just shared.

“Hey, T,” Kim says, not even caring that she’s interrupting Jason’s questions about trinomials, “can I talk to you?”

Trini gives her a weird look, but nods anyway, “what’s… up?” She asks, looking confused by how much of a psycho Kim probably looks like right now.

Kim side eyes Jason for a second, before turning back to the smaller ranger, “privately?”

The yellow ranger shifts her questioning gaze to Jason, who only shrugs at her. “Um, okay,” she agrees hesitantly, letting Jason take her books to their next shared class together.

“Great,” Kim smiles, before grabbing her hand and leading her to the parking lot.

She doesn’t have a game plan yet, but her car seems like a private enough place to have this conversation.

-

The doors to her BMW slam shut, and the two girls sit in silence for a good five minutes.

“So…” Kim starts, finally breaking the silence, “how’s it going?”

“What?” Trini says, flatly, so that it doesn’t sound like a question.

Kim doesn’t notice, though. She’s too nervous. “Like what’s up? The weather is nice, isn’t it?”

It isn’t. It looks like it’s about to rain.

“Um, I guess,” Trini says, and wanting to cut to the chase, she asks, “Kim, what were you gonna talk to me about?”

The taller girl breathes slowly, trying to calm herself down. “Just,” Inhale.“ Gimme a second,” exhale. “I need to hype myself up.”

“... For what?”

“Um,” Kim chuckles nervously, shifting her body slightly so she’s fully facing Trini, “I thought I’d be way smoother about this.”

She’s by no means a patient person, but Kim is being uncharacteristically jittery, so whatever she has to say has to be big. “What is it?”

Kim doesn’t answer her, instead choosing to lean over the console and cup Trini’s cheek.

But before she can come any closer, Trini stops her, “what are you doing?”

“What…” Kim trails off, face redder than she ever lets herself be in public, “I’m sorry, I thought-“

“-it’s okay,” Trini interrupts, seeming to take pity on the usually confident girl stumbling over herself, “you didn’t think wrong.”

Kim is even more confused. “Oh. Then why-?”

“-because I don’t think you do.”

“What?”

Trini laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “Listen, Kim, I like you a lot and everything, but I don’t think you know what you want.”

“... what?” Trini isn’t making sense anymore. It’s like the more she tries to explain herself, the more confused Kim gets.

“If you still feel this way in a week, we can try again, but, I’m sorry, dude, I’m not one of your impulsive decisions.”

And with that last sentence, the shotgun door is slamming, and Kim’s watching Trini head back to class.  

She sits in alone in the car for at least twenty minutes, before finally turning on the ignition, still trying to figure out what the fuck all that meant.

-

She spends a good few hours at her personal pool at the mines before heading home to shower, trying to clear her mind of how she was just rejected.

But the therapy doesn’t do much, and she’s dying to talk about it.

Figuring he’s settled himself at home comfortably by now, Kim texts Zack.

Kim 6:55pm: i told trini at school today that I liked her and then she told me i didnt know what i wanted

Zack 6:57pm: what’d u say

Kim 6:58pm: ok well tbh I didn’t say anything I just tried to kiss her

Zack 6:58pm: lol wtf she ain’t got the clue still??  

Kim 6:59pm: ya idk.., she said she didnt wanna be one of my impulsive decisions so is that a rejection

It’s a genuine question. The tiny girl did say she could try again next week.

Zack 7:00pm: idk what that means dude. cant relate

Kim frowns. She hoped he’d have an answer for her or something.

Zack 7:00pm: everything i do is just bc i felt like doin it at that exact moment. T kinda thinks things out more

She nods along to that. She’s the same.

Briefly, she thinks about how Trini rejecting her made her feel today, and types in a few paragraphs before erasing each one.

Finally, she settles on her last paragraph, figuring Zack will understand what she means. He always does, anyway, even when she doesn’t have the words to explain.

Kim 7:05pm: tru.,, is it bad that i dont feel that sad about her rejecting me. I just mainly feel emo about how i couldn’t make out with her today.

Zack 7:06pm: ngl thats kinda fuckt but relatable

Kim 7:07pm: I just haven’t done it in so long im dying., my lips are like “where is another. i need to be moisturized by somebody else’s saliva”

Zack 7:08pm: Honestly S A ME

Kim 7:08pm: wait that gives me an idea

-

Anyone else would be nervous, but Zack isn’t really worried about the possibility of Kim showing up on his doorstep to make out with him. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it or anything, but the two of them run on impulse. He isn’t really one to overthink. It’s just Kim.

He’s in the middle of a game of 2048 when there’s a knocking on his door.

“Hey, Kim-“ he greets her as he opens his door, but before he can even finish his sentence, the girl in question jumps him, and he stumbles backward slightly, not quite registering what’s happening.

She wraps her legs around his waist, her arms coming around his neck, and it takes him a little while to register that Kimberly Hart is kissing him, and he still hasn’t made any move to kiss her back.

He quickly remedies this dilemma by shutting the door with his foot and placing his hands on her ass, trying to support some of her weight for her. Once sure of her comfortability, he lets himself melt into the kiss, and Kim responds enthusiastically, her tongue slipping into his mouth.

They stay that way for a few seconds, until he feels her grind slightly on his abs, and he sets her down onto the counter so he can kiss her neck.

“Is this okay?” Kim asks once her mouth is free, and he almost laughs at how belated the question seems— she’s already sporting a dark purple hickey on her neck.

“I don’t know,” he grins, and she frowns at him, “what underwear are you wearing?”

She rolls her eyes at him playfully before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Take my shirt off to find out. Not clickbait.”

[vampbait-a]

|| Cemetery Roses || ch. 5

|| co-written with @cynaram      Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4]

The full moon lay obscured by heavy clouds. Laurelai waited, lying catlike along the top of one of the arches surrounding the fountain. She wore a crown of roses upon her raven mane, one arm folded beneath her cheek as she watched the gates.

“Mademoiselle.” Cabal’s footsteps were soft in the litter of leaves and dry grass that covered the flagstones of the cemetery path. “I trust you are fully recovered?” He set his Gladstone bag on the ground.

"Monsieur Cabal!" Laurelai perked up when she saw the scientist, happy to see him. She leapt from the arch and landed neatly- bounding over to meet him.

"You came! And you have a new tie! What's in the bag?"  She still wore the crown of roses, another in her hand. Laurelai offered the wreath to Cabal, practically bouncing. "Did you bring the chessboard?"

“The bag holds my working kit.  Tools. Supplies.”  It also included a sandwich and a flask of lemonade, but Cabal’s dignity was just foolish enough to make him omit them from his list.  “It does not include the chessboard.  The chessboard is too large to fit in the bag. How can you tell I have a new cravat?”

"It is darker than your jacket." Although disappointed about the chessboard, Laurelai was still happy to see him. She rose on tip-toe and placed the rose crown on his head- the black blooms fitting neatly around the homburg's brim.

"I missed you."

That made Cabal frown. Or it might have; the expression blended smoothly with the perplexity on his face when he inspected his hat’s adornment. He propped it on the marble brow of an industrial millionaire whose fainting form was being hoisted heavenward by a team of angels.  

He had enquired after her health.  There was no excuse for thinking of Laurelai as fragile; it was dangerous.  He started into the speech he had prepared on the train. “If we are to work together, we must clarify our terms, Mademoiselle.  What we are doing, and why.”

"We are being friends, because the nights are long and lonely?" Laurelai was hopeful, though she did not like the statue wearing the crown she had made.  She took her own off and sat down upon the fountain edge, plucking at the petals. She looked almost demure.

Had she done something wrong? He was so fickle! Laurelai sighed, looking down at the roses in her lap.

"I promised already, no?"

“What may be enough of an understanding for a game of chess is not enough for this.”  He doubted this choice again.  He should find a professional medium.  But would he find another as strong?  And could he expose this to another stranger?

“I do not doubt your promise, but in my experience, the best cooperation is based upon self-interest. What service may I provide in return? Friendship,” he said it gingerly, “is your word, not mine, and it is not a service.”

"But you do doubt me. You just said that." Laurelai seemed piqued, and crossed her arms as she peered at Cabal. What was this need for reassurance? He was still alive, was he not?

"If you would prefer self-interest over my offer of friendship-" Laurelai was suddenly very close; poised with a feather-light touch of her palm at the back of his neck, her lips at his ear. "Then I desire blood. Yours."

A chill ran down Cabal’s back from her hand on his neck, but he ignored the provocation. “You do not desire it very much, or you would have taken it at our first meeting.” He made an irritable gesture. “Can you really be so naïve? Do you really know what I am asking you to do? What might the costs be? Laurelai, you do not know me, my ambitions, my methods, but you wish us to be friends. I am bewildered.”

Regardless of his stoicism, Laurelai could hear Cabal’s heart give a little leap. Whether from fear or stress she could not be certain and did not care. She growled, her breath cool against his skin. It was tempting to bite: to show this infuriating human that she was not to be trifled with. He still equated her to human women.

“You call me naïve, and yet it is you who cannot understand.” Laurelai whispered to Cabal, laughing lowly as she released him from his embrace. “I know better than you the pain this summoning causes. I know better than you how to speak to ghosts.” She looked him up and down, her hands on her hips. “You know how to be as a human. I could learn from you, there are many things we could do together. Either trust in my loyalty or do not waste my time.”

Her growl was like a nail drawn down his nerves, and he didn't like the laugh, either. Cabal was relieved when she stepped back. He shivered. He watched her. His resolve was flagging; at least she claimed to know the risks. “Learning humanity? You would do better to ask my brother. I have little interest.”

Laurelai rolled her eyes. “Humanity. From a vampire.” She shook her head. “Is it really so hard for you to believe that someone might like you for who you are?”

“I would find it easier to believe if you knew anything about me. You will not find me full of easy sympathies and professions of friendship. I tell you plainly; I have been called hard, and cold, and cruel. I would say that I am driven, and I have little time for indulgences.” That had been easy to say. This was harder. “But I do not mistrust you, Laurelai. Nor do I have personal objections to you. I would be grateful for your assistance, if you will give it on these terms. I do need and want your help, but I can only be what I am.”

“Oui, you are right that we have only just met. But perhaps you had not considered that I might find you intriguing? Perhaps if you allowed me to get to know you....” Laurelai shrugged. If he wanted to make logical arguments, she could banter all night. “I know what I see. Have I lied to you? No. But you still either think I am an animal, or that I am stupid. Cruelty? I lure men with promises of my kiss, and eat their hearts in front of their dying eyes. I toy with the ones who would call themselves killers: those who would prey upon me. Am I dangerous?”  She held her hands out to him, palm-up as she rocked back upon the fountain. Overhead, the clouds had grown darker and the air felt fat with an impeding downpour. “Would you prefer I judge you based off of what those others think of you, or upon your own merits?”

"You will judge as you like.” The rain was about to bring an end to this conversation, and maybe that was for the best.  “Assuredly you are dangerous. But,” he said more lightly, “I do not play chess with idiots or animals, Mademoiselle.” He hoped she would accept that as apology for whatever had angered her. He felt like he had run a sprint, and he was not much clearer on how they were to proceed, except for a feeling that she was likely to have her way.

“Hm.” Laurelai might have smiled; it was difficult to see without moonlight. “So it seems we understand each other, at least on this point.”

The wind had begun to rise, and Laurelai’s curls danced around her shoulders. The first fat drops fell. She stood, wrinkling her nose in displeasure at the sky. “I will help you, if you still wish it. But s'il vous plaît, would you try explaining your motivation instead of trying to bribe me with these silly agreements? And come inside; I do not like to get wet.”

“Inside?” Cabal looked around, wondering if he'd missed a gazebo or a tomb with a sheltered doorstep. There was nowhere except - oh.

It was then that the sky decided to open- not with a blessed reprieve but with the sort of heavy, cold rain that England was famous for. Laurelai squeaked, jumped off the fountain, and motioned for him to follow. "This way! Merde!"

He followed her through the cemetery as the storm pelted down. She led him through the thorns until the walls of the chapel loomed above them.

Laurelai paused beneath the small awning over the chapel door and looked over her shoulder at Cabal. The hinges did not squeak as she pushed the aged wood inward, nor was the floor inside dusty. It was, however, impenetrably dark.

Laurelai disappeared within.  Cabal cast a glance behind him, into the wind-tossed cemetery, and he followed the llamia into her home.

A cool palm pressed to Cabal's chest in the darkness, the scent of roses rising from her hair. "I just remembered that you cannot see. Wait here, I will make light." Her hand withdrew, and for a moment the chapel was silent. Then, some twenty feet away, a rustling as Laurelai located several candles and sought her matches. Outside, a crack of thunder rattled the roof as a simultaneous burst of lightning struck nearby the fountain- illuminating all in blue-white before plunging them in darkness again.

A moment later, Laurelai struck a match. She stood beside the disused altar, lighting candles atop the bare stone. Between them lay the reason for her concern: had he taken but three steps further, he might have fallen down uneven stone stairs- sunken in opposing slopes. As she moved about the wide space, pews were revealed. Every conceivable surface in the chapel, including the ceiling, had been decorated with the things Laurelai thought of as treasures.

It seemed smaller from the inside, as such structures always did.  The incredible profusion of things contributed. Cabal saw she had a fondness for skulls, at least as window treatments.

Laurelai was perhaps not as wild as she seemed, though her collection might have suited a magpie.

"Can you see better now?" she was using one candle to light the others now, and walked back down the isle towards Cabal.

“Yes. How long have you lived here?” The room sparkled in the dim light; there was glass, jewelry, boxes spilling wallets and small items, tinkling ampoules in silver paper.  The scent of roses was everywhere, as were the petals: in fresh drifts or dried and crisp underfoot.  There was no refuse, he saw now.  The aisles were clear, and a path led to a clearing around a stove. Beyond that, the remaining pews barricaded the rearmost exit in a broken, leaning pile.

"A little under five years. Before that, I wandered." Laurelai had nothing to hide about her past: Cabal knew more about it than she did. She held the candle delicately in her left hand, reaching out with her right to offer him assistance down the treacherous stairs.

"Do you like it? These are my things." She was proud- who wouldn't be of such beauty?

Cabal dashed the raindrops off his hat and coat in the narthex and began a slow circuit of the room.  “It is very attractive,” he said honestly.  While there were elements of the macabre, the dull glitter of the room caught the imagination.  Odd items peeked from shadows - a key, a new pocket watch, a pretty rosette of unusual banknotes, a doll dressed in gold lace.  

He wandered down the aisle and up the chancel stairs, faintly amused at the her house-proud demeanor.  “And these screens are original to the building-?”  Cabal would have disdained to offer a polite interest in a human home, but there was a kind of scientific interest to this space, the storehouse and home of a llamia.

Laurelai had placed the candle she held in a pool of hot wax upon the stone alter. She turned when Cabal spoke, her eyes going wide as he peeked past the screen at her nest-bed.

Blurring into motion, she blocked his view and bared her fangs. Her primary incisors had extended; neither the lower or flanking canines appeared to grow.

"We would have to be very much more than friends for me to take you to bed, Monsieur Cabal." She reminded herself to be diplomatic. He was her guest, after all.

Ashes-of-roses silk lay in a rippling swathe over a soft surface.  Small shaded lamps hung at intervals walls and living roses grew outside the screen, shedding their fragrance over the spot. He caught only a glimpse before there was a breeze and his line of sight was obscured by Laurelai extending her arms protectively in front of what he belatedly realized must be her bed.  

She must sometimes bring her… dietary paramours?  He remembered the near-graze of her teeth a few minutes ago and felt another chill down his back.  He backed away as the blood mounted his cheeks.  “I apologize.  I hadn’t realized….  My brother prefers a coffin,” he offered weakly.

"Coffins are terrible for sleeping, and impossible to ...how do you say? Take a lover." Laurelai was bemused by Cabal's blush, and she allowed her gaze to wander his lean figure. Briefly, she wondered what he would look like beneath her- that tie askew.

Laurelai caught herself before the reverie went further, and gestured to the table.

"I prefer featherdown. But sit, you were going to ask me for something."

Cabal’s mental control was very good.  In a line of work in which one will bump up against the uncanny, even the squamous, the ability to resist stray fancies is a survival trait.  

This was the first time he had required himself to apply it against the idea of a silk-lined coffin containing an inconvenienced llamia and her hapless flavor-of-the-day.  He was about to hastily deny being about to ask her anything at all when he remembered that they did, in fact, have business.  “…Yes.  Yes, may we sit?”

"Oh, don't look so upset, cherè. I would not invite you to bed unless you wanted to be there." Laurelai winked, smiled, laughed softly and gestured to the folding metal chairs and table. He was not a bad looking man, and she was confident that -if he desired- she could put a relaxed smile on his usually sour lips.

She sat down and crossed her legs, leaning on elbows against the tabletop.

“Ghosts,” said Cabal, with an air of forcefully changing the subject.  He let out a very small sigh.  “Ghosts.  I would like to hear more of ghosts who converse with the living.”  He had his notebook out again.  “How common is it?  Are they aware of their circumstances?”

"You want to know about Frank?" Laurelai glanced off towards the side, her mouth turning downwards as she glared at someone who was not there. Then she shrugged and sat back in her chair.

"He follows me, the bastard." she grumbled, and flinched as if hearing an answer. "He is aware, oui." she turned to the ghost. "I swear that if you do not shut up, Frank, I will find a way to make your existence even worse!"

“Let us start with Frank, then.  He knows he is dead?”

Laurelai winced as if someone had shouted right behind her head. "Oui."

“Is his mind or memory limited?  Is there any difference between what he was in life and what he is now?"

Laurelai turned and looked expectantly at the ghost, seeming to listen.

"He says he remembers, and that yes, the difference is... oh fuck you Frank!" Laurelai made a rude gesture, and turned back around.

"He says something I will not repeat. It is rude, and unimportant." she sighed. "Not all ghosts are a strong as he. He just wants to kill me."

“Have you met others who can converse, who seem aware of their surroundings?"

"Oui. Not many. The ones who are kept here by their own choosing are stronger."

Laurelai was obviously piqued by her own specter, and was trying not to drip venom on Cabal as a result. "Do you know how to make them go away?"

“In theory, one can resolve whatever problem is binding them to the plane.”  Cabal had also found launching them into eldritch maws to answer on one occasion.  “Have you ever known that to happen?”

"I do not know, but I am not interested in finishing Frank's issues."

[-shut up 'e lousy cunt an' off ye'self so I can 'ave me white light!-]

Laurelai sighed, smiled apologetically at Cabal, and threw one of the unlit candles at the area where the ghost was sitting. Mercifully, the ghost ceased it’s ranting.

"But I have not tried. Mostly I ignore them, so they do not follow me. I was not so lucky with Frank. He was my first kill."

“Have you known ghosts’ level of intelligence to change?  Have you known them to become more or less self-aware?”

"I do not know what happens when they take me." Laurelai frowned, unhappy that she could not give him a better answer.  "Do you wish me to speak with her? She is adamant, this night."

“No.  Wait.”  He needed more time, more information.  “You have seen many ghosts, though; spoken to them.  What of them, do they change?”

"What do you mean?" Laurelai had seen many strange things. "Do you mean the ones who become angry?"  She seemed distracted; her eyes moving to Cabal's left.

“I mean, if you know them over time, do they….  Adamant? She expresses an opinion?  How?”

Laurelai was staring at a spot just above Cabal's left shoulder. She did not blink, lips parting to answer his question.

Instead of speaking, she tipped forward in her chair- slumping as if unconscious.

The air held a static charge; the room growing colder.

“Laurelai,” he said, though he knew she wouldn’t hear.  Had she assented to the possession that was surely coming?  He hadn’t felt the drop in temperature before.  Did that mean anything?  He prepared himself, as best he could, for the interview he knew was coming.

"Why do you always pick the coldest nights to sneak out? Sometimes I swear you don't think about anyone but yourself,"

It was not Laurelai who answered, the blue eyes revealed as her head lifted belonging to someone else entirely. A familiar frown pouted, hands grasping the backs of her arms.

"Father doesn't want me to see you anymore."

Cabal closed his eyes for a moment.  He remembered this, of course.  It had made him angry; what had not, except for her?  This time, he asked quietly, “and what do you want?”

"I love you, Johannes," This was not how history had proven, and for a moment she was without words as her expression softened. "I want you to be happy. I'm tired of all the fighting."

Hearing her say she loved him was like a hell-granted wish. It was precisely what he had sold his soul to regain, but this was not what he wanted. What would he have said then? He abandoned the effort; he didn't care. “I will be happy when we are together.” He stared at the tabletop. “It's a long time to wait, but I will work so hard to make it shorter.”

“You say that, but you won't even look at me." Her hand reached out, clasping his knee. She seemed more possessed of awareness and movement, her expression sad as she searched his face. "What does hard work matter if you cannot be happy? I'm tired of the fighting, I'm tired of being locked away all the time because of it, and you- working yourself to the bone. I can't stand to see you like this, Johannes. It has to stop." she sighed. "He doesn't listen to me, anyway, Father."

“I'm sorry.” His hand covered hers immediately. It was not hers. It was Laurelai’s hand, lean and taloned, but the touch was Berenice’s, the way she turned her palm in his to grasp his hand, thumb gently stroking his skin. He looked at her, at Laurelai’s face. “I thought father might let me go to university a year early. He didn’t. Maybe if I'd agreed to make it law school…. It doesn't matter.” His face softened. “I love to study. You know that. It kept me away from girls, you said. In a few years we won't have to listen to them. Are you saying you cannot wait?”  What did he think he was doing? What was the purpose of this? This was not Berenice, not really.

“This isn’t about your study, and you know it.” Her brow furrowed, and there was that telltale hitch in her voice as if she might cry. Looking down, she covered his hand with her other- the touch cool. “He’s taking me to America with him at the end of the summer, love.” Her shoulders shook; borrowed eyes tearing up red. “And nothing you or I can say or do will change that. We have to accept it.”

“This has been so hard for you.” He hadn't seen it then.  What could he say to ease her mind?  “Let the old ogre think he's separated us. He cannot. Unless you plan to remain there and be a cowgirl, in which case I wash my hands of you.” He gave her a small smile and looked into those bloody blue eyes. “America or Lausanne, they would have sent you away regardless. I will find a way to see you. Don't give up, Bea. I will never, ever.”

“Even if he makes me move to the furthest mountaintop, my heart is yours,” her shoulders hitched in a little sob, and she wiped at her tears- red smudging pale cheeks and palm. The color caught her notice, and she stared at it for a moment in shock. “Johannes...? why am I bleeding..?”

Berenice, no. "It is not your blood," he said quietly. "Forget it. I will take care of everything. We will write, when you are in America?”

She saw the blood on her hands, the dark leather clothes. She touched her hair, standing- shaking. “Bärchen?” Fear now showed in those eyes, and she reached out to him. “Where am I?”

He found himself standing, putting calming hands on her shoulders, kissing her brow. If he had decided to do it, he might not have been able; it was so unfamiliar, so old and forgotten. He rested his cheek on hers, put his arms around her. “It is a strange thing. But you are safe. You are with me, my love. Trust me” What was he doing? He ignored the question.

“I’m cold,” Trembling like a leaf, she folded against his chest, her tears wetting his face. Her hands pressed to his sides, and she gasped softly beneath his ear, returning his kiss. “I love you….” Her hands fell away from his sides as the damp scent of a river overcame that of roses. She had fled, and Laurelai sagged heavily against Cabal.

Cabal’s chest expanded and contracted erratically. “I love you.” There was a clean wet track through the smudge of the llamia’s tears on his cheek.

She was gone.

Laurelai’s body was heavy.

“Mademoiselle?” He heard the crack in his voice. She was limp. There was nowhere to put her, except the floor, and she would need to recover.  He had to get away from here. Throwing llamia etiquette to the winds, he placed her in her exquisite bed. If the dawn came, it was the safest spot.

“Laurelai.”

She slept or swooned, her cheeks bloody with tears. Still shaking with reaction, he took his bag and departed through the main doors of the chapel.

[feministfanfictionbyclaudia]

Fanfiction Number 9: The Maze Runner

The following characters, settings and some scenes are copyright to James Dashner. The rest is purely out of my imagination and is completely fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. In this and the following pieces I am making a statement, but it is nothing that is meant to offend anyone.

As I get deeper and deeper into my genius hour project, I am finding troublesome moments while finding the ‘Feminist-based’ problem and what book. If you have a book you really want me to write about DM me on Instagram (@feministfanfictionbyclaudia)  or contact me on the contact button on the website. The books by now should be less known but still well-known (such as ‘The Book Thief, which I will be doing for one of the next fanfics) and should be appropriate for children ages 11+.  

For the next two weeks when I am on Spring Break, I will have loads of free time to write so there will be more and more coming out over the course of the next two weeks. But when I get back to school, I will publish at least once a week and I will try to write about the books you ask me to.  

I don’t even know what to say. I don’t think anyone even knows what to say. I look at the boys surrounding the table. “What?”  I say astounded by their action to not contradict Gally.

“You’re just going to let him do this to me, because I’m a girl?”

Gally has a smug look on his face and comes over, putting his hand on my shoulder, I shrug him off. “It’s for your own good.”  

“What do you even mean by that?” I snap.  

“What I mean is that I’m not going to let you go out there and risk us beating them. I believe that everyone in this room agrees that you will disrupt our chances at winning.” He smiles at me, a smile of pity. “And besides, we all know you don’t want to chip a nail or burn your hair off.”  

“IT’S PRACTICALLY CAPTURE THE FLAG!” I yell. “What could possibly happen that will end in me, and only me chipping a nail and burning my hair off?”  

“Now, sweetheart, don’t get all hysterical on me.” I want to ask him if that’s really his version of hysterical. But I don’t. “It’s not at all Capture the Flag, it is a war over territory. And besides, you said it yourself it’s not important-”

“That is not at all what I said, and you know it.” I scowl. “Ninety-nine per cent of Group B is girls and they’re all competing. So why can’t I?”  

“Because, they only have one person who can help them win so they may as well help him win. He’s their only hope, honestly, if I were him, I wouldn’t let them compete, it's going to distract while I claim, ‘No Man’s Land’.”  

I turn to Thomas. “You aren’t going to say anything?”  

He looks at me and has this confident expression on his face. “Gally, you can’t actually decide if she’s going to do it or not.”  

“I represent the runners.”  

“No, you don’t, and you know that yourself.” Thomas takes a step forward, and I can tell something bad is going to happen. And it’s like in a second all the attention is completely off of me and on to Thomas, which is the perfect distraction. I slowly walk to the back of the room closer to the door Gally is standing in front of, and ever so quietly back out of the room.  

I take off in a sprint to the border in between land A and No Man’s Land. Only yards away I catch a girl from Group B standing on their territory, holding on to a spear like her life depends on it. I duck into the nearest raspberry bush, and hope she doesn’t see me, or for that matter hear me.  

~

When Aris comes out of Group B’s tent my stomach churns. He looks fresher than what I remember of him. His hair has been cut and he doesn’t have that worried, tired expression on his face. He calls out to the girl.  

“Penny!” he hollers. “Guarding the most important part is no job for a girl. Come in here and make me a sandwich while I prepare for running in!” Penny doesn’t argue. She calmly jogs to the tent and Aris yanks the spear out of her hands. They close the curtain to the tent, and they are gone. No more of them for a while. It’s going to take years for Penny to figure out what Aris likes in his sandwich-and obviously he isn’t going to tell her-and he’s going to need to gear up, because apparently, he is the only one allowed to run. I didn’t know this was what was happening here. I thought they had some common sense and would let ninety-nine per cent of their team participate instead of making sandwiches. I suppose I was wrong.  

But I still take my one and only chance to run to No Man’s Land, grabbing the flag I stuffed in my pockets.  

~

It started when Group B found a peninsula five times the size of the Glade and stupidly told Group A.  Now, we’re in a war. Who is going to claim that territory? The plan is that whoever plants their flag first on the rock at the exact center of the land will own the territory. And that is certain. The flags are sexist and straight to the point, telling which group it belongs to by just looking at it. Group A is a baby blue flag with a tiny pink dot, which according to Gally symbolizing me, and the words Group A in blue, because apparently ninety-nine per cent of the group has control over the one per cent, who just happens to be. woman. While Group B’s is a pink flag with a blue dot in the center with Group B written in bold blue letters, symbolizing that the one per cent has the most control in the group.

They call this a war. Meaning it is to the death. Newt blood and a girl named Abby’s blood is permanently stained at the bottom of this hill, their graves just at the bottom.  

The rock is located at the top of a hill three times the height of the maze. And it is nearly impossible to get up without the other team finding you. But I give an attempt.  

~

As I make it to the top of the hill, I hear yells. I turn around and it is not Aris but my own team. They are against me, who is on their team, giving them, giving us this peninsula because of my gender. Eventually, I see Aris appear next to my team. The girls, still half-way up this hill. I smile and take the flag out of my hand and hold it up high for everyone to see. But it is not Group A’s flag, nor is it Group B’s. But a pastel pink flag with one symbol. The Venus Sign. The International Symbol for Women.  

And ever so slowly, I set it on the rock.  

[flashingcursor]

Fic: Three-Legged Race

Pairing: Darcy Lewis/James "Bucky" Barnes  Rating: Teen Warnings: None applicable Word Count: 1,827 words Square Filled: Free Space Summary: The Winter Soldier is regaining his memories. He's escaped HYDRA and the wreckage of Project Insight in the Potamic River. He hasn't escaped the goons chasing him though. And in order to do so he's playing boyfriend to a pretty little brunette named Darcy that recognized he was in trouble and helped no questions asked. This can only end badly right? Author's Note: Fill for @marvelfluffbingo​ Round 1. I just had a couple lines of dialogue in my head and this was born. Ironically, the lines of dialogue I had in my head didn’t even make it into the fic, but they got me writing so I guess they did the trick. Happy reading everyone. And for those that have already seen midnight Happy New Year.

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Three-Legged Race

“Come on dude it’s our turn,” The brunette grabs his arm. Doesn’t even notice that it doesn’t have the same give as a flesh and blood hand. She doesn’t even seem to notice the way he stiffens waiting for her reaction before relaxing when she carries on like nothing is amiss.

She glances back and shoots him the widest smile he’s seen in a long time. Doesn’t matter that they’re strangers pairing up to keep numbers even for the games played at this insane function. A function he crashed but she was quick to welcome him and help him hide in. He’d been running for weeks after Washington D.C. Running from both his memories and pursuers alike. It didn’t matter which he didn’t want to remember, and he didn’t want to go back, but he was only succeeding at one of those two things so far and the flashes of memory he would get were coming more often.

He let’s the girl with the floppy hat and over sized t-shirt drag him to starting line. He tries not to go completely still as a young boy of all of seven bends down to tie their ankles together. Something that she covers up with an easy laugh and a ruffle to the boy’s head.

“Don’t worry about it he’s a little weird about strangers in his personal space,” She explains with a nudge to his side.

“Yeah sorry,” he tries though judging by her snort his attempt at looking apologetic is terrible and makes the kid crack a smile before scampering away.

“We win this, and you owe me a name and a story dude.”

He glances down at her the way her hair surrounds her face in a riotous mass, the teasing quirk of her mouth, and the twinkle in her eyes behind her black framed glasses.

“Okay doll, but gotta say you hit the nail on the head with James.”

If it weren’t for the serum, he wouldn’t have heard the whistle over her sputtering. Three-legged races weren’t something he was familiar with, but he got the point as the other’s took off. It was a teamwork exercise. They had to make it across working together. And while her family was doing their best to keep their balance and make it to the finish James pressed her close to his side and started off semi dragging her feet along with him.

Darcy caught up after a few steps trying to keep up with his longer gait until finally she just did this weird kick step thing to match pace. He didn’t even notice they won until she dug her feet in to slow them down as best she could. He could get going and once he did it could get difficult for others to get him to stop at times.

“We won James, you can cool it unless you really want to draw attention,” she says and that helps bring him to short stop. One that if he hadn’t been holding Darcy to his side she would have gone falling right on her face and that would have been a shame.

He glances back and nearly thirty yards back is the finish line. The other teams are staring at them in various points between the start and finish. He hadn’t meant to make quite that much of an impression when she introduced him as her boyfriend, James who miraculously managed to get the day off after all.

“Sorry about that,” he starts rubbing the back of his head.

“Are you kidding. I never win that thing. This is a big deal.” She bounces on her feet and then her mouth is crushed to his and he nearly pulls back from the shock, except his training kicks in. Their playing parts, kissing is expected. Especially in such a situation the cold clinical voices of his many handlers are telling him in the back of his head. Relax, kiss back, play the part.

He does and he’s sure that the breathlessness she’s experiencing is her fault.

“Uh I think you may have just ruined me for any future boyfriends.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles disentangling himself and getting to work on untying them.

“Don’t be that was worth it. But you still owe me a story.”

“Sure thing Darcy. Later though?”

He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s pouting down at him. He can hear it in her affirmative answer. Hard to give her a story when he only has pieces of it to start with. He gets them untied and they start back to her family, hand in hand. He tries not to twitch at the feel of her fingers entwined with his. Tries not to think about how his other arm would interpret the signals. Not the time.

“That was very impressive young man,” her father starts, and he smiles sheepishly.

“I guess I’m a little more competitive than Darcy let on huh?” He laughs trying to find some semblance of accurate in his behavior. It’s not easy. He was usually the blunt force instrument not the scalpel for taking care of HYDRA’s problems.

“I guess so. Come on let’s get some cake to celebrate my girl’s first victory since she was eight.” He claps James on the back and heads toward the buffet table they set up in the park. Family members following seemingly satisfied with his explanation and well it must be nice to see Darcy finally break her long-standing losing streak.

“You’ve lost every year since you were eight?” He asks quietly to which she rolls her eyes.

“Can it.”

“Understood.” He quips and follows her to desserts.

He’s thankful for her efforts to help hide him, no questions asked but it can’t last. James knows that better than anyone. And despite having kept up a vigilant watch on the area of the park that Darcy’s family was holding their reunion he misses the arrival of a few HYDRA goons in the surrounding trees. When he does notice he curses under his breath. He’s sandwiched between Darcy and her little cousin Jessica while her older cousin Dan is regaling them all with some science tale. And despite all that Darcy must have heard as she presses into his side.

“What’s wrong?”

“Gotta go doll,” he whispers back shifting his position, so Jessica is leaning on her mother and he’s free to get up.

He’s careful about it. Rises in a fluid motion and only stops because Dan is no longer speaking.

“Sorry, works calling. It was nice meeting everyone.” He offers hoping no one questions his lack of a cell phone or it ringing. If they do, he hopes Darcy is quick enough to come up with something.

“Oh, we’re sorry to hear that dear. It was nice to finally meet you.” Her mother croons sadly while her father gives him a long hard look as if trying to gauge his honesty. James tries to look as contrite about having the bail, and it must work her father stops giving him that disapproving Dad look he kind of has flashes of from before.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he murmurs leaning down to press a kiss to Darcy’s forehead for show before leaving. Not that it keeps him from catching snippets of the brunette’s mother’s comments afterward.

“He’s a keeper Darcy, you better get a ring on it fast.” The older woman advises and James winces internally.

She was helping him out and now he was going to make them hate him without ever having existed in her life prior to that day. Maybe the damage won’t be too bad. Or maybe it will. Does it matter? The chances James was going to see her again were so slim it was laughable that the part of him that has slept for so long almost hopes it’s bad just so there’s some mark that he existed for a brief while outside of HYDRA’s control.

Disappearing into the tree line James allows the asset take over. They might both be trained soldiers, but the asset has 70 years of training and instinct on his side where as James only has World War II and things have changed a great deal since then. And well five on one fights are something of the asset’s specialty. Helps they don’t seem terribly familiar with his capabilities as they seem to be more of an attack in a sequential order than a unified team.

The first to go down is a big muscle-bound guy with blond hair, he liked knives which was fine except the metal arm kept getting in the way. Too many years of using it as a shield in situations like this kept him ahead of the meat head and once, he was down with a hard blow to the back of his head it was short work with most of the others. The last one was giving him the most trouble. He was slim and lithe and quick on his feet. Dancing around the assets attempts to get a hold or do damage the way a dancer might a stage. The easy avoidance brings back memories of Steve after getting rescued from Zola’s clutches.

Memories of them testing their limits against each other when they weren’t raiding Nazi bases. The body kept moving dodging around blows and evading where possible. But he was distracted enough to let the last one in far to close and get a slice into his non-bionic arm. The pain making him howl as he lashes out and catches the final pursuer around the neck with his bionic arm and presses.

The soldier does his best to escape but eventually succumbs to the sleeper hold. The bodies of unconscious soldiers lay littering the clearing. But they’re alive which is both blessing and curse. He didn’t kill Captain America but these men he should kill. When they wake up it won’t matter if the trail has gone cold, they’ll follow what few leads they have, to get to him. It wouldn’t be any different than the war. You killed the enemy before they killed you. The Howling Commandos tried to avoid it but in the initial assault casualties were a given, and these soldiers wouldn’t think twice about grievously wounding him just to get him back to the HYDRA brass.

In the end James runs and doesn’t look back. There is very little worth looking back to even the pretty brunette who gave him a cover for a few hours without a second though. Looking back for her would be the same as signing her death warrant and he couldn’t do that to another person, not after seventy years of doing so without question or thought. She was young and deserved a chance to live her life as she wanted.

Twelve hours after leaving Darcy in the park outside Washington D.C. James boarded a freighter crossing the Atlantic under an alias.