#which means i got the distinct pleasure of watching people turn around to glance at me as i tried to explain my thought process past

[skrunksthatwunk]

yesterday i was talking with my friend who reads a lotta kindle unlimited het romance novels (ok girl live your truth) and apparently the sports romance market is like 80% about hockey players and she was like "I wonder why that is" and i, a little too fast and a little too loud, went

oh it's the violence for sure

and then had to pretend that was a conclusion i came to from a place of cold impersonal logic and worldly wisdom and not literally anything having to do with me as a person

[smellslikehome]

Post 2: Redgie's Perspective

It was time for me to go back to class and oh god what was I thinking? This was a bad call. I shouldn't have taken his journal to begin with. What all does he know about me? What kind of person is this guy? I arrived to class and I saw him look at me immediately. I looked away quickly in fear. He knew. How did he know?!?!? Did Professor Brandon tell him? It's as though I felt him trying to pierce through my skull with that stare of his. I could barely focus on class, all I kept doing was glancing back at him, and watching him glare at me. I couldn't take it. As soon as class was over I made a break for it. I'll give him back his journal next class or place it on his desk before he gets there. But before I got too far I heard a very stern, very mean "Hold it!" I squeaked and blushed in panic. I didn't think he'd be confrontational. I thought he'd be all stare and no flare. Oh who am I kidding of course he'd come after me. Welp, it was time to do this. I turned around and cleared my throat, saying, “Oh… um… hi…”

He looked me directly in my eyes, which made my heart sink in fear and he said, “You have something of mine, give it back.”

“E-excuse me?” I stepped back. So he did know. I need to think of something so I can just break away from this. My heart was starting to pound and I could feel myself starting to shake.

“Everyone has distinct actions they take when they’re getting ready to tell a lie. Frankly I don’t have the time nor the pleasure for this post-grad. Now hand over my journal,” he demanded, holding out his hand.

I tried to think of something, anything to say but I gave up. I reached in my bag and handed it over to him. He rudely snatched it out of my hand. He glanced at it for maybe half a second and said with anger, “You opened this didn’t you.”

“I…”

“And remember what I said about lying before you make another lame attempt,” he interrupted.

At this point I was sick of this. I wanted to ask him what kind of weirdo takes notes on PEOPLE instead of class. But instead, the only thing I could come up with to say was, “Y-you think I’m cute?”

That's when I finally saw something different in the little shithead. He blushed, almost as though he was embarrassed and quickly said “Go to hell post-grad”. And with that he stormed off. I has to hold back my laughter. For someone who was so mean how did he get embarrassed so easily? I went home and fed Ketchup and wrote for a little bit. Thinking about the big bad wolf who was actually just an embarrassed little puppy.

[chubbybuckydumpling]

Hello, having seen your requests are open, I would like to request your thoughts on

Andy Barber and Reader going on vacation together for the first time (rating up to you)

A Much Needed Vacation

words: 2.5k

pairing: Andy Barber x female Reader

warnings: mentions of smut, implied smut, fluff

A/n: I don’t know why I struggled so much with this, I hope it’s okay. I’m so nervous (because I really want to impress @slothspaghettiwrites ) pray for me please! :)

My Masterlist

Andy had always had trouble making and keeping friends. He had a couple of colleagues and acquaintances, but a true friend he could confide in? Not really no, his past trauma and toxic habit of keeping all his emotions bottled up made him seem arrogant and standoffish.

But then you came along. You, with your perfect smile and golden heart and the patience of an angel. No matter what Andy tried, how distant he acted, you wouldn’t budge. The opposite actually. His behaviour intrigued you and the way he made your thighs clench by only looking at you added to his appeal.

So when you regrettably went to go for a swim in the morning because you felt too exhausted yesterday evening and saw this delicious piece of man in just a pair of trunks? You knew it was time to get that man to become yours.

You situated yourself at the end of the lane Andy was using, thighs spread and calves dunked in the cool water, your swimsuit tight around your body. A smirk plays on your lips as you watch the man of your desire move closer to you until his hand hits the edge of the pool and his head pops up.

You can see from his expression that he did not expect to come face to face with your crotch, eyes wide under his goggles and mouth agasp. He panted heavily and took off his glasses, beard and hair wet, a few droplets running from his forehead. ”Hey, Andy. What are you doing here so early?”, you asked with a smile.

He struggled staying in one spot, because you were blocking the edge with your thighs, hindering him from holding himself up. Grinning, you reached for his hand and placed it on your leg. Andy’s had snapped up to stare at you in shock, yet his fingers tightened around your flesh to keep him steady.

“I like when it’s empty in the mornings. Fewer disturbances”, he answered and lowered his gaze. Now he was right back to watching your crotch and a delicious blush covered the apples of his cheeks. Quickly he glanced to the side to try and be respectful.

You pouted and splashed some water with your foot, “Am I disturbing you?”. Andy squeezes your thigh erratically, “No, absolutely not. It’s a real pleasure that you’re here”, he responded a little too eager, which he must have realised because he started to backpaddle, “I mean that in a really respectful way not that I get off on this or something. That’d be weird”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips, “Not that you’re weird, you’re obviously very attractive and beautiful, not that I’ve been watching you, bu-“, your giggles interrupted him. With a loving gaze you cupped his face, “Wanna race?” Confused, Andy agreed, but before he could part from you, you pulled his face close to yours.

His breath was fanning over your lips and you could perfectly make out all the flecks and shades of blue in his beautiful eyes, “Will you take me on a date if I win?”

You’re very glad you got Andy to open up to you, especially now that you’ve been dating for ten months. Never before have you felt this happy so consistently and even though Andy still struggles with fully discussing his feelings and thoughts, you think that he has been sharing your excitement. You’ve become his rock, the one constant in his life, the shoulder he leans one. In return he treats you with the utmost respect and love. There wasn’t a moment where you didn’t feel like a queen in his care.

Sadly, you couldn't spend as much time with him as you wanted, his work as an assistant district attorney taking up most of his time.Of course that didn’t hinder your growing love for the man, but it left you feeling lonely a lot, particularly because your occupation as an architect allows you to work from home quite a bit.

Once you moved together, you felt slightly more connected to your boyfriend. Falling asleep in his arms every night and waking up with kisses being peppered all over your face was like a dream come true. For the first few weeks, you were in a constant state of bliss, cooking and providing for Andy while he kept you happy and satisfied. Soon enough however, Andy received a new case to work on and your fairytale vision was destroyed. The reality of life settled in and your rose coloured glasses were ripped away.

You still enjoyed living with your boyfriend, every time you saw him, butterflies erupted in your belly, still do, you just wished you could spend more time with him. Never before have you been so in love with somebody. All of Andy’s little quirks and ticks had you weak in your knees. The way he acted so delicate and gentle, especially around you, while his muscles were bulging. To see this huge, sculpted man be so caring and soft made you feel all kinds of things.

But it must have been your lucky day when Andy came home early with a big smile on his face. “Sugar, the case is closed. You’ve got me all to yourself for the next three weeks”, his arms open for you to fall into with loud giggles. “For real?”, you asked, excitement bubbling in your chest, “Yes, for real, honey!”, he grinned and pulled you closer, his beard scratching against the delicate skin of your cheeks as he pressed his lips to your temple.

You’re currently sitting next to Andy on a flight to “You’ll like it, I promise”. Your head rests on his shoulder, eyes closed peacefully. His breathing calms you down and even managed to lull you into a deep slumber. He’s been reading some kind of book and occasionally glanced over to you, checking if you’re doing alright. The flight has been quite calm, smoothly flying over the clouds.

The first class seats are a blessing, the constant stream of food that’s been given to you and the extra leg room added to the whole level of comfort. Andy’s warmth makes you feel very small and cuddly, his muscular frame a stark contrast to your softer, smaller form; a thing that you’ve come to appreciate quite a lot.

“Did you have a nice nap, honey?”, his deep voice rumbles as one of his hands moves to cradle your face. You nod and cuddle yourself further into your boyfriend’s chest, his distinctive smell consumes you as you continue to practically melt into his side. “We’ll land shortly, shortcake. Are you ready to find out where we're going?”, he asks into your hair and nuzzles his nose into your scalp. A loud yawn escapes your mouth, “I guess. I’m just happy to be with you again”, you whisper and turn to face him.

Of all the places Andy could have picked, he chose this particular place, because he knew you would love all the new experiences and adventures it would bring. He’s aware that you love to experience new things with all of your senses, how you become so excited whenever you discover a new smell or feel a foreign fabric under your fingers, the way your eyes glaze over when you spot a novel view or an object of interest. The way you grin when a new taste warms your body, there’s nothing that Andy loves more than seeing you beam with such childlike joy.

“You’re taking me to Marrakesh? No way”, you gasp, suddenly awake. The grin on your boyfriend’s face mirrors your own as excitement courses through your veins. “I’ve never been to Morocco before! Or Africa!”, you stare at him for a split second before your head whips to the other side. The window doesn’t suffice with your sudden hunger to explore the city, you can barely make out any landmarks. Yet you can’t stop squirming in your seat. The wanderlust has fully taken over and you latch onto Andy’s arm, giggling uncontrollably.

Your laughter is infectious and soon your boyfriend is cackling next to you, desperately trying to silence himself when he sees the man next to him staring at the both of you with a death glare. If looks could kill.

The next two hours pass in a blur. Andy maneuvered you through the airport safely and carried most of the luggage as your eyes were trained on the different people that moved past you. The drive to the hotel was no different, your nose practically glued to the window, “Look, Andy, look!”. He entertained you, of course, and looked out of the window every time, a smile on his soft, pink lips, “Good job, shortcake. Did you take a picture?”. The check-in went smoothly, all of your bags stored safely in your room.

You’re sitting on the softest king size bed ever, anxiously waiting for your boyfriend to finish up in the bedroom. “Hurry up, please. I can’t wait to get out to see more of this place”, you shout, phone in your hand to take a picture for your family. “Relax, honey! The sights won’t run away”, he responds with a chuckle. His deep timbre makes goosebumps arise all over your arms. All your excitement must have caused an increase in your blood flow to your lady parts.

With a shake of your head you try to rid yourself of these thoughts. The attempt fails horrendously once Andy comes out of the en suite. His loose, unbuttoned shirt and the form fitting shorts make you weak in the knees. Your boyfriend is just that handsome. The thought of ripping his trousers from his body dissipates quickly when he asks if you’re ready to go see the souks. Hell yes, you are.

The sun is setting while you and Andy overlook the Jemaa el-Fnaa from your table on the restaurant’s balcony. An almost empty plate of cake between you and your boyfriend. He’s holding your hand on the table, gently tracing your knuckles with his thumb. “How’d you like your first day, honey?”, he asks gently, affection clearly shimmering in his eyes.

“I loved it! I don’t know what I liked most? Everything is so interesting and beautiful”, you jump in your chair, giggling happily. “I loved all the different little shops in the bazaar! I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many different foods and clothes in one place and everything smelled so good. I really loved all the spices, we should make something like this at home!”

“What, a whole wall filled with spices?”, he snorts, shaking his head, the smile never leaving his face, “I think we should leave the colossal spice walls in the souks”. A pout forms on your lips, but the squeeze of Andy’s hand makes you melt back into your blessed state. “I really loved all the different things they sold. I’m sure you could find about everything there”, Andy pieces the last piece of cake and holds it up to your mouth. You open up to reach for it, but he pulls the fork away just efore you get to it, “Andy!”, you whsiper yell at the grin on his lips.

“What’s the matter honey?”, he asks sweetly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You playfully glare at him, smirking, “Are you sure you want to play this kind of game, Mr. Barber?”. He nods at you like you’re being his bratty teen, in need for some serious attitude control, “Don’t be all venomous, I don’t like snakes”. As soon as he spoke those words regret washed over his features, “Oh dear, here we go…”

“I can’t believe you’re scared of snakes! You’re the biggest man I know and you’re terrified of snakes!”, you burst out with laughter, tears forming in your eyes. “I just didn’t want it to touch me”, he mumbles, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Please, Andy you should have seen your face. It was a tiny little snake”, you giggle and reach over the table to take his hand into yours again, but he doesn’t budge. “It was laying on your shoulders, it could have killed you!”, you keep trying to loosen up his arms, a few giggles still slipping out. You get out of your seat and move to your boyfriend, “The kind owner was standing right next to me, everything was fine”,

With a sigh, Andy opens his arms and pulls you on his lap. His beard tickles you as he places his head on your shoulder, gently kissing and lapping at your neck, “I just want you to be safe”.

You cuddle further into his warmth, smiling at his overprotective manners, “I’ve got you with me, I don’t think I could be safer”.

A smile on your lips, you turn around to kiss him, his scent envelopes you with a sense of comfort. His soft mouth against your own, the setting sun warming you from the outside, the love and adoration coursing through you from the inside. It’s gentle, full of emotion as if he’s trying to put all his wasted feelings from when he was working so much into it. After a while you pull back, breathing heavily. Your hand cups his face and you run the other through his soft hair, a couple of knots tangling between your fingers.

“I love you, baby”, you whisper like you’re telling him a secret, “I love you too, honey”.  A warm breeze blows over you and you turn to watch over the place below you, the last rays of sun painting it in a delicious golden glow. “Let’s ask someone to take a picture of us. Our first day on our first ever vacation together”, you smile and press another kiss to his lips. “I’ll find someone, stay put”, Andy grins and squeezes your hips as a sign for you to move back into your seat.

You watch your boyfriend’s retreating figure, a happy flutter in your chest. You can’t believe that you’re on a beautiful vacation with your beautiful boyfriend and about to take a beautiful picture to glue into your memory book. Excited, you let the atmosphere envelope you, completely floating in all the different sounds and scents. It’s really peaceful, the loud and busy streets quiet for a change.

Andy’s voice coaxes you out of your trance, “You ready, sugar?”. The two of you stand in front of the balcony, his hands rest on your waist when he suddenly bows forwards, making you fall backwards in turn. With a gasp, you reach for his shoulders, holding onto his strong frame. His warm breath grazes your cheek as his blue eyes stare into your soul. You hear the camera clicking, but it’s faded into the background. The only thing you can focus on is your boyfriend and his enticing body, the exposed skin that’s glistening deliciously.

He leans even closer to you until his lips brush your ear, “I can’t wait to have you all alone tonight. Just you and me, finally”. You gulp at the list and arousal in his voice, thighs clenching at his tone, “I’ve been waiting for you all day”.

Safe to say your vacation with Andy was very satisfying.

.

.

Taglist: @teetles-and-other-stuff @winteralpine @slothspaghettiwrites @marvels-gurl @gotnofucks

My Masterlist

If you enjoyed my work, please consider leaving a reblog with feedback! It means the world to me. Your support keeps me going

Be added to my Taglist here.

[agentamethystelf]

Cool as a cucumber (or not)

Peggysous week day 7: Free day

Summary/ notes: Peggy was stressed. Daniel was also stressed. Neither of them thought the other was stressed; they both thought that their partner would be as cool as a cucumber and that their own panic was irrational.

Or, Peggy and Daniel head off on their first date

The final day of Peggysous week! This is something that's been floating around in my wips for a while, so here's Peggy getting ready for her and Daniel's first date (featuring Howard being Howard (which in this fic means a sex joke I guess).

Also published here on AO3

Peggy was stressed. Daniel was also stressed. Neither of them thought the other was stressed; they both thought that their partner would be as cool as a cucumber and that their own panic was irrational. After Isodyne and zero matter, crazed starlets and newly freed Russian assassins, they both deserved a little downtime and a night out together.

"Miss Carter!"

Peggy's face broke into a wide grin as Mrs Jarvis rushed, as fast as she could after her injury, into her bedroom. "Hello Mrs Jarvis."

"Oh, it is wonderful that you've decided to stay longer!" She grasped Peggy for a brief yet strong hug, her eyes narrowing as she let go. "I sense that you are in need of a fashion advisor. Tell me what you require and I will assist you."

Peggy laughed, running a hand over the back of the armchair sat in front of her vanity. "Yes, well, I'm heading out to dinner tonight with a..."

"Mr Sousa, of course." Mrs Jarvis nodded, giggling as Peggy's face crumpled in confusion. "Oh my dear, the only people who didn't know were the two of you yourselves!"

Peggy groaned, smiling ruefully. "It couldn't possibly have been that obvious!"

"I assure you, it was. Now come with me. I have the perfect dress for you." Gesturing for her to follow, Ana led her out of the room and down the hall.

"Mrs Jarvis, where on earth are you taking me?"

Looking back at her companion, Ana smiled smugly. "First of all, my name is Ana. We are friends and so you shall use it."

"Okay, Ana, then I insist that you call me Peggy."

"It would be my pleasure. Second of all, I acquired a lovely dress sometime last year that does not really work with my figure. It has never been worn, such a shame because it is a beautiful colour, but I believe it would suit you perfectly."

"How can you be sure it will fit me?" Peggy questioned as she was led into a spare room.

"I can't," Ana shot over her shoulder as she opened a wardrobe and withdrew a garment bag. "But as you know I am quite adept with a needle and thread, so I am sure I could alter it if necessary."

With a bit of wiggling, Ana worked the dress out of the bag, before twirling it around for Peggy to see. "Of course, if you don't like it you can decline."

Peggy was already spellbound. The dress was a deep blue with a fitted bodice and cut out sections along the short sleeves. The skirt was fuller than other garments she owned, giving it a beautiful, but not too overdramatic, volume when it spun.

Ana handed it over to Peggy, who took it off her with a small smile. She went behind the privacy screen to quickly change into it. The dress fit surprisingly well, although a few areas did need altering.

Peggy emerged and Ana clapped her hands together, letting a small squeal out. "Oh, you look gorgeous! I can already imagine Mr Sousa's face when he sees you in it."

"Are you sure I can have this Ana?" Peggy asked, smoothing down a wrinkle in the fabric. "After everything you've done, I would hate to start encroaching on your wardrobe as well."

"Nonsense," Ana countered, searching for and finding a sewing kit nearby. "It is a gift! For.... saving Los Angeles and quite possibly the world."

Peggy laughed as Ana got to work, pinning and marking a few places around the bodice and where it joined the skirt. "When do you need to be ready by?"

"Daniel said he would be here between 6 and half past," Peggy answered, removing the dress when Ana motioned for her to.

"Oh, we'll have plenty of time to spare then," Ana reassured.

Nodding happily, Peggy excused herself to touch up her makeup and retrieve some accessories. She felt like she was walking on a cloud, a surprising giddiness taking over her heart. 6 o'clock couldn't come fast enough.

It didn't.

Peggy found herself pacing the living room, glancing at the clock every couple of seconds. She had donned the dress a half hour ago, along with a pair of silver earrings and a necklace to match. A pair of low heels sat waiting by the front door for her alongside a handbag for the night. Although she would never admit it to anyone else, she had spent a moment or two spinning in the dress, admiring the way it puffed out and then settled back down with a satisfying swish.

A low whistle broke her from her thoughts and she turned to see Howard leaning on the doorframe in a robe.

"Oh for heaven's sake Howard!" she cried. "I'm wondering if you even own clothes at this point."

"Hey, my house my rules Peg," Howard answered, looking her up and down. "You look real nice, by the way."

Peggy smiled genuinely, still feeling like she should continue pacing, however. " Thank you, I appreciate it."

"No problem. Sousa's gonna agree with me, I'm sure."

As if on cue, there was a hesitant knock on the front door. Peggy laughed out loud as she watched Mr Jarvis sprint past the living room to open the door.

"Mr Sousa!" she heard him say. "Lovely to see you again. I will fetch Miss Carter right away."

Mr Jarvis rounded the corner to the living room. "Mr Sousa has arrived."

"Yes I noticed," Peggy answered, still laughing a little.

"Be back by ten kid, no funny business." Howard pointed a stern finger at Peggy, putting on his best concerned father face.

She rolled her eyes fondly. "Of course dad, there's nothing to worry about."

Daniel was engaging in polite conversation with Mrs Jarvis when Peggy turned the corner into the entryway. He looked like he was about to laugh at something she said, but then his eyes landed on Peggy and he stalled completely.

"Hello Daniel," she said.

"Hey Peg." Daniel cleared his throat, gaze still glued to Peggy. "You, uh, you look beautiful."

"You don't look half bad yourself." Peggy grinned at him and Daniel was suddenly glad for the crutch to support him as his remaining leg seemed to turn to jelly.

Daniel usual Hawaiian shirt had been swapped out for a plainer one, paired with the same jacket he'd worn the day of the Isodyne explosion. His tie, however, was a far too perfect match to her dress for it to be a coincidence.

Peggy quickly glanced at Ana, who just smiled innocently.

Ana clapped her hands together, looking between the two of them. "Well, we shouldn't keep you any longer! Have a lovely night you two."

She shooed the pair out of the door and shut it firmly behind them. Peggy looked to Daniel, only to find him staring back through the window of Stark's villa.

"Did you leave something inside?" she asked.

Daniel actually blushed a little when he turned back to face her. "No, well yes, but uh-" Words failing him, he pointed back through the window to a bouquet of flowers sat next to the door, the sight warped by the frosted glass. "I brought flowers."

To her surprise, she found herself beaming back at him. "Thank you, Daniel, they look lovely. Now, unless you'd prefer to have our date on Howard's front porch, I suggest we get a move on."

They'd made it only halfway down the drive before Daniel realised something was wrong. "Peggy, I believe we have an audience."

He subtly jerked his head back towards the house, raising his eyebrows as he did. Peggy over her shoulder, finding Howard and both Mr and Mrs Jarvis watching them as they walked away. A sly smile crept onto her face as she formulated a plan.

"Well, why don't we give them something to watch?"

Daniel caught on to her plan when she stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. Peggy pulled him closer to her, wrapping her arms around him, and into a passionate kiss a minute later. Together, they sank into that fire for a moment, letting it consume them both.

Until the distinct sound of a window slamming open echoed from the house.

"If you guys ever need condoms you know where to find me!"

"Mr Stark!"

"I'm just offering my services Jarvis. Being a good friend, right Peg?"

Peggy just ignored him, instead slipping her arm around Daniel's. It was then that she noticed the deeper flush that coloured his cheeks once again. She leaned in to press a swift kiss to his cheek.

"Let's go, before Howard decides we need more relationship advice."

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

Sweet but psycho...

For the lovely @ronaldrx​

Hope it will cheer you up!

TW: Mentions of violence, strong language, sexual undertones, murder.

At the Black Mask Club, Roman Beauvais Sionis was sitting in his favorite place, drinking his Martini.

While doing so, he observed the patrons of his nightclub dancing or getting drunk on the dancefloor. 

"Pathetic!" he snarled as he sipped his glass.

"Sure, boss. But let's say it's a necessary devil as they make you rich!" suggested Victor.

"You mean necessary evil? You got the point, Vic: at least, they contributed to my lifestyle!"

"Besides, boss: are you sure that they are all pathetic?" grinned his henchman as he glanced at the dancefloor where a specific young man was dancing.

"Oh, Victor: you know he is the exception!" cooed Roman as he glimpsed at his lover (Y/N), who swayed his hips on the rhythm of the music.

(Y/N) (L/N), the only man Roman Sionis was devoted to. They were dating for 6 months, and the mob boss treated his boyfriend like a prince. It was an understatement to say that Black Mask adored his lover.

"It was nice of your boyfriend to invite us here!" said Mindy, a little brunette.

"Yeah, sure! And he was not obliged to!" added Sam, an Afro-American.

"Don't worry about that: it was his pleasure! Moreover, he never refused something that I asked nicely!" smiled (Y/N).

"Of course, but your boyfriend is one of the most powerful men of Gotham! I don't think he would care about some commoners like us!" pointed Shanna, a blonde girl.

"Nah, don't worry! Roman knows how much you mean to me. And he will do anything to please me!"

"Speaking of the devil, did you notice that he is checking you out since you start dancing with us?" grinned Sam.

Slightly eyeing, (Y/N) noticed his lover's intense gaze at him.

Smirking, the young man had an idea.

"Well, I see he likes it. What if I put up a show?"

"What do you have in mind?" giggled Shanna.

"Wait and see, Shanni. You won't get disappointed!" sneered (Y/N) as he climbed on a table.

"I think I'm gonna like your idea, dude!" squealed Mindy as she climbed on the next table and started dancing again.

Soon, Sam and Shanna climbed on another table and swang on the rhythm with delight.

The other patrons cheered loudly as (Y/N) danced with all his passion.

"I think he caught you!" smiled Victor as he drank his glass of vodka.

"Indeed. And I thought I was discreet!"

"Not enough for him!"

"I guess so..." trailed Roman as he was amazed by his lover dancing on the table.

He could not take his eyes off of the athletic body swaying on the beat. And to spicy up things, the song hypnotized Sionis:

Oh, she's sweet but a psycho!

A little bit psycho

At night she's screamin', "I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind."

Oh, she's hot but a psycho!

So left, but she's right though

At night she's screamin', "I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind."

Grab a cop gun. Kinda crazy

She's poison but tasty,

Yeah, people say, "Run, don't walk away."

'Cause she's sweet but a psycho

A little bit psycho

At night she's screamin', "I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind."

Sweet but psycho... An accurate depiction of (Y/N), indeed. For those who knew well his lover, Roman can say that he had two distinctive personalities: the first one, sweet and loving, was kept for his loved ones, whereas the other was more wicked and twisted. A part of (Y/N) that scared his enemies...

Meanwhile, (Y/N) continued to dance along with his friends.

"Hey, (Y/N)?"

"What, Mindy?"

"I think Roman loves the show if you see what I mean..."

"I see it, yes... Perhaps should I take the next step?"

"What does it mean?"

"Admire the artist, baby!" the young man smirked as he took off his shirt under the excited cheers of the habitues.

Once topless, he continued dancing as he provocatively moved his hips and his upper body, glancing at Roman with a mischievous smile.

Watching this desirable view, Sionis get turn on. He swore to God that (Y/N) drove him crazy every time. 

Victor noticed the lustful glance of his boss: looks like the two lovers will have fun tonight...

Nevertheless, Zsasz admitted that the presence of (Y/N) in his boss life was a blessing. Indeed, the young man was able to calm down Roman when the latter had his terrifying fits of anger. He was his most valued ally when his boss was enraged...

He would not say that they were friends, but, at least, they respected each other, which was enough for the scarred man.

Suddenly, the song ended, and the clients loudly applauded (Y/N)'s performance. The young man bowed, saluting his audience before he puts his shirt on, gets down from the table, and walked towards the place where Roman and Victor were.

"I hope you fancy the performance, baby!" smiled (Y/N) as he sat close to his boyfriend.

"I did not miss a part of it, my little prince! Gosh, you're an amazing dancer!" laughed Roman as he kissed his lover's forehead.

"Thank you, handsome!"

"I confirm: he was not able to take his eyes off of you!" snickered Zsasz.

"I did not ask your opinion, Vic!" growled the mobster.

"Don't grumpy, Roman: I thought you had fun!" cutely pouted (Y/N).

He felt Roman's grip tighten around his waist as he heard him mutter at his ear:

"I am eager for another type of fun if you know what I mean!"

"So am I!" 

"I suppose you two lovebirds want to be alone at the penthouse tonight?" grinned Victor.

"Unfortunately. Sorry, Vic!"

"That's the rule!" shrugged the henchman.

(Y/N)'s friends arrived near the table, glasses in their hands.

"May we sit with us?" politely asked Mindy.

"Please, be my guests. My sweet boy's friends are always welcomed!"

The three young people sat near (Y/N) and started a charming conversation with Roman. When he was not terrifying people, Sionis could be an elegant and cultivated man with excellent manners.

They talked until the young adults decided to come back home, as the club was about to close. 

"Alright, let's go! We have to find a cab!" declared Sam as he put his coat on.

"Leaving already? Well, I guess good things come to an end!"

"Don't worry, sweetie: we'll do it again next Friday! Besides, I want to be in a clean state of mind for my job!" laughed Shanna as she pecked (Y/N) on the cheek.

"Okay, I understand! Be careful!"

"Don't worry! See you later, pretty boy! Goodbye, Mr. Sionis!" waved Mindy.

"Have a good night! You are always welcome here!" smiled Roman.

As the three left the room, the criminal sighed:

"You have nice friends, (Y/N)."

"I know: they are like my second family. They are so kind to me..."

"Speaking of that..." grinned Sionis as he tightened his grip on the young man's hip.

"You've been a very naughty boy, you know? Getting me horny like that... That behavior deserves a punishment!"

"I am sure what awaits me once we come back to the penthouse..." laughed (Y/N) as he sat on Roman's lap, dominating him with a triumphant grin.

"Provocative, cheeky, arrogant... Boy, you're my type!" chuckled the latter while letting his fingers running along the legs of his lover.

"SIONIS!" boomed a masculine voice.

"Oh, fuck! What again?" growled Roman.

Suddenly, around ten armed thugs appeared in the club, scaring habitues who fled.

"Step aside, baby. Looks like I have some business!" muttered Roman, gently pushing (Y/N) on the couch.

Once the night club was empty, Roman asked:

"What's the problem, gentlemen?"

"You're the problem, Sionis. You stole territories from Boss Maroni, and he did not like it!" snarled the leader of the thugs.

"Who cares about what this old jackass would say? If he is not capable of handling his districts, I take his place!"

"Shut up!" barked one of the gunmen, aiming his rifle at Roman.

"Who the fuck you think you are? Nobody talks to Roman Sionis wit that tone!"

"You're not in the position to tell us what to do! If you want to see the sunlight, tell your scarred lapdog to step back!"

Victor stayed silent, but his gaze was murderous. He was in the mood to peel off some faces tonight...

As for (Y/N), he tried to escape without being caught, but unfortunately, one of the mugs noticed him and pointed his gun at him.

"Not so fast, sugar baby. Where do you think you're going, huh? If you don't want to see your boss ending up like a colander, you sit down!"

The nickname made the young man twitch: nobody called him like that! 

"You're so pathetic..." he grumbled.

"What did you say?"

"Are you deaf, you twat? I said that you and all your little jerks are pathetic! Don't you want to know why?"

"My patience is growing thin!" roared the mug as he put the barrel of his gun between (Y/N)'s eyes.

However, he felt unease when he saw the growing smile on (Y/N)'s face. A deranged, twisted smile that promised nothing good...

"Why do you smile?"

"You made several mistakes when you arrived here, you know? First of all, you believed that you can walk in there and threatening us without suffering the consequences: how wrong you are!"

"You think so? While you prattle, all Roman's guys are busy dealing with Boss Maroni's henchmen! You won't get away this time!"

"Secondly, I am not Roman's sugar baby, you moron: I am his boyfriend! And thirdly, I am not a defenseless sweet boy... I am worse!"

And, without warning, he drew a blade out of his jacket and slit his opponent's throat, killing him. 

It allowed Roman and Victor to fight back and eliminate the other gunmen. A few minutes later, only three thugs were severely wounded but alive. Probably not for long...

"Well, it was easier than I expected!" stated Sionis.

"Sure, Boss!" answered Zsasz as he started to peel off the face of a corpse.

"Ew, Victor! Seriously, can't you just wait to be in the warehouse?" frowned Roman.

Soon after, Roman's henchmen appeared in the club.

"Sorry, Boss: we've been ambushed by the rest of the group! They planned this for a long time!"

"You're fucking lucky that we're alive! Are there survivors?"

"A few plus those three. In total, we have a dozen of Maroni's men!"

"Perfect! Now, clean this mess up: I want to open the club tomorrow night!"

"Yes, sir!"

"And bring those fuckers out of there! The warehouse would be fine!"

"Does it mean I'll have fun?" asked Victor with a sadistic smile.

"Of course, Vic! They're all yours! Consider it as your reward for tonight!"

"Thanks, boss."

Soon after, (Y/N) and Roman were alone in the club. The mob boss turned and glanced at his boyfriend.

"Oh, baby boy: you always made me proud!" he exclaimed as he wiped out the bloodstains on his lover's face.

"I could not let them threatening you without intervene!"

"And you were right, my beloved."

He kissed his boyfriend.

"My perfect little psycho!"

"My handsome sadistic gangster!"

"Oh, I like that. So, what if we're going back to the penthouse and having all the fun I promised earlier?"

"I can't wait, darling! Shall we go?"

"Your wish is my command, my prince!"

Later, as the two terrible beloveds were making love with all the passion they had, Roman thought that nothing could replace his sweet but murderous boyfriend.

After all, (Y/N) was lovely but deadly as hell. And he would never get tired of it.

Provocative, cheeky, arrogant, sexy, smart, deadly, and in love. The embodiment of perfection for the bad-tempered and cruel boss of Gotham.

Thanks for the reading!

I hope you enjoy the story!

See you later and I’m looking for your requests!

[bktynes-writes]

Hey friends! Chapter 2 is up because I’m impatient and didn’t wanna wait to post until Tuesday. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters. Read on ao3.

The Blood of the Covenant

Chapter 2: Drinks

Dean's mouth had gone dry. He sat, frozen, hand clasped firmly in the grip of the man in front of him. He was dimly aware of the fact that he had taken far to long to respond, and the look Castiel was giving him now made him even more painfully aware of the knot forming in his stomach.

Novak. The name rang in his ears. He composed himself and managed to shake the man's hand before withdrawing his own and lifting his glass. 

"Novak, huh? What is that, Serbian?" He grinned at the surprised look that crossed the face of the other man.

"Yes, actually." He turned back to face the bar. "Most people don't get that the first try."

Dean chanced a glance at him from the corner of his eye and caught the small smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. Something in Dean's chest tightened as he wondered what it would be like to see him smile in earnest.

"So, Castiel, do you make a habit of jumping into random people's bar fights?" Dean asked. He motioned to Lee for another round. The alcohol in his veins made him less aware that he was sitting with a potential rival and more aware of how attractive he found the man.

"No, I can't say that I do," Castiel replied. "But I'm new in town. And I like this bar. I would rather it not be sullied by unsavoury company." He thanked Lee with a nod as he placed down two bottles of beer on the bar.

"Well, Dean here is about the most 'unsavoury' as it usually gets in here, and you seem to have made his acquaintance rather nicely." Lee provided with a smirk.

"Dean," Castiel said to no one in particular. It was like he was testing the name, rolling it around on his tongue to see how it felt, and when he let it loose from behind is lips in that low growl of a voice, Dean felt his knees wobble, making him very thankful for the stool under him.

"Right, yeah. Dean Smith," He introduced himself, and he didn't miss the look from Lee who, mercifully, did not comment at his use of a pseudonym. "Sales representative with Sandover Enterprises." He smiled.

"Sandover?" Castiel questioned. "The steel distributor?"

"The very one," Dean replied, raising his beer to Lee and giving him a look that he hoped conveyed the importance of his silence. It must have worked because Lee turned and busied himself cutting limes on the back bar.

"I see." Said Castiel. "Tell me, Dean, can I often expect to have to jump in and save you from brutes prowling alleyways and backwater establishments? No offence." He added to Lee, who raised his hands in surrender and continued to obviously ignore their conversation.

Dean chuckled. "No, I'm usually good on my own, Cas. It's just been a long day."

Castiel's lips twitched at the use of the nickname. "Ah. I understand. The last few weeks have been...exhausting."

"Oh yeah?" Dean looked the man up and down, letting his eyes linger slightly on his broad shoulders, his throat where his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and back to his impossibly blue eyes. "You don't look like a labourer. And I'm guessing this whole tax accountant thing you've got going isn't the case either from the way you swing a punch. What do you do?" He felt like he was in grade school trying to make friends again, asking what their favourite colour was.

"My family..." Castiel began, pausing and looking down at his drink. "Let's just say we've got varied interests." He smiled slyly at Dean, who was suddenly very aware of how his hands were itching to reach out and thread themselves through Castiel's hair. He kept them clasped tightly around the cold glass of his beer bottle instead.

"Well, maybe it's a good thing I ran into you then, Cas," Dean drawled. He let his tongue dart out quickly to wet his lips and didn't miss the way Castiel's eyes flicked down at the movement. "I've got some 'varied interests' of my own." 

Dean could see the man's pupils dilate over the bottle that hung at his mouth. There was a distinct red tinge to his cheeks as his eyes flitted across Dean's face, from his lips to his eyes to his throat, back to his lips. Dean pulled his lower lip between his teeth and smiled at the nearly inaudible gasp that escaped the other man.

Dean heard Lee cough, fake and dramatic, behind him. He grimaced as the trance Castiel's eyes held over him was broken. Cas shook himself and turned his face from Dean to peer sheepishly at Lee, who was now smirking at both of them.

"Well, Mr. Smith, thank you for this...eventful evening. When I say the pleasure was mine, I mean it most sincerely." He took one last long swig from his beer and clambered off of his seat. "Perhaps if I'm lucky, I'll get the chance to see you again." He turned on his heel, trenchcoat billowing behind him as the breeze from the door caught it. Then he was gone.

"Dean Smith?" Lee chided. "Really?"

Dean didn't realize he had turned to watch him leave until he heard Lee speak. He spun around to see a knowing smirk plastered across his face and rolled his eyes.

"What?" Dean scowled, taking a few more gulps from his beer.

"Nothing, man, nothing..." Lee chuckled. "Just the next time you eye fuck a dude at the bar, you should probably have the decency to give him your real name. Maybe your number?"

"Shut up." Dean groaned. "I just heard about the Novaks tonight at dinner, okay? Bela says they're trying to start a war in her district, and Sam and I are supposed to 'deal' with them." He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars popped behind them. "Why did it have to be Novak..." He said quietly.

Lee roared with laughter. "Because you, Winchester, invite trouble wherever you go, and I have seen that look on your face before."

Dean flipped Lee the bird and reached over to take Castiel's abandoned beer bottle. "Yeah? What look is that?"

"You think he's cute, and you wanna feed him shots until he's drunk enough to let you blow him behind the dumpsters at Antoni's on 64th St." Lee raised an eyebrow as Dean choked on his mouthful of beer.

"That is...oddly specific," Dean said when he recovered.

"Only because it's the same way you used to look at me." Lee shrugged and turned back to his limes as Dean glowered at him. "And that's specifically what happened with us."

"That was thirteen years ago, Lee," Dean said, his voice dropping. "Things are different now."

"I know, I know. Things change, people change even more," Lee glanced over his shoulder, the same shit-eating smirk as before stuck on his face, but this time it didn't quite reach his eyes, "you've always been a hopeless romantic Dean, no matter how much you hate to admit it. And I like to think, after all this time, I know you pretty well, sometimes even better than you know yourself."

Dean looked away as Lee made a few more drinks for some of the other patrons. He couldn't bring himself to look him in the eyes. He was right; Dean did find Castiel attractive.

It was getting late, and as more people rolled in off the street to escape the rapidly cooling night, Lee became too busy to chat with Dean any longer. He finished the two bottles of beer in front of him, bid Lee a quick farewell with a promise to come back again soon, and departed.

He was rather tipsy now, and the alcohol sloshed warmly in his stomach as he walked back through the city towards downtown. He wasn't ready to go home yet, but the conversation with Lee had left him feeling less than willing to engage in meaningful human interaction, and he knew there was a strip club a few blocks away that might offer just the distraction he needed.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and pulled out a crushed pack of menthol cigarettes. Dean didn't often smoke, but the alcohol combined with the thoughts in his head had him craving the sweet sting of nicotine. He stopped on the corner and lit one of the white paper tubes, hissing on the inhale as the minty smoke filled his lungs.

What did Lee know? So what if he thought the dark-haired, blue-eyed man in the trenchcoat was cute? He was a Novak, and if Bela was to be trusted - which he quickly reminded himself was questionable - that made him the enemy. Still...Dean found himself thinking more and more explicitly about Castiel as he continued to walk.

Would his pupils blow wide with desire and blackout that gorgeous blue if Dean touched him in just the right way? What would his already messy hair look like after having had fingers run through it a few times? How would Dean's name sound, groaned and gasped, in that rough voice, made deeper by lust? What would those chapped, pink lips look like slick with spit, wrapped around his - 

"Hey! Watch it, buddy!" Shouted a voice as Dean's shoulder bumped into another man on the sidewalk. "Fuckin' drunk..."

Dean couldn't even be bothered to respond to the man he had walked into. He really had been deep in his thoughts. Looking up, he realized his feet had once again carried him unconsciously to his destination, and he praised his knowledge of the city for allowing him to lose himself without getting lost.

Rowena's club was one of Dean's favourite places - second only to his car - and the buzzing neon sign above the door was music to his ears. Emerald green cursive spelled out "Eden" and turned into a snake coiled around a deep red apple missing a single bite. Dean delighted in the sacrilegious nature of the name. Given the activities that went on behind its doors, it suited the place. The knowledge that Rowena had chosen "Eden" to be intentionally heretical brought a smile to his face; even in Catholic school, Dean had never had much respect for the bible.

He cut the line with a curt nod to the bouncer and walked through the doors into the dimly lit club. Dean felt the tension of the evening evaporate from his limbs as soon as the pervading scent of cherries and tequila washed over him. The black brick walls and tables draped in blood-red velvet made the room feel smaller than it really was. It was hardly past midnight, and yet every table was full of men, mostly suits from the business district here to pretend their sexless marriages weren't failing. Dean snorted. Sam could have his apple-pie life with Jess; at least Dean would never end up like these poor schmucks.

Out of habit, he scanned the crowd and saw a few familiar faces, but thankfully no sparkling blue eyes and no trenchcoats in sight. The brightest source of light came from the rotating floodlights on the main stage. Dean supposed that keeping everything in shadow allowed people to feel more comfortable here. After all, a strip club may be fine and well, but when the money changed hands and gentlemen were lead to back rooms by beautiful ladies, it was best that no one knew each other's names in the morning.

A young woman in her early twenties gyrated and slowly removed her clothes on the main stage to the beat of the rock music blaring through the speakers. Dean couldn't help but watch her as she moved, dark hair falling over pale skin as she thrust her hips sinfully against the stage. Dean once again found his mind wandering, and he forced himself to engage the bartender in conversation as a means of distracting himself.

"Hey there, handsome," She said to him as he sidled up to the bar. "What's your poison?"

Dean noticed the way she leaned enticingly on the bar as she spoke, shoulders back, chest out in invitation for him to stare. He let his gaze linger for a moment before returning her suggestive smirk.

"Just a water for now, darlin'," he said. He could feel the whiskey from Lee's slowly soaking into his brain, clouding his judgement.

"Aw, you're no fun," the bartender pouted, placing a glass in front of him and filling it with water from the gun attached to the bar. "What, are you some kinda teetotaler or something?"

"Nah, nothing like that," Dean chuckled. "Just had a few already and wouldn't wanna forget your pretty face."

The bartender smiled coyly and extended her hand for him to shake. "Pamela." She said.

"Dean." He replied, taking her hand delicately in his own. "Do you just mix drinks around here, or can I look forward to seeing you on the stage later?"

She laughed. "I dabble. But tonight's not my night. I get off around three though, and uh, well, if you're still around, maybe you can too." She winked at him before being called down the bar. Dean watched her walk away, the sway of her hips capturing his attention.

"Well, well, well..." Dean heard the unmistakable accent drawl from behind him. "A Winchester. Alone in my club. To what do I owe the honour?"

Rowena was a tiny woman who had come from Scotland and made quite the name for herself in America's lucrative sex industry. She ran a tight ship with her girls, who did everything from stripping to pornography to escort work, and, in the case of Ruby and a few others, the occasional special favour for the Winchesters. No man controlled Rowena or her girls, and if anyone ended up on the wrong side of the devious little redhead, they were likely to find themselves in a sealed box at the bottom of the river.

"Rowena," Dean stated simply, rotating his chair to face her as she stepped closer to him. Her red gown caught what little light the club offered and shimmered. 

"I expected I'd be getting a visit from you boys soon." She sighed heavily and waved to Pamela, who nodded and brought her a martini glass of something pink and fruity-looking. "I was hoping it would be Samuel coming to call, but I guess you'll do."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Dean asked, sitting up straighter in his seat.

"Well, I suppose it's his well-muscled arms, his gorgeous hair, his tall, strong physique..." She mused, sipping her drink with a smirk.

"No, not that, Rowena, and ew," Dean cringed. "Why were you expecting us?

"Perhaps because of those Novak boys that Miss Talbot had Ruby go looking into." Her face darkened. "I don't know what she was thinking, but that poor girl came back beat half to death. She was a good dancer, always made a lot of money on her nights..."

"Where is she now?" Dean asked. "I wanna know what happened."

"Ah, well, we agreed it was probably for the best if Ruby took some time out of town." Rowena swirled the liquid in her glass and looked away from Dean to the stage. "I have other dancers that can fill her slot for the time being."

"Where is she?" Dean asked again, an edge to his voice that made Rowena glare.

"Not here, Winchester. And if you think for a moment that I'm so disloyal to my girls that I would tell you where she's gone, then you are sorely mistaken." She defended. Dean didn't push the issue. Her mind was made up, and there was no amount of bargaining or coercion that would change it.

"Alright, so why don't you tell me what happened then?" He directed. Rowena pursed her lips into a thin line. She was the only person Dean had ever met who could rival him and his brother for stubbornness.

Rowena sighed. "Oh, why not. The more, the merrier, I suppose." She gestured to a table next to the bar where an attractive young man stood guard, keeping the table open. She waved at Pamela for more drinks and slid into the booth's bench, touching the young man's arm gently as she did. When they were seated comfortably and had been presented with a fresh round of drinks - Pamela had ignored Dean's continued request for water and had brought him another glass of whiskey - Rowena continued. "What do you want to know?"

Dean wasted no time. "The Novaks." He said. "Who are they?"

"I can't say that I know too much, honestly." She purred. "But after the incident with Ruby, I did a little research. It would seem that the father, Chuck, had a wife years ago, Naomi, who was killed in some kind of gang war. He became obsessed with revenge and took over a good chunk of Newark, eliminating the gangs, building the communities, doing all sorts of goodwill charity work, all with funds gathered through several nefarious means." 

"What sort of means?" Dean asked again.

She sipped her drink slowly before she continued. "Standard fare. Murder for hire, arms dealing, the occasional art heist. If I had to guess, that'd be what made him target Bela in the first place. I don't know if you've noticed, but that woman can be a wee bit hard to handle. Not the type to make many friends." Dean snorted. He had no arguments there. 

"Now, Chuck and Naomi had four sons before she passed. Apparently, everyone is a bloody Catholic because they named them all after archangels, the poor boys. Chuck started sort of 'collecting' street kids who had lost their families to the gang wars. He took them in, made them a home, and built his own family, not out of associates and partners like you lot, but an actual family of brothers and sisters." She pushed her glass away and leaned forward into Dean, dropping her voice barely above a whisper. Dean had to move even closer to catch her words as the music from the club's speakers continued to fill his senses. "They are ruthless. Especially the four oldest brothers. They will fight and kill and bleed for their family, and they will smile while they're doing it. You think you and Samuel are close? You've got nothing on these boys."

Dean swallowed hard. Rowena wasn't one to exaggerate her claims. If she said the Novaks were dangerous, he had no reason not to believe her. "How much of a threat are they?" He asked bluntly.

"Well, they certainly aren't a problem you should ignore." She smirked. "But, I do have a feeling that some of that Winchester charm could come in handy." She reached out and tapped Dean lightly on the tip of his nose. 

"Thanks, Rowena," Dean said, slipping out of the booth. "And if you see or hear anything else..."

"I'll be sure to call you, quick as a whip." She said sarcastically. He nodded and headed towards the door. Pamela's earlier proposition rang in his ears, and, as much as he wished he could stay and accept, his gut was telling him to return home and relay the information from Rowena to his brother.

He staggered out into the alley again and rubbed his hands together to stave off the rapidly cooling September night. He thought about calling Benny for a ride. The Winchester bodyguard could always be relied upon to answer his phone at any hour and never say no to Dean. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and frowned. The screen displayed several missed calls from Sam and a few from his mother. He grinned widely. They were probably calling him to chastise him for not being present for Sam's proposal. 

Quickly tapping open the screen, he dialled his brother's number. It only rang once before Sam's voice came through the other end.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean beamed into the phone, staggering a little on the uneven sidewalk. "So? Did she say yes? Is my baby brother getting married?"

"Yeah, Dean, she did. Where are you?" Sam huffed into the phone.

"Out," Dean stated. "Celebrating on your behalf." 

"Are-are you drunk?" Sam stammered into the phone.

"I mean, pshhh, maybe? A bit?" Dean smiled. He was feeling great. Who cared about that pretty-eyed guy in the trenchcoat at Lee's? Dean didn't care. And he didn't care that he didn't care. "Listen, I talked to Rowena and - " Sam cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"Jesus Christ, Dean!" Sam yelled into the phone, and Dean immediately began to lose whatever happy buzz he had gained through the night. Sam never yelled at him. "It is 2am, and I've been trying to call you for HOURS! I even called Lee's, but he said you left before midnight, and now you're wasted downtown by yourself and I just..." There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Dean could hear Sam taking deep breaths to calm down.

"Hey, hey, Sammy, listen, I'm okay." He tried desperately to soothe his brother's worries. The panic in Sam's tone had sobered him, and he transformed immediately into Big Brother. His primary focus was back on protecting his little brother, making sure he wasn't afraid. "Everything is fine. I'm not wasted, just a little buzzed. I'm gonna call Benny for a ride and head back to my place. I'll text you when I'm home and call you in the morning, okay?"

"No, Dean," Sam said weakly into the phone, "it's not okay."

Any remaining happiness Dean had from the alcohol was extinguished. His feet stopped moving, and his own voice seemed distant as he spoke. "What's wrong, Sammy? What happened?"

Sam sounded like he was speaking through a tub of water. "It's Dad. You need to get home."

Tags: @valleydean @fighterfortheforgotten

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Polo 3

Previously on Polo

The sun was glaring; absolutely murdering the entirety of the world in the noontime shine of a clear day in the early spring. The heat couldn’t come just yet, still not allowed due to larger forces like the tilt of the planet and the distinct absence of a certain player, yet to be seen despite a not-so-covert glance at the pitch during warm ups. The entire event was going to be the largest of its kind, and it was like the world knew it, opening itself up and shining all of the kindest wishes on the sport, as a large herd of watchers made their way to find a place to watch. 

The tents were stocked with alcohol and snacks, people in hats and those who were there because they were supposed to be. But along the pitch, bleachers filled up with anyone who wanted to watch, creating an atmosphere of joy and excitement that’d been lacking at the private matches. 

There really wasn’t a reason to be there. Clarke had more than fulfilled her daughterly duty for the entire year with her increasingly frequent showings at events for both of her parents. She chalked it up to growth, and becoming a better person, to make an effort, to try her best to show her mother that she was happy for her, and to prove to her father that she was deserving of her name, even if that meant trudging through society things in lieu of his wife. 

But seeing as Kane’s opening of the Gauntlet of Polo opening day party was not her mother’s, nor was it something she felt compelled to do to represent her father, Clarke had no true reason to go other than because Kane was nice enough to invite her, and she truly had nothing else to do. 

“So where’s the hot polo playing Argentinian underwear model who recites you poetry and fucks you in stables?” 

Clarke grit her teeth before sighing and shaking her head, giving her best friend a look that should equal death, if she’d been luckier. 

“What?” Raven shrugged. “I want to get a good look at the girl that convinced you to be okay with your parents divorce. I’m sure there are over-paid therapists who would kill to know how to do it.” 

“She didn’t--”

“And made you nicer in general to your parents. And me. And your life is less chaotic now-- I’ve noticed you are volunteering. That must be some of the worlds most powerful puss--”

“Kane! Mom!” Clarke interrupted her friend’s tangent, thankfulness apparent in her voice as she found the host and hostess. 

Her mother was always beautiful, but Clarke began to see how much nicer happiness looked on her, and as much as she claimed to always love her father, there was a girlish spark that came when Abby was near Marcus. It took Clarke long enough to put aside her feelings to see it, but when she did, she couldn’t have been happier, despite the occasional bitterness about what was lost. It was Lexa’s stupid notions of love that messed with her brain and her ability to hold a grudge. 

There’d been a truce between herself and Kane, reached gently and treated very cautiously, but still, it remained. She had dinner with them just a week ago when they were in the city, and it wasn’t entirely painful. As much as she wanted to dislike Marcus Kane, she couldn’t bring herself to do it because he was just… nice. And he made Abby smile in a way that Clarke didn’t realize she hadn’t seen in a while. 

The real benefit of all of this love and joy being that while Abby got to live her best truth, it meant less comments about Clarke’s “wasted potential,” and there was a bigger focus on her art, which led to less stress with their average communications. 

“Oh, honey you made it,” Abby smiled and hugged her daughter, kissing her cheek quickly, squeezing her shoulders. “I didn’t think we’d find you in all this.” 

“Believe it or not,” Clarke explained as she accepted a quick hug from her mother’s boyfriend. “It’s easy to find the guy who owns a team in a tournament sponsored by his company.” 

“I’ve been looking and couldn’t find you.” 

“I took Raven to see the ponies.” 

“Look at that,” Kane grinned. “She’s using proper jargon already.” 

“Clarke’s given me a quick rundown, but I don’t know if I trust her expertise yet,” Raven offered after all pleasantries were exchanged. “Care to teach me, Kane?” 

“The more the merrier,” he smiled wider, like a kid in a candy store, surrounded by people who wanted to listen to him explain his favorite sport. “We better go find a good spot. It’ll start soon.” 

Raven turned and gave Clarke a wry grin before linking her arm with Kane’s as she maneuvered them through the crowd. Clarke let her mother squeeze her and follow along a few steps behind. 

“It means a lot that you’ve tried to take an interest in something that Marcus finds important,” Abby offered as they meandered along. 

“Just a good reason to be outside, and Raven loves selling rich people her programs and things,” Clarke dismissed her effort for anything benevolent as she grabbed a flute of champagne gratefully. “I’m fairly certain that’s the only reason she keeps me around.” 

“Whatever the reason. It means a lot to me. I know it wasn’t easy to find out--”

“We don’t have to do this.” 

“I know,” Abby relented. “You just never cease to amaze me is all. Marcus is important to me, and you’ve taken the time to get to know him, just like I’m sure you would when your father starts--”

“Dad won’t date anyone else.” 

The words came out a little bit too harsh, and Clarke wasn’t sure why she felt so protective of her father’s refusal to get over a broken heart. 

“He will eventually, and believe it or not, no matter how he feels about Marcus and even me right now, seeing you be open to our happiness will make it easier.” 

“I guess I’m just a saint.” 

It was meant to be a joke, but Clarke felt suddenly a little guilty. They took their seats beside Kane and Raven, and Clarke looked out on the pitch, wondering if she would be there at all if it hadn’t been for the oddest addiction she somehow developed for a stupid girl who argued with her every time she saw her. 

She might not even get to see Lexa today. She might only see her on the pitch. And would that be a waste? Should she think about this perfect stranger as often as she did and look forward to this stupid even for the past three weeks? Was she proving Lexa’s points right about lust and love and soulmates? Did she believe in something like soulmates? How could she? And what did it matter. Wasn’t this a lot to do just for sex? Very, very, very good sex, but still--

“You’re not zoning out already, are you, Clarke?” Kane smiled and waved his hand in front of her face, bringing her back to reality. 

“Just listening, making sure I remember everything.” 

Raven gave her a look. 

“Now tell me about your team. Clarke was telling me all about how skilled the one… what was her name?” 

“Lexa,” Kane offered excitedly, before Clarke could bring herself to utter the name. “She is incredibly skilled. I’ve never seen someone ride with such passion. She is so fluid, covering everything, seeing plays before they happen. And she’s got this passion in her blood for the sport. She hits hard, and takes a licking-- Are you okay?” 

Only when Kane stopped talking did Clarke realize she’d spilled her glass, letting it tilt back toward her chest as she remembered exactly how passionate and fluid and licking that Lexa had been. The cool liquid froze her chest, dripping down her front as she hurried to pat it dry. 

“Fine, fine. I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“Off in another world,” he offered politely. 

“This girl has her head in the stables,” Raven joked, though only Clarke understood it. “I get now why Clarke’s so passionate about those ponies. You are a hell of a salesman, Kane.” 

“This is something that costs me money. Imagine what I can do with something I want to make money off of.” 

They shared a laugh and Clarke joined in, only half paying attention as the team was announced and she caught the now familiar jerseys making their way to the center for the start of the match. 

There was an air to the polo player, helmet on, stoic and sitting tall as she stood beside her fellow teammates, her horse still as she was. Lexa listened politely to the anthem, she listened to the announcer, but she didn’t move more than necessary. It was by a stroke of luck that she found Clarke in the crowd, though Clarke wouldn’t agree anything was lucky about it, because now she had to sit in the stands after getting the full weight of Lexa’s glance. Only slightly did Clarke notice the pull of one corner of Lexa’s mouth and the fire behind her eyes. It made her gulp. 

Lexa didn’t look away the entire time and neither did Clarke. She didn’t have to say anything. They both knew. 

XXXXXXXXXX

It was an actual match, and a hard fought one to begin the Gauntlet that would last the next few months, and Lexa ached in the most delicious kind of ways after the win. Over the next week she’d have to win five more to hoist the first cup, collect the first purse, and move onward in hopes of completing the perfect Gauntlet, winning all three cups, and collecting the bonus purse that would triple her yearly income. 

No pressure at all when trying to impress a girl who was set to inherit billions. With a B. 

Showered and cleaned up, Lexa made it to the crowds in time to catch part of the second match. The sun was dimming, fading into the trees, giving a bit of a sunset despite the lights that shined over the pitch. It was a perfect evening for polo, and Lexa felt it, still riding the high of her win and feeling the limitless possibility of the next few months. 

It didn’t hurt that she caught a certain girl’s eyes before it started and put on a show. No, Lexa didn’t think about that at all. 

There was absolutely no way she had a chance with someone like Clarke, prize purse be damned. Lexa was the person who got a taste-- who was used for the pleasure of someone who had other responsibilities. In all of her dealings with people like Kane, with people like Clarke, she knew she was an interloper; destined to be a tagalong, someone who was never quite part of their world. Those were the things that she thought about after that momentary rush of seeing Clarke-- an intense loss at never having her completely. 

She didn’t look for Clarke in the tent with the other donors because she could feel her. It would take her a moment to get back to being okay with being a plaything. It had its perks, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, to be someone who only got a taste when that taste was delicious. Lexa was okay with the being just a fling, if only her heart would listen and not get in over its head. 

“You, in that dress,” Lexa whispered as she approached a bare back, the navy blue of the dress, dipping along spine, hanging on shoulders. “Has all of my attention.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Lexa half-smiled and grabbed a flute of champagne, handing it to the woman beside her before taking one for herself. Only then did she allow herself to look at Clarke, meeting blue eyes and lips she desperately wanted to kiss already, after exactly one second of being within her orbit. 

“It’s becoming a problem, princess. You look too distracting in everything.” 

“Maybe you should stop looking?” 

“Would you like me to stop?” 

With her words, Lexa shifted closer, and Clarke felt it. Their bodies moved around, hovering and refusing to touch though desperately wanting to feel the next. Clarke licked her lips and looked up from beneath her lashes while Lexa looked over her cheekbones as she took a sip and played with the stem of her glass. 

“It’s been three weeks. You didn’t try to find me?” 

“I’ve been busy training,” Lexa tried, unsure of if she was supposed to find Clarke. She never knew it was an option. “And I didn’t… Three weeks, and were you preparing for a Gauntlet?” 

“You were the one that was trying to convince me to fall in love with you.” 

“Or lust.” 

“Right, or lust,” Clarke nodded. “I couldn’t find you. That’d just prove you right.” 

“And we wouldn’t want me to be right, would we?” 

Despite herself, Clarke smiled, small and there. She blushed a little, right beneath her jaw, near her earlobes. Lexa gorged herself on it. 

“If you’re right, you get all of the power. I can’t give you that.” 

“But it would be great if you did. I promise to be a benevolent overlord.” 

“What if I don’t know how to be kept?” Clarke asked after a moment of quiet. It was the most honest thing she’d said in their time together. 

Lexa reached forward to touch her, finally. She ran her finger along her forearm, and she paused at Clarke’s wrist, running her thumb along the small protrusion there. She watched her fingers move against Clarke’s skin. 

“I’m good at being still. I’ve broken more wild things than you, princess.” 

As she stood there, Clarke felt Lexa’s warmth, and she wondered to which level they were speaking, because almost accidentally, she’d confessed one of her truly darkest fears, that she wasn’t one to be in love, that she didn’t know how, that she wasn’t sure she was worth being looked at like Lexa looked at her, whether it be love or lust of something between. 

“I completely mean to interrupt whatever is happening over here,” a voice rang out, oddly cheerful and not at all in line with the tone established. 

Lexa retracted her hand quickly, finishing the rest of her champagne as a result of compensating for the movement. Clarke stood up, her body language becoming alert and afraid. There was the shame, Lexa saw and pretended to ignore, of being caught with someone like her. 

“Hell of a game you played out there, Lexa,” the new woman explained as she grabbed them another round of drinks from a passing tray. 

The crowd cheered for whatever was happening on the pitch, and Lexa looked toward it in hopes of finding a reason to escape, the trance of Clarke Griffin broken for a moment. 

“And I heard all about how amazing your play was from Kane. Clarke couldn’t keep her eyes off of you, and I have to say, I get it now.” 

Lexa found her interest turning back to this shorter, nonplussed member of their group, her interest piqued as she recognized a fellow interloper, although someone who seemed to own it much better and in a way she almost envied. 

“I wasn’t--” Clarke began before taking a breath, earning a grin from her friend. “Lexa, this is Raven, my best friend dating back from elementary school, so please don’t hold it against me.” 

“I couldn’t. She seems to have such great taste if polo players,” Lexa grinned, extending her hand. “Lexa Woods. It’s a pleasure to meet you--”

“Raven,” she offered, shaking it heartily. “I’ve heard many things.” 

“All good, I hope.” 

“Mythical, some might say.” 

Clarke coughed and cleared her throat until her friend returned the hand it’d been shaking and went back to sipping her champagne. Lexa felt her chest puff a bit, and she couldn’t help it. 

“I should go make the rounds,” she finally offered as the two ancient friends glared at each other, having an entire conversation. “I’m sure Kane has some constructive criticism, and plans for the next matches. I hope I see you both around, and thank you for coming to support us.” 

“It was nice to see you again,” Clarke offered with a slight nod. 

Brazenly, Lexa leaned forward, placed her hand on the small of Clarke’s back so that her thumb could touch the bare skin of her spine. She kissed her cheek. 

“I hope you choose to find me, princess,” she whispered. “I love wild things as they are.” 

Lexa pulled away quickly and shook Raven’s hand again. 

“It was nice to meet you, Raven. I hope Kane didn’t bore you terribly.” 

“Not at all,” she returned. “I hope to come to more, if Clarke will invite me.” 

But Clarke didn’t answer, just stared at Lexa until she nodded and walked away, fading into the crowd in search of her benefactor. 

“Holy shit she’s hot up close,” Raven finally offered after a moment where Clarke downed her champagne. “Like. Insanely hot. Superhuman hot. And when she did that thing, that being so close to you but not touching you thing. Damn. And then, I think she practically was undressing you with her eyes when I walked up. I’ve never seen eyeballs look like murder, but hers were coming for me.” 

“You see what  mean, right?” 

“Yeah, you have a problem there,” her friend agreed as Clarke finally took a breath and nodded weakly. “I’d have to go for it.” 

“Yes. Without a doubt.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

Even though there was an entire week of matches for the tournament, Lexa still waited for a girl to appear, to make the move, to find her. She knew that it had to be Clarke who appeared, who made the move because she was the one who was most afraid. It was supposed to be a joke, but Lexa knew it was the most honest thing about her to admit that she was already in love with the stranger. 

She knew nothing about Clarke, not really, and yet she felt like she understood her on a cosmic level, an inherent kind of language they both spoke, that defied time. Lexa craved that poetry, and perhaps it was the works of the great romantics that she kept reading and clouding her brain with such notions, but she couldn’t help it. It seeped into her very DNA. 

The week led to the first win out of three for the Gauntlet, and Lexa hoisted the cup valiantly, happy that she was worth her weight in gold, as Kane liked to explain. And after all of it, after they made the trip home, and she made sure the stables were taken care of and schedule made for the following day, Lexa sat on the porch to her small home about five miles from the horses, and she opened a bottle of beer. 

The night was colder than the day, giving off the heat and letting the warmth disappear with the sun, but it was a clear night, the moon bright above, casting moonbeam shadows in the tall grasses and from the fence posts. She could have lived in the city, gotten a place an enjoyed the splendor of her generous paychecks, but Lexa had a need to be near her ponies and to be close to the games. She wouldn’t commute if she didn’t have to, and she wouldn’t allow herself any distractions. 

And then headlights appeared in her driveway, following the gravel up toward the converted cabin. 

She stood and tapped her beer against her thigh as she leaned against the railing, squinting into the light in hopes of figuring out who was going to bug her after a rather long week and an impressive win. 

She wasn’t in a dress. She was in an old jacket and jeans as she shoved her hands in the back pockets and made her way around the car once it turned off. It really was becoming a problem, because every time Lexa saw her, she was distracted. She really didn’t think about the car and how many questions she had about the absolutely devastating piece of machinery. 

Instead, she took another sip and smiled. 

“Congratulations,” Clarke offered. 

“Did you watch?” 

“I didn’t, but I heard.” 

“Good news travels fast.” 

Despite her initial burst of courage, Clarke paused near the stairs, looking up at the polo player, the lights from the glowing windows giving her a little bit of color. Lexa didn’t move to fix the height gap between them, instead, waiting for Clarke to make the moves. It was her porch, but it was Clarke’s rules, and she wasn’t sure she’d trained wilder things than Clarke Griffin, but she was a tamer of beasts. 

“I found you,” Clarke offered, as she took a step. 

“You did. I’m not hard to find though.” 

“I think we should applaud the effort,” Clarke grinned, stepping up another until she was just one below. “I was impressed with your win. You must be happy.” 

“I’m honestly happier that you’re here right now than the trophy.” 

“Are you going to show me your home?” 

“I don’t want to move,” Lexa offered as Clarke stood in front of her now. “I’m afraid you’ll bolt the moment I do.” 

“I showed up. I made the move,” Clarke sighed, looking at her lips. “You have to teach me the rest.” 

“Three conversations for you to fall in love with me,” she grinned, closing the distance and moving so she was touching Clarke, pressed against her front. “I can work with that.” 

“Lust.” 

“For now.”

NEXT

[wickedmilo]

ASK ME ANYTHING | MILO & HARSH

PLACE: Harsh’s apartment TIMING: A couple of months before ‘Sweet Summer Child’ SUMMARY: Milo begrudgingly accepts the fact that if you don’t know, sometimes you just have to ask WRITING PARTNER: @notsoharsh CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of overdosing, needles, and drug abuse

Milo stared down at his notebook, his hasty, and cluttered handwriting making it difficult to spot any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies. Not that it would matter, really. He had no plan on actually letting Harsh see his work. But it felt important to appear at least semi-composed. He was already making himself vulnerable, embarrassing himself by showing his blatant lack of understanding. He knew Harsh would be kind, and patient. The man had yet to show any sign of regretting his decision to take him in, something that was both a comfort, and a concern. It was forever looming over his head, the thought of the older vampire growing bored of playing mentor. But he knew he couldn’t live in fear. Either it would happen, or it wouldn’t, and right now, what was important was his distinct, and disorienting lack of knowledge. Hopefully, by the end of the night, he wouldn’t feel so lost, or confused. He might finally get some answers.  

People had been helping him, Harsh in particular had made him feel safe, and secure in a way he could never have anticipated. But there was so much to learn, and it was very rare for information to come up organically. He was learning, that much was undeniable, but the pacing was slow, and eventually he had come to decide the best course of action would be writing a list. A list of everything he felt he had missed, everything that wasn’t about to come up in conversation, every question that hit him at 6 in the morning, every worry, every passing query, every fact that Rio wouldn’t know. Harsh would be there for him, in the same way he had been there for him since the moment they first crossed paths with each other. So he saw no harm in presenting him with said list, of asking him outright in a bid to know more. 

The overwhelming scent of human food told him he would find Harsh cooking in the kitchen. It was something he did an awful lot considering he wasn’t able to enjoy the food, but the sound of somebody cooking, the smells, and routine that came with seeing his roommate busy over a stovetop, was something he genuinely enjoyed. It made the apartment feel more like home. Slipping out of his bedroom, and making his way into the hall, his socked feet were soft, and quiet against the apartment’s hardwood flooring. When he finally arrived at the kitchen, he hovered in the doorway so that he could watch for a moment before making his presence known. No doubt Harsh was fully aware he had an audience, he was very good at staying vigilant, but he pretended otherwise so it felt polite to announce himself. “So…” He started, trying to ignore the sudden spark of anxiety that ignited within his chest. It was an unhealthy product of his academic upbringing, but he hated not knowing. If he needed to know the answer to a question he had always been encouraged to search for it himself, which made it very easy to pretend he had automatically known the answer. This was different. Harsh was him searching for information, only to get it, he first needed to admit that he didn’t have it. Something that didn’t come naturally to him. “What’s on the menu tonight?” He asked, leaning against the door jam, offering an affectionate smile.  

There was something strangely comforting about having a roommate again. No, comforting wasn’t quite the word. Settling, balancing maybe. Harsh didn’t care to get hung up on the particulars. He knew what he was like when left on his own too long, had been there too many times. He got reckless, he got sloppy. Even before he had turned, before he had thrown his soul away, he had been impulsive. It was worse now. Though he had learned from two hundred years of mistakes, there were still times he slipped, fell into old, bad behaviors. It was so easy. Instant gratification. That was the name of the soulless game and it was one he had played for two centuries. He liked to think he played it well, but there had been close calls and plenty of them. Now though, there was someone else to worry about. A couple of someones, if he was honest with himself now. He had friends, people who gave a shit. And he wanted to give one too. It was weird, the feelings scraping up the hollow where his soul should be. Wanting one wasn’t the same as having it, not by a long shot, but he had been pretending for a while. Fake it till you make it, the words had served him pretty damn well so far. What was a bit more? 

Harsh didn’t take his eyes off the sizzling pan in front of him as Milo made his way down the hall. The kid was learning. Stealth wasn’t part of the vampire package, but it was necessary to know to make it out there. Still, Harsh hadn’t made it this far without knowing when someone was sneaking up on him, when he was being watched. But he kept his eyes on the food before him. Neither of them needed to eat, but it was a habit he had never quite managed to shake. He remembered it vaguely how much he had liked to cook when he was alive. Though the tastes had faded off his tongue, the fun hadn’t. He grinned as he flipped the vegetables, tossing and catching in the searing pan. Glancing over his shoulder at Milo’s question, he grinned. “Stir fry, I found this new recipe I wanted to try. Extra spicy, careful around the garlic though, makes your fangs pop out if you get a big bite.” 

Grabbing two dishes from the cupboard, he plated up the food smoothly and slid one across the counter to Milo. The apartment wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to suit their purposes and had a landlord who didn’t look too closely at references. The kitchen was separated from the living room only by a half wall sort of island, a bar stool on either side. Harsh sank onto his after grabbing a mug of blood out of the microwave. “You want a cup?” he asked. “There’s more in the fridge. Should last us a couple weeks.”  

Milo eyed the vegetables as Harsh flipped them, looking back up at the man in time to catch his easy grin. It was so obvious he enjoyed cooking, though he had never thought to ask why before. Was it something he used to do a lot when he was human? Maybe he had been a chef in some past forgotten life. “Wait- you put garlic in there?” He asked, moving forward to peer into the pan, his notebook still clutched to his chest. “That’s really a thing? Like, vampires and garlic?” He couldn’t hide his skepticism though he definitely wasn’t about to demand any kind of proof. He figured that was one question he would be able to tick off of his list. Leaning against the kitchen counter as Harsh moved to ready two plates, he couldn’t help the way his expression brightened at the prospect of blood. He had always been self-indulgent. If something made him feel good, or he enjoyed it, then he wanted more. He wasn’t in the business of denying himself simple pleasures, and thanks to his new life, blood happened to be one of them.  

He had kept note of his roommate’s eating habits, he knew vampires only really needed a moderate amount every couple of weeks if they wanted to get by without descending into bloodlust. But much to the detriment of Harsh’s supply, he had been drinking far more than he needed to. Why not? If Harsh was happy to let him then he saw no reason to hold back. “Sure!” He enthused, picking up his plate of food and setting it down opposite Harsh so that it would be ready for him when he got back. Leaving his notebook beside it, he moved to pull a blood bag out of the fridge. Using a pair of scissors from the cutlery drawer to cut open the plastic, he looked back over to his company as he began to empty the blood into a mug. “Did you have a good day- I mean, night at work?” He absentmindedly corrected himself, still not used to the shift in scheduling. “Anything interesting happen?”  

“Oh yeah, a whole bunch. I know it’s weird.” Harsh shot Milo a grin as he drew closer, glancing at the notebook. Huh, he was actually trying to do homework on this whole vampire thing. That was probably smart. “It is… sort of. It doesn’t hurt us or anything, but it makes it pretty hard to pretend to be human. Try a clove and see what happens,” he said, passing one over. “I just eat them like popcorn sometimes. They actually taste like something. I go a little crazy seasoning things sometimes.” As much as he swore by the perks of being undead, he couldn’t really deny that not being able to taste things properly was sort of a pain. After two hundred years, he was used to it, but playing around in the kitchen, trying to find something that would cut through the dullness never quite got old.  

The blood wasn’t going as far as it used to, but that was to be expected. Sharing with a roommate, and a newbie at that, was going to make things a little tighter than usual. Oh well. If they started running low on blood bags, Harsh could just go eat a couple joggers. He slid onto a stool at the counter, popping a large forkful of food into his mouth. Decent, but he could do better. “Well, Dr. Gnick killed three people in surgery today and made his interns talk to their families, so that was kind of a shit show. They seriously need to take that guy’s medical license away. If you ever want a watch though, let me know, he loses his in patients all the time. They’re nice ones too. What about you, man? Finding stuff to do around here?”  

“Everything about this situation is weird.” Milo countered, throwing the empty blood bag into the bin before putting his mug in the microwave. Setting the timer in the way he had been taught to, the drink should be body temperature by the time the alarm eventually sounded. Just the fact that he knew how long to microwave blood for inarguably supported his statement. That was not normal information to retain. Turning around to lean back against the counter behind him, listening to the quiet hum of the appliance, he wrinkled his nose at the thought of eating garlic cloves like popcorn. He knew as he tried to imagine doing so he was remembering the overpowering taste that came with being human, but it was still a difficult habit to understand. Hesitantly reaching out to take the clove offered to him, he held it up to his eye level, analysing it quietly before deciding he had nothing to lose. Popping it into his mouth, it definitely wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, and Harsh was right about being able to taste… something. But it was only a matter of seconds before he could feel his fangs protruding. They made him feel clumsy, and awkward as he continued to chew. After forcing himself to swallow, he reached up to prod at them with the tip of his finger, raising his eyebrows at his roommate. “So that’s what happens?” He asked. “It doesn’t hurt us but it stops us from looking human?”  

It was kind of depressing to think something as mundane as an ingredient could reveal what he was now, draw this monster out of him against his will, but he tried not to dwell on that fact, focusing instead on the microwave as it beeped to alert him that his drink was ready. Once he was comfortably hugging the mug to his chest, he settled into the chair opposite his friend, a quiet laugh escaping him at what he sincerely hoped was a joke. “No he did not.” He countered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Though honestly, shit like that would probably go unnoticed in a place like this.” If doctors could steal blood bags, and he could forge his father’s prescriptions, then people weren’t exactly being vigilant. “I can’t say I’m in the market for a watch,” he admitted. “But I’ll take one if it’s got a gruesome backstory.” Faltering at the question of how he was spending his time, he realised it was the perfect way to change the subject of their conversation. Move it over from lighthearted small talk to something heavier, and more difficult to discuss. Chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, his fangs sharp and uncomfortable against the skin there, he pulled his notebook back towards himself. “Actually…” He tapped his fingers absentmindedly against the page facing upwards. “I spent today coming up with a list of questions.” Offering Harsh a sheepish grin, he watched him carefully for any sign of judgement. “If- if you don’t mind me asking, I mean- I guess his is probably the last thing you want to do after work.” 

“Eh, after you’ve been doing it a while, it doesn’t seem that off.” Harsh hardly even thought about it anymore. Drinking blood was just one of those things, like showering or brushing his teeth. But then, he did have about two hundred years to get used to it. He snagged a couple cloves of garlic for himself, not so much as blinking when his fangs jutted out. It took a moment’s focus to get them back in place. Though he didn’t need to. Not like Milo was going to care about it. “Pretty much. So if you’re ever hanging around humans, just make sure you skip the garlic bread.” Garlic usually didn’t prove to be too much of a problem, though Harsh had encountered a couple humans over the years who had tried to slip him some, just to force the fangs out, to prove what they were already certain of. “It would be worse if we could still taste things. I would miss Italian food way more if it still tasted like something. If there’s any kind of food you miss though, I can try to make it. I like playing around with recipes, see what I need to do to make it actually have flavor.” 

Harsh laughed, one shoulder rising in a shrug. “Is pulling a watch out of a dead guy’s guts gruesome enough? I swear, the stuff you find in bodies at the hospital is wild.” He had a small collection of things that had been found by the unlucky doctors dealing with the patients who didn’t make it. Maybe it was stealing, but he was pretty sure that no one wanted any of it back. “Questions?” Harsh blinked, caught a little off guard. He shouldn’t have been though. It made sense. When he had first turned, he had probably driven Eleanor crazy with all his questions. “I don’t mind. Better you ask me than try to find vampire forums online, people always make up the weirdest shit. So go for it, kid. Ask me anything.” Hell, this would probably be a better way to spend the night than just watching whatever mindless crap was on TV.  

Milo could understand that. Even though on occasion he still caught himself doing something and was inevitably struck by just how strange that something was, his more vampiric habits were slowly becoming second nature. How long until he did things without thinking? Without remembering a time where he didn’t need to? Taking a sip from his mug, washing away the taste of the garlic, he watched Harsh as he retracted his own fangs. It wasn’t the first time he had seen him do it, but now felt like a very good time to ask him how it was possible. “How do you do that? Make them disappear?” He offered a sheepish grin, hiding behind his mug to avoid acknowledging his embarrassment. Maybe no matter what he did, he was going to feel ridiculous for asking so many questions. Maybe he should simply embrace that fact. “Noted.” He laughed quietly at the mention of garlic bread. He wasn’t sure there were many humans he needed to worry about eating around, so it wasn’t very much of a concern. Still, he was willing to take any advice he could get his hands on. “Italian food is your favourite? What was Italian food even like… two hundred years ago? How old are you again?” Making a mental note to think back on any food he missed that Harsh might be able to recreate, he wrinkled his nose at the mention of objects being found in dead bodies. Of course he had ended up with a roommate who liked to collect said items.  

“I actually don’t want to know, I’ve changed my mind.” He teased. “I can’t believe you have a collection. Have any ghosts followed you home demanding their shit back?” He was only half joking, he definitely wouldn’t be surprised if the answer ended up being yes. Feeling a little more confident in himself now that the conversation was flowing easily, he nodded, grateful for no longer being able to blush. “Oh, jeez. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll, uh… I’ll stay away from the internet.” Offering his company a genuine smile, he took one more sip of his drink before begrudgingly setting it down. This was going to require his full attention, he couldn’t afford to get distracted. Pulling his notebook towards himself, he let out a huff of breath. Why was it this hard? It shouldn’t be this hard. Especially when Harsh made him feel so comfortable. “Okay, so you know I wrote a list… I’m just going to- I’ll start with the first question.” It was only going to complicate things if he jumbled them, so he swallowed his nerves, steeling himself to rip off the bandaid. “So… why can’t we sleep?” It was something that had been bothering him an awful lot, as of late. He could almost sleep, achieve something that passed the time and felt similar to losing consciousness. But it wasn’t the same. He missed the comfort, and the warmth. He missed the dreaming. “It’s like I can, but I can’t- if you know what I mean. I don’t get it…”  

That was a decent question actually. Harsh hesitated, trying to think about it. There was so much that was just automatic now. He had spent so long learning to blend in, how to make himself seem more human, it was something he barely thought about. “You have to kind of relax your mouth. Think un-bloody thoughts. Just let them sink back in. It’s… kind of an instinct thing when they pop out sometimes, y’know? So you have to train yourself to just let them slip back in when you don’t need them. It’ll get easier with time.” At least, that was the hope. If Milo couldn’t figure it out, well… that was going to be a problem for later. He considered the question for a moment, shrugging. “I don’t know if it was my favorite. It depended where you went. I travelled a lot before I turned, everywhere had their own special dish. I’m 262… wait, I might be 263 actually. I sorta stopped keeping track of birthdays a while ago. They seem less special after the hundred year mark.” The date hardly mattered. If he really sat down and thought about it, he could probably remember, but there didn’t seem to be much of a point. It was easier to keep track of the years ticking by.  

“Hey, it’s not like I just keep them for the hell of it. Loose watches and rings sell for a lot if you know who wants to buy.” It wasn’t something Harsh technically needed to do, the hospital job paid well enough and he had a decent amount saved. Still, a little extra spending money never hurt. Watching Milo’s posture shift, Harsh sat up a little straighter. So the kid was serious about this. Good, that was good. The more he knew, the better he would handle things out in the world. Huh, that was actually a pretty good question. Harsh rubbed at his chin. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The short answer is that we just don’t need to. I… think when we turn, things in our brain kind of shift a little bit. You don’t need that deep sleep to recharge anymore, so we just… don’t. It’s weird. It’s one of those things that gets easier over time. I think another part of it is… well, humans are kind of wired to sleep at night, but that’s the only time we can really go out and do anything, so we need to be awake for it. If you really miss sleeping… I know a couple people who might be able to help with that.” It wasn’t a guarantee, but hell he had seen spellcasters do a lot more than just put someone to sleep.  

Milo glanced down at the blood in his mug, it was tempting him even as they spoke. Maybe thinking ‘un-bloody’ thoughts would need to wait for another time. “Hm, you keep saying that.” He pointed out. Though he had no doubt the words were true, sometimes he felt too impatient to wait for things to become easier with time. Why couldn’t they become easier now? Falling silent again, genuinely intrigued by the answer to his question, he couldn’t imagine how different travelling was back when Harsh had been human. Did he use a horse and cart like in the movies? Or ships, maybe? What other modes of transport were there? A quiet laugh escaping him, he did his best to avoid dwelling on his roommate’s age. It was fun to joke about every now and then, but the reality of it was terrifying. He had gone from feeling certain he probably wouldn’t reach the age of fifty, to knowing he might very well live to see his two hundredth birthday. What were you supposed to do with that information? How were you supposed to come to terms with that? “I guess fitting more than a hundred candles on a cake is pretty impossible anyway.” He teased.  

His smile growing as he realised Harsh sold the items he took from the morgue, he wasn’t sure whether that was more or less reassuring. It could definitely be considered economical. Watching as his company sat up a little straighter, he felt another wave of gratitude wash over him. He didn’t need to be taking this so seriously, but apparently he understood how important it was. How desperate he was just to understand. His smile faltered as Harsh began to explain the way their bodies worked, but it didn’t take away from his appreciation. He wanted to say he wasn’t disappointed, that he had inevitably drawn the same conclusion. But he was disappointed. He was never going to have the feeling of waking up next to somebody again. He was never going to be able to drift off in the morning knowing he didn’t need to be up for anything. It was an opportunity to escape reality, to just enjoy being comfortable, and it had been taken from him. Stolen like so many other things. “You- you do?” He asked, unable to hide the sudden spark of hope he felt ignite within his chest. “Like actually sleep? Because I already know from experience I can still drink myself into oblivion.” Taking a quick sip from his mug before picking up his pen and crossing out question number one, he tapped the top of it against his notepad, already thinking over question number two. “Okay…” He continued, making it clear he was moving on. “So how can we be killed? There has to be more than one way, right? And we can get injured, so if we get injured enough, can that be fatal... or is it only if we’re injured by wood?” 

“Ah, yeah, sorry. I don’t mean to be a broken record. It’s just… you’re still pretty new to all this, man. You’ve gotta give yourself a break. There’s no rush, y’know? You’ve got a couple hundred years to figure shit out if you play your cards right.” It felt lame to say, but Harsh knew he had been repeating himself. That didn’t make it less true. There were so many things that he had just stumbled onto as time went on, things that just became natural the longer he spent as a thing that went bump in the night. Honestly, some of Milo’s questions kinda threw him. He hadn’t thought about his fangs in such a long time. They were just part of him. It was like asking about how his tongue moved when he was eating something. It just… did it. But that wasn’t a helpful answer. With a laugh, he nodded. “I tried to put a hundred on a cake once. It wasn’t really worth the joke, the whole thing got all waxy and gross. It’s easier to just get those number shaped candles, cheaper too.” The thing about birthdays is that you needed people to celebrate them with. Harsh didn’t always have those. But… maybe he should look into it. There were people in White Crest, his friends, they might like that kind of thing. It was weird to think about.  

“Yeah, I do.” Harsh sort of did. It was… maybe a weird ask, but that was probably something Nell could whip up, or maybe he could track down someone a little shadier and ask. It wasn’t as though he had never dreamed as a vampire, though the few times he had, something magic had definitely been at work. So it was possible… probably. He had never actually figured out what it had been that caused all that dream sharing stuff, but it hadn’t been all that important. At least not for him. “Actual, real sleep. It… might get a little weird, magic can do that, but I think it would be more like what you want.” Magic always had its risks. He wasn’t anything close to a spellcaster and he knew that much. Onto the more intense questions then. That was a pretty smart ask though. “There’s a couple ways,” he said, nodding, “stake through the heart is the most popular. You probably know about the sun thing, if you stay out too long, it’s bad news. We’re also shockingly flammable, so I would avoid campfires and arson. And getting your head cut off, but I’m pretty sure that kills most things. Most other things we can heal from, and we heal fast, but you don’t want to get too reliant on that. Bullets and knives still hurt like hell, and if you haven’t had blood in a while, you heal slower.” Harsh didn’t exactly have the scars to prove it, but he could remember more than a few times where he had gotten a little too cocky and paid the price.  

Milo smiled at Harsh, silently assuring him he didn’t need to apologise. Especially not for trying to comfort him, even if he did use the same lines on occasion. He was right, although the reminder of his new lifespan still made him nervous. He had time to figure things out, time to become comfortable with what he was, and the strange world he had been thrown into. He was already feeling far better than he had when Harsh first crossed his path, and that was largely due to his help. In a few more months he might even be happy, there really was no way to know. “Hm, but those number candles aren’t anywhere near as dramatic.” He pointed out. “Isn’t a hundred kind of a flex?” Wrinkling his nose at the thought of biting into icing only to realise it was actually wax, he couldn’t deny the inconvenience. But then, did vampires even eat cake? Making a mental note as the conversation shifted back to sleep, he didn’t want to forget. He longed to know who these people were, who he could go to and ask for some spell or potion that might allow him to replicate sleep. But that wasn’t what he was here to discuss. There were more important questions demanding his attention. “I can handle weird.” He assured his roommate, although he had a feeling there might be a lot of evidence to prove otherwise. Until recently he had been a mess, and they both knew it. Only with Harsh’s support had he been able to brush himself off, and hesitantly begin to deal with the loss of his human life.  

Pushing away the thought, he focused on his mug of blood, nearly half empty now as it sat on the table in front of him. He picked it up, taking another sip before it was able to get cold. Nodding to show that he was listening to what was being said, he considered the new information. He was more than familiar with people trying to force a stake through his heart, but the mention of fire surprised him. “Wait- we’re flammable?” He asked, his mouth open slightly as he stared in indignant disbelief. “What, so every time I pull out my lighter I could literally fucking die?” As far as he was concerned, he would much rather take the inconvenience of wax on a cake over being scared of the candles. “You’re saying smoking can still kill me…” He added, pouting petulantly as he began to realise how frustrating navigating his smoking habit was going to be. “Shit.” Finishing what was left of his drink, he undeniably did feel better after putting his mug down again. Blood, like so many other substances in his life, was proving to be a wonderful aid when it came to avoiding his problems. “Okay, so…” Letting out a huff of breath, he turned his attention back to his notebook, scanning the questions he had written there, searching for the next one on the list. “You said if I haven’t had blood in a while then I heal slower? How much blood do I need to survive? And what happens to me if I don’t drink it?”  

It was a pretty big adjustment, going from expecting to croak in fifty years to knowing there might be hundreds to go. Harsh had been pretty thrown when he had realized just how much time he had. Sure there was that distant deadline, four hundred years, but even that wasn’t an end. It was… a change, but one he wasn’t really eager to think about. Even though he was getting closer to that than he was to a normal human lifespan. Still, not his main problem right now. “Kinda, yeah. I definitely made a pretty big deal of it when I hit triple digits. But the second century seems a little more meh, y’know?” Though maybe that was just him. By the time he had started getting close to two hundred, everything had started to seem… less than it used to be. The hollow inside had started to grow, nothing ever filling it. Nothing lasted, nothing mattered. Huh, were souls a thing on Milo’s list? Harsh was half tempted to ask. Nah, probably better not to touch that unless the kid brought it up. “Alright, I can ask. Do you--have you messed with anything magic before? We can’t do it, at least I’m pretty sure we can’t. But there’s kind of… a lot of it just going off around here.” Milo was from the area, he had to have noticed some things weren’t quite normal in town. How anyone didn’t know that White Crest was a supernatural hot spot was beyond him. Denial was a hell of a drug.  

With a little laugh, Harsh nodded. “Yeah. I mean, you’re probably not going to go up in flames if you drop your smokes on you, but… you might just want to be a little more careful with them. Just in case.” He had seen a few vamps catch fire before, it wasn’t pretty. Still, it didn’t usually happen by accident… usually. There had been a few idiots here and there who had landed themselves in rough shape. “It’s possible,” he said, shrugging and shooting Milo a sympathetic smile. “Just be careful and you shouldn’t have a problem… but I might stay away from bonfires if I were you.” Ah, blood, of course. It always came back around to that. Harsh hardly thought about it now. But the questions were good ones. “Yeah, and it’s not just healing. If I go too long without blood, I start getting antsy, it gets harder to focus on anything except for when I’m getting that next blood bag.” He fought down a slight shudder as he spoke. It had been ages since the last time he had gone too long without a drink, but the times he’d stretched his supply a little too thin always stuck in the back of his mind. “It depends. You’re still new, so… I wouldn’t go more than a week without a pint of blood. Once you adjust more, you can probably stretch it to two weeks, maybe three, but it starts getting risky around then. If you don’t get any… for me, I start feeling a lot less like a person. It gets to where it’s all you can think about. And, if it gets really bad, you might kind of lose yourself until you get another drink, and at that point, you’ll probably do anything you have to to get it.”

“Hm, the second century…” Milo echoed, amused by the absurdity of the statement. He could only imagine being that old, but one day he wouldn’t need to. One day it would be him reaching the triple digits. “Have I- no.” He answered, caught off guard by the unexpected question. “I mean, I don’t even know anybody who can do magic… I don’t think I do, anyway.” It was still strange to consider how many people from his life had been living in a secret, supernatural world. If he was being entirely honest he probably did know a witch or two. They just hadn’t told him about what they could do. “Why? Is it like, dangerous or something? Are you going to tell me it’s more trouble than it’s worth?” He almost dreaded the words, not because he would heed any advice Harsh had to offer, but because it would be another element of his life that came with risks, strings attached, people worrying over his safety, and growing restless when he refused to listen to them. He already had enough of that without turning to magic as a sleeping aid. “Yeah, no shit.” He added. “Ever since I died this place seems to get weirder by the fucking day…” He missed the days of blissful ignorance, the days where he could leave the house without worrying whether a Slayer might be waiting at the end of the street to stake him. Picking up his mug again, he sighed, clutching it to his chest as he listened to his roommate.  

“If I did careful then I wouldn’t be a vampire.” He pointed out. Though they both knew he would be careful knowing the risk fire now posed to him. Not as careful as any sane person, but given his record any level of vigilance was commendable on his part. Paying closer attention as the conversation moved back to blood, he finished what was left of his drink, carefully savouring the taste of it. “I guess I kind of know that feeling…” He admitted, thinking back on every time he had ever been forced to go without his pills, or his cigarettes, or abstain from drinking alcohol. It was never an enjoyable experience. “I, uh… don’t think stretching is for me.” He realised as he said the words that maybe sometimes stretching would be his only option. Blood wasn’t exactly easy to source in an ethical manner. Without Harsh’s connection to the hospital, he didn’t know where his supply might be coming from. He wouldn’t let himself dwell on the thought. Swallowing as his company began to tell him about the risks of not eating properly, he lowered his gaze, tapping his fingers against the ceramic in his hands. He already knew what it felt like to lose himself, he never wanted to suffer through that again. “Like when you wake up… after you die...” He asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Would Harsh even be able to remember waking up? It had happened to him so long ago.  

Forcing down the memories of his first, and only attack, he stared at his notebook, at the questions still written there demanding to be vocalised. “You mentioned healing…” He murmured, determined to change the subject, although he knew his next question was going to be a difficult question to ask. Harsh was more than aware of the fact that he liked to indulge, the man had even walked with him to pick up on the night they crossed paths with each other, but he still worried he could end up facing judgement, or the specific brand of sympathetic concern that still managed to set his teeth on edge. “This is hypothetical,” he started, knowing his lie would be obvious but feeling the need to insist upon it all the same. “But with the whole… the healing faster than humans thing, do you think I could still use, y’know- intravenously?” Glancing down at the marks on his arms, scars from long ago that were apparently going to forever blemish his skin, he forced himself to press on. “I guess I can’t OD anymore, right? Is that something I still need to worry about?” 

That sort of made sense. Most people didn’t believe in magic until they saw it right in front of them, and sometimes that wasn’t even enough to do it. Harsh shifted his weight from foot to foot, a slight frown on his face. The question here was just how much to tell Milo. “More like it’s just literally not a thing we can do. Something about undeath and magic just doesn’t seem to mix. I don’t really know much more than that, honestly. I’ve heard people kind of lose their mojo if they turn like us. They’ll try to do a spell and just, nothing. I tried to mess with some a while back and never got anywhere.” He kept his tone light, casual, hoping Milo wouldn’t ask just what he had been trying to do. There were a dozen things he could make up, a few that weren’t even that far from the truth. “It’s also dangerous as shit if you don’t know what you’re doing. I won’t tell you not to mess with magic or spellcasters, I’m not the boss of you, but that stuff can go wrong and it’s not pretty when it does.” It was only just now getting weirder for him? Well, maybe that made sense. Milo had sort of been thrust into the thick of it.  

With a soft laugh, Harsh nodded, holding up his hands. “Fair enough.” He couldn’t really argue with Milo on that one. Careful and becoming undead didn’t exactly go hand in hand. He nodded. “That’s probably better honestly. What really gets people in trouble is when they think they can make it on just a sip of blood every month. You’ll be a lot better off if you stay regular with it, especially if you’re not always drinking human blood.” He was still going to have to teach Milo how to hunt. It wasn’t exactly necessary at the moment, but two vamps meant a few more blood bags needed to go missing every month. Harsh had gotten good at keeping a low profile over the years. Milo though was still new, and new vamps weren’t exactly predictable. With a grimace, he nodded again. “Just like that. It’s… rough. People do a lot of things they regret if they go hungry for too long. I’d try just to not let it get to that point.” Easier said than done, honestly. 

Ah, that. Now that was a bit of a hazy area. Harsh smoked and drank here and there, but he had never dabbled much in stronger stuff. It had never really appealed to him. A blood addiction was enough as far as he was concerned. But it was still worth asking. “Right, so… I’m not exactly an expert on that. But I think you could. You’re probably going to have to jab a little harder and you might need a stronger dose than before if you want to feel something.” He paused, letting his thoughts drift back for a moment. Though he had never messed around with anything beyond a few pot brownies, he had met a couple vamps over the years who hadn’t been able to leave their old vices behind. “I did have a few buddies a while back, they said they could still get what they needed if they fed from a human who just used. I don’t know if you’d want to do that, but… it’s an option, I guess. It sounds kind of risky to me though.” Drugs and drinking straight from a human sounded like a combination that was bound to end in disaster, but hell, Harsh had never tried it himself so what did he know. “I don’t think you need to worry too much about OD’ing now. I’d be more worried about someone thinking you OD’ed and sending you to the hospital. It’s really hard to explain waking up in a morgue.” 

Milo made a mental note to avoid magic when he could, although toying with it didn’t necessarily interest him. He was looking for a way to replicate sleep, if that wasn’t possible he wasn’t sure staying away from potions, and spells would be difficult. Part of him was curious to know why, and how Harsh had been involved in spellcasting, it was becoming increasingly clear he was speaking from experience, but the older vampire was always so open when he wanted to be. If he wasn’t volunteering the information there was definitely a reason. He was under his roof, drinking his blood, picking his brain for answers to his never ending list of questions. The very least he could do was respect his privacy. “I’m not about to try and learn, don’t worry.” He insisted, hoping to alleviate some of his company’s concern. He had far too much going on to invite more chaos into his life, especially for something as simple as a good day of sleep. Smiling at the sound of Harsh’ laughter, he enjoyed the fact that the conversation felt casual, and calm. Any embarrassment, or vulnerability was fading away, replaced by a familiar sense of comfort. It was a reminder that he was safe in Harsh’s company, a reminder that for some unknown reason, the man wanted him to be okay.  

“Is it good for you?” He asked, unable to help himself. He had never once considered the nutritional value of his diet, what his new body needed from it now. “To drink both?” He thought back to his nights spent on the edges of town, chasing aimlessly after every animal moronic enough to cross his path. Sometimes he got lucky, sometimes he actually managed to catch something, but the animals were usually weak or injured. He knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against a healthy creature, one determined to escape him. The blood couldn’t compare to human blood, but it had still tasted decent, and more importantly, it had kept him sane. Would he ever have to go back to that? Should he never have left it behind? Chewing on his bottom lip, fighting to keep his expression neutral, he didn’t want to talk about his own experience with losing control. He wasn’t ready to discuss that with anyone, not even Harsh. So he stayed silent, nodding quietly in response. It was only as Harsh moved on to his next question that he finally looked back up to catch his eye again.  

A stronger dose. He wasn’t exactly against the notion, although he could hear his wallet adamantly protesting the news. He really should start thinking about going back to his job, but that part of his human life felt so out of reach, impossible to even consider. Not yet. Not now. Not after everything. “You did?” He asked, immediately desperate to know more. There were people out there who understood what he was worried about, who knew everything he needed to know if he wanted to continue supporting his habits. Where were they? How could he find them? Just as quickly as a sense of hope washed over him, it was replaced by a chill that seemed to shoot up the length of his spine. He couldn’t remember very much of his death, but his hazy memories were enough to make his friend’s words sound uncomfortably familiar. So he could give somebody drugs, and get high through drinking their blood? Apparently that particular strategy ended with people bleeding out on the floor of abandoned buildings. He suppressed a shudder, trying not to think too hard on the subject. He didn’t know that was why he died, and until he did he was determined to forget the details of his death, forget the trauma that he couldn’t seem to shake. “Yeah…” He murmured, reaching up absentmindedly to press his fingers against the base of his throat. “It does…” Forcing a smile again at the mention of waking up in a morgue, he had seen enough tv shows frame the situation as a joke to be able to glean some humour from the warning. Lowering his hand, he leaned forward to pull his notebook closer towards himself, scanning the list, surprised to realise he was nearing the end of it. “Okay,” he said, brushing off the previous questions, ready to be replaced. “How do you make somebody a vampire? What do you have to do for them to, you know… change? Obviously I’m not asking because I want to... I just… I can’t remember what happened to me. I want to know what was done to me.”  

It was sort of a relief that Milo didn’t ask. Because if he did, Harsh would tell him. Maybe he should anyway. Was there anything about souls on that vampire question sheet? He almost wanted to sneak a peek at it. It wasn’t exactly… uncommon knowledge, but he had run into plenty of vamps over the years who had never even thought about their soul, let alone getting rid of it. He gave Milo a little smile. “Probably better that way. There’s plenty of witches hanging around town if you need some magic done anyway. It’s actually pretty cool if you watch someone who knows what they’re doing.” Cool and terrifying. Even when a spell was going right there was a chance it could go south at any second. Harsh sort of liked that rush… and he wouldn’t be that surprised if Milo did too.  

“Yeah, a while back. I can try looking them up if you want.” The offer was one Harsh might not be able to cash in on. It had been ages, and those buddies weren’t really the type to have a consistent phone number or address… if they were even still around at all. “You might be able to find some people who know more about that down at this club called Teeth. You heard of it?” It probably wasn’t the sort of place he should send Milo to alone. He didn’t go there much himself, but he could chaperone now and then. God that was a weird idea, being the responsible one. When the hell did that happen? He was going to have to go out and make some dumb choices after this. Being responsible felt off. He had been trying to fake it, force it, for years. The fact that it was just kind of… happening now was weird. Unnerving.  

Oh… now that was a question. Harsh let his fingers drum on the counter for a second. “Yeah, I get you.” It was understandable, wanting to get a grip on what had happened to him. “It’s not that complicated… mostly. You have to drain someone till they’re almost dead then get them to drink your blood and they should turn.” He paused, lips pulling into a grimace. “But you’ve got to be careful with it. Sometimes people turn, but… they don’t end up like us. Have you heard of spawn before? They’re… still vampires technically, but they’re not people anymore, not like we are. Some vampires make spawn on purpose, but it’s pretty messed up.” He should know, he’d done it a few times for shits and giggles. It had never turned out as funny as he had thought it would. 

Milo resisted the urge to let out a huff of breath, of course White Crest was filled with witches. It seemed as though you could roll a dice on supernatural creatures and run into one the second you opened your door. “It sounds pretty cool.” He admitted. “But I can’t think of any reason why I might need magic… apart from the whole sleeping thing.” And maybe he should hold off on that for now. If magic could come with complications, didn’t his life have enough of those already? Humming softly as he considered the offer, he shot Harsh a sheepish grin. He was grateful he wasn’t being judged, or even reprimanded for his blatant intentions, but he hadn’t been expecting such a genuine level of support. “You’ve already done so much for me… I mean, only if it isn’t too much trouble?” Teeth. He felt sure he would remember visiting any place with such a distinctive name. “Uh… no,” he said, hoping to prompt a further explanation. There weren’t many establishments in White Crest he hadn’t frequented at least once before. And now he was incredibly curious to know more.   

Feeling the atmosphere shift, becoming more serious as Harsh considered his latest question, he watched his fingers as they drummed against the surface of the table, the noise was quiet but incredibly distracting. Hearing the words, feeling them wash over him as his brain began to process what they meant, he had to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. “I… drank somebody’s blood?” He asked, repressing a shudder. Drinking blood now was part of his every day routine, but he had been human then. Had he willingly taken it, or had his attacker forced it upon him? “Spawn?” He nodded, a frown creasing his brow as he looked back down at his list. The question ‘What does Spawn mean?’ jumping out at him in his clumsy, familiar handwriting. “Someone mentioned them to me once… but I didn’t know what they meant.” Feeling his stomach jolt as he realised he could have become the something other Harsh was talking about, he wondered what his chances had been. Whether he should be considering himself lucky for waking up as a vampire. “How do you make them? Is it the same… process?” He asked. If they could be created intentionally then surely there was a technique. “How do you know what somebody is going to become?” 

“You never know. It’s pretty helpful if you lose something.” Harsh wasn’t about to list off his big reason for needing magic. But he should. Milo should know. He should tell him the truth. No… there was no reason to scare the kid. And it wasn’t like he owed him that information. Souls were personal. If Milo found out about them, Harsh could tell him then. Why was he even so hung up on it? It wasn’t like it mattered. He was faking it perfectly fucking well. No reason to go and throw all that away. “It’s no problem, kid. I don’t get out enough anyway.” Probably better to have someone around for Milo’s first big vamp outing. There were a lot of bad influences out there. Harsh should know. He used to be one of the worst. Plus, if Milo went on some kind of drug fuelled blood bender, that would just make things more difficult for everyone. “We can hit it up this weekend if you want, see if it’s your scene.” 

Huh, so Milo really didn’t remember any of it. That was… rough. Harsh could still remember his. Well, parts of it at least. He hadn’t been alone. Eleanor had held his hand as the world went dark around him and been there when he woke up desperate to feed. Poor kid didn’t have any of that. “Yeah, that’s… kind of how it works,” he said, with a little wince. So he had at least heard of spawn, that was better than nothing. “Spawn give us a bad name. They’re the ones slayers should be dealing with.” He nodded, arms crossing over his chest. “Same process. I… don’t know exactly. I’ve always thought of it as an intent sort of thing. I know it can be done on purpose.” No need to tell Milo he knew at least partially from experience. “When you turn someone… it’s kind of this whole… thing. Siring someone isn’t something most people do lightly. I guess I’ve always thought of it as kind of a willpower and focus sort of thing. When you sire someone, you have to mean it, you have to want it. And if that’s not strong enough… it can go wrong. It gets easier to turn someone else properly the longer you’ve been at it. I’ve known some people who just turned who try to bring their family along for the undead ride and… it doesn’t usually go well.” 

“I don’t have all that much to lose these days.” Milo admitted, thinking about the meagre collection of belongings he had managed to salvage from his friend’s house. He should probably go home, he still needed clothes, his laptop, and maybe there were even a few comic books he couldn’t live without. But the task felt so daunting. Watching Harsh, noticing the shadow of an emotion he couldn’t quite place, he wondered whether the older vampire had ever lost anything. Maybe one day he would ask him. “I, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how ready he was to walk into a room full of vampires. His killer could be there and he might never even know. “Maybe… I’m still getting used to going out again, period. It’s a- it’s a weird adjustment.” He offered a smile, letting his roommate know he was incredibly grateful for the offer. For everything. He wasn’t sure where he would be without the man sitting opposite him, who worked in a hospital, and liked to cook human food just for the fun of it. He cared about him, in an altogether unexpected way. He had been saved by Harsh. It was undeniable at this point.  

“From the way it sounds they don’t mean to give us a bad name.” He pointed out, feeling a strange pang of sympathy for the monsters being described. It was a horrifying thought, becoming twisted, and warped in a way that forced you to lose who you were forever. At least he was still Milo, at least he could cling to the things that made him exactly who he was. “So… the person who did this to me, they wanted me to become a vampire. They cared enough for this-” He gestured vaguely to his neck, wrinkling his nose as he remembered the scars there. “To be successful, just not enough to stick around, I guess…” Letting out a huff of breath, he tried not to look affected, finally picking up his fork and taking a mouthful of his stir fry, if anything just for something to do. Glancing up again at the mention of people turning family, he couldn’t imagine that thought ever even crossing his mind. Maybe because he refused to acknowledge the way his future stretched out before him. Maybe because he didn’t want to admit the fact that one day his parents would no longer be there for him. Everything about the idea felt wrong, somehow. Dooming your family simply because you yourself had been doomed. He was never going to be that person. “M’kay…” He hurried to swallow, turning his attention back to the notebook, to the final question written at the edge of the page. “The last question is probably dumb but… you know the whole sunlight thing? What does happen if we stay out in the sun? When I first… y’know, I was in the sun for a while and I started to feel... I can’t explain it, I just knew I had to find some shade. Do we just get ill, and weak, or is it something more than that?”  

A weird adjustment period was putting it pretty mildly. Even more than a hundred years later, Harsh remembered the shift being rough. He returned Milo’s smile easily. Milo was a good kid. He didn’t ask for any of this shit, not like Harsh did. The fact that he had been left high and dry to figure it all out on his own… even without a soul, it rubbed Harsh the wrong way. At his very worst, he had still stuck around to make sure the vamps he sired knew what was up. It was just the thing to do. “Don’t worry if it takes you a while. It’s better to be safe than sorry with… everything. But you’ve got time now, man, you don’t have to rush it.” That was a pretty big perk of the whole undeath thing. Milo had at least a couple centuries before him if he wanted them… and if he was careful.  But that was always a pretty big if with new vampires. If Harsh was smart, he wouldn’t get attached, wouldn’t get invested. Harsh had never really considered himself particularly bright.  

“They don’t,” Harsh said, sighing. “They don’t mean to do anything but feed. It’s not their fault really… spawn can’t really think like we can. Everything gets stripped away except that hunger.” It was pretty bleak if he actually thought about it. Usually, he didn’t. That was easy, not dwelling, not thinking. But Milo wasn’t like him. Milo still had his soul, he still felt for people. Now that was an interesting question. Did whoever turned Milo actually care? What were they after? Why him? Harsh nodded slowly. “They meant for this to happen. Whoever it was, whatever reason they had… they wanted you to be this way.” Probably. Harsh had heard of plenty of people accidentally creating spawn. But he had never heard of someone accidentally siring someone if they meant them to go the other way. Sunlight, that was another good question, even if it had Harsh fighting down a wince. “You don’t want to test it, trust me. If you stay out too long, you start to burn. Remember how we’re flammable? Think of the sun like the biggest lighter out there. It just takes a while to get the fire going.” 

“Yeah…” Milo agreed, despite feeling as though maybe he was taking too long. Had Harsh been this shaken up when he first became a vampire? How long did it take him to stop feeling nervous, and scared? But he did have time, an awful lot of time, and somebody willing to be patient with him. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe, for the first time in his life, he was being forced to process change in a healthy manner. “Thank you…” He added, struck by a sudden sense of gratitude. “I mean, I know I say that enough for the phrase to lose all meaning but I do still mean it.” Taking another mouthful of stir fry, chewing it for longer this time to see if he could bring out any more flavour, he used his fork to push the food around his plate, listening as Harsh began to elaborate on Spawn. The subject made him uncomfortable for so many reasons. Because it made him anxious knowing he could have become one, because it upset him to know other people were suffering, because there was no way to save them, or teach them how to live again. It was over. It was a fate worse than death.  

Letting out a quiet huff of breath, he hesitantly glanced back up at his friend. They meant for this to happen. It was one thing to draw a conclusion himself, another thing entirely for Harsh to tell him he was right. There was no room for doubt, his roommate was speaking the truth. But that only left him with more questions, questions he might never find answers to. “Yeah, well… fuck him, right?” He muttered, wishing he could say the words and miraculously let go of his trauma. Even though speaking them did offer him a degree of satisfaction, it was never going to be quite that easy. Raising his eyebrows as Harsh seemed to wince at the mention of sunlight, he was so relieved for the distraction that he found himself resisting the urge to laugh. It wouldn’t exactly be appropriate until he understood the context, until he knew what Harsh had been through to warrant such a reaction. But a vampire being so averse to sunlight that he didn’t even like somebody mentioning the sun was amusing. He couldn’t pretend otherwise. “Right,” he nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Like an ant under a magnifying glass, jeez…” Repressing a shudder, he made the conscious decision not to dwell on the information. He could truly consider everything he had learned in the morning, when he was curling up in bed, alone, and safe underneath his comforter. Now he only wanted to enjoy an evening with Harsh, his roommate, his friend… his mentor? It was true, he wasn’t sure where he would be without him. But he did know, all things considered, that he was more than content with where he had ended up. 

[writing-royza]

Royai Week Prompt Five - Picture Prompt

The last of five days of writing nothing but Royai, but certainly not my last writing for this couple. They’re simple too sweet, too awesome, too rich a playground for my imagination to stay away from. I hope you all had a happy Royai Week and Day, and wish you all the best.

Today’s prompt is based off of this picture:

-----

A Roof With a View

He stuck his head through to door to the Archive room, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting before he spoke. “Hey. Have you got a second?”

“If it gets me away from dealing with whatever this sorry excuse for a filing system is, I’ve got two seconds.” Leaning back in his chair, blowing a piece of hair out of his eyes with minimal success, Hughes reached up and removed his glasses. “What’s up?”

Roy grinned. “If you’re so sick of sorting through paper, I’ve got a little job that might interest you.”

Groaning aloud, Hughes slouched lower in the chair. One hand rose to rub at his eyes. “Oh, for the love of…. It’s not enough that I’m stuck in this tiny backwater of a room halfway across the country from my wife and daughter, but now I’ve got to deal with one of your hare-brained schemes?” His hand dropped away to reveal an answering grin. “I love it. What do you have in mind?”

Roy stepped inside and shut the door behind himself. “Okay, what is the one thing Hawkeye never, ever wants to celebrate?”

“Victory Day. Amestris Day. The anniversary of the day she met you.”

Rolling his eyes,  Roy leaned against the wall. “Would you be serious for five minutes? Try again.”

A spark of realization lit in Hughes’ eyes, and he slipped his glasses back on. “Her birthday!” A quick calculation took place, bringing a hint of slyness to his expression. “Her birthday that’s this week.”

Roy tapped a knowing finger to the side of his nose. “Now you’re catching on. So, listen, I’ve got a plan that’s going to guarantee she has some kind of celebration for it, even if it’s just her and me, but —“ He broke off as Hughes began making mock kissing noises. “You. Serious. Five minutes.”

“It’s more like four and a half, now.” He raised his hands in the face of Roy’s glare. “Okay, okay. You mentioned having a plan.”

“Right. I’ve got the location in mind, and it’s ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure to be deserted… but it’s a question of getting her there. I don’t want to just… you know, walk right up and go “Hey, follow me for a minute.” That’s not….” He faltered for a moment, trying to find the right words. “It doesn’t have enough…”

“‘Pizzaz?’” Hughes offered, dryly.

“Yeah, that works. Anyway, what I’d like you to do, is deliver a message, telling her where to meet me. I’ll take it from there.” Roy suddenly frowned. “…Am I overdoing this?”

“Maybe not overdoing; more like overthinking.” Propping his chin on his fist, Hughes smiled. “I’ll make sure she gets there. Once you tell me where ‘there’ is, and also, because I’m curious, what your little celebration plan is.”

Roy shrugged. “Nothing terribly special. She’ll kill me if I get too fancy with it. All it’s going to be is cupcakes, coffee, and some conversation; nice and relaxing.” He paused. “On the Headquarters roof.”

Hughes gave a soft whistle. “Classy….” He gave his friend a scrutinizing look. “You’re sure you’re just doing this for our girl’s birthday? What you’re describing is turning rapidly from ‘simple birthday’ to ‘marriage proposal.’”

Another glare. “It’s still firmly on ‘simple birthday’ and you know damn well why.”

Once again, Hughes raised his hands. “Okay, fine, you’ve got it. I’ll make sure she’s there.” A brief pause. “Though if you wanted it to be a proposal, I’ve got some tips that —“

Roy turned and let his forehead thump against the wall in exasperation.

———————-

Alone, with the office quiet around her, it wasn’t hard to hear the footsteps coming down the hall. Signing her own name and forging Roy’s to the form in front of her, she placed it to one side of her desk, set down her pen, and was waiting with her hands folded on the surface when Hughes came breezing into the room.

“Hey, there she is!” He crossed the space between the door and her desk with his arms wide and a broad grin. “I’ve been so busy down in the Archives all day I didn’t have time to come say hello.”

She rose to meet him, smiling. “You didn’t have to take time away just to visit me. You could be on the phone to Central right now.”

Hughes’ hands settled on her shoulders, and he planted a swift, friendly kiss on her cheek. “I could, and I will be, but there’s few things I have to take care of first. That’s one —“ He seized her in a bear hug, and turned once on the spot, saying over her protestations, “— and that’s two!”

Smiling, Riza extricated herself from the hug, brushing her bangs back from her eyes. “Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture but… what’s gotten into you?”

“A little bird told me it’s your birthday today, and I couldn’t very well let the day end without at least wishing you a happy one.” He grinned as her face lost hers. “Uh oh. I know that look.”

“The one where I suspect the little bird you mentioned creates fire when he snaps his fingers?” Riza leaned back against the front of her desk, folding her arms. “He got it into his head years ago that I’ll actually enjoy celebrating my birthday if he just keeps insisting that I do, and I don’t know how to disillusion him of that.”

“What’s there to say that he needs to be disillusioned?” Hughes held up a finger as she opened her mouth for a retort. “Hold on, let me explain what I mean. You and I both know that Roy cares very deeply about every person under his command. He’s not always the greatest at showing it, but he does care. So when he see something bothering you — like the fact that your birthday has rolled around once again and you’re dead-set against celebrating it — he takes it like a personal challenge to help you enjoy at least some part of the day.”

She grimaced. “I know you’re right. I just… I don’t want anything… special, anything with the whole office like last year, or really, any large group of people. I don’t want to be….”

Hughes nudged her gently in the ribs, teasing. “Treated like an actual lady?”

“Singled out.” She looked down at the floor with the admission, not rising to the joke. “I’m not against him acknowledging my birthday, that’s fine. I just don’t think it deserves anything fantastical or even particularly noteworthy.”

“Okay. I’ll go tell him that you don’t want him jumping out of a cake in front of the entire garrison.” He smiled when that drew a reluctant laugh. “Or… you could tell him yourself.”

“…What do you mean?”

Standing straight, Hughes held out a hand, his smile turning mischievous. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

———————-

He led her to the central staircase of the garrison, and up two floors to where the steps dead-ended in a small landing and a door marked “Roof Access — Authorized Personnel Only.” It was propped slightly open, to prevent locking her or Roy on the roof, but otherwise, there was no sign of him.

Mystified, Riza looked back over her shoulder to where Hughes waited several steps below. He made a shooing motion with one hand. “Go on; the sooner you head out there, the sooner I get to call my wife and kid.” He smiled. “I don’t think it’s what you’re expecting, trust me. Trust him. Okay?”

With a deep breath, Riza pushed the door open, and stepped forward.

Roy heard the soft squeak of the access door hinges, and glanced back in time to see Riza settling the door back on the small wooden wedge he had used to prop it open. She glanced up, catching sight of him almost immediately. He stood several feet back from the edge on the flat roof, his hands in his pockets, and his jacket discarded on the ground beside a blanket. The only things that rested on it were a white card box, two white mugs from the base cafeteria, and a thermal drink container.

“Hey.”

She came a few steps closer, folding her hands behind her back. “Hello. Interesting way you have about getting people to meet you.”

Roy snorted quietly. “Interesting is one word to describe Hughes. He didn’t drag you bodily out of the office while laughing like a maniac, did he?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “No, I came voluntarily.” Her eyes travelled toward the blanket and its contents. “He hinted you had something set up that you wanted me for.” She met his gaze again, the humour suddenly gone. “Something for my birthday.”

“Which I’m guessing then led to a discussion about how far I was planning to go.” He shrugged sheepishly in the face of her confirming nod. “I’ve taken it a little far before, I know. And while you were extremely gracious about it at the time… I still got the sense I overstepped.”

He moved a few steps closer, watching the unconsciously wary way she observed the approach. She was still suspicious that this was going to turn into more than it appeared. “I’m sorry about that. So I’m trying to do better this time. This time it’s just you and me. Just a small acknowledgement, because of how long we’ve known each other and because you’re very important to me.” He tilted his head toward the blanket. “If it’s okay?”

Roy was still watching her eyes when he saw the wariness fade. A bit of the tension she probably didn’t know she carried visibly in her shoulders eased out of sight, and she nodded, her lips twitching upward in a small smile. “That sounds… perfect.”

They settled together on the woven cotton of the blanket, Riza waiting as Roy poured coffee from the thermal container into a mug for her, and then one for himself. He rested a hand on the box. “Are you ready to not sleep for the next three days?” he asked, completely solemn.

She wrapped both hands around the mug, smiling at his antics. “Does that box contain paperwork?”

“Better.” He lifted the lid, exposing the pair of cupcakes inside…and had the distinct pleasure of watching her mouth fall open. “So the shop these come from calls these ‘Death by Chocolate.’ I’m hoping it’s not true, because… well, that’d be kind of an awful thing to do to you on your birthday.” He glanced up. “Might draw the attention you prefer to avoid, just in a way you weren’t expecting.”

Just as solemnly as he had been a moment earlier, she held out a hand. “I accept the consequences.”

It was easily the most decadent thing she had ever eaten. A dark chocolate cupcake piled high with chocolate buttercream frosting, chocolate sprinkles, and topped by a large marshmallow that had been dipped halfway into molten chocolate, its snowy white half pointing to the sky. Neither of them managed to eat more than half before being forced to stop by the sheer sweetness.

Taking a sip of coffee to clear the thick frosting from her mouth, Riza watched as Roy returned each half-cupcake to the box. “I’m going to have dreams about that cupcake. If I manage to sleep between the sugar rush and the caffeine high.”

Roy laughed, one hand going self-consciously to the back of his neck. “I promise, that’s the only part of my plan that’s actually backfired.”

“At least I’ll stay awake long enough to watch the sunset.” She nodded toward the front of the building. “It should only be another half hour or so. And then I think I can safely say I’ve put in enough hours at the office for today.”

“Riza, you could have said that three hours ago.”

She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I had things to finish. And besides, it meant I was here for when this little rendezvous you planned was ready.” She glanced his direction to find him already watching her. “Which, I didn’t say it before, and I should have. Thank you for this. This is… much different than I thought it might be, and much better than I could have imagined.”

“This is more along the lines of what you wanted for a birthday celebration?” he asked. “Instead of the rest of the men and myself surprising you last year?”

“Yes.” She looked down into her cup, swirling the dark coffee slowly. “I’m a private person. I like my birthday — and any of its celebrations — to be the same. Private.” When she looked up again, it was to direct her gaze around the flat expanse of the roof. “And I don’t think you can get much more private than up here.”

“Good.” Leaning close, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders in a hug, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Happy birthday, Riza.”

“Thank you.” She had to half-turn to plant a return kiss on his cheek. “And thank you for doing this.”

They sat there together, talking quietly as the sky faded from blue to an array of pastel pinks, oranges, and yellows, the light of the lowering sun bathing both of them, alone together, in a wash of golden light.

[eirian-houpe]

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 18

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 18 - Storybrooke

There was a distinct chill in the air as Gold stepped out of the sheriff’s office and he pulled up the collar of his overcoat before turning his steps in the direction of the diner. He hadn’t intended to call in, meaning instead to go straight to his shop, but what he’d read on Sheriff Swan’s computer - and had forwarded to his own Email before disconnecting - gave him cause to change his plans.

It was entirely possible that one or other of them was hurt, possibly both, and while he was tempted just to let Milnor fend for himself in that department, if the help he needed was for the governor’s daughter, he couldn’t allow lingering harm to come to the fairer sex. He never had, and he never would. Not so long as he had breath in his body. He sighed. In that respect he and the FBI agent were the same. Gallant, protective… paternal

Gold frowned, wondering where the last thought had come from. He was aware that Milnor had a child. A daughter if he recalled correctly, and that he had lost the girl’s mother not long after the child was born. As such, through all the time that the agent had been undercover he had been separated from his daughter, and that, he knew, was a pure and living hell. Add to that the nature of Duneach’s organization and he wondered at the man’s sanity. Not for nothing had he called Jefferson Milnor, ‘Hatter.’  He pulled out his phone, typed and sent a swift text message, and then called in to Granny’s Diner for a coffee to go.

‘To go’ wasn’t his style either, but as the saying went, needs must when the devil drives, and he had to get to the hospital before Whale got wind of his coming and made a quick escape through the back door. He and the doctor had a tumultuous relationship at best, and like many people in Storybrooke, Victor Whale was beholden to him. So it was that he decided not to enter the hospital by the front door, but via the ambulance bay. It was closer to Whales office.

Gold was well aware he had no business being in that part of the hospital, neither did he care. Storybrooke, for him, was pretty much an open door. Hard to lock doors against people that held the keys. Gold did. After many years, and much capital, there were few places, or people, he didn’t own in some way - either because of their rent, or because something of theirs graced one of the shelves of his pawn shop.

“A moment, Victor,” he said, holding up a gloved hand one finger raised, as the doctor was too slow to escape his notice. The other man stopped and turned slowly.

“Mister Gold, is everything all right?”

As an opening gambit, Gold had to admit that while it wasn’t terribly original, it was at least a logical one. He nodded to the doctor, not to answer his question, but to let the man know that he had ‘scored a point’ in their little mental tete-a-tete. There was no love lost.

“For the moment,” he answered, then, “but it may be that I will need to collect on that debt that you owe me, some time in the near future.”

“Oh?” Whale quirked an eyebrow in query.

Gold shrugged, “A house call. Perhaps a prescription, no questions asked.”

“Now look, Gold,” Whale began, but Gold raised a hand, palm out in a placatory gesture.

“The truth is, Doctor, I do not yet know if, nor the extent to which, I may require your assistance,” Gold looked around him, and then glanced in the direction he knew the parking lot to be. “I was simply giving you the courtesy of a ‘heads up.’”

“Gold…”

“After all, I’d hate anything to happen that might come between you and the,” Gold poured on the sarcasm, “lovely, little, red sports car of yours…”

“Now see here…!” Whale rose to the bait. “I’m paid up to date on that loan, there’s nothing you can do abo—”

“…say, the terms and conditions of the repayment of interest.”

“You’re a piece of work, Gold,” Whale spat.

“So I’m told,” he answered, unperturbed by the doctor’s outburst. “But you will be ready, should I call on you.”

Without another word, or waiting for the doctor’s acknowledgment of the inescapable fact he had just spoken, Gold turned, and left the hospital for his next port of call.

**

It was rather like retracing his steps, as the person he needed to speak to was the diner’s proprietress’ granddaughter, but he could think of no one else he could ask, and trust to their discretion. He and Miss Lucas had history, after all, as he had gotten her out of trouble on a number of occasions. Not out of the goodness of his heart, but because of his absolute insistence on seeing justice served. She hadn’t deserved the charges that had been brought against her, and he was well enough acquainted with the law to be able to defend her more than admirably. Besides, having done so meant that she, too, owed him a few favors, and he was ready to collect.

“What’s the matter, Gold,” Widow Lucas called out as he entered the diner. “Coffee not good enough for you this morning?”

Widow Lucas - Granny, as everyone in Storybrooke seemed to call her - had several bones of contention to pick with him, not the least of which was that she owed him a good deal of money for the rent on the Bed and Breakfast she ran in addition to the diner. He was inclined to be lenient with her in regards to her attitude, so long as she paid that rent on time. As such their relationship was very volatile.

“On the contrary, dearie,” he purred as he limped toward one of the booths toward the back of the diner. “It was so good that I felt I must come by for seconds.”

Widow Lucas snorted a huff, and turned up a white mug from the tray beside her and set about pouring steaming hot, black coffee into it, before setting it on the counter, and nodding at her granddaughter to bring it to him.

Ruby Lucas had a bright red extension tied into her hair, and judging from the amount of make-up that still lingered around her eyes, he ascertained that she had not gotten home from The Rabbit Hole with enough time to spare to change. He ignored the fact that her skirt was shorter than her apron, as this was quite usual for the rebellious young woman.

She managed to set his coffee down in front of him with only the faintest of thumps, and no spillage, for which he was grateful. He hated having to mop up the run before it spilled off of the uneven table and onto the pants of his suit.

“Anything to go with that?” Miss Lucas asked, folding her arms as she waited for his answer.

He offered a rare smile, rather akin to the kind a hyena gave before biting its prey’s throat. “Merely the pleasure of your company,” he said. “A moment of your time, if I may.”

“Can’t,” she snapped. “I’m working.”

“Oh, but I insist,” he said, just as smoothly, but with a slight edge to his voice, especially as he pointed at the bench opposite him and said, “Sit.”

She rolled her eyes in protest, but as instructed, slipped in to the booth’s other seat, and then once more crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well?” she asked, when Gold said nothing. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. “I haven’t got all day. I told you. I’m working.”

“So you did,” he said and sat back in his seat. “Forgive me, it’s a delicate matter, and I’m not sure how to approach the subject, to be honest.” He watched as Ruby frowned, giving her enough time to get lost in the intrigue of his words, before he said. “I need your assistance.”

She barked out a half laugh, until she evidently realized that he was serious, and then he saw her eyebrows shoot up toward her hair.

“Seriously?” she asked. “How can I possibly help you?”

“I’m expecting a visitor, a guest,” he began, adding with a dismissive wave of his hand, “a friend of a friend.”

“Okay?” she said slowly, and he could almost hear her wondering what that had to do with her.

“She’s coming here because she’s just walked out on a rather… difficult domestic situation,” he continued, watching the nuances of Ruby’s face as she put the pieces together. “Simply… walked away,” he finished.

It amused him, somewhat, to think of it in those terms, because he knew that there wasn’t so much ‘walking,’ in her get-away, as running and dodging bullets along the way. He knew the difference would irritate Jefferson immensely, and privately reveled in it.

“So, you’re saying she’s going to need stuff,” Ruby said.

“I’d rather like to have some things for her when she arrives, yes,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind helping.”

“Well of course I don’t mind, but—”

Gold reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a thick envelope on the front of which he’d written all the information he’d managed to research about the governor’s daughter. It was bound not to be entirely accurate, but at least it would give Miss Lucas something to go on.

“I’ve taken the liberty of writing down her details, such as I have,” he interrupted, “And I think you’ll find there is sufficient money to cover whatever purchases you make.”

He slid the envelope across the table toward Ruby, and kept his face impassive as he watched her picked it up, her eyes widening slightly as she rifled through the contents with the flick of her thumb, before looking up at him.

“Whatever you don’t use,” he told her, “you may keep… to cover your expenses. In addition, I believe we can consider my fee for your last appearance in court… paid in full.”  He left barely a beat before adding. “Do we have a deal?”

“Wha— Yes, yes of course,” Ruby finally looked up from studying the envelope and its contents to tell him, “I can take care of it when I get off work today.”

“Excellent,” he nodded, and began to slide along the seat toward the exit of the booth.

“Should I bring it by the shop later?” she asked.

“I won’t be opening the shop today,” he said. “If it isn���t too much trouble, could you drop it by the house this evening?” He stood, steadying himself with his cane and preparing to go as she answered him in the affirmative. Then, as he took the first step he stopped, and looked back over his shoulder to catch Ruby’s eye. “And Miss Lucas? I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that discretion is of the utmost importance.”

**

Leroy could wait.

Gold spent some moments weighing up how his time would be better spent, and since Jefferson and his rescued hostage had been on the run for a over twelve hours, there was a matter more pressing to which Gold felt obliged to attend. It wasn’t that long of a drive to the cabin and regardless of the time that he arrived, Gold was sure that MacCalmain would be there waiting for him; no doubt putting in some handy-work around the place.

Before he left town, he checked in the glove compartment of the Cadillac for an essential item that he would need to give to his tall, loyal associate in case the inevitable happened sooner, rather than later. It was there. The whole deck was there, although he only needed the one card. That done, he picked up his dinner order from Marco’s and made his way out of town and onto the country road that led to the single track driveway to the cabin.

As he’d suspected, MacCalmain was there, with his truck, engaged in cutting back one of the nearby holly bushes that was encroaching on the windows at the side of the single storey structure. The man straightened as Gold drew to a halt, and replaced the secateurs into the tool roll that was resting on the lid of the nearby wood-box.

Gold offered him a smile as he approached the man. “Good of you to come,” he said.

In answer, MacCalmain pulled the cell phone from his pocket and pointed at it, and then at Gold.

“Yes, I sent you a text,” Gold confirmed. “I have… a job for you. Very important. Extremely delicate.”

“I’ll help,” MacCalmain signed. “What do you need.”

“There’s a family just outside of Boston,” Gold handed over a piece of paper, on it was printed an address, and the candid pictures of the family that didn’t even know they were being photographed. “This address,” he said as he handed them over. “I’m not really interested in the family, though I trust you’ll keep them safe if you can.”

MacCalmain shrugged, and Gold’s face hardened. Not in anger, but because he knew the other man’s shrug was not indifference, but practicality. If Gold was sending him out to watch over someone in the family then it likely meant that there was trouble, and the kind of trouble that followed Gold around was the kind of trouble that got people killed. MacCalmain knew that.

“The girl though,” Gold went on, remembering the babe in arms that had squalled all the way from Chicago O’hare to the mid-Atlantic where she finally fell asleep on he father’s chest, and remained asleep all through the landing in Glasgow. More though, he had remembered the haunted look in that father’s eyes, the way he desperately tried to give his daughter his all; his full attention. He had no doubt the man would give her his soul if he had to - and that was why Gold acted as he did. That father had freed his son, though had not necessarily saved him; a youth for whom Gold would, and almost had, given his own.

Bae, though unresponsive, still lived, and where there was life, there was hope.

“I want you to watch her, watch out for her,” Gold continued, pulling himself back from his introspection. “If anyone comes sniffing around; police, other law enforcement agencies,” he voice darkened, “anyone not law enforcement, don’t wait. She’s in danger, and you bring her to me.”

MacCalmain nodded, and picked up the tool roll, evidently meaning to set out right away, but then he frowned as Gold held out a single playing card in the man’s direction. Hesitantly he took it.

“I don’t want the girl terrified, or to think you mean her ill, so when you can - as soon as you can, you give her that card, do you understand? She’ll know what it means.”

MacCalmain nodded again, though shifted his doubt filled gaze down onto the playing card in his hand: the joker - The White Rabbit.

[fanfictionaries]

Where the Green Grass Grows - Part 1. A Real Fine Place to Start

@imanuglywombat​ credit for the moodboard/art! 

Summary: After leaving town in 2001, Marianne Grace Barnes swore she’d never step foot in Texas again. She was happy with her life in San Francisco. She had great friends, a great job, and a loving boyfriend. But when her mother insists she come home after six long years away, Marianne comes face to face with someone she vowed to never lay eyes on again. Now the questions arise: Is he so different from the man who broke her heart? Is she so different from the girl she used to be?

And most importantly, is she as happy as she really thinks she is?

A story of love, heartache, and that special feeling of being home.

MASTERLIST

Pairing: AU Cowboy!Steve Rogers x OFC

Warnings: Swearing 

Author’s note: This is my entry for  @arrowsandmixtapes​ ‘s RomCom Writing Challenge! So sorry for the late entry, Covid has been a whirlwind of a time.

Prompt: Sweet Home Alabama (2002)

***

The streets of San Francisco were their normal, misty grey as Marianne Barnes rushed down the sidewalk. Scrubbing at the technicolor specks of paint that covered her arms, she wondered why that day of all days she had decided to introduce the splatter paint portion of her student’s curriculum. The current semester was focused on abstract and modern art. Slowly she’d been introducing them to all of the history and techniques behind the different styles before allowing them to try it out for themselves. While initially it seemed like a fantastic idea, she soon realized that allowing a group of middle schoolers the freedom to literally throw paint was a recipe for disaster. Luckily, she had her art smock to cover the entirety of her clothes, but that had not saved her arms and legs from the ricochet of paint as the over enthusiastic kids hurled globs of color as hard as they could at blank canvases. Continuing to rake her nails against the skin of her arms, she sighed in frustration. She really should have taken a few more minutes to wash up one more time.

It was important that she look nice tonight. Tony, her boyfriend, had invited her to dinner stating he had some “big news”. Marianne assumed that it probably had to do with the big business deal he’d been working on for his company. Tony was a visionary of sorts. Having come from family money, his future was always to be well off. However, he had taken the extra steps to truly make something of himself and slowly over the years of his career he had come to own the single leading company in clean energy technology. She was proud of him – even if his job did take up a large amount of his life. However, without his job she probably wouldn’t have met him. She thought back to the embarrassing moment in which they had met nearly a year ago.

Marianne pulled at the neckline of her dress, the Peter Pan collar currently feeling as though it was going to choke her as she shifted uncomfortably by the food and drink table. As much as she liked being there for her best friend, she really wished Natasha would stop inviting her to these kinds of events. While Nat insisted that she’d stay right by Marianne’s side, she always ended up alone at some point in the night, twiddling her thumbs in a room filled with strangers. Having met in art school, Marianne always found it incredibly interesting how drastically different her and Natasha’s careers were. While Marianne had opted for teaching the youths of America about Monet, Dali, van Gogh, and Matisse, Natasha had settled on the curation of art, a field that suited her much more appropriately. The rubbing of elbows with the hoity toity rich was a perfect fit for Nat’s easy, sophisticated, and, for lack of a better word, sexy personality. With her naturally fire-red hair, knockout curves, and perfect smile, Natasha was the type of woman that when she walked into a room, every person either wanted to be her or to fuck her. There was no in-between. Even for Marianne, who supposed in some ways, she’d like to be a bit more like Natasha.

That’s why she was so surprised to be approached as she clung to her glass of champagne and pretended to stare contemplatively at the same painting of a flat tire for the fifth time that night.

“What do you think?” asked a smooth and timbred voice from beside her.

Marianne chuckled slightly to herself continued to trace the thick brushstrokes of the painting with her eyes. “Well, considering the artist’s theme of stagnation, I think they’ve gone a bit too on the nose with this one. It’s…unimaginative,” she commented, before turning to see the handsome man beside her. If she’d actually been drinking the champagne in her hand, she might have choked on it. Luckily for her, she hadn’t.

The man continued to stare at the painting in front of them, a contemplative expression that brought his thick, dark brows together, before he turned his gaze to her, “So you don’t think it will sell tonight then?”

“Oh no, it will definitely sell. I’ve been to enough of these things to know that it’s not really about taste, so much as it is status. If the artist seems important enough, then so is their art,” smirked Marianne, this time actually taking a sip from her champagne flute to avoid focusing on the intriguing way in which the stranger was staring at her.

“Ah, yes. The snobbish elites’ inability to see past their own social status,” he commented dryly, taking a sip from his own flute.

“Hey, you said it, not me,” Marianne laughed, feeling as though she might have made a connection with a reasonable person just yet.

“And who do I have the pleasure of giving me all the inside critique?”

She extended her free hand out to the man, “Marianne Barnes—art teacher, friend of the curator, and overall critic of the snobbish elite.”

He took her hand in his own, his grasp soft, yet strong as he shook her hand and stared her directly in the eye, “Tony Stark – member of the snobbish elite.”

Marianne blanched at the words, the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment taking over her as she realized her mistake. She was just beginning to open her mouth to apologize when Tony held up a hand.

“No need to apologize—” he inhaled deeply, looking around the room and the people that inhabited it “—Truth be told, I don’t think I can stand a single person in here. You excluded of course, but who knows that may change.”

Marianne wrestled with the smile that fought to match Tony’s own wry grin. He was too charming for his own good. Taking a second to look over his expensive suit, Italian leather shoes, and $200 haircut, she reckoned he was much too handsome and successful for her own good. Still, she figured there was no harm in a little conversation.

“Say, I like your accent. Where’s that from? Georgia? Alabama?” asked Tony, stepping in to close the distance between them and making the interaction feel so much more intimate than it should.

Marianne gasped in mock offense, “Excuse you sir, but I am Texas born through and through.”

“My apologies ma’am,” Tony said, holding a hand to his heart in sincerity. “It’s never my intention to offend beautiful women. But for some reason, it just, well, happens.”

That comment made Marianne pause, “You think I’m beautiful?”

He took a moment to assess her, raking his eyes over her from head to toe. Not in a predatory way, but more like he was assessing another painting on the wall. Then he answered, voice heavy in sincerity, “Most beautiful piece of art I’ve seen tonight.”

The sharp tone of Marianne’s ringtone brought her out of her musing and back to the present as she waited at a crosswalk for the light to change. Digging into the deep contents of her purse, she cursed under her breath, pushing aside pens, pencils, scrunchies, lotions, and general clutter before her fingers closed around the buzzing device.

“Hello?”

“I just really don’t understand why Serena and Nate just don’t get together! I mean, he basically broke up with Blair for her, the least she could do is date him,” groaned Natasha from the other end, before Marianne heard the distinct crunch of popcorn being chewed.

“Hey! Spoilers, I haven’t watched last night’s episode yet! Besides, I really don’t have time to talk about Gossip Girl right now,” she huffed, glancing at the time on her watch and realizing she was even later than she thought.

“Well hurry up and watch it! I want to talk about what Chuck did. You’ll never believe it—”

“Seriously Nat, no spoilers!” Marianne exclaimed, now picking up her speed as she crossed the street, trying not to catch the heel of her stilettos on the cracks in the pavement. “And I meant it, I’m running late for my dinner with Tony. He’s taking me to my favorite restaurant to celebrate the contract with Pym Technologies.”

“Wow. I never would have expected Tony to slum it all the way to the Mission District,” Natasha snorted.

“What? No, I’m in SoMa right now. We’re going to Omakase,” Marianne said, jumping back when a bicyclist zoomed past her, nearly knocking her into a dirty puddle.

“Oh…”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just that I have a distinct memory of you saying you’d rather lick an L.A. sidewalk than eat raw fish, but I have seen you scarf down more burritos from Taqueria Cancun than I can count.”

Marianne bristled at the comment; she always did this. “My tastes are allowed to change Nat,” she bit back, seeing the sign for the sushi restaurant her and Tony frequented in sight.

Natasha was quiet for a moment on the other end of the line before she responded, “Yea, yea, you’re right. I’m sorry. Well, have fun at dinner and tell Tony I say congratulation.”

Sighing, Marianne immediately felt guilty for the harsh way in which she spoke, “Thanks Nat, I’ll tell him. And don’t worry, I’ve got the episode queued up first on Tony’s TiVo. I’ll watch it tonight and then I’ll call you tomorrow and we can gab all about why Serena needs to pull her head out.”

The comment earned Marianne a small laugh from Natasha, alleviating some of her guilt, “I’m holding you to that. Talk to you later hun, love you.”

“Love you too.”

Marianne closed her phone just as she was approaching the front doors to Omakase. Throwing her phone back into her purse she pushed the glass door open, knowing that Tony was probably already waiting for her at their favorite table. The first thing she noticed upon entering the restaurant was the distinct lack of the normal bustling sounds of other people, the second thing was the presence of orchestral music, and the third were roses. Hundreds and hundreds of red roses. Stacked on every available surface, the flowers littered the restaurant in large arrangements placed in beautiful crystal vases.

Silently, her heeled feet padded across the rose petal covered floor as she tentatively stepped further into the building, wondering for a just a second if she was in the right place. However, as she rounded the corner to see Tony dressed impeccably, string quartet situation behind him as he stood next to the only table in the dining room, she knew this was exactly where she was supposed to be.

“Tony…” she approached him cautiously, unable to stop from looking around the room and all its grandeur.

“There she is. For a second, I thought you found something better to do,” joked Tony, closing the distance between them and kissing her lightly on the lips.

“Sorry, I got out of class a bit late and then Nat called. What’s going on?” Marianne asked, still unsure what the big romantic gesture was for. 

“What? A man can’t treat his girlfriend to a romantic night?”

“Well yes, but I thought we were celebrating your deal.”

“Well, I mean that’s part of it, but we’ll get to that later. Here, why don’t you set your things down? I have something I want to ask you.” Tony slipped Marianne’s purse from her shoulder and placed it gently down onto her chair before turning to her and taking both of her hands in his. “So, a little precursor, I closed the deal with Pym Technologies.”

“Oh my god, Tony that’s amazing! I knew you were going to get it,” Marianne exclaimed, smiling widely at her boyfriend. She moved in to give him a congratulatory hug, but Tony stopped her, holding her away from him at arm’s length.

“Oh, hold on, let’s not celebrate too soon. At least let me finish my little speech and then we can jump up and down like teenage girls,” responded Tony. His tone, while its usual joking manner, held a tense and clipped edge to it that Marianne didn’t hear often. Nervously she shifted her weight, wondering what he could possibly have to ask her. Then slowly things started to click into place. Secluded restaurant. Red roses. String quartet. Tony’s favorite red wine on the table. Big important question. Oh.

“Well, once this deal goes through, I’m going to be spending a lot of time traveling internationally. Things are going to pick up at Stark Industries and I realized that life is about to get a lot more hectic and messier. Then of course, this brought on a whirlwind of existential questions about life and its meaning and purpose and what I really want out of it and…and I’m rambling aren’t I?”

“Yea, just a bit,” Marianne answered with a small smile.

“I had a point—”

“Did you?”

“I did—” Tony released his hold on her hands to dig into the pocket of his suit pants “—and I think it sounded a bit like this.” Marianne gasped lightly as Tony dropped to one knee. “Basically, to make a long, drawn-out story short, I realized that no matter how messy and crazy the future scenarios of my life, one thing remained a constant. You. You by my side as my wife. So…” Producing a small, black box from within his hands, he opened it slowly to reveal a large, sparkling engagement ring. “Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Marianne stood speechless for a moment, consumed by the surprise turn of events. For a second the musing thought that she would have definitely forgone splatter paint today if she had known she was getting proposed to, flashed through her mind before she nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, yes I will marry you.”

That’s how one month later Marianne found herself entering Natasha’s apartment, arms completely stuffed with nothing but wedding magazines, samples, and binders. Dropping her things into a large pile on the carpet of Natasha’s living room floor, Marianne breathed in deep before turning her attention to an open portfolio on the coffee table. The bright splashes of reds and blues of oversized poppies amidst a large, open sky caught her attention, drawing her in.

“Hey Nat, are you looking to take in a new collection at the gallery?” she called towards the kitchen, unable to pull her eyes away from the beautiful and almost impressionistic take on the flowers.

“Yea, one of my boss’s associates is crazy about these giant oil paintings of poppies. He wants us to consider doing a whole show of them. We’re equally as enthusiastic, but I guess the artist is hesitant about selling their work,” answered Natasha from across the apartment.

“Don’t most artists want to sell their art?”

“You’d think, but judging from the California poppies, they’re probably some west coast artist that doesn’t want to ‘sell out’ and ruin the integrity of their work.” Marianne could almost hear Natasha rolling her eyes through the walls.

Staring even harder at the small collection of paintings as she flipped through the portfolio, Marianne asked, “Are you sure they’re California poppies?”

Just as she asked the question, Natasha came around the corner, two large glasses of prosecco in hand. “Of course. We’re in California. They’re poppies. California poppies,” Natasha shrugged, placing the glasses on the coffee table.

“Yea, I guess you’re right,” Marianne said, sharply closing the portfolio and shaking off the strange sense of melancholy that the paintings evoked.  

“Jesus, when you said you wanted to come over and talk about wedding stuff while we watched Gossip Girl, I thought you meant something like looking at a couple of magazines, not planning the whole thing in one night!” Natasha said, eyes growing wide as she took in the sheer amount of materials Marianne had arrived with.

“Yea, well that’s pretty much all the time I actually have to plan this thing. Tony wants to get married soon so that we can go on our honeymoon before he has to start traveling for work. Once things pick up, we’re not really sure when he’ll get another free moment,” sighed Marianne, sitting down on the floor and beginning to organize her mess.

“I’m surprised he’s letting you plan this and it’s not him making all the decisions,” remarked Natasha, sitting down across from her, and picking up a magazine.

“What do you mean?” asked Marianne, looking up quizzically at her best friend.

“Well…” began Natasha, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “I just mean that Tony tends to have a habit of making decisions for you.”

“What? No, he doesn’t,” Marianne scoffed.

“Uhuh…okay. Well then, who decided shortly after meeting you that your car, your first car, your baby, wasn’t good enough and that you needed a new one?” Natasha asked challengingly.

“It was old Natasha. People get new cars every day. Tony was just kind enough to buy me a new one,” Marianne reasoned with her, picking up her glass of prosecco from the coffee table.

“Okay, what about your job? You were working at that cute little public, elementary school that you always said you loved so much. Next thing I know, you’ve got this new job at a private middle school.”

“Tony had some connections and there’s nothing wrong with moving up in your career. I’m pretty sure that’s the whole point of a career, Nat.”

“Your apartment then? A week after he saw your apartment for the first time, he insisted that you move in with him.”

“That apartment was a rat-infested shit-hole and you know it. Things were going well, and he had the space. I took a leap of faith and moved in with him. I think it went alright considering the fact that I’m marrying the man. Just- what are you getting at Nat?”

“I guess I’m just worried that these major life decisions aren’t what you want, but instead what Tony wants. I mean, you’ve been together barely a year and already you’re more like him than you are you. You dress posher, you act posher, your accent’s fading…I want you to be happy Marianne, but I don’t want you to lose yourself along the way,” Natasha ended her small rant by taking a large gulp of her drink.

Marianne placed a hand on her friends arm reassuringly, “Hey. It’s alright. I’m happy, I promise. And it’s still me! I’m still the same Marianne Barnes you met in art school – just a little fancier is all.” She laid her southern accent on thick near the end of her sentence, lifting up her left hand to waggle the large engagement ring in her friend’s face. Natasha laughed, knocking her hand out of the way, and rolling her eyes at Marianne’s blatant bragging.

“Shut up, now let’s work on your guest list and invitations first while we let the drama of Manhattan’s Upper East Side consume us,” said Natasha, exchanging the magazine for a binder as she turned her TV on with the press of a button.

Taglist: 

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​

@caffiend-queen​

@grincheveryday​

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Requested and written for @vfordii’s birthday which was...back in December. So...not quite six months late, but at least I had a good excuse XD I ended up writing a first draft before my hospital stay, and then had an EVEN BETTER IDEA while I was convalescing and then had to write a whole new “first” draft, which was at least supposed to cover some of the other draft and...THINGS GOT OUT OF HAND.

“Why, Kiki Seiran.” The drawl alone turns her veins to to ice water; it’s only the strength of her spine and the grit of her teeth that stems a shiver. Or a right hook; Kiki’s always been a bit mixed up with her fight-or-flight. It’s what makes a good ranger. “As I live and breathe.”

She’s tempted not to give him the satisfaction of being noticed-- he doesn’t deserve hers after the stunt he pulled-- but he’s perverse enough to find that sort of behavior encouraging, as if getting under a woman’s skin was some prelude to foreplay.

“Hisame Luigis.” Her teeth chomp down on the last syllable, strangling the hiss she wants to make it. A snake like him deserves to be greeted in kind, after all. “I wouldn’t expect to see you here.”

Not after the last time, she doesn’t say, because despite her personal feelings, her father didn’t raise her to start a fight-- just finish them. Which she already had, sending Hisame scurrying out of the shatterdome with his tail between his legs.

(Must be hard for him to sit in that helo, Mitsuhide rumbles, standing close as they watch it take off, sound muted by the thickness of the windows. She spared him a raised brow, and he grinned. The way his ass must be smarting.

He gets a laugh out of her. She hadn’t thought it possible, right then.

Spurned by both the drift and you, he clucks, shaking his head. He’ll need medical to give him an ointment or something.

She’d been embarrassed by the whole thing, by being made a woman instead of a ranger in front of all her colleagues, years more experienced than she, and she’d thought she’d never recover, never get over the humiliation, but--

Well, she’s never heard her partner be uncharitable before. Might as well enjoy it. Maybe they can give him something to get his head out of his ass too.

Nah. Mitsuhide turns back to the window, eyes fixed to where the helo hovers in the skyline. I think that’s a chronic condition.

Kiki coughs on a laugh. The foot in his mouth certainly is.)

The line in front of them shudders, then trudges forward, and Kiki braces herself. His personality might be as thrilling as the scum on the dome’s flight deck, but he’s a ranger, just like her, plucked from a PPDC family whose illustrious history is only outstripped by her own and maybe the Wisteria’s. She’ll have to face him-- quite literally-- at some point, and it might as well be now.

Besides, it’s been five years. People change. Hisame may not be his father, nor his brother, but he could at least be tolerable now.

She dares a glance behind her, and it’s the same infuriatingly handsome face that smirks back at her, only this time he fills out his flight suit better. He might be less boyish around the edges, but it looks like insufferable douche isn’t a stain that comes out in the wash.

White teeth flash at her from between smirking lips. “I was invited.”

She somehow manages not to balk, not to say, I didn’t realize we were scraping the barrel for the dregs.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here either,” he admits, insinuating his tray beside hers on the rail. “In the mess, I mean. I would have though General Seiran’s daughter would merit better fare than the grunts.”

The rim of her tray wobbles beneath her grip. These people would die for him, die with him, and he calls them grunts.

“What can I say,” she says, turning to him with a smile drawn thin, plate outstretched for dinner, “I can’t resist some good old shit on a shingle.”

She has the distinct pleasure of watching the color leave his smug little face as a healthy heaping of the caf’s beef stroganoff plops down on her plate. If only he hadn’t been so eager to dog her heels, he might have noticed just which line he got in.

“Yum yum,” she adds, because she’s never been a woman to shy from twisting the knife. “My favorite.”

“Ah, of course,” he manages faintly, handing over his own plate. “You have always struck me as a woman of...simple pleasures.”

“Simple pleasures,” she agrees, “and unmovable opinions. Enjoy your time in the dome, Luigis.”

She doesn’t add, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out. He’s a smart boy-- he knows how to read between the lines.

“I don’t know how you eat that.” Zen eyes her stroganoff warily, nose wrinkled in distaste. “I don’t think the recipe has changed World War Two.”

She slides into the last available seat, so close she nearly elbows the jaeger mechanic next to her. “It’s an acquired taste.”

Mitsuhide hums on her other side, and she feels the rumble in her elbow, warm and pleasant. Kiki’s not a fan of eating at the designated meal times-- Zen’s the one that likes to see and be seen by the adoring masses, not her-- but being crushed in like sardines does have its perks, sometimes.

Zen opens his mouth-- to complain, she assumes, since he habitually gripes about the mushrooms being too fragrant for his taste-- but she sweeps in before he can get a word out with, “Luigis is here.”

His jaw drops. Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his milk.

“Hisame Luigis?”

As much as she would love to rag him, to say what other Luigis is there?-- it’s a valid question. With a general for a father and a ranger for a brother, any one of them had a better reason to be here than Hisame did. Too bad; teasing Zen was the best entertainment she could get in the dome.

“What does he think he’s doing here?” His arms fold tight over his chest. “Did he not get humiliated enough the last time?”

“Well, you know,” she drawls, scooping up a forkful of her dinner, “for some people it���s a kink.” While he’s sputtering, she adds, “He says he was invited.”

Mitsuhide frowns into his stoganoff. “Invited?”

“By who? My brother?” Zen shakes his head, emphatic. “Last time he was here, Izana was happy to see the back of him.”

She shrugs. “He didn’t say.”

“But who else could?” Mitsuhide sits back, thoughtful. “There’s not a lot of people who could go over a Marshal’s head, not even here.”

Kiki shovels a bite of beef into her mouth. “Garrack.”

They both sit back at that, uncomfortable. “But for what?” Mitsuhide presses, sounding strained. “He hasn’t piloted a jaeger outside of the simulations.”

“And they can’t be trying to put him in one.” Zen shoved peas around on his plate, mullish. “The neural handshake’s only meant for two, and with Hisame’s ego taking up the second chair, I don’t know how anyone else would fit.”

She can’t help but grin at that. “Maybe they’re making a three-pilot jaeger.”

“Wasn’t China working on something like that?” Zen’s expression turns speculative, distracted. “Something...Typhoon wasn’t it? Triplets were piloting it.”

“Crimson Typhoon,” she corrects, “based out of Hong Kong.”

“Right, and then Japan said they could seat seven.” He shakes his head. “Good thing nothing came of that. Sounds like a disaster from start to finish.”

“Too many cooks in the kitchen,” she agrees.

“Maybe it’s a single ranger jaeger,” Mitsuhide says, and she nearly laughs until she realizes he’s serious.

“Single ranger?” she echoes, dubious. “Can’t be done.”

“Or they’d be tiny,” Zen scoffs, waving a hand. “There’s no way you could pilot a mech as big as Rex all by yourself.”

“Can’t be that then.” Kiki’s mouth quirks. “Hisame Luigis could never suffer being smaller than anyone else.”

Mitsuhide flushes a red so deep it looks painful, studiously applying himself to his dinner as if it might make make him less noticeable. Too bad being six-foot-fuckable and a head taller than half the folks in the mess didn’t lend itself to invisibility.

Zen grins, smelling blood on the water that for once isn’t his. “Right. We all know that’s for-- ah, fuck.”

Kiki takes in his wide eyes, his pinched mouth, and twists her chin over a shoulder. Her stomach knots just think that snake could be right behind her, knowing she still talks about him and inferring all sorts of idiotic encouragement from it, but--

But she only sees a bright red bob lingering over by the chafing dishes, sticking out like a buoy on a choppy sea.

She frowns. Shirayuki was usually cause for excitement, or at least Zen making an ass of himself trying to impress her. There should be a sudden, manic search for stories sedate enough to tell but funny enough to entertain, since the good doctor apparently labored under the misconception that Zen was intentionally witty, and didn’t just bumble into cleverness completely by accident, but today--

Today there’s a lean body that curves beside hers, a slim question next to Shirayuki’s bright exclamation. It’s The Asshole.

Or at least, that’s what Zen calls him. The jury’s still out for her.

“What’s he doing here?” Zen grumbles, churning rice across his plate.

Mitsuhide takes in a breath, measured, and says, “Waiting for you.”

Zen glowers, hunching over his dinner. “I know that. I mean, what’s he doing here with Shirayuki?”

Kiki glances over her shoulder, watching as The Asshole bends down, Shirayuki laying a hand on his shoulder as she yells something over the din, and doesn’t say, flirting.

She shrugs. “Seems like Shirayuki can handle him just fine.”

He glares. “I know that. She just shouldn’t be around a jackoff like him.”

Mitsuhide sets his jaw, and oh, she can read every word he won’t say like it was printed across his forehead: We don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a jackoff. He’d never say it-- and not just because Mitsuhide didn’t truck with words like jackoff and douchebag-- but because he knew to wait until Zen was listening. Which he wasn’t going to now, not with his hackles all raised because the Asshole was in the same room, daring to breathe the same air.

Kiki doesn’t have the same compunctions. “Do we even know if he’s a jackoff?”

Zen sputters, dropping his fork in consternation. “Of course we do! He acts like one every time I walk into the room.”

She glances at Mitsuhide, and his gaze is already darting away. If he isn’t going to point out Zen’s probably earned it, it’s definitely way above her paygrade.

“Every time! Calling me master and reminding me he’s at my beck and call and awaiting my leisure,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I bet he’s over there right now, telling her I’m getting high-handed or something. Like I’m keeping him here to jerk his chain.”

Kiki lifts a brow. “Aren’t you? Izana isn’t going to let him out of the dome until you--”

“I know what he thinks,” Zen snaps, “and it’s not happening. My brother is just going to have to get used to the idea.”

Her brows reach even higher. Izana Wisteria didn’t get to be the youngest Marshal in the history of the PPDC by being the first one to flinch.

Mitsuhide clears his throat, pointed. “And you plan to keep him waiting the whole time?”

Zen blinks. “What?”

“The Asshole,” Kiki clarifies when Mitsuhide balks. “While you’re playing your game of chicken with Izana, he’ll be waiting. Right here. In the dome. Making...friends.”

They all look toward the bright splash of red hovering at the edge of the mess, tray in hand. Shirayuki’s face lights when she sees them, hand half-raised--

And falls. Kiki doesn’t need to look to know what sort of face Zen is making, not when Shirayuki spins so suddenly away, hooking her hand around The Asshole’s arm and steering him away.

“I’m not drifting with him,” Zen says, shoving his tray away from him. “I’m not.”

“Good,” Kiki hums, mouth quirking at a corner. “Be a pity for him to leave when he’s getting along with Shirayuki so well.”

Zen glares at her, mouth pulling thin. “I’m not hungry. Enjoy yourselves.”

She’s supposed to be asleep. Or at least, that’s what the dome’s light pattern it trying to tell her; when she turns on her lights, it’s set to the soft night-time glow.

Shirayuki explained all that once, in her patient, bubbly way: bodies are supposed to use natural light to tell what time it is, and living in a bunker with no windows is one of those things that throws off its entire groove. The mood lighting is supposed to help, subtly dimming and brightening so their brains get the signal that it’s time to sleep or time to work.

Kiki flicks it off with a grimace. It’s a nuisance.

Darkness settles over her, the only light the painfully bright display on her alarm clock. 1:17. She lets out a huff, rolling onto her back. Definitely should be asleep.

Still, it won’t come. Hisame Luigis is here, sauntering around the dome when he has every reason to be a world away, annoying anyone else. Before today she would have said there wasn’t a single thing that could lure him to the site of his own humiliation, but now-- now she knows there is. And what it is--

Well, that’s enough to keep anyone up at night.

She sits up, swiveling to put feet on the floor. Something is happening; it’s one thing for Luigis to be here, gunning to relive all his old mistakes, but he’s not the only new face in the dome.

Her fingers clench around the edge of the mattress. Rex Tyrannous has been sitting in its box for years; Izana might say that getting it into the fray is a priority, but he never picked more than one or two recruits out of the graduating class to try, never seemed to be more than tacitly interested with how they did.

But now, now, he’s flown the whole coast to get this asshole to the dome. An asshole that doesn’t seem to want to be here any more than Zen does.

Kiki levers herself up, reaching for her clothes. Something is happening in the dome, something big.

And she knows better than to wait around to find out what.

There’s only ever been one place in the dome where she can clear her head. It’s too bad that someone’s had the same thought; as she approaches the door the the gym, Kiki can already hear the grunts of exertion coming from inside.

She swallows a sigh, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. It’s better when she has the mats to herself, when it’s just her and her thoughts and the burn of her muscles, not interrupted by the groaning of men who want to impress her--

Good thing this one doesn’t. As much as she wish he might.

Mitsuhide has his back toward the door, and she has the perfect view of the way his muscles coil as he brings his staff up, of the way they shift into sharp relief under his skin as he strikes down with an overhead blow. It’d brain anyone who didn’t block it, but with no partner he brings it up short just inches from the mat, muscle quivering with control.

It’s a sight Kiki never gets tired of. She’s half-tempted to leave her worries behind and just enjoy the show, but--

“You’re up late,” he says, breathless, rising out of his stance. Searching eyes turn toward her, his mouth down-turned with concern. “Everything all right?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugs, tossing him a towel. “No Zen?”

He grunts, snatching the cloth with one hand. “He went to go talk with Izana earlier.”

Kiki grins, sauntering over to where the staves are propped against the wall. “Ah, so you sent him to bed?”

His mouth twitches at a corner, but he shakes his head, saying, all too serious, “He needed some time to cool off.”

She hefts a staff into her grip, testing it’s weight. “I’m assuming this is Asshole-related.”

Mitsuhide lets out a sigh, and they don’t need to be in the drift for her to know he means, what isn’t?

He’s already in his first stance when she steps in front of him, waiting for her to strike first. She should mix it up, try to wait him out, try to lure him into making a mistake early in the bout and riding the moral boost to victory, but--

Well, Kiki hates to disappoint.

Mitsuhide’s a big man, a practical giant, but he jumps over her sweep with a nimbleness that always stuns her. She may drift with him, living inside the corners of his mind, but she can never anticipate his speed. The way that man can move the incredible mass of his body verges on superhuman.

The butt of his staff taps her side, so soft that it’s only her pride that stings. “That’s one for me.”

She lets out a huff, shuffling back, out of his range. “The last one.”

He shrugs, but she can see the smile he tries to hide in his shoulder. “If that’s what you think.”

This time, she’s more cautious, circling the mats, advancing where he retreats. He’s more wary as well; dark eyes fixed to her, watching where she shifts her weight. He catches her first blow, and her second-- light taps, staves clacking together as soft as kisses-- but her third catches him on the thigh, and he laughs.

“One to one,” he tells her, stepping back. “Should have seen that one coming.”

She hums, mouth curving in a smirk. “You should have.”

The go back to their corners, and her body is humming with victory, alive as she watches him shift into stance, and she says, “So, do you know anything about him?”

Mitsuhide blinks, head tilting, and she clarifies, “The Asshole.”

“Ah,” he grunts, more from catching her first blow than surprise. “I can’t say I like him, but that assessment seems...unfair.”

She barks out a laugh, dodging his swing. “I don’t think Zen’s concerned about being fair.”

His mouth pulls thin, and she blocks a hit that leaves her arms vibrating. “Unearned, then.”

She nearly gets a hit on him, throwing off his staff and going for his side, but he steps back, right out of her range. “He doesn’t want to compromise.” 

“This isn’t about compromise anymore, it’s about survival.” She ducks under his follow up, a swing that probably would have left a real shiner on her shoulder. Sloppy on his part; he’s usually so careful. “He doesn’t want to trust anyone.”

She dances out of the way of a jab. “No one does in a jaeger.”

“But all of us would try,” he presses, strangely emphatic as he blocks her strike.

“We would,” she agrees, testing his guard. “If I was down, you would drift with Zen--”

His guard drops, just slightly, and it’s like the heavens are parting since right there, right there is where she can tap him--

And she does, so hard he stumbles back, unprepared. She can only stare for a moment, watching him breath heavily, head hung.

“Don’t say that,” he manages after a long moment, voice too raw.

Her fingers tighten around the staff, and she shrugs. “It could happen.”

His eyes fix on her, too intense too dark. “It won’t.”

She knows better than to tell him it’s not their choice, that every time they go out it’s a roll of the dice whether a kaiju takes them under. It’s not what a man like him needs to hear, not when his last station was up in Anchorage, so near the rift.

“Besides,” he says, shoulders straightening as he composes himself. “I should be more worried about you drifting with Luigis if this knee of mine gives out.”

She frowns. “I’d rather be eaten by a kaiju.”

“Well, that would be the other choice,” he informs her brightly, sliding into his stance. “Two-to-one.”

“I know the score,” she snaps, sending a hit to his legs, a sweep he easily sidesteps. “That better not be the reason he’s here.”

Mitsuhide raises a brow. “Back up?”

She smirks. “That you’re getting old.”

“I’m younger than Izana!” he protests, trying to hook his staff around her knees. She jumps over it, missing the timing on the stomp to keep his bo on the floor.

“And he’s sitting behind a desk,” she replies, enjoying herself far too much. “Maybe it’s time for you to push some paper--”

“He has other reasons,” Mitsuhide grouses, retreating as she advances. “Not because he’s old.”

“They can’t be thinking he’ll drift with Zen,” she reasons, “even if this asshole doesn’t work out, he’ll never agree to it.”

Mitsuhide hums absently, fending off her advance, and she presses. “Right?”

“R-right,” he answers. “Zen really only wants one pilot--”

His staff takes her right in the side, and she’s not ready, stumbling to the ground. With a huff, she sits on her ass, shaking her head. “And it’s not any of us.”

“No,” Mitsuhide says with a grin, offering her a hand up. “It’s not.”

She takes it, levering up to her feet and brushing herself off.

“You know...” Mitsuhide’s face takes a wistful bent, almost thoughtful. “Way back, when Atri--”

Kiki perks. She’s been at the dome a long time, but Atri predates even her, here and gone before she’d even stepped foot on the tarmac.

His lips wrap tightly around his teeth, stopping the words he means to say. “Never mind. Two-two. Next is match point.”

She smirks. “I hope you don’t mind losing.”

He smiles, stepping back into his stance. “Not to you.”

When Izana had mentioned they were hiring on a therapist, Kiki had been skeptical, to say the least. He’d gone on to expound on the newest data, how rangers and support staff alike were suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress at higher and higher rates each year, how having an individual focused on the mental health of a dome had reduced the number of accidents in the hangar and fights in the mess, but--

It’d been clear: Garrack was the one twisting his arm on it, and Izana never got in a fight he couldn’t win.

Kiki’s been in the PPDC her whole life, even if it wasn’t in uniform, and among them, stoicism was less a personality trait and more a way of life. If you didn’t have your emotions on lockdown, if your mental vault didn’t have tighter security than Fort Knox, a drift could break you into pieces. It could break your partner into pieces. She’d seen it happen before, dozens of times.

Talking all that out nicely on a couch didn’t really fit with the aesthetic. Or so she’d thought, until she met Shirayuki.

“Thank you for coming,” the good doctor says brightly, taking tea Kiki offers. “I mean, for inviting me! I’m sorry, I’m just so used to, um...”

Kiki can’t help but smile as she takes her seat, cup warm in her hands. It’s not hard to see why Zen likes her so much, not when she’s flushed just from that little slip. “I understand.”

Relief blooms across her face. “Oh, good! It’s nice to not be drinking alone in my office, for once. I mean, tea! Drinking tea! Oh...”

Kiki smothers a snort with a sip of her tea. “I know what you mean. Though honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if I had to listen to Zen’s problems.”

Shirayuki looks as if she might protest, trying to come to the rescue of her patient, but she must catch her wry tone and the smile lurking at the corner of her lips, because she just stops. “From what I understand, you already do.”

Kiki stares. “You’re right. I should start insist on being paid.”

A laugh bursts from Shirayuki, so bright and earnest it surprises her. “I’d listen to him anyway, but--” she leans in, dropping to sotto voce-- “it does help, sometimes.”

She can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her, but it’s worth it to see the way Shirayuki flushes, two bright spots on the apples of her cheeks. “Thank you for coming. There’s not a lot of women in the dome, and it’s nice to just...chat, sometimes.”

“I agree!” Shirayuki tells her eagerly. “There’s more women in K-science than on the deck, but still-- it’s nice to just have a cup of tea and not have to listen to Suzu talk about his numbers.”

Kiki raises a brow. “Suzu’s invited to your girls’ tea?”

“Well.” She takes a thoughtful sip of her tea. “We don’t really have girls-only outings. But if we did, he’d invite himself, and then talk exclusively about his algorithm. The only thing that gets him to stop is Yuzuri--” she coughs, flushed-- “anyway, this is far nicer.”

“I’m only sorry I couldn’t provide better tea service.” She nods at the offerings on the table: buttery crackers with hard cheese, and cookies so crunchy they’re more like hard tack than a treat. “I asked the kitchen if they could make scones, and I’m not sure the cook even knew what one was.”

“Oh, no!” Shirayuki sets down her cup with a clatter, wincing at the sound. “This is perfect, really. When you first asked me to come I was afraid that Zen had asked you to-- ah--”

She claps her hands to her cheeks, mortified. “Never mind. This has been a pleasant surprise.”

“Ah.” Kiki smothers a grimace as she sets down her own mug. “You thought that Zen asked me to talk to you about--”

“Obi, yes.” She spins her cup slowly, as if looking for anything to keep her hands busy. “I know he doesn’t like him. He’s been...vocal about that.”

To put it lightly. “We don’t know anything about him. He’s concerned.”

“I understand that.” Her mouth curves in a wry, almost chagrined smile. “And I understand that being in the dome doesn’t really allow...typical professional-patient relations. But it would be nice if his concern at least took into account that I’m an adult who can make her own decisions.”

Kiki takes a sip of tea to cover her grimace. It’s a fair assessment; there are times where she’s sure Zen doesn’t even remember that his therapist has a doctorate in psychology, let alone is an authority in her field.

“Besides,” Shirayuki sighs, dunking a cookie in her tea. “You could say that about anyone. It’s just that you can say that about Obi especially.”

“You must know all about him,” Kiki presses, leaning in just the smallest amount. “Since you have access to everyone’s files.”

“Oh, no!” Shirayuki shakes her head, hair splaying over her shoulders. “I can’t access anyone’s files unless they consent to treatment. Or, at least, not unless I’m given an emergency override by the Marshal.”

“Oh. Huh.” She settles back in her chair, stymied. “Well, I suppose that makes me feel better.”

Shirayuki blinks, eyes wide. “You didn’t think that I had...?”

Read her file and formed her opinions already? It’s what Kiki would have done, coming into a situation as hostile as the good doctor. “You had to pick your patients somehow.”

Her cheeks flush, differently this time, two angry splotches that spread from jaw to temple. “Treatment is voluntary,” she reminds her firmly. “And even if I could read every record, I wouldn’t. Even with my patients, I prefer to have them tell me something in confidence rather than scrolling through a file. Trust--” she fixes Kiki with an earnest look-- “is the most important currency I can earn in my line of work.”

It’s a good sentiment, and an honest one, but Kiki hums, unconvinced. “But you’ve looked at Zen’s haven’t you?”

Her mouth pulls into a guilty grimace. “I-- I hadn’t, not at first. But when Izana told me he was bringing someone into the dome to drift with him, and that they were going to need to be reintegrated, I, um, well...”

Kiki raises a brow. “You looked.”

Her chin drops to her chest, chagrined. “I...did. I thought he might have...” She hesitates, finger once again rotating her cup on the saucer. “I thought it could have been Atri.”

Her hand tightens on her mug. Atri. The second time she’s heard that name this week. “Is that so.”

Shirayuki sighs. “We’ve been working for months, but Zen just...doesn’t choose to talk about it.”

Funny, how no one does around here.

“Which is fine!” she continues, breathless. “But if Izana was going to bring him back, then--”

Kiki nods. “Then you needed to know who he is.”

“Exactly.” Her shoulders drop in relief, the tension leaving her body on a breath. “I mean, especially if Izana was going to have me treat him--”

“Atri?” She blinks. “You thought he would want you to treat Atri?”

“Well, he, ah...” Shirayuki leans in, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. “He asked for my help.”

“Izana.” She’s a broken record, just repeating everything the doctor says. “Izana asked you for help. Specifically.”

“I know.” Shirayuki shifts, just as uncomfortable with the thought. “He told me this was a-- a special case.”

A special case. “So he must have given you access to his file, then. If it’s so...special.”

“Well, yes.” She fiddles with her cup. “Parts of it, at least. But Obi doesn’t seem interested in therapy--” no, Kiki can’t help but think, just the therapist-- “and, ah, it felt...too intrusive to look.”

It probably wouldn’t have done her any favors making friends either, but Kiki knows that’s a thought best left on the hangar deck. “Parts of his file?”

“Oh, um, yes.” Her eyes dart around the room, as if she half suspects Izana would be lurking just around a cabinet. Fair, considering the thing that man knows. “He only had authorization to open up the vitals to me. Everything else was classified. Even his birthday!”

Classified. Kiki take a sip from her mug. “How interesting.”

“Kiki.” Her father’s voice is as comforting as a warm blanket and hot milk, just the thing she wants to hear at the end of a long day. “What a surprise. We just had our weekly chat--” she can hear him flipping through his datebook-- “not even two days ago.”

“I need to ask you something.” She tucks the phone deeper into her shoulder, turning her back to the group of young pilot-wannabes that swagger through the mess. She’d love to do this where there was more privacy, but it’s the only place with reception in the whole dome, unless she wants to explain to K-science what she’s doing. “A favor.”

“Please,” Father sighs, pained. “You know I don’t keep track of that. It’s my job to take care of you.”

Kiki bites down on her lip. It’s his job to take care of his rangers, to make sure there’s no kaiju to wipe out Seattle, and as much as he’d been her dad too-- there was only room to do one job well.

“There’s a file I need you to look at,” she says, voice pitched low, watching the idiots horse around at the window. Must be fresh off the deck if they’re that cocky this close to open water. “Personnel. I’ll send the information over to you.”

“Oh my,” he hums, far too amused. “Should I let Mitsuhide know you’re looking at another man?”

She only manages to half smother the grunt out of her throat. “Just let me know what you find, all right?”

“Of course, princess.” Her teeth grit down until he adds, “Good hunting.”

Izana’s mouth curves as she enters his office, amusement only growing as she drops into the chair across from him and glares across the wide expanse of his desk.

“Ranger Seiran,” he drawls, sitting back, fingers laced on is lap. “To what to I owe the pleasure?”

“Obi,” she says. “Who is he?”

His lips tip into a smirk. “The next co-pilot of Rex Tyrannous, once my brother gets over himself.”

“Don’t do that.” Her knuckles blanch where they clench her knees. “Not with me.”

“No.” He grows serious. “Not with you. But come now,” he raises a brow, “surely you can find out what you need on your own.”

She lets out a long breath, fingers twitching where they lay. To think, she had longed for a sibling, even knowing the Wisterias.

“Ah, I see,” he hums, all too pleased. “Your father couldn’t get you what you needed.” His teeth flash from behind his lips. “Now, now. If that’s the case, you can’t possibly think you’ll get anything out of me.”

“No,” she admits, grudging. “Not about that.”

That intrigues him. “Oh my, then what would bring you all the way here for a visit?”

“Hisame Luigis.”

All the humor drains from him, his back stiffening against the chair. “He hasn’t bothered you.”

It’s not a question, it’s a promise, and some part of her eases. “No, he hasn’t. Why is he here?”

Izana tilts his head, letting the thick shadows in his office obscure his expression. “That is need-to-know information, Ranger Seiran. “

“And I don’t need to know?” she demands, and even shadowed, she can see how his mouth pulls, pained. “After the last time, you don’t think I deserve to know?”

He stands, pacing to where a large painting sits on his wall. “It’s Confidential.”

She grits her teeth. “I see.”

As she stands, he inhales sharply, and she turns.

“Come now, Kiki,” he murmurs into the space between them. “You’re a clever girl. It’ll come to you, if you think about it.”

She lets out a long breath. “I don’t think we have time for that.”

Sometimes, there’s nothing for it to go to the source.

Not much may be known about this Mystery Asshole, but Kiki’s observant, and he’s been on her radar from the start. And if there’s one thing she’s noticed: he doesn’t like people.

Not that he’s rude; oh no, he only vents his spleen in Zen’s direction, which even she can admit is well-earned. But if he’s got a choice between a full mess and an empty gym, she knows exactly which one he’ll choose.

Which is how she finds him, back pressed to the bench, lifting with no spot in the middle of a deserted gym.

Her mouth pulls thin. Only an idiot would risk it, but then again-- it’s not like anyone would offer to help him, not when they could end up on the bad side of at least one Wisteria. These rangers might all talk tough about facing kaiju in the raging Pacific, but one harsh word from Zen and they’re all chicken shit.

With a grunt, she slides in above his head, hands out and ready. “You’re some mystery,” she says, ignoring the way he gapes at her, “aren’t you?”

His jaw snaps shut, mouth pulling into a grimace. “Sounds like you’ve already decided.”

She lifts a brow. “You’re a ranger, but no one in the whole dome’s ever heard of you.”

He does a single rep, racking the barbel with not a single sign of strain. “I hung up my flight suit a long time ago.”

“There’s people here who can list every pilot since Mark 1,” she scoffs, “time isn’t the issue.”

“I didn’t distinguish myself,” he explains, wry, rolling up the bench, grabbing the towel from behind him. “One run wonder, you know.”

She crosses her arms, watching as he towels off the rigid bristle of his hair. “Your file’s so confidential not even generals can access it.”

“Ah, well.” He cocks a brow from under his towel, mouth rucked up in a grin. “Did someone make daddy try?”

It’s not until her knuckles crack, harsh like gunfire in the empty room, that she realizes she’s clenched her fists at all. The Asshole only gets more smug. “Maybe I just value my privacy.”

“You lost that by coming back here,” she tells him, tight, as he stands, unfurling half a head taller than her. Still, she didn’t get on the flight deck by being cowed by a few inches. “Not just anyone gets offered a seat in Rex Tyrannous.”

“Well, I don’t want it.” He slings the towel around his neck, turning toward the door. “As soon as the prince deigns to let me in his head, we can all go home.”

Kiki is a Seiran, a name that commands respect in every dome in the Pacific. Conversations end when she says they end, and no one has ever put their back to her.

But this Asshole just starts to walk away, like she isn’t a general’s daughter, like her mother didn’t save a whole city, like she’s some rookie straight out of the academy.

“Hey.” She grips his arm hard, fingers wrapped like talons. “I’m still--”

There’s no warning; one minute she’s got a hand on him and the next she’s on the ground, jaw radiating pain like the heart of a jaeger. She lifts a hand to it, and oh, that is gonna leave one hell of a bruise.

“Fuck.” Obi stares down at her, those strange gold eyes wide and jaw slack, horror etched in every line of his face. “Jesus.”

She gets to her feet, knees wobbling beneath her. Asshole didn’t kid around when he laid one on you, that’s for sure.

“Hell,” he hisses, hands hovering around her, like he can’t decide whether to help her or ignore her. “Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t even--”

Okay, that’s enough.

She’s smaller than him, lighter built, but she knows how to pack enough wallop to send him stumbling back. Her knuckles sting-- he’s got a hard head for a boy with such delicate cheekbones-- but it’s worth it to see his face ruck up in confusion, to see him cradling his own jaw.

“All right,” he laughs after a long moment, shaking himself out. “That’s fair.”

“It is,” she agrees, stepping up to him. “But it was my fault. Let’s try this over. I’m Kiki Seiran.”

She thrust out a hand, and he just stares, like he think it might bite him. Fair enough; her other one is still red from where she hit him.

“Right.” His own hand envelops her own, giving it a good firm squeeze. “I’m Obi.”

[grind-pantera]

Bar Night Tango. ( Billy Joel Oneshot. )

It’s me ya girl.............. With a 3K word billy joel oneshot that will get zero notes. please enjoy thank u 

Title: Bar Night Tango.  Pairing: Implied! Billy Joel x Fem! Reader. Words: 2934. Rating: T ( LANGUAGE, mild harassment.) 

There was an intense smell of three things, some of which made you want to shift in your seat to get farther away from it while there was one that ultimately made you stay in your spot. Beer, that ghostish and wheat scent that tickled your nose, body heat in the form of sweat. It was an already muggy evening and cramming bodies together in a minuscule bar that was meant for maybe ten people, was less than ideal. People were shoving against your back as they passed by, beer foaming from over their glass, down to catch on their hand and even down their arms depending how rugged they moved. The last smell that was in your vicinity was that of your friend across the table, the entertainment of watching other people all too amusing for his green eyes to be torn from. People watching was something the brunette in front of you quite enjoyed. Whether for the sake of being the wallflower or for the fact that watching people revealed more about them than speaking… At least, this was something that you noted he did when you two went out like this, ironic in the sense that you found some pleasure in watching him watch others, waiting for the day that his eyes are pulled from them and are fixated on you. Waiting or dreading for that day, you were unsure because it left so much unknown. Why would he look at you like that? With that gleam of curiosity he so often let be expressed upon his face from the way his eyebrows arched, to the way that his lips would curl in a cute fashion, the tapping of his fingers against the table as he went ahead and read your face like an open book. A grin, not a smile, you corrected yourself, fingertips rubbing the top of your half emptied beer.

Despite what your nose was smelling, there was nothing like the exhilaration of being shoved into a bar that he’d suggest, in fact, you knew that you would yearn for this feeling once the night was over and he dropped you off at him, giving you a glance over his shoulder to make sure you made it inside okay. His smell was distinctive to you, you had grown so accustomed to it that it felt you were bathing in it at times. His favorite kind of cigarette as if there was one between his plush lips at this very moment but there wasn’t, it was simply on his breath that seemed to hitch for a split second as he glanced your way, giving that typical Billy smile. Crooked, off to the side and bashful in some twisted innocent way. He didn’t know and from that smile, you could tell. He had no idea that as you looked at him, your heart would heave up to your throat and almost linger there the entire night, strangling you. Reminding you that friend was all you were. Friends this, friends that. 

You’d push aside that feeling of losing air, of drowning in things like his smell, like the bounce of his hair as he readjusted himself in his seat, moving slightly closer to you with a lean in. “Ya good?”

“I’m fine.” You squeaked out, being thrusted back into the reality of what was happening. No secret glances between the two of you, no silent words being spoken through body language. It was just another Friday night with your three favorite B’s. Bars, Beer and…. “Billy.”

Billy had lit a cigarette, when you were unsure but it was sitting snug between his pointer and middle finger, his hand so effortlessly draped over the ashtray on the table as the cherry fell off the tip and burnt out quickly. “Whattda want?” If he said that in any other tone you’d have been offended but alas. That was just his way of speaking. Absolute New York Style. Sharp and to the point. Attention was drawn from each other momentarily as a new pianist made their way to the stage, mumbling something to a passersby or a friend before taking their seat in the almost scorching spotlight.

“I’m going to pop to the bar to get water, it’s way too hot in here.”

With that being said, a smile popped onto Billy’s face as if he was saying to you, ‘I’m the only hot thing in here.’ Or maybe, it was just your fantasizing mind that imagined him saying that to you with a mere tilt of his lips that quickly turned a smile into a suggestive smirk. “Grab me one while you’re at it, needa replenish before more beer.” Licking his slightly dry lips, he watched the pianist on stage trickle their fingers along the black and white keys. If he wanted, Billy could absolutely play every single one of them under the table. But, there was no sense in showing off. Well, there was a minor sense to go up there and play a fistful of songs… He tilted his head towards you, dilated green eyes scanning your face as you slipped off your seat.

“Gottcha.” Billy graciously handed you a few dollars that should cover the waters and a small tip for the bartender who was no doubt trying to keep up with the rampant amount of people who showed up to Open Mic night. “I’ll be quick.”

“Impress me with your speed.”

Rolling your eyes, you put a hand on his shoulder when you passed him to get to the bar with a coy, “Don’tcha know speed is a turn off for ladies?”

Billy threw his head back at that with a laugh, subconsciously raising his hand to his now barren shoulder, rubbing where you had so kindly rested for a brief second in some meager attempt to hold onto that feeling of pressure. His laugh died down in the sound of the piano and others chattering all around him, the smile that had consumed him when you where around falling as he drew his bottom lip in and nibbled upon it. Reaching over the table to where you were sitting, he picked up your half-drunk beer and chugged the rest of it himself, slamming the glass down onto the table upside down. He’d get you another one if you wanted, but this was your third and you never seemed to finish it, asking with those pouty eyes for him to finish it because it would be such a waste… Those eyes, Billy thought and looked over his shoulder at you. You were leaning against the wooden bar, which admittedly, looked as if it were ready to topple over if one more person leaned against it. He wished you were facing him, looking back with that awkward wave you gave people when you didn’t know what else to do. Billy wished for a split second that you’d come back with the waters, rest them on the table and run a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes while saying something like, ‘How can you see with your hair all up in your face?’

‘No thank you.’ Reading your lips, he shook his head and pulled focus back. There was someone next to you now, and if he had been paying attention instead of daydreaming about something that would never happen, he’d have noticed them a minute ago, sauntering up to you. Quite literally sauntering. Billy hadn’t ever seen someone move with such faux vigor before. Cocky bastard, he thought to himself with a roll of the eyes, probably not enough to satisfy anyone so he’s gotta act, pity. That was spiteful, he was being mean as a way of coping that someone who wasn’t him… Was very obviously flirting with you. There was a swell in the singer's chest. As if he could satisfy anyone anymore, a lot like this moron next to you. He was an acquired taste and those who wanted him he very seldom wanted back. Now, with you… That would be different. He’d jump the gun at that opportunity, if you wanted him like that. 

“Really, you don’t need to buy me anything.” Laughing nervously, you grabbed the two waters that the bartender had given you, the icy drink feeling great against the sweat of your palms. “I’m here with someone---” “Why didn't he come get your drinks then, pretty thing?” The man next to you uttered a bit too closely to your ear. “If I were here with ya, I’d treat ya like a princess. Get ya all the drinks ya want… how about something a little fruity? Ya don’t look like the type who drinks beer.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. Was… Was that meant to be a compliment? Because it sure as hell was. Not. Irritated, you faced him with a nere shit-eating grin. “I fucking love beer. Now, excuse me.”

“That ain’t no way to talk to a man who just offered to buy you a drink!” His voice raised an octave. “Yo should be fuckin’ over the moon you even got my attention! You goddamn bitch.” 

This ogre of a man had gotten closer to you as he spilled insults from his lips. One after the other, and it left you with a bit of whiplash. First, he offers you a drink, twice, obviously not willing to take no for an answer, and when no was the ultimatum, the tables turned and you were everything he didn't want. You weren’t an easy woman and you didn't want to go down without a fight but when he grasped hold of your wrist, keeping you planted without any means of escape, no biting sarcasm or fighting words seemed to come to mind. In fact, you were petrified as stone, staring at him with wide eyes as you wiggled your wrist, trying to get free. Your lips parted but the voice that came out wasn’t your own.

“Let go of her.”

“Now the shrimps are talkin’.” The asshole in front of you sneered at Billy as he stood up beside you, the light from the bar illuminating his face. If he was terrified, he wasn’t showing it. But, it was typical Billy style to cover it up, especially when he came to the defense of someone. Protective by nature, you considered him though you weren’t sure if that was such a good quality now as this guy grasped your wrist harder, surely leaving a lovely bruise to be admired later.  “Why don’t you take a walk and leave the business to me and the pretty gal here?”

You gasped at the stinging sensation on your skin.

“Ah fuck you.” Billy snapped, grabbing the waters out of your hands and resting them on the bar. “She said no, how many times does she gotta say it?” You weren’t sure how, but Billy managed to muster himself between you and the guy, your wrist now free for your hand to rub gently, regaining feeling in it. “No is no, shit head. Fuck off ‘less you wanna go out back and maybe throw a few hands. Winner gets to buy the girl her drinks for the rest of the night.”

“Little shirmp has a fuck ton to say.” The burly man muttered, “I’d beat you into a pulp that even orange juice wouldn’t want.”

Billy didn't flinch as this man leaned forward, getting precariously close to him that he could feel his beer-bitten breath all over his face. “Wanna fuckin’ bet, asshole?”

“Billy, I dunno, he’s reall---” 

Holding up his hand, Billy stopped your sentence from finishing with one quick motion, not taking his eyes off his now new-named opponent. You sputtered to a stop and peered at his hand before looking at the side of his face. He was completely stone. No emotion but disgust and pure anger shining on his usually bubbly face. He was scowling and while that was attractive in its own right, you found yourself almost flopped over in worry. Digressing was obviously no good, you thought and bit your lip nervously. A fight over you? You weren’t worth that and well… Billy wasn’t the biggest of guys, he wasn’t the strongest and the only sure fire thing he had was passion and determination, which would no doubt get him along but only so far until one punch too many to the face knocked him on his back and out cold. Swallowing back the urge to yank his shoulder and pull him away from a no brainer fight, an action that would no doubt wound his pride a bit, you took a deep breath in and let him use his words first.

“You,” Billy pointed at him, his finger digging into this man’s chest. It looked painful, you thought to yourself, poking at so much muscle and fat. “Me, outside. We’ll see who turns off the---”

He was socked in the face before that statement could even be finished. The next few seconds seemed to go in slow-motion, watching as Billy was punched right square in the face, nose bending to the side slightly, eyes squeezing shut as the pain exploded in his brain, sending the signals to the rest of his body that he had just been attacked. The fall back against you as you struggled to keep him up right and had you not been right behind him, you were positive his back and the floor would have had a lovely time meeting. Shit, you thought, wide eyed. You couldn’t hold him up, falling to the ground with him slowly, your arms awkwardly placed under his arm pits as his upper half leaned back against yours. “Oh shit…” You whispered, looking up at the jerk who probably just broke Billy’s nose. “What the fuck is your issue?! You can’t just go punchin’ people who---” “He was in my way.” “Fuck you!” Your voice was more than loud, it seemed to dim down the rest of the sounds around you. “Fuck off!” And that he did, at the leniency of the security guard who just happened to watch the entire scenario unfold. A tiny sense of happiness did run over you watching the macho man being escorted from the building with fits of anger, “I did nothin’! That bitch and that shrimp---!” You didn't hear the rest of that statement as he was shoved outside. 

Billy’s nose was bleeding. You couldn’t tell from which nostril, probably both. And from the look of it in the dim light coming from the bar, he was definitely bruised around his left eye. It was a good hit. And if he weren’t unconscious, you’d hear it from him, ‘Can you believe I took a hit like that?’ He brag, no doubt. He’d be cocky, no doubt. Laughing slightly at that, you pushed down the tears that you felt were going to roll down your cheeks and shifted to caress his face softly. “Billy?” You whispered, now having to ignore the fact that you were sitting on a dirty bar room floor with your friend, almost lifeless in your arms as a few tears finally peaked from your eyes. They rolled down, catching on your chin before dropping onto Billy’s face, mixing with the blood running from his nose. “Oh my god please wake up, I don’t wanna explain to the police---”

“Am I in heaven?” Billy muttered, coughing a bit as he finally came to. There was a rush to his head, a sense of adrenaline that often came after a fight. He seemed to struggle catching his breath, coughing the blood that had seeped into his mouth back up, his green eyes shut for a moment before they blinked open. Narrowly at first, he looked at you, his bottom lip slightly swollen. “Feels like I am, heh…” That laugh was in vain when a shot of pain hit the back of his head. “Oh fuckin’ Christ… My noggin….”

“Your nose is probably broken and you’re complaining about your head?” You laughed, lifting a hand and wiping your cheeks. “Jesus, Billy. That guy just flattened you like a pancake.”

“Did I win?” The brunette asked, shutting his eyes again and trying to recall anything that had happened in the last minute that he was out cold.

“Yes,” You snipped sarcastically, “That’s why I’m sitting here holdin’ you like a lady. You totally won.”

He smiled ditzily at you, your heart pounding at that sight, “I fuckin’ knew I would.”

Bonus ending:

“Here.” You handed him a bag of peas from your freezer with a small smile of sympathy. He held onto it for a second, looking at the details of the bag before looking up at you. His left eye bruised and slightly swollen, bottom lip completely wrecked for the time being, and his nose…. Thankfully not broken, just very…. VERY bruised. “Hold it against here…” Putting your hand on his, you lifted the cold item to press against the side of his nose, causing Billy to hiss out a bit. 

“Aye, watch it.” 

Rolling your eyes, you sat beside him on the couch and mused, “Thank you… For you know… defending my honor and all...” “It was my pleasure.” Billy smiled slightly, looking down at his feet as you held the bag against his face. “Just… Next time, don’t attract a circus freak. I’m a lil’ dude, can only handle guys who are maybe 5’9. Anything above that, you’re on your own.”

“I like that you’re a lil’ dude.”

Billy sighed, his shoulders dropping out of defeat, “Thanks for letting me think I won.”

“Anytime you want...”

[vexun1]

Humans are space orcs: Demi-Humans

 So I've been reading a whole bunch of Humans are space orcs / Australians and the like. And I thought it's my turn to take a shot at it. There's one thing that people here didn't mention even once. (To my knowledge.)

 As some of you may know, Japan has currently approved human-animal hybrid experiments. So it's possible that in the far future, human-animal hybrids or Demi-Humans would become a norm. Imagine how aliens would react to this. Take a bunny human for example:

  My crew and I waited patiently for our new member to arrive. We were all excited. Some had even prepared a list of questions they wanted to ask them. Having a new member was, ofcourse, a joyous event. But this wasn't just any new crew member. It was a human.

  The other humans from the public relations office had told me that the human we were getting in particular was 'special' and 'rare', and that we were very lucky to have someone like them. I did not quite understand why at first... But I soon came to realize why.

  As we all waited inside the main deck of my ship, the door slid open. We all looked to see the human. An apex predator species from a class 6 deathworld was on our ship. The human was female and seemed to be the average height for one... But there were some distinct features that I immediately picked up on. Her skin, unlike other humans' was close to a pale white.. almost as if she was dead. The colour of her eyes was a bright pink that almost seemed luminescent, surrounded by a dark pink that then went to a normal white like all humans. I had read a human guidebook, but I did not recall humans having such detailed eyes. Especially ones that were pink in colour... Especially ones that had vertical lines for pupils. Her hair was white with a slight tint of pink. Again, I did not recall reading about this in the human guidebook. But the one detail that stood out the most from the human in front of us... were the two white antennas on top of her head. The antennas were wide and looked like they had fur on them. They seemed to be concave and hollowed out towards their base. The backside appeared to have thicker white fur, with a tint of pink, while the inside had thinner, pink coloured fur.

I set the oddities aside and approach the human. The rest of the crew follow behind me. “hmm.. is this Captain Xorlax’s ship?” The human quietly asks. Her tone of superiority sent a chill through my body I had never felt. I set that aside and stand firm. “Yes, I am Captain Xorlax of the ship Vonhuan. It is a pleasure to meet you.” I greet her and hold my hand out to her. Shaking hands was a welcoming gesture used by humans. She takes my hand and shakes gently. Her slender fingers were much longer than that of a normal human, I noticed. “My names Lirin, I’m glad to be working with you all from today onwards.”

  She made an expression described by the handbook called a ‘smile’, which was the human’s way of being polite to one another. As she shook my hand, her predator eyes locked onto mine. There was an eerie dead presence within her eyes. The pink eyes with the vertical pupils gave off no form of emotion, and the stare from her eyes made my whole body freeze.. in fear. It sent a wave of fear through my whole body. It was then that I received a horrifying reminder... we were making friends with monsters.

  I decide to not ask her about her appearance. Humans, especially the females, can be very easily offended when it comes to their appearance. I show the human to her quarters and leave her to set herself up. Some time passes, and we leave the space port. The human comes out of her quarters in clothing that exposed most of her pale white body. She mostly kept to herself, but she was trying to packbond with the crew like any normal human.

  As time passed, the crew became comfortable with her and began asking her questions about humans like they initially intended to. Though they avoided the topic of her appearance all together. No one wanted an angry apex predator on their ship. I observed that the two antennas on her head were attached to her body, and were not a form of accessory. When called, the antennas would turn to the direction of the sound before the rest of her body did.

  We arrived at a space port on a human colonial planet. The crew got off and we made our way to the main lounge of the port office. We waited for our engineer to order some parts that he needed to maintain the ship’s engines. Lirin sat down on a chair in the lounge and was minding her own business with her handheld. Since the office didn’t have chairs for none humans, we stood near her and waited. The other humans in their own seats were glancing at her, and it was obvious that they were even talking about her. She was definitely out of place even among humans.

  So I assumed. A human male approached Lirin with a large sum of human currency in his hand. “E-excuse m-me.” The man called out to Lirin. He was making an expression described in the guidebook as nervous. “C-could you P-pyon..... for... me?” Pyon? What was pyon? I did not recall an action called ‘pyon’ in the guidebook. Lirin stood up and looked at the man. She smiled and clasped his hands. “Thank you for the money.. Pyon!” Lirin finished her sentence with the same phrase the man had asked her to say. She tightened her vocal chords and made a high pitched sound.

  Whatever this was... it was of great significance. A human who was drinking a fluid sprayed out the contents in his mouth. Another human who was consuming a solid somehow got it stuck in his body, he was making shrill sounds of pain as he tried to remove it from his system. The man who had asked Lirin for the favour was leaking a red fluid from both of the two holes in the appendage on his face. I later came to know that the fluid was human blood and leaking it from their face was called a nosebleed.

  Every human in the lounge was quiet and had their eyes trained on Lirin. More males approached her with sums of currency. “H-hey.. can I... touch... your ear?” One of the other males who approached her asked. Less ask and more like a plead. Lirin’s antennas bent down and faced the man. He hesitantly touched the antenna, and then began gently rubbing it. They were clearly finding some sort of pleasure from this.

My crew and I stood aside and watched as countless men came to Lirin with currency and even valuable items, in exchange to touch her antennas or here her make the sound. When we finally left, Lirin had a bag full of items and an astonishingly large sum of human currency. She seemed pleased to say the least.

"Lirin, what just happened?" I asked her warily. I needed answers, her appearance, the way everyone acted towards her.... was so unusual. "I mean... You saw didn't You? What's there to explain?" Lirin looked perplexed, almost as if she expected me to know.

I could not hold it anymore, I had to ask, offensive or not, I needed to know. "NO I DO NOT! I understand what I saw, they seemed to enjoy your presence and 'service', but WHY!? WHY!? Why do they enjoy it? Why do you have those antennas!? Why do you look different compared to everyone else!?" I blurted out all the questions that my crew and I had. I disregarded any form of formality and respect. If I offended her, it was her problem.

Lirin began making a rapid succession of sounds. I recalled to the guidebook, it was called laughter, or in Lirin's case, giggling, it was a sound humans made when they found something funny or enjoyable. Her laughter froze and she looked into my eyes, her vertical pupils grew thinner and seemed to grow longer, as if she focused her gaze on me, sending a cold chill of fear through mine and my crew's body. While I was able to hold myself back from making any sounds, some of my crew members could not. We all felt the same fear of a predator looking into us, as if she was ready to devour us. I regretted asking her.

Or so I thought. Lirin sighed. "Well... to put simply, I'm a subclass of the Demi-Human called bunny human. Since I'm a female, I'm a bunny girl." "Demi what?" I was not following a single bit of what she said. "I'm a human, like everyone else, but I'm a different kind of human. I'm a human-animal hybrid. It's not like I'm half human, half animal, most of my body us human, except for a few details, hence 'Demi'-Human. There are different kinds of Demi-Humans, I'm a bunny girl cause I have features of a bunny." "So you're not a different race?" I asked her, still unsure. "Yeah, I'm a human, it's just that my ears are huge and on top of my head, and my eyes and skin are slightly different."

Lirin, pulled on her antennas, which apparently were her ears, and showed them to me. "You probably didn't read about it in the guidebook cause we're pretty rare, there aren't many of us around, let alone once that venture into space. That's also why it's a big deal to most people." My crew and I had calmed down, almost as if a huge weight lifted off of us. We now understood.

"Also, stop getting scared whenever I make eye contact, I'm not gonna tear you all apart and feed you all to my fourteen children or anything." "W-WHAT! WHAT DO YOU MEAN!? YOU HAVE CHILDREN!? AND FOURTEEN OF THEM!?" "Hey! Hey! Calm down, I'm just joking." We all went back to the ship and went back into space, feeling just a little closer to Lirin.

I hope reading this was worthwhile. I'm not that good at writing stories, but I hope you get what I mean. Aliens would be really surprised to hear about different kinds of Humans. Feel free to add in your own Demi-Human type and make a story out of it!

[softspiderling]

swanky fortune - part three | t.h.

Summary: you catch a glimpse of Tom’s private life and are torn between letting your guard down or keeping it up (being surrounded by four boys who have nothing but nonsense in their head certainly did not help your case).

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Song I listened to while writing: Heatwave by Robin Schulz feat Akon

Author’s Note: AAAHHHH this chapter turned out way longer than I intended, I hope you enjoy it anyways! BTW obviously the FFH premiere was ages ago and we all know the winners of the raffle did not get to spend as much time with Tom as I’ve been writing here, so pls remember this is all fiction!

Warnings: cursing, swearing, honestly it wouldn’t be a fic of mine without a good old ‘shit’

Word Count: 4,4k

Masterlist

Teaser | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten 

After lounging around for a while you got changed, ready to hit town. You just spent nine hours on a plane and you were desperate for some exercise. Grabbing your purse and phone, you exited your room and rode down the elevator to the lobby.

With a wave to the receptionist, you walked out of the hotel and exhaled deeply, perching your sunglasses on your nose.

The sun rays hit your bare skin, leaving you warm and you were glad that the weather was so nice. You didn’t have a lot of time in Los Angeles, so you wanted to make use of all the time you got, plus you still were hoping to find the perfect dress for the premiere the next day.

A couple hours later you returned to the hotel, stomach filled with coffee, various baked sweets, shopping bags dangling from your arms. You got really lucky, too. You’ve been strolling through a few stores and smaller boutiques when a pale blue dress caught your eye.

The straps were thin with a classy V-neck, it was tight around the chest and falling in a loose skirt, just above your knees. You’ve immediately fallen in love with it.

Arriving back in your hotel room, you placed the shopping bags on the bed and you pulled out the dress, holding it against your body. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you sighed wistfully. You were really nervous because of the premiere, especially with all those celebrities that were going to attend. You knew you had nothing on them, considering they were styled professionally and you were going to style yourself, but you still wanted to look your best.

Grabbing a hanger out of the closet, you hung your dress on it and put it back in, mentally noting down to ask the hotel for a pressing iron. Plopping down on the bed, you kicked off your shoes and got comfortable, pulling your phone out.

You scrolled through Instagram, looking at different pictures on your feed. You probably should do something more exciting, but you felt awkward walking around by yourself or eating alone in a restaurant. You knew you shouldn’t, you were a grown woman, yet you couldn’t help yourself.

A sudden vibration of your phone startled you and caused you to almost drop the device on your face, but gripping it with your fingertips, you clicked on the notification that just got in.

Tom: We’re heading out to Griffith Park. Do you want to come along? 🤗

Sign me the hell up, you thought at first and then pulled a face while typing a reply to Tom. You really shouldn’t be acting like a crazy fan, that’d probably weird everyone out.

You: Yeah, that sounds cool! I don’t want to impose, tho🤔

Tom: Nah, you won’t impose, I’m inviting you. We’ll pick you up in twenty🤙🏼

You stilled, rereading the text. We? Oh no. Did this mean that you were going to meet his family now? Oh shit.

Jumping up, you went to the bathroom, frowning at the mirror. You hadn’t bothered putting any makeup on before you went shopping, knowing it was going be warm out. But meeting Tom Holland’s family? Your hand hovered over your makeup bag, before you decided against it.

Splashing some cold water on your face to calm yourself down, you shook out your hands and then dried your face off.

“You’re going to be fine, Y/N. They’re just normal people, like you are,” you mumbled under your breath, exiting the bathroom.

You stuffed your things in your backpack and slipped into your sneakers, grabbing the deodorant to prevent any embarrassing armpit stains of nervous sweat breakouts that you knew were coming.

Shaking your head, you grabbed your phone and headed out of your room. In hopes of walking off your nerves, you opted for the stairs instead of the elevator.

Slightly out of breath, you reached the lobby for the second time that day and went out to wait by the sidewalk. You squinted your eyes, looking down the street before taking a seat on the bench, glancing at the watch and putting your sunglasses on your nose.

As you sat on the bench, waiting, sweat started building up in the nape of your neck. You twisted your hair to the side, but after a while you got tired of it, so you bent over and combed through your hair with your fingers.

Your sunglasses perched dangerously close to the edge of your nose so you grabbed it, sticking the temples in your mouth.

While you gathered all your hair in one hand, you heard a car pulling up to the curb and a distinct:

“Is this her?”

Followed by some muffled voices and then a: “Oi, Y/N!”

Looking up with one hand around your hair and your sunglasses dangling from your lips, you saw Tom through an open car window, three eerily familiar looking boys squeezed in the backseat.

Tom lifted his sunglasses to look at you, a smirk gracing his lips. “You okay, love?”

“Just peachy,” you bristled, while the boys laughed and you tied your hair with an elastic, getting in the passenger seat after having put the sunglasses back on your nose.

“Y/N, this is my best mate Harrison and my brothers Harry and Sam,” Tom introduced you and you waved at the boys with a small smile.

“Hey, Y/N,” they chorused. “Nice to meet you,” Harrison added. Dude had crazy blue eyes. “Tom’s already told us a lot about you.”

“Shut up, Haz,” Tom hissed and you glanced at him, cheeks tinging. Tom told his best friend and brothers about a fan he just met and picked up from the airport? That straight up sounded like a scene from a bad fanfiction.

“So how come I get to sit in the front?” you asked as Tom pulled away from the curb. “I am pretty sure I am the shortest out of all four of us.”

“What, you want to be squeezed in with two boys in the backseat?” he asked back and Harrison jolted your car seat, which made your whole body shake. Jeez.

“I can sit up front if you don’t want to sit next to Tom, Y/N,” he said and you clicked your tongue dismissively.

“I told you, she doesn’t even like me,” Tom teased and you groaned, covering your face with your hands.

“Stop saying that! Everyone will think I am so ungrateful,” you complained and he laughed, glancing at you.

“Nah, you’re fine.” He gave you a soft smile and you heard suppressed laughter from the back.

“His game is so bad,” Sam whispered and Tom slammed on the breaks, causing the three boys to jolt forwards, hitting their heads.

“What the hell!”

“Fuck you, Tom.”

“You div, learn how to drive!” Harrison yelled, his hand reaching out to swat at the back of Tom’s head, but he dodged his friend’s hand with a snort.

“Should’ve put your seatbelts on, boys,” Tom said with a shrug, a shit eating grin on his face.

Hiding your laughter behind your hand, you turned away, before clearing your throat. “Don’t you have another brother though?”

“Yeah, Paddy. He’s with my parents. Why?”

You shrugged with your shoulders. “Just wondering. He’s the cutest out of all four of you.”

“WHAT!” the three brothers shouted indignantly and you bit back a grin.

“It’s true though. He has that kind of charm that none of you possess.”

“That’s the rudest thing I’ve ever heard,” Harry stated and Tom nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, you’re cancelled, Y/N.” 

“Don’t act like babies,” you snickered and shook your head at them.

“I can’t believe you’re so cool, most fans would die being in the same car with their favorite actor,” Sam said and you squinted an eye at him, pursing your lips.

“I never said that Tom is my favorite actor though,” you pointed out and the three boys in the back howled out in laughter.

With a chuckle you glanced at Tom and noticde his reddened cheeks, his gaze fixated on the street. “I’m just kidding, you’re my all-time favorite actor,” you assured him and he grimaced at you, shaking his head fondly.

After a drive filled with easy conversation, much to your luck, Tom pulled into the parking lot next to a black car, three people waving at you.

“Oh there’s Paddy!” you exclaimed and got out of the car, trailing behind Tom as he greeted his parents.

“Hey mum, dad, Paddy, this is Y/N,” Tom introduced you and you smiled, suddenly shy, the false bravado you’ve grown during the ride disappearing.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Holland. It’s so nice to meet you,” you said, reaching out to shake their hand.

“Oh please, call us Nikki and Dom,” Tom’s father insisted and shook your hand, his mother doing the same. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for donating to the Brother’s Trust, Y/N it means the world to us. How has LA been treating you so far?” Nikki asked you and you shrugged with a smile.

“Oh no need to thank me, your family is the one being so amazing, helping out others and spreading more light on smaller charities. And LA has been great so far. It’s really nice of you to let me tag along with you. I’d probably waste away in the hotel room if it wasn’t for Tom inviting me,” you said and she laughed, putting her hand on Paddy’s shoulder.

“You must be Paddy,” you said with a big smile, shaking his hand too. “I am. Nice to meet you!” he said and Harry nudged him with a grin. “Y/N thinks you’re cute,” he told his youngest brother and Paddy’s eyes widened, blushing furiously.

“You’re embarrassing him,” you chastised Harry and Paddy ignored you, punching Harry on the shoulder.

“Guys, stop joking around, we don’t have all day,” Harrison called and you winked at Paddy before you were being dragged off by Tom.

“The poor guy’s going to have a heart attack,” he said and you grinned, walking in step with him.

“Aw, no, I don’t want that,” you laughed and Tom chuckled, stuffing his hands as he walked. “What Sam said about you being so cool is true though. It almost feels like we’re friends and met under normal circumstances and not this crazy one,” he told you and you smiled at him, ducking your head.

“Thanks?” you said, the word trailing into a question. He gave you an easy smile and before you could say anything else, the rest of the group joined you.

Everyone decided to take a hike up a trail in the park and when you’ve reached the top, you looked down the city with a big smile on your face.

“This is awesome,” you pressed out, still catching your breath from the hike up. Grabbing your phone, you snapped a few pictures of the view of the city.

“You want to take a picture together?” Tom asked you and you looked at him in surprise, before nodding with a grin.

“Yeah sure, that sounds nice.”

“Oi, Harry, come take a picture of us,” Tom yelled, waving his brother over. Meanwhile, you wiped the sweat off your forehead, hoping you looked decent.

“Come on here,” Tom urged you and placed an arm around your shoulders. You shuddered a bit and smiled up at Tom, when you heard a click of a camera.

“Hey! I wasn’t ready yet!” you protested, but Harry just smirked at his camera, before looking at you. “You ready now?” he asked teasingly, lifting his camera, ready to snap another picture.

You and Tom both smiled at the camera and Harry snapped a few pictures, before showing them to you.

“They look really cool, man,” Tom told his brother with a clasp on his shoulder, before he walked off to find his parents. As soon as he was out of earshot Harry looked up to you with a grin and showed you the first picture he’s taken:

Tom was facing the camera, his smile wide, while you were looking at him with a dopey expression on your face.

“Do not show him that picture!” you hissed, cheeks warm from embarrassment. If it weren’t for the situation you were in right now, you’d consider asking Harry for a copy of that picture. It did look pretty cute. But it was also very obvious that you had a fat crush on Tom. And asking Harry for a copy of that picture would be you admitting it. So, no. There’s no way that that’s happening

Harry laughed and shook his head. “Okay I get it now. You are totally in love with him, but you vehemently deny it.”

“Shut up, this isn’t funny. I am just another fan, don’t make it a bigger thing than it is.”

Harry tilted his head and hummed, glancing at Tom who was goofing off with Paddy and Harrison before looking back at you.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him act like this around a fan before. There’s something about you, that makes Tom feel at ease.”

You swallowed thickly, what did this even mean? Clearing your throat, you shrug, hoping these stupid butterflies would disappear from your stomach. “I did put some sedative into his water.”

Harry slapped his hand on his forehead. “Oh yeah, I can see it now. You’re a dumbass, just like him,” he groaned and you laughed. “That must be it.”

>>> 

After taking a few more pictures on top of Griffith Park, you started heading back down the trail, stomachs grumbling.

“Oooohhh let’s get some ice cream!” Tom suggested, pointing to the ice cream cart a few feet away.

“But we’re having dinner soon,” Nikki pointed out and Tom threw an arm around his mother. “Aw, come on mum. You’re attending the movie premiere of your famous son tomorrow. Let’s celebrate with some pre-dinner ice cream!”

“Geez, when did you get so big headed?” She teased, though the tone in her voice was fond. “But fine, let’s go get some ice cream then.”

With a cheer, the group headed to the ice cream cart, everyone talking about what flavor they were going to pick.

Peeking into the cart, you eyed the different colored ice cream flavors, before deciding for one.

“What’re you gonna get, Y/N?” Harrison asked, leaning over your shoulder. “Vanilla?”

“Nah, I never really was a fan of vanilla,” you mused, ordering a scoop of chocolate ice cream and Tom snickered when you glanced at him.

“Duly noted, Y/N.”

“Oh you pig!” You scolded him with red cheeks, thanking the ice cream vendor when he handed you your ice cream.

“I just said, noted as in, I will not bring you vanilla ice cream because you don’t like it,” Tom argued with a laugh and you shook your head at him.

“Just- don’t, Tom,” you groaned and waved your hands at his face to stop him from talking.

Tom and Harrison laughed and you rolled your eyes at them, waiting for everyone to get their ice cream. When everyone was served, you all started walking back to the cars, talking about the restaurant you were going to have dinner at and what everyone was looking forward to eat, when you noticed a group of girls staring.

“Oh my god, it’s Tom Holland!” one of them exclaimed and you winced, when people started crowding around Tom.

“Hey guys,” he greeted them with a bright smile, cleaning his face off with a wipe. The people started talking, everyone vying for his attention.

“Can we take a picture with you?”

“Can I get an autograph?”

“Where’s Tessa?”

The crowd started getting bigger and your eyes flitted around, looking for an exit. You weren’t a big fan of growing crowds. Noticing your discomfort, Tom handed you the keys of his car, giving you a comforting smile.

“Why don’t you go ahead and wait in the car?”

“Yeah, that sounds splendid,” You muttered, taking the keys and headed to the car with quick strides. You noticed a few girls looking at you and you ducked your head, not wanting to deal with so many people.

“Tom! Who was that?” a girl asked and Tom waved her off with a laugh.

“Just a fan. She’s the one who won the brothers’ trust competition,” he replied and you grimaced, feeling like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over you.

Tom joking around with you and Harry telling you, Tom was at ease around you, was a stark contrast to what he’s just told the girl. Even though you knew you were merely a face in the mass, it still hurt to hear it out loud like that.

Clicking the button of the car keys, you opened the car door and got in, groaning into your hands. This was the worst.

You went into this with no expectations, but Tom’s behavior around you was confusing you so much. You didn’t know what to think.

Playing on your phone, you waited until the boys got back into the car. You exited out of Homescapes when the car doors opened and the boys tumbled in, talking loudly.

“I can’t believe that girl wanted you to sign her boobs!” Harry giggled and you gave them a look.

“Sorry love, couldn’t get away,” Tom told you with red cheeks and you snorted. “Don’t worry about it,” you said as he started the car, driving back into the city.

The excitement of being recognized soon died down and exhaustion took over the car, the music on the radio being the only sound, with the boys in the back dozing and you and Tom driving in silence.

“Hey, so how about I drop the boys off at my place and come with you to the hotel? I’ll wait for you to get changed and then we drive back to my place so I can get dressed and we don’t have to drive twice,” Tom suggested and you turned to look at him, puzzled.

“You sure you want to come with me instead of chilling at home?” you asked him and he shrugged, before nodding.

“Yeah I’m sure. You’re cool,” he replied and you narrowed your eyes at him, a smile spreading on your face.

“Fine. Have it your way, movie star.”

You saw the corners of his lips quirk up and your heart warmed, hoping that that sight will ingrain itself in your brain. A few minutes later, Tom pulled up in front of a luxurious looking apartment complex.

As the car skidded to a stop, the sleeping boys lurched forward and Harrison rubbed his eyes sleepily, looking around in a daze.

“Wha- Is Y/N not getting changed for dinner?” he asked while Sam and Harry climbed out of the car.

“Yeah, I am taking her to the hotel and then we’ll be back to pick you guys up,” Tom said and his friend yawned, shaking his head.

“Why don’t you just get changed now and then drive her to the hotel afterwards? The boys and I can squeeze into the car with your parents or take a taxi,” Harrison suggested and Tom glanced at you. “You mind?”

“Why in god’s name would I turn down the opportunity to see your apartment?” You asked, already unbuckling your seat belt.

“Alright, alright tiger. You go ahead with Harrison, I’ll go park the car,” he told you and you gave him a thumbs up, getting out of the car.

“Let’s go in,” Harrison said and gestured for you to follow him. You briefly watched Tom drive off in his car before you followed Harrison inside the building.

The door was already open and Harrison pressed the button for the elevator. While you waited, you looked around the building.

“So what exactly is the deal with this apartment? Does Tom actually live here or does he live in London?” you asked, stepping into the elevator when the doors open.

“Marvel provided him with this apartment in LA. But he actually lives back in London,” Harrison told you, winking. “He actually lives pretty close to his parents’ place.”

He pressed the button of the penthouse (figured Tom Holland was living in the penthouse) and the elevator doors closed, riding up.

“And you’re all staying with him at his apartment?”

Harrison nodded, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “Yeah. We wanted to get a hotel, but Tom insisted. Was saying that he barely sees us and wants us to stay with him, so we did.”

“Makes sense.”

You headed out of the elevator when it reached the penthouse, looking around in wonder. It looked modern and sleek, a few clothes scattered around the living room, but it didn’t really look like someone actually lived here permanently. You guessed that Tom didn’t stay at this apartment very often, considering he spent most of his time on working and at his actual home. It was still nice to see how he spent his downtime.

“You feel at home, I gotta go grab a shower,” Harrison told you and you sat down, dicking around on your phone while everyone else got ready.

A few minutes later, Tom trickled in, tossing his wallet on the kitchen counter.

“I don’t need long, just want to freshen up and get a change of clothes.”

“You take your time,” you said, waving your hands offhandedly, watching as he disappeared into the hallway. You checked the time on your phone and pulled a face. You wished you hadn’t just told him to take his time; you were told that the reservation at the restaurant was at seven thirty and it was already past five. You still had to drive back to the hotel and get ready there.

Leaning your head back on the headrest, you stared at the ceiling.

You heard steps coming closer and when you turned your head, you saw Nikki walk in the living room, toweling her damp hair.

“Oh Y/N,” she said when she noticed you. “I didn’t know you came here with us.”

“Nikki, oh, hi!”

You quickly sat up straight and gave her a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for Tom and then we’ll drive back to the hotel,” you told her and she hummed, disposing of her towel before she joined you on the couch.

“I’m sure he’ll be right out. So… Tell me a bit more about yourself. Are you in school right now?” she asked you and you nodded.

“Yeah, I’m in university for my business major right now. It’s really interesting but so much work. I had to do a lot of assignments to be able to come here, or else I wouldn’t be able to catch up with the amount of work I have to do when I go back home.”

Nikki grimaced good naturedly and clasped her hands over her knees. “Geez, that sounds tiring. I hope you’ll get everything done in time. What about your personal life though? Any significant other? We did offer you to bring someone along, right?”

You snorted out a laugh and leaned forward a bit, your hair covering your heated cheeks. “I know yeah, uh. My friends were busy and I don’t have a boyfriend- or girlfriend, for that matter. With school, and my job on the side, I just don’t have the time to look for someone I like.”

She smiled at you and shook her head. “You’re not supposed to look for someone actively, Y/N. If it’s supposed to happen, it’ll happen.”

“I guess I never thought about it like that,” you admitted, tucking your hair back. With tinder, bumble and Instagram DM’s, you’ve never actually thought about just waiting and seeing where things would take you. Even though you weren’t a big fan of online dating, you’ve downloaded tinder one time.

It lasted about a week before you got sick of the unsolicited nudes and the weird pick up lines. Though you weren’t sure if you could fit a relationship into your life right now, you barely were able to squeeze in the two days for the premiere.

“Just keep your eyes open, how does that sound?” Nikki suggested as Tom walked in, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. His hair was still a little bit damp and instead of some shorts and a shirt, he was dressed in a striped polo shirt paired with some dark pants.

“Hey, Y/N, you ready to go?” he called out to you, before giving a look to his mother, a look you couldn’t quite decipher. Nikki only smiled innocently at her son and you eyed them while you got up.

“Yeah, I am ready to go.”

“I’ll see you kids at the restaurant, drive safe!” She gave you and Tom a hug before you two headed out of the penthouse, taking the stairs to the ground level.

“What’s the deal with those glasses? Too lazy to put your contacts in?” you asked him when you exited the building.

“Oh no, I don’t actually need glasses,” Tom told you with a grin. “They’re a fashion statement.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes at him. “Geez, movie stars are so vain. Having to wear glasses is such a bother, I don’t understand why you would willingly put up with that.”

“Because I look great with them,” he pointed out and laughed, getting into the car after he’s unlocked it.

“It’s true though, admit it,” Tom teased you and you narrowed your eyes at him, huffing with a blush.

“Whatever.”

Tom snickered and started the car, wiggling with his shoulders. “You totally think I am handsome.”

You didn’t bother with a reply and he’s left grinning to himself as he drove back to your hotel. When you’ve reached the hotel, you made your way up to your floor, chattering about idle things. Entering your hotel room, you kicked your shoes off and tossed your backpack on the bed while Tom took a seat on the couch.

“So I’ll just take a quick shower and get changed, it won’t take long,” you told him, gesturing to the bathroom.

“Sure, I’ll wait here!”

He gave you a thumbs up and turned back to his phone while you disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

You quickly stripped off your clothes and stepped into the shower, not wanting to waste any time. You didn’t want to make anyone wait at the restaurant for you. After washing the sweat and grime from the hike off, you turned off the shower, shaking off the remaining water. Drying yourself off, you wrapped your hair in a towel, stilling when you looked into the mirror and saw your naked body. Something was wrong. You felt like you were missing something important. Your cheeks grew red when you realized your mistake.

“Fuck.”

You had forgotten to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom.

to be continued...

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[psi-psina]

Tour19 This Way to Self-Destruction Kanazawa & Fukuoka ♡

金沢市文化ホール

Kanazawa was a day of reunions and meetings with many precious people so it’s a day that will always stand out in my memory. Kanazawa Bunka Hall is a lovely venue but felt a little odd for a rock concert. Due to various circumstances I ended up with a front row seat in this hall, dead in front of Shinya and Die. I was extremely excited about it but it also felt quite odd, because the circumstances that led to me getting this ticket were really unfortunate. Anyway. 

The edge of the stage was barely over an arms length away and there was this hilarious little rope on the ground at our feet for the ‘barrier’. I think they only raised it during the encore? I was concerned I’d be going head first into the stage when headbanging, but thankfully it wasn’t a problem and I quickly realised we’d have to be far more careful of the photographers crawling around in front of us trying to get  their pics of the guys 😂 Thankfully they were very accomodating of our enthusiasm and we were no trouble to them 😂 I hope. Although I think during one song a guy may have got whipped by my hair. I’m sorry bro. So yes, DEAD IN FRONT of Shinya and Die…It was Bliss…I think this is probably the deepest engagement I’ve ever been able to have during a live because there were just no mitigating factors…the stage was right there and there was no one in front of me or crushing me or hindering me in any way. Unbelievable. The stage in Bunka Hall was pretty large and not just wide but quite deep. Kyo’s box was placed way further back than usual, like easily a good few steps between it and the stage edge.

I believe that both the SE and the SE footage used on this tour are the same as in TIW spring tour. There maaay be some variation in the footage but overall the impression is exactly the same. I was surprised by that because I had thought that this being such an extensive tour with a new single at the helm that they might develop the visuals a bit more, and mix things up a bit, but this tour is no different to TIW tour aesthetically speaking. It’s also a less varied setlist, which surprised me at first, but now makes complete sense due to the nature of The World of Mercy. 

絶縁体 谿壑の欲 Downfall Devote My Life Celebrate Empty Howls 人間を被る 赫 Merciless Cult Rubbish Heap 軽蔑と始まり Values of Madness Ranunculus The World of Mercy

EN. HYDRA -666- 鬼眼 Followers NEW AGE CULTURE 詩踏み

Seeing Zetsuentai up that close for the first time was incredibly moving, and then the transition right into Keigaku created this most hypnotic atmosphere. It was a really nice opening pair especially for a seated venue, it let the atmosphere really blossom before jumping into the more energetic songs. They started Downfall and I lost it, I think the only song I was looking forward to hearing again MORE from The Insulted World was Ningen. I cannot believe I was meh about Downfall until I experienced it live! On record, at first I thought it just sounded choppy and a bit generic, but live it just explodes with emotional intensity and I am absolutely crazy about the bridge. Major highlight was Die coming right up to the edge of the stage at literal arms-length away and just rocked out there for a moment while I threw down my SPINE. He was wearing these glittering wide-leg trousers that really caught my eye when he was right there…And his hair is magnificent 💞 And then IN DEVOTE Kaoru came over from shimote during the second verse and stood in the same place…right over me and Britti and, made his rock star face…pretty sure I lost control of my entire face and possibly shouted “TO DIE IN” right at him, RIP…I cannot fully remember but he was, enthused. Oh my god…I love him. So I have very little memory of Kyo from Downfall > Ningen due to the fabulous antics of Die and Kaoru, but Kyo’s wonderful dancing in Celebrate obviously always stands out. He does this irresistible jerky dance with his hips and arms and flops his head around during the main riff and like, it’s impossible to NOT move watching him do this. This song is so much FUN live.

Every time I hear those opening chords of Ningen I experience, like, a physical anticipation and pleasure that is pretty much unique to this song. No other song gives me a physical sensation like this one, I just find it really, really intensely emotional. And I know this song is sooommmewhat derivative and hardly like groudbreaking-ly original or anything like that and I DON’T. CARE. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Stanning 人間 till DEATH, bye. Also during the second interlude, after Ningen (I think) we were calling out for Shinya, which I do not do ENOUGH. I mean I was standing RIGHT in front of him, I had no excuse not to stan. Called for Kyo as well bc he was sitting on the drum stand like RIGHT THERE and I was like “oh fuck 🤡”

ALSO one important tidbit I don’t want to forget about, is a friend telling me she could see Die glancing at my hair all the time while I was headbanging 😂 the thought of this makes me feel all glowy

I have only the vaguest memory of Aka…I was thinking about it as I was looking at the setlist and trying to remember each song and I could barely conjure Aka at all. It just didn’t stand out especially tonight which is weird for me, because last spring it was paired with undecided. Played as a ‘pair’, those two songs created an unforgettable and incredibly distinct moment in the set each night…on this tour Aka is somewhat marooned, alone in the middle with all the really energetic songs. I do recall Kyo creating his loop out of the mic chord and dragging it around his neck during the guitar solo, and watching Die’s passion at various moments. And I do so so so love being called on to sing during this song…I love singing Aka so much, the melody is so smooth and melancholy and the words just flow off the tongue so beautifully…I love it

After Aka we smashed into Merciless Cult and I have a lot of trouble remembering anything from Merciless > Values with any cognisance. Kyo moved around a LOT during Rubbish Heap and Values and I think Die and Kaoru also did. Kyo was energetic and interactive during this part of the set and he was demanding MORE from the audience. I wish I had seen more of Toshiya tonight but I honestly barely saw him, he did not visit our side at all or move to the front much and a lot of the time Kyo obscured him from my line of vision. Bby! I was able to see Kaoru most of the time but I only turned to him at select times bc, guys. Die was RIGHT in front of me and I love him. As if I’m going to treat him so poorly?

Then it was time for Ranunculus & The World of Mercy. I have listened to The World of Mercy incessantly since it’s release, but for me, the effect of it’s ‘pairing’ with Ranunculus in this set, almost as a Part 2 of that song was just…after the experiences and emotions of Ranunculus on the previous two tours… in a way it was deeply heartbreaking.  Kyo was extremely emotional during Ranunculus today, but it felt different…I couldn’t put my finger on it until we talked about it afterwards, but it was rattling. I couldn’t tell if he was weeping, but he screamed, and tore at his clothing and thrashed his body around and then at the end of the song, he fell and bent into the foetal position. Delay was used on the mic as they transitioned out of Ranunculus into the soft open of Mercy. He began making these desperate, abstract sounds that immediately reminded me of his inward screams. Perhaps he was using words but to me it sounded like wordless pleading murmuring and gurgling and breath. I could clearly see his face on the floor while he was doing this and it was unpleasant to watch…it’s hard to describe at all. He sounded like he was crying, but I don’t know if there were tears. He sat up slowly, cradling the mic and then began laughing horribly. Letting out these hopeless forced cackles as he sat there looking crumpled, and that was how he vocalised the first lines of Mercy.

It was difficult to watch. I wanted to cry but also wanted to hide. I did not feel this horrible hopelessness in Mercy at the following 3 lives I attended, which is not to say that it wasn’t there, but perhaps was more poetic and contained, and less raw than it was tonight. The following 3 shows also had a far greater sense of intimacy and rapport between the band and the audience imho. When Mercy came to an end the hall was just engulfed in dead silence. The backdrop went black, and then glowed with DIR EN GREY + the tour title in bright red text. I almost completely burst into tears. The members all left quietly and applause broke out, and then the call for encore went up. I collapsed momentarily to drink some water but then had to stand back up bc lol if I’d stayed seated it would have all been OVER for me.

The encore was LIT, but it was a bit odd having Followers right in the middle of all the rowdy songs. Hydra 666 mates…mates UGGGHHHHH IT’S JUST SO FUCKIN LIT ugghhh the mask experience is insane and seeing Kyo projected on the backdrop like THAT…in THAT song. Epic iconic immortal ugh this influence this legacy. I almost FELL head first into the stage during Kigan, it was a CLOSE CALL. New Age was absolutely manic, Kyo was running everywhere and I’m pretty sure it was on his way back from kamite here that he gestured at us as he danced past hahaha I was too close to the stage to see anything he was doing on his adventures, and I think Kaoru came over again and Die visited shimote 💞At the end of the song Kyo was right at the edge in the centre, and he was grimacing with his effort not to smile. He failed and smiled hugely for a moment with his face turned on side.

They closed out with Utafumi which I can honestly never remember well, like the song is just too hectic and always ends with me bent over bashing my brain against my skull. At the end Shinya was being EXTREMELY PASSIONATE with the drums, it was RATTLING my whole body and Toshiya was like…. .. .. . . . … .. . . …. . .. . (are u done???) lajsndflkas 💞At the end Kyo stood on his crate and briefly took in the hall with an unreadable expression, he clapped and then departed. The other guys threw a few goodies, and then also departed. None of them seemed displeased, and from my vantage they all seemed to have had a good live but I was told the audience was rather stoic so they weren’t excessive with their gifts at the end of the night. I have a very distinct memory of Kaoru doing his thing…standing DEAD in front of me hardcore ignoring us 😂 Die and Toshiya did the same but they are like, not so deliberate about it. They just like, cruise along while Kaoru deliberately stands there with that smirk like. hahahaa….ur not getting one alskjdnflaksjd. It makes me LAUGH 😂 The backdrop was emblazoned with the band’s name and tour title again, and Kaoru was the last to leave. He left with smiles and waves and gestured strongly at the backdrop which got an additional cheer. Then he left! And I immediately became a boneless blob…I think my muscles took a whole week to recover from this show.

Zepp Fukuoka 

This is a VERY Kyo centric report I am sorry for all the things that ESCAPED ME!

So this show made me never, ever want to miss a Dir live in Fukuoka ever again. Tonight was so emotional!! This is the third time I’ve seen Dir in Fukuoka and the second time I’ve seen them at the Zepp, although I believe it  has been completely re-done and is a different venue to the time I saw them there in 2015. To get inside the hall we had to go down two flights of stairs and inside it felt very intimate. I had a good number and had a nice spot just at the back of the pit in front of the first rail which is where I love to be. I was right between Toshiya and Kyo, and it was such a good spot.

絶縁体 人間を被る Downfall Devote My Life Celebrate Empty Howls Merciless Cult 谿壑の欲 赫 Rubbish Heap 軽蔑と始まり Values of Madness Ranunculus The World of Mercy

EN. 理由 Followers 凱歌、沈黙が眠る頃 NEW AGE CULTURE 詩踏み

Kyo’s outfit tonight I absolutely LOVED, he was wearing the HELL out of a calf-length pleated black skirt with his tabi boots and a white dress shirt done up at the neck with a black ribbon, plus a slim black harness over the shirt as well. There were several times where I was just completely transfixed by his silhouette, and the ‘flow’ this long skirt gave his body and movements.

Zetsuentai had a BIGGER impact tonight and honestly there were a couple of moments for me where tears came on…when he broke into ”aa, damashi au koto de dare…” my heart felt like it was being squeezed and tears just came out…the second one, after “kono sekai mienakereba jibun no mama de ireru”, was even worse..and then when he broke into “shinjite mireba…” I was practically gasping for air…not due to heavy crying, because i wasn’t, but I was just overcome with emotion that couldn’t find it’s way out in tears…my whole body felt like a prison and I just wanted to scream. So Zetsuentai was…amazing tonight, it was only topped by the second night in Okinawa. Because that night, it was mid-set… I was VISIBLY not the only person having an emotional breakdown.

The final riff in Zetsuentai ground to a halt and the hall erupted in feral screaming, completely drowning out the final notes of the track and then oh my god…we slid into Ningen and I experienced extreme catharsis lmao oh my god…Kyo spoke as those opening chords sounded and we roared at him and that’s all I can remember except for headbanging and singing my heart out…it was Bliss. At the end of Ningen there was an break and Kyo sat on the drum stand and just looked at the crowd, and Toshiya left the stage. They did this during every break this evening. The screaming was deafening, just absolutely amazing. Growling. It drew to an end we had Downfall, Devote, Celebrate and Merciless. I just can’t…Fukuoka  LOVED Downfall, we were singing the FUCK outta that bridge well before the section that Kyo gives to us and he LOVED it, and then Devote started and Kyo was moving all over the place and did the whole song basically right at the edge of the stage, pointing and gesturing and making faces. Celebrate was a DANCE, we had some BOPS. There was this super passionate guy right next to me who just got down SO HARD for this song as well, we had the SPACE to dance and bop so we just did it and I just lajskdnflaksjd the Toshiya fangirls to my front-left were also just having the BEST fucking time. I kept hearing this girl sing out “Toshiyaaaaaa” in this really quite melodious voice all night laksjdnlf. Kyo’s dancing was also wonderful, his long skirt accentuated his hip movements uhuhu 😭

Merciless Cult is a blur, I could DIE. At the start Kyo snarled “掛かって来い!!!” at us and there was a lot of shrieking and oh my god that mosh…Kaoru and Die were LOVING it and Kyo was shaking his entire body at us as we screamed “GASP” and oh my god oh my god… Kyo just wordlessly howled at us to sing “kurikaeshi tsuranuku…aaaa, doko ka, kowarete yuku” and people SCREAMED with Kyo as he broke out at the end of the line and threw ourselves back into the riff….I am honestly shaking just thinking about it.

And then Keigaku came after the second interlude with a lot more feral screaming and oh. my. god. This Keigaku is INCOMPARABLE and probably my FAVOURITE performance that I have ever witnessed of this song. Kyo sighed creepily into the mic at the start, making these sinuous movements with his body and voice that were just COMPLETELY captivating and then slid into those obscure words…before each heavy riff he just HOWLED, it was like his body was taken over by the song completely. During the thrash sections the crowd went WILD and I don’t mean just movement I mean people were screaming, i was losing my mind. By the time the second verse sidled up we were so hypnotised it felt like everyone there was swaying in sync and we drew into that riff again, Kyo was singing COMPLETELY different lyrics and in that small empty space before Kaoru crashes in he CACKLED into the mic and then just shrieked…oh my god oh mygod. He sang “me o mukeyou to wa shinai, sou made shite itsuwarita…” with such a sensual quality like he was winding in on himself… then as it ended he uttered those omitted (?) words…はやく死ね (“fucking die quickly”; personally i feel like the sentiment is very like “i hope you drop dead” but that’s my impression)… 

and those words led straight into Aka, which left a MUCH bigger impression than in Kanazawa because god following Keigaku… In the second verse he sang different lyrics and then called on us to sing…it felt very subdued and hopeless. Kyo looped the chord around and around again… ugh. And then Rubbish Heap ohhhhh my god. Kyo went straight to kamite at the start of Rubbish Heap and held his fist up and SHOOK it at us, and I saw more people than USUAL make fists lmao. Me and old mate next to me were jump-punching the air with every “FIST” and Kyo gestured in our direction and I know Die saw us 😂 Keibetsu and Values are just…a blur of adrenaline. I know the guys moved around during Values but I was too busy dancing to remember ljhgkhgkj.

Ranunculus was so incredibly soft tonight…At the start Kyo was breathing into the mic and the opening verse was so beautiful and during the second he became teary…he beat himself with the mic and screamed three times before the final chorus … ;_______; As it ended Kyo kept repeating “わたし…一人で…” with delay on the mic again and then just lapsed into silence. He sang those first lines of Mercy almost with a kind of lethargy…like he’d just woken up. His body looked limp as well…he started moving the mic around so his voice was smaller and more distant…and when it reached “majiwaru ima…” he just wailed it and screamed out as Shinya broke in…I was absolutely beside myself and was just standing there crying…he vocalised “mada minu mirai de kusarou” in this desperate elongated wail that is probably the most vivd memory I have from the entire concert. As he repeats “yuugi…yuugi…yuugi…” he turns and slowly draws his arm around in circles…he uses his whole body to make this shape though, using his hips to create this undulating motion that is completely hypnotic.

During the interlude after the first heavy section Kyo gnaws on his wrist. He did this in Kanazawa as well, but tonight it was rather more intense for me I think because I was more directly in front of him and he was making extremely erotic moaning and sighing and sucking sounds into the mic. >.< In Kanazawa this part was slightly alarming bc it looked like he was really BITING his wrist, but after seeing it a few times there is far more tongue than tooth action and it can be appreciated as a more ritualistic/symbolic performance. After gnawing he holds his wrist over his cupped hand as though collecting blood in it, then scoops with his fingers and smears it across his lips and eyes…all you can hear is piano and his breathing. Then he wailed “majiwaru ima…” and I immediately started crying again, as I already felt quite FRAGILE watching this. >.<

The encore was a blast. Wake + Followers was an absolute pleasure and then THEY PLAYED GAIKA and I’m pretty sure I fuckin astral projected because I can’t remember a GOD DAMN THING that might have happened!! New Age is a DIFFERENT STORY during New Age Kyo made fish-hooking gestures in his mouth with his pinky finger, dragging one side of his mouth up into a deranged smile before flinging his hand out, I remember him doing this both at kamite and in the centre, dancing around and pointing and eyeballing people. And it was during the breakdown in this song where Kyo was right in the middle and he bent forward and started doing this STOMP DANCE in time with the riffs and it was SO FUCKING DOPE UGGGHHH his expression and posture were so ON POINT it’s literally one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. Kaoru also came to the middle and I absolutely screamed and shook my fist at him like a lunatic and he just jutted his chin lmfao. I cannot remember a thing from Utafumi either, it is hopeless.

Kyo stayed at the end longer than he did in Kanazawa, it was kinda sweet, with each show I attended he stayed a bit longer. He clapped and fox-kissed us and waved bye-bye and then left. the other guys stayed longer as well and threw MUCH more stuff than they did in Kanazawa. And everyone left GLOWING. Band and fans. Everyone looked so full and pleased, it was wonderful. I feel like the whole band and everyone in the crowd had a wonderful night. ❤️