#when it's still strained and feels like treading on thin ice

[kaeyapilled]

i thjnk that in the end what bothers me about a lot of ragbros reconciliation fan content is that it seems to treat their making up as a single event. as if they just need to have one heartfelt conversation and apologize and hug each other and then they will be officially reconciliated. as if they wouldn't need to rebuild their relationship slowly! (as if they haven't already started to, albeit tentatively). as if they wouldn't need to first let go of old grievances, both the big ones and the little ones. let go of the guilt they place on both themselves and on each other. it cannot possibly happen in one night! it's learning to talk to each other again until it isn't awkward anymore. until the smallest annoyances stop bringing back all the bitterness to the surface. it's learning to open up to each other again! this time with no awful secrets between them! it's discussing those secrets! discussing their shared grief and making an effort to understand the sorrows they do not share. i cannot stress enough how much i want you to understand it needs to be a very painful very saddening but also very hopeful and maybe cathartic process

[duskholland]

letting my inner whore out and thinking about mob!tom or even regular Tom accidentally flaking on plans with you and coming home really late, so he’s just gonna jump into bed with you and finds you in bed asleep in lingerie. 🥴🙂 and he just mentally curses himself bc now he knows that he flaked on a great night and you slept in this on purpose so he KNOWS. and having him grovel for your forgiveness OOOOOOF 🙂😌😗 make him pay for it !!!

you didn’t ask for a blurb but this inspired me so i wrote something !! i changed the circumstances of this just a lil bit but the mistake/grovel concept is all still here too :’) can be read either with mob or normal tom!

wc: 2.3k || 18+ nsfw content minors dni!!!

warnings ↠ fingering, oral (f receiving) and overstimulation :’)

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom hadn’t thought about the repercussions of his actions, but as he walks into your bedroom and finds you sprawled out across the mattress, half-naked and sleeping, he finds himself regretting his decisions. He curses--softly, so he doesn’t disturb you, but with enough bite to make it count. His fingers curl into frustrated fists at his sides as he leans back against the doorway, eyes skimming over you.

He hadn’t intentionally bailed on date night, but something had come up. He’d texted you, grovelled profusely, tacked on a series of those heart emojis you’re so fond of as he’d sprinkled his messages with Xs, promising it wouldn’t happen again, promising he’d be there next time. You’re lovely--you’re always lovely, even when Tom fucks up--but even he’d been able to tell that you’d been annoyed. This is the second date in a row that he’s cancelled, and it’s clear you’re pissed.

You’re wearing lingerie. With your sleepy lips puckered into an unassuming pout, you look almost angelic, sprawled out, asleep. But Tom knows exactly what you’re like, knows that you’d fallen asleep, wrapped up in tight red lace like this just to rub it in. He chuckles slightly as he finds himself nodding. He has to give it to you--you always know how to get to him, and you always succeed.

Pushing away from the door, Tom stifles a yawn. If you weren’t sleeping so deeply, he’d wake you up and start his grovelling right away, but he knows better than to pounce. He doesn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep when he’s already treading on thin ice.

As Tom walks through to the ensuite and strips off his clothes, he keeps the door open, both of his eyes fixed on you, admiring you, tracing you, loving you. Fuck, his heart swells as you murmur something in your sleep and turn over, frowning as you try to get comfortable. Tom’s never going to cancel on you again.

After turning off all the lights and padding over to bed, only in his boxers, Tom very carefully starts trying to move you. You’re asleep on top of the duvet, which is slightly problematic, but he’s strong, and gentle, and he manages to coax you into resting on the mattress instead. When you don’t make any obvious movements, he thinks you’re still asleep, so climbs in after you and rolls over, wrapping his arms around you and spooning you as he nestles his face into the back of your neck.

You’re so soft. You smell of peaches, and as Tom gently rolls his hand over the rise of your exposed hip, he marvels at how warm your skin is. He rolls his fingers over your side, nuzzling closer, trying to pull you as close as possible. As he starts to press gentle kisses to your shoulder, he wonders if your sleeping form can feel how fucking sorry he is, can tell in the soft nuzzles of his mouth how apologetic and guilty he feels now.

“Y’know, I am awake,” you mutter, voice tired. “You’re not good at being quiet.”

Tom pauses his movements. He wonders if you can feel him wince. Your tone is terse.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, voice quiet. He kisses your shoulder again and, knowing you’re awake, smooths his hand down to rest over your lower abdomen. His fingertips play with the trim of your lacy panties, fiddling as he hums. “I’m a dick for cancelling, darling. I am very sorry.”

You make a tsking sound. “Are you actually sorry, or are you just trying to get back in my good books?”

Tom hums. “Both,” he admits. He kisses your cheek before sitting up on his side, digging his elbow into the pillows. You roll onto your back, darkened eyes meeting his as you stare at him, the ghost of a smile building on your lips.

Tom brings his hand up and tentatively cups your chin between his thumb and index finger, using the touch to angle your face towards him. When you hum in approval, Tom leans down, kissing you gently. He hopes that you can feel how apologetic he is through his mouth, and he feels his heart lighten when you reach up to run a hand over the side of his face before twisting it into his hair. As your lips become warm and slick with spit, Tom hums, trying to move closer only for you to stop him by pulling away and pressing the tips of your fingers to his lips.

“Oh?” you tease. “You think it’s going to be that easy?” There’s a mischievous glint in your eyes, and Tom watches as you sit up straight. The duvet falls down to pool at your waist, exposing your sheer bralette. Tom swallows as he sees your nipples, hard and straining against the flimsy material.

“No?” Tom replies.

You laugh. You reach out and touch his cheek, angling his face until Tom’s eyes are back on yours. “You need to make it up to me,” you say. For the first time, hurt seeps into your eyes. Tom’s guilt reappears, overpowering all of the lust that had emerged as he’d seen you wrapped up in lace.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again, and Tom means it. He moves, smiling slightly as he slides on top of you, pushing you back down onto the mattress as he cages you in with an arm on either side of your face. He nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours. “I love you, baby, and I’m sorry for letting you down. It won’t happen again.” He kisses you gently. “I know I said that last time,” he adds, whispering softly, “but I promise. Nothing is more important than you. Nothing.”

You comb your fingers through his hair. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” he says, and it’s true. You’re everything. “Can I make it up to you now?” he murmurs. Tom draws his lips over your face, kissing in a line until he’s whispering into your ear, voice growing raspy. “Let me make you feel good.”

You hum, drawing it out as you pretend to think about it. Tom moans as you tug on his hair, your hands then skimming away to careen down the muscles of his back. You tease him, pressing your fingers into his shoulders as you slowly grind up to press your centre against Tom’s crotch. He grunts, face falling into the crook of your neck as he feels himself harden again.

“Are you alright down there?” you tease, hand drifting down to rest over his ass. Tom moans as you pull him closer, keeping his crotch against yours as you encourage him to grind against your heat.

He releases a noise of strangled enjoyment. It takes all of his self-control to pull away, kissing your chin when you raise a brow. “This is about you,” he decides. “Not me.”

You swallow. “Okay,” you agree, catching your lower lip between your teeth. “I had some fun without you,” you add, smirking when Tom raises a brow. “Can you blame me?”

He shakes his head. “‘Course not,” he says. “Love you,” he adds, then he gets to work.

Tom presses kisses to every part of your body as he gently moves down your figure, resting at your chest to lap over each one of your nipples with his tongue. As the lace of your bra gets soaked with spit, Tom picks up his pace, drawn to your low moans. When he’s not rolling his tongue around your nipples, he’s cupping your breasts in his palms and massaging your chest with his fingers, alternating between light teasing touches and more substantial grabs that make you release the prettiest groans.

By the time Tom reaches your centre, he isn’t surprised to see you quivering. He doesn’t pause to take off your lingerie, knows better than to strip you of something that you’d put on so deliberately. He enjoys watching the confidence that it gives you.

“Oh, baby…” Tom murmurs, rolling his index and middle fingers over the front of your panties. They’re soaked, and as he presses up against your covered clit, he feels your centre pulse. The whimper you release is soft and broken, and Tom is quick to settle between your legs. He parts your thighs before kissing your mound, his nose nuzzling up against the wet warmth of your front. He tenses the tip of his tongue before dragging it over your covered folds, the slickness of your panties making it easy for him to delineate the rise of your bud.

“Shit,” you whine. You bury your hands in his hair and jerk him closer, pulling Tom’s face further into your heat. “Fuck, Tom. Don’t tease me— fuck. You’re supposed to be making it up to me.”

Tom moans in agreement. He manages to wriggle away just enough so he’s able to pull your panties to the side, and after taking a moment to run both thumbs down the side of your folds, he gently coaxes them apart, exposing your cunt. He curses, looking between your centre and your eyes with lust.

“You’re so fucked already,” he murmurs. He slips his fingers down to play around with your entrance, his digits getting coated in your slick. You whimper and thrust your hips until he crooks the two fingers into you, your walls giving way and enveloping him immediately. “Have you already cum tonight?”

Briefly, guilt flickers across your face. It fades as Tom leans down and sucks your clit into his mouth, soothing the bud with his tongue as his fingers start to pump into you. “Y-yeah,” you whimper, and suddenly it makes sense why you’re being so responsive.

“I can tell. Pussy’s so hot, baby, so wet… Practically gushing out over my hand, gorgeous.” Tom pulls away, shifting a thumb onto your bud as he looks down at where his fingers are opening you up. He adds a third easily, desire running hot through his body as you cry out loudly. “How many times did you cum?”

Your breathing is heavy, laborious. “Twice,” you admit. Your fingers fist the sheets, eyes fluttering shut as you arch your back and moan. “Shit, Tom… please.”

“Please?” He’s enjoying this, loves the way you squirm as he curls his fingers up and presses against your g-spot. You’re so beautiful. “Please what, lovie?”

“Make me cum,” you whine. You open your eyes again, wide and pleading. “Please, please—”

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “There you go, baby.” Tom thrusts his fingers faster, with more urgency, and speeds up the movement of his thumb on your clit. “Cum for me, darling. Let me warm you up… Let you feel really good. Always so pretty when you cum for me… so, so pretty, baby. Come on.”

You fall apart a few moments later, walls contracting around his fingers. Tom watches in awe as you cry out loudly, eyes rolling back as your chest rises and falls. He doesn’t stop, though, not even when your walls stop pulsing and your climax ends. Instead, he drops his head and puts his mouth back on your bud.

“T-Tom,” you cry out. You’re squirming again, properly now, but he knows you’d tap out if it was too much. Both of you know that you enjoy the blurring of the pain and pleasure as he overstimulates you like this. “Holy fuck… ‘m so sensitive.”

Tom’s hand is properly wet now. He can feel your arousal dripping between his fingers. You’re so slick his movements are imprecise, and so he counters that by thrusting his fingers harder, blundering up against the spongy rise of your walls until you’re crying out. As he brings you close again, he moves his mouth over your cunt, sloppily making out with your clit and your folds. Occasionally he’ll tease your rise with the bumps of his teeth, and he likes the way your moans change from shrill to intense when he runs the flat of his tongue over your bud again.

“Tommy,” you wail. You sound wrecked, and when Tom glances up, he sees you, eyes full of blurring tears, skin covered in a sheen of sweat. You gasp as he curls his fingers perfectly, and Tom watches you bury your face in your arm as you orgasm with a yell. This time, he has to move up, pressing his elbow into your thigh to keep you down as the pleasure consumes you. Your hot cunt squeezes his fingers tightly, an iron-like grip that almost immobilises his hand. Luckily, Tom’s used to you, knows how to continue to please you until you’re fucked out and crying.

Your peak stretches for a while, the air alight with the sounds of your whimpering enjoyment. Tom laps over your clit until you’re crying out and tugging at his hair, at which point he moves away from you. He smirks as he sees a trail of saliva connecting you to him, then sees the way your thighs tremble.

“How was that, darling?” Tom checks, letting his fingers slip from you. You whimper and he pulls up to you, gently kissing your cheek as his eyes skim you for any signs of damage. All he finds is bliss, then your lips on his as you peck him quickly.

“Fantastic,” you announce. You sigh as you fall back against the mattress, smiling lazily. “Fuck, I love you.”

Tom wipes his lips before kissing your nose. “Love you too,” he murmurs. “Did I make it up to you?”

You nod immediately. “Yeah. You did more than just that.” You reach down to touch his crotch, and Tom jumps. He’d been so preoccupied with you that he’d forgotten about his length, hard and straining against his boxers. You run your thumb over the patch of material, soaked with his precum. “Let me say thank you,” you say, speaking quietly but teasingly. Your tone makes Tom bite his lips. “Let me make it up to you…”

[dainty-fingertips]

a forever thing. ||kars x fem! reader

wrote this one a few weeks ago bc a friend said i should write something with kars,, ended up being too long and i don’t think she ever finished reading it;; also, spoilers for if you haven’t finished battle tendency !!

word count: 2233

summary: training alongside caesar and joseph, you end up being kidnapped by the remaining two pillar men after the death of esidisi. a closet bookworm, you end up spending most of your time cooped up in the library of the rundown hotel, though most of your time is spent thinking of the leader himself. after kars drops some undeniable hints, you decide to test the waters.

trigger warnings: none :)

||

          Being taken for a sort of ransom by aztec gods wasn’t exactly on the agenda today. 

          After Joseph had killed Esidisi, the remaining two were -- as expected -- on edge. Wamuu, the youngest, and Kars, the eldest. You could grasp a fleeting understanding on why they chose you specifically, but nothing enough to make complete sense in your brain. It could have been Caesar, it could have been Lisa Lisa, but no. As of now, they were treating you quite well, actually. You figured Wamuu was the only reason you weren’t bound by rope and eating out of a dog bowl right now. Instead, you were perched upon a plush reading chair in a rundown library, clad in a comfortable robe (thanks to Wamuu, you weren’t stuck in your sweaty outfit from before). You had planned on touring to Switzerland one day after the war, but being trapped inside a rundown hotel with no real access to vitamin D was really taxing your health (mentally and physically) and never intended to be something you spent your time doing while here.

          In your rough-skinned hands, you held a worn copy of In Search of Lost Time. Your reading comprehension had improved over the past few weeks, at least. A rough knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. “I’m here.” You said calmly, hoping it was the younger Pillar Man. Of course your desires were not met. Kars stepped into the library, his headscarf absorbing some of the light from the candle lit on the table next to you. He eyed you in what appeared to be mild distaste. “Why are you awake?” You looked up from the book with an odd expression. “What do you mean?” You asked him. The god huffed softly, motioning to the boards on the windows. “The sun has gone down. Are you not tired?” You pulled your gaze over to the covered windows. “...Oh.”

          You had failed to notice the absence of flittering rays much earlier. “Wait, what time is it?” You mumbled to yourself. You looked at the grandfather clock on the wall to your right and your expression dropped. “It’s 1 am.” he mumbled, crossing his arms. You pursed your lips and quietly closed the book. You uncrossed your legs and set it back on the shelf. Kars watched you slowly make your way back and forth. “What about you?” You asked, wrapping your fingers around the candle tray. He stared at you. Were you asking why he was up? “What do you mean?” He asked with a sigh. “You’re still up, but you aren’t tired.” You stated while approaching him. He didn’t move. “I’ve told you this. Neither me nor Wamuu need sleep, human. Es-” He stopped himself mid sentence and his cold expression seemed to falter for only a moment. You had learned, in your three weeks here, that the pillar men deemed it inappropriate to show emotion to anyone other than family members or mates. 

          Kars had never slipped up around you before. 

          The gears in your brain began turning. Kars wouldn’t show something like that to Wammu even, at least that’s what you’d been told. Why, even if for a split second, would he let you see that? Did he see you as someone close? The mere idea was laughable. Kars’ cold exterior soon returned, though. Simply brushing aside the sight, you continued to listen to him. “Esidisi didn’t need sleep, either.” He continued, his voice almost strained. Was Kars trying to hide his pain? You looked at him with soft eyes. Kars seemed to get minorly flustered and removed his gaze from you.

          You sighed gently and gazed cautiously into his blooming red eyes, the simple sight of them making your stomach twirl a bit. He made you feel floaty when he looked at you. Your cheeks flushed and you looked away. You saw in your hazy peripheral that he had furrowed an eyebrow. “What?” He asked hesitantly, looking back at you. “Hm?” You couldn’t look back at him. “I was just wondering about something, that’s all.” You begged that the bluff worked on him, but you knew that Kars was smart. He didn’t respond for a few seconds, his eyes flickering across your face and body, looking for a hint of something in your body language. 

          He sighed and motioned for you to follow him. You stood there and glanced at him curiously, his back turned and footsteps echoing. He turned his head to look at you. “I’m taking you to your chambers. Come.” He said with a bored expression. “O-Oh, right.” You whispered. You jogged up to him, but slowed your pace once you were next to him. “What was it?” He asked. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him without moving your head. “What?” He sighed through his nose. “You said you were wondering about something.” Your mouth opened to the shape of an O. “Right. I was just curious, uh, Kars. Do you think you could sleep if you tried?” You queered hesitantly, avoiding your original thought of Kars’ sadness. You looked back ahead of you. Kars gazed to his right, thinking. “An odd question, human. Why do you ask?” You shrugged slightly. “I dunno. Curiosity, I guess.” Kars aired out a small ‘hm.’ and inhaled sharply.

          “Curiosity is a dangerous fault in humans. No matter how long I sleep, that will forever remain a constant.” You cocked your head to the side a bit, working up the courage to turn to him as you both walked. “What do you mean?” He looked down at you, a strand of his hair tufting out slightly. “It’s what got that damned Joestar wrapped into this mess. If not for him, we wouldn’t need to deal with this. Our mission would be far less… complicated.” You nodded your head. “And that’s been a forever-thing?” He squinted his eyes. “A what?” 

          “Well, that’s what my dad used to call it.” You said with a gentle chuckle. “Y’know, a forever-thing. Something that’s been around for forever. Literally and figuratively.” 

          “A forever-thing?” He pressed.

          “Mhm.”

          “Humans and their idiotic names for simple terms.” he spat.

          “Oh really?”

           He scoffed. “Yes.”

          “Then what would you call it?” You joked, putting a playfully heavy emphasis on your words. Kars groaned, but deep inside his old bones, he felt something. He could admire beauty when he saw it, especially for a human, but this was getting out of hand. You were completely oblivious to the fact that Kars had taken an especial liking to you, which he was grateful for. His cold demeanor felt almost immoral around you. You were similar to that Joestar boy, but you were somehow more tangible. He could… stand you, sure, but he didn’t know why. He had been surrounded by nothing but cold glares and serious attitudes his whole life, and he magnified it in the way he lived. It’s what earned him the highest rank in what now remained of the tribes, being merely him and Wamuu. 

          Though, having you around was a strangely acceptable change of tone. He began finding himself seeking out your attention, like 10 minutes ago. You weren’t in your bed, so he came looking for you where you normally sat; the library. You were propped in that chair, now claimed as yours, with your knees to your chest and a book in your hands. You seemed almost magnetizing, you seemed almost… well, he wasn’t sure. He’d never felt this way. Why did you grab his attention? You held him in your fingers like putty, rubbing him in all the right ways. Maybe, because of you, his opinion on the human species wouldn’t be so dire. Maybe, in your toothy grins, your glittering eyes, and your gentle hands,  you would change his mind. 

          Only then, did he realize you had taken his hand in yours.

          He quickly pulled it away. “Don’t touch me.” He spat, eyeing you. You chuckled and shrugged. “Sorry, force of habit. Whenever my dad was deep in thought, I’d grab his hand to pull him back to Earth.” Kars scoffed, rubbing his hand as though trying to get the feeling of your rough hands off of him. They were hard and calloused from training, he presumed, though it added to his simple adoration. He had never met a woman like this. His eyes lingered back to your hands for a moment before looking back ahead. “Well, I’m not your father.” You simply smiled ahead and didn’t respond.

          Kars let his hands fall to his sides and the two of you make it up the set of stairs to your room. The door sat closed, and you looked at Kars. “Would you mind, Kars, if I told you something?” You questioned casually, entering your room and looking at him from the inside. He nodded once and silently asked you to continue. Your face grew warm and you looked to the side, unable to look at him for a moment. “You…” You began, unsure how to tell him. He raised an eyebrow. “I what?” He said. You knew he was an impatient man when it came to things like this; you had heard it from Wamuu whenever he’d bring you food. “Spit it out.” You sighed and looked at him, your gaze wavering and nervous. “You aren’t half bad, Kars.” You said with an awkward tone of voice. You knew you were treading on thin ice, but you didn’t know when you’d actually be able to tell him alone.

          Kars’ stance was unmoved. The meaning behind your words didn’t fully strike him until after the two of you silently stared at each other for 20 seconds. His face, twisted in mild confusion, soon loosened up. Realization clubbed him like a wooden baseball bat behind his knees. His maroon eyes darted across your face and his lips parted slightly. “What -- What are you saying?” He said quietly. He was sure his brain was playing tricks, but your face, it seemed so fearfully genuine. Sweat accumulated on the back of his neck in his headscarf. Kars was a god; the most powerful pillar man. He was above this. Why did… Why did it feel wrong to act that way around you? Why did he feel almost guilty when he acted superior?

          You stood motionless. “I mean, y’know. I enjoy… your… your company.” You stumbled over her words. Were you being intimate with him? He’d never seen this side of you. You noticed Kars slipping up on his own standards again, as well. His surprised emotions were clear as day, etched cleanly into his chiseled features. His fangs poked out onto his lower lip, a simple protrusion which you had wished you didn't find cute. You genuinely thought that Kars was attractive.

          Then again, who wouldn’t? He stood tall, around 6’8”. He towered over most all he came in contact with, but that was simply second nature to you now. You were used to craning your neck to get a better look at those blood-red eyes that almost seemed to despise you. A dark loft of his hair would make its cameo every now and again. He’d always get flustered whenever you’d mention it, telling you that he didn’t need the approval of a human. He’d then, a minute or so later, slyly tuck it back in. It’s not that he didn’t know, of course; it’s just that he only cared enough about it if you took the time to tell him.

          Wamuu had noticed his growing infatuation with you and the thought brought him a smile. After sitting down with Kars and listening to him do nothing but wax poetic about you earlier tonight, he told him to go find you. Maybe take a walk with you, if he felt like it. Kars kindly took up the offer; it seemed you had humbled him in that department, too. Normally he wouldn’t bother taking anyone’s advice, but here he was. Pulling him from the crevasse of his rushing brain was your hand, humbly wrapping your fingers around his.

          Kars stared at his hands, fingers being separated by your own, in blatant shock. “You aren’t as bad as I thought you’d be.” You whispered, barely audible to him. He locked eyes with you and without thinking, going against everything he’d ever stood for in the past, he curled his fingers around yours as well. You smiled softly and looked down, avoiding his gaze. Kars’ lips pulled back together, his lips twitching, desperately wanting to smile. “I suppose.” He said hesitantly. “Why are you being nice to me?” He soon asked, turning his gaze back to your face.

          He pulled his hand away, taking a step back. “I…” You murmured, retracting your hand as well. He looked between his fingers as though he’d touched gold, small glittering remnants still freckled along his palm. “I don’t know.” you finished with a heavy sigh. He closed his hand into a fist and looked at you with nervous confidence. “Well, if there’s nothing more, then I will take my leave.” He said quickly, nearly stuttering his words. He turned on his heel and began going the way he came. You gazed at his back as he swiftly left the hallway and sighed in disbelief. You had just grabbed his hand.

          Kars, it seemed, had fallen in love with the enemy.

          The enemy, it seemed, had felt exactly the same.

[jellyluchi]

@camishir:  HEYYY! Could I request a oneshot/scenario Ghiaccio x fem!reader ? How about angst to fluff, when Ghiaccio had a really bad day and just straight up snaps at Y/N. How would our Icy Boy apologise and how much time would he need to do so? :D THANK YOU!!! 💖

A/N: Thank you for requesting! I apologize for how long it took to write, thank you for your patience! 

Ghiaccio x fem!reader: “Treading Lightly” 

— warnings: mentions of blood  — genre: hurt/comfort, established relationships

“I don’t need you!” if words could cut flesh like ice, you’d have a bleeding wound at the center of your heart at this moment. Sometimes people say things they don’t mean but it hurts all the same. 

A mission gone wrong and several injuries later, you are back in La Squadra’s base discussing what went wrong with your partner, Ghiaccio. Risotto considered your relationship before thinking of sending you two together. Because of a lack of manpower, he sent you with him even though he’d rather not, knowing how protective Ghiaccio can be. You, however, aren’t aware of how it manifests for him. 

The adrenaline from escaping in his car makes Ghiaccio restless. It crawls through his veins making him antsy and irritable. He keeps remembering the danger you were in not even half an hour ago. You’ve never seen him so on edge before. Your relationship is rather new, you still remember the discussion you had with your leader confirming it won’t be a problem regarding missions. Because missions alway come first. When people are in love, that’s not quite what goes through their mind. 

“What were you thinking?! You could have gotten yourself shot!” Ghiaccio’s voice rattled through the dingy walls of the hideout. You know they’re thin and let sound escape way too easily. 

“And what about you? You were directly in his line of fire, I had to do something!” You quip back. Given your jobs, you didn’t rule out the possibility of this discussion. It was only a matter of time before either of you would be in danger. You know Ghiaccio would give his life for you, so why is he acting this way when you want to do the same? 

Your replies fall on deaf ears as Ghiaccio starts ranting and it dawns on you that he’s not willing to hear you out on this. You don’t realize Ghiaccio is too consumed by his worries for you to see from your perspective. But it’s already too late. 

“I needed to be there for yo-” 

“I don’t need you!” 

The words leave his lips before he could stop them. He’s looking at you with wide eyes as you stare back, stunned from what he just said. You were going to treat the ugly gash on his forehead still oozing blood, forgetting your own wounds for a moment. But in the heat of the moment, you realize you don’t want to stay here any longer, not when he feels that way about you. 

You don’t utter a single word, too hurt to form any sounds, you leave the room silently. Ghiaccio can only watch in horror at what he’s done and when you’re out of sight he kicks the nearby table out of habit. This isn’t what he meant. Sometimes his mouth has to play catch up with his mind. 

When you’re outside, you notice some of the members, particularly Melone, looking worried for your sake. No doubt, they heard what went on inside right before your departure. 

Not knowing where to go, you think of the most comforting spot you could imagine, Ghiaccio’s car. It’s no secret you loved going out in his car since you joined the team. It smells of his minty fresh cologne and he loves to keep it spotless. The vehicle is a bit busted from the car chase you both went through and you wonder who’s fault it was. 

As you’re dwelling on your thoughts, Ghiaccio’s words eat him up from the inside out. During your relationship, he’s never been one to apologize first. You take the fall every single time and he remembers them all at once when he sees you dejected face replaying in his mind. He knows he’s in the wrong but he wants to make it clear why he’s so antsy. He wonders if it would be a good time to apologize immediately. 

Considering your new relationship, he fears he ruined his chance with you. Perhaps you were already thinking of breaking up with him when he conquered so many of his fears just to tell you his feelings not too long ago. He remembers the feeling of swallowing his pride the night he told you he’s interested in you, the way his hands shook and how when you told him your true feelings, it was worth all the trouble.

“If I were you, I don’t think I’d wait much longer,” Melone always seems to know what to say in these moments. Ghiaccio was eerily quiet for the last hour as he pondered over his thoughts and Melone’s vocalization makes it come to a crashing halt. Did he already waste too much of his time? 

“...Shut up” is all he can verbalize before he’s out of the room. He knows you’re in the garage. Memories of the both of you kissing in his car resurface and he can’t help but blush. He’s always been quite weak when it comes to you. 

“Open the door,” he says, knocking on the passenger window on the back. When you see him approaching, you don’t know what to do. Sure it has been a couple of hours since you last saw him but he’s never been one to approach you first. You always sought him out afterwards. But knowing Ghiaccio, this must be important to him. 

You silently unlock the door for him, unable to even look at his face. 

“Listen…” he sounds uncharacteristically calm and you think you’ve broken your boyfriend somehow. 

“I know what I said wasn’t right,” 

“Damn right it wasn’t,” you comment. 

“Let me finish! Argh! I didn’t mean to shout okay? It just… you’re important to me. As my girlfriend,” he takes a moment to compose himself and find his words. You always have a way of making him stop and re-evaluate.”I worry too much for your safety, much more than I have anyone else… even my own.”  

For a moment you are alarmed at his confession. He really means to throw himself at danger for your sake. But you remember you would do the same. In this line of work, either of you are lucky to see each other everyday, and you think about how it’s important to cherish every moment that you get with him. 

Ghiaccio looks a bit strained, he’s trying so hard to vocalize his innermost thoughts for you. You know he’s not used to being so vulnerable just yet so you appreciate his efforts. 

“I know I’m not the best with words when it comes to this I- you ma-” Ghiaccio has never been rendered speechless like this before. He’s so used to getting everything on his mind out immediately as the thought comes up. But with you, he feels disoriented in a comforting way, something that both frightens and fascinates him. He sighs, calming himself down. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it- you know I didn’t mean it! I do need you, and I need you to be safe with me! I can’t always guarantee that, I worry about the rest of the world not being right, being able to take you away from me too early before I even-” his hands start flying around him in several gestures but you are quicker. 

“Ghiaccio, shut up” you’ve never been scared to speak your mind with him. 

“What?!” 

“Shut up and kiss me, idiot” and with his hands still up in the air you take his face to kiss him yourself. 

Ghiaccio struggles with initiation but that’s why it’s a good thing you know to initiate for him when he needs you.

[strayfreckles]

[zephyr] 0.8k words, soulmate au; fluff, angst.

“So you dragged me out of my house, forced me to bike up a hill in under ten minutes, for what?”

You stare up at Felix, who’s sitting atop the run-down monkey bars, with your hand shielding your eyes, the sun glowing behind his lithe figure and his eyes bearing semblance to two crescent moons. He pats the spot next to him with an expectant gaze. You scan the empty playground with a sigh—eerie and dissonant without the lofty, wholehearted laughs of bright-eyed children—and follow his initiative, setting your bike beneath the dancing leaves of a crabapple tree before approaching him with light, rapid steps.

“Will you tell me now?” You ask after climbing what is one kick away from being a health hazard, although it’s surprisingly sturdy when you join Felix at the top, your feet dangling off the edge. Then he tilts his head with a smile, pointing upwards.

“The sunset.”

The sky is a dazzling palette of lavender, pink, and indigo, the rippling clouds are dipped in a hazy amber hue once the sun reaches them; despite feeling the urge to strangle your best friend, the content sigh that leaves you convinces you otherwise. Felix grins, clearly pleased, and inches near you.

“That and I found my soulmate.”

The way he says it is casual, like he’s discussing the weather; his tone is mellow and far from bewildered, not a trace of disgruntlement tainting his features. Your eyes dart to his hands, straining to see the thin black line on his ring finger, which—as you were told your whole lives—was to turn golden the moment you talk to your soulmate, your other half, your destiny.

“Oh?”

He hums in confirmation, and he moves, and you see his hands: it hasn’t turned gold yet. You blink once. Twice. It’s still that same ebony color which you burned into the back of your mind. Felix hums lightly, his forehead sheer with sweat and his lips the shade of strawberry lollipops; he pushes his hair back.

“Mhm, they’re sitting right beside me.”

You smile, and pain pulls at your calves when you swing your legs back and forth, his tone spurs a multitude of childhood memories buried beneath a pile of heavy schoolwork and extreme external pressures; when was the last time you heard him joke like that?

“Wouldn’t that be nice, being your soulmate?” You stare at your own hands, at the line across your finger which you tried to ignore for years, “I could've spared one more person from your godforsaken puns. But alas,”

“Soulmates aren’t dictated by that mark,” he murmurs, his eyes softening, “soulmates… they’re someone that knows nobody’s your other half—that you were always whole in the first place, and that they just needed to learn how to love every side of you there is, no matter how terrible it can be, because it’s… you. They’ll learn to love you even if it takes a lifetime, because a lifetime is worth it when it comes to you.”

“So am I worth a lifetime, Felix?”

“You’re worth a thousand forevers, Y/N.”

Felix grins, and for a moment you’re reminded of that young boy who hid his smile beneath his tiny hands, who used to pull his hood all the way up to hide the constellations embedded on his cheeks until you told him that they were beautiful, who scolded you when you felt even a sliver of shame about any aspect of yourself because you taught me how to appreciate every part of me there is—and although I can’t fully do that yet, I refuse to see the one person who’s loved the ugliest parts of me tear themself apart because they think they aren’t enough. You are enough.

You still frown when you look at a mirror, but slowly, surely, you’re learning how to unclench your jaw, to let your brows unfurrow the way the night unfurls upon the sparkling rooftops of a city. You aren’t there yet. Still, in your chest are little fires everywhere that burns you inside out, but you hope that someday, you’ll learn how to appreciate the warmth that it gives, and you’ll find yourself believing every word that Felix says.

Fate, you think; it’s something that you’ve gone around the bend for trying to figure it out, something you’ve cursed and screamed at and given up on and that’s always been your relationship with it—you believe there’s always going to be a part of you that aches when you hear that word, but now you think that maybe fate is just trying to spare one less person from struggling alone, a little more hope for them to hold onto.

You sigh and jump off the top, tiny pebbles skidding from your trainers the moment you land on the ground, and Felix is squinting down at you with a small smile, his hair curling around his face and if there’s anything you’ll thank your lucky stars for, it’s him. Felix Lee. Your light. Your joy.

“Where’re you going?” He calls out the moment you start treading back to your bike, and you throw a smile over your shoulder.

“Taking my soulmate out for ice cream. Now, hurry up—the last one to get there is paying.”

[yozzers-abandoned]

bruno fans come talk to me wtf

also bruno lives/ yusei dies au eats at my brain, based off this fic, just without the android yusei. more info below cut <3 im taking a lot of free reign with this concept 

yusei loses during the blackhole duel which antinomy doesn’t anticipate actually happening, and attempts to grab yusei from his d wheel n toss him out of the black hole but all he does is take yusei’s glove n BOOM yknow....

antinomy’s visor = yusei’s glove

he and sherry get to feel survivors guilt or whatever (i think a lot abt sherry warning yusei that he’d die inside the ark cradle and then he does here,) 

sherry-bruno friendship is my dream, they cant hangout much bcs theyre both rlly busy but when they do they just wind back and catch up tgt :) 

bruno’s relationship with the rest of team 5ds gets really strained, he eventually kind of makes up with crow, aki and the twins, but it’s still a little awkward

crow and bruno interact the most in person after ark cradle until crow moves away to do pro leagues. crow holds some resentment towards bruno but it goes away as time passes. (never saw crow as a guy to hold huge grudges, and also bcs i like to think crow and bruno got along well while they were roomies. favorite hc is that bruno helped crow cook) 

jack just never reaches out to bruno after ark cradle and bruno doesnt try to either 

thin ice with aki, bruno never reaches out to aki first but aki does try and they talk to each other, abt, things, it feels embarrassing to explain bcs the topic of their convos feels rlly self indulgent but they get along basically, but bruno treads very carefully around her  

rua and ruka interact the most with the rest of the group, they keep in touch with bruno and bruno also checks in on them frequently. he’s helping ruka get into engineering since she’s interested in working with momentum, and gives tips to rua about the pro speed dueling scene since he used to be a pro himself 

crow and jack both go pro afterwards (bcs i HATE the idea of crow becoming part of security), jack goes straight to solo while crow goes from team to solo league. crow retires a bit earlier than jack and settles back in neo domino as a kindergarten teacher or something

[sasorikigai]

“ i'm taking the couch. “ ( just one tired assassin willing to sacrifice his comfort for the sake of his wounded hubby / their sassy onion bf )

characters going to bed and waking up together prompts || @sonxflight. feat. @biiingchu || accepting

💥 ❄️ || While words may have been spoken so sweetly, informing Ryou Sakai’s valiant, self-sacrificing intention. How Hanzo Hasashi’s eyes, earnest and pleading, desperate to ease both Ryou and Kuai’s comfort as his hands remain wrung together tightly, folded over his abdomen as he continues to control the strife of his strained breathing and arrhythmic cadence of his heartbeat. How his heart twitches softly under a layer of thin ice - Kuai Liang’s quenching, balming coolness against his scorching magmatic fever -  as Hanzo’s sky stretches continuously across the ever-changing scenery filled with sanguine squelch and ferrous spell of rusted acridness. Tips of clear sunrays may illuminate white clouds with silver linings and edges of pink hues, as Hanzo Hasashi’s sky remains caught in a repeating vicious cycle of sunrises of his revivified strength and indomitable will of Scorpion and sunsets of his crumbling, as he continues his quest to annihilate Lin Kuei and make their ubiquitously shared universe a better world. 

Pain remains a pesky part of being human, and he has learned it feels like a stab wound to the heart, something he wishes they could all do without, in their lives here. Pain is a sudden hurt that can't be escaped, but then the Shirai Ryu warrior has also learned that because of pain, he can feel the beauty, tenderness, and freedom of healing. Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart, but then healing feels like the cool wind against his face when he is spreading his wings and flying through the air. They may not have wings growing out of their backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give them that proverbial wind against their faces. 

His lids are growing heavy; though he knows he should rest, break off from his obsessions, cease his hunt - yet Hanzo Hasashi still search rabidly far beyond his reach for it. He desperately gropes at any shred of his scattered halcyon tranquility and empyrean peace as he makes himself a moth to flame, like the sick to a cure, like death to the living. Perhaps he will never truly be satisfied, even knowing that he could be tenderly sinking in the quicksand of delightful love as his numbed flaring nerves have been expertly learned. He would rather be in the bed of the men who loves completely and indefinitely, as envisioned slumber would effortlessly come, as they entangle around his bandaged being, lest their pressing warmth cause deep ache to exacerbate. 

“Don’t be fucking absurd, the bed’s spacious enough for us three, perhaps even more,” even in the delirious haze, does Hanzo Hasashi’s gaze remain evermore twinkling, like the zenith of scintillating star’s intensity, emanating the world and beyond. Colored in red like the bleeding sunset and the substance of his potent passion, as the whirlpool of his fire continues to tread the lapping waters of his strained breathes. “And he looks even more sallow with rings around his eyes, which only confirms his sleeplessness due to my injuries. Bring him to bed at once, Liang.” Perhaps Hanzo was exaggerating, but it had been as if the pyromancer could feel untangled, mangled bundle of their stifled air, the unsettlement of heavy stress and exhaustion floating in the air like particles of ash and cinder after daunting destruction of their beings. 

Kuai Liang is also no stranger to sentiments of sinking into the abyss of horror in which he would desperately try to feel his way out. Half-blind, with his young heart distraught and shattered. He often recalls of his adolescent being looking up again and again to the ancient constellations, comforting himself with the inherited confidence that some day, this relapse will appear only an interval in the eternal rhythm of progress onward and upward. The child prodigy was no longer that; a prodigy in making, but a flawed warrior who still was looking for that profound remaking, that would obliterate all the logic he believed in, along with his absolute stubbornness. Time may not have been designed to heal all wounds, including Bi-Han’s resolute intention to see his little brother sprawled and motionless, suffocated and snapped in the puddle of his own fucking blood. This particular tragedy may render him in such plainly dissociative state, as his uncontainable anger would rush through the fireworks of his veins and nerves, rendering him taut and feral. 

“Better listen to my 師父/师父, or I will personally beat your exhausted ass over, so you can join him in bed,” the unfurled sassiness of Liang’s mirthful timbre floats over the heavy headiness of ferrous salt, as he remains perched against the foot of the bed, his hips careened towards Hanzo, continuing his ministration to ameliorate the burning emanation of bone-seeping pain, while his head turns to face Ryou, standing over the bed in their opposite side, looking down at Hanzo’s incapacitated form. 

“I still recall the darkest clouds of moribund death and hopelessness hanging above my head as if they matched the thoughts I had about the the struggle and the pain and then came down all the rain of my erupting tears after my near-death. It was you two who made the hollow scream of my lungs and heart to become a hallowed construct, flowing a sacred, cleansed river over my eyes to open myself up to all the revelations I refused to believe for so long,” he could still taste the blood as if it was dribbling into his panting, agape mouth. His body produced acid and ice, and pushed it though the cardiac chamber, withdrawing himself to the confines of his stubbornness and unbending lack of knowledge in his denial. “All the pain and suffering, the shock, the ignorance of before and the widened acceptance of now, we all know that our experiences fill our heads and flood our dreams. I know you cannot resist what your body, mind, and soul call for, and it is us both, entangled in appendages, as silhouettes merge into one.” An accentuated grin retorts and solidifies his point, as his long, calloused fingers trail Hanzo’s chiseled bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze.  💥 ❄️ ||

[godkilller]

          DRABBLE    //    REDEMPTION VERSE.

          THERE WERE STILL SPECKS OF BLOOD ON THE LIGHT BLUE WRAPPINGS, and Gin surmised it was his own, not Aizen’s, from when his Zanpakuto had been tucked within the folds of his crimson-stained white robes. Not drawn, not used in defense, no, nestled away whilst its master was cut down. A few small blemishes ultimately missed by its temporary keepers, the confiscated blade had been otherwise cleaned and stored away, kept sealed, awaiting something. Gin hadn’t seen it since that day; a whirlwind of destruction, that gleaming blade, toying with the Kurosaki kid via collapsing buildings cut like they were brittle things. Then, plunging, biting, devouring that gaping hole into Aizen’s chest, filled only by a suspended Hogyoku agleam in the pale light of its slain host... falling, falling, and falling right into his waiting hand.

          Shinso hadn’t been the last thing Gin’s right hand held, after all.

          But, the Zanpakuto had been the most familiar with that particular palm instead. Now, as the Second Division Shinigami patiently extended the sheathed weapon out for Gin to take, it felt utterly different...

          There was a seal still placed on it, akin to a muzzle for the spirit-housing sword to not so loudly beckon for its master whilst kept away, so an absence of presence, of connection, felt relatively normal; to be expected. Yet, there was more.

          SOMETHING WAS OFF. It felt... clumsy. This was not the grip meant to slay anything, this was some messy hold meant better for a broom than a sword. He turned it in his hand, then adjusted his grip lower towards the center of its sheathe to find balance as if that would help his derailed experience. Shinso was wrong. Heavier. No, lighter, not quite right. Instinctively, Gin shifted to consider slipping the sheathed blade into its place at his hip, though found he needed to switch sides mid-motion, which he did so quickly to remedy the mistake. SLOWLY, SHINSO FOUND ITS PLACE AT GIN’S RIGHT SIDE, the opposite side that he was accustomed to, adding more fuel to the fires of his disorientation.

          Rangiku was quick in thanking the guards in Gin’s stead, a cheery and upbeat tone meant to swiftly dismiss them without outright saying it; a classic, though he hoped she felt no strain in the act. Gin turned to leave halfway through, knowing full well that their anticipation couldn’t be appeased no matter Rangiku’s passive aggressive urging — they were waiting for Gin to clear the grounds in accordance with his reinstatement regulations. RIGHTFULLY NERVOUS, having at last handed back an ex-criminal his beloved and powerful weapon. Even at half-strength, Gin reckoned he could level the Gotei 13′s various barracks in the surrounding area within one fell swoop.

          That is, if he even had it in him anymore to do so.

          Rangiku caught up to him shortly, especially pleased with herself, made unaware of Gin’s quiet worry; could he even manage his Shikai at this level of discomfort and disarray ? 

          ❝ I actually got them to give you the whole day, you know, instead of the three hour limit they wanted you to do at first? I mean, that was ridiculous, who wants to train with such a strict schedule anyways? It takes me hours just to get Haineko to say a sentence of something useful to me. The last thing I’d need would be to feel rushed. ❞

          RANGIKU’S ATTEMPT AT CONVERSING NORMALLY OVER AN ABNORMAL SITUATION — GIN NEEDING PERMISSION TO HAVE HIS SWORD — WAS APPRECIATED.

          ❝ How long’s it been since ya tried talkin’ with her ? Maybe you oughtta take the day, too. ❞ Gin kept his stride despite Rangiku’s slowing a step or two in response.

          ❝ Don’t poke fun, I’m respecting her space. ❞ A huff, a pout. Rangiku’s hand flew back by habit to rest on the hilt of her sword as though a reassuring shoulder pat whilst coming to the defense of a friend. Haineko was not an easy spirit, Gin knew that much from her various complaints about any meditation being ‘time spent wasted’, mostly. HE WOULDN’T JUDGE, but he also couldn’t help but wonder... did the spirit feel like it was missing something, was Haineko so temperamental about helping Rangiku become stronger because it was a Zanpakuto with a gaping wound ? Was she unable to ascend any further because of what Aizen took ?

           That was a topic for another day. Gin smiled, instead, and kept matters light.

          ❝ Is that what they’re callin’ it these days ? ❞

         RANGIKU SHOT HIM A LOOK, the look, and Gin relented to her.

          ❝ Alright, alright — you’re right. ❞ 

          They walked towards the gates leading beyond the Seireitei together, quiet, for the rest of their route. IT WAS NICE OUTSIDE, a light breeze on a cool day, and the sun was shining past the curtain of gray that had been the previous few days, making its light feel all the warmer despite winter’s telltale chill. The two Shinigami took to a path through the Northern Rukongai, towards the mountainous range far beyond, avoiding the cleared streets for less commotion and conflict with the residents lurking within their shacks. INSTEAD, THEY TOOK THE SCENIC ROUTE, crunching leaves and swaying trees above, brisk, they both knew where to go, even if things had changed since the last century or so. The clearing was vast, outlined by barren trees towards the outskirts of a vacant skeleton row of houses left abandoned, dry dirt at their feet telltale of grounds over-farmed for rare nutrients. Rangiku idly unpacked their provisions; a decently sized blanket geared towards a picnic set-up, a few snacks packed lovingly, some sake bottles  ( of course she would )  ... and at that point Gin turned away to see her unearth nothing further, shaking his head yet smiling all the same. He surveyed their space, the trees, and hummed softly.

          ❝ Dunno — ❞ he projected his voice back to her as he gazed out, then scuffed his foot against the dirt as though testing it, an absent fidget. Looking back to her as she situated their little day outdoors, he couldn’t help but recall the tremoring fracture of Haineko as it absorbed Shinso’s impact, meant for an unconscious Hinamori. HE ALMOST BROKE HER SWORD THEN, back when he had far more control, and now...

          ❝ ... Maybe y’shouldn’t be out here with me, I might nick ya. ❞ Their eyes met for a brief moment before hers went back down to arranging their things, busywork as she thought. Gin watched. She seemed to catch his uncertainty, or at least a portion of it.

          ❝ Well... how about we start small... ❞ Rangiku replied with a gentle hum, then subsequently pat the space next to her as she situated herself onto the blanket, with Haineko on the opposing side, sheathed and set proper. Gin obeyed, approaching and slowly lowering himself down next to her as desired. He slid Shinso free from his waist, then set it down in a way which mirrored Rangiku, head tilting at her suggestion. ❝ Let’s both drop in and say hi. That’s easy, right ? ❞

          ❝ Thought y’were givin’ her space. ❞ Gin eyed her with a weakened playfulness.

          ❝ The lengths I’ll go for you. ❞ SHE DID NOT MISS A BEAT.

          Fair enough, Jinzen it was. Gin shrugged and sighed out, then took Shinso to place the sheathed blade into position across his legs within his lap. He sneakily peered at Rangiku for a moment as she also assumed the meditative position, endearingly so, especially the subtle frown of concentration caressing her expression, the fluttered eyelashes pressing closed in focus, the stray hairs tickling at her temples with the slightest kiss of a breeze. Gin hesitated only a second longer, then shifted and closed his eyes, too.

          THE CONNECTION SURGED WITHIN AN INSTANT.

          Whipping winds rushed around him, and he was no longer seated within a pleasant clearing, dirt and grass and swaying trees, no. GIN WAS WITHIN A BARREN WORLD NOW, assaulted by snow and ice and freezing air that ripped at his form. When he opened his eyes to seek the giant serpent within his inner world, the space not even two steps ahead of him wasn’t visible past the blizzard and downpour of snow and icy mist, graying his surroundings in such brutality that nary an outstretched hand could be seen, let alone a mountainous range of sleek silver scales stretching for kilometers down a frozen lake. If he couldn’t see Shinso, then the near-blind spirit certainly couldn’t see him. GIN VENTURED OUT ONTO THE ICY SURFACE MADE SMOOTH, black shoes the sole contrast in an otherwise white outfit — ah, wait, Gin stopped to inspect himself, a jarring moment of two hands raised to observe a familiar pale outfit he hadn’t been wearing prior to entering this world; Shinso hadn’t seen him since Karakura Town, of course, so perhaps there had been a disconnect in what he was wearing when manifested... among other things which needed updating. Gin flexed his right hand, curious, and then clutched it shut. It felt cold, no aid to be given by his current environment, but it was distinctly more numb than his left. Odd.

          Clearly, they needed some catching up.

          Careful steps slid forward across the frozen water, though Gin did not fear falling through; it rarely thawed, he must’ve been just a kid when it was thinned enough for his curious childish eyes to catch fish swimming beneath his feet. Sometimes the snow died down to a gentle dusting, a pleasant whisper of winter as opposed to this oppressive force. Gin did not shiver quite yet, though shielded his eyes in searching for his Zanpakuto’s massive spirit; SURELY HE’D SPOT HIM BY NOW...

          Maybe he’d taken shelter, in which case Gin doubled back from wandering across the stilled lake, treaded back through heavy snow till it reached his knees and numbed his legs with a wet clinging chill. NOW he was shivering...

          ❝ Shinso ?! ❞ Though Gin did not normally SHOUT, he attempted to do so now, only for it to feel as though his voice had been swept away by the winds and swallowed right up. No luck, he’d just have to go looking around; the shack had to be his next best bet, perhaps his spirit wasn’t in its truest form right now, hunkered down to survive the turmoil and relentless weather beneath a rickety old wooden home not nearly big enough for a thirteen kilometer serpent dragon to squeeze into. Gin had half the mind to Shunpo over, make things quick, but with the winds and howling pelts of snow, he couldn’t quite tell which direction to go. At least, a few spare boards of wood knocked against his ankle, a hissing collision that told Gin to veer right, THERE IT WAS, somehow — almost practically buried, this pathetic thing he called home once, long ago. The raised point of its triangular rooftop was half caved, that same damned spot as always seemed to have given way for the ice and snow to pour in. The entryway was completely swallowed, snow climbing to the last few breaths of its threshold. Gin would have to dig.

          By the time an opening presented itself, his hands were sufficiently numbed, reddened and bared till he felt blistering begin from the bite of cold... but at the very least he could wedge his way inside —— small quarters, and half was obstructed from the pile pooling in at the doorway, and another opening from the roof let snow pillar upwards in the pale light filtering through. THE SHACK MADE EVERYTHING SOUND QUIETER, softened sounds kept at bay via the buried snow packing its wooden frame into place. IT WAS SMALL ENOUGH FOR GIN TO KNOW THAT HE WAS ALONE IN HERE, no one else could be curled up in any corner, and he braced himself against the neighboring wall once he finished wriggling through the snow. He shook both his hands to get feeling back into them, but his left merely stung as his right moved in numbed silence. On the dirt floor, a gleam caught Gin’s eyes.

          There, disregarded on the ground, was his blade.

          Gin took it, breathed in, and then turned to clamber his way back outside. Shinso had to be near, on the lake somewhere, for this sword to be laying around. THERE WAS NOWHERE ELSE TO GO, A SIMPLE ABYSS. Maybe the serpent had traveled across the stretching grand lake fully, into the mountainous horizon beyond ? Had his Zanpakuto spirit retreated inward so thoroughly ? Well, now Gin had the blade, so he could hone in, at the very least, if he got warm. Speaking of warm, IT WAS FREEZING ! 

         ❝ Who’re ya, HYORINMARU now ?! ❞ A futile prod at the absent spirit thusly swallowed by the winds again. Gin kept his stride onto the lake again, glad to be freed from knee-high heavy snow swallowing his every step. Here, he could glide across the sleek surface with a single step, the frozen waters only subtly dusted by snow as the winds stole all else and kicked it back up into the cold air. Gin huffed out a visible breath, then veered onwards.

          The first thrum of energy, awakening, wasn’t quite felt; his palm was completely numbed into a state of occasional biting stings, hot across the rayskin gripped within a raw palm, and Gin thought nothing of it. Until the second pulse, a shudder cracking the ground beneath his feet —— and the blade in his hand was the beacon, the epicenter for the following waves, tremors, threatening to dart another fissure across the glassy ice below. Gin fought instincts to retreat, and instead knelt down to inspect the lake’s surface. FROSTED, CAPTURED BUBBLES OF AIR AND OTHER DEBRIS WITHIN THE WATER AS IT WAS FROZEN MADE FOR AN IMPERFECT REFLECTIVE SURFACE, and thus Gin was able to squint past its thick ice and into the depths, in which a gleam of rows of silver scales laid dormant below.

          It was Shinso in all of his magnificent glory, stretching its large snake-like husk for miles beneath the ice, swirling its silver-armored hide as though frozen in the act of coiling, slithering, writhing out in a gaping expression, massive fangs shrinking Gin in size, mouth opened wide just underneath where its master now stood, forked tongue reaching blindly out for the surface it did not breech. AH, HE MUST HAVE DROWNED INTO THE ICY WATERS, capsizing during Gin’s downfall, and then stolen away by the Second Division to never recover. Locked into a frozen tomb.

          The blade beckoned within his hand, and he knew Shinso needed more than some idling observations. FREEDOM.

          Gin plunged his blade into the ice, stabbed deep, then withdrew it to stab and chip again at another spot, cutting and wedging the blade in attempts to fracture the frozen lake. IT WAS MINISCULE, HIS EFFORTS WITH A SMALL BLADE, but bit by bit ... Gin reckoned he could carve the spirit free with the dormant wakizashi in his hand, all thirteen kilometers of him if need be...

          There was blood mixed with chunks of shattered ice, shreds of snow and frozen water tainted by crimson as Gin worked with blistering hands rubbed raw in the cold. HE WAS CERTAIN HE COULDNT FEEL HIS FINGERS ANYMORE, and both hands were needed to anchor his strikes downward as he worked to free his frozen companion from the ice. Gin couldn’t let go either, his hands were both stiff and clamped shut around his weapon; like it or not, this was his only option. By now, there was an ample section around the grand snake’s snout almost to the point in which Gin could reach down and touch scales rather than ice. HE STILL HAD PLENTY MORE SNAKE TO DIG OUT, and kept to his duty despite the sting of winter beating him down. He must’ve dug for hours more, clearing out adequate space around the serpent’s head. Gin paused to breathe, having clambered his way down towards the beginnings of Shinso’s throat beneath the smooth surface, and quietly shivered into a curled position during his break. HE COULDN’T STOP SHAKING NOW...

          ❝ Th-this would be easier i-if I h...ad a shovel, y’know, ❞ Gin shuddered and clamped his jaw, then focused back on keeping his momentum, his motivation, his drive — he struck his blade back into the ice. A tremor shook the lake again, odd sounds creaking and groaning, echoing, rebounding into the abyss as the ice shifted beneath Gin’s feet. IN AN INSTANT, THE ICE BEGAN TO SPLIT, shattering and breaking apart into freezing waters below, and Gin was promptly swallowed into the depths.

          Had he not been numbed by it all prior, Gin figured his subsequent drowning into icy waters would have struck his body like a building being slammed onto his chest. His lungs instantly jolted to a choking halt, and his entire frame went rigid in arrest, sent plunging down into swirling dark water, ripping currents — falling, falling, brittle to the bone with cold Gin felt akin to dying, shards of freezing glass pelting around him, and a final gasp of his lungs expelled the last of his air. SURELY HE WAS DYING, could he even die inside his inner world ? He couldn’t remember the specifics, the logic in him whispered something but he couldn’t hear it, and everything was fuzzy.

          A solid surface struck him, lifted, until Gin breeched the surface in a splash and sputter, coughing and hacking at the water that managed to squeeze itself into his ragged breaths. THE WINDS WERE RELENTLESS STILL, merciless to his now soaked frame shivering atop the massive sleek scales of Shinso’s coiling body. From the corner of Gin’s eyes, half-shut by slickened bangs and wet hair already freezing in the winds, he saw the large shadow of Shinso’s raising head, the darting flick of his forked tongue casting a delayed dash of air displaced by its large, quick motion. Gin cracked a smile even in his pain, his shivering pathetic state.

         ❝ G-good to s...see ya, ❞ and a cough, a teeth-clattering shudder. Gin straightened the best he could, hunched for warmth he could not find, yet feeling a spark underneath the intense gaze of the serpent housing him. WAVES OF WATER CLASHED AGAINST KAMISHINI NO YARI’S MONSTROUS FORM BELOW, Gin was raised higher now, almost enough to cut above the low storm clouds up high, into the night sky beyond the gray. The serpent was its own mountain range, coils stretched beyond visibility and off across the rest of the grand lake now shattered below. HE COULD FEEL SHINSO’S RELIEF; at being released from his tomb, his state of suspended death, yet also at Gin, MORESO AT GIN, glad to see its master still alive.

          BOOMING IN HIS TEMPLES, HIS MIND ALIGHT, NUMEROUS VOICES SPOKE AT ONCE...

          Are you alright  ( where did you go )  is Aizen still alive  ( why did you not draw me out )  why did we not fight  ( why did I feel you give in )  did we win  ( where is Rangiku )  did Ichigo prevail  ( did Karakura Town fall )  WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU ? WE DID NOT FADE SO WE KNEW YOU DID NOT DIE, AND YET... WE COULD ONLY WAIT AND DESPAIR !

          ❝ We — n-need to... t-talk. ❞ 

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

I have to say, this one was interesting to write, for sure! But I think it turned out alright. Or at least, I sure hope it did! More DamiRae, same prompt list. Please enjoy this latest offering! 

:)

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"What do you think you're doing, Raven?" Pale hands held dress on its hanger, tight to her lace-covered body, in an effort to shield herself. She released a breath when she confirmed the identity of the intruder.

It was Damian. Of course, it was.

The organ in Raven's chest began beating boiling blood into her eardrums. "And exactly what do you think you're doing here?" The woman promptly glowered at him for the attempt to frighten the wits out of her. "How did you even get into my apartment?"

"Please." Damian spat. Some welcome that was, and it was hardly an explanation for the intrusion. The emeralds began to case the place, seeing on her table an escaped tube of mascara, an abandoned cup of chamomile tea, and on the floor one side of shoe, among other items left askew in her effort to get herself ready. And they returned to her, at last, for an extremely thorough once over of her bare legs and her half-naked figure. "Are you really going to wear that dress?" Pale hands clutched herself to the garment with fists. Unbelievable. He was really unbelievable. He had no right to show up this way.

And Raven knew perfectly well, she never gave him a key. Seriously, how did he get in?

Right. She realized dully. He was Damian Wayne.

Her grip slackened as the shock wore off. "Hmm..." She frowned. "Yes, I think I am." The pale girl shrugged at him, as if the thought had just occurred. As if it had been sewn into her skull from the skies of Gotham above. "It's Friday night, Kori and Karen called and invited me to go out."

"Go out?" The usually vibrant pine-colored irises were in smoldering slits. "I spent hours in traffic - I went to two opposite ends of the city -" He thrust several plastic bags onto the kitchen counter. "Because the only place that serves decent Malaysian food around here closed down a month ago." The room was punctuated by the sharp tongue click. "For some reason, the owners decided to quit the restaurant business, in favor of purchasing a food truck." He huffed in disgust. "And then, I had to scrounge around through stores, like a mad man because everywhere under the sun was sold out of that - that green tea ice cream you like so much. It took so damn long to get here that it started melting on my shoes..." Damian growled at his loafers. By now she could feel holes burnt into the fabric she was holding in front of her body.

It was hardly her dress's fault.

"Damian." She spoke softly. "I didn't ask for any of that, or for you to show up here unannounced. And uninvited." Pale feet padded over to the closet, where she started to shimmy into the black, clingy garment. "Don't forget, I haven't even seen you in weeks."

"Exactly my point. You shouldn't go." He folded his arms. "Besides, you don't even like..." Raven poked her head over the side of the door and eyed him coolly. Green tea ice cream or not, he was treading on thin ice with her already. "You don't even like going out, not spontaneously - and certainly not while wearing that."

"Oh? I see... You march in here after a few weeks of radio silence..." Raven started to scathe out to a suddenly scared Damian. Then, she smirked. Thinking better of it. No, this was not how her evening was going to go. "Your timing is actually quite fortuitous." With her dress pooled around the middle of her back, she turned to him, satiny strands of amethyst silk spilling over a slim shoulder. "Can you...zip me up?"

Damian paused, his green gaze lingering for much longer than was acceptable on the exposed skin above her ass. He shifted, before he cleared his throat. "Raven, are you still going to go? Can't we talk...?" He sounded pained. Annoyance swiftly succeeded when she didn't bite. "When I left that voicemail yesterday, I said I wanted to tell you something."

"I didn't get a voicemail." The mage said simply. "But I don't need to listen to it to know what it said." Raven exhaled. "Probably that we're heroes... We can hardly manage consistency in our personal lives for long - if we want to save the lives of others." She fingered her partly undone zipper and cocked her head in warning. "I am familiar with the story." And she had grown tired of it.

"I would have said something similar in the past..." Damian swallowed. "But, I've been thinking about that. A little."

"Have you now, Damian?" The bright purple gaze flickered of faint amusement. "Zip?" She asked simply.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about... In part, it's why I came over."

"Zip." She interjected, with an edge of boredom.

"I wanted to spend tonight..." Damian licked his lips. "With you." He muttered under his breath. "I just wanted to see you, alright?" He grimaced. "I was thousands of miles away from the city and my mind kept coming back to you."

Raven traced the frame of the door with an errant finger, glancing away.

"Raven?" She stepped backwards into the closet. "Didn't you hear me?"

Raven stiffened, feeling his body right behind her. She glanced behind her. "Are you going to zip me up or...?"

"I know you heard me...and if you didn't." Damian crushed his mouth to hers, sliding his fingers through her soft hair. He nibbled her lip, before he plunged into her warmth. They pressed themselves into the tiny space, the wooden shelves, and racks of neutral palates and monochrome, while hangers swung wildly about them. "I'll show you."

"Damian." She murmured, breathlessly. No, she couldn't. Raven wrenched her body from his. "So... what if I did?" Raven stumbled onto two pairs of nearly identical black boots, in an effort to put distance between them.

"You did, and you were still going to go out?" Damian hissed low and dangerous. "Am I not enough for you tonight, Raven?"

"Damian - that's -" He gathered her hair behind her ear, sliding his teeth down the reddening lobe, the smooth column of neck. His tongue was trailing along her flushing skin fervently. "That's not true." She moaned as his hands kneaded her chest. Damian pulled and plucked and her nipples hardened almost instantly. His hands traveled along her curves to grab her hips, pressing her firm into the straining bulge in his pants and then grinding into the curve of her ass, while his fingers worked their way up her thighs. Raven let out a delicious squeak. Her body was shaking, and crying out for relief.

"I know it's not true; I mean look at you, melting into my hands - I've barely touched you... I didn't know you were so...sensitive." Damian teased, enjoying the indescribable hold he had over the most powerful woman alive. He licked his lips, his hand rubbing her core through her moist panties. Raven felt him smirking onto the nape of her neck. "You've been thinking about me pressing myself up against you from the moment I walked through the door..." She gasped. He had no idea how right he was. When she saw the tensed jawline, sharp stubble and that broad, strong body looming over her, she had been picturing it. "Admit it, you wanted this the second you sensed me behind you, didn't you?"

"No." Raven panted, gripping the plastered door frame for support, as he stroked her faster. "This is only - because we haven't seen each in so long." She tried feebly, but her mind was hazy and blurred. It was more: It was her body's practically involuntary response to Damian's. They were magnets or caustic chemicals. She couldn't help but react to him, to reach out and bind to him. Raven's core was quaking into his palm - the friction felt absolutely electric, where his hands had touched, where their bodies overlapped.

"Then, I'll say it first: I missed you, Raven." His rough fingers tore her zipper down the rest of the way and hiked her dress up her thighs. He slid her thong aside. "Every hour of every day I was away, I thought about you," he groaned. Raven angled her head back to his, her moans muffling in his mouth as hardness rolled along wetness. She didn't even know when his jeans had come undone, but Azar, did she want him.

"I only want you."

Raven gasped, finally inhaling after the pleasant push of their bodies becoming one. His torso encircled her own, muscular arms caressed her bare back. And he took her from behind, over and over, to the beautiful sounds of whimpers, hangers swinging, the endless creaks of a closet door.

And Raven's phone, forgotten and buzzing on the floor.

[misskikuwrites]

Into the Wild (6/8)

Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)

-

Gloria tossed and turned in her sleeping bag, unable to fall back asleep. The faint light of dawn streamed through the walls of her tent. Outside, the Wild Area was alive with the sounds of Pokemon waking up with the rising sun. Gloria huffed. It was too loud, too bright, too early. And she'd had too little sleep.

A certain someone had plagued her thoughts until late into the night, long after she'd crawled into her tent and desperately tried to sleep. Now, hours later, he was occupying her mind again. Gloria's mind had drifted to Bede soon after she'd woken up and now she couldn't force herself back to sleep.

She soon gave up, threw off her sleeping bag and changed into warmer clothes, tugging a jumper over her head as she left her tent. A thin layer of fog hung over their camp. The air was crisp and sharp, and she shivered and shuffled over to the remains of their firepit. It was out - of course - and she crouched in front of it, poking the charcoal and ashes with a stick.

The conversation they'd had last night, sitting by this very campfire, kept returning to her mind. The laughter, the s'mores. The look on Bede's face as he'd spoken to her, one she still couldn't describe. It kept reappearing in her mind. It made her stomach, and mind, swirl uncomfortably. Fluttery and uneasy.

He'd been so kind to her. So sweet and gentle. Not just last night, but for the entirety of the trip so far. Bede, who was usually so curt, rough around the edges, brusque and proud, had been sweet to her. Gloria rested her chin on her knees, prodding the remains of a charred log until it crumbled.

Opal must have had a big effect on him, for him to change so much…

Her mind drifted. She thought back to when she'd approached him with her favour, when she'd strolled into Fairy Gym over a week ago.

He'd been sharp with her then. Discerned her reason for coming with a huff, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"So, what is it this time?"

The words he'd said hung in her ears. She'd almost backed up the instant he'd said that, ready to swallow her favour and make an excuse.

And then, yesterday, the way he'd laid out those conditions, the things that needed to change for them to continue as a team… the memory coloured differently now.

He'd been calm. Professional. As though they were colleagues.

It hit her all at once. A heavy weight dropping into her stomach, dragging her heart, her soul, down with it.

Bede was treating her like the Champion. Following her lead, agreeing to her favour. To all the favours she'd asked of him.

Because she was the Champion.

The stick snapped in her hand.

Was that why he hadn't denied her? Why he hadn't rejected her offers, her favours? Because he couldn't? Because a Gym Leader had to follow the directions of the Champion?

That was why he was so nice to her. So sweet and kind, why he protected her. Why he cared about her. They were friends but, above everything else, Gloria was the Champion.

She'd been a nuisance, a bother, time and time again and… Bede hadn't been allowed to say no. He went along with it because that was his duty as a Gym Leader. He wanted to fit that role as strongly as she wanted to fit the role of the Champion. To do what was expected of them.

Was that why…?

She threw the stick onto the ashes. She'd asked for Bede's help as a friend, but hadn't considered that he'd answer her as a colleague. The Champion asking a favour of a Gym Leader.

Was that all they were?

She didn't want to know. The ache in her heart permeated through her body, her bones, as though she'd been frozen from the inside out.

She'd gotten ahead of herself again. Been too excited about the prospect of her and Bede being a team and forgot what they already were.

She didn't know what was correct anymore. It all felt wrong. Nothing fit right, nothing made sense. It all hurt.

Was she just a bother to Bede? A nuisance, an annoyance he couldn't shake, couldn't deny? She'd been so happy that he'd changed and softened around her, hadn't considered that maybe it was because she was the Champion. Because he had to act that way around her.

Even that didn't fit right. She knew her thoughts were running away from her, coming up with conclusions that suited the heavy ache in her chest rather than the facts.

The lack of sleep and the early hour was getting to her. Twisting her thoughts and mood negatively.

The chill in the morning air became too much, and Gloria stood, exhaling sharply. She needed to get the fire going before she actually began to freeze. She glanced around, before heading towards the trees behind Bede's tent. She picked up a few sticks along the way, snapping them absently as she tried to push any and all thoughts from her mind.

They'd done enough damage already.

Gloria treaded lightly around the bushes near Bede's tent. Just because she'd awoken at a ridiculous hour didn't mean she had to wake him up too.

And… she wasn't ready to face him yet. Not with the way her mind was still swirling, her throat still tight. Not with the doubt sinking over her shoulders.

Gloria knelt down, ignoring the ache of protest in her knees, and brushed a clump of leaves off a log. She touched it and sighed. The wood was damp. Even the meager sticks and branches she'd gathered were far from dry. She'd be able to get a small flame going, but nothing substantial enough to cook breakfast over at this rate. She stood and shifted again, rolling over the next log she found with her foot. It looked dry enough, so she gathered it in her arms and headed back to the fire.

As she rounded Bede's tent, she heard voices. A man and a woman, their voices rising from the other side of Gloria's tent. She paused, surprised anyone else was awake at this hour, before they came into view. The man had a large camera hoisted over his shoulder, the woman holding a microphone. They hadn't seen her yet.

Gloria dropped everything she was holding, the sticks, the branches, the single dry log she'd found, and lunged for the zip of Bede's tent. She thrust it upwards, scrambled inside and yanked it closed as fast as she could. Bede startled awake, jolting upright and staring incredulously at her. She dove at him, slapping a hand over his mouth and muffling whatever it was he tried to bark at her.

"Shh!" Gloria hissed.

Bede grabbed her wrist, his strangled protest smothered by her hand. She pressed her palm firmer against his mouth. Tried to silence him with a panicked, warning glare, suddenly realising how close they were but too desperate to silence Bede to back away. His eyes bored into her. A smouldering heat flushed his cheeks, his gaze burning and swimming as he tried to tug her hand off his mouth.

"Shh!" she hissed again, her breath catching as the voices outside drew closer, louder. She could make out some words.

"... camp… awake… anyone…?"

Footsteps crunched closer. A shadow drifted over the side of the tent. Gloria tensed, her whole body stiffening, and stared, wide-eyed at the shadow as it stilled by the entrance.

"Anyone home?" a deep, male voice called curiously.

Gloria's heart pounded in her ears. Bede's grip on her wrist began to itch.

"Don't wake them up!" a woman's voice chided. "We'll find some other trainers to interview elsewhere. It's the Wild Area - we won't have to go far!"

The shadow left. Footsteps drifted away as a low grumble sounded in disappointment. The conversion continued, quieter now, and Gloria could no longer pick out any words.

They were gone.

Bede yanked her hand off his mouth, his expression sizzling and searing. Gloria stiffened, heart lodging in her throat, as he glared.

"You'd better have a good explanation for this," he said, his voice as cold and sharp as ice despite the heat on his cheeks. He held her wrist firmly, preventing her from fleeing or even moving out of his personal space.

For a moment, Gloria held her breath, frozen in place. The heat burning in his eyes stole the air from her lungs. Her palm tingled where her hand had been pressed against his lips.

"They… they were journalists, reporters," Gloria said quietly. The words fell from her lips in a shaky exhale. Her back began to ache from her position as she angled her body, leaning away from him slightly. Enough so she could think.

"And how does that lead you to dive into my tent and attempt to smother me to death?" His question was as low as a whisper, hissed across the short distance between them.

"I-I wasn't trying to smother you!"

"It sure felt like you were." His glare matched the edge of his tone.

"Sorry, I was just… I didn't want them to hear you!"

She couldn't look at him any longer. The hand around her wrist, firm but not painful, was distracting, as was Bede's whole appearance - his platinum blond hair curled wildly, fluffy and temptingly soft. Pressure lines from his sleeping bag ran down the side of his right cheek. His pyjama top, with a Galarian Ponyta on the front, was too adorable. She stole her gaze away, angled her face to the side. It only made Bede lean closer.

"And how does that explain why you're in my tent in the first place?"

There was something in his voice, a tightness in his words, slightly hoarse and strained from sleep. Gloria's mind almost staggered to a halt at how it sounded in her ear.

"Th-This was the closest tent! They… they would've seen me if I'd gone to mine!"

"You'd rather risk them seeing you scramble into my tent instead?"

"They didn't see me! …I think."

Bede huffed, exhaling a deep sigh, before releasing Gloria's wrist. She stole her arm back, rubbed the spot where she could still feel his touch as though it hurt.

It didn't.

Gloria pressed her lips together firmly, feeling her cheeks burn. A strange fluffer filled her chest as she tried to calm her breathing and slow her heart. The silence was deafening.

"Are you planning to stay here all morning, then?" Bede asked, finally breaking the silence and making Gloria jump.

"I'm going, I'm going!"

She scrambled out as quickly as she'd come, tripping on the entrance and almost sprawling face-first into the dirt. She managed to catch herself with a few stumbled steps. She stomped over to where she'd dumped her miserable excuse for firewood, rubbing away the blush on her cheeks with her palms.

That was a mistake. It'd been a big mistake to dive into Bede's tent. She hadn't thought it through, hadn't thought anything at all in that brief moment of panic and her body had moved instinctively in order to flee. It just so happened that Bede's tent was right there.

She could feel an echo of his grip around her wrist. His turse words, his cutting tone, made her heart sink despite the way it fluttered in her chest.

He was mad at her. Frustrated, annoyed. He had to be. The way he'd glared and snapped at her…

Gloria gathered the wood she'd discarded earlier off the ground, piling the twigs and branches in her arms before picking up the log, and trudged over to the firepit. She dumped it on top of the ashes and charcoal, her lips twisting sourly.

Today was not off to a good start. It was barely seven in the morning and she'd already managed to annoye Bede. Her heart squeezed tightly. It ached. Gloria shivered.

She turned on her heels and headed for her tent. She needed to get her poor excuse for a fire going before she sank further, deeper, into the dark pit that she was wallowing in. She dug around in her bag for a lighter, rooting through the leftover s'mores ingredients, her clothes, all her junk. She shuffled through her bag again. Reached in deeper, her hand floundering around all the stuff she'd shoved in her bag.

She found a spare hair tie that she didn't realise she'd packed. A muesli bar wrapper. Three different odd socks and a half eaten berry that she tossed over her shoulder with a grimace. Gloria even got out her phone and shined a light into the abyss of her bag in a last ditch attempt.

The fire lighter she'd definitely had in her bag yesterday was nowhere to be found. Gloria huffed and returned to the firepit.

What will Bede think when he finds out I've misplaced my lighter? Gloria's mind taunted.

Some Champion I am…

His glare kept flashing in her mind. She dropped to a crouch, her lips pressed tight. She'd already upset him once today… Gloria fiddled with her phone, trying to think. Absently, she brought up the picture she'd taken of Bede the other day and immediately her cheeks began to warm. Her eyes swept over the picture, from the gentle light in Bede's eyes, to the faint, almost imperceptible smile on his face, to the way the morning light dusted over his platinum blond hair and made it shimmer like snow.

Her lungs felt fuzzy again. She felt fuzzy. Fuzzy and fluffy like her insides had turned into fuzzy pom-poms and were bouncing around in her chest and stomach.

She doubted he would ever look at her like that.

That sudden thought instantly soured her mood. She shoved her phone into her pocket and stood.

Enough. She needed to get the fire going.

Gloria grabbed Cinderace's Pokeball and sent him out. Fyrian stretched with a cute yawn before beaming a smile at his trainer. The sight of her Cinderace eased a weight off Gloria's heart. She returned the smile.

"Alright, Fyrian. Let's get this fire going!" Gloria motioned to the firepit, giving her Pokemon a nod.

Cinderace chimed eagerly as Gloria stepped back from the firepit. She turned around to gather some more twigs when she saw Cinderace kick up a stone. She reacted a split second too late. There was nothing she could do but cry out and watch in horror as the firepit was engulfed by a torrential flame.

-

Bede lay in his tent, an arm draped over his eyes, as he waited for his racing, thundering heart to slow. A tight coil of heat remained on his cheeks, slowly ebbing away as the minutes ticked by. The rush of adrenaline had faded, leaving him to fluster over what had happened.

He stole a shaky breath and clenched his teeth, trying to stop a second wave of heat from flooding his face and neck.

Arceus.

Gloria's obliviousness was going to be the end of him one day. He couldn't believe his eyes when she'd launched into his tent like that, suddenly throwing herself at him and slapping a hand over his mouth. He would have screamed something foul for sure if she hadn't silenced him. Every protest and curse that he knew had burned in his throat, forced out of his lungs in an incoherent, strangled sound.

The heat that flooded his body surged into his lungs until he was fit to burst, like a vessel under pressure, until he'd snatched away her hand and released it onto her.

He hadn't meant to but Arceus, his heart had lodged in his throat and he couldn't just let her think that storming into his tent and manhandling him like that was okay.

The fact that she'd done it, that she'd scrambled into his tent like that when he was sleeping, reaffirmed Bede's suspicion that Gloria only saw him as a friend. If she had any kind of romantic interest in him, any at all, he doubted that she would've acted that way.

Why else would she think there was nothing wrong with diving into the tent of a sleeping seventeen-year-old male friend and slapping a hand over his mouth so early in the morning?

Bede sighed as the flush colouring his cheeks finally receded. He sat up and ran a hand through his messy curls before checking the time on his phone. It was five minutes to seven, a decent enough time to get moving.

He slid out of his sleeping bag and into the cool air, pulling a change of clothes out of his backpack before tugging his pyjama top over his head. The wound on his back gave a sharp stab of pain in protest to the movement. Bede ignored it. He pulled on a thick, long-sleeved navy top, the high collar snug around his neck. He began to change into comfortable black pants when he heard Gloria say something outside, followed by the recognisable chirp of her Cinderace. He glanced in the direction of the noise as he hoisted the pants up to his hips, before Gloria screamed.

"No!"

Bede shot out of his tent and into a wave of heat. He flinched beneath it, his arms braced over his face.

"Gloria?!" he cried, rushing forward even before the burst of heat had completely faded, seeing Gloria staring, speechless, at the ground where the firepit should have been.

A dark streak of soot and ash stained the dirt over the mess of stones that had once lined their firepit. The camping stove was toppled over, the rusty and scratched metal now completely black with soot. The air tasted like smoke.

"What on earth happened here?" Bede asked.

Gloria jumped, whirling on the spot. The blood drained from her face and she shrunk a step away from him. Then her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open with a faint squeak, and she stole her gaze away. The colour that had suddenly drained from her face returned with fury, burning pink across her cheeks.

"Please tell me you didn't try and start the fire with a Pyro Ball," he sighed.

Cinderace chimed sadly.

"I didn't want him to use Pyro Ball!" Gloria argued, huffing at Bede for no longer than a split second before something flashed over her face and she looked away again.

"What happened to using a fire lighter like a normal person?"

He ignored the strange expression on her face and walked over to the toppled camping stove, surveying the damage. It was still in once piece.

"Um, Bede…?"

He righted the stove before turning back to her. "What?"

Her eyes darted downward before shooting away again. Her face was red. Burning, burning red. His heart flip-flopped at the sight.

"Your… um…. your pants are…" she spoke so softly, so quietly, he almost didn't catch what she'd said. He looked down with a rush of panic.

In his desperation to reach Gloria at the sound of her scream, Bede had failed to do up the front of his pants. His fly was wide open. He scrambled to zip his pants up quickly, fingers fumbling over the button to fix it closed.

"I-I was getting dressed when you screamed," he explained hurriedly. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. He didn't meet her eyes, didn't dare look at her.

Not that she could do it either.

"I couldn't find my lighter, so…"

"So you decided to destroy our fire pit instead?"

He instantly regretted his choice of words, his biting tone, when she shrank and pressed her lips into a tight line. He thought he saw her bottom lip tremble faintly.

"I didn't mean to; I didn't think Fyrian would use Pyro Ball."

Cinderace made an apologetic chirp in return. She turned to her Pokemon, gently stroking the top of his head between the ears.

"It's okay, Fyrian. It's not your fault. I should've told you I only needed a small flame."

The sad smile on her face made Bede's heart plummet.

Damn it.

He hadn't meant to upset her.

"Well, the stove is still in once piece," Bede said casually, as though he wasn't forcing the words through the lump in his throat, "and I can easily dig the pit out again. I suppose I should be glad your Cinderace hadn't launched a serious Pyro Ball at it, or we wouldn't have anything left to salvage."

Gloria didn't respond. She looked at the ground, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. The lump in Bede's throat lodged higher. Firmer.

He knelt by the fire pit, reaching out to move the stones back into place before feeling the heat rising from them. They were still too hot to touch. Gloria stood in the corner of his eyes, sheepishly glancing at him. She wrapped her arms around herself, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

He knew she wanted to apologise. That she'd taken the blame, shouldered it completely. That she was buckling beneath its weight.

"I kept the logs we didn't use last night by my tent, under a tarp," Bede said as he stood and brushed the dirt and ash off his knees. "Go collect them, and some kindling, while I set this up again."

Gloria gave him a stiff nod and headed off in the direction of his tent in silence, her Cinderace bounding after her. He waited a moment before letting out a long, deep breath. He hadn't meant to snap at her. Again. For the second time this morning. He was still on edge from her sudden appearance in his tent that he'd unintentionally driven his walls back up.

Bede shifted on the dirt, his feet beginning to ache from the cold, and went to his tent after being sure Gloria had gone to gather more wood. He pulled on a red and black tartan jacket, leaving it open as it wouldn't be that cold in the sun. When he'd finished putting on his hiking boots and returned to the firepit, Gloria had left the unused logs from the previous night by the camping stove.

Bede tentatively hovered his fingers above one of the stones that Cinderace's Pyro Ball had knocked out of place, finding that it had cooled down enough for him to touch. He shifted them into a tight circle, digging the pit out again with one of the logs. He finished setting up the firepit, the camping stove positioned above the logs on its tripod, and retrieved his bag from his tent.

Perhaps a good meal would help soften the stiff air lingering between them.

Gloria quietly shuffled over to the firepit, and began to make a neat teepee out of the kindling. She glanced at him, once, then twice, as she placed the rest of the wood she'd gathered around the logs.

"Here." Bede held his fire lighter out to her.

She took it in silence, crouching by the fire in a way that reminded him of a skittish Sobble, making herself smaller, quieter. Glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. As if she were waiting for something to happen.

Bede focused on what he was doing instead. He set up their collapsable table near the firepit, pulling out everything he needed for breakfast from his bag and placing them on the table. A couple of fresh berries they'd bought yesterday. His water bottle. A stack of plastic plates and cutlery, a small non-stick frying pan and a bottle of instant pancake mix.

Gloria stood up, the fire beginning to crackle at their feet, her eyes latching onto the pancake mix.

"Pancakes?" she gasped. "I didn't think we had any left."

"We didn't."

Bede kept his tone level and calm as his heart skipped. She drew closer, eyes twinkling eagerly, and he focused on keeping his breathing regular and even. As if her presence, her proximity, didn't bother him at all. As though his skin, the air between them, wasn't fizzing and sparking with invisible energy.

He shrugged, opening up the bottle of pancake mix and pouring water into it, measuring up to the line. "I bought more yesterday since you like- since it's easy to make." He cleared his throat as a rush of heat burst across his cheeks at the slip of his tongue. His heart began to pound harder and firmer in his chest.

"Really? I guess I must not have noticed it!"

She didn't notice Bede's slip up either.

"If you've got nothing better to do than stand over my shoulder, then you can start chopping up those berries," Bede said, a bit harsher and sharper than he'd meant to. It was hard to stop the bite in his tone when she was hovering so closely behind him like that. He screwed the lid onto the bottle tightly, placing his phone on the table to keep time, and began to shake the mix thoroughly.

Gloria skipped around him, snatching the berries and a knife off the table, unphased by Bede's clipped tone. The anticipation of pancakes had greatly improved her mood, as he had hoped it would. She bounced lightly on her toes as she sliced the berries into uneven chunks, a bright smile on her face for the first time that morning.

Bede's plan was working. Now, all he had to do was hold his tongue at her messy knife work, the way she kept sampling the berries she was supposed to be cutting up for their breakfast.

He couldn't hold it for long.

"Are you going to leave any for the pancakes?" Bede asked with a sigh, shaking his head. He placed the thoroughly shaken pancake bottle on the table and set the frying pan over the stove.

Gloria quickly swallowed the piece of berry in her mouth. "I am!"

Her protest made the corner of Bede's lips quirk upwards in amusement. He grabbed a handful of berry pieces and dropped them into the pancake bottle, giving it another shake. Gloria snuck another piece into her mouth. He gave her a pointed look, to which she raised her eyebrows innocently. When he looked away to pour some of the mix into the frying pan, he heard a faint crunch come from Gloria.

She snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. Bede shook his head again, trying hard not to smile. Arceus. If she only knew how adorable she looked right now, how her stifled laughter made his heart swell until it was fit to burst.

He managed to shoo Gloria away from the rest of the berries and, soon enough, the pancakes were cooked and they were seated around the fire with their Pokemon. Bede made sure his gaze never lingered too long on Gloria as they ate. Not that she would've noticed anyway; she was too busy enjoying her pancakes and sighing in delight, or tearing a pancake into bite-sized portions for Ralts seated on her lap.

The enamoured smile Gloria gave her Ralts made it harder for Bede to look away. His heart thumped harder for every second he looked at her. He leant his elbow onto his knee, his closed fist pressed against his cheek to hide his rising blush.

It almost bothered him how damnably cute she was, how sweet her gentle laughter sounded. How his heart skipped as she cooed at her Ponyta, the Pokemon curling up beside her and resting her head on Gloria's thigh.

He remembered the affection she'd showered his Sylveon with the day before. How easily she'd laughed and said "I love you too," to his Pokemon.

Those words echoed in his mind again.

Hatterene trilled beside him and Bede jumped, whirling his head to see Hatterene giving him a wide, knowing smile. He leveled a threatening glare at his Pokemon, which only made Hatterene laugh again.

"Don't," he hissed and deliberately forced his gaze away from Gloria. He shoved a forkful of the now-cold pancake into his mouth.

Hatterene's smile didn't waver. She made an innocent noise, her dark eyes twinkling. The way she held the tip of her tentacle in front of her mouth didn't help Bede's suspicion that Hatterene knew. He knew his Pokemon could read his emotions. That Hatterene could definitely sense his feelings towards Gloria.

And that Hatterene enjoyed teasing him about it. Much like a few other people he wasn't going to name.

Bede took a deep breath and decided he needed to think about something else. Anything else. He needed to get Hatterene off his case before Gloria noticed the way his Pokemon was grinning at him.

He thought back to yesterday. To their encounter with the Excadrill and Rhydon. The way she'd uncharacteristically hesitated for a moment.

He swallowed the last bite of his pancake and leant back, his palms flat on the ground by his sides, and looked at Gloria.

"You were going to tell me something yesterday," Bede began, catching Gloria's attention. She lifted her gaze off her Ralts and met his eyes. "When we were dealing with the Excadrill and Rhydon. Something bothered you."

Her gaze drifted as she thought back.

"You hesitated," he reminded her. Made sure to wipe out any judgement from his tone, any concern or worry that would lead her to brush him off.

"Oh. That."

He waited. The fire crackled. Gloria's Ponyta snorted in its sleep. She hugged her Ralts a little closer, a little tighter. She followed her Gyarados with a silent, pensive gaze.

"I wasn't sure how I'd react," Gloria said after a few moments. "To Lazuli. My Gyarados. I know he's not the one that- the one from the lake, but…"

Bede waited. Stared over the top of the fire instead of watching her.

"I wasn't sure if I was going to freeze up or panic or…" She shrugged. "I wasn't going to bring Lazuli with me until you suggested it." She laughed. A bitter, sharp laugh. "And it's stupid, I know, he'd never hurt me like that. I mean, what kind of Trainer is afraid of their own Pokemon…?"

She trailed off.

Bede didn't know what to say. A thousand words and phrases clambered in his throat, surging with a need to say someone, anything, to reassure her.

"It was only a suggestion," he said instead. "We needed to even out our Types. Your Tsareena would have worked as well. If there was an issue, you should have told me."

Gloria's lips pressed tightly together and Bede regretted his words immediately. He'd hit a sore spot.

He cleared his throat into his hand awkwardly. "What I mean is, we're a team. You should- You can tell me if something's wrong or you don't agree with what I've said. Suggesting your Gyarados after what had happened was a mistake." Bede sighed heavily.

How had he not realised, or even thought about that? She'd been flung around like a ragdoll by a Gyarados, ended up in hospital, and he'd callously suggested that she use her Gyarados not a day afterwards.

"I-" his apology caught in his throat.

"I'm actually glad you did," she said, not noticing or hearing Bede's stammer. "As soon as I sent Lazuli out, I realised that I'd been worrying over nothing. I'm not afraid of him. At all."

Oh.

She pressed her cheek to the top of Ralts head, tilting her head and smiling softly at Bede. The golden light from the fire danced in her eyes, warming her cheeks and her gaze. Air stole from his lungs.

"I think I owe you one," she continued. Her voice enveloped him in a way he couldn't describe, clear and audible over the pounding of his heart that managed to silence everything else but her. "Thanks to you, I was able to deal with it sooner rather than later. So…"

She trailed off, her smile saying more than she could.

Bede stared into the fire, his cheeks burning hotly as though he'd shoved his face into the glowing cinders. He couldn't reply. Unable to force even a snarky comment past his heart where it lodged high in his throat. He managed a hum of acknowledgment and nothing more.

"I actually wanted to ask you something too," she said. Her dazzling, breathtaking smile vanished, her gaze wandering over to where his Bewear was scoffing the rest of their unused berries.

Bede took a breath. "What is it?"

"You used Bewear yesterday."

"That's a statement, not a question."

She pouted, curling her lips at him with a forceful glare. He swallowed the mirth dancing on his tongue so he wouldn't laugh at her adorable expression and spoil the mood.

She huffed before continuing. "I was going to ask you if you'd made a decision about Bewear. Since you used him yesterday in battle and…" She sent a pointed look to the Pokemon in question.

He looked to the fire again. An amicable silence descended around them, broken only by the crackling and popping of the fire and their Pokemon nearby.

After a moment of thought, Bede said, "I suppose that Pokemon deserve to have a second chance as much as any person."

Gloria perked up. Her eyes widened for a moment before a gleeful smile widened on her face. "Really? Does that mean…?"

"I've decided to give him a second chance."

And perhaps a third, and a fourth. And many more after that, Arceus knows Bede has had more than that himself.

"I'm so glad to hear that!" Gloria beamed.

He couldn't look at her. Not when she was smiling at him like that, especially when Hatterene was smirking knowingly at him.

Arceus.

At least he could blame the heat on his face on the fire.

-

Gloria skipped along the path, her legs feeling light and airy, as though she were walking on clouds. She couldn't, and didn't want to, keep the bounce from her step.

Everything she'd been worrying about that morning had fallen away. The haze in her mind had cleared with the fog, lifting off her shoulders and her mind, so she could bask in the warmth of the sun once more. She hummed a happy tune, smiling at Sylveon as he trotted beside her.

Bede's pancakes had done wonders for her mood. Not only that, but he didn't seem annoyed by her at all, despite the gnawing trepidation in her gut that had hounded her earlier.

And the pancakes!

He'd bought pancakes again and she hadn't even noticed, which made her wonder if he'd kept that a secret deliberately… although her mind told her she was getting ahead of herself there.

He hadn't even scolded her for the mess with the firepit, nor had he brought up the incident in his tent - for which she was forever grateful. It wasn't something she wanted to talk about ever again.

Everything had gone perfectly, she almost wondered if she was dreaming. Especially when she remembered the way he'd snorted a laugh, fighting back a grin, when she'd stolen another berry as he was cooking.

She glanced at Bede stealthily out of the corner of her eyes. He walked beside her, a half-step behind, his eyes following the path of her Corviknight above. She looked away as her heart skipped and focused on where she was walking. Fought back the urge to glance at him again, to pretend she was searching their surroundings and not finding an excuse to have him in her sight…

Her mind kept replaying the events of this morning. The way he'd looked in his tent when she'd scrambled over to him. The blazing heat on his cheeks that burned into his glare was so different to the way he'd stared at her in shock when she'd thanked him for suggesting she take her Gyarados with her.

She still couldn't decipher that expression. The strange way he'd reacted to her. She hadn't been able to stop or dampen the smile on her face when she'd thanked him. Her heart had felt too full, as though everything was pouring out of her at once and… he'd stared. His eyes had widened infinitesimally for the briefest of moments before he'd looked away and that split second was frozen in her mind.

It made something in her chest bubble strangely. She kept thinking back to it. To Bede.

And the way he'd flushed earlier when he'd realised his pants were undone-

No, no, no, no, no.

Nope.

She was not going to think about that.

She definitely wasn't going to think about what could have happened if she'd sent Cinderace out a few seconds earlier, if she'd shrieked a few seconds earlier, if Bede had stumbled out of his tent a few seconds earlier and-

Nope. Not a chance.

Definitely not.

She blew out a sharp puff of air as heat rose on her cheeks.

She was not going to think about that-

"Hey!"

A hand caught her arm, tugging her sideways and off balance. She stumbled and collided into something solid and firm, glancing up in shock to see Bede suddenly so close, her shoulder against his chest, his face inches from hers. His breath washed against her cheeks.

Too close!

Gloria muffled a yelp and lurched away from him. He let go of her arm, raising an eyebrow at her.

"You need to watch where you're walking, unless you want an imprint of that branch on your face," he said, gesturing to the thick branch she'd almost walked face-first into.

She stared at it in disbelief. Had she really been so caught up in her own thoughts that she'd almost walked into that? The branch was as thick as her thigh, winding sideways across the path before shooting upwards.

"Oh. Thanks." She gave a sheepish laugh and stepped around the branch.

"Once again, I am surprised that you managed to navigate the Gym Challenge by yourself," Bede sighed, shaking his head. "Someone as spacey as you is liable to walk off a cliff without even realising it's there."

"Oh, come on, that's not…"

"What? Meowth got your tongue?"

"No, I just remembered that I've done that exact thing before."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"It happened once!" Gloria huffed. "And, to be fair, I wasn't spacing out at the time, I was looking for a Ponyta. So it doesn't actually count."

"Ah, I do remember that. You seem to have a talent for falling off cliffs."

"It wasn't high enough to be called a cliff anyway," she grumbled, "and I'll have you know, I've only done that after the Gym Challenge. I managed just fine during it by myself."

"That will forever be a mystery to me. You would think that after becoming the Champion you would be more focused and level-headed; instead, for you, it appears to be the opposite."

Gloria blew out her cheeks. "I wasn't spacing out, I was just thinking. There's a difference."

"And what were you thinking about that had you so engrossed that you almost walked into a tree?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing?"

"N-Nothing important, just forget about it!"

Gloria powered ahead so that Bede couldn't see the blush burning on her cheeks.

Arceus, something was wrong with her today. Her heart kept racing in her chest, setting her blood ablaze with nervous energy, and she couldn't figure out why. Everything Bede did or said made her pulse skip in a way it hadn't before. The way he'd tugged her against him moments earlier set her on edge. He'd suddenly been so close, their eyes meeting with a jolt and her heart had caught as though she'd never seen his face before, not like that, not that close. Close enough to make out each and every one of his long eyelashes, the speckles of dark lavender in his gorgeous eyes.

Gloria stormed up the hill ahead of Bede as if she were mad at him, rather than suddenly and immensely jealous of how unbelievably pretty he was. It was just plain unfair that he was so effortlessly beautiful, and she blamed that for the flustered warmth pooling in her chest. She let out a terse huff as she crested the hill, her gaze falling on a crowd of people near the bridge to the Northern Wild Area. Right in the middle of the bridge sat something large and dark.

"What's that?" Gloria asked as Bede came up beside her. "Something's on the bridge."

"Whatever it is, it's blocking our only route to the north. Let's go. Staring at it from up here isn't going to get us anywhere."

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

She trotted after Bede down the hill, towards the cluster of Trainers gathered around the bridge. As they got closer, it became clear that a Snorlax had fallen asleep in the middle of the bridge, and that the Trainers were debating on how best to get it to move.

"Whoa, it's huge…"

Gloria gaped as they joined the crowd of frustrated Trainers. All she could see from here were its giant feet and the rise of its enormous belly. A hush fell over the crowd and Gloria felt the two dozen pairs of eyes land on her and Bede. She straightened as whispers began to sound around them.

"Is that the Champion?" Gloria heard, and she forced a smile.

"Yup, I'm the Champion!" She gave the Trainers a sheepish wave, her smile frozen on her face beneath their stares. "Why don't you guys let us deal with this? We'll get Snorlax moving in no time!"

An excited buzz of noise rushed through the Trainers, eager to see the Champion in action, and Gloria's heart pounded deafeningly in her ears. They were watching her. She saw Bede move in the corner of her eyes to stand beside her and she focused on that, focused on the fact that he was here with her.

"Alright, give us some space, please!" Gloria called and ushered the Trainers back with a wave of her hand. The crowd shuffled a step or two back, not far enough for Gloria's liking but she bit her tongue. It would do. She recalled her Corviknight and sent out Cinderace.

"Do you have a plan?" Bede asked. His voice was low enough that only she could hear.

She kept her gaze fixed on Snorlax. "I might. Your Reuniclus - does it know Dream Eater, by any chance?"

The corner of Bede's mouth lifted into a knowing smile that made her heart skip. "It does. However, you should know that Dream Eater will most likely leave Snorlax in a horrible mood. It's not the politest way to wake a Pokemon up."

"I know." She nodded, pursing her lips. "That's why I'll let Fryian deal with Snorlax when he wakes. Hopefully Dream Eater will make him angry enough that he'll chase us. We can use that to direct him away from the bridge."

Bede raised an eyebrow in thought. "Interesting plan. I'm in." He recalled Sylveon and sent out Reuniclus. "You ready for this?"

He met her eyes. She nodded, saw the crowd of Trainers ripple in excitement in the corner of her eyes. They'd drawn closer again. She waved them back with a hurried gesture.

"Alright." Bede turned to Reuniclus. "Use Dream Eater on Snorlax," he ordered.

Reuniclus directed its focus on the sleeping Pokemon, a cloud of psychic energy enveloping Snorlax's head. The cloud dispersed with an audible crackle, and Snorlax's eyes shot open. A low grunt sounded, a grumble that became a growl and then a roar. Gloria stepped back to find Trainers right behind her. She gaped at them in disbelief.

"Get back!" she hissed, whirling to hurry the Trainers away again when Snorlax clambered to his feet and roared. Panic washed over everything when Snorlax charged at Cinderace, at Gloria and Bede, and at the crowd of Trainers trapping them in place.

"Fyrian!" Gloria cried and Cinderace launched at the charging Snorlax, levelling a flaming kick at its face. Snorlax swung its powerful arms, missing Fryian by an inch.

"What are you idiots doing?! Get back unless you want to get trampled!" Bede snapped at the throng of Trainers around them. His warning was lost amongst their cheers and cries of excitement.

Snorlax roared in frustration, his heavy swings missing Cinderace again and again as the athletic Pokemon bounced around him. The ground shuddered when Snorlax stomped in fury, the earth shifting and cracking, making it impossible for many of the Trainers to keep their balance. People toppled over, their shrieks catching Snorlax's attention. A ball of fire smacked into the back of Snorlax's head, but the enraged Pokemon had found a new target.

Gloria's heart stopped and her body sprung into action before she could think. Like she'd done when Bewear had accidentally charged at Bede, Gloria threw herself at the screaming Trainer, bracing herself over them.

Snorlax flew to the side under a psychic pulse, having been a split second from charging into Gloria. Trainers who were still on their feet dispersed, scrambling only a few feet away before they stopped to watch again. Gloria clambered to her feet, tugging the young girl she'd protected up as well, and grit her teeth.

"We can't protect these idiots and lead Snorlax away," Bede huffed, clicking his tongue sharply.

Snorlax was soon on his feet again, a deep grumble sounding in his chest.

"I know."

Gloria narrowed her eyes at Snorlax, at the Trainers, her mind thinking fast. Fyrian and Reuniclus stood before them. A pair of people hurrying down the hill towards them caught Gloria's eyes. She recognised them with a start, saw the camera braced over the man's shoulder, and couldn't breathe.

Fire flashed in front of her. Snorlax's roar snapped Gloria out of her daze and she dug hurriedly through her bag. The reporters would be on them in a moment. Without thinking, or discussing it with Bede, Gloria lobbed a Heavy Ball at Snorlax.

Snorlax was engulfed in a flash of light. The Ball fell to the ground and began to roll. Without waiting for it to stop, Gloria shot forward and snatched it off the ground.

"Let's go!" she called to Bede, already running for the bridge.

"Gloria!" Bede's incredulous voice snapped at her. "What are you-?!" With a huff, he cut himself off and hurried after her.

The Heavy Ball twitched in her hands, the light in the centre flickering on and off. She knew it could break open at any moment. That Snorlax could break out and be on top of her in a split second and a flash of light, and swallowed the urge to throw the Ball as far away as she could. She held it tight and ran over the bridge.

She didn't stop running until a hand caught her arm and Gloria was yanked to a halt, the Heavy Ball slapped from her hands.

"What were you thinking?!" Bede snapped, his violet eyes blazing.

Gloria's lungs seized at the fury and panic burning in his glare, a cold wave of dread slamming into her when she realised he'd been afraid for her. Again.

"I… I saw the reporters again and I just-"

"Screw the reporters!"

She flinched beneath the pain lancing through his voice, the fear cracking his words.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?! What could have happened if Snorlax had broken out?!"

"I-I know, but-"

"No, you don't! You have no idea, you never do! You never think before you do anything and one day it's going to get you killed!"

Her heart throbbed painfully.

"Bede, I'm sorry-"

"Don't. Don't say that, because you're not." He dropped her arm and turned away. The heavy sigh he exhaled, the exhausted worry in his brow, made her heart plummet into her gut. "If you weren't so unbelievably lucky..."

He was staring at something on the ground. The Heavy Ball, lying there in the dirt, silent and unmoving. Gloria's lips trembled as she fought back tears.

"I… I panicked," she said quietly. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears. "Those reporters… I know them. They- They're the ones that keep asking me about… about Eternatus, if I'll ever use it in battle or show them or- or…"

Bede turned to face her slowly, his eyes widening.

"I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry…" She blinked and tears spilled from her eyes. They blurred her vision, blurred the pain and understanding in Bede's eyes as he stepped closer. "I wasn't thinking… I couldn't… They were the ones from this morning, that's why I ran into your tent and-"

Her voice broke beneath a sob. Bede's hand returned to her arm, his touch gentle and soothing this time.

"So, that's why…" he murmured softly. "Alright, I understand. You don't have to say anything more."

He rubbed her arm comfortingly. There wasn't a hint of anger or frustration left in his voice, and his touch eased the panic and guilt aching in Gloria's chest. She nodded thankfully and blinked hurriedly to dry her tears.

"It was stupid," she said, swiping her knuckles beneath her eyes to force away the tears. "I shouldn't have done that."

"There's no curing your impulsive nature, is there?" Bede sighed, but it was light and she could hear the smile in his voice, gentle and understanding.

She managed a smile at him in return. "Sorry…"

"I might forgive you for it if you promise not to do that again."

She picked the Heavy Ball off the ground.

"You might?"

"I haven't decided whether or not I'll forgive you for that stunt yet." Despite his words, there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "You took at least a decade off my life when you did that."

Gloria laughed sheepishly. "I definitely won't be doing something like that again, I promise."

"Knowing you, you'll find something equally dangerous to do instead."

She grumbled but couldn't deny it, watching Bede pensively as he shook his head. He drew his hand through his hair with another sigh.

"Honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do with you sometimes," he admitted quietly.

The faint smile on his face filled Gloria with a sweet warmth, and her heart began to beat harder in her chest. It was suddenly harder to breathe.

"I… I'm sorry?"

She didn't know why she'd apologised or what she was apologising for, but she desperately needed to say something. He looked at her for a moment, making her heart skip.

"Come on, let's keep moving," he said.

Gloria nodded, stuffing the Heavy Ball into her bag, and headed down the track after Bede.

-

Bede raised an eyebrow at Gloria, folding his arms, when he turned to find her with one foot up a tree.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She froze, hands reaching up to grab a branch, and slowly turned her head to face him.

"Um… what does it look like?" She blinked at him, smiling innocently, and Bede sighed.

"It looks like you're about to make another reckless decision by climbing that tree."

She breathed out an incredulous huff. "It's not reckless. It's just a tree."

"Then why are you climbing it?"

They'd already packed up their gear after a quick lunch, and had been about to head off again when Bede had spotted her. Her newly acquired Snorlax dozed in the sun, having fallen asleep after wolfing down the ridiculous amount of food Gloria had used to win him over. The rest of their Pokemon relaxed happily nearby.

"Pokemon store their berries in trees like this," Gloria said as though that was obvious. "I'm just going to climb up and get a few. Gotta keep Snorlax fed unless you want him to throw a tantrum again."

"So, you're going to resort to stealing from wild Pokemon?"

"It's not stealing!"

"You're taking berries that Pokemon have gathered themselves and stored in that tree. Berries that are not yours. I believe that fits the definition of stealing."

She rolled her eyes. "They're not going to miss a few berries!"

"You're going to risk upsetting a wild Pokemon and falling out of a tree for a few berries?"

"Arceus, Bede! You act like I've never climbed a tree before. I'm not gonna fall!" She scoffed at him and grabbed a branch above her head, hoisting herself up to get a better foothold.

"Why do I even bother...?" Bede muttered to himself before sighing. "Don't come crying to me if an angry Greedent decides to scratch your eyes out."

Gloria disappeared higher into the tree, vanishing behind thick branches.

"I won't, then!" she called out.

He heard her grunt with effort, talking to herself as she climbed higher. He couldn't see her through the tangle of leaves and branches, but her audible shuffling and muttering reached him where he stood.

"Ooh, there's so many berries!" she exclaimed after a few moments. "And most of them don't even have teeth marks!"

Bede grimaced. "Most of them?"

"Eh, a bite or two won't hurt."

"Gloria, that's disgusting. Leave the berries where they are. I'm not going to eat something a Pokemon had in its mouth."

"Fine, more for me then- oh."

"What?"

"Um. Hi, I didn't see you there…"

Bede stepped closer to the tree. He couldn't make anything out through the branches but Gloria was obviously speaking to something.

"Gloria, what is it?"

"Hey!" she yelped and a branch snapped. Something rustled in the tree. "Ow! That's not very nice!"

Bede sighed. "What did I tell you…?"

"Ow, ow! Okay, I'm going! You can keep the berries- ah!"

Gloria shrieked. Something heavy crashed through the branches, the whole tree shuddering and raining berries and leaves and branches. Finally, Gloria tumbled to the ground, her legs flung over her head. She scrambled to her feet as chunks of berries flew at her like bullets. A Greedent appeared in the lower branches, spitting violently at her as she scurried away.

"Bad idea, bad idea!" she cried as she dashed out of Greedents range, covered from head to toe in scratches, leaves, twigs and a mess of berry chunks, juice and seeds. The majority of it was stuck in her hair.

The Greedent hissed before disappearing up the tree, and Gloria hung her head with a whimper.

"Ugh, I'm all gross now…!" She pouted, curling her bottom lip in disgust.

Bede couldn't help but smirk. A colourful array of berries speckled her hair. "Well, I did warn you."

"I didn't think there was a Pokemon up there still…"

Gloria brushed the mess of berries off her clothes and arms, repulsed by the splatter of juice down her front.

"Gross…!" Her expression soured even further.

Bede couldn't help himself and sneakily took out his phone, capturing the sight forever with a picture.

"I don't know, I think it rather suits you," he said, no longer bothering to keep the amusement from his tone. She scoffed, turning to him and squawking when she saw he had his phone trained on her.

"Bede!"

"It's only fair that I get to take a picture of you," he said, smirking at her embarrassment. "After all, you took a picture of me the other day." He showed her the picture for a brief moment. "I think you look rather cute."

Her cheeks flushed darkly. "You're so mean! Delete it!"

He brought his phone to his lips, narrowing his eyes with a teasing grin. "No can do. This picture is for my eyes only. I believe I deserve to keep a souvenir of this encounter, especially when I warned you that this would happen."

Gloria grumbled something incoherent in her throat. She pouted at him fiercely, her cheeks puffed like a Skwovet, making her appear more cute than angry.

"Fine, be that way!" she huffed and turned her nose up at him. She touched her hair and grimaced. "Ugh, it's all in my hair, too!"

She picked out a few berry chunks by feel alone, unable to see what she was doing, and sighed sharply.

"This is going to take forever!"

Bede slipped his phone into his pocket and stepped over to her. "Here, let me do it."

She stiffened slightly as he drew close and picked a seed from her fringe. Her eyes stole away quickly and she ducked her head as the heat on her cheeks spread down her neck and to her ears as he began to remove the gunk from her hair. A bubble of amusement grew in Bede's chest at the sight. She wouldn't look at him at all, her gaze purposely fixed on the ground, as he slowly worked through her hair.

"O-Oh. Thank you," she said quietly.

It was so different to the way she'd barked at him earlier, having her fluster like this, and Bede's heart sang. It would be so easy to tease her, to see if the dark blush on her face could get any darker, any redder, but for now, he decided to hold back in case she became uncomfortable with him. Instead, he ran his fingers through her long hair, letting her soft tresses slide through his fingers under the guise of removing the berry remains. He couldn't help himself. Her shoulder length hair was delightfully smooth, and he'd longed to touch it like this for so long… he almost drew a lock to his lips, instinctively reacting to the yearning of his heart, and caught himself just before doing so.

It would be tough to explain why he was kissing her hair instead of picking out the berries… his face warmed at how close he'd been to acting that out. He forced that thought away and pulled a few more seeds from her fringe before a cut on her bottom lip caught his eye. He took hold of her chin gently, angling her face towards him to get a better look at it, and heard her breath hitch audibly. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw his gaze had lowered to her lips.

She gasped something incoherent, unable to force out a single clear word, and her eyes darted between his in panic. She silenced when his thumb brushed over the cut on her bottom lip. He slid his thumb to the side of the wound to gauge how deep it was, and drops of blood trickled out of the split. She tensed, her eyes squeezing shut as she gave a faint, broken squeak.

That sound made Bede freeze in place. His heart roared in his ears as a surge of clarity washed over him and he realised what this looked like - what Gloria thought he was doing. He was standing so close to her, holding her chin to angle her face towards him with his thumb touching her lips, and she'd closed her eyes in response…

Oh.

Arceus.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, lips slightly parted and trembling. Almost like she was waiting for him to-

Was this...?

Was she giving him permission to kiss her?

Bede slid his hand up to cup her face, Gloria flinching faintly beneath his touch, before he took hold of her flushed cheek and pinched.

"Hey!" she yelped, trying to swat his hand away. "What was that for?!"

He gave her cheek a final tug before releasing it and stepping back. "That's for being so oblivious." He jabbed at her bottom lip. "You've split your lip. Did the Greedent scratch you or something?"

Gloria reached for her bottom lip, her eyes widening. "Wait, is that why…?" She jolted in realisation, her face burning a dark crimson in embarrassment.

Bede's heart skittered in his chest as Gloria suddenly lost the ability to speak, mumbling an incoherent string of syllables in shock.

"Idiot, did you honestly think I was going to kiss you? Or did you want me to?"

"N-No!" she squeaked. "Why- Why would I want you to-? I wouldn't kiss someone I'm not interested in!"

Gloria paled as she realised what she'd said, and Bede's teasing smirk fell flat.

"Oh, I see."

"That- That's not what I meant! I mean, it is but it isn't-" she rambled before shaking her head. "What- What I mean is, I've never… dated anyone so, if I was going to kiss someone it'd be with- with someone I'm dating…"

"You say that, and yet you had your eyes closed as if you were expecting a kiss-"

"Th-That's because you were so close and I didn't know what you were doing and- and I panicked and…" She chewed on the inside of her cheek, unable to meet his eyes. "And then you… touched my lips…"

Her hurried admittance made a rush of heat fill Bede's veins. She'd really thought that he was going to kiss her…

He cleared his throat. "Look, if you don't want someone to take that the wrong way, you shouldn't go closing your eyes like that in front of someone. The next person you do that to might actually believe you want them to kiss you."

"R-Right." She nodded stiffly. Absently, she touched her bottom lip where it'd split, where Bede had dusted his thumb moments earlier, and it shot a crackle of heat right to his fingers.

"Did it scratch you?" Bede asked again.

Gloria stole her hand away from her lip. "The Greedent? No, it just spat berries at me. I must've cut my lip on my way down the tree."

"We should disinfect it just in case. Don't want to risk it getting infected."

"Yeah, you're right."

She went to touch it again.

"If you keep touching it, you're going to increase the risk of it getting infected," Bede pointed out and she ripped her hand away from her lip quickly. "Come on, let's get it disinfected before you shove your fingers in it again."

Gloria pouted sheepishly as Bede led her over to their bags. She sat down with a huff, pursing her lips as he pulled his first aid kit out his bag and opened it between them. She fixed a hard stare at the disinfectant cream.

"It's going to hurt, isn't it…?" She winced in apprehension, eyeing it warily. She lifted her hand protectively over her mouth.

"Would you rather it get infected instead? I'm sure I don't have to tell you that an infected wound hurts a lot more than disinfecting it would."

Gloria grumbled in her throat.

"Well, there's always that technique used on children to make cuts hurt less."

She looked at him eagerly as he screwed off the lid of the disinfectant cream.

"Really? What technique?"

Her innocent wonder almost made him laugh. He leant forward to whisper to her, and she shifted closer instinctively.

"They kiss it better."

Her eyes flew wide and Bede used that moment to swipe a dollop of cream across the cut on her lip. She recoiled with a hiss of pain before realising what he'd done.

"Th-That's playing dirty!" she balked.

Bede smirked, the warmth of unshed laughter filling his chest. "It worked, didn't it?"

Gloria scoffed in disbelief, hovering her hand over her mouth, as her cheeks flushed in indignation. She stood with a huff as Bede packed the first aid kit away.

"The cream's not going to work if you keep touching it."

Gloria stole her hand away from her lip with another grumble, making Bede laugh.

She was too much fun to tease.

-

As they trekked uneventfully towards the towering bridge spanning Bridge Field, Gloria almost wished something would happen. Something, anything, to take her mind off the throbbing of her lip and the memory of Bede's teasing smile and taunts.

It wasn't like she'd actually thought he was going to kiss her. Not really, although it had crossed her mind in that moment, those seconds of panic when he'd leant in close and caught her chin and his thumb brushed her lips…

Gloria's cheeks began to burn again.

What had she been thinking, closing her eyes like that in front of him? Her mind had gone blank, her heart had stopped and she hadn't been able to breathe, her body reacted instinctively with a thrum of heat when she saw his eyes fixed on her lips and-

-and she thought he was going to kiss her. It had been the only thing that made sense in that moment and for some reason her eyes had fluttered shut, a gasp held tight in her lungs, and she waited for… for him to…

Gloria wanted to scream.

Something was wrong with her. Something very, very wrong. Her mind spun, wondering how on earth she'd gotten it all mixed up and thought that Bede of all people would want to, let alone even try to, kiss her. Was she that full of herself? So self absorbed to think that someone as popular as Bede, someone as gorgeous and intelligent and confident as he was, would ever hold that kind of affection towards her?

Arceus, she found it hard to believe that they were friends at times, for all the ridiculous things Bede had to put up with when it came to her… how could she possibly have thought he'd want to kiss her?

Gloria swallowed, and stopped pursing her lips when she tasted the disinfectant cream on her tongue. Her stomach churned uneasily and she wanted something to distract her. She needed to get her mind off this, needed to stop thinking about it, about Bede or the strange rush of feelings swirling in her belly, as the nausea grew stronger and higher in her throat.

This was the last thing she wanted to think about. She tried to suppress it, to force everything down into the pit of her gut, before the faint buzz of panic in her chest had a chance to take hold.

Don't think about it, she repeated again and again in her mind.

Don't think about it. Don't give it a name.

Ignore it and you'll be fine.

You'll be okay.

She pushed onwards and focused on the Wild Area, the wild Pokemon around them and the odd Trainers their paths crossed with. Somehow, she managed to make light conversation with Bede, and let herself ramble on about where they were going, the Daycare Centre nearby where she'd sent his Rapidash and her Ditto, how she'd been chased by a Linoone one time when she'd accidentally stepped on its tail.

She hardly heard Bede's responses to her rambling, her mind constantly finding something else to talk about to fill the silence and stop her thoughts from wandering. She was grateful when they decided to stop for the night beneath the bridge, having found a tidy clearing around one of the colossal pillars holding it up.

"I think that's the furthest we've walked in a day so far," Gloria said and shucked off her bag with a sigh of relief.

She stretched her arms high above her head, relishing the freedom of not having to carry her bag any further.

"We made decent progress today," Bede agreed.

He placed his bag beside hers and rolled his shoulders. Gloria deliberately looked elsewhere, and focused on clearing a spot for her tent with her foot, lazily kicking twigs and stones away from the neat patch of grass she'd found. They set their tents up next to each other beneath the shelter of the bridge as the sun began to set. The rosy sunset sky darkened as the evening chill descended over them. Bede set up a fire pit a good distance in front of their tents, using the remains of previous fire pits left by other campers.

Gloria searched through her bag once again for her fire lighter, again coming up empty handed. She bit back a sigh, instead pulling out her hat that had been shredded and mauled by Thievul. While Bede set up the fire pit, she headed to the pond nearby and attempted to clean her hat. She scrubbed it with soap, scoured it with a cloth again and again until it no longer reeked of carrion. The Fairy Gym Logo was frayed and discoloured, pink and white threads hanging loose. She didn't want to risk pulling out the remaining threads and so she left it at that, wringing it out as best as she could before setting it on top of her bag to dry.

Gloria glanced at Bede as he worked the growing fire with a stick, when a flash of light burst from his hip. Hatterene appeared beside him with a cry as two adults rounded the pillar, a Runerigus hovering behind them. A man and a woman stepped towards them, wearing grins that made Gloria shoot a panicked glance at Bede. She was separated from him, Hatterene, the two strangers and their Runerigus, by the fire pit.

"Well, well. What do we have here?" the man sneered, looking between Gloria and Bede.

"It's our lucky day," the woman replied. "It's two kids, and they're Trainers as well. That means they're probably loaded with cash."

Something flashed in the man's hand, and Gloria's heart stopped when she realised it was a knife.

"What do you want?" Bede challenged, standing firm with Hatterene at his side.

The man jeered. "I think that's pretty obvious, mate." He nodded towards the bags at Gloria's feet. "Hand over your stuff and nothing else has to happen. We'll go on our merry way and leave you in peace, got it?"

The Runerigus chattered darkly and Gloria stiffened. Her blood ran cold, turning her body to stone as the man stepped around the fire pit in a slow arc. The blade in his hand glowed as the flames reflected off the surface, licking red like a bloody stain.

"We don't have anything valuable," Bede said. His gaze, although calm, was fixed on the man.

"We'll decide if you have anything valuable or not," the woman sneered and stalked over to Gloria.

Her teeth flashed in a fierce grin, and Gloria couldn't breathe or move, as the woman snatched up the tattered hat. Her sharp laughter made Gloria's heart stop.

"Ugh, what the fuck is this?"

The woman held up Gloria's hat between a finger and thumb, and flicked it into the fire.

"No!"

Gloria lunged before she could think, throwing herself at the woman with a blaze of fury. Bede cried her name. A knee slammed into her gut and her vision flashed white. She hit the ground hard on her side and couldn't breathe, her chest heaving with painful, empty gasps. Over the top of the fire pit, flames burning inches from her face, Gloria saw the man grappling with Bede. The blade glinted in the air. A fist struck the side of Bede's face hard enough to make him stagger, his left hand tightening around the hand gripping the knife. The two of them struggled, shuffling over the dirt. The woman turned and Gloria threw her arms around the woman's leg.

"No!" Gloria cried, squeezing her arms tight around the woman's calf.

"Fucking brat! Get off me!"

"No!"

The woman shook her leg, then began to stomp, hard, on Gloria's arms and hands when she wouldn't let go. Through the pain, the pounding of her heart, she heard Bede grunt, pinpricks of light flashing around them as Hatterene fought Runerigus off. A heel struck Gloria's temple. She bit the woman's ankle with all her might, sinking her teeth in as hard as she could, even as the woman violently kicked her leg. Something impacted Gloria's chin and threw her off. She saw stars. Flashes of white. Black. She tasted blood, saw the woman run towards Bede. The only thing in front of her was her bag. She thrust her hand into the outside pocket, pulled out the first Ball she found, and lobbed it towards the fight.

A roar split the chaos. Something heavy crashed, a wave of heat swamped Gloria as she struggled to sit up through the pounding of her head. Someone screamed. The ground shook.

"What the fuck?!"

Gloria's vision cleared and she saw the man duck beneath a heavy swipe of Snorlax's paw. The woman was already running away, Runerigus right behind her. The man scrambled and fled after them as Snorlax roared. The enraged Pokemon took a step to follow them, then another, before collapsing on his front with a deep snore.

Gloria sat up as silence fell. Her chest ached. Her head throbbed in multiple places with each beat of her heart, and she blinked in shock, unable to believe what had just happened, before her eyes slid over to Bede. She saw red and leapt to her feet, panic shooting up her throat. She stumbled over him, almost tripping on the toppled camping stove, and seized Bede's arms. He looked at her, wide eyed, a stream of blood falling from his nose.

Her heart shattered.

"Bede-!"

A red welt had already begun to form beneath his left eye. Blood flowed from his nose, over his mouth and chin, and the front of his shirt was torn. Bede swiped his wrist beneath his nose, grimacing at the blood and clicking his tongue in disgust.

"Are you-? Did he get you?"

She scanned him up and down, visions of the blade gleaming in the air flashing behind her eyes when she blinked. Bede held the back of his hand to his nose, wincing.

"No, I'm fine. He landed a punch or two but that was it."

"But the knife-?!"

Bede kicked something in the dirt, the knife clattering across the ground.

"Dealt with."

Her heart caught painfully, heat blooming behind her eyes as an unbearable surge of relief crashed over her. Her vision blurred behind tears.

"G-Gloria?! What is it? Are you hurt?"

She blinked and couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Tears of pain and fear, of panic and overwhelming relief, spilled from her eyes as she sobbed, unable to answer him. She shook her head, lips wobbling, and reached up to touch his cheek. Her fingers trembled as she traced the dark welt beneath his eye. Bede's expression softened. He caught her hand gently, holding her palm firmly against her cheek so it no longer trembled. Tears fell silently from her eyes.

"Bede, I'm- I'm sorry… if I hadn't…" the words caught in her throat.

He pulled her into his arms and silenced any and all apologies with his embrace. No words were needed. No apologies, no guilt or blame or excuses. They ached together in the comfort and solace of eachothers arms. Gloria sobbed quietly into Bede's neck. The comforting touch of his arms around her, his hands smoothing over her back, made her break into a thousand pieces. She crumbled into him. He held her tight. Kept her standing, kept her there until the fear began to ease and her tears began to dry. He held her until only blood and bruises remained.

-

When Gloria finally pulled out of Bede's arms, she reached up to touch his cheek again, the inflamed skin beneath his eye, instinctively. Her heart ached at the sight, and she dusted her fingers right beneath it.

"Oh, Bede…"

Bede twisted his lips in disdain, glancing away from her. "He was quicker than I thought."

Gloria almost laughed sadly at Bede's excuse. She stepped back, dropping her fingers from his cheek.

"We should get some ice on it. You've got one of those instant ice packs in your first aid kit, right?"

She turned and headed for their bags, her gaze landing on the smouldering lump on top of the fire.

Her hat.

That stupid, stupid hat.

She sucked in a tight breath as tears began to reform. Her heart clenched, her throat tightening with guilt, and she pressed her palms against her eyes as she couldn't fight the tears again. Bede gently touched her back.

"It's alright, Gloria."

She shook her head, pursing her lips so hard that it hurt, that the cut on her lip stung. "No, it's not. It's not alright. This is my fault. If I hadn't done that, if it wasn't for that stupid, stupid hat…!" She stole a sharp gasp of air. "I'm such an idiot. You were right; I keep doing things like this and one day- one day, it's not going to end like this. Someone will get seriously hurt or killed and it'll be my fault!"

"That wasn't what I meant-"

"Well maybe you should've! Just look what happened! He had a knife, Bede." She turned to face him, tears pouring down her cheeks. She didn't stop them. She let them fall, one by one, down her face and chin and onto the dirt. "He could have done more than just hit you."

"I wouldn't have let that happen."

She sounded something halfway between a laugh and a sob. "That's not up to you to decide. I did something stupid and impulsive and you got hurt because of it. What kind of person- what kind of friend does that?"

"Would you have preferred for me to have run away, then?" He folded his arms, meeting her stubborn gaze with his own. "Because I could have left you there. Left you and ran, and I wouldn't have a scratch on me - but what kind of friend would that make me? I'm not going to abandon you. Despite your impulsivity, despite whatever reckless things you do, because you're my friend."

He punctuated those final words with a gentle pat on the top of Gloria's head. He rested his hand on her head for a moment where her eyes widened, and he stroked her hair once, then twice, slowly sweeping his fingers affectionately over her hair. She stared at him, startled into silence. He stepped around her and knelt before his bag.

"You seem to be putting the fault on yourself, rather than the people who attacked us," Bede pointed out as he opened his bag and pulled out the first aid kit. "For all we know, it might never have been their intention to leave us unharmed in the first place."

Gloria's tears dried as she blinked, and she sat beside Bede on the ground. Hatterene came over, giving her a sympathetic smile and a quiet trill of agreement.

"I know, I know..." Gloria sighed. "But I still feel stupid. Like, how many stupid things can I do in a single day?"

Bede raised an eyebrow at her sceptically, as he wrapped the ice pack in a cloth and placed it against his cheek. "I wouldn't call you stupid. Reckless and impulsive, yes, but not stupid."

Gloria stared at the ground. "You called me an idiot earlier."

That silenced Bede for a moment.

"Okay, you're right; I shouldn't have called you an idiot. I didn't mean it like that. You can be a bit… naive, sometimes, and it slipped out. I don't think you're an idiot. At all."

She slowly nodded, bringing her gaze back to him. "He got you pretty hard, huh? Is your nose still bleeding?"

Bede touched his nose, biting back a wince. "I don't think so. But if you think this is bad, you should have seen his face. I wasn't about to let him get off lightly."

"Really? I didn't actually see what happened… but, he had a knife! How'd you manage to fight back?"

Bede scoffed. "People like that rely too much on their weapon during a fight. All I had to do was take hold of his wrist and twist the knife out of his hand. He hadn't expected to fight with his fists and that left him slower to react."

Gloria blinked at him. "How do you even know all that? Or how to even do that? He was an adult, with a knife, and you've barely got a scratch! I think I got kicked more than you did."

"Are you all right, by the way? She kicked you?"

Bede reached over and brushed Gloria's fringe off her brow, searching for any bruises or scrapes, and found a scuff near her temple. His fingers lightly swept over the spot.

"It wasn't a proper kick or anything," Gloria laughed sheepishly. Her cheeks warmed from the tender brush of Bede's fingers. "It barely hurts anymore. Anyway, you're changing the subject! I had no idea you could fight- well, I kinda did, but not that well!"

Bede shrugged. "It's not that impressive. I got into the occasional fight as a kid, both in the orphanage and on the street. You either learnt how to fight and hold your own or you got hurt. I didn't exactly have much of a choice."

"Still… I'm surprised you can fight like that after all this time. I've taken self defence lessons from Bea but when push comes to shove it all goes out the window."

"That's because you don't have muscle memory yet. Give it time and it'll come naturally."

Gloria managed a smile at him. "Honestly, I hope I'll never have to seriously use it." She stood up, brushing the dirt off her pants. "Anyway, leave dinner to me tonight. I know my cooking's not as good as yours but at least my curry's decent."

She trudged over to the fire pit and righted the stove. Her gaze dropped to the charred mess that was once her hat, and her stomach knotted. She pulled it from the flames with a stick and sighed.

"Guess we got it back from the Thievul for nothing," she muttered sourly to herself. "It's probably for the best. I've done enough ridiculous things over this hat for a lifetime."

She dropped it on the dirt beside the fire, leaving it to smoke, and put the matter to rest.

It was a stupid hat, anyway.

-

Gloria lay in her tent, staring at the ceiling, and wished she could block out the sounds around her. Bushes rustled, twigs snapped and crunched. Wind whipped through the trees with an eerie song. Her mind conjured anything and everything horrible lurking in the darkness. She huffed and rolled over, picking up her phone. She'd had enough.

The cheery sound of his voice settled the fear in her heart.

"Hey, Glo! What's up?"

Hop answered her call right away and a gentle smile pulled over her face.

"Wait, don't tell me - is Bede giving you a hard time again?"

She breathed a laugh. "Again? No, no, it's nothing like that. I just… wanted to hear your voice, I guess."

"Aw, Glo! You're gonna make me blush!"

"It's true! It's been a long day and…" Her voice softened. "I miss you. I don't get to see you that often anymore, with my Champion duties and your studies…"

"Hey, I haven't gone anywhere! I'm still here. You know you can call me anytime, right? I've always got time to spare for my best mate."

His reassurances warmed her heart. She smiled and nodded, as though he were right before her and not miles away.

"I know. Sorry for calling you out of the blue. You're not busy or anything?"

"Nah, I've finished for the night. And I just said you could call me whenever! I mean it! I'm still not over the fact that you didn't call me when you ended up in hospital, you know."

"Oh, Arceus. Mum told you?"

"Yeah! And she told me that Bede had to call her because you wouldn't!"

Gloria muffled a groan.

"Nothing like that's happened again, has it?"

She bit her lip. "Um… not really…?"

"Glo. What do you mean 'not really?' What happened this time?"

"Nothing!" she laughed. "I haven't ended up in hospital or anything, don't worry. Oh, but I caught a Snorlax today!"

"Neat!"

"Yeah, it was blocking the bridge to the Northern Wild Area! A bunch of Trainers had gathered around it, the whole scenario was a mess. I managed to catch it without incident, though!"

"I bet you've got a whole heap of stories to tell when you get back! You know I'm going to want to hear them all!"

Gloria laughed as they chatted aimlessly. It was so good to hear Hop's voice again, to hear him laugh and ramble on about his studies and the interesting facts he'd learnt. They talked for a while, the time passing too quickly, and she held the phone to her ear long after they'd hung up, trying to hold onto how calming and comforting it had been to talk to him.

A branch snapped outside her tent and Gloria's eyes shot open. She froze, her whole body becoming rigid and stiff, as she listened. Her heart pounded. She held her breath tight in her lungs as terror gripped her like a vice. She saw nothing in the dark. Heard nothing but the wind.

What if those people came back?

She didn't even dare to swallow as her mouth went dry in fear. She remembered the flash of the knife, squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself that Bede had stored the blade securely in his bag.

But that didn't mean that they couldn't get a different knife, or come back with more people to ambush them in the dark, to creep into their tents when they were sleeping and-

"Bede!" Gloria cried, sitting up and turning on the flashlight on her phone. Shuffling sounded from the tent beside her. "Bede, are you awake?"

She heard a terse sigh. "I am now. What is it?"

Her heart thrummed anxiously. Fear prickled at the back of her neck.

"Can I… Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Silence. Something thumped to the ground in Bede's tent.

"Bede?"

"You… want to what?"

Gloria looked in the direction of his tent, confused by the strange hitch in his voice.

"I want to sleep with you toni-" the words caught when she realised what that sounded like. "Ah! No, that's not what I meant!" A surge of heat flooded her body. "I-I was asking if I could sleep with- I mean, in your tent! Next to you! Not… not like that…" she trailed off, covering her burning cheeks with her hands.

Bede exhaled deeply. "What's up with you, all of a sudden? Is there something wrong with your tent?"

"No, it's not that… I just… I keep thinking back to earlier. What if they come back?"

"Hatterene will alert us if anyone like that comes near, you know that."

"Yes, but she's with you! What if they manage to sneak up on my tent and get close before Hatterene can sense them?"

"Fine, do you want to borrow Hatterene then? I can lend you her Ball for tonight."

"But what about you then? That'll leave you open!"

Bede sighed again. "Seriously, Gloria?"

She pouted, embarrassed by her fear and how childish she sounded. "I know, I know how ridiculous and silly I'm being right now, okay? I know that! But… but I'm scared. I'm scared, Bede. I keep seeing the knife and hearing things outside my tent…" She blew out a shaky breath. "Please. Just for tonight. I don't want to be alone right now."

A few moments of silence passed, before Gloria heard Bede mutter something to himself under his breath.

He sighed, heavier and deeper than before. "Alright. You can… sleep here tonight - but just this once, okay?"

Gloria's heart softened in relief. "Thank you!" she chimed, quickly gathering all her stuff in her arms and shuffling over to Bede's tent.

He unzipped the entrance and she climbed in, depositing her stuff to the side and laying out her sleeping bag next to his. Bede climbed into his sleeping bag without a word after closing his tent, and rolled onto his side away from her. Gloria did the same, feeling slightly safer already now that she was no longer alone. She turned off the flashlight on her phone and sighed happily.

"Thanks, Bede," she whispered into the night.

"Mm."

His curt reply made her smile, and she soon dozed off, falling into a comfortable sleep with the knowledge that she wasn't alone.

[sheerbeautyreigns]

DESIRE

Part 36

"I wanted to show you how committed I am to you."

“You OK?” Colby checked after they left the Peppermill in an Uber. “Yeah, just a bit distracted. Sorry.” Joe said passing him a glance. “Anything I can do?” Colby offered.

Joe passed him a faint smile. “S’ok. I’ll be fine. Did you wanna stay with me tonight? Just chill?”

“I actually made plans with a few others. This was before last night.” He said awkwardly.

“When in Vegas. It’s cool.” Joe couldn’t just expect him to jump when he said so. “I need an early night anyway.” They pulled up to the hotel. It was almost one. Luckily Colby was getting off at a lower floor so he wouldn’t know that Joe was going up to Paul’s room.

“Just like clockwork.” Paul said as Joe walked into his lavish suite. He motioned for Joe to have a seat. This felt like déjà vu. He lowered to the sofa, as did Paul.

“I wanna say I’m sorry about last night. I clearly upset you and that was not my intention.” He started, looking Joe in the eyes. Joe nodded. “I shouldn’t have gotten pissed off. It was your big night and I shouldn’t have messed it up for you.”

“Paul I-” Joe started leading Paul to raise his hand. “Hear me out. I realise I fucked up enough already and I’m treading on thin ice. That’s why I want to make a promise to you now that I’m gonna change and be a better man for you. To trust you. I love you.” He said producing a small box from his pocket. Joe eyes widened upon seeing the box. His eyes then trailed up to Paul’s as he opened it. He lowered his eyes again. A simple, yet elegant silver ring lay embedded in the black box. Joe swallowed. “I wanted to give this to you when you came out to mine but after last night…I didn”t want to wait.”

“I…I wasn’t expecting this.” Joe said blinking, trying to ward off any tears. “I wanted to show you how committed I am to you. I realise it can’t be an engagement ring but it’s close, under our circumstances.”

Joe let out a long sigh as he rose to his feet. “I have to be honest with you Paul. Last night, I was so angry when I left here. I convinced myself that we were done.” He said starting to pace. Paul stood, watching him as he spoke. “You said that you didn’t trust me with Colby and…you were right.”

“What are you getting at?” Paul asked, his eyebrows raised. “There’s no easy way to say it so I’m just gonna come out with it. I slept with him.” Joe eyes met Paul’s. His eyes widened with a mix of what looked like hurt, anger and confusion.

“When?” He asked. “This morning.” Joe confessed. “After all I’ve done for you? You slept with him!?”

“You made me feel like shit last night when you said you didn’t trust me! After all the trust I’ve put in you over the past month?” Joe defended, spreading his hands.

“It’s not the same thing! That trust is between us. You fucked someone else! Someone you know I fucking despise! I can’t fucking believe you.” Paul said lowering to the sofa, his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry! I can’t take it back. I couldn’t lie to you!” Joe said kneeling down next to the sofa. “Paul, I’m sorry.”

“Go! Just get the fuck outta here. I don’t wanna see you.” Paul replied, refusing to look at him. Joe glanced at the ring in the box on the coffee table. Without a word, he backed out of the room. He completely broke down in tears when he got into his own hotel room. He kicked off his Nikes and lay on top of the bed going over what had just transpired. He felt like he had fucked up.

Joe got to the arena at 5:30pm after getting a couple of hours sleep. This was his first night as Universal Champion so he had to open Raw with a promo only to have both Drew and Bray run in and attack. Stephanie would then come out and put the main event of Drew vs Bray. Joe would join commentary and later get involved so he had a busy night.

All he could think about though was seeing Paul. He hated himself for it. They had had the best weekend and now Paul hated him. Joe never got nervous doing promos but as he approached Gorilla position, he felt a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sure enough, Paul was sat with Vince and Shane. Vince and Shane came over to acknowledge Joe but Paul did not. He didn’t even look at him. Luckily, his music started playing and he was able to get out.

Everything went according to plan when it came to the segment. Joe ended up hurting his shoulder on the ring post but thankfully he wasn’t wrestling that night. When he came in holding his shoulder, Paul was sat talking with Shane. He passed a glance to Joe and then continued talking. At that very moment, Colby appeared. “Hey man, your shoulder took a pretty bad hit there….” He said placing his hand on his back. Paul shot a look at both men and got up. “It’s OK, I’m gonna get it looked at-” Joe started as Paul approached.

“Why don’t you get yourself to the medic.” Paul told Joe firmly, appearing at his side.

“I was just going.” Joe started, eyeing Colby. “Run along then.” Paul patronised. Colby narrowed his eyes knowing that Paul was purposely being a dick just to break both of them apart.

“No need to talk to him like that.” Colby said watching Joe as he walked off. “I’ll talk to him however I like.” Paul smirked. “What’s your problem?” Colby asked raising his hands. “I think you know what my problem is.” Paul turned to face him in an intimidating manner. Luckily for Colby, Shane called Paul over. Colby gritted his teeth, balling his fists. He really hated Paul.

Joe shoulder wasn’t as bad as he had feared. The medic put some tape on it and ordered him to go easy. Nobody was around when he entered the men’s locker room. He went about taking his vest off. Paul knocked and walked in at that moment. Joe looked over his shoulder briefly and continued to undo his vest. “Need some help with that?” Paul asked in his gravelly tone approaching him. “I’ll be fine.” He was clearly struggling with his taped shoulder. He reached over to undo the side, only to wince. “Don’t strain yourself.” Paul warned. “Just let me help you.” Joe blinked, lowering his head as Paul went about removing the vest. “Thanks.” Joe muttered. “Why are you he-” he was cut short as a few others came in. “I want to talk to you. This isn’t ideal. Come find me when you’ve freshened up.” Paul said before leaving.

It didn’t take long for Joe to shower. Once dried off, he slipped into a black t-shirt, some loose jogging bottoms and a pair of Nikes. He threw his hair up into a topknot. After, he approached the gorilla area where Paul was sat with Vince and Shane. Paul gestured one minute to Joe. He shuffled about with his arms folded waiting for a few minutes until Paul approached him. He led him to a meeting room down the hallway.

“Sorry, it’s just so hectic tonight.” Paul started pulling out a seat for Joe. “I would’ve waited-” he said lowering down as Paul took a seat at the head of the table. “No, I wanted to speak with you. Tonight.”

“OK?” Joe leaned back in the chair and clasped his hands together on his torso. “We both fucked up this weekend.” Paul started. “I’m not proud of what I did.” Joe said blushing, lowering his head a little. “You shouldn’t be… but you were honest with me. Look, I don’t want to throw away what we had. I care about you too much.” Joe could see where this was going. “You can see from this afternoon how much I wanted to commit myself to you.” Joe visualised the gleaming silver ring in the black box that Paul had presented to him. He knew he fucked up sleeping with Colby. “I do.” The young man shifted on his seat. He felt so bad. “I love you and I want to trust you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You know I’m crazy about you but I fucked up. I can’t forgive myself for what I did….”

“Do you want to be with me?” Paul asked firmly. “You know I do.” Joe answered “I just feel awful.”

“There is always a resolution.” Paul sat forward, propping his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. “What?” Joe asked. “You could always let me punish you… that is, if you still want to come to my place tomorrow?” Paul could see the look on Joe face change. “Like…how?”

“I think you know. You’ve seen my dungeon.” Paul said with a dark look cross his eyes. Joe swallowed. “Would that make you happy?” the young man asked lowly raising his hand to his temple. “Very.” Joe inhaled looking down on the table. His eyes then trailed up to Paul’s. “OK, if that’s what it takes for us to get past this…” A smile crossed Paul’s face. “Good. Then it’s settled.” Paul rose to his feet. “I have to get back to work but come up to my suite later.” Joe nodded before they left the room and parted ways.

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Twelve; Storm.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-  

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: !!! illness and swooning in this chapter, I mean, seriously, a regency era fic isn’t a regency era fic without the heroine getting caught in a rainstorm-!!!

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

                                                       ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

She’d never been more grateful to slam a door behind her in all her life. The sigh that leaves her lips when she presses her back to the wood is the largest she’s ever taken, she’s certain of it.

 She had to escape. It was a necessity of sorts- she couldn’t suffer another second of it.

 Mother was livid about last night. Iris had been frozen out of her favour - more so than usual - with frosty silences and glowers and glares of displeasure.

 When she returned from her shocking interlude out of doors with Lord Ren and the sadly ex-Viscount Eversleigh, Caroline tugged Iris aside and snapped her ear off about decorum and politesse. She returned to Hux’s side and said naught. She couldn’t.

 Her mind was overrun by visions of crimson stained fangs, scarlet on ivory bone. And eye’s as gold as wheat sparkling in the sun.

 She barely felt the rest of her night. Or saw or heard her relatives around her. She drew into herself.

 Lord Ren did not return for the second half. Hux crowed loudly and smug about his absence. Mother sneered, she too seemed pleased. Iris saw none of that.

 The night passes and the next day her head is still splitting at the seams. Pain thudding behind her temples and out her ears. Her throat is tickling raw. She suspects a cold coming on. Yet she goes about her chores and errands same as usual. There’s a permanent gnawing ache gathering between her shoulder blades. It burns every time she moves.

 Mother seemed determined to remind her of her discourtesy last night. When her, Flora and Posy all sit down to take tea in the front parlour and do their embroidery, Caroline besieged Iris to write a missive to Hux apologising for her conduct of late. To explain herself and her actions. Sacrificing, displaying herself out on the worshipping altar of Hux’s forgiveness.

 Iris couldn’t see the sense in it. She’s sat there squinting down in her lap, trying to focus on stitching more infernal thread through the embroidery hoop. Her mother is snapping and fussing and correcting her every cursed move. She’s insulting and sniping and Iris can’t take much more.

 She was most insulted that Lord Ren had quit the theatre early especially when he was invited at a proxy invitation. She scoffs that that’s his foreign mannerisms that don’t excuse his rudeness. Probably took off with one of the ‘actresses.’ They were all painted women. He most likely found amusement between a tawdry, painted woman’s thighs.

 Iris’s heart sinks at the untrue insinuation. She’s also suffering after a very much sleepless night after the discovery of Lord Rens... particular disposition.

 She spent half the night awake; her mind whirring with thought. All those tales and fibs she’d been fed as child about monsters under the bed. And here she is many many years later, as a woman, finding out that all the creatures in clawing dark nightmares do exist.

The darkest shadows do after all bear beasts.

 She can’t help wondering what other demons might roam hereabouts? Other horrid things too frightful to utter.

 Mother doesn’t stop her poisonous crusade of nastiness on Kylo.

 Before long, Iris’ eyes are watering with the sharp pains of her head. Her heart is beating so hard it hurts - thrumming proud with the constrained want to defend Lord Ren as she sits there ripping him to shreds and goading Hux’s perfect conduct upon her.

 Iris throws her needlework aside and storms out. Insists she going for a lie down. She tears across the room and shuts the parlour door. Hot tears dribble out the corners of her eyes. Stings at her skin.

 She stands there- and as she does, looking into the foyer, right at the coatrack. Her need to flee is looking better and better.

 She dons her bonnet and shabby coat and before she can fully know what she’s doing, before she can even stop herself, she’s going. She needs actions and she needs fresh air. Much good a walk would do her. She slips down to the kitchens and is out the back door before even a kindly warning from their nice natured cook could halt her actions.

 They heard Caroline’s vile shouts and screeches. Slamming of doors. And now they see her fleeing in tears. It wasn’t any grand difficulty to piece together all that had passed.

 Iris wanted to slam doors. To hit things with her balled up fists. To kick and claw and scream about how much her suffocating life was mauling all capacity for happiness out her. She wants to rip things apart til her fingers bleed. Til her bones ache.

 As it stands, her neck hurts with the strain of her clenched tight teeth, grit hard. Her back is shuddering with pinched complaint. She hardly comprehends how enraged she is; how fast her legs are stalking her away into the gardens. Up into the woods.

 Her throat is raw and her head is pounding. She shouldn’t be out of doors in a thin dress and coat and in her sorry state. But staying in that wretched parlour was not an option.

 She’s so préoccupée she doesn’t even turn her head to look at the wicked sky churning behind her storming path. The weather upon the horizon was turning most foul indeed.

 The air above the wood is heavy and dark. Black as a fresh bruise. It fully pierced the sky’s colour. The wind whips viciously cold and that’s how she knows rain is lurking not far off. Everything is so still and the woods are damp with snow that the rain will pelt away. This was the deep breath before the plunge. The whole landscape is waiting. Perching on a razors edge.

 Every tree is poised and even the birds have quieted. It’s as if every creature has fled from the threat of the violent storm. Iris is the only one oblivious.

 She treads on onto the woods. Needing distance. Needing quiet. Needing to hear nothing and feel nothing but her feet shaking from her footsteps pounding the dirty damp earth. Sinking into the leaves and the mush and crunch of the foliage on the woodland floor.

 She wants to move and flee and be somewhere else where she doesn’t feel so crushed.

 Her lungs heave dry where she’s running and gasping for breath. Throat sore with the cold air. Chest ice cold from where she hasn’t buttoned up her coat. She feels everything burning at her skin. Making her clammy where the icy winds scrape over her as she soldiers on.

 She lets the surroundings soothe her. Tries to let the calm of peaceful woodland soak into her mind. Let it pierce the tempest of her quaking soul. The meat and tissue of her flesh that feels like she’s being ripped apart piece by piece. She feels gouged and compressed by all the pressure she’s under. It’s too much. She thought she could bear it nobly but she’s not strong-her back is breaking.

 She crumbles into the nearest tree. Let’s it take her weight and keep her standing.

 She tears off her infernal bonnet and jams her brow against the wood. Taking deep lungfuls of air spiced with the fragrances of the wood. Wet bark, dewy sweet grass and the mucky mud of earthy leaves rotting under the grip of domineering snow.

 She feels her breath ghost out her lips. Feels it chill and dry her parched mouth. She lets more tears fall. Just for a second. Before she has to button up her coat and return to her trap of a life. Shut the sweet song-dove back into their dismal stifling little birdcage.

 That’s when she feels it- a raindrop.

 It pats heavily down upon her head. Cold and harsh like a sudden strong bee sting, out of nowhere.

 She presses a hand to the tree and looks to the heavens. Where all is smoke black and dismal grey. Clouds seethe and roil up above the treetops. Raindrops shimmer between the tall trees. Iris feels more patter down. Striking down her cheek. A stab of rolling ice. More follow it.

 She looks across the woods as the patters turn to downpours. The clouds part like a cracked grey eggshell and the heavens pour and flood out.

 Chilling heavy rain now hammers everywhere around her. In her hasty fit to get away from home, between the blurred nature of her tears and her looking down, she doesn’t entirely realise she has walked herself miles.

 Miles upon miles- she’s almost in the next county even. She’s in the tall dark woods near large country estates. Unfortunately no house she’s near, is anyone of her acquaintance. She can’t beg at the door for shelter from the storm.

 She shoves her bonnet back on. A valiant attempt to keep her head dry. Tied up the soggy blue ribbon under her chin. It now sits there limp. Flopping uselessly. Dripping water down onto her chest.

 She buttons up her coat and thankfully finds her grey calfskin gloves in her pocket. She slips the things on her numb hands. The material clings and sticks dreadfully to her reddened palm. She’s trembling with cold before long.

 She curses herself. Bitterly. “Stupid. Idiotic, foolish and thoughtless...” She yelps loudly when her shoe catches on a tree root and sends her sprawling to the wet earth. She lands hard on her elbow and bashed her shins on the knotted roots of the unyielding tree.

 Dizzy with pain she hisses and heaves herself up. Mud oozes up between her clawed fingers. Her knees stab the earth as she scrambled up. Her coat now befouled with great splotches of claggy mud.

 The wind whips up terribly. Thrashing the whole forest with rain. Thrashing her too. Her coat catches to her wet skirts. Hem damp with sticky mud and wet. A chill slides down her back. Treacherous weather sneaking under her collar and soaking down between her shoulder blades.

 She seized the two sides of her coat tighter about herself and pressed on. Where she stomps and runs through puddles, wet mud and cold cold rain splashed up her legs. It already bled through her cracked boots and her stupidly thin stockings. Her feet are freezing and she has lost sensation in her hands already.

 She hasn’t made it more than a matter of yards and she’s already soaked through to her skin-Hell. To her bones.

 She’s trying not to quiver too much. Make her body concentrate on stepping her out the wide open woods that offer little cover. Maybe she can find a sturdy squat tree to shelter under somewhere?

 She heads for the muddied little track of the lane she can see far up ahead. It cuts a carved path of worn dirt through the woods. She knows that lane is betwixt two estates.

 She sadly had walked too far to remember which two. It could be Lord Havisham’s land. And he was famously an old curmudgeon who was damnably strict about who he let wander on the barest fringes and borders of his vast property.

 A soaking wet idiot girl from the village was not a preferred sparkling vision of a desirable houseguest.

 She shambles onto the road. Earth sinking soggy beneath her soles. Arms wrapped around herself. Grazes stinging her arms from her earlier fall. She huddled tighter to herself to stop the shaking. It didn’t help. Her whole body wracks viciously with it.

 She feels shame creep up her spine. Slithering flushed and awful into her blood. She’d been a over-reactive fool. Running out blind into a storm of all things. She trudges along the sticky muddy road. Now the rain is pelting so hard, it’s sneaking through her straw bonnet. Even her brain feels like it’s shaking. Rattling inside her skull like some fevered thing desperate to be let loose.

 She slips quickly along to the next field. The long grass tears at her skirts. Claws more dew drops at her wool coattails. Leaves and blades of grass grip at the wool. She kicks through the long thrashing grass and wildflowers.

 Boots wrapped within the clinging long vines. She makes it to the slippery wood style, heaves her leg over the thing. She hears her white cotton dress snag and tear on the nails punctured into the wood. She rips her skirts away. She doesn’t have the capacity at present to be saddened over that instance.

 She balances her numb hand on the wooden post as she swings her leg over. She’s trembling so much she nearly falls again. Somehow she manages to keep upright a little longer. Her knees now knock together and each shivering step weakens her legs. Her muscles are all sore and burning.

 She treads carefully though these woods. As the gradient is steep. The forest spills down a tumbling hill. By the time she gets to the bottom of the muddy slope, her bones ring with the effort. She pauses to catch her breath against the nearest tree.

 She trips over rocks in the path, sends her sprawling on her front again. She yelps and winces at the pain that bursts through her.

 And this time she can barely stand. Instead easing herself onto her hands and knees. She groans. She wills her stupid body to work. She sobs tears of frustration and they don’t even feel warm on her face. She tries so hard to crawl. She would crawl home on bleeding hands and knees if she must-

 She watches the grey haze of rain pass over the brown-green wood before her. It shatters hard off every leaf and douses every trunk of every tree. She hears the loud drum of it swim in her ears. She’s so cold now and senseless. Her coat feels heavy. Her arms are too tired to lift. As are her legs.

 Heavy. Heavy. So heavy.

 She sags into the soggy earth. On her side. Absolutely drenched in mud and hammered by rain. Her bonnet saves most her hair from the mud. But she feels long wet coils of it, where her coiffure is dishevelled, seep onto the earth. Burdensome and damp. Wringing wet and now stuck with leaves and muddy forest debris.

 She must look frightful. Laying here in the dirt. And even her bones are shivering. Every cell of her vibrates with cold.

 Iris wonders if she’ll die here- slipping into a nice, deep sleep. Quivering herself into an early grave.

 Like drowning. Only softer. Less strenuous. She doesn’t have to kick and fight the waves or currents. She can look up at at the sky or the tips of the trees that rain blazed between. Raindrops sting and bash at her eyes. Rolling down her pale cheeks like the tears she can’t manage anymore. The sky cries for her.

 She would’ve liked to have seen the night sky - all those stars and the full moon - one last time. But she is not so lucky as to be the one fated with control over her own death.

 She watches the woods til her exhausted eyes swell shut. Lashes wet. Sticks to her face. Her body seized up. Even breathing seemed to ache too much. It’s too sharp. Too much effort.

 Her lips were almost now as blue as her coat. And she doesn’t care anymore. About anything. About anyone. She can’t. She’s tired. She’s far too tired- this seems like a good peace. A good soft ending.

 Death could either be so ineffectual or violently unfair for a woman. She’d either fade away as a decrepit old bat with barely a teaspoons measure of wit left in her head. Drift away in her sleep very hushed, and then she’s forgotten. Some other paranoid mad old crone who gets shut up forever in her wooden box in the ground.

 Or in childbirth. Maybe that what would be the thing to take her. Aching and yelling and sweating, Swelled with fever. Drained from blood. Bleeding her life away whilst she’s split open and raw between her legs and some ugly squat pink infant wails for her from its crib.

 This way seems far kinder- a mercy, really. They’ll put her in a stiff little box, cover it with unscented white flowers and bury her in the Pembleton chapel graveyard. Down in the soil with the other bones of the dead, and the moss and the worms. People would say it was a tragedy; but her loved ones may take comfort in the fact she died doing her duty by her husband.

 Such a miserable thought. Rotting away to a skeleton in the hot box in the sweat of earthy soil. The sun bleaching down. The rain soaking in. The frost stiffening her. It seems like such a still eternity when her life has always been busy.

 Better it’s her. Now mother can have the exuberant Posy to pin her hopes and demands on. The second eldest sister. The flirty one who tries harder. The weight will finally be lifted off her own shoulders.

 It will settle in the ground with her and spill and seep, and bleed into the soil. Her worries will fade as surely as her head will decay away to dust.

 A great snap cracks the wet air in half. Splinters it to shards.

 Now it’s thundering- most excellent.

 She doesn’t know why the clouds are bothering with an unnecessarily noisy fan fare. As it is, she can’t possibly get any wetter.

 She can hear the great gallops of it striking the earth. Booming. Clapping quick through the air. Like the beating skin of a army drum being pounded. Actually. It wasn’t thunder. It was- closer to earth. Not quite as sky bound.

 It starts off far away and it invariably grows steadily louder. She almost wishes to sit up and shush it to silence. But that would require movement and her body is too busy melting into the cold moist earth. Moulding in with the leaves and moss. Churning into the oozy mud and the carpet of frost that the rain is eating away.

 The rhythmic thunder ceases to be quieted. For it can’t.

 She grumbles a groan of a breath that crackles out of her sore throat, and she struggles but contrives to peel open her heavy eyes.

 All she can see is that same hazy grey of the rain in the distance. The silver blur inbetween the trees.

 Suddenly it is interrupted. There’s a dark shape bounding towards her. Her mind would make some inappropriate joke about the devil coming to take her soul if her brain hadn’t been rattled to absolute bits by her shivering.

 She blinks, it takes every ounce of energy she has left. The shape is tall and getting taller. Bleeding upwards. The top is wider, where the bottom is thinner. Two long sculpted shapes, like black stalactites, and they move, leaning forwards, then two more behind those do the same.

 The shape pounds the ground. Churning up dirt and muddy water. Her eyes focus enough to then recognise a very wide pair of horses hooves.

 Slowing in rapid succession toward her. The hooves were as wide as her head. It was an enormous animal this black horse. It’s fetlocks were massively muscled. Formed big and sheared with long black feathering.

 A Shire horse? Maybe even bigger than that still. She can hear the massive beast above her, snorting. She hasn’t yet sought out sight of of the rider.

 She would raise her eyes if it didn’t ache so much. She feels the drips of rain patter over her dry lips. She opens her mouth to speak. In attempting movement, she closes her eyes and tries to twist around, splaying herself into more mud. She doesn’t want to even comprehend the mess of her coat or dress. The sad sorry miserable state of her.

 She must look so pathetic - and that ragged on her dignity. What little of it there is existing.

 They call out. It’s all a mumbled blur to her. A deeply dark tone that sounds muffled. As if coming from underwater.

 She tries to apologise to this mystery rider she’s accosted. Wonders why they didn’t just stomp over her with their horses huge hooves and put her quickly out of her misery. Do her a favour.

 The again, why on earth are they out riding in this stormy delude? Maybe they’re as nonsensical as her.

 It never occurred to her that they were out here for her benefit.

 “Iris...” comes the deep call through the rain. She intimately knows that rich voice.

 She looks. It hurts, but she looks. A pair of black boots slam to the ground in her eye-line. Water and mud spraying everywhere under his fierce tread.

 She twists up, wet hair sticks to her face. Her lips gape. Lord Ren? It can’t be. She can’t have walked that far?

 She peeks up, eyes as wide as saucers.

 Yes. Yes, apparently she had walked that far.

 The adjoining land she’d forgotten. The one that Lord Havisham’s estate bordered on... it was Hellford Park. How in the living hell had he found her here?

 He’s quite a sight to be devoured. This big wet vampire. Out in all this pouring rain.

 He wears only a short and greatcoat. With dark breeches and mud splashed boots. His skin is as wet as hers, an icy rivulet runs off his chin. His white shirt is sticky and tamped to his big chest. If she could gasp at seeing it clinging like a second skin to his body, she would’ve. His wild dark hair is swirled and stuck to his head. That too drips on his coated shoulders.

 She fancied if his coat gapes open any the wider, she’d be able to see the whole stretch of his naked chest. Again. The dark patches of his nipples and all those enticing peaks and dips in the muscle.

 He moves so fast it makes her eyes hurt and head spin. His face is concerned. Bearing down a sad look at her.

 Then he’s there. Above her. He’s kneeling in the dirt. Her numb body senses his hands scoop under her. She tries to speak but her tongue has nearly literally frozen - fallen right back down her throat.

 Two big and ungloved hands slide under her. One under her shoulders, the other near the numb things she used to call legs.

 She’s soaked to the bone and dirty with wet mud and she’s mortified with the way he clasps her so close to his skin. She’ll ruin his handsome coat. He’s just as icy cold as she is. Like old marble stone. She would speak, but her teeth are chattering out of her skull.

 “Are you hurt?” He seeks. She shivers through a shake of her head.

 He couldn’t stand to yank her up, and then have her shriek out in pain because of a broken bone he hadn’t foreseen.

 He lifts her. In one mighty swoop, unsticks her from the earth and up away into his strong arms. Such musculature he has, it’s undeniably potent. Being held by him in this close a manner.

 She tries to curl her tongue around some words. An apology. Or a question. He senses this. He’s softly speaking to her. Hugging her tight to his body in a close embrace.

 “None of that now. Don’t try to speak. Don’t speak. Just keep your eyes open for me, little dove.” He instructs calmly to her. He walks them back to a horse she can only assume is Erland.

 The great equine beast is already snorting and nickering. Lowering his legs so Kylo can hoist her on the saddle.

 She barely grips onto the horse with her senseless fingers. He’s behind her in no time at all. Swings his body up and that compact wall of a body is behind her again. He seizes the reins and keeps her tucked close. Curled into his chest. Her head on his shoulder.

 “I’ve got you.” He assures her. His breath hot on her temple. Such a scorching promise in comparison to the chilling rain. His words melt the cool on her skin.

 One trunk of a big arm curling around her locks her to him. He coaxed Erland around, and dig his heel in the animals round bellied side. They race off through the stinging rain. The woods are a blurring black and grey mush to her. The stark of trees and rain battered undergrowth.

 She feels Erland’s back arch as he rears up and clears a fence cleanly, taking it cleanly like it’s nothing. Kylo’s arm fixes around her. Crushing tight when they do. Ensuring she stays right there with him in the saddle seat. Braced right against his thighs behind, and the saddle horn in front. Her hip cradling the pommel.

 She inches closer to him. Tucks her face into the crook of his neck. Uncaring for civility now. She clings onto him so tight her fingers leave creases in his clothes. Ten little crescent moons. She knots her knuckles to grip so tight in his sodden clothes that her wrists shake all the more.

 They absolutely fly through the rain. She didn’t need to ride Erland to know he was a powerful horse bred for pulling. Clearly carrying two people posed no issues for him either.

 He was as quick as ten horses. The Arabian in his blood made him a fast sort of beast. His legs and his hooves pounded the earth quicker than she could rationally comprehend.

 She hears the tempo of Erland’s hooves shift when they come to a paved road. The clops echo louder. Ringing like tinnitus in her ears. Sharply striking her senses. Rattling in her head and bouncing from one ear and across to the other. Her head feels full of fluffy cotton. It’s ineffectual.

 Kylo’s body lurched behind hers. Erland slows to a halt as bid by his master in his foreign Bavarian tongue. She sways forwards too. The weight of him disappears and she opens her sticky eyes, weakly clutching onto the leather strap of Erland’s tacking. Kylo is below her on the ground, sliding her off his stallions powerful back, into his arms once again.

 She sees the steps afore them, leading up to the front of the house. The doors flung wide inwards. She hears him call sharp orders. She wonders if they are to her but then a most obedient stable hand appears as if out of nowhere, leads the horse away quick. Kylo’s carrying her again.

 Storms her right up the steps in his hold. Muddy and soggy in his arms. Running quick with her. As fast as he can move.

 She barely registers that they’re out of the rain and inside Hellford’s foyer. She recognised the pointed tiles of the floor. They blur her eyes at Kylo’s fast pace covering ground. His big thighs can stride quick and his booted feet rattle sharp clacks on the tiles.

 He’s barking orders again. He used to command one of the largest companies of men in history. Orders are things he’s used to issuing. “Jomar. Stoke the fires in the guest bedchamber, now. Draw a warm bath. Not hot. Warm. If she heats up too quickly there’s every risk she’ll go into shock.” He demands.

 There’s another hollow clack. She thinks it might be them ascending a staircase. The great dark mahogany one. He speaks again. “Have two maids sent up to the suite now. They’ll need to strip her and help rid her of her sodden clothes.”

 His butler with the soothing honey and cinnamon for a voice answers him. “Of course, Your Lordship. I’ll send for Anna and Mrs Jones.” He assures him. Sending for the most competent maid and the brusque housekeeper. The one so stern she gave his strict regimental measures a run for its money.

 Kylo whisks her away upstairs. She’s barely stopped shivering when he bursts them through a bedroom door that he roundly kicks open with the ball of his foot. Curses at the stubborn thing.

 She’s sprawled back on a bed suddenly. Feather and down beneath her. Staring at a rosebud pink bed canopy. If she had the temerity to recognise where she was she’d have blushed into the next dimension.

 She’s still shivering but she manages to curl up and sit, looking down to see his dripping dark head bowed as he teaches under her skirts, and takes one ankle to gently start on working off her muddy boots. Yanking it calmly off her foot with some urgency. Her hands fumble for her coat buttons. The heat of the house prickles at her skin. It burns.

 She shudders a weak laugh. “Never-r thought I’d see a day w-when a peer of the r-realm would be ttaking off my boots.” She sniffs. Rainwater’s dripping down her nose. She looks down and sees the priceless silk eiderdown that she’s sat on. A lump lodged in her throat.

 “I’ll soak the b-bedding...” She frets. Trying to work off her heavy slippery gloves. Not having much luck.

 Kylo peers up at her. She sees the mud smeared over his hands. On his coat. The watermarks on the fine carpets. She feels wretched. Making work for others.

 “Damn the bedding. Iris. It is replaceable. You are not. My first priority is getting you warmed again.” He insists.

 Then, in a manner so intimate as nothing she’s ever felt in her life. He rises up and cups her cold face in one hand. His palm covers her jaw and most of her neck. She’s as icy as he is. He suddenly fathoms how dangerous that is.

 “How-w did you f-find me?” She whispers quietly. Eyes boring into his own. They are that melting brown again. Gone was the gold and rampant red of last night.

 She didn’t see the monster here today. She saw only a loving suitor.

 “I told you.” He insists kindly. “I won’t have anything happen to you.” He ushers softly. Thumb stroking a sticky smear of mud and a wet coil of hair off her face.

 “I felt you were in peril. That, I could not ignore. I could sense it was you from the second you stepped foot near my land.” He tells openly. He was after all, a territorial creature.

 She’s not scared of him. She ought have her head examined-

 She’s witnessed and heard what he can do to humans. She saw as much last night. She’s been stood on the fringes of conversations about the details of all the grizzly deaths of late. The ones where men were left parted from their arms and legs with their entrails piled and strung around them like garlands or bunting. It’s too frightening to even consider.

 She saw none of that here, in him tonight. He rode out into a vicious storm to bring her home and get her warm; those didn’t seem like the actions of a soulless creature. Quite the contrary.

 He can rip out throats or rip limbs off lesser mortal bodies and she isn’t scared. He’s a dangerous warrior from an age long past.

 She’s never been more wildly in love.

 She’s curious about the other facets this beautiful man may be hiding. She’s determined to seek out more curiosities about his character, if it’s the last thing she does.

 “T-thank-“ She begins to stammer. He merely smiles and shakes his head. His hair drops more rain onto his shoulders. It bleeds out his shaggy mane. Stuck swirled to his neck and ears.

 He touches her cheek again. “I would rip this very world in two with my bare hands to keep you safe.” He assures.

 Their moment is rudely interrupted as a fleet of regimented maids burst into the room. Some carrying water jugs to tip into the bath. A stout woman and a waify blonde cross quickly to where Kylo is knelt. The stout woman puts her hand on his shoulder.

 “Your valet is in your chambers, my Lord. We’ll see to Miss Ashton, here. Never fret. We’ll soon see her right.” She persuades kindly.

 He nods a quick crooked smile of thanks. And stands up. The polite maid smiles nicely helps Iris with her gloves. Unbuttons the soggy calfskin things and pulls them off. Kylo’s chest crushes at seeing the red raw of her cold palms. Her tiny elegant fingers pricked stiff and numb with cold.

 “I’ll leave you in Mrs Jones’ capable hands. Little dove.” He takes his hand off her neck and smiles, before he turns to them both and softly orders. “Act as quickly as you can.”

 Another whisper comes so softly, Iris barely hears it for the heavy rain still knifing at the window. It’s Kylo’s fear. His voice trembles with the worry. “Please look after her.”

 “Of course. Your Lordship.” Mrs Jones replies firmly with great feeling. He turns away, with great difficulty taking his eyes off her and the soggy black shape of him trudges out the room. Leaving rain droplets and mud in his wake. Leaving the ladies to tend to her. He’s a big shape blocking up the doorframe and then he’s gone.

 Iris swallows, nervous, freezing with cold, trembling still, and unused to such attention from staff. They’re unbuttoning her coat. She aches from head to toe. And she’s damnably tired. She wants to sink into this luxury bed and sleep like Hypnos.

 “Here we go, pet. Don’t worry now. You’re in safe hands.” Mrs Jones smiles. They are kind. Far too kind. She doesn’t deserve such attention for her stupidity. And yet they’re being so patient.

 Passing Iris a towel so she may wipe the muck from her face. She does. And when they divest her of everything get her down to her dripping cotton shift, Anna takes her wet things and then kindly housekeeper helps her stagger across to the bath on her weak legs. Her dark hair bleeds mud and wet down her shoulders. She doesn’t even wish to see the state she left the eiderdown in.

 “You lean on me, now pet. We’ll have you right as rain in no time.” Mrs Jones assures. Leading Iris to the magnificent anteroom.

 Where a steaming copper tub awaits. The fire in there too was stoked. It blazes off the tub like spun flickers of amber. The air smells of roses. No doubt a clever maid has tipped some fanciful oil in the tub for her. She’s very grateful.

 She’ll be even more so to scrub the mud off her skin and hair.

 Iris fights back a smile. And remarks to herself how she’s never been told to lean on anyone ever before.

 It feels awfully nice not to take all the burdens alone for once.

                                                   ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

 Kylo’s sitting alone downstairs. In the grand echoing hall of Hellford’s dining room. Washed, dried and redressed. Somewhat uncommonly, at that. One that made Wilton, his valet, arch a wry brow at him. Which Kylo heartily and completely ignored.

 He’d coughed a dry polite interjection. His cheeks reddened in scandal. He did always appreciate things done properly. Civility paid its due attention. As it should be.

 “You will be dining alone with Miss Ashton Sir. Might you atleast consider a waistcoat?” He flusters. For Wilton that was practically him imploring him, begging on his knees.

 Kylo rolls his eyes. After such an impassioned Aria as that, how could he refuse? He let’s him slip the velvet black, satin backed waistcoat up his shoulders. He buttons it.

 He distinctly heard the man behind him sigh with newfound relief as he brushed off the shoulders. Kylo escaped the dressing room before he insisted on slipping him into full ceremonial dress.

 He was adequate as he was. A fresh pair of dark breeches and boots. And just an undershirt on his top half. No cravat.

 And now here he awaits his diner companion. In this cavernous room. He could hardly send her back to Westwell in such a weakened state. He’d have her fed and warmed to the bone before he sends for the carriage. He took great delight in penning a note to Mr Ashton. Telling him his daughter fell ill in his woods. He wonders what her greek harpy of a mother will make of that.

 He smiles to himself as he scans around the room, looking to the doors again. Night was falling outside now. Rain still beats heavy on the windowpanes. The scuttle of it fills this room. His dining room.

 Finely bedecked in scarlet and gold. The walls are an ornamental barque red wallpaper. The narrow room bears the same pointed black and white tile as the foyer. There’s an ancient mahogany table that he’s sure measures a mile long. When chandeliers or glassware and cutlery are placed on the far end, they glitter like far off stars. The ceiling is governed by three gigantic chandeliers that drop down shimmering gold and crystals from the high gilded ceiling. It’s every inch a rich room.

 It’s mostly dark. Candles on walls and side tables lit. Fire blazing. Kylo is settled down the far end from the grand double doors. By the roaring great fireside. Cast in amber all around him.

 His sleeves are rolled, and he’s relaxing on an upholstered scarlet wingback chair. One of a matching pair, set by the fire. The one opposite him is currently empty. He hopes Miss Ashton will be the one to fill it shortly.

 Mrs Jones had stopped in earlier, poked her head through the door. Said Iris was well. No sign of illness brewing. She’d been bathed and successfully warmed up gradually. Inside and out. She was served two pots of tea, which she drank. And she was most glad to wash all the muck away.

 Kylo thanked her for her efficiency. She really was a matriarchal wonder. He couldn’t do without her running this house the way she does. She smiles and bids him a good evening. Slips back down to the kitchens in time for the servants supper.

 When the door creaks open again, Kylo leaps to his feet. Head twisting back in the direction of the doors. Face hopeful. When he sees it’s only Jomar walking through with a carafe of wine, and two glasses. Heading toward him.

 Today his ever persistent Butler wears his usual robes. A cloaking Sherwani coat. The usual Dastar turban. Today it is a golden yellow like warm gold butter. His coat is an ivory satin. Stitched with beige embroidery of leaves and vines. The same dark dhoti puffed trousers on his legs tucked into his fine long boots.

 He settles back down again. Sinking into the chair. Boots scraping on the deer pelt rug stretched across the floor.

 “You seem unhappy to see me. Perhaps you were anticipating someone else? I even come bearing an awfully good vintage. A full bodied 1785 Bordeaux.” He smiles. Calling out to his master.

 Kylo grumbles. “As enticing as your company is. You know how I much prefer the wine.”

 “My lord. I’ve seen you drink the foulest of ale that basically equates to stale barley hops and animal urine. You will tip anything alcoholic down your neck for pleasure. You remain a Viking in some ways.” He corrects with a smile.

 “I haven’t drunk in a manner like that since 1632.” Kylo defends as Jomar places the fat bottomed wine carafe on the end table next to his lord. Stands the glasses down next to it. Unstoppering the decanter and pouring the velvety ruby-black wine into the class.

 “And you would do the same if you to live around the bloody puritans.... most dull people ever to exist on the face of this earth. That sodding lot and their covenants and bloody purity without sin would drive a monk to tears of boredom.” He whinges.

 “Yet. You bear the dissatisfaction so nobly.” Jomar jests. He never passed up a chance to sark at his grumpy Lordship. Handing Kylo the glass wine goblet. He takes it gently. Sips it. Doesn’t want to admit to his butler how right he is.

 Jomar knows. He sees the annoyed little twitch tug at he corner of his masters mouth. He stoppers the wine again. Looking too wholly satisfied. He stands with his hands folded behind his back. As if waiting for more.

 Kylo glares sharp at him over his glass as the red wine stains his lips. “Pray what is it now?” He asks and is met with a smug smirk.

 “Don’t expect me to sit here and gossip with you like some giggling waify bluestocking.” Kylo grumps. Jomar smiles wider. Not the least put off by his grousing.

 “Don’t you have duties to attend to?” Kylo adds. “Staff to order about... go and- polish the silver or wind the clocks or do something insipid, would you...” He urges.

 “No duties at present are as urgent as this.” He grins. His Butler won’t budge. He was famously obstinate. That’s why he’s able to serve Kylo so well as he does. They are two peas in a pod.

 If Jomar had been a lesser man maybe he would have put up with Kylo’s snipes and bore them all in silence. Kylo’s secretly glad he doesn’t. He likes a healthy challenge. Part of his Viking spirit he believes.

 His Lordship sighs and rolls his eyes. Cursing heaven and hell and everything inbetween the two.

 “Mrs Jones tells me our pretty houseguest is well recovered from her tumble in the rain.” His walnut brows arch softly up his forehead. Cocoa brown eyes glimmer with loving insinuation.

 “You and your confounded relations have wanted to see me married, since before Queen Elizabeth I took to the throne.” He strops.

 “She’s an excellent match for you. So I understand it.” He continues on as if Kylo has not spoken. He always did.

 “I will dock your wages if much more of this insolence continues.” Kylo’s threatening. But he can’t help the smile that breaks his lips.

 “I was just curious, is all. And If you do perchance happen to persuade that sweet darling girl to marry you, then please make it somewhat soon. You’ve been alone for eons too long. You really could benefit from loving someone again.” He turns to quit the room with a polite bow. The fire light shines off his marigold yellow silk dastar.

 “And also please host your nuptials as soon as. Because then in that circumstance, Mrs Jones will owe me 20 shillings.” He remarks as he takes his leave. He listens to Jomar’s footsteps fade away. Clacking away into echos in the grand room.

 Kylo wants to roll his eyes. He settles for drinking some more. “Begone. You wily cur.” He smiles, calling loudly after his retreat.

 Jomar talks loudly as he gets to the doors. For Iris is just walking through them. He smiles at her widely. Hands folded demurely and stiffly behind his back. He hears Kylo clatter to stand to attention down the room. Hears the scrape of the chair legs whine on the polished floor.

 “Miss Ashton. We are all relieved to see you so well recovered.” He insists. His smile creases his cheeks. He really does have the most sincere smile. And he always smells faintly of mango’s and coconut. Something in his cologne perhaps? Or an oil for his beard. A richly exotic delightful scent. Always draws stronger when he moved closer.

 Iris blushes. Well embarrassed and appraised of how the whole house seemed to be aware of her foolish misfortune. Servants gossip. It’s as certain a fact as the sun rising in the east.

 “Your staff are most attentive and kind. Mr. Jomar.” She tells him brightly. She looks pale to his eye. But he supposed she’s had quite an ordeal to undergo.

 Her brow is a little dewy and her cheeks warm. Her eyes seem very bright with something. He puts that down to the warmth of her surroundings.

 She’s dressed in the only spare ladies clothes they kept hereabouts. A new nightgown and shift. Mrs Jones bumbled her up in a long crushed red velvet gown, the colour of split veins, and gave her a golden tasselled shawl to link about her shoulders too. For extra measure.

 “Might I bring you anything, Miss Ashton?” Jomar seeks.

 “That will be all. Please serve dinner as soon as cook is ready.” Kylo calls from down the hall.

 “Enjoy his royal grumpiness. Miss Ashton.” Jomar cheeks before he bows and steps past her. Shutting the door in his wake with a glass smile.

 She looks down the room. Painfully aware that she’s been left all alone with Lord Ren. He stands. Awaiting her. A true gentleman through and through.

 She walks to meet him. He examines her as she comes closer. He’s afraid his eyes don’t know which part to settle on first. Her hair is unbound. Glossy and fluffy. Recently soaked and dried by the fire. Still a touch damp he reckons. If he curled his fingers around those long strands, he’d still be able to feel a kiss of damp.

 Her hair is thick. He never knew that before. It always being up in a coiffure was difficult to measure. And when she’s lying down it’s tucked behind her head. Here, as it seats down, he can see the volume and body on those walnut-chestnut golden brown curls. It stretched right down her back. Almost to her shoulder blades. She looks divinely pretty and wild. Untamed. Like that very first day he laid eyes on her.

 He wants to feel that unbound silk on his palms as he cups her cheeks to kiss her-

 He swallows. Now applauding her dress. A gown and those silly little slippered stockings on her feet. No stays or pinching necklines. She looks relaxed and it makes him feel so stirred up to see it.

 “How are you feeling?” He steps closer when she finally nears the fire. That dining table was surely the very length of Britain itself.

 He can’t sense anything the matter with her. She’s over warm but he blames that on his own overzealous orders to see her warmed through. She looks rosy cheeked and healthy enough. Her energy waning a little but he suspects she’s most likely hungry and tired.

 “I am much better. And might I just say, thank you greatly for your assistance. I feel a complete fool.” She blushes redder. Looking ashamed.

 “One can not predict the weather in this cursed ever mutable country.” He insists.

 “And I rather thank your foolishness. Had it not been so- I might thereafter have been dining alone tonight.” He flatters.

 “Please, come and sit. You need rest.” He insists gently.

 Moving closer and pressing a hand lightly to the back of her waist. She moves towards the chair opposite to his. Listens to the storm rattle at the windows and howl at the roof. It seemed almost determined to get inside with them. Clawing at Hellford’s outer walls.

 She relaxes into the seat. Her gown almost moulds into the same shade of the chair. She sits back and lets the fire warm her. Although she feels overheated.

 She supposed it’s cause she was so chilled earlier. She can’t differentiate between the two extremes. Her whole body now feels heavy. Her chest feels too tight even though she isn’t wearing her stays. Just loose cotton. But her ribs feel bruised. Every breath feels too short somehow.

 Kylo stays standing and pours her some wine. “I’ve sent a note to your father at Westwell explaining what events unfolded.” He tells her.

 She thanks him again as he hands her the wine. “I’m surprised my mother wasn’t kicking down the doors to rescue me safely home.” Iris insists after sipping the drink.

 Kylo’s smiling. Settling himself back in his chair. Wine to hand. Legs splayed out comfortably. One bent, one reclining out gently. “Mrs Ashton is my severest critic.” He remarks.

 “Believe me. I pay her criticisms little mind.” Iris insists. He smiles wider. Good.

 He watches her as she stumbles around asking a question. Not quite knowing where to begin...

 “Forgive my impertinence around such a subject. But I see no other way to approach asking it..” She begins. Wetting her lips and meeting his dark eyes. Those rough cut gemstones encloses in shadows.

“About last nights, um- events...” She starts.

 “Iris. I’m more sorry than I can say for what you witnessed last night. To see death so violently. I know it was shocking for you. I can see it stunned you. It stuns most people to discover what I truly am.” He offers plainly.

 “And your staff... do they, well-know?” She asks in a hush. Whispering.

 “The ones I know explicitly do. Jomar and Mrs Jones. The rest may circulate whatever rumours they wish. I haven’t confirmed nor denied it. It would scare a lot of people. If it’s not self absorbent, I believe a great amount of speculation flourishes in my wake.”

 “I am more intimate with the staff and tenants at my castle. Back home. I defend my territory from the savage appetites of feral new sires and I loyally protect the people who live on my lands. I however saw no reason to shock whole legions of the local staff I hired when Hellford park was opened here.” He offers.

 “New sires?” She asks. Kylo senses she’ll have more questions to ask before the night is out. If she didn’t she was a simpleton and he’d never accuse her of that.

 “Vampires are creatures that are made or turned. Little Dove. Not born as mortals are.” He remarks.

 “New Sires are as feral as a roaming pack of starving wolves. The hunger when it first comes... there’s no mania of man that can match to it. It’s like death visits you twice. But keeps you sensate for every agonising moment. It’s worse than fever or plague. You’d do anything to feed to chase the hunger away. It rots at your gut. Makes you do horrible things. Vilest of things.” He makes plain.

 “You were turned?” She enquires. He hopes she won’t faint. But he sees she’s made of sterner - more curious mettle - He’s rather glad she’s sat down.

 He nods calmly. “I was.”

 “One thousand and twenty seven years ago.” Comes his casual offering.

 Draegans face flutters on his mind for just a second. The pale pierce of his eyes. The silk of his silver hair. The sharp savagery of his silver tongued smile. He blinks his past away. Out of his head.

 Her mouth hangs open. “My goodness.” She gasps. “You do look remarkably... uh- well. Considering your age.” She stumbles. He chuckles at her reaction. Trying to wrap her head around it all.

 “In my many advancing years. I’ll snatch whatever flattery I can get.” He states warmly. Smirks darkly at her. Almost flirting. She smiles.

 “I’ve heard of your kind in folklore. Passed on in tales from ancient civilisations all around the world. Campfire horror stories I’m sure- predictable drama in Gothic Penny novelettes.” She tells. “But I never suspected-“

 “Monsters like me truly exist?” He jokes. Laughs a little. She smiles too.

 “I don’t think you’re a monster.” She comments in a tiny voice. So honest. So sweet. It touches the vacant pit where his heart should be.

 “Little Dove. Every culture and manner of people that there has ever been, has had creatures like me stalking and hunting in the dark of their shadows.” He promises.

 “It’s been that way since the dawn of time.” He eluded.

 “At the risk of another impertinence; had you a family?” She asks. The honesty as tragedy of his smile gives her the biggest answer.

 “Centuries ago I used too. Naturally. There’s only me left. A mother and father, of course. Two little vexing brothers...” He tells. “I stopped mourning all their passings a long time hence.”

 “I’m dreadfully sorry. I can only imagine how strange it must be, to be the only relation left.”

 Kylo’s smile is pensive. “I still have a family of some kind surrounding me. I have an impertinent butler and a matron of a housekeeper who resolves to mother me as if I were a boy again. Some friends who are, shall we say.... cursed with the same predilection as myself. It is not such a lonesome existence.” He tells.

 He did have a lover. Once upon a time. But even his short fuse of a temper eventually took care of that.

 He walked away from the greatest love of his life. His seething anger over his turning ate him up. He felt controlled, abused. Suffocated by his control. Their bond was a trap to him. No longer was it the freedom he first thought. Draegan was eclipsing his life. He was fed up of being in his pocket, hailed as his favourite warrior. His fierce one. As he called him.

 He was sick of his Norse endearments. Because Draegan was the kind of lover to endear him in his own native Norse tongue. Kylo quickly made up his mind to leave him. After decades of being together. He felt used. Felt like Draegan only turned him to use him as a puppet. His strength and power were commendable - and exploitable.

 He took it out on everyone surrounding him, but himself. Turned the pain and rage outward. That night in the snow after battle when he was turned into a vampire, Kylo had been promised the world and he left Draegan to finally go and take what he felt he was owed.

 He didn’t regret the parting then. He was glad of it. He severed his ties. Sheared his hair short, and cut off his viking courting braids. Turned his back on his lover and his maker. Took the world for his own as a lone wolf. He regretted it bitterly now. After all these years.

 She nods in gentle understanding. If anyone can comprehend an existence devoid of people who love her, and show appreciation openly. It’s certainly her. Posy and Flora only show her affection of they’re after a pair of earrings. Or some bauble or trinket or her slippers for a ball. She doesn’t see her father enough to have a kind word. Though he oft has plenty for her. And her mother? Woe betide she ever hears an encouraging syllable cross her lips.

 “Well. I for one feel most sorry for you Lord Ren.” She begins. He looks confused.

 “You left your castle in Bavaria for an enticing and relaxing english country excursion, and all you seem to be doing is saving foolish damsels who find themselves in distress.” She offers. “Hardly a peaceful leisurely winter.” She adds over his chuckling.

 “I’ve said it before, I will repeat myself gladly. I found a damsel who is infinitely worth saving.” He comments. She feels her blush creep down her neck. She smiles down into her lap. Holding her wine.

 She peers into the flames next to them. Draws the shawl tighter around herself. Kylo stands and offers to refill her wine glass. She hands it across and their fingers brush. Static and molten heat fizzle through her blood. He’s still so cold. She’d always thought it a matter of poor circulation perhaps. Now she understands why that might be the state of his skin.

 “You must have so many fantastic tales to tell. What with having such a long and varied life...” She looks up at him as he pours her more wine.

 “A couple here and there up my sleeve...” He offers with mirth as he returns to his seat.

 He could tell her about seeing the magic unfurling of the renaissance in Florence the 1500’s. The art the muses. He could regale to her the true bloody carnage of the crusades in the Middle East the so called ‘Holy Land.’ He could explain to her what Paris and Versailles was like in 1720. The frippery and the aristocracy. The crass callous nature of French royalty. Powered wigs black rotten teeth and beauty spots. He’d lived through all those cosmetic fashionable fads.

 “Immortality is useful if one wishes to see the world. I believe there is no corner of it I haven’t glimpsed.” He tells.

 “A soldier and a proverbial wanderer.” She adds in wonder. “You’ve seen the whole globe. I’ve only ever been shut into this tiny corner of it.” She tells.

 “You regret that?” He asks.

 “In some ways. I know not one person who has ever gone to their grave saying that they should have travelled less. I don’t want to be that person. Aching for experiences and a having a sore soul-full of remorse when my time finally does come.” She admits.

 “Imminent marriage to the egregious Sergeant Hux suddenly seems abhorrent in more than a few ways?” He seeks.

 “In every way.” Iris insists. Drinking her wine. But she couldn’t help it. It was what had to be done. No matter how much she wishes to undo it.

 The dining room doors clatter open at the far end. A whole bevy of servants in Hellford’s crimson livery come in. Carrying trays and silver dishes laden with food. Iris can smell the delicious concoctions even from up where she is.

 Mrs Jones directs her busy worker bees. They serve the elegant dinner right down the far end. Near the fire. At Kylo’s insistence. The table groans with food before long. A leg of roasted ham. A roasted saddle of beef. A mound of golden potatoes. A whole terrine of steaming white chicken soup, another of mutton stew. Creamed celery and fried cabbage and sprouts with chestnuts. Buttered asparagus and every fine dish she could ever think.

 She sits opposite Kylo as the foot man carved them both chunks off the roasted meats. Along with half a roasted capon each. She likes the indulgence of it. And the meat is well cooked. The beef still drips ichor and the ham is sweetly succulent. Everything is immaculate. The footman pours them more wine and they helped themselves to the banquet of food.

 Kylo doesn’t indulge much in the feast. She observed he mostly had the bleeding meats and the wine.

 She feels over warm by the time they retire to the fireside once more. Many glasses of wine, aswell as indulging in soup and asparagus and roasted meats of all varieties, the dinner leaves her feeling stuffed full. Her stomach clogged with meat and sloshing with Bordeaux.

 She declines another glass when they take to the seats once more. Dabs at her brow. Her headache is pumping furiously behind her temples again. Her throat is cracking dry. Nothing appears to ease it. She’d eaten the sugary sweet peaches and crisp snap apples off the fruit platter set on the table but now her mouth is dry as ash.

 “The madness of the weather isn’t persisting, so I see.” She comments as the furious storm rattled the windows forcefully. She would be best to stay the night. As he predicted. He’s loathing the idea of sending her and his staff and driver out accompanying the coach in the severest weather like this.

 Kylo peers across at her. Her breath seemed a little short. Her words seemed like enormous effort for her. And she’d seemed reserved at dinner. Eating slowly as if she had no appetite.

 “I wager it will pass soon enough. Might see out the night.” He comments. Taking a sip of his own drink. Feeling the scarlet velvet of it sit on his tongue.

 Her head is so full of agony. She can barely summon the energy to speak. She pushes herself up out the chair by the arms. Her bones suddenly grate with white-hot pain.

 “Please forgive me- I.” She starts. Gasping for breath. She shuts her eyes and Kylo watches her try to compose herself.

 “I think I may need to retire to-“ She doesn’t get the opportunity to finish her sentence. She swallows and then she just falls. Crumpled like a wilting flower.

 Kylo is there to catch her. He stood the second she started waning. He falls onto his knees and captures her in his arms.

 “Dove?” He seeks. Stroking hair out her face. Her neck is stretched back, face pale and dewy with sweat. Eyes ashen grey and bright. Hooded eyes bright with pyrexia. She’s weak. The rain caught her in worse ways than he outwardly supposed.

 The chill must’ve settled on her lungs.

 He cups his cool fingers to her brow. She’s hot. Terribly hot. A fever. This was grave. Grave indeed.

 He turns and yells for Mrs Jones to send for the doctor. He turns back to Iris. Watches the beads of sweat wriggle down her forehead. Her dry lips crack open and she’s trying to apologise again.

 He cups the back of her neck. Face tugged into worry. “I’ve still got you.” He promises.

 His distress starting to build. Mounting onto his sadness. He never prayed. Gods hold no faith for him anymore. But he prayed in this moment for her.

 He truly did. And he prayed so hard his hands shook.

                                                        ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

[eternalcantarella]

Entropy - Chapter 1: Siege - Joker/Reader

Entropy

 Summary: We all seek for some measure of uncertainty. Working against the mob is a dangerous game, you might as well be signing a death warrant. You would think it was all by a stroke of chance, the multiple run-ins with Gotham’s Jester of Genocide. When crooks begin to make more sense than do-gooders ― that’s anarchy. He’s no ordinary crook, however. And he’s still wrong. At least that’s what you'd like to tell yourself.

 Word count: 10.4k

 A/N: First entry, just felt like contributing something to the Joker fandom. This fic is multi-chaptered, and the main pairing in this is Joker/Reader. TDK/Ledger Joker specifically. We follow the story of our reader who is a junior data analyst working in the corporate world, trying to expose Lau for the fraud he is. Of course, meddling with the dichotomy of lawful good and evil would naturally lead to her butting heads with the Joker sooner or later. Somewhere along the way, she is left questioning the validity of her moral code and ends up trading answers with the Joker himself. The goal, of course, is to prove each other wrong. I didn't feel like creating another original character, so I used John Blake from TDKR for her colleague. Apologies for the non-canon compliance regarding John Blake. Rated T for now, but will probably be escalated in future. Gonna be pretty slow burn with build-up, if you're into that. Enjoy!

Available to read on AO3! Check my blog description for link to my AO3.

###

“That is why I propose that we continue this joint venture between Lau Security Investments Holdings and Gotham Press Holdings.”

  The lone presenter clasped his hands together, ending off his presentation.

  “I firmly believe that it is in both our best interests to do so, and it is what’s best for business.”

  Reservedly, a light smattering of applause pulsated through the board executive room. You looked pointedly towards the man to your right, typing furiously into his laptop. Chewing your rose-stained lips while you collected your thoughts, you knocked a pen absently against your coffee cup. Subdued murmurs and discussions could be heard as a low rumble across the room, not long before the presenter opened the floor up for a question and answer segment. Multiple hands shot up, competing for the attention of the corporate powerhouse.

  The room smelled a mixture of two distinct smells, cologne and freshly ground coffee. You recalled that you had silently muttered a ‘thank you’ to no one in particular earlier this morning, when you found out the ancient coffee maker had been replaced. Perhaps the company was lucky enough to have bosses who listen to their employees’ caffeine needs and have no problem shelling out for a new and improved machine. The room was painted a bluish gray from top to bottom, with tall glass windows teetering on the edge of an unhindered view of Gotham City.

  You sat round a large conference table with people whose suits probably cost more than your monthly rent. Board meeting perhaps would be the right name. Dress shoes, egos, no smiles that weren’t plastered on, or opinions unfiltered enough to contribute anything significant to the discussion. A conglomeration of people who almost deliberately attempt to create the most monotonous environment and experience for working possible.

  “Eight percent annual growth, huh. A little too good to be true.” 

  You craned your head towards the young man beside you while maintaining your gaze on the data projections presented on your laptop screen. You received a hum of assent in response to your subdued remark. The sound of his dry hands rubbing contemplatively against his chin accompanied afterwards. The tapping of your pen got harsher and more deliberate, as you narrowed your gaze on the lone presenter, none other than the founder of Lau Holdings himself. 

  The data simply did not make sense. Even with the vast economic expansion of China, the numbers seemed at least a little bit inflated. Your hand tensed as you shifted forward in your seat, smoothing out your blue pencil skirt. Your partner seemed to have caught sight of this. His hand darted to press over yours in a flash. Slightly startled, you flashed him a look of annoyance. 

  “Now listen, we’re not here to change anyone’s minds, calm down.” 

  Seemingly easy-going, his soft words still conveyed an undertone of warning. Indignancy blossomed in your chest as you clenched your jaw shut. Your findings and suspicion over the past months were almost in fruition. How dare he tell you how to do your job. You gave one last defiant glare at your coworker and then whipped your head around, zoning your focus in towards Lau. You raised your other hand and caught Lau’s gaze, as he gestured an open palm towards you. 

  You regarded each other coldly, his eyes devoid of any signs of sincerity save for an icy smile for the sake of pleasantries. As you stood up, you could see from the corner of your eyes that your partner had so kindly sank back in his chair defeated, resting his elbows on the table with his head in his hands. A little too melodramatic for your tastes, even for someone like you.

  “Thank you CEO Lau for the wonderful speech. I’m going to cut to the chase and raise an issue here. Frankly speaking, your powerful economic potential, while surely enticing to keep working with, is a little concerning.”

  Lau’s smile showed cracks in its facade. Perhaps this was an unexpected little wrench in his plan. Somehow you took victory and pride in gaining a reaction, no matter how small, out of a cold and calculative man of his calibre, and it took all your will and strength to maintain a stoic composure without your lips curling into a slight smirk.

   “Surely your company had to have had a hefty tax levied on this revenue you’ve raked in. Not to mention, upon further assessment it seems that Wayne Enterprises has yet to conclusively accept your business proposal to them. Not to throw insult to your endeavours, but is this as promising, or stable, as you make it out to be?”

  Perhaps you are assimilating to become one of them, the beautiful people, what you called them. Perhaps you had let your ego show a little bit too much. But you’d be damned if you didn’t feel badass standing up to a multinational company giant like this, in front of other multinational company giants. It’s not every day you let an opportunity like this be passed.

  You felt a collective shift of heads as you suddenly felt about ten pairs of eyes lock onto you, but it felt like ten thousand. Under the magnifying glasses of scrutiny, you felt like you were encapsulated in a glass display as you were studied and picked apart by higher forms of life. You were an alien. An alien who spoke a language they refused to understand and come to accept. A pregnant silence fell over the room and the stares were too much. It was as if they had a morbid fascination with you, patronisingly waiting to watch you fail. Incredulous smiles of pity and disbelief that they failed to hide were spotted on a few in the crowd and you felt the dread pool in your stomach. You tried to maintain the puff of your chest but your fidgets merely deflated it, as you kept your gaze straight on the presenter, unable to look him in the eye.

  You could see a visible twitch of his neck as you stared at his grey dress suit, straining a smile on his face. His breath had seemingly gotten heavier and he tongued the side of his mouth, clasping his hands together. He cleared his throat, and only then had you mustered the courage to look him again in the eye. Subtle shades of malice roamed dangerously behind his onyx eyes.

  “I will say this once and once alone. We are undoubtedly a legitimate business. And I will not stand for anyone questioning the integrity of my establishment.”

  This was a threat. No doubt. You felt hot and humiliated, and nothing beats being shamed in front of the board of directors, speaking of whom, shared panicked glances shifting between each other before one of them dismissed the meeting. It was a walk of shame as you and your partner were singled out by a hand gesture to the front of the room, while everyone sashayed past you, their glances lingering far longer on you two than what was necessary, with the CEO of Gotham Press Holdings watching you reproachfully. A reprimanding was in order, you supposed. CEO Lau had been escorted out of the executive meeting room by other directors in hopes of coaxing him to calm down. You and your partner you’ve unintentionally dragged through the mud stilled in front of the man in control, CEO Loeb.

  “Did I hire you to do something so incredibly stupid? For God’s sake you two are here to take care of our financial transactions and fill up board meeting spaces. Nothing more.”

  The bite was stinging. It felt like you had been slapped across the face. The welling of tears could be felt behind your eyes but you refused to let them show. You stared at your chief executive officer’s forehead, with shallow lines that ran horizontally across them. His brows which resembled caterpillars were furrowed deeply as he found it difficult to find the right words to say to you without uttering a string of expletives, which you admittedly did deserve. You buried your gaze deep into his crown of white hair as a form of distraction and you hoped dearly that he would show just a shred of mercy.

  “Financial Consultant Blake, I hope you understand your place and educate your little Junior Data Analyst lady friend.”

  Your coworker clenched his fists and nodded.

  “You young people always have an inflated sense of self-importance. Keep your mouths shut next time and this is the last warning. Keep treading on thin ice, both of you.” 

  With that, he stormed off, leaving you and your partner. The chestnut-haired man, at a loss for words, shifted his weight and looked at you. He tried to say something, but refrained from doing so upon seeing your pathetic state of emotions. You desperately tried to keep it all together, the rage of indignancy staining a crimson tint on your face and embarrassed mortification flushed against your neck hotly.

  “Listen, John…”

  He looked down and placed a hand on your shoulder, an obligatory act of comfort towards you despite feeling quite frustrated himself. Tears beaded at the corners of your eyes as you blinked them away. You will not cry. You were a strong woman. A mantra you meditated whenever you felt the urge to break down.

  “I’m, uhm, just really sorry. Really sorry that I dragged you into this. I... I’m just so goddamned naive and selfish. And I don’t know why, but I just-”

  You took a deep breath and shut your eyes, before reopening them, willing the constricting feeling back down your chest.

  “I just felt the need to prove something.”

  He let out a huge sigh and pat his hand two times soothingly on your shoulder. As if to tell you it was okay, but he was still mad. He brought his other hand to his temples and closed his eyes. His jaw shifted around absently, possibly to ease the tension that was there from clenching it too tightly. There was really nothing much he could say to you. After all, he did warn you, but he was nice enough not to say ‘I told you so’.

  After getting the apology off your chest, the humiliation subsided slowly like a beach wave into a dull headache. You took your hand to his wrist and squeezed the top of it reassuringly, to let him know you would be okay eventually. He took this as a sign for you both to take your leave, away from the sterile walls of the meeting room that seemed to cave in on you.

  As you turned round the corner of the large glass doors of the meeting room, you nearly bumped into the CEO of Lau Security Investment Holdings. It had seemed that he had left something behind in the room. You were face to face with him, widening your eyes and noting to yourself that he was a man of short stature. There was a brief moment where time seemed to slow down around the two of you and you two were the only ones on this plane of existence. There was nothing but a look of disdain on his face. A subtle twist and contortion of his face, the corner of his lips tightened and raised on one side of his face. His eyes were devoid of any spirit, seeming to look through you instead of looking at you. Nothing but pure unadulterated disrespect and contempt for you. Small and worthless you were, this was your standing in this world of beautiful people. You were fundamentally different from all of them. Fundamentally loathsome.

  And you’d be damned if you didn’t confront this head on. 

  You hardened your gaze with eyes of defiance with lips suggesting the hint of a snarl. Something about the look he gave you re-ignited the flame within you snuffed by shame, and it showed through your eyes. 

  And just like that time sped up for you, and you were thrown back into the normalcy of the rush of office life. John Blake watched you and let out an audible groan.

  “You really don’t know when to give in do you, kid?”

  While visibly frustrated, a little smirk played at his lips, clearly amused at you and the turn of events in spite of himself. 

  “Always bursting in, castle crashing like the siege engine incarnate you are.”

  Clicking your tongue in annoyance at this long-time God awful nickname bestowed upon you by none other, you hastened your speed with strong strides, having done nothing but prove that nickname to be characteristic of you today. He kept up the pace, noting to himself that you had gotten over yourself and more or less returned back to normal. You took the meeting card from today out of your pocket and bent it, snapped it into two halves and discarded them into the bin you walked past. You needed to forget this incident. Clipboard and laptop hooked onto an arm, you prodded at your updo then pulled at the hem of your white blazer. Gussying did help ground you back to reality in providing you with a sense of unfounded control. 

  “We aren’t going to take this lightly. We need to get to the bottom of this. Lau一Lau is going to ruin this place.”

  Alarmed, John Blake grabbed your shoulder and wrenched your form to face him, stopping you in your tracks. He stared at your eyes scanning and darting his eyes around your face for any signs of whether you were serious or not. It dawned on him that dear god, you weren’t kidding at all. Before he could start on his tirade that the two of you couldn’t even dream of changing how things worked in this company, or the world for that matter, you shrugged yourself off his grip.

  “Don’t you forget why you teamed up with me, John.” You raised your voice slightly. 

  “Don’t forget the reason you launched Blake Accounting Consultancy. Need I remind you of what you believe in?”

  Jarred by your emotional declaration, he knew what you said were mere rhetorics. He noticed people were starting to stare at the commotion between the two of you, thus he resumed a slow walking pace with you. You kept observing his internal dilemma, noting the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and how his perpetually furrowed brows deepened even more. You needed his help. And he needed yours. As your walking speed hastened back to normal, the people at the reception area took fleeting glances at your gait but never longer than needed. You took a short glimpse at your watch and signed out of the register with Blake.

  The self-assured clacking of the heels on your pumps down the descent of the stone steps, marking the entrance of the imperial office building, was a pleasant familiarity to you, as it signaled the end of an exhausting work day. It was especially empowering on a Friday, such as this one. At the base of the steps you awaited his answer. Clearing his throat and adjusting his tie, he stepped onto the same level as you.

  “Alright, you’ve convinced me. There’s no point in doing this,” he pointed between the two of you, “And our arrangement if we don’t do it right. You are my partner after all and you’re here to keep me from losing sight of what’s important. To the both of us.”

  You smiled and felt the warmth blushing across your cheeks. Yes, he had hand picked you for this job and he was so confident you were the right one. You restrained your smile to revert back to a professional feminine composure and tilted your head coyly.

  “Then I don’t need to tell you why we’re doing it the right way, do I?”

  “For hope in the goodness of Gotham. This generation’s gotta do some cleaning up after our very thoughtful predecessors.”

  The crinkle in his eye after he spoke was all the reassurance you needed. After being given a satisfactory answer, you gave him a knowing look and turned away from him as he began tapping hurriedly into his tablet. As undignified as John Blake could appear to be at times, you had to hand it to the man. He was worthy of your respect and had been nothing but an inspiration to you. The two of you shared more things in common than most and provided each other an intellectual challenge. Of course, mostly one thing was considered upon deciding on this mutually beneficial partnership in business. And it wasn’t because you two were sleeping with each other, despite common belief. Before you began walking again, you asked.

  “What do you reckon our plan would be right now?”

  Still fiddling with his tablet, he stalled on his answer for a few seconds. Clearly mapping something out in his head, you turned back to give him your full attention. 

  “We’re heading to Gotham National Bank. Let’s just say, there’s been minor speculation that it’s been involved in activities not short of... illicit. Yes, I suppose that’s how we’ll put it.” 

  He treaded carefully.

  “Now, the companies we work for, both Gotham Press Holdings and Lau Holdings, have some shares in this bank. The catch is, it would be incredibly difficult to prove Lau’s activities as fraudulent.”

  Seemingly defeated, Blake hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. However, he peeked his eyes at the building in front of him, a smugness quirking at the corner of his lips.

  “Fortunately for us, they didn’t call me a forensic accountant for nothing.”

  Beaming at him, you grabbed at his forearm shaking it a few times, giddiness bubbling inside of you, before letting it go. For you, there was nothing but a mischievous glee, the kind that feels like icing on cake and splashing at beaches. All this for one shared vision. The two of you were visionaries. To this, his smile was that of happiness blooming as a spring flower would. You could see it coming from inside of him to the light of his eyes, and spreading across his chest. He was happy to see you filled with hope, and you could feel it in the way he spoke and the way he relaxed. It was nothing short of genuine. You bubbled up and joked around with him.

  “John, frankly speaking, is this even legal?”

  “It depends.”

  You felt the excitement die down a little bit as you realised the seriousness in his tone. It was replaced by an uncomfortable premonition pervading your senses. You gave him a look, pressing him to tell you more.

  “I meanㅡTechnically we could do this. We have enough authority to access banking information. The problem is if they come to know we had been snooping around.”

  “Oh my god John are you really sure about this-”

  “You just have to trust me, we have to take a risk. Just as I have taken a gamble on you. I have a plan.”

  Your eyes widened at his statement. He was right, he couldn’t gain anything else from working with a hothead like you. He had taken a chance on you. What else did you have to offer to him? It was a sobering statement. After all, you did prove to be a handful in the meeting today, it was a pretty big mess up. You two could only have trust or you would have nothing. And you would hate to be a liability to him. 

  The two of you stared ahead at the streets, bustling with the cacophony produced by the city at midday traffic. The winds picked up, with fallen leaves and litter on the semi-empty street dancing to their own choreography. A chill ran down your spine, signalling the approach of nightfall. You both had decided then that it was best you get a move on to the bank before rush hour traffic befalls upon you.

###

The buildings galloped up where your sights could reach, Gotham National Bank standing out as a nostalgic hue of ivory, marbled with contours of magnificent antiquated architecture. Small fragments crumbled from the pillars encircling it, exalting it to an unmatched quality of regality as if there stood an ancient and historic piece of post-American Renaissance. This unusual lavishness caught the eye in the heart of Gotham. You both sauntered up the stone steps with a comfortable rhythm. The wooden framed glass doors pushed to the side as you both turned round the bend. The confidence you two shared initially was faltering as you realised the danger behind the work you were going to do.

  The place reeked of opulence, a feeling of vastness with high ceilings, yet you still felt suffocated by the scent of luxury vanilla tobacco perfume. The air felt still and frigid, despite its warm rustic tones and yellow ceiling lights. You would never fall for this false allure and fabrication of a cozy and comfortable environment. It lulls you into a false sense of security. A carefully crafted institute that tries to evoke trust is nothing but lies. Money, whether little or a lot, is a source of stress in the lives of people after all. How the bank could portray themselves as anything but was beyond you. Your lips tightened as you walked to the bank tellers. Surprisingly the foyer was not as crowded as you had expected. It is well enough that the people of this city did not understand the banking and monetary system, for if they did, there would be a revolution by the next morning.

  There was no line at the counter where you two were expected. John Blake regarded the bank teller with a tightlipped smile and firm handshake. You noticed Blake’s calloused hands, they weren’t too big and certainly did not look fitting for that of a white-collar accountant. He flashed his identification card from the companies you two were liaised with and requested to be granted permission for a thorough evaluation of their financial statements. Fingers crossed, you and Blake shared a look as the young man behind the desk studied the card in its holder skittishly. Clearly, he wasn’t experienced at all.

  “Sir, I’m sorry but I think I would have to check with my superiors if I could authorise your entry into our systems.”

  He brought a hand to his collar and nervously adjusted his tie around his neck. Your heart sank as you prepared yourself for the worst. Multiple scenarios rang through your head. They could be notified. You could be fired for attempting unauthorised entry into confidential records. Blake hurriedly reached into his coat pocket in a last-ditch attempt, stopping the young man from approaching higher-ups.

  “We are directly associated with Mr. Lau of Lau Security Investments Holdings, and as the official Financial Advisor of Gotham Press Holdings and part of the directorial meeting board, we are granted perfect autonomy in ensuring and cross referencing the accuracy of our financial statements.”

  John Blake maintained a stone cold composure, not a single crack in his facade, presenting a separate placeholder card from today’s meeting with the company stamp embossed on its surface. Although, upon closer inspection you could see him grip the sleeves of his dark blue suit in his folded arms. He could fool a silly junior bank teller, but not you unfortunately. You held your breath. Upon hearing the name of the CEO roll off his tongue, the young man inspected the card and his shoulders slackened a considerable amount. He cleared his voice.

  “Of course. I will access the statements for you in just a minute.”

  He began keying into the laptop in front of him and dialing numbers into his keypad. You suddenly remembered how to breathe as you let out a puff of air held in your lungs. In a wash of relief, you brought your hand to John’s back and gripped onto his suit reassuringly. You could see that he had his eyes downcast, his tight hold on his sleeves loosening. His jaw was still tight and jutted forward. You looked him in the eyes as he was vulnerable for a moment, you softened your gaze as if telling him something.

  You don’t have to be so strong anymore.

  It was a tough call. You could tell he was scared out of his wits. He didn’t like to lie, he didn’t like to use deceit. You two had abused your positions after all. You had taken advantage of the inexperience of the young man behind the desk. You were surprised he had done it at all. Hell, he had been the one who spontaneously suggested the idea anyway. You understood though. He had infracted his moral code for something bigger and more important. All this went unnoticed by the bank teller who was so engrossed in fumbling about with card keys and entering the right code. You smiled at John encouragingly.

  To signal he was done, the bank teller turned his laptop around to face you two. The two of you stared into the records presented on screen. This was your golden opportunity. Blake gave you a look and nodded, and immediately you knew what to do. For him, all signs of remorse had dissipated like cotton candy on a tongue and his senses were on overdrive. The impressive work ethic of Blake had begun to override his emotions and you saw his propensity for achieving results.

  You loaded the data into a thumb drive and jammed it back into your laptop. You processed the data with Microsoft SQL. This allowed you to store, read or manipulate the data. Then you loaded the data into Tableau to start data visualisation. Concurrently, you fetched a code for a machine learning algorithm you had worked on and were familiar with. You looked over at Blake as your computer was processing, chewing on your lips as he loaded a graph on his screen. He had been analysing the datasets provided by your company which you had prior access to.

  Well, as can be expected, most transactions are non-fraudulent. To find evidence was like finding a needle in a haystack. But you were an expert at detecting outliers. For an imbalanced dataset, you needed to think out of the box. If you projected the sets into a scatter plot, you could visualise the clusters of fraudulent and non-fraudulent transactions. Bingo. You could generate synthetic samples from then on. However, all this prediction was meaningless without insights from Blake. Your work could only substantiate what he was able to find. You tried to make sense of the data and tugged at your hair, nervously shaking a leg. Seemingly in a state of distress, he tugged his hand on his chin with pressure increasing by the second. He was onto something.

  When he was done, he shifted your laptop over to his side of the desk and compared both of your graphs and excel tables. After a grating amount of time, he let out a burning stream of air that was searing the walls of his lungs. He looked over at you and nodded solemnly. That meant only one thing, this was it, you guys had done it. You had proven Lau’s fraudulence. He instinctively leaned over to you, voice nothing more than a raspy whisper. 

  “In more than a few accounts, extra digits were added to the fees recorded.” 

  He gesticulated towards the data and scrolled in.

  “For example here, if the fee initially recorded by the clerk was $5,234, a five was added to the first position reporting the fee as $55,234. In that single month, production fees were overstated by several hundred thousands of dollars. This explains why they could evade taxes so easily.”

  You narrowed your eyes. He added more discernment to the situation, a form of scum reading if you will. Of course, he did so in hushed tones, to prevent the bank teller from catching on.

  “Not to mention, the dates of the frauds you identified tie in and correlate heavily with reports of organised crime in Gotham.”

  Your eyebrows raised and you snapped your head to look at him in disbelief. Never had you imagined things to be this bad. This was a massive case you had uncovered. Blake chuckled lowly, a slender brow quirked incredulously at you with mixed amusement. He was always one to be tickled by your over-dramatically animated reactions to things.

  “Always on the ball, aren’t ya kid? Like a true siege machine. I couldn’t have done this without you. Excellent work.”

  You felt your face heating up at this statement. You suddenly felt awkward. Your actions suddenly, not within your control, became demure and coy. You even went as far as to attempt to hide your features behind your fingers, as you brought a hand to your face. You hated it when this happened. You could never admit this to yourself. You had always put on a tough front for John. Yet no amount of training could prepare you for moments like this. You thrived on being able to impress him, to prove yourself worthy. That you were no mistake he made.

  This revelation was nothing but a testament to the remarkable teamwork and chemistry you two had. It was nothing short of an incredible feat. Your skill sets heavily complemented each other, and your lines of thoughts and cognition heavily resonated together. You truly felt invincible at times with him. You could do anything with him. You could build an empire. You tasted something akin to victory on your tongue, despite not really having won anything yet. It felt like snowflakes had settled on your tongue, except instead of icy coldness you felt a sugary golden warmth. Blake had reached his arm around and patted you on your shoulder reservedly, denoting the conveyance of commendation from a coworker. Shrugging his hands off you, you sent him a sidelong glare for daring to interact with you on such a formal basis, as if you hadn’t skirted past a professional connection long ago. 

  Your attention was caught on your screen as you realised the data visualisation for Gotham Press Holdings was also complete. You realised that movements of funds to Lau Holdings had increased 342 percent for the past month. This was definitely a suspicious transaction that had gone unreported in the official financial statements. You dug deeper and deeper and you cursed at the power Lau had, and resolved to bring this up to the higher-ups at some point. The ire in realising your company had been pulled into Lau’s heinous mess tore through your chest like a claymore blade, and thoughts raced through your mind. Anger coursed through your veins like a lifeforce in and of itself, tugging at your fingers like puppet strings as they twitched involuntarily. Blake noticed this and called out your name. It was futile. You can’t listen to him like this. You wrenched your attention away from the screen and onto Blake in an attempt to explain the situation and―

  Gunshots ripped through splitting the still air, its sound piercing like that of blithe firecrackers, a bangarang seeming to come from nowhere as screams of terror rang. You blinked, hands haphazardly thrown in front of you in reaction, a dulled instinct of your body lost years ago. You blinked again, and you were on the floor all of a sudden, not really sure how you had ended up there. You searched around with your pupils, registering that Blake had an arm tugged around your shoulders and another pulling at your white sleeves. You peeked upwards furtively through the curtains of your hair framing your face, trembling with your chin strained against your sternum to watch men clad in suits with frightening clown masks run through the space.

  “Alright everybody, heads down! I said hands up, I’m makin’ a withdrawal here!”

  To you, the man had the most venomous voice you’ve heard, straight from the depths of hell. You squeezed your eyes shut, not daring to stare at them as if it were a mortal sin that would grant you the eternal punishment of death if you did. It was a long time ago when you had last been placed in such a compromising situation, since the Batman had taken to cleaning the streets. You forgot the feeling of fear. It was almost invigorating in a sense. This was life on the edge as you know it.

  “Obviously we don’t want you doin’ anything with your hands, other than holdin’ on for dear life!”

  These words didn’t really mean much to you. Just jumbled sloppy threats, obviously unplanned and entropic in nature. Perhaps they didn’t mean exactly what they were saying. Yet this frightened you so much more. Clowns were unpredictable. You thought back on the various cirques and circuses you had patronised in the past, remembering the many archetypal clown personas they assumed. Their traditional slapstick humour, mischief in demeanor always put you on edge. You never knew what tricks they might pull on you, they were masterful tricksters. You saw the clown pass what looked like a grenade-shaped time bomb to the man at the counter next to you. An epileptic meditation swept over you, foreshadowing the prelude of a nervous collapse. Blake pulled you closer into his form upon seeing the time bomb, caging his arms around you. You were unsure if he did this to comfort you or if it was for his self-reassurance.

  “Nobody make a move! Nobody! Stay down!” 

  One of them lazily swung his gun around, uncaring as he pointed wherever a group of people clambered. You huffed. Clowns and their general nonchalance, clearly exaggerated in their movements. What is this little regard they had for human life? What is human life to them?

  You continued watching a clown terrorise a blonde woman behind the counter. You heard an internal time bomb ticking, echoing away as the dissonance of razors on violin strings bled through your ears. The icy fingers of apprehension wrapped tightly around your spine, much like the way Blake held you, they tugged at your bones until they felt ready to tear past your flesh.

  Bang!

  You jerked your head and out of John Blake’s grasp. You saw an explosive shattering of glass from the main counter which was encircled by a glass and wood partition. The gunswinger had been taken down. A man in a grey suit, who you recognised as the head bank teller, wielded a powerful shotgun. You pressed your wrists together, you still had a fighting chance. This man was a glimmer of hope for the victims. He shot a couple more shells at another clown, but he missed all of them. He let out a yell. You bit down on your bottom lip, nails digging crescent shapes further into your palm. He exuded a sense of confidence and self-assuredness, with an upright posture and puff in his chest unbefitting for someone who has to sit the entire day for his job. He trudged onwards with his mighty steps with more pumps of his shotgun, a masculine energy that was striking enough. You felt a collective sense of relief from the other victims as you all rooted for him in silence.

  “You have any idea who you’re stealin’ from? You and your friends are dead!”

  You pondered this statement from the grey suited man. What kind of threat was this? It was a minor detail that you could be overthinking. It was definitely out of the ordinary for a generic banker to say something like this. But it all makes sense now, especially with everything Blake had led you to believe, and the realisation dawned upon you. This was indeed a mob bank. And believe that no one who robs a mob bank leaves alive. You started laughing at yourself internally, perhaps you were going insane. Oh how the tables have turned, the only salvation in this situation was that a member of the mob was your only hope in escaping this place alive. It was a bitter realisation, you cursed the irony in the situation. Perhaps Lau had indirectly saved your life, given his ties to organised crime.

  You saw the two clowns regroup and discuss something. You noticed that one of them hadn’t spoken the whole time since their arrival, and simply nodded his head fervently at the other. He wore a clown mask that had a blue frown. You recognised him as the one who handed out and unhooked the time bombs. You narrowed your eyes at him. He was too quiet. 

  The man with the shotgun had missed his last shot as the other clown, the one with the spiked hair, stood up. It seemed that he had emptied the barrel of his shotgun, and fumbled with it within his hands. Oh no. Blake had sunken backwards further into the floor. In a split second, what hope you held onto swiftly dwindled down, you saw some of the other terrorised folks’ faces fall as you let go of your closed fists, the heat of the blood rushing through doing nothing to warm up your cold and clammy hands.

  The clown with the blue frown took advantage of this and swiftly stood up, with a sort of careless grace that was strangely unique. Idiosyncratic even, how could that man possess a quirk so paradoxical and contradictory in every sense of the word? He fired a flurry of shots and the man wielding the shotgun shook violently, falling to the floor in an undignified manner with the clinking of bullets ringing onto the floor. 

  The clown quirked his head to the side with his eyes trained on the fallen man with mild intrigue, almost in lackadaisical amusement. It was patronising, frankly. A mockery of a quizzical look. It reminded you of the morbid fascination the beautiful people had shown you earlier today. Your face twisted into a snarl. Your gut was right about this man. He was dangerous, not your average goon. He looked like he did this on the regular for fun. 

  The clown with the spiked hair squabbled with him over something that seemed to be important. But he still said nothing. He stayed while the other clown left to head to where you presumed to be the vault. He walked down the aisles between desks with leisurely footsteps, and a relaxed hunch in his posture that looked feigned. He swung his arms around his body candidly, like how one would on a leisurely stroll when you were out on a boring trip with your family. His masked eyes swiped across every gentle shadow the room forged. He was extremely observant. More so than the rest, as he constantly took note of the surroundings and mapped the location out. However, he only gave passing glances to the people on the floor, as if they weren’t really there at all. He didn’t seem to care at all that he was, as a matter of fact, carrying out a godforsaken bank heist right this very moment. Was this a joke to him?

  Nothing could dissipate this horrible feeling you had about this man, how gut-wrenching it felt to be in his presence. You tried to stare at John Blake covertly, trying to search if he had found out a way to get out of this mess alive. But he had his eyes trained forward and hands gripping at the floor tiles, seemingly paralysed with fear after the man with the mask walked past you two. The man looked at his watch, with an unreal sense of patience. You tried to get Blake’s attention, but it was no use. He was scared stiff. You dared not move as you were sure that the clown would have no qualms shooting you then and there. You observed as he turned his back to you, and you noticed he had messily dyed, faded green hair. You craned your head. What kind of twisted criminal was this...?

  The spiked hair masked clown returned with many navy duffel bags, some on his shoulders and some dragged across the marble floor. The other clown lugged a couple bags along, pooling them at the center of the back entrance, in front of three wooden framed glass doors.

  “That’s a lot of money!” The spiked hair clown jibed, clearly in greed. “If this Joker guy was so smart, he’d had us bring a bigger car!”

  The clown with the blue frown turned his back to the other clown. Immediately when he did this, a heavy clicking noise was heard. You noticed a sort of hesitance in his movements, realising he had made a mistake. The other clown had turned on him, reloaded his handgun and pointed it straight at his back. The air was tense. He slowly turned his head to face him again, almost defensively so that he wouldn’t trigger the other clown to make any rash decisions.

  “I’m bettin’ the Joker told you to kill me as soon as we loaded the cash.”

  The hand holding the gun was quivering. Whatever game it was that they were playing, it was dangerous. You noticed the two of them were the only clowns left. Whoever this ‘Joker’ person they talked about was, he was calculative. He managed to turn them all on each other, and they weeded each other out. The man with the frown pulled back his sleeve to check his watch, and grumbled. His life was on the line and he was still playing games. Your brows tightened. Enough of this feigned indifference.

  “No, no, no, no. I kill the bus... Driver.”

  This was the first time he spoke this whole time. He sounded like how a real clown possibly would. A raspy timbre from years of smoking and a nasally tone in wry jest. At the corner of your eyes, you saw the fallen bank teller try to turn his body, but to no avail. He seemed affected by this statement, for reasons unknown. The clown side-stepped, out of the gun’s line of sight.

  “Bus driver?”

  The man holding the gun delayedly tracked him with his gun, stepping backwards tentatively in tandem with the other clown. The clown continued stepping to the side, acting defenseless with his hands in front of his waist as a gesture of nonaggression despite holding a gun, to cajole the other man. They kept at a distance apart and circled each other. The clown with the frown cocked his head to the side as he stepped, as though in confusion at the situation at hand. However, it felt unnatural to you. This simple act was definitely deliberate. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. Whatever it was, he was cold and calculated. Every one of his actions seemed carefully thought out and he did not do pointless things. He only spoke when absolutely necessary. Every move he has made thus far, he had done so with intention and purpose. 

  The air hung with uncertainty. Blake, seeming to have regained his senses with this distraction, turned his body to face you. The man with the gun grew impatient with this lack of an answer and he shook his head.

  “What bus drive-”

  In the blink of an eye, the wooden frames of the doors burst apart and glass flew everywhere. A yellow school bus had crashed through the gates like a battering ram. It drove directly into where the clown holding the gun stood and at break-neck speed, knocked him out cold. The bank was silent at that moment, not really knowing how to register or react to this turn of events. John Blake forced your attention on him and took full advantage of this distraction, whispering to you.

  “Whatever happens, when this is over make a run for it. Through that hole in the wall.”

  You gave a grunt of acknowledgement. The door slid open to reveal another goon with a clown mask.

  “School’s out, time to go. That guy’s not gettin’ up, is he?”

  Not one for small talk, the clown with the frown threw him the duffel bags to load them into the bus. The other clown continued jibing in excitement, especially after seeing how many filled bags of cash they had to toss into the bus. He threw the last duffel bag at him. Having just arrived, the talkative man clearly did not understand the circumstances that had led to this point. You felt bad for him as he seemed naive.

  “What happened to the rest of the guys?”

  Without even looking at him, the clown with the blue frown offhandedly shot him with a round of bullets. You squeezed your eyes shut. You could not get used to this nasty sound. He did not even give him the time of day. Not a single care in the world. He ambled past you again to pull the last duffel bag and tossed it into the bus. The question of why he always gave this impression of detachment from the reality in front of you remains unanswered. 

  “Think you’re smart huh?”

  He pulled his hand onto the edges of the doorframe and was about to climb into the bus, but he turned around. Perhaps this was not a part of his calculations. He had one foot on the steps, but pulled his foot back down and adjusted his mask to stare at who it was daring enough to speak up to him. The bank teller struggled and floundered on the ground, coughing and sputtering. He curled into himself even more, much like a fetus would, looking absolutely pathetic. He was fighting back a grimace on his face.

  “The kind that hired youseㅡThey’ll just do the same to you…”

  The masked man’s interest was seemingly piqued by his speech of open defiance. He brought his arm behind his back into his back pocket and staggered across the floor. That couldn’t-care-less grace acted again, his attention wavering as his gaze flitted between the man on the floor and the surroundings. He pulled something out of his pocket. You could not recognise what the object was.

  No, why couldn’t you have just kept your mouth shut?

  “Oh, criminals in this town used to believe in things… Honour, respect.”

  The bank teller spat. The masked man continued walking and stopped before him, imposing. There was a momentous promise in his gravity, a hint of catastrophe in the tilt of his head. He bent down and crouched to the fallen man’s level, bringing the object to his face.

  “Look at you. What do you believe in huh? WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IN?”

  He shouted the last statement, blood-curdling and grinding around the edges. It seemed to be a last final effort display of dominance, his ego refusing to allow him to submit before he was stifled and his words fell off with a gagging noise. The man had shoved a black cylindrical device into his mouth. You felt the same internal razors on violins escalate in intensity, and your heart constricted with the crescendo.

  “I believe,” 

  The masked man started, this time his voice different, sounding smooth like butter. It felt like a balmy breeze sending chills down your spine, wrapping around your neck with smooth fingers. It was laced with an anarchic menace.

  “Whatever doesn’t kill you simply makes you,”

  He removed his mask, and looked to the side. Then, he looked down at him again. No one amongst you could comprehend what they were looking at. The violins had reached its loudest forte, and in a thunderous roar it came crashing down. He gave a slight twist of his head.

  “Stranger.”

  His tone shifted and he uttered that last word with his nasally rasp instead. His eyebrows lifted a fraction off his face, in mock honesty. He smiled and withdrew quickly, vanishing away from the scene like a shadowy wraith.

  “Kid, run.” Blake urged. You just stared at that spot where the apparition appeared.

  You had just seen a ghost.

  Silly little girl. Maybe there is a ghost, maybe... It’s only you.

  “Hey, are ya listening? Get ready.”

  He was a phantom. You could not scratch off this disturbing feeling about him. Thousands of spiders had crawled up your arms to reach your face, paralysing you in your wake as dread was siphoned into your head, numbing your brain. No matter how much you gouged and clawed at your skin, the arachnids could not be torn off. You thought back on his face. He was soaked in nothing but pure malice, doused as if an arsonist had poured gasoline on him. You saw him enter the bus and slid the door shut, a cord extending from the back of his pocket to the man still on the floor. Your eyes focused onto the black cylindrical gadget in his mouth

  Alarmed, you snapped out of it. 

  It finally occurred to you, this man was about to die. This man who valiantly fought for you people and tried to save the bank. You didn’t care at this point if he was part of the Mafia or whatever blasted gang it was that ran about in Gotham. He was a citizen of Gotham, no less than you. You broke free of the grasps of the arachnids, and stood up and ran to the center of the back entrance, heels clicking sharply against the cold floor. Blake watched your back in horror, swapping glances between you and the yellow school bus which hadn’t left. You could feel gazes of scrutiny, all unsure of what to think of your spur-of-the-moment effort.

  You had to do something about this. You made up your mind, there’s no convincing you out of this. Not even from Blake.

  What about me?

  The ghost flashed in your mind.

  You ran so fast, when you stopped in front of him you felt the whiplash of inertia propelling you further. Snapping out of it, you bent down in front of him and tried to yank the butt of what was in his mouth. You looked him in the eyes, noticing how wide and blue they were, and they were close to watering. You frowned, tears threatening to break at the corner of your own eyes. You felt as helpless as he did as you were unable to pry the object out of his mouth.

  You attempted again, trying to attack it from a different angle. You tried to ignore and dull the twinging sensation pricking your nose. Your brows pinched upwards bridging at a peak, your methods administered were to no avail. The man looked at you as if his life flashed before his eyes. You can’t give up on him. Not with the way he practically stared into your soul.

  “Hey, listen to me alright. We will get you out.”

  Your voice was shaky. You stared into his eyes with determination. You observed how his mouth curved around the object. His jaw was like a vice in a workshop space clamping on tightly to the object. A vice was made of metal however.

  “Okay, this is going to hurt. But don’t you worry it will work.”

  You used your fingers to pick up the drool lapping around his mouth. Then, with the warning you gave him prior, you forcefully jammed your lubricated fingers into the sides of the entrance of his mouth. He let out a long and drawn out moan of pain as you hooked your fingers around the foreign object, wrangling it out of his mouth, feeling the scrape of his teeth against your fingers and the smooth walls behind the hollows of his cheek.

  At long last, you trawled the object. However, while you held it triumphantly in your hands, the bus had driven off with a force that pulled you backwards slightly. You felt the string dislodge and it released a noxious gas that bellowed columns like thickets around you and the bank teller. The small dose had proven to be debilitating, and you coughed and moved your hand to cover your nose. It burned. In a swift motion, you tossed the smoke bomb to the other end of the room, something you should have done long ago.

  That’s too bad then. Maybe next time.

  You collapsed onto the ground from the strong inhale of the gas that filled your lungs, finding it difficult to get back on your feet. It scorched your air passages. You heard the sound of hurried and loud footsteps frantically pounding against the floor tiles as the people were running towards the hole in the wall. You tried to grab onto the man to lug him as you crawled, but it soon proved to be difficult. You cursed as you lost your strength.

  However, before you knew it, you were suddenly hoisted onto the shoulders of a man, your upper torso hanging down his back. Disoriented and sputtering in anguish, tears clouded your vision as you tried to spot the bank teller and you yelled.

  “Someone-help the man who was shot!”

  “Still worryin’ about him at a time like this? Not sure if that’s very smart of you.”

  This voice was unfamiliar. You couldn’t recognize it. The man who carried you was running towards the entrance and you felt this in the bob of your torso. You knocked your arms frantically at his lower back, though it probably felt quite pathetic given your current state.

  “Relax, relax. Someone else’s got him.”

  You relented upon hearing that, and thanked him for telling you that. As you exited the building you looked forward and your vision was blurry, however you could make out Blake catching up to you. He held a stack of laptops and tablets. He was panting and when he made it, he caught your hand and clasped it in his. This reassured you. You felt a little safer.

  The adrenaline was draining out of your system quickly. The lightheaded fatigue was settling in. You felt like you were in a bad dream. The sounds of traffic and sirens whirred past you in a blur, sounding louder than they should have. You felt the comings of a migraine swallow around your head. It almost felt like your world was spinning, and you just wanted to sit down.

  The recoils in the steps were too much. Your stomach lurched, and you clutched at your mouth. You tried looking at Blake, but you couldn’t see him. He looked ghoulish. Like a creature of the underworld. 

  He lurked under a veil of alabaster, blotted onto his canvas were two black cavernous holes gouged in place of his eyes, deep like the plunge basins of a calamitous waterfall, one that roared with stygian ink. But this was perhaps not the most terrifying part about him. 

  You saw a bright spark in front of your eyes, unsure of what was happening. Blake squeezed your palm even tighter. It must’ve been the bombs from earlier going off. 

  His grin extended far beyond the realms of what would be normal, unsettling and sinister as a macabre smile was carved deep into his white flesh, dripping blood red over ridges and grooves that swirled and curved along the sides of his mouth, peaks pushed together and formed after millenniums of cataclysmic terrain shifts. 

  You gave Blake’s hand a crushing grip. Anything to snap out of this terror.

  When he grinned he revealed a set of discoloured teeth, yellowed and rancid with dread, the earth no longer fertile and only bore fruits of death. 

  All of a sudden, you could see and you saw people gathered around, safe and sound. Blake had a concerned expression.

  You sniggered inwardly, looks like that clown had a miscalculation in his steps. All the small victories mattered to you. The running had stopped and the feeling of vertigo had been alleviated slightly, but was not gone completely. The man set you down as you slumped heavily against the sidewalk. You looked around you and you were suffocated by the imposing high rise buildings of Gotham City.

  “Hey, look―About that comment regardin’ the man who was shot…”

  You steeled yourself to stare at the man who saved your life, pushing past how dizzy looking up made you feel.

  “Look, I’m sorry about that alright. If you hadn’t done that… Then perhaps others like me wouldn’ta done what’s right.”

  Still in a state of befuddlement, you stared at him blankly. Slowly, you registered the meaning of his statement and a blush crept over your cheeks.

  “That’s really all I have to say. Uh, thank you, I guess.”

  With that, your mystery saviour left you with Blake. You wished you had at least been in the right mind enough to ask for the man’s name. John Blake skirted around you and supported your weight as he sat beside you. He smirked at the ground, an unreadable look in his downcast eyes.

  “You know kid, I really hate to admit this to you. And I’m only really saying this because you’re in this sorry state.”

  He flicked your forehead with his fingers. You reeled backwards and patted your hand across the area where he inflicted his damage.

  “That was pretty damn badass of you back there. But you could have died.”

  Groggily, this barely registered in your head, and your head lolled about, the motion lulling you into a dream. You were out, and your head rested against Blake’s shoulder. Alarmed, he recalled that you had taken a direct hit from the smoke bomb. He had to act fast.

  “Guess we have to drag your sorry ass to the hospital.”

  He stared forward at the ambulances arriving, dragged your arm across his shoulders and tightened his grip on you, preparing to lift you over there. Before the ambulances stopped, he looked motionless at the ground. He felt an uneasy sense of discomfort build within his chest. What had he done in that whole debacle? Looked on at the sidelines like a sitting duck? 

  A word rang in his mind over and over again like the sirens coming close.

  Coward.

  He shook his head and rubbed his chin. He hated nothing more than the feeling of uselessness. He always wanted to contribute something, he shifted his gaze to look at you. He was stunned by the display of courage and compassion. You outdid him in your generosity. He couldn’t even do anything to save you, for crying out loud. The look in his eyes wavered, full of convoluted emotion. One thing’s for sure, he was clearly disappointed in himself.

  You performed way better than he had expected in the data interpretation too. He had indeed found a diamond in the rough.  

  Kid, if you could realise your potential on your own…

   He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  He thought back on the words spoken by the man who saved you. Your kind act has unknowingly inspired others. Your compassion and spurred on further acts of compassion. He was right. This strengthened his hope and belief in the people of Gotham. This city was worth fighting for. Fighting the conflict that reigned over his emotions, he had to arrive at a resolve.

  Sighing, he muttered a curse under his breath. Then, he hoisted you up and staggered over to the paramedics.

###

Flinging the mask to the side, he emptied his gloved hand and saw it lightly bounce against a cushioned bus seat. Then he turned around to wind the doors shut. He looked down to observe the duffel bags, roughly gauging if this heist alone was enough for him. He was hoping that he wouldn’t need to carry out another heist for a long time. He stared at the shotgun he held in his other glove. A very useful trinket he snatched from today’s heist. What a steal, he thought to himself. He was about to jump over the duffel bags to head to the driver’s seat but something caught his eye as he peered out the frosted glass pane.

  A girl? What is she doing?

  She bent down facing the wasted bank teller and tried pulling at the cylinder in his mouth. He observed with light boredom, unimpressed by her antics. He jammed the smoke bomb far too deep into the vice grip of his jaw. There was no use, really.

  Foolish little girl.

  She re-angled herself, to get a better grip on the smoke bomb. He could discern her appearance from this view. She wore a white coat and had her hair tied up in some type of bun? What did she think she was, some type of doctor? This ticked him off. He narrowed his eyes. While he was making a pretty baseless assumption about a random girl in a bank, it couldn’t change the fact that his first impression of her was that she was a healthcare worker.

  He stretched his lips, jutting his jaw forward. For some reason, this made him irrationally annoyed. He never did like healthcare workers. Doctors and nurses are perhaps among some of the most prestigious jobs in society today, and have been for pretty much the entirety of history and human civilisation. As the front lines combating disease, they are often lauded and praised as heroes for their sacrifices, saving lives while putting their own lives on the line. They give up many things for their medical careers.

  This was laughable. He gave a snort, how funny is it that everyone reveres and idolises the motivations of such people. As if they were actual messengers from the divine being, God himself. What they don’t realise is that people lie. They always do. They always say that they’re mainly doing it for altruistic purposes, because they feel fulfilled saving other people. As if prestige and money aren’t a thing. No one truly wants to be a pawn in war.

  He licked his lips and peered down at the naive girl. There will come a time when she realises that helping others is asinine. The reasons for which she has to learn on her own. She will only be weak the more she believes her morals to be better than everyone else’s.

  And weakness only disgusts him.

  He rolled his eyes watching her fail yet again. This was a waste of his time, people really love doing pointless things. We live in an amusing world. He paid her no more heed.

  “Doctors and nurses are not heroes.”

  With that, he braced his hands on the seats lining both sides of the aisles, hoisting himself over the haphazardly strewn hoard of duffel bags to the other side. His cable extended further from his back pocket, the sound lightly scraping the shell of his ears. He clambered into the driver’s seat and landed unceremoniously as his limbs were thrown forward at the impact. He shifted forward, widened his palms and then scrunched his fingers as he searched around for the engine start. After pulling the knob, he smacked both of his hands carelessly on the steering wheel. He shook his head a few times and sighed.

  “At the end of the day, they’ll always be martyred against their will.”

[visual-explorxtion]

Murder for One - One Shot

Summary: They found their way back to where the nightmare began. The Oswell E Spencer mansion. But things took a wrong turn. Chris has been murdered. And it’s up to the gang to track down his murderer.

A/N: I wanted to write a short murder mystery but I kept emphasising a lot of things so it turned out a bit longer than I’ve intended. Also been rewatching Twin Peaks so I was kinda inspired by it.

Word count: 2.3K

11:55 pm, June 14th, Oswell E Spencer's mansion.

A moonless night, just like many of the others, is a deadly premonition. BANG! The thunder roared and the split of lightning flashed that lit up the rustic library in a blink of an eye, then shrouded by darkness once more. The only light source is the lone fireplace, located on the far side of the room. The firewood crackled.

Chris is dead.

Nobody came in or out of this mansion. Except for our four little suspects: Leon S Kennedy, an American Agent working under the government; Jill Valentine, former S.T.A.R.S member and current Special Ops Agent in the BSAA; Claire Redfield, a member of TerraSave; Carlos Oliveira, former UBCS and mercenary. The four stood looking down at the corpse, the light behind their eyes extinguished along with the life of their former friend.

2 hours earlier:

Chris was sent out by HQ to investigate further about a new strain of the virus being created in the Spencer's mansion. Of course, this was all tipped by an anonymous caller. HQ should've known better. This mission was a quick data retrieval, but the rest of the group got worried when Chris hasn't returned after an hour has passed. As soon as they've received the news, the four of them came rushing to the scene of the crime. Inside, they found Chris lying cold on the oak wood flooring. Upon further investigation, they can pinpoint that Chris: took a hard blow to the head, visible strangle marks around his neck and several stab wounds in the general area of the torso. All of these could be the fatal cause of Chris's death. There was no sign of intruders or breaking of any locks which means, the killer's only access is the front door.

"Who could've done such a thing?" Claire sniffles.

"I'll contact HQ and see if we could get some back-up and analysis going." Leon tampers with his phone. "Shit, can't get a signal here."

Jill took a quick glance at Claire then focused on Chris's lifeless body, she sighs. "This isn't right. There's no blood around the corpse." she contemplates for a moment. "...which means, the murdering didn't happen in this room. Alright, let spread out and see what we can find." They nod, each set off in different directions. Claire and Carlos scout the ground floor while Leon and Jill tread lightly along the first floor. Strong wind clatter the decade-old windows and echos through the hallway, making a ghastly sound. Jill swallows. Mansions give her the creeps and often unfond memories. The upper hallway split into three separate doorways; one lead to a bathroom, another is a decorated study and lastly is the dust-coated master bedroom.

"I'll go check out the study." Leon declared, she gave an approving nod and both head on to their chosen destination, flashlight in hand. The doorknob is rusted, giving it several twists then it groaned open. The bedroom is grim with a dampened smell, furniture covered in white sheets. If this doesn't scream creepy, Jill ain't sure what else would. The beam of light continues to shine on showing nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly, torch caught something reflective, just shying away behind the edge of the bed frame. Jill grasp the object for a closer inspection to reveal a candle holder, decaying away with time. Bingo! Bloodstains. The red liquid also seeped along the skirt of the white covers. Is this...the scene of the crime?

"Jill!" Leon cries out in distress.

The murder weapon clanked against the wooden floor. Jill sprinted in full speed towards the study only to find Leon hunched over the rows of bookshelves.

"Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?" she pants.

"Come take a look at this." he reaches out his hand.

Jill frowns. "But this is Chris's knife...Why would it be here?"

"This could be where Chris got murdered. Look, there's blood splatter across here." The crimson fluid trailed its way near the bookcase. "This can't be right...if this is the murder weapon... Wait!" Jill turned on her heels and marched farther along the hallway. She managed to pry open the last door which unveiled the unkempt bathroom, the scene mirrors the other rooms. "As I thought."

"But...this doesn't make any sense." Leon's face scrunched upon looking at its interior. The third murder weapon. A rope loosely hanging from the shower curtain rail, blood tainted the hemp thread. Must be caused by the friction against Chris's skin which broke the outer layer of the tissue.

"Leon! Jill!" Carlos's voice roared halfway across the place.

They both gave a knowing look to one another before heading off to the foyer. Claire and Carlos stood with an unsettling look on their faces.

"I think...we've found what may have killed Chris..." they both pulled out a blood-stained object. A kitchen knife and a porcelain vase. Sadness filled their eyes as they both averted their gaze away from the weapons.

"No...it's impossible. This getting more confusing by the minute." Leon huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What do you mean? These two must be the murder weapon. The bloodstains can't lie." Claire frustrates over Leon's remarks and stood her ground.

"We found more objects like this upstairs, stained with blood, each in different rooms," Leon explains.

Jill sighs, rubbing her temple with her index finger. "Let's just...go back to the library and calmly figure this out."

"Maybe if we reenact it out, we can decode this mystery." an idea struck Carlos. Leon pats his arm before shuffling back to along the route to the library.

The temperature hasn't changed at all since they left, still cold and bitter. Chris, still laying as dead as ever, being kept warm by the fireplace. Something caught Jill's eye, an envelope, seated on top of the mantelpiece with words written in cursive. 'Open me, when the truth is revealed'. She turns the letter over. But, there were no names or any seal marks.

"Hey, was this here before?" her voice sounded quizzical.

Carlos frowns, "I don't think so...Why? What's the matter?"

Jill shakes her head. "No, it doesn't matter. Let's just focus the matter at hand right now."

The grandfather clock chimed and made the group jump. 1 am...it's been 4 hours since Chris's death, but they aren't getting any closer to catching the killer. Jill starts picking at her fingers.

"Something's off...Nobody else knows Chris is here, except us. This was a solo mission. So that means...one of us did it." Jill said, out of speculation. She's never wrong about a hunch, even if that deduction was a bold one.

"Wait, what do you mean one of us? All of us have an alibi. We were with each other for the past few hours." the sound of Leon's voice warns her that she's treading on thin ice.

"Yes, but there's a two-hour window when the murder happened. And neither one of us has proof of our alibi in the time gap."

Tension is rising in the room. Indeed, this is a huge accusation. But Jill can't just stand aside and let the murderer walk free with bloodshed on their hands, let alone with her best friends blood.

"I have an alibi," Claire spoke out. "I was stuck on the highway on my way to Chris's place and I stopped by Krispy Kreme too."

"Well, I shared a ride with Jill this whole time. She'd know if I went missing for even a split second. And before that, I was with a friend. They can prove it." Carlos raised his hand.

"Leon?" Claire asks.

Leon mumbled quietly. None of his words was audible. "You're gonna have to speak up." He let out a huge sigh. "I said, I was at the bar. Just trying to get drunk. There. Ya happy now?"

Something still doesn't feel right. Jill knew that deep down, one of them is lying. "No. This isn't it."

"What do you mean 'this isn't it'? We all have an alibi, so it's not us." Carlos grunts.

"What about you Jill? Where were you before meeting up with Carlos?" Claire's words pressed up against Jill.

"I was working overtime, finishing off some paperwork at the office."

"Was there anyone else at the office with you?"

"No...no there wasn't. Everyone already left for the day and I was the only one." Jill bites her lip.

"Oh, God. D-did you...did you kill my brother? But why? I thought you two went through everything together!" tears start spilling down Claire's cheeks.

"No! It's not me! What reason have I got for me to kill Chris? He's my best friend. What will I gain from that?!" Jill's stomach churns, even she's starting to doubt herself. Wait a minute…

Leon wraps his arms around Claire's shoulders to comfort her emotions, his head trying to get around the words that he just heard, but his feelings are numbed at this moment.

A snicker reverberates the empty library. The lightning stopped about an hour ago, silence fills the air around them. Gradually, the snicker became a period of giggles.

"Y'know, you almost had me fooled. All this time, I thought something doesn't feel quite right. Why all the different murder weapons? And why spread them apart in the mansion? I couldn't figure it out...Even I've started to doubt myself, maybe I had a hand in pushing Chris's death. But I soon realise, all that gibberish was just a smokescreen!" She picks up the envelope and peeks at its content. "As I thought exactly. The truth."

The three of them looked at Jill with a quizzical look painted on their faces.

"Yes, they are all murder weapons. They did play a part in Chris's death, but they were only induced AFTER he got murdered!" she waltzes towards Leon, holding out a hand. "Leon, if you please." His brain whirred for a moment before he knew what Jill was talking about. He placed the object in her hand per her request.

"This is the true murder weapon." Jill presented Chris's combat knife. " The actual weapon that caused the fatal blow. Isn't that right, Claire?"

Claire's eyes widen in horror. "Are you out of your mind?! How could I have killed my own brother? I have an alibi."

Carlos exhaled. "She's right. It couldn't be her."

Jill cackled. "That's what I thought at first. But, something you said made me reconsider. 'The bloodstains can't lie'. Why are you so sure about that? You and Carlos only searched the lower part of the mansion, so why are you so sure that there were bloodstains on EVERY object when we only took the vital one?"

Claire kept her head down, looking at her feet, her shoulders shivering.

"As for the alibi, I have solid proof that you did it." Jill grins. "You said you were stuck on the highway. You weren't wrong. Travelling from your apartment to Chris's will require you to take a long journey, the only way is to drive on the highway. But! From your apartment to the mansion, you do not need to get on the highway. And the mansion to Chris's place is only a short drive so you have enough time to murder Chris, plan all the objects and the bloodstains and you still have time to spare. Of course, if somebody was to kill Chris, he would immediately defeat them without breaking a sweat. But what if that person knows him well and is someone he trusts wholeheartedly? Then, the circumstance would be much different." Jill takes a deep breath. "You've planned everything perfectly but you've missed the most important and intricate detail."

"And what is that?" she asks.

"The bookcase. When Chris was looking through the documents, you killed him there and then, using his own knife. Everything in that room was built with glazed wood so the cleaning up shouldn’t have taken so long. But, you forgot about the bookcase. Specks of blood were left on the hinges." she exhales. "Oh! And there's a new Krispy Kreme that just opened two blocks away from his place. I know because he took me there last week."

Claire's sniffing stopped. Her gaze remained on the ground. A soft hum came out of her mouth, slowly it turned into a giggle and lead to a burst of bellowing laughter.

"Well, colour me impressed. So what if I killed my own brother, hm?" She skipped her way toward his corpse. "The killing was quick. But the cleaning up! That took a whole hour!"

"You're sick. That's your brother."

"And what about it? Maybe he should have done what I told him not to do. Maybe then, he'd still be alive. Who told him to eat the last chicken nugget? It was mine! But he didn't listen to me. HE SHOULD HAVE LISTENED!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" A voice boomed as the door opens.

"Chris???" They said in unison.

Chris stare at them and sigh. The group sitting gathered around the coffee table in Chris's new apartment playing Cluedo at 1 in the morning. Jill and Claire having a go at each other's throats, Carlos sitting comfortably watching as this goes down and Leon's been on his phone for the past 5 minutes.

"But it was just getting good. We've just revealed who murdered you." Claire gave him the sad puppy eyes.

"Why am I the one getting murdered? Can't you use the default characters?" Chris frowns. "Also, do you want me to get kicked out again? This is my housewarming party and I don't want to receive any noise complaint as a housewarming gift. Now, tidy up. The pizzas' getting cold."

The four of them obeyed his command obediently, setting up the table for the awaited pizzas. Claire waltz her way towards the kitchen, just next to the dining table. "Hey! Who ate the last doughnut?"

Chris's face drained to a pale shade of gray. Discreetly, he backed out of the room, tip-toeing stealthily. Fist clenched as Claire raged. "CHRIS!"

[risingsouls]

Recruited: Chapter 2

[I didn’t edit again because I’m a lazy bitch, but here you go! It’s a lot shorter and I KINDA imagine many of Vegeta’s will be because this IS more about Nabooru. But it’s also about both of them and I LOVE writing pre-Z stuff so. Here you go.]

Vegeta

Beneath Frieza, Zarbon was at the top of Vegeta’s to-murder list, tied with Dodoria. But he would be sure to murder both of Frieza’s most trusted lackeys first and make him watch as he humiliated the smug generals. Slowly. In ways not even Hell could let them forget.

“Who do you think that girl with Zarbon was? Weird that he would be stuck with the task of toting a lowly new recruit around.”

“Who knows. Maybe the pretty boy pissed Frieza off and that was his punishment. Serves him right.” Vegeta heard Nappa hum and could see the large Saiyan folding his arms over his chest despite his position in front of his two cohorts. “Her power level was nothing to sneeze at. Neither were her ti--”

“Yes, she’s even stronger than you are, Nappa,” Vegeta chimed in before the conversation could veer off in the direction he sensed it going. He didn’t have the patience for their horny drivel on a normal day, and simply seeing Zarbon had lowered his tolerance. Thus, he refused to listen to them prattle on about this new recruit’s figure and whatever lewd fantasies they had already dreamed up about her. “If you’re not careful, perhaps I’ll have her replace you.”

“What? Come on, you don’t mean that!” 

“Perhaps I do.” A smirk curled the prince’s lips. “She’s stronger than you and much easier on the eyes. What do you think, Raditz?”

“I would say it’s a pretty sound strategy. Good chance she’s smarter, too.”

Nappa huffed. “If Frieza murders the two of you in this meeting, I won’t miss you.”

“Speaking of that, what do you think he wants with all three of us?” Radtiz asked. “He usually only calls for you.”

An unfortunate truth and the reasoning for the change of the tyrant’s usual habits escaped him. Even when the matter at hand involved all three Saiyans--a new job he felt the need to assign in person, to scold them for a mission he deemed botched by them, or to simply torment the Saiyan prince for his own entertainment--he only requested Vegeta’s presence, likely due to his station as the undisputed leader of their trio and would-be monarch that ruled them if he still had a domain and people to rule over. Perhaps he had finally decided to do away with the rest of their race by putting the three of them out of their misery after all.

Then again, Frieza had quite the penchant for torture of both the physical and mental variety. Death would be too merciful.

“I guess this time he wanted more of an audience for whatever hell he’s planned for me than just Dodoria and Zarbon.” He turned a corner, the other two Saiyans following him down the final stretch of hallway leading toward the base’s central hub. “With Zarbon busy, he’s down a lackey for the moment. Perhaps he wanted the room to feel fuller.”

“Too bad we’re not as prone to kissing his ass,” Nappa mumbled, his boisterous tone quieted as they approached the door. The three may not suck up to Frieza as to near the same degree as the emperor’s closest confidants, but they weren’t stupid enough to incur his wrath for even a minimal insult such as that. It pained them to live with such fear, to tiptoe around anyone like a trio of children. The prince likely more so than the other two with his royal blood, his top tier power level that still paled in comparison to Frieza and even his lap dogs. Treading on thin ice constantly wore on his psyche, his pride. But his ire for the tyrant and pure spite drove him to survive and kill him. For the years of torment and Vegeta’s suspicion of his role in his people’s demise.

He would take back all that was promised to him.

The double doors slid open and admitted the Saiyans into the heart of the base where they found Frieza with his back to them, finishing off a conversation with the captain of another base somewhere in the cosmos. The screen in front of him blinked to darkness again. “It’s never simple, is it Dodoria? It seems we’ll have to make a little visit to sector eight soon after all.” He turned to face them and the three bowed. “Ah, perfect timing. I just lost the patience for waiting around too long.”

"Of course, my lord." Vegeta rose from his bow, hoping the strain in his jaw loosened before he met Frieza face to face. "We hurried straight here when we received your transmission."

Dodoria snorted, but Frieza ignored him. "Obedient as always. I've trained you well. But I'll cut right to the chase." His crimson gaze shifted from Vegeta to his left. "I have need of your large nanny, prince."

It took a massive amount of control to keep the surprise from his face, but a glance at Nappa revealed he hadn't been near as successful, the giant blinking with a tensed jaw. Confusion was better than fear, though the three of them no doubt felt some degree of it. Nappa for his own life, Vegeta for the potential loss of his most loyal underling. Though dumb and weak compared to him, the oaf had proven himself more than useful over the years.

"I mean no disrespect, sire, but what would you have me do?" Nappa asked. Vegeta felt a rush of a breeze as the former General dipped into another bow.

"Training." The Acrosian emperor folded his arms behind his back. "I have an...interesting new recruit. A very capable fighter, but new to utilizing ki. As you know, I prefer my soldiers have more than a basic handle on their energy and using it. A few weak blasts won't cut it in the force, and I see potential in her power level if given some proper training in ki utilization specifically. I want useful soldiers, not dead weight."

Vegeta's dark brows lowered in skepticism, but before he could request further explanation of why he needed Nappa for such a task, Frieza continued on, proving his impatience and readiness to move on with whatever heinous plans he had for sector eight. "A combination of the reports concerning her and her people along with my own observations revealed they are not unlike you Saiyans in their lust for combat. A little less bloodthirsty, perhaps, but quick learners and more than happy to jump into any fight presented to them. This particular soldier embodies this to the Nth degree. I'm sure even your monkey brains have figured out my train of thought: with such similarities, what better teacher for her than a Saiyan of which I have three more than willing to assist with it? I chose your giant for his experience in the field since, if I recall, he had a hand in your training, yes?"

“That is correct.” A minimal one, but Vegeta couldn’t deny Nappa’s involvement in his early combat training. The basics of physical and ki-based combat Nappa taught the prince himself. Until the young Saiyan realized his own strength and it became a hazard to the advisor’s health. He had never been known for pulling his punches no matter the opponent, and with a formidable power level at birth, it wasn’t long before he could subdue Nappa in minutes. When a spar nearly cost him his life, Nappa decided besetting Saibamen on him would prove more effective, coaching from the sidelines rather than serving as the royal punching bag. Vegeta attributed much of his learning to his own natural prowess, however. A self-taught prodigy for the greater portion of his training and growth.

“Perfect. I know it will break your heart to be down one cohort, but I’m sure you and the other will manage for...let’s say a month. I believe that is more than enough time for her to adjust and reach the required levels. If not,” he chuckled and shared a smirk with Dodoria, “I suppose that will be the end of this little experiment.”

Of course this was all just some stupid pet project of his. A waste of time, likely, that would only serve to rob him of Nappa for much too long. Vegeta held his tongue and bowed his head again. “Very good, my lord.”

“Since I likely will not be here to assess her myself, I will expect daily reports on her progress starting tomorrow,” he told Nappa. “You two will continue your jobs as scheduled. I’m sure you can handle that a man down.”

“Yes, sire.” Nappa and Raditz mumbled their own affirmation in unison with the prince and took Frieza turning his back to them as their dismissal. They each bowed once more and Vegeta turned on his heel to lead them back into the hallway. 

Not until they reached the barracks sector and piled into the elevator did anyone dare speak, Raditz the first to express his thoughts on the matter: “You lucky bastard. You’re basically getting a vacation with a view.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes and pressed the button for the third floor with a huff. “Is that all you two think about? You don’t even know if that woman is the one he’ll be training.”

“Not all of us are content ignoring our needs like you,” Raditz retorted, folding his arms. “Besides, there’s a good chance it's her. She’s obviously new, didn’t even have armor yet.”

“Almost a shame she’ll have to change out of that outfit she was wearing,” mused Nappa, rubbing his chin. “Shit, even if it’s not her, having a woman around will be a nice change of pace in this place.”

Vegeta shot him a glare as they stepped off the elevator. “Your job is to train her, not bed her, Nappa.” He halted in front of his own door and typed in the four-digit code that offered him admission. He was keen on spending the few hours they had left before the final meal of the day without his cohorts. He had tired of them and their new strain of conversation for the moment. “Don’t do anything stupid that’s going to get you killed. You’ll be teaching her how to do it, after all.”

The prince entered his room, not caring for his subordinate’s reply as he closed the door behind him with the press of a button. He crossed his room to his bed and flopped down on it, arms folded tightly over his chest and a glare aimed at the ceiling. While the meeting with Frieza could have played out in far less favorable ways, it did nothing for his mood. He and Radtiz could handle the clutch of jobs assigned to them over the next month without issue, the possessive side of him balked at the idea of Nappa being anywhere but where he wanted him. What was the bastard up to with all this? Even if she was just a new recruit in need of additional training, there were thousands of other soldiers that could implement her training. His explanation be damned, Frieza hardly ever concerned himself with compatibility, so what was his angle? Was it just his own paranoia where the emperor was concerned frazzling him, or was there merit to his suspicions?

Vegeta groaned and flipped over onto his side, tearing his scouter off his face and resisting the urge to throw it against the wall. Patience was a virtue in short supply for him, but he had little other choice but to wait it all out. If luck favored him, though it rarely ever did, he would wash his hands of this mess entirely within a month.

[grumpyhedgehogs]

Cosmic Waste

I’ve lurked in the Star Wars fandom for years and I’m finally going to change that tonight. Also, the working title of this is ‘obi-wan suffers forever and i love it.’

~

Vader can be forgiven for not realizing the fact that this is, in fact, reality and not a dream purely based on the fact that half his nightmares start on Tatooine. The shift of sand beneath his boots, the heat trapped against his skin underneath his dark robes, the light piercing into his retinas; it’s all exactly as he’s dreamed ever since Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi saved him from this pitiful planet. He’s striven to tear away from the terrible excuse he had for an existence ever since he left and now here he is, back where he started.

Or, not exactly where he started. Anakin Skywalker never once tread foot in the Sand Wastes, the stories his mother was willing to let slip enough to terrify the stupid child he had been away from the edge of unknown territory. Maybe if he’d been here long as a young man, maybe if he’d come back after the Jedi Order fell, maybe then he would have--

But that’s not true. Vader knows it as soon as he turns his thoughts to the concept; he’d never out of his own volition enter the Sand Wastes. It was one piece of advice his mother gave him that stuck with him through his Fall. 

‘The Sand Wastes can drive the sanest man mad.’

Vader can still hear his mother’s voice when he looks about him; the dunes stretch on for miles as a glance, and heat rises off them in sickeningly thick waves. As he wipes sweat from his brow, Vader watches in fascination as the drops of moisture simply evaporates right off of his glove. This desert wrings a person out like a sponge, and the Wastes are the worst of it.

If he touches any part of his own skin with his mech hand, Vader muses, he might burn right through to flesh at this point. He’ll have to get out of the heat soon or risk heatstroke and an addled mind from the sun.

If only Master could see me now he’d laugh himself into a heart attack, the old fool, Vader thinks and must resist the urge to hiss in anger. He’s not sure exactly what’s happening here, why this dream has lasted so long, but he’s had enough of these games. His Master is manipulative at best and sadistic at worst (not that that’s a very far stretch) and he knows if anyone is behind his consciousness’s sudden ability to produce truly vivid horrors, it is his Master.

Obi-Wan used to keep our quarters close to freezing, says a traitorous little voice in the back of his mind, one that has persisted in becoming louder and louder these few weeks, and Vader smothers it with righteous vigor. But it always comes back. 

He’d keep blankets on the couch for when you were cold; he’d say-

“It’s easier to come in out of the cold than to escape the heat within,” Vader mutters. “Yeah, yeah. Fat lot of good that wisdom did him in the end.”

The old ache in his chest throbs with new life at the thought and Vader crushes that ruthlessly, too.

Presently, he stops. His thoughts are too emotional and he’s not looking where he’s going and by the Force, will this blasted sand ever end? The horizon seems to stretch for miles.

Focus. Pull yourself out of this.

He’s had enough of this game. When he wakes up, he and his Master will certainly have words.

The old man’s getting to be too much trouble than he’s worth anyway. 

Vader closes his eyes, breathes deeply and lets the Force roll over him. In his sleep it should at least be muffled, but his connection is as loud as ever. The Force pulls at his mind, swirling around and through the Sith. Vader almost smiles, but some strange feeling simply refuses to let him sink into the Force.

What--

The Force is dark, as it has been since that fateful day all those years ago-- but this darkness is true. It feeds into his anger, his pain simmering too close to the surface and instead of reflecting it back off of the Light of a surviving few, swallows Vader’s emotions with a hunger that speaks of a deep wealth of rage, an all-consuming pool of Dark that threatens to devour the world. 

Vader almost jumps at the revelation, his training sessions with his new Master the only thing that stops him from stumbling back in shock.

The Force has never belonged so fully to the Dark when he has been alive; it has been very grey, of course, but the few lights left in the galaxy-- Yoda, for one, although Vader also suspects Mace Windu and Shaak Ti might have made it out alive, to say nothing of Ahsoka-- are bright and burning, lighting the path of the Jedi through the darkness. 

Or they were bright. This Dark is something completely unfamiliar. It licks at his consciousness, seeps in and twists about Vader’s heart, trying to whisper poison in his ears. He feels his own power in the Force surge in response and knows without seeing that his eyes flare orange where they are usually gleaming yellow. 

Vader forces the Dark Side back, ripping free of its seduction as he physically thrusts himself forward, only his years of experience stopping him from falling face first into the scalding sands. He has never felt this way; he has never needed to separate himself from the Force, Light or Dark; he has always been in control, always had the ability to bend the Force to his will, has never been overwhelmed by its power. Now, Vader feels very close to an edge he previously never would have considered existed. 

There’s something wrong here.

This is not home.

You’re not dreaming.

“Yeah, no banthakark,” Vader mutters to himself. The Dark sings around him, responding to his ample connection to the Force, and Vader is left with no choice but to accept that this is reality. Something has happened when he wasn’t looking-- possibly the meddling of his Master, or possibly Vader was too deep in his meditation to recognize a Force nexus opening close by, and wouldn’t Obi-Wan get a laugh out of that--  

Obi-Wan.

An old instruction, given with a sense of safety and comfort, floats through Vader’s mind. ‘Search your feelings, padawan. Trust in the Force.’

Without a second thought, Vader does. Ready as he is now, the Force cannot make the Sith falter underneath it’s pull. He resists the undertow, searching, looking, hoping to find what he has not in all this time.

A brief, bright spark in the Darkness. A star about to go out, a candle burning too low, guttering. A warmth that melts the ice in Vader’s bones, a sense of such grief it chokes him.

The Force sings in Vader’s heart and the Dark Side recedes in a way Vader has not felt since-- since--

Where? Where, after all these years-- 

In the end, he is so very close.

The Darkness Vader thought just moments ago to be all-encompassing is banished even further from the Sand Wastes as he locks eyes with the man Vader had thought all but lost.

He crosses three sand dunes in a matter of seconds, his childhood memories making it easy for him not to sink into the sands that want to suck him in, wring his bones dry. But as he bounds across the Sand Wastes, Vader cannot appreciate the deadly nature of his home, cannot think about his new Master’s mechanisms, the fact this may be a test or a punishment or a dream--

Because here he is. Here is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He is almost exactly as Vader remembers; his hair shines copper and golden in the light of twin suns Vader never wanted to shine upon his old Master. His eyes are the brightest blue Vader has ever seen. His palms are worn but soft and Vader knows what their weight will feel like when they rest on his shoulders. His robe is dusty, but underneath all the dirt, it is brown and familiar and comfortably threadbare.

He is almost exactly as Vader never wished he was; his mouth is a thin line, his brow is wrinkled and strained, his face is gaunt. His shoulders hold some great, terrible weight he cannot let slip, even for a moment. There is tragedy etched in his every line. He is battle-worn and tired and so very alone.

Obi-Wan, who had up until the moment Vader moved been watching from a distance, startles back now as Vader lands before him. Sand sprays out from beneath his boots and Obi-Wan jerks in surprise as the dust billows between them, head turning as if looking for somewhere to run, somewhere to flee. Vader steps towards him again, hands coming up to waist height-- he doesn’t know what he wants to do just yet-- but Kenobi throws his own hand forward.

“Don’t,” he rasps and oh, but his voice is just as Vader remembers it, “I know-- what you are. You’re not him. You can’t trick me into thinking you-- that you’re--”

His Master never stumbled over his words. Poised, precise, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi could cut a man to pieces with a few well-placed words. This man--

This is not your home.

This is not your Obi-Wan.

Isn’t he?

“You’re not Anakin Skywalker,” the man who could be no one but Obi-Wan Kenobi says. His hand never strays towards his lightsaber even as Lord Vader approaches slowly. His eyes are sharp, though, and follow the Sith’s every move intently. “You are not my Anakin.”

“No.” Vader takes a great risk to rest a palm as gently as he can against the Jedi’s face. The black of his clothes looks so dark against his pale cheek.

“But you,” Vader decides, feeling the Dark in him swell with a roar of satisfaction, “are my Obi-Wan.”