#His expression is intentionally hidden but you can still tell what he's feeling! Large and fearful! ♥

[shreddedparchment]

A World of Our Own Pt.10

Epilogue

10/11/2020

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 1,615

Warnings: allusions to miscarriage, LOTS of fluff, past death

A/N: I know I haven’t replied to many comments or asks from the previous chapter but I wanted to get this out as quickly as possible so that the story would be truly closed. The ending was incomplete and now it is done and I hope you enjoy this ending as much as I do. It really made me so happy to write and this is the ending these babies deserve after being blown up and deserted on an island. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Life doesn’t happen like we think it will.

We can plan and schedule and arrange as much as you’d like, but things will just not go your way.

As the ship docks, you sigh with frustration, rising to your feet to look through the porthole.

“We’re late.” You grumble, glaring at the darkening sky. “We were supposed to be here by noon. That way we had plenty of time to look around and make sure it’s safe.”

“Kitten, come here.” Bucky holds his arm out towards you without looking up from the small tablet in his hands.

There’s a weather radar on one half of the screen and on the bottom, an email. Probably from Fury.

You make a reluctant beeline for him, sitting on his lap when he urges you to, wrapping his arm around your waist.

With a lick to his lips, he puts the tablet down on the small bedside table—bolted down to keep from moving in rough seas—and brings his other arm around you.

“What did you just tell me last week?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, pretending you can’t remember.

“Yes, you do, Y/N. What did you so passionately talk my ear off and insist that I remind you, especially on this very trip, if you begin to slide back on your newest and most important—your words by the way—resolution in life? What was it?” Bucky pokes your leg as he speaks, then wraps his arm back around your waist and gives you a squeeze.

“Not to stress about the things in life that I cannot control.” You sigh. “Out of all the damn things I’ve told you, why is this one the one you remember?”

“Because you wouldn’t stop talking about it for an entire day!” Bucky chuckles. “We’re a little late? So what? We have plenty of time. This is supposed to be our honeymoon. Let’s just let go of everything and enjoy our time here.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just…I wanted everything to be right.” You nod.

“It will be. We bought the island. They’ve been working on it for a year. I’m sure everything will be perfect.” Bucky soothes you, reaching up to rub between your shoulders. “You approved all the changes. They said it was done. What are you worried about? Specifically. Help me to understand this anxiety you’re feeling.”

You grab Bucky’s face and pull his lips to yours roughly. He mumbles against your lips, a small huff of a laugh seeping through.

When you pull away, he laughs. “Ow.”

“I just…we haven’t been back here in years, Bucky. And I want it to be safer than when we left it.”

Bucky’s eyes are full of sudden understanding.

“I see.” He gets to his feet as the large yacht finally stops, helping you stand too before taking your hand in his own. “Come on. Let’s go see it. You kept the hut, right?”

“I kept everything.” You tell him, following him along the narrow white hallway, pristine wooden floors varnished and gleaming. “I just had them upgrade most of it.”

“I like your dress.” Bucky states, giving your outfit a quick once over even though you’d been wearing it for the better part of the day.

You smile bright however, pleased by the compliment before you stop, grab hold of the intentionally designed a-symmetrical dress and swing it back and forth. It’s navy with pink pansy florals and light green leaves, the top more modest than the one you owned before. Capped sleeves and a lovely heart neckline, a very thin strip of pink lace along the hem.

Bucky stops with you, smiling at the shift in your attitude with one simple acknowledgment of your reference to your first time on the island.

“How many times did we end up cutting off pieces of that first dress?” Bucky wonders, letting you think.

“Too many.” You acknowledge. “It was more of a shirt by the time we left.”

Bucky lifts your left hand up to his lips, kissing your simple solitaire engagement ring, your matching wedding band also on your finger.

“Well, we won’t have to cut any of this one off. I promise.” He assures you then pulls you along once again.

Bucky makes you wait. He makes you stay behind as the two of you reach the deck of the yacht—the Paradise Lost as you’d named it—while he steps onto the long and reinforced pier.

It stretches out on the same beach where the cabin of the plane had once stood, now relocated, and honored on another part of the island for the lives that had been lost.

The graves Bucky had dug had been remade, a small graveyard built to give the pilot and stewardess a proper resting place.

You can see it from the deck, a little farther inland where you’d had a cobbled path built to lead to it from the pier.

Making a mental note to tell Bucky you want the Stewardess’s family invited to give them a chance to say goodbye. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to get them here with the secrets surrounding the plane, but you can try.

Bucky comes back fairly quickly and waves you over. Eagerly you make your way to him.

“What happened?” You ask him but he gestures towards an older gentleman on the beach.

“Mr. Lara wants to talk to you about the chef’s supplies. Looks like there was a delay in the shipment.” Bucky tells you, then hurries past you. “Don’t worry, I’ll get our bags.”

“Bucky, we’re paying people to do that!” You call after him, but he waves you off and you turn to meet with Mr. Lara.

The island, while still massively private, has been built up like a small resort. There’s your hut, which the basic structure is the same but to it have been added a full chef’s kitchen. Several bedrooms. A living room. A master bedroom and access to the beach and a private pier.

There’s a beach barbecue patio and lounge chairs. Hidden behind the hut right in the spot Bucky built it, is the bathing pool, now with built in filtration, temperature control and more sustainable materials so that it will endure.

Your little island, the world you and Bucky created was given a full makeover. You’d always known you wanted to come back. You’d hated being stranded but the memories and the connections you’d formed here were special.

After assuring Mr. Lara that you have enough provisions on the yacht to last you until the grocery delivery arrives, you make your way back to see what’s keeping Bucky.

You’re nearly there when Bucky’s sweet chuckle stops you in your tracks. He takes the ramp onto the pier and with his hand still extended towards the yacht, you wait, your heart swelling.

“Careful.” You tell him, but he doesn’t need you to remind him.

Into view toddles a black-haired angel, eyes just as blue as his father’s. Just as you had when you’d thought about the possibility of a child with Bucky how beautiful it would be to see a mini version of him with your temper running around, it’s just so.

You wait with patience, his legs sure though slightly unsteady. His eyes scanning the area with inquisitive gusto.

He’s only just two years old but he’s already smart as a whip and when he spots you, he gasps with excitement and as soon as his little feet hit the pier, he releases Bucky’s hand and races for you.

You stoop down to scoop him and chuckle as he laughs, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“There’s my big boy.” You coo, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can pull away. “Where are we, Robin? Do you know where this place is?”

As he straightens up, he points towards the shore. “Beesh!”

“That’s right. We’re at a beach. This is an island, Robin.” You explain, moving down the pier with him in your arms.

“I-wan.” He repeats, then giggles before squirming from your grip. “Woah, easy.”

Bucky moves forward and stops the little one before he can run.

“Hey bud, we can run down the pier and play in the sand, but you have to make me a deal, okay?”

Robin lifts his little hand up, bent at the elbow with his palm turned up as he shrugs. “Dew?”

“Yeah. We can run down to the beach if you hold my hand. Okay? The water is very deep, and mommy will cry if you fall in. You don’t want mommy to cry, do you?”

“No!” Robin exclaims, his little face suddenly angry, eyebrows drawn down on the inner corners in an exaggerated expression. “Mommy no cwy!”

“Then you’ll hold my hand?” Bucky asks, holding it out for him.

Without another word Robin takes hold of Bucky’s hand ad doesn’t wait before he’s pulling him along as fast as his little legs can.

“Be careful!” You call after them but they’re not listening anymore.

Life doesn’t function according to your plan.

While you were planning your wedding, Robin came as a sweet surprise. You postponed the wedding and instead celebrated the birth of your rainbow. Much sooner than expected but welcomed all the same.

Then you and Bucky took time to nurture your son and the wedding was finally held only two weeks ago. Honeymoon delayed to make certain the island was safe for you baby.

And although you’re saving the news for the right time, you hope that you can convince Bucky to stay here for a while, at least until your second little one comes. Just another seven months.

#bucky barnes x reader #castaway au #winter soldier x reader #a world of our own #awooo #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #bucky x reader fanfic #bucky x reader fic #bucky x reader fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky barnes x reader fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader fanfic

[ushidoux]

All I Want For Christmas - Kuroo x Reader

Summary: You and VP!Kuroo go to a holiday party. (2.1k words)

Warnings: quite nsfw, fem!reader

A/N: After I deleted the post I lost the original ask lmfaooo, anyway I hope you see this anon <33. Smut is closer to the end, but it’s there I promise.

---

When you’d finally agreed after numerous appeals of various types and intensities to date Kuroo seriously and most importantly to him, openly, you hadn’t considered something very crucial - being his steady partner would mean accompanying him to formal events.

Company events were one thing. At this point, everyone in your office was aware that there was something going on between you and the vice president, so the rumor mill had already had its fun with the two of you and the jokes and teasing comments had long gotten stale. Anything else they threw at you at happy hour you could handle expertly, especially with the help of a couple drinks.

It hadn’t occurred to you that as a company executive, Kuroo would be attending bigger events with fancier people, so when he asked you to be his plus one to a networking holiday party outside of the company, you hadn’t asked too many questions before agreeing. To your defense, you were still laying on top of him when he’d asked, your thoughts as pliable as you had been for him just a few moments earlier.

Scheming as usual. 

So now to your misfortune, you fidgeted uncomfortably while seated next to your boyfriend in a company car and for once, Kuroo wasn’t teasing you. Instead, he watched you carefully before placing a comforting hand on your left knee as you fought with the hem of your considerably short dress.

He gave you a sympathetic look before squeezing softly.

“It’ll be fine. Don’t be nervous.”

You frowned. How could you not be nervous? He was taking you to the Japanese Volleyball Association’s Semi-Annual Promotional Party, and all you could think of was every possible way you could embarrass him or embarrass yourself.

The fact that Kuroo actually seemed to feel bad for you only heightened your anxiety, but you tried to focus on his hand gripping yours tightly as you walked past media reporters stalking the outside of the building so that you didn’t lose him in the swathes of people who dealt either with big business, sports or both.

The venue was expansive and heavily yet tastefully decorated in red and white and green and so many lights, in keeping with a Christmas theme; it was enough to make your jaw drop just slightly in awe. However, there was little time to soak in the ambiance and music as Kuroo whisked you through the venue to speak to potential clients, the real purpose of this event.

Despite the fact that Kuroo kept you close, it was easy to feel small as people schmoozed amongst each other, and it was more than once or twice that you caught a few glances, some curious, others critical, in your direction. Again you wondered if your makeup was too light or too heavy, if your dress was tasteful or if the discomfort you were feeling could be read all over your face.

Kuroo on the other hand was in his element, working the room smoothly and effortlessly, and in that moment you realized how easily he blended in but still stood out, his laugh distinct and gestures casual and yet room-commanding. Soon you wondered why exactly he was interested in you when it was clear you didn’t exactly fit the glamorous scene around you. 

But it would only be a couple more hours, you could bear it.

You broke free from him while he was engaged with a client and found a table at which to stand and wait for time to pass. Sipping quietly on red wine, you focused on Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas is You, humming as you detached from the scene around you. You sent a couple of texts to friends, but as it often was at times like this, no one seemed to be available.

You let out a sigh of defeat, leaning forward to rest on your elbows, and that’s when you noticed in your peripheral vision that someone had appeared to stand right beside you.

You glanced over in surprise.

“Oh, Kenma?”

Kenma offered you a small smile and leaned in the same position beside you, typing out a couple messages on his phone before he addressed you properly. 

“Kuroo brought you along, I’m surprised,” he added, catlike brown eyes focused on you now.

While you’d interacted rarely with Kenma over the past months that you’d been dating Kuroo, you were acquainted enough with his much more introverted friend, often blunt but never really intentionally rude. But somehow this comment grated on your nerves, and you took a larger gulp of your wine.

You said nothing for the next few moments, and you could hear Kenma beside you again tip-tapping quietly on his cell phone.

“If it helps, I don’t want to be here either,” he finally added.

You looked back at him to raise an eyebrow and he offered a small smile before looking back at his phone. 

“I’m supposed to be networking for my company but I’m not very good at it, so he just gets the clients for me and calls me over to secure the deal,” he elaborated. When you peered over, you realized he was in the middle of a mobile game at the very moment.

Maybe he was more out of place than you were, and somehow that was reassuring.

“What game is that?” You asked, poking at your small plate of hors d’oeuvres. 

While he explained his game to you with muted excitement and you looked at his screen with interest, Kuroo glanced over to see you finally looking something other than stressed and smiled. He would wrap up quickly with business and then all his attention would be on you. 

Kenma, the good friend he was, was returning his kindnesses as usual.

… 

“May I have this dance?”

Minutes later, Kuroo had walked over to your table, smiling at you both and extending an arm out. You had considered how satisfied you would feel being a brat and saying no, you’d rather spend the rest of the evening talking to Kenma, but instead you acquiesced. 

He was only doing his job and you wanted to be supportive. That was part of what it meant to date seriously, wasn’t it? Being slightly out of your comfort zone for your partner’s sake?

Something like that.

Now that you swayed back and forth under a large chandelier, you could tell he was apologetic by the way his hand caressed the back of your head. Maybe you were a little too close for a cocktail party but it felt nice to feel his warmth and you weren’t fond of all these people anyway.

“You okay, kitten?”

You nodded.

“You’re usually so feisty at work so I didn’t think hard enough about you feeling uncomfortable with all these stuffy business people.”

To that you let out a soft laugh. “Okay but you rarely think.”

He smirked then kissed the top of your head. “Maybe I got too excited by the prospect of having the prettiest girl in the room on my arm.”

You slapped his chest playfully once before resting your head on his chest again. Two paces later, he rested his chin above your head.

“We can take it slower if you’d like. If you want to stay more private, I mean. You’ve been generous to me so far after all.”

Your pace slowed ever so slightly as you looked up at him confused. “What do you mean?”

“Christmas came early for me, since you’re here in my arms.”

---

About an hour later, now that the two of you were back in the privacy of Kuroo’s penthouse apartment, he finally had the time to unwrap his present. He had been endlessly patient as you teased him through the agonizing ride home, your hands sneaking beneath his waistband and fondling his privates while hidden by the partition, but you were now in his domain.

Before the door slammed completely shut, you’d both gone from poised to savage - he drew your dress up over your shoulders by that oh-so-annoying hem and tossed it aside, and you’d just as quickly all but yanked his bowtie off as you removed it. 

“Careful, these clothes are expensive,” he teased, but he was as merciless with the way he tore off your panties and hoisted you up so that your legs wrapped around his waist.

“And?”

And his lips crashed to yours, and you tried hastily to undo the buttons of his shirt while accepting his tongue in your mouth.

Carrying you to his bed while making out was a coordinated feat for someone whose pants were undone and now precariously sinking to his ankles, but Kuroo was light on his feet. When he lowered you onto the bed, you could see the outline of his hard cock forming a tent through the clothing and you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.

“Relax, you’re like a kid on Christmas morning,” you teased and he pouted, but you leaned forward and freed him, going the extra mile to take his cockhead in your mouth. 

He let out a soft moan, his hand immediately reaching for your hair, and you took more inches of him in your mouth, in your throat, as far as you could go. 

“Fuck, kitten, that feels so fucking good… you’re so good to me…”

Your mouth watered with saliva as you continued to suck, now on your knees on his plush mattress and he pressed your head against him, this time not in comfort but in search of pleasure, moving ever so slightly to see just how far he could go. 

“L-let me make you feel good, baby, you deserve it,” he said finally, pulling you off of him so that he could look into your eyes. “How about the gift that keeps on giving?”

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Is this a suave way to tell me you have herpes?”

“69, ___!” 

“I was kidding!” You giggled at his frustrated expression, but once you were repositioned and his face was buried in the pussy he enjoyed so much, you were no longer laughing but quivering with something not short of intense pleasure. Mouth full of cock, it was hard to focus on moving up and down his shaft properly as Kuroo’s hands on your ass were kneading, then slapping, and he still somehow wasn’t relenting on the tongue swishing around your wet cunt.

“K-Kuroo… it’s a lot, I can’t.. do the same for you,”  you whined, saliva dripping from your lips as you .

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured, muffled between your folds, eating like a man starved.

Your moans started to fill the air as he kissed and sucked faster, and when you started to convulse rapidly, unable to take the stimulation, you arched your back and in response he wrapped strong arms around your midsection to keep you flush against him.

“Kuroo!”

“Let me finish, kitten~” he whispered in a singsong voice, and if it weren’t for the fact that your body was starting to buzz in overstimulation, you would have yelled at him.

Once he’d grown bored with torturing your cunt with his mouth, he flipped you over onto your back, hovering over you with a greedy smirk.

“You’re so pretty when you’re pushed to your limit~” he sang with glee. 

Still quivering ever so slightly, you narrowed your eyes at him but they soon widened as his cock finally pushed its way inside you. Wincing ever so slightly, you found yourself scratching at his back, more intensely with every thrust inside you that sent waves of pleasure through you from your toes to your nose.

“Fuck, Kuroo, please.. Don’t stop.”

At this rate, you’d claw permanent lines into his skin.

When his hands tightened around the headboard for support, you could tell he was close to climax, and accordingly, his strokes grew deeper and his grunts grew louder and your own peak started to approach. His chin found a home in the crook of your neck as he growled - that was the sound that finally tipped you over - and he too finally released, filling you with warm jets of cum your walls clenched around greedily.

He remained still for a moment, waiting as his cock only slowly began to soften, whispering praises into your ear.

“You’re so, so good to me… you’re the best gift I could ever have.”

Your hands slowly shifted around him, moving to cup his face tenderly. 

“Wait till you see what I have in store for Christmas Day.”

#tetsuro kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader #tetsuro kuroo #kuroo #kuroo smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu! #not sfw #mae.writing #fic: all i want for christmas

[utanoprinces]

Tokki Works Part-time

TN: This is a memorial (bonus text story) from Debut, written from Tokiya's perspective. He's been sent to do some work for the professor (yes, the same one who developed Ai) in exchange for help with operating a complicated video device used during the Master Course. I'm a fairly new translator still, so do take this with a grain of salt! Enjoy, and please don't repost anywhere without permission!

⁂

“Here…?”

Based on the map I received from Kotobuki-san, I've arrived at the laboratory belonging to the professor who developed the monitor.

I look up at the building before me.

Given the dubious name, “Professor’s Laboratory”, I imagined something more ominous, but the exterior appearance gives a very tidy, somewhat ordinary impression.

I press the doorbell and a moment later the door opens to reveal a man wearing a white lab coat.

“Who is it?”

He seems to be somewhere in his thirties. No, maybe even older.

Because of his large glasses, it’s hard to see his face and what expression he has.

“Excuse me. Kotobuki-san referred me to…”

“Oh, I heard~ Ichinose Tokiya, right?”

“Yes. I’m Ichinose. Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise. Feel free to call me ‘Professor’. That's what everyone calls me.”

So this is the “Professor” Kotobuki-san was referring to… It may be rude to say, but his hair is shaggy and the way he talks has an overall shady atmosphere to it.

There's no way this is actually the person who designed the monitor…

“Right. So what is it you want me to do?”

Kotobuki-san had called it an experiment, but I hadn’t even been told what kind of research this person does.

“Ah, I’ll explain the details inside.”

The professor beckons me lightly and turns to go back inside. He guides me to a room that looks like a lab, with simple desks lined up against a gray wall. However, the surroundings are so cluttered that it’s impossible to set foot anywhere.

A mountain of books, an array of miscellaneous equipment... Because of the whole monitor affair, I assumed he might work in the electronic and electrical engineering field, and that assumption doesn’t seem to be wrong based on these surroundings.

“Before the experiment, I’d like to request that you do some office work for me.”

As he says that, he heads deeper into the room, dexterously avoiding the equipment that’s scattered haphazardly across the floor.

It might be my first time walking through such a messy room.

I take a small breath and follow, feeling as though I’m traversing a jungle.

The professor boots up the laptop on his desk and brings over two stacks of paper.

“I want you to input the data here… and rewrite these handwritten documents.”

“All… of it?”

As far as I can tell, there’s a considerable amount.

“It’s a lot, sure, but it’s simple so I don’t think it’ll be too hard. Still, if we had more manpower, we could get done right away.”

Come to think of it, Kotobuki-san also said four people could finish it immediately… and that it’d take one person half a day.

“Go with the manual data first. The format’s already been created, so you should be able to do it without even thinking.”

The professor opens the spreadsheet software and points me to a chair in front of the laptop.

It’s going to take a lot of effort, but it’s a job I’ve accepted, so I have to do it.

I slump down in the chair, feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

I flip through the stack of documents to briefly assess the contents.

It's all numbers lined up in rows. It does indeed seem like it should be done manually.

The one thing that’s bothering me a little is that there is almost no indication of what the data is for. It seems as if it’s been intentionally hidden.

The same goes for the handwritten papers I’m meant to rewrite—it looks as though most of the important details have been omitted.

...he's surprisingly secretive.

“Well, I’m sure you don’t know what any of it means, but since you just have to type it, don’t worry about it, alright?”

I get the impression from his tone that he’s implying I wouldn’t be able to understand it anyway, which makes me slightly irritated.

Even so, he is my employer. I’m a part-timer. Work is work.

“Well then, I’ll get started right away.”

“Sure. If there’s anything you don’t understand, just ask.”

I softly clear my throat and begin to work.

Once I've started, I discover that the formatting and the documents have been designed to be easy to work with, so it makes for surprisingly quick work.

I expected him to be working on something else, but instead, the professor sits beside me and props his elbows on the desk.

“Ichinose-kun. What are your thoughts on the recently-announced discovery that could potentially disprove the theory of relativity?”

When he asks me that nonchalantly, I stop working for a moment.

Why ask me that out of the blue?

It seems strange, but I decide to answer him anyway since I recently read about the news in a magazine.

“Wasn’t it from a foreign research institute? I can’t really speak on it unless I’m given proper evidence. In my opinion, I think it’s a measurement error.”

“Oh, I see.”

The professor nods, maintaining his relaxed demeanor.

“Then… why do you think people get so irritable during the rainy season?”

“That is… it’s probably because of the high humidity.”

“I know, right. Isn’t it awful when everything’s sticky?”

...what the hell is this guy going on about?

After that, the professor repeatedly tries to start a conversation with me.

“Have you tried the latest product from the donut shop in front of the station?”

“I don’t go to places like that too often.”

“Did you know that penicillin was discovered by accident?”

“I have read that. Quite the miracle.”

“Boooriiing~”

“...what was that?”

“An impression of Reiji. Did it sound like him?”

“...that person is even more annoying.”

“You’re right.”

The conversation jumps from topic to topic with seemingly no thread of continuity.

However, it's inefficient to keep talking like this, no matter how simple the work may be.

He doesn’t seem to be the type to enjoy teasing people for their reactions like Kotobuki-san, so just what is he up to?

I can’t help but wonder, but I try to give appropriate replies while continuing to work dispassionately.

Met only by my half-hearted replies, the professor eventually gives up and stops trying to speak to me.

I take advantage of the silence to increase the speed of my work output.

"...kun, Ichinose-kun."

"Yes?"

Before I know it, when I look up, the professor is standing beside me, smiling.

"I’ve been calling you for quite some time. Your concentration is amazing. You must be tired. Here, go ahead."

He offers me something steamy.

Is that… a beaker?

No, a beaker is a beaker… but this thing has a handle.

Is it something he uses for experiments? Inside, a steaming, dark-brown liquid shifts around.

"What is that…?"

"It's coffee."

"I can see that, but…"

I hesitate. To be honest, its appearance is reminiscent of chemicals, which spoils any desire I might have had to try it.

"Oh. It's my special mug. I call it 'bea-cup'."

"Why… the handle?"

"It'll be too hot if you grab it as-is."

Ah...

As I thought, he's a strange person.

I have a headache.

He’s one of Kotobuki-san’s acquaintances. I was prepared for this.

"Come on. Don't be shy. Don’t you like your coffee black?"

"It’s not that. It's just… I appreciate the offer, but I'm not thirsty right now."

"Is that so? Shame."

After I politely decline, the professor responds in a slightly lonely, dejected voice and slinks off to the corner of the room.

Well, the manual data is done. Rewriting doesn't seem to be too difficult either.

I get so absorbed in working that the only ambient sound is that of the keyboard tapping away.

"Finished."

The last one. When I look up after checking over the contents of my work, the professor, who had been reading for a while, raises his brows behind his glasses slightly.

"I'm surprised. You're quick, huh?"

"Thank you."

"Want some coffee?"

"I'm fine."

The doctor stands, pours some coffee for himself, and—bea-cup in hand—peers at me.

"You really saved me. It must have been boring with all those words you didn't understand."

All those words I… didn't understand?

“No, no. I actually found it quite interesting. I thought you specialized in electronics and electrical engineering, but it seems you’ve done a lot of research in a variety of fields like… medicine.”

When I say that, his eyebrows rise even higher.

“...did it say something like that?”

“No. However, with this many units and numbers, it should be easy to make a conjecture. The first half of the data was all about the human body.”

“Oh, I see...”

He shrugs slightly when I present one of the papers to him.

“It’s intriguing data. It seems to me that it entails how muscle and fat tone affect the elasticity of the skin. Not that I can see any use for researching something like this.”

The professor silently lifts the bea-cup to his lips, his large glasses fogging up with steam.

Immediately after, his mouth twists into a grimace.

"Haha. Is that right? Why that certainly strikes a nerve. It’s actually meant to be a countermeasure against middle-aged weight gain."

"Middle-aged… weight-gain?"

“I’m old enough to be curious about it, myself. Even so, when you hear 'macho' it doesn’t fit the image of 'professor', so it’s research to determine how to achieve the ideal body type—not too muscular and not too chubby.”

“I hate to say it, but… Wouldn’t it be better to just go to the gym instead of researching this kind of thing?”

“You don’t get it. It’s not just about how it looks, I care about the feel of it. It’s not enough to simply work out.”

“Haaa…”

“Now that you mention it, you seem surprisingly fit—would it be okay if I take a look?”

“No.”

I duck away from the professor’s outstretched hand and pick up another document.

“Then, how about this one? Chemistry this time. It seemed to me like textile research.”

“Ah, well…”

“This new fiber, when exposed to a certain amount of ultraviolet light, takes in carbon dioxide from the air and—”

“Yeah, I know, it’s my research. Fibers that gradually grow as they’re exposed to sunlight. You want to know why I’m studying something like that?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I like plants a lot, but I always end up killing them by accident. I was thinking I could develop a grass that can grow without water or fertilizer.”

The doctor looks out the window.

“I’m actually growing it right now. Oh—it withered.”

“Isn’t that bad?”

“No… it’s…”

“It’s bad. Next, this one. At a glance, it seems to be a small rocket. A unique feature of this model is that it’s designed to minimize its impact when launched.”

“Don’t all boys dream about rockets?”

“That’s it?”

“You don’t need a reason to dream.”

“...this is all just nonsense.”

I sigh in exasperation.

The person who designed that monitor… I’d been thinking they must be quite remarkable when he was actually just doing all of this...

“I don’t mean to sound like an amateur, but you should at least narrow down your field of research.”

“No! I like doing all types of research, so I can’t pick just one.”

Seeing his flippant smile, I realize he’s even more difficult to interact with than Kotobuki-san.

“If that’s the case, then why not make some sort of composite of the data and try using it for more meaningful research? For example, based on the data about the human body, we can use the fiber to…”

I’m about to turn over the document when the professor hurriedly sets the bea-cup down beside me.

“...?!”

“Coffee… you want some?”

“No…”

The lenses of his glasses glint. I clear my throat and take my hands off the documents.

“So… what do I need to do for the experiment?”

I wasn’t interested in his research from the start. I just wanted to get back at him for treating me like an ignorant teenager twice.

It doesn't seem to be in either of our best interests to pursue this any further.

“Experiment? Oh, it’s already over.”

“Eh…?”

The doctor grins and laughs at my surprise.

“You know how I’ve been talking to you for some time? Lately, I’ve developed an interest in human reactions. I’ve been collecting data from you.”

“And you didn’t even ask for my permission? Isn’t that a little in poor taste?”

“If you’d declined earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to gather accurate data. Besides, I thought the condition was that you were supposed to help with any experiment.”

When he says that, I fall silent. It doesn’t feel good to admit, but he’s right.

“I didn’t think you majored in psychology as well.”

At my pained reply, the professor grins as if to get back at me.

“I research what I want when I want.”

Really… he’s a shady person from top to bottom. Just how serious is that statement?

“You made an unexpected point earlier, but honestly, the reactions of a serious person like you aren’t interesting because you’re so predictable. I would have liked to work with someone with more unpredictability, more erratic behavior, instead.”

“That really is too bad. As you can see, I’m an extremely uninteresting person.”

As I reply, I consider how relieved I am that I hadn’t brought Otoya or [MC] to this part-time job.

I couldn’t endure [MC] being observed this way, let alone Otoya.

Even if it yielded data more akin to what the professor had in mind...

“If you’ve finished your experimenting, then I guess my work is done?”

“Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”

“Then. If you’ll excuse me.”

As I move to stand, a thought strikes me, and I turn back to the professor.

“Speaking of psychology, I do know one thing.”

“Oh…?”

I point in the direction of the eyes watching me through lenses.

“The reason people hide their faces with glasses or sunglasses is that they think that by doing so, they’ll be the only one to see the other person, that the other won’t be able to see their eyes. In other words, it makes them feel less anxious to have a psychological advantage. People who hide their faces for most of the time are actually shy and awkward.”

I wag my finger in front of his large glasses and receive a laugh in reply.

“Haha. You’re a funny one, huh? I see how Reiji’s having a hard time.”

“I’m the one who’s having a hard time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

I pick up my bag, and this time, the professor approaches me.

“Ichinose-kun. If you don’t mind, I’d like for you to come work for me again.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m busy with other things.”

“That’s a terrible shame.”

For a moment, our eyes meet through the lenses of his glasses. We exchange faint smiles and I leave the lab at last.

#uta no prince sama #utapri #ichinose tokiya #hakase

[moony-meadow]

The Very Hungry Beelzebub (3)

Previous Part / Next Part

“Uhhh…” Beelzebub was frozen. He was clearly unsure whether to reveal everything to Mammon in hopes of getting his help, or concocting some kind of lie to protect both his and my dignity. And I had a feeling that, unlike Mammon, Beel didn’t want to make the decision without getting my approval first.

“It’s okay, Beel, you can tell him,” I sighed. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to finding out what Mammon’s reaction would be. I honestly wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

Though I couldn’t see it, I could easily imagine the confused expression currently painted on Mammon’s face as he wondered why he’d just heard my disembodied voice. No doubt he was looking around the room, searching for the source of the sound. “Huh? What was that?” he questioned, sounding thoroughly befuddled.

Poor Beel was going to be forced to explain the bizarre situation. Of course, I could try to do it, but it seemed like something that would be more easily done by someone not hidden away inside a stomach.

I could feel Beel take a nervous breath. He was obviously not looking forward to this. Despite being younger (and less powerful) than Mammon, he had never really acted like it. Beel would never take orders from the second oldest, and he showed no qualms about stepping on his toes. But now, he was anxious about admitting the truth to Mammon. What exactly he was afraid of, I didn’t know. Did he think his brother would be angry, or disappointed?

“After I started to recover from being sick, I got hungry...really hungry,” Beel began. “I-I wasn’t in control of myself. I ate everything in the kitchen.” I placed a hand on one of the fleshy walls, hoping it would come across as reassuring. “And then...and then Y/N came in.” He winced as he said it, and honestly, I did too.

“What exactly are ya sayin’?” Mammon’s voice had taken on an edge, a dangerous edge I hadn’t ever heard before.

Beel swallowed hard. “Mammon, I...I shrank Y/N and ate them.” He spit out the last part of the sentence, as if he was worried if he didn’t say it fast enough, he would never say it.

“You what?!” Mammon roared. I heard a commotion, and then suddenly everything around me lurched. I threw my arms out to brace myself against the walls. I definitely had not missed being thrown around like a ragdoll inside someone’s stomach, completely subject to their massive movements. “No, that can’t be right. Y/N has a pact with you. They woulda ordered you to stop.”

I could visualize the kicked puppy look on Beel’s face perfectly as he admitted to what he’d done in his hunger-fueled delirium. “They couldn’t. I put a silencing spell on them.”

More rough movements rocked my world, and then I heard, as well as felt, an echoing slam. I had a suspicion Mammon had just shoved Beel against a wall, which was difficult for me to imagine. I didn’t think I had ever seen him get violent with his brothers, or anyone for that matter.

“Mammon! Relax, I’m fine!” I shouted. The last thing I wanted was for things to get more physical, for my own sake as well as for Beel and Mammon’s. Seeing the brothers bicker and get at each other’s throats was commonplace, but I never enjoyed witnessing them coming to blows.

“Y/N?” Mammon exclaimed, his tone of voice instantly shifting. “Y/N, if you didn’t order Beel not to hurt you then you’re in danger! You’ll get digested--”

“Don’t worry, as soon as I got my voice back I made sure that wouldn’t happen,” I promised. The unfiltered concern in Mammon’s voice was more than a little endearing. The guy was quick to play the aloof, uncaring demon, though of course I knew that was all an act. It was refreshing to hear him being genuine and not attempting to hide his true feelings.

I could feel Beelzebub’s heartbeat begin to come down from its heightened rate as the tension in the room began to lessen. Once again he placed a gentle hand against his stomach, and I reciprocated with my much smaller hand on the other side.

“The only problem is I can’t bring them back up the same way you did,” Beel told Mammon regretfully.

“I guess that means you found ‘em tasty, huh?” Mammon said in a grumpy tone. Evidently he was aware of the little stipulation that prevented the Avatar of Gluttony from throwing up. I wasn’t shocked to hear Mammon was none too pleased about “his human” getting eaten by another demon. The Avatar of Greed was nothing if not possessive.

“Even the worst humans have a good flavor,” Beel remarked. “Of course Y/N would be leagues ahead of them.” My heart fluttered at the compliment, though it was a bit spoiled by the context of said compliment. I was glad Beel considered me to be “leagues ahead” of the worst humans, though I didn’t really like the fact that that seemed to go hand in hand with my level of tastiness.

“None of that matters,” I called out, eager to direct the conversation away from how enjoyable I apparently was to eat. “What matters is getting me the hell out of here.”

“Damn right,” Mammon was quick to reply. I had a feeling his determination was in large part attributed to his possessiveness.

Before Mammon had eaten me, when he was trying to convince me to agree to the whole endeavor in the first place, he had mentioned a backup place in case he was unable to cough me up naturally. His exact words had been, “if I can’t get ya out naturally, I could always just swallow the end of a string and pull ya out that way.” While the idea did sound pretty ridiculous and silly, I didn’t see any reason why it couldn’t work.

“Mammon, do you really think Beel swallowing the end of a string would work?” I questioned. I would be more than a little pissed if he had only offered that as a suggestion to trick me into letting myself get swallowed.

“Oh yeah, good idea!” Mammon exclaimed. “Lemme go find somethin’ that’ll work.”

“Wait, hold on a second--” Beel started to protest but was quickly interrupted.

“Beel, you should go to Y/N’s room so we don’t gotta worry about anyone walkin’ in on us.” After that came the sound of hurried footsteps exiting the room.

Beel remained still for a moment before releasing a soft sigh. “I’m going to make my way to your room,” he announced. “I doubt we’ll run into anyone at this hour, but just try not to move too much just in case.” He gave one last soft pat to his stomach before heading off.

While Beel definitely seemed to be making an effort to move slowly and carefully, the ride inside his stomach was still fairly unsteady. While it may have been my second time being eaten, that didn’t mean I was anywhere near used to the experience of riding around in a giant stomach.

Thankfully the trip to my bedroom didn’t last long and was completely uneventful. Once I heard the sound of the door clicking shut behind us, I let out a relieved sigh. “Is it okay if I sit down?” Beel asked tentatively.

A little smile formed on my face. Beel was so considerate and sweet. It was definitely a different experience being in his stomach than in Mammon’s. Aside from Beel’s far more mindful behavior, his stomach was also significantly bigger than Mammon’s had been. Of course that wasn’t surprising. He was the Avatar of Gluttony after all.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I replied with a light chuckle.

My environment creased slightly, signalling that Beelzebub had gone ahead and taken a seat. I myself took a seat at the bottom of the stomach, reclining slightly. Feeling much more confident that I would make it out of this situation alive, I allowed myself to relax a little bit. To be honest, being inside someone’s stomach was kind of comfy in its own weird way. I had gotten one of the best night’s sleep I’d had in awhile when I’d spent the night with Mammon. Of course, I would never admit that. Mammon’s head was already big enough as it was.

“Hey, Y/N?” I could feel Beel tracing patterns on the outside of his stomach as he spoke. “You know that I don’t, you know, just see you as food, right?” There was nervousness in his voice, as well as a large dose of guilt. He clearly hadn’t forgiven himself for what he’d done despite me having already given my forgiveness.

I paused for a moment. All seven of the demon brothers viewing me as tasty in some capacity was something I had accepted a while ago. I had forged friendships with them knowing that fact. At the start, the only thing keeping any of them from eating me had been my status as an exchange student. However, I believed things had changed. I couldn’t imagine any of the brothers intentionally trying to bring harm to me anymore. Even Belphegor had gone from wanting to kill me to being a close friend.

So maybe they all still secretly imagined eating me. It didn’t matter. Because I was convinced that none of them would put that desire before my wellbeing--so long as they were in their right mind of course. “Don’t worry, I know,” I reassured the demon.

“You’re sure?” Beel asked uncertainly. “Because I know I always talk about how delicious you look, and I ask if I can eat you sometimes--”

“Hey, I get it...well I sort of do anyway,” I said. “Humans are usually on the demon menu. I suppose it’s normal for you to want to eat us.” I added with a shrug.

I tried to imagine the situation from the demon perspective. To put it into human terms, I had to guess it would be like having a delectable ice cream sundae walking around and talking. I definitely wouldn’t feel comfortable eating a sentient ice cream...but that was beside the point.

“That doesn’t make what I did okay,” Beel stated firmly.

I sighed. “Well no, but like I said, that wasn’t really you.” I didn’t care that he wanted to eat me when he was in his right mind. All that mattered to me was that he didn’t actually do it.

It seemed likely that Beel would try to argue with me, but he didn’t get the chance before I heard the bedroom door opening. “Alright, let’s get Y/N outta there!” Mammon announced.

#shall we vore #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t vore #soft vore

[toonbly]

Can you image the tension of sitting in the van driving back to where ever they hide out? They're sitting next to each other (Orchestrated by the other three) but are both staring resolutely in other directions, pretending it's all fine but Not Talking. Silence. Nothing. Not even music, since Coomer is driving, but likes to eavesdrop, and is also not subtle about it-

OH MY GOD YOUR M I ND....OKAY OKAY IMAGINE

Like they’re just sitting in ABSOLUTE silence and both Tommy and Bubby are getting THIS CLOSE to saying something like “CAN YOU GUYS JUST TALK IT OUT” but Coomer manages to keep them wrangled in

They stay quiet until they get back to home base- and by home base I mean, of course, Bubby and Coomer’s house. Usually they all reconvene and go over what they got from that days heist, but Gordon- ever the avoidant one- barely stays a moment before saying he needs to step out for a second, and he does! The Coomers have a balcony on the second story, so Gordon’s quick to retreat up there for some fresh, summer night air.

Benrey’s hesitant to follow him at first- His excuse is something about “stupid gordon lameman and uh- not. talking about shit. kinda cringe lol dont wanna deal with that” but Tommy manages to talk him into going to talk to Gordon about the fact that- well, they kissed during a heist. Twice.

Benrey makes his way up to the balcony and sure enough Gordon is up there, leaning over the railway and staring up at the night sky. He doesn’t notice Benrey come out, and Benrey almost doesn’t want to alert Gordon to his presence because he looks so...calm?

His eyes transfixed on the stars above, for once there’s no tension being held in his shoulders, there’s no exhaustion or frustration hidden behind his relaxed expression- perhaps there’s a little nervousness, given what’s just happened, but..He looks peaceful. For once in his goddamn life, Gordon Freeman seems at peace.

And, of course, Benrey is the one that ruins that peace- Not intentionally. That goddamn Sweet Voice of his goes off again (pink to blue- we all know what it means by now) which makes Gordon jump. He turns to Benrey and, for a second, doesn’t say anything. He just watches the colorful bubbles of the Sweet Voice float into the air.

Surprisingly enough, Benrey’s the one who talks first. He says some dumb shit like “so uhhh...we gonna like. talk about that. top ten gordon freeman gay moments? numbers one and two may surprise you? cause like they surprised me” and it manages to get a laugh out of Gordon. More Sweet Voice bubbles come out at that- much to Benrey’s dismay.

And, yeah, they talk about it. Benrey comes over to the railing and looks out over the sky with Gordon, letting the two of them stay in silence for a moment- for once in his goddamn life. It’s Gordon’s response that catches him off guard.

“I’m sorry.”

Wait- huh? What the fuck?

Benrey looks at him, “baffled” doesn’t even BEGIN to cover his expression right now. Gordon takes a deep breath and continues- “Look I- I know it was kind of weird of me to-” He pauses, vaguely gesturing with his hands- “Especially after...Everything that. Happened between us. I- I like you, a lot, I do but I- I dunno I feel. Shitty just- dropping that on you? We- said and did a lot of shit to each other back there, man- I said and did a LOT of shit to you that I- I probably...wouldn’t have if we weren’t in the middle of the literal fucking apocalypse right in the center of Black Mesa and- I don’t. Know. This is stupid- I’m kinda stupid. The shit I did is stupid. And I- I love you but it’s selfish of me to-”

Oh. Oh no, that wasn’t gonna do.

“bro. shut up. like- listen.” Benrey puts a hand on Gordon’s arm- It’s not lost on either of them how gently Benrey’s fingers brush over the scars just above where Gordon’s prosthetic connects, “i like. did a lot of...shitty things too, man. unepic gamer moments or whatever. i uh...i shouldnt have though. kinda dumb of me. real dumb of me. but like...shits? different now man. im not like. the bad guy anymore- code doesn’t make me do shit. you dont gotta be some big hero protagonist or whatever either so like...we can cut the shit. it all like, sucked, sure, but like. its different now, bro. we’re cool.”

Gordon blinks. Ah, yeah, there’s that smile again, “Y-Yeah? We’re cool..?”

Benrey rolls his eyes, “pfft i mean- fuckin. wouldn’t say it if i didn’t mean it. wouldn’t have kissed your stupid ass if i didn’t want to either. did that twice now. idiot. take a hint maybe.”

And before Benrey knows it there’s a gentle hand cupping his face, making him look up at Gordon- God. His eyes are so pretty. His smile is so soft. A few more of those Sweet Voice bubbles escape from between Benrey’s lips- fuchsia to lavender, you set my heart aflutter!

Before either of them can say anything, Gordon pulls Benrey into kiss- It’s soft, it’s genuine, it’s-

“IT’S ABOUT GODDAMN TIME!” Bubby’s voice echoes from the doorway.

 The two practically jump apart, Gordon letting out a startled yelp as they do. He shoots a glare to Bubby, “Dude! What the FUCK!”

“You were taking too long! We have loot to look over, you know! Quit being saps and hurry it up!” Bubby says, snapping his fingers impatiently. 

Two other figures pop up from behind Bubby- Tommy and Coomer, both with equally large grins on their faces.

“See Benrey I- I told you you could tell him!!!”

“Young love is beautiful!”

Gordon groans, leaning back on the rail with a hand covering his ever reddening face. Benrey chuckles a little.

“cats outta the bag. bro you gotta keep hiding your shame or are you gonna like. come count the loot with us lol.”

Gordon huffs.

“Y’know what. Sure. Fuck it.” He says with a small smile, taking Benrey’s hand and walking with him back into the home.

Benrey can’t help but stare as they walk. Gordon’s got the stupidest grin on his face, his blush is still somewhat present. It’s cute.

It’s nice to see him smiling again. too.

#I DIDNT MEAN TO TURN YOUR SIMPLE ASK INTO AN ENTIRE FANFIC IM SORRY I HAVE BRAINROTTTTT <3333 #frenrey #hlvrai #long post #sherbaby #toony fics

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 16

Previous: How Cricket Got Her Name 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook X Reader/OFC/You

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.04K

Warnings: Swearing 

Summary: Our lovely P.I. goes on the search for Min Yoongi, and stumbles into the identity of the mystery man with Taehyung. 

(this is... rough? did not expect it to be so long...) 

Missing Min Yoongi

Present Day

           My sister always tells me she’s given me all she can, that she can’t help me past my one favor a year. It’s a ploy, a deception, a boldfaced lie she tells at work or anytime we’re in earshot of anyone else. Does she misuse her government clearance? Yes. Does she defy laws and challenge the ethical code? Yes. Has she ever gotten caught? No. You’d think the government would put more tabs on her, considering her sister is a registered and licensed PI, but no, no one seems to bat an eye.

           Min Yoongi, Park Yoongi, Yoongi, is nonexistent. I barely understand what he did at Lee Enterprises, let alone how he ended up bedding Euna. He supposedly comes from no money, no name to build off of, nothing. His grades were fine, his college experience came and went with nary a note of youthful rebellion. Now, now that he’s no longer at Enterprises, I cannot fucking find him. Nothing on the web, nothing in the statewide system, nothing in the national system. No death certificates, no marriage licenses, nothing.

           All I’ve got are his charges, well, Euna’s charges against him.

           Cheating in the 1st degree, no proof, no photos or receipts or basic evidence of his behavior. She had nothing but her recollection of the fight they had, and minimal information on what led to the break up. From her manifesto, it seems that Yoongi was pulling away and she clung to him, claws drawing blood, trying to get him to stay. He didn’t, clearly. With only that to go off of, it’s no wonder I can’t find Min Yoongi, and I’m beginning to think that just maybe, Min Yoongi doesn’t exist. He’s her Snuffleupagus, and I’m starting to not believe.

           While I’m unsure if Yoongi exists, I do know a person who does.

           The man with Taehyung.

           Spectacled and broad shouldered, quaffed hair and arms the size of tree trunks, this man exists. He goes to the gym regularly, religiously, makes his coffee at home, and frequents his local nursery. The man is obsessed with plants, it seems unhealthy. Multiple days a week he’s carrying one, or more, I have photos of him watering them, speaking to them… He tends to them with such care, such love, it’s mesmerizing. He goes to work, some corporation, and once a week meets Taehyung. They’re clearly pals, best friends, brothers. They laugh and eat and enjoy one another. It’s cute, their friendship date. Once in a while, Jimin joins them. The three laugh uproariously and often draw attention for their volume. The unidentified man doesn’t seem to understand how loud he is, his baritone resonating enough for me to hear.

           I haven’t intentionally bumped into the three of them, yet, but I’ve stationed myself near enough to hear bits and pieces of their conversations. They never discuss work, only music they’re listening to, books they’re reading, podcasts, plants, general culture. Have I written down a few of the artists and podcasts they listen to? Yes. Do I feel dirty about it? Yes.

           But it’s the job, and I tail them for a month before a package arrives. A package with my name on it, waiting outside my apartment door. It’s not addressed, no stamps or packing label. It’s new, not reused as a shipping box or gifted for the umpteenth time, no dingy tape sticking to its brown coating. The box is sitting, like it’s appeared out of thin air. A secure building is only as secure as the tenants make it, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the owner snuck in behind some dummy who didn’t see the harm in letting a potential rapist, stalker, murder, into the building. Taking the package inside, and as my blood continues to cool and chills run down my spine, I delicately open it.

           I know, it could be a bomb. However, the only thought calming me down is the knowledge that my life has never once been a Shonda Rhimes production and thus, I’m not really worried this package is a bomb. Frankly, that’s far more sophisticated than any of the people I’ve worked for and gives them too much credit.

           Inside, there are copious amounts of surveillance photos and a note, written in a script that I’ve seen before.

           “That was your last warning / The line has been drawn and you’re bleeding / Next time, face to face is how we’ll be meeting”  

           Whoever heard of a stalker rhyming?

           I bag the evidence to toss under my bed so Jungkook won’t find it and pull out my list of potential threats.

Check It Once, Check It Twice

William Daniels

Cheated on his wife of 5 years with a stewardess who flew almost exclusively on his flights (big shock)

Threatened to ban me from American Airlines -  Jokes on him, I don’t fly American

Photos in the act & audio recordings

Wife divorced him immediately

He has to pay alimony out the nose

Lives in the area

Allanah McMahon

Arrested and tried for insider trading and embezzlement

Discovered who I was when I was subpoenaed to testify

Still in jail

My testimony added a few years to her sentence … oops

Cassie Harrington

Set up a Multi-Level Marketing scheme

Tried to hide out in Hawaii – but changed her Instagram to private after I’d already followed her

Ordered to pay back all the money she stole

On parole

Adam Gregory

Tried to run an illegal adoption agency for homosexual, non binary couples

Paid a fine and on parole – forbidden from creating any LLC’s or Incorporating

Brian Welch

Pissed that I found evidence of his partner cheating but turned him in on charges of possession of child pornography

In jail for kiddy porn and for threatening my life

His husband got everything despite the infidelity

           You acquire quite detailed list of people who want to threaten your life on the daily, but then again, wasn’t it Audre Lorde who said “I’m deliberate and afraid of nothing?” I can’t be afraid. If I’m afraid, they have the power. They have the power to intimidate me, to run my life for me, to make my decisions. I will not back down because they got caught. But I will protect myself, I will keep my license for my gun up and go to the shooting range often. I will strengthen the locks and security of my apartment, and I will ask Jungkook to stay over more, or sleep at his.

           I will not back down, not when Lee Euna has paid me what seems like the cost of tuition at Princeton for a year and wants answers. We signed a contract, didn’t we?

           And who am I if my word is no longer worth anything?

           Instead of harping on the sickening feeling that I’m being watched 24/7, I run through my plans for bumping into Taehyung and his friends. In the weeks that I’ve continued to follow him, he’s solidified Wednesday’s as his night for dinner with friends, and Thursdays as his cultural exploration. He goes to museum openings, concerts, movies, plays, clubs, all on Thursdays. While those nights are fun for me to watch and put on my expense account, it’s Wednesdays that I adore. I love following him from his house to the restaurants and am excited each week to see what he and his friends have chosen.

          This week, it’s an authentic Mexican restaurant. Slipping my coat on, I give them a few minutes before following in.

           The sound of mariachi welcomes me into the yellow painted restaurant. The furniture, dark mahogany against the vibrant walls, is full of people. I note the variety of sombreros, the different colors and patterns, the meanings hidden within the stitchwork. It’s not a large restaurant, but big enough to fit a few large groups of 7-10 people, and plenty of space for smaller groups such as the three men. The hostess asks if I want to sit at the bar, and I request a table near the men. Sitting a few feet away, I’m able to pick up their conversation easily. Instead of jotting it down, I hit record and let the metaphorical tape play.

           “Oh, it wasn’t that bad!” The mystery man says.

           “It was awful, Taehyungie couldn’t stop laughing, every time he hit the ball it went flying in the wrong direction,” Jimin says.

           “I was trying so hard!” Taehyung laughed.

           “That’s the problem, you were trying too hard,” The man tells him. “You’re too pure of heart.”

           “I am not,” Taehyung shook his head.

           “I know, you’ve experienced a lot, Tae,” Jimin says.

           “Joon, here’s the question,” Taehyung says, and I’m momentarily distracted by the utterance of the name, Joon. “You get to pick next week, we heading back to that barbeque place?”

           Jimin erupts in another fit of laughter, Taehyung following suit. It’s cute, watching them interact. I wonder if Jungkook has friends he does things like this with… those nights we aren’t together, if he has friends to spend his time with.

           I wait until they’ve left to take a glance at the signed bill on their table, Taehyung Kim is scribbled, no evidence of the other men, and I’m about to bag evidence when I hear my name.

           “Y/N?” Taehyung asks.

           “Taehyung! That was you!” I smile.

           “Have you been here the whole time?” Taehyung’s eyebrows express more than anyone’s I’ve ever seen.

           “I, yeah. I wasn’t sure it was you and Jimin. I didn’t want to interrupt,” I tell him.

           “Oh, you could’ve! Don’t worry about them, we’ve been friends a long time,” Taehyung smiles, it’s boxy and wide, the edges curling as his eyes soften.

           I’ve already started my dance, a waltz to an even tempo and I’ve got the next five paces planned. “Who was that new guy?”

           “Why, you single?” Taehyung smirks, his lips no longer joyful but devious.

           “I just was curious,” I reply, “And no, I’m not single, remember?”

           “Oh yes, yes, Jungkook,” Taehyung recalls with a nod.

           “You, Jimin and that other guy, go way back?” I lead him, it’s easy to lead Taehyung, he’s pure of heart, the most honest intentions in his eyes.

           “Mm, yes,” He continues smiling at me.

           “Your dinner looked fun, I’ll definitely be coming back to this place,” I tell him. It’s true, maybe I will bring Jungkook by one night when I know these three men won’t be around.

           “Yeah, we like it. We try a new restaurant every week. It’s a fun no work zone,” His arms are relaxed at his sides, one hand slipping slowly into his pocket, his cardigan open and glasses pressed close to his ebony eyes.

           “I like that, no work zone,” I agree, I wish I had one of those.

           “Yes, it helps clear the mind,” Taehyung tells me.

           “Do the three of you work together?” I inquire.

           “Kind of, we have a lot of the same shared interests,” he sidesteps.

           I nod, the final step in our dance presenting itself. “Very cool, well I don’t want to keep you from Jimin and –

           “Joon, yeah, very considerate of you. Maybe I’ll see you at the dog park again?” He asks.

           “Oh god, I hope not, Maisie is a nightmare,” I laugh.

           “Well have a good night, Y/N, take care!” He says as he walks out the door. I stand, watching, pretending to not notice how he gets in the car swiftly, not looking back.

           Joon.

           Joon.

           Joon.

           What kind of a name is Joon? If Taehyung and Jimin, and Jungkook, and Seokjin… and Yoongi, are all Korean, must Joon be short for something Korean?

           Glancing at my phone, it’s only 8:30PM, if I hurry, I can get in another few hours of work before I’m overcome with exhaustion and anxiety. But what will I find?

Oh Joon

Kim Joon

Lee Joon

Joon-Ho

Joon-Hee

Joon-Hyuk

Joon-Ki

Joon-Tae

Joon-Young

Byung-Joon

Ha-Joon

Hee-Joon

Hyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Yong-Joon

Nam-Joon

Joon-Su

Ye-Joon

           Not to mention add in the top 5 Korean last names, and I’ve got hundreds of possibilities. Luckily, I can run the name against the address of the apartment building Taehyung picked Joon up from. Being a PI means I have access to the state databases, which gives me names and addresses. In the building, there’s one Joon, a Namjoon, Kim Namjoon. I pull the information before digging into my search.

           Unlike the seemingly nonexistence of Min Yoongi, Kim Namjoon is present. Every search result yields a perfectly manicured article dating anywhere from the year of his birth to age sixteen, and then, much like everyone else on this case, the trail begins to run cold. Whatever happened to him during high school, still radiates through his file. Whether he’s shaken it or not, that’s the question.

           No known career or job at all, his status as a prodigy in math, linguistics and rhetoric is astonishing. One of the highest IQ’s of recent memory, he’d mastered calculus by the time he was 8, besting PhD’s by 13, and then in a blaze of glory, disappearing by 16. He was studied, written about, documented, photographed, and somehow managed to be nominated for a Nobel Prize… how he accomplished all of that during puberty is beyond me. Not only does he accomplish that, but then, disappears completely, without a trace. How?

I’m ready to pack it in when someone steps into my office.

           “I saw the light on,” She says.

           “Ms. Lee, what do I owe this surprise visit?” I ask. This is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do tonight.

           “I wanted to, to talk to you,” She takes a few steps forward, pausing to ask for unspoken permission.

           “Please, sit. What did you want to talk to me about?” I lean back, hoping she can’t see the bags forming under my eyes or the tears from the yawn I’m stifling.

           “I wanted to tell you about, about why I need you to find Min Yoongi,” Euna informs me. She’s dressed in what can only be described as winter white, and only as a cashmere sweatsuit. Never have I ever seen such glamor in my dingy office. I feel bad that she’s risking the integrity of her outfit by being here.

           “Oh, okay,” I sit up and reach for a notebook. “Do you want me to write this down?”

           “No, you don’t need to. We can just talk between women, between friends,” Euna’s voice is soft. The slack in her jaw, the demur manner in which her hands are placed on her lap, it’s evident she doesn’t know how to be girlfriends. Raised by her family, groomed to take over, friends was never a word in her vocabulary.

           “I wanted you to know that I really saw a future with Yoongi,” She starts. “You know that place in your heart where you hold all your hopes?”

           “Yes,” I say hesitantly.

           Her eyes narrow in warning, “Do you have someone, someone who’s beginning to fill that space?”

           “Um, yeah,” I reply.

           “I thought that’s what Yoongi was. I thought we were, we were building something. Jun-Seo had Jimin, they thought they were building an illustrious future together, but one day he disappeared too.” She pinches the slight bridge of her nose, inhaling slowly to steady her nerves. “I don’t know what changed in our relationship. Yoongi didn’t want me anymore, he didn’t want to be around me, or with me at all. A switch flipped, like one day he realized he didn’t love me in the first place. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why, but when your entire future is destroyed, do you stand back and watch it burn?”

           “Do you want me to answer that?” I ask.

           “Sure, what I did after that was terrible, but it was within reason. Everything I did was within reason. I tried to hold onto him, I did what I thought was right to get him to stay and he just, ran. Bolted, broke up with me on the phone like I’m Taylor Swift in 2012. Maybe I am,” Euna rolls her eyes, the comparison both too true and too terrifying. “At least Seokjin had the kindness to break up with me in person. But Yoongi? The coward! He knew I loved him. He knew I would carry his child, would marry him, would love him eternally and then some. I would’ve done anything for him. Even after he refused to go family dinners or go on trips with Seo and Jimin, after he started lying and cheating and stealing. He broke my heart, shattered it. If anyone is to blame for what happened after our relationship, it’s him.”

           Interested peaked, I inquire “What happened?”

           “It’s in my document,” She snaps.

           “The handwritten one?” I clarify.

           Rolling her delicate ebony irises, “Yes, of course.”

           “The abortion, the embezzlement, insider trading?” I try to rattle off the accusations she’d detailed. Somewhere I had a list and had sorted them by man, but damn, there were a lot of them.

           “Yes,” She snips.

           “That’s all true?” I ask again. The look she gives me is unwarranted, this is the first time in months, nearly a year, that she has sat down with me and discussed the charges. I am well within my right as her Private Investigator to ask clarifying questions.

           “Do you make a conscious decision to not believe your clients? Am I not paying you enough Y/N?” Euna snaps.

           “I’m sorry,” I respond.

           “I should go, I expect next week at our meeting you will have an update on the mystery man,” She stands.

           “Yes, yes, I will,”

           “Good, oh, there was a note under your door. I didn’t pick it up,” She turns and walks, stepping gingerly over the note. Scrambling behind her, I pick up the folded paper, and scrawled in crystal clear letters it reads:

           Cricket, was driving past when I saw the light on. Why are you working? Come to mine when you’re done, it’s been three restless nights without you.

          XO – Bunny 

           Fuck me, I love him.

Next: Cricket & Bunny Pt. 1 

#BTS #Jeon Jungkook fanfic #Jeon Jungkook x you #Jeon Jungkook x reader #codename #code name #code name cupid #codename cupid #BTS fluff #min yoongi #park jimin #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #secret agent au #government agent au #secret agent au #BTS agent #houseofddaeng #thebtswritersclub #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bangtanarmynet

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Switching Sides: Part 2 (HLITF)

Aaaannndddd once again I would LOVE to thank my girl @theshove for being my editor in chief and making my writing reach a HIGHER level I could never reach without your help. Thank you so much for making sense of my poorly grammar-ed sentences haha. 

Also, if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one 

👉👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 1 is right here! Happy reading :)

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, reference to sexual activity/forceful nature.

~~~~~~

‘A servant? Did he confuse that with a full-time aid?’ I tried to reason with his wording of my job title. As the room was lit by the setting sun and filters out into the corridor, I stood there in silence, thinking about what I'd just gotten myself into.

"Motomori, who will you partner with?" Ishigami closed the book of names and held it under his arm, keeping a close eye on how I was reacting. Letting my eyes meet each one of the detectives' before me, I took in a deep breath to calm my nerves. 

"Instructor Kaga, please," I announced. Although he seemed the most stern out of all the men, I took that as a sign of someone worn away by his experience. Which only meant there was more to learn from him. Right?

The announcement of my choice of instructor led Shinonome to laugh at my bravado. "Now that's something. Choosing Hyogo is pretty fitting for our little overachiever." The youngest instructor couldn't help but sound amused as the man I had chosen showed a concerned expression. As he looked me up and down, I stood with more confidence than I really had. 

After the Captain's silent review of me, Ishigami progressed through the other pairings. I glanced at Kaga and saw him taking a phone call. "Yeah... I'll take care of it." With his back turned to me, I only heard a minuscule amount of the conversation. 

"Kaga, you'll be going after this person." When the other Captain tried to hand over a folder, which I was sure had the case we should be working on inside, Kaga continued his conversation while pointing in my direction. He told Ishigami to give me the folder holding the information we'd need for the undercover assignment. 

"These are documents for the instructor." Ishigami frowned, obviously tired of Kaga's dismissiveness. Kaga begrudgingly took the folder before thrusting it into my chest. 

"Read it." He demanded and then finished his phone call. 

"I'm sure you understand, but-" Ishigami was cut off by Kaga crossing his arms. 

"I understand perfectly well." His mood seemed to worsen as the two talked. They continued to bicker as the rest of the instructors watched. I'm sure it was difficult to butt in on the Captains' discussions. 

"Squad leaders should get along..." Shinonome frowned as we watched, me not knowing what else to do except just stand there. 

"These two will go as far as a fistfight." Instructor Soma's comment made me worry that all the expensive equipment in this room would be damaged if someone didn't intervene soon enough. When Soma directed a question to Goto to see if he agreed, the messy-haired man just stood there in silence. 

"I can hear all of you." Kaga scowled as he took a cigarette out of his suit pocket. I knew smoking wasn't allowed in the building, having seen the signs next to most of the doorways, however I decided it best not to make him aware. ‘I mean, he has worked here longer than me.’

‘He is the freaking instructor, Atsuko.’ The voice in my head made me want to metaphorically face-palm. It was clear just by the way the instructor stood he didn’t care much for rules or regulations. 

"Don't get in my way." As he walked towards the door, Kaga made what sounded like a threat to me. 

"Didn't even think about it." I forced a smile, knowing full well he would likely trample over me if I took even a step out of line. If I was going to learn from this man, I would have to watch what he did instead of asking questions. 

"What're you standing around for? Come." Turning back to where I had been standing, I woke myself up from the pit of despair I had thrown myself into. 

‘What did you think was going to happen?’ I quickly followed as he gestured me over with a jerk of his head. 

~~~~~~

Sitting in the Captain's car, I couldn't help but feel anxious with the silence that thickened the air. According to the file given to us by Ishigami, we had to infiltrate a beach bar... But we were heading in the opposite direction from the sea. We were driving downtown. 

"Umm, sir, the file says the destination is-" Kaga, once again, cutting somebody off mid sentence. 

"Shut up," he spat, taking me aback with how rude he was. 

‘I guess that ‘scum’ comment wasn't too out of character for him, then’ I thought, stricken into silence but sighing on the inside. I turned to gaze out the window, praying that I could get through the day without being caught out for being inferior to what my file suggested. 

~~~~~~

When we stopped, I found myself inside a love hotel. My heart raced with worry, recognising the name as a brand my father ran when I was still living at home. He was a gang leader. With a strong mafia at that. He had his dirty little fingers in every industry that had some form of shady business going on. It's what made me hate him so much. The things he did, the things he made me watch, it's what made me want to become a detective. I wanted to pay the universe back for all the bad stuff he had done, and maybe one day find the evidence to arrest him. God knows, the police he had under his claws and henchmen doing his dirty work had delayed that for long enough. 

We made our way to the room booked for us, or, more aptly, for Kaga. Meanwhile, I tried to hide my face from the receptionist as discreetly as I could, not wanting them to somehow recognise me. Even though I did my makeup differently from when I was younger, had dyed my hair black from its original brown, dressed differently and even held myself differently, there wasn't much else I could do to change my appearance without making it trackable. I couldn't get surgery because then I would be in the government system; I know, somehow, they'd be able to track me, even if the profile I had now was completely different. 

"Hey, um... What're we doing here?"  I asked as I closed the door behind me, the eeriness of the red room making my eyes dart around for any hidden cameras or listening devices. I remembered my father telling me about all the politicians he had on tape and all the people he’d bribed with that information.

"I'm pretty sure I said shut up." Kaga spat, also inspecting the room. I frowned at his rudeness and flipped the switch that turned on the electricity for the room. All the lights went out, causing Kaga to spin around and glare at me in the darkness.

"Don't you know what your position is? Don't interfere." His frown deepened as he stormed back to where I was standing. He was obviously offended I had turned off the lights. 

"Love hotels are famous for secret cameras. They're turned on when the electricity switch is flipped. I thought you wouldn't want to risk getting caught." I smiled up to him with a spiteful thought hidden behind it. ‘This guy…’

Probably annoyed with how much sense my statement made, Kaga turned back to the centre of the room. ‘Is he really that easily annoyed?’ I chuckled to myself, not wanting to be reprimanded for intentionally frustrating my instructor.

The two of us were now alone in a dark room with nothing but a bed and mirrors on the ceiling. Not to mention a love hotel. I was painfully aware of what the room represented and everything that had ever happened in it due to the stillness in the air with the air-con off. Memories of what my father encouraged my sister and I to do in our youth flashed back, causing me to shake them out of my head. 

"Why're you so nervous?" Sitting on the large bed, Kaga raised his brow at me while I stood awkwardly away from him. I could see a concerned look on the Captain's face as he brought me back to earth. I could tell he wasn't concerned about my feelings, but rather about how naive and stupid I must seem. I didn't want to walk any further into the establishment than I had to, so I stuck my ground. 

"N-No reason." I grew shy, knowing I had no connection to my past life on my file and not wanting him to have a clue to think I would. 

"Oh?" A mischievous grin grew on my instructor's face and my senses heightened. With that, Kaga grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me down onto the bed aggressively. Even though he was only holding my wrist, I struggled to move. My heart began to race in fear of what he was trying to do. Growing up with the most erratic people as guardians, I didn't want to guess what his plan was. 

"This morning was totally screwed up, thanks to you." He frowned down at me, that same demeaning look conveyed on his surprisingly handsome face. You would never guess his personality was as cruel as he was if it wasn't for the eternal crease between his brows. Feeling the anxiousness of an expected punishment, my breath gets caught in my throat. 

"How do you plan on making it up to me?" His grin returned as he held my wrists harder than necessary. Despite the smirk, his eyes were cold and expressionless. There was no way I was going to allow what he was insinuating to happen, so I pushed against his hands with all my might while somehow snaking my foot high enough to push on his stomach. 

However, before I could attempt to catapult him off, he covered my mouth with his hand. I looked at him like he was crazy, but because I hadn’t done much training lately, I couldn’t push him off me.

"Don't talk." He hissed, rising up from being inches away from my face. Then, I saw him pull something from my ear. It was an earpiece, making me wonder when he was able to put it there, not to mention without my knowing it was there. "This will make for a huge amount of evidence." He explained to himself. My mind, already in disarray, went into a confusion like no other. "It was worth the effort of getting it on." He looked at me suggestively as I sat up with unsure thoughts. 

‘So... He didn't lead me here for something worse?’ My brows furrowed as I thought back to the moments leading up to this, embarrassed and angry that I thought it would come to that. It was concerning to see his demeanour change from what I just saw to the victorious look on his face. He looked down at me, still sitting on the bed with a dejected expression, seemingly noticing my staring. 

"What're you just sitting there for?" He laughed at my appearance, my apprehension rising due to how laid back he was. Maybe it was because of where I was, but I was more sensitive to the casual restriction he just put me in. I looked away, not wanting to say something I'd regret. 

Then, I felt him leaning over me and I quickly turned my gaze back to him. I panicked. His face was nearer than I expected it to be as he jerked forward. I jumped back, the memories of intimidation tactics used on me before resurfacing from my past. 

"Did you really think I was being serious earlier?" He almost laughed at the notion. "Unfortunately for you, I don't have any problems with women." He inched closer again and it took everything in my being to not smack that pretty face of his. If I assaulted a detective, I would be expelled from the academy and likely arrested. Not to mention the scene it would cause being dragged out of here. "I'm not so desperate that I'd go after some inexperienced brat." He smirked before getting up from the bed, talking to me like I was the idiot. 

"What did you bring me here for..." Having had the time to understand that I would be safe and de-escalate my anger, I quickly regathered myself and straightened my back. "...If not for my training?" Looking at his suited back, I started to think back to why I was actually here. 

"I've got more important things to do than that useless nonsense." He explained spitefully. 

‘Then why become an instructor?’ I scowled to myself, knowing full well this man had no intention of teaching anyone anything. 

"Well, thanks to you so boldly choosing me, I pulled off some undercover work." He turned with another victorious smile. I was frozen silent, not knowing what would come out of this intimidating man's mouth next. Then, he pulled out his cellphone. 

"It's me. Yeah... the bug was a success. I've got enough evidence, so I'm withdrawing. You keep on going, sneak in and stay on the guy's tail." When he ended the call with his subordinate, the Captain quickly headed for the door. I was still frozen, trying to calm my racing heart from the panic I was in before.

"What're you doing?" Kaga turned back to me. "Staying?" My gaze darted up at the horrifying idea. 

"If you are, go search the room next door. Make sure you come back here." At the mere notion of real detective work,. Before I could say a thing, the frowning returned. 

"Too bad. You're not ready." The curt response was a deep cut to my confidence. Searching a room for anything fishy was probably one of the only things I came to the academy being able to do. But, before I could speak my piece, Kaga turned and left. 

~~~~~~

By that night, the long, rigorous day had completely worn me out; I'm sure my classmates also fared the same. I arrived at the dorms the academy made us stay in and threw myself onto my couch. ‘Could Kaga's mission possibly be for an investigation on my father?’ I thought back to where the excursion took place and the idea made my heart flutter. For years I had wished and prayed for retribution for all the wrong-doings my father and his goons had accomplished. The thought of his vicious crimes being aired out like dirty laundry brought a smile to my weary face. 

Getting off the comfortable couch, I retrieved a box from under my bed. It was small and light; there wasn't much in it. I opened it to find loads of old photographs. Some of them were heartwarming: my twin sister and I playing around or hugging each other. 

But, I’d only put them in there to hide what I was really storing: Pictures of crime scenes my father had left out in our living room or secluded garden. I once caught him in the act; that photo was in there too. I had an old tie with blood on it. A passport with a different identity than I had registered into the academy with. My mother's ring was knocking around in there somewhere. 

I hardly knew my mother. There are no pictures of us together and no one talked about her after she left us. The ‘family’. She couldn't take what my father and his ‘brothers’ did any longer and ran away, leaving her two daughters behind. I'm pretty sure she's dead now. Otherwise my father would have found her at some point. 

I came to realise that soon before my 18th birthday that my father didn't really care about us; he just wanted a lineage. So, I somehow convinced my sister to run with me. I assured her that I had a plan that would get us the lives we wanted for a little while. I had trained to go on the run; my father taught me all the techniques the cops used to track fugitives. That, along with a little help from a friend from my youth judo club, was all I needed to get us new identities and places to live. It wasn't easy at first, having to split from the person you had literally been with since birth. But, it was the only way to ensure one of us would be safe if the other was caught. 

It was also difficult to work up a good enough resume to get myself into the police force. The name Atsuko Motomori had never existed before four years ago. It was risky to lie about the qualifications I had when, in my past life, I never gained any. I was homeschooled to ensure I wouldn't be coaxed away by true, lawful policemen investigating my father or my ‘uncles’.

Looking through these memories and reliving my awful excuse for a childhood, I happily remembered why I was condemning myself to this place and people like Captain Kaga. I wanted to make sure my sister and I would be safe. And the only way I could do that was by locking them all up for the rest of their lives.

As I mulled over the bloody scenes within the box, I heard a knock at my door. I jumped, not used to company, and knocked the box off my lap. 

"Crap!" I whispered to myself, trying to clear everything away as quickly as possible. 

"Who is it?" I called out after collecting most of the contents, having double-checked the area for any compromising pictures. 

"Atsuko~! I come with food!" The cheery voice of my only female ally chimsed from the other side of the door. 

"Naruko, what're you doing here?" I questioned while opening the door. The food she was trying to bribe me with was a pack of potato chips and a soda from the vending machines downstairs. 

"I'm pooped, so I thought you might be even more worse off." The bubbly attitude helped her push herself into my dorm room. 

"You're not wrong there." Happy to have some form of womanly friendship after so many years of trying to keep to myself, I lazily followed her to the couch. 

"So how was it with the Satan reincarnate?" She giggled to herself, lowering her voice at the insulting part of her question. Maybe she feared he would hear her. I wouldn't be surprised if they had us under surveillance to see what we did after hours. Or if the Captain had supersonic, selective hearing. 

"It was... an experience." Trying to keep up my half of the deal I made with my instructor, I put on a tired smile. Kaga promised to pass me if I didn't tell anyone he had bunked the undercover training. 

"You want a drink? I think I've got some tea somewhere." Quickly attempting to change the subject, I wandered off to the small kitchenette in the corner of my room. 

As I prepared the beverages, Naruko spoke up out of nowhere. 

"Oh, Atsuko, what's this?" She called out and my blood ran cold. ‘Did I miss a picture? Was it something possibly incriminating?’ Wild thoughts circulated my brain at the possibility of getting caught. Having gory images of dead men stored away in my room wouldn't be easily explained. 

Hesitantly, I turned with a questioning smile, just waiting for her to let out some form of horror or disgust. Instead, though, I found her looking at an old polaroid photo with a loving smile. 

"You didn't tell me you had a sister!" She asked and I cocked my head, glancing at the image she waved at me. It was of my sister and I, building sandcastles on a beach when we were kids. My heart stopped as I remembered the scene.

That picture was of the day before my mother left. She had somehow convinced my father to let her take us out- which was a strange occurrence. Even if my father wasn't overbearing, which he definitely was, she didn't like going out much. It was summer and hot, and we would only annoy him, being locked in the house. I'm pretty sure I remembered at least three bodyguards surrounding our section of the sand, though.

I smiled at the painful memory, a happy one buried underneath so much hurt, and looked at the brown-haired girl with two short pigtails, dressed in a pink bathing suit. I don't think I've had a smile that big on my face in a long time. 

"Well, I, uh..." Not knowing how to respond, I just made noises. 

"She must be so proud of you for making it into this academy." She laughed and the statement only hurt me. 

"She's not really in my life anymore." I smiled sadly sitting next to her so I could look at the picture more in-depth. I could see a sliver of a man in a suit to the left of the picture's edge, closest to where I was, and something was slightly poking out of his waistband. To Naruko, it probably looked like a shadow of a tree or something less sinister than what it was, but it was likely one of the bodyguards with a gun hidden away. 

"O-Oh, I'm sorry, Atsuko." Naruko sounded so sad to hear I wasn't in contact with my sister anymore. We did look really happy in that picture. 

"Nah, it's alright. That's just how life goes." I took the picture from her and looked at it for a bit longer, concentrating more on my sister's face, even though it was an exact replica of mine, before slipping it through the crack between the lid of the box and the box itself. I didn't want my new friend catching a glimpse of anything in there.

"You sound so wise," Naruko giggled, maybe trying to help me feel happier again and lighten the mood.

"You make me sound like an old man," I laughed, jokingly hitting her arm like I was offended. 

"You shouldn't say such wistful things then." She laughed back as I headed back to the kettle to pour us some tea. 

We chatted for a little longer, mainly about what her training had consisted of, before Naruko went back to her room. Once she was gone, I sighed, glad that the picture she had found underneath my coffee table wasn't anything more frightening. Sliding the small box back under my bed, I began getting ready for a good night's rest. 

~~~~~~

Waking up the next day was... rough. Staying up later, thanks to Naruko, and the subconscious worry I’d because of what happened at the love hotel, I’d probably only got a few hours of sleep. 

‘Right, I have to get today right, at least’, I told myself, throwing my legs over the side of my bed. Ishigami already had it in for me because of the train situation - I'm sure all of the special instructors did - but I wasn't going to let that stop me from doing my best. ‘For us.’ Thinking back to the picture that had been found on my floor, I used that as encouragement to continue my life as though nothing had happened.

~~~~~~

In my first class, I could see Naruko already sitting down. She commented on how she hadn't seen me in the cafeteria for breakfast. "I wonder whose fault that is?" I playfully blamed her for making me wake up late. As we continued to chat mindlessly, I couldn’t help but think back to the limited facilities the academy had for women. ‘Well, at least the food and living quarters are good.’ 

"The real lectures are finally going to start today." Likely having it easier than I had yesterday, Naruko had a fire of ambition in her eyes. Luckily, our first class was in the classroom and not martial arts training, otherwise her passion might hurt someone. Our lectures consisted of a wide range of expert topics ranging from using tracking equipment to how to de-escalate a situation to undercover work. 

As we discussed what we would be studying here, the memory of how I was handled yesterday manifested on my wrists. I rubbed them, trying to get rid of the feeling of Kaga's hands. 

"Something wrong?" Noticing my anxiousness, Naruko peered into my face. As I told her “I’m fine”, she remembered how we never talked about my experiences yesterday. 

"I'm pretty sure I passed. If not, I don't think I'd still be here." I laughed off the subject, knowing how strict the instructors seemed to my friend. 

"Did you hear? Students who failed were severely punished." An uneasy expression laid itself on Naruko's face and I also started to feel sympathy for those that weren't as lucky as us. As we wondered about what the punishments were, Naruko got that grin she’d had during the ceremony yesterday. 

"I wonder what kind of punishment I would have gotten." The excited aura she was giving off only made a chill run down my back thinking about how much worse the Captain could be.

Intruding on my thoughts, the instructor delivering our lecture walked in and started the lesson. When it was over, I rushed to change into the attire I would need for our next bout of training on the grounds.

~~~~~~

As Naruko and I arrived on the pitch, everyone was lined up in front of Instructor Soma. He frowned at us, stating how late we were. "Sorry about that, Instructor. We took too long in the shower room." Maybe too casual with the man because of his usual laid back aura, we both bowed deeply. 

"Yes, there's no women's locker room, is there?" A small smile finally returned to his face as we rose again. "It's the first time, so I'll go easy on you. But, I won't go easy on you next time." Even though he looked kind, anyone could tell he didn't give any leeway. 

"There won't be a next time, sir," I replied rather confidently and the instructor almost seemed amused.

Naruko and I went to line up in the very back. The girl who couldn't seem to keep her feelings to herself whispered to me about how nice he seemed and how good looking he was. Thinking back to how Kaga treated me, I couldn't help but quietly agree. ‘There would definitely be no such leniency with him.’ I thought about all the awful punishments or torture methods the Captain could know as we continued our training.

Soma had us perform a fitness exam. We hadn't had a break since the class started when he called out my name to be tested. I stretched the pain out of my legs quickly, not wanting to cramp up. 

"Woah, Atsuko! You have a scary look in your eye!" Naruko, as tired out as I was, laughed nervously. You might say I was competitive. I would say I was trying to prove my worth to the classes of men who didn't think I belonged here. 

"Just tryna keep my head in the game." I jumped on my toes as the instructor called out my name again. "Coming!" 

Jogging over to him, I noticed that even the guys were looking visibly tired due to our endless training. I, on the other hand, although exhausted, had trained like this since I could walk. I was used to being able to hide the physical pain in order to not get shouted at for being weak. 

~~~~~~

For our last lecture of the day, feeling like I had been brought through the wringer, we all filtered into the Monitor Room. Maybe too nervous yesterday to get a good look at the room, I overheard my classmates gossiping about the surveillance equipment surrounding us. Not only were there cameras of the school grounds, but some screens showed destinations all over the country. 

"Don't you think just using this room would make for an easy investigation?" Overhearing one student comment, I couldn't help but agree. Knowing how much the pictures under my bed were worth, who knows how vital a video of a crime would be to an investigation. You just needed to be able to prove they weren't doctored. 

As the instructor lectured, I noticed Naruko resting on my shoulder. "Come on, Naruko. Just a bit longer." I shook her while keeping an eye out for anyone that might rat her out. 

"You can talk. You're a machine, Atsuko," she whined under her breath.

Suddenly, before I could laugh at her comment, another voice spoke up behind us. 

"Sasaki, go to the medical office if you're drowsy." Instructor Shinonome piped up and we both jumped to attention, having not felt anyone around us. Even though the man was grinning, there was something evil behind that childish face of his. 

"Ah! S-Sorry! I'm okay!" Naruko instantly woke up at the prospect of getting punished. 

"If anyone else wants to sleep, you can tell me. They put you through it on the first day, so I expect you're all tired." Shinonome's offer almost sounded like a chance to get us expelled. Or, it did to me anyway. Everyone else looked relieved at the kind sentiment. 

"Okay, that's all for today's class then. Great work everyone." A cheerful smile returned to his face as I eyed him suspiciously. The man I saw in the shower room on my first day was hidden under that friendly persona he had on. 

"Oh, right. Can those who I call stay after class for a moment?" And there it was! The not so innocent catch to his kind offer. Those who would be called were definitely being thrown to the wolves in order to save the rest of us.

As Shinonome began to read out the list, he directed his gaze to the monitor. He called out a few names before looking directly at me. "Lastly, Atsuko Motomori." His face had no note of malicious intent, however, I couldn't help but not trust it. As I gasped to myself, he dismissed our classmates. 

"Atsuko, what did you do?" Naruko whispered as our free classmates shuffled out around us. 

"I-I don't think I did anything?" I panicked, thinking back over the day, trying to find anything that could warrant me being reprimanded. Looking over to those also called, I could see they were just as nervous. Why were we the one's held back? 

‘Maybe... Kaga's mission was discovered?’ I couldn't help but wonder if we’d been caught as Naruko left me sitting where I was. 

"Don't be so nervous. I'm not going to get angry." The happy smile on Shinonome's face helped calm the others in the room. Even I was somewhat relieved by his words. "How were they? The lectures?" Directing his question at me, Shinonome looked over. 

"Educational! It's wonderful how good the facilities are." Trying to get on his good side, I didn't want to let myself look withered as I kept my voice light. 

"Well, the class seemed sleepy. Sasaki looked like she was nearly asleep." The comment didn't sit right with me, this being an elite academy and all.

"Well, as you said, they put us through it," I laughed, trying not to put Naruko in any deep water. 

"So, are you going to fall asleep on us as well? I'd have to punish you then." Shinonome cast me a look that probably didn't seem like anything to the other men in the room. But, to me, it seemed as untrustworthy as the rest of him. 

"Don't count on it." Not wanting to divulge my past of intense training, I just showed a soft smile. To be honest, I wouldn't mind a nap right now, but I wasn't going to admit that. The thought of any kind of punishment, which would likely be some form of harassment from him, had me on edge. 

"Too bad. I wonder if any students who I can have fun with will turn up soon?" His mischievous appearance reminded me of the look Kaga gave me yesterday and my eyes darted away. Even though Shinonome seemed actually happy and there was no emotion in Kaga's eyes, the concept of teasing made me uneasy. 

‘It's scary how he can talk like that and still smile.’ I thought about how his words didn't match the expression as the doors of the Monitor Room opened again. 

Throwing my gaze to the door, I watched Ishigami, Goto and Soma make their way inside. "You're all immediately going to be assigned as student aides to the instructors." Ishigami didn't miss a beat as all attention landed on him. 

"Simply put, you'll help the instructors file documents, prepare lectures and such," Soma added, helping the confused students out. I was shocked. I hadn't done anything special to get me a close position to any of the instructors, let alone have to deal with their grunt work. "Since we must continue our normal duties as Public Safety officers while we teach, we won't always have the time." With that comment, I finally understood why Kaga would agree to become an instructor- so he wouldn't have to do any of the work if he had a capable enough aide. I pitied the person that would have to undertake that role. 

"This is good experience, so although it will be difficult, we ask that you try." The encouraging words from Soma were much more trustworthy to me than Shinonome's slightly eerie ones. 

"Each instructor will get a full-time aide. Following the instructors will be an important role." Goto, as blunt as he had been at the introduction ceremony, crossed his arms as he stared down at all of us. Somehow, the silence that followed was more anxiety invoking than anything Shinonome could say. Soma was right, though. Being so close to an instructor all the time would be a perfect learning opportunity. 

"We will now announce the aides," Ishigami announced, retrieving his clipboard once again. "Instructor Kaga's aide will be Atsuko Motomori." The Captain was as stoic as ever as he read out the list. I, on the other hand, couldn't be more shocked. ‘Kaga seemed so annoyed by even my mere presence yesterday, why would he want me as an aide? He already thinks I'm a screw up because of the train incident.’ 

"What?" Ishigami glared at me as he heard my wordless gasp. 

"Nothing, sir. Sorry." I bowed my head in embarrassment of drawing attention to myself as I pondered over the events in the love hotel that could get me the chance to become an aide. ‘Is it because I chose him yesterday?’ I panicked, thinking back to the misplaced bravery I’d had when picking an instructor.

"Isn't this a good thing? You're one of the few to come back with him safely." Ayumu smirked at my worrisome state. ‘The only reason I was safe is because he didn't actually train me. There was no chance to get in harm's way. Except for the possible fallout of someone recognising me.’ 

"Shinonome, refrain from talking." Ishigami quickly progressed through the list of aides. Once he finished, he turned to me once again. He explained that Kaga was on an investigation mission and that I should go see him when he gets back. I hesitantly agreed, glad to have the time to prepare myself while he was out working. Unlike our permanent instructors, the guys from Public Safety weren't always around, which is probably why they need the help. 

As we were dismissed, I tried to remind myself what a good learning opportunity this could be.

~~~~~~

When the time came to see Instructor Kaga, as Shinonome had told me back in the Monitor Room, I headed to their staff room.

"Excuse me." I knocked on the door before opening it to find an office-like space. Kaga was sitting at one of the many chairs at the large table in the centre of the room. I stood in front of him in order to introduce myself. 

"I'm Motomori. Starting today I will be serving as your full-time aide." Straight-backed and trying to not look uncomfortable under his discerning gaze, I explained why I dared talk to him. 

"Oh?" His brows frowned, once again judging me for all I was worth. 

"I just came to let you know Instru-." However, before I could blame Ishigami for sending me here, I was interrupted.

"A full time aide?" He even seemed to ponder the idea before flat out rejecting me. "Useless, I have no need for an aide, so go." His blunt response threw me off a little. To be honest, I was surprised he didn't unenthusiastically jump at the idea for someone else to do his work. Losing the optimistic view of this assignment, I tried to explain that it had already been decided. 

"Don't need it." He quickly interrupted me again before turning his back on me. "Tell Ishigami for me," was the final thing he said before expelling my presence from the room.

~~~~~~

‘That was rougher than I thought it was going to be,’ I thought as I stood in the hallway, looking at the door signed 'Staff Room'. ‘But, I can't afford to back down here.’ More afraid of what Ishigami would say than what Kaga could do, I raised my fist to knock on the door. 

After hearing no reply, I began to get desperate. "Instructor, please!" I call out, not wanting to go back to Ishigami empty-handed.

"Shut up." The door flew open and there's Kaga, glaring down at me. The sudden action made me jump out of my skin in the silent corridor. "Let me spell this out for you since you don't seem to get it." The oncoming lecture was apparent when I felt like he was going to start insulting me for being so persistent. 

"I have no need for some useless piece." 

I won't lie, that statement struck home. The whole 'chessboard' way of thinking about people lower than you was exactly how my father treated us. I once confronted him about my mother's disappearance and all he could say was "she didn't know how to play the game. She's useless to us if she doesn't want to compete." That wording was something I never understood. How were you supposed to lead anyone if you didn't think anyone less than you was capable enough? 

As I thought about Kaga's statement, I tried to ignore the relation to the man who raised me. "If you give me a chance, I'm sure it'll get Ishigami off your back. He'll only complain to you if I go back to him now." I tried to reason with the side of him that hated his Captain counterpart and a wave of irritation flashed through his face. "I can do anything! I can file for you. I'll even do chores. Please!" I begged, hoping I was getting through to him. Maybe the idea of a maid would make him reflect on the idea. Then, he finally looked at me without that concerned expression. 

"Anything, you say?" He looked me up and down as I agreed, not thinking about the consequences of those words. Then, he narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth. 

"You can be my servant." The growing smirk on his face made me a little uneasy. It was that same grin of victory he’d showed when he’d collected the evidence from the love hotel. 

"Excuse me?" Was all I could utter out to ensure I’d heard him right. 

"You can be my full-time servant. How many times do I have to say it?" The disconcerting frown returned as his eyebrows creased together again. 

#HLITF #hlitf ayumu #hlitf kaga #hlitf goto #hlitf ishigami #hlitf soma #hlitf shinonome #hlitf fanfic #voltage games #voltage fanfic #oc #ooc #her love in the force #crime #mafia #mob #police #detectives

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 4: From the Mouths of Babes

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 2174

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the sublime pandabearer

        Lorel started to demand to know how much RainFire knew about her past and how they knew, but the sound of a branch cracking overhead had her looking up.  Instinct had her on her feet and catching the cub that tumbled out of the tree.

        She stared at the small leopard with wide eyes; light green eyes as large as saucers stared back while golden hickory leaves rained down around them.  The part of her that was still a scared little girl braced for the inevitable recrimination for the display of inhuman speed and her ocelot readied to fend off an attack for daring to touch one of their cubs.

        “Good catch.  Jojo here’s still learning what branches can or can’t hold her weight, ” Tien smiled and ruffled the tufts of hair between her daughter’s ears.  She had also leapt into action, although she’d been a few feet farther away.

        Lorel bit back a snarl, an inborn need to curl protectively up around the cub still gripped her hard, but she forced herself to pass the cub to the other woman.  Tiny claws caught in her sweater stopped her. Jojo tried to retract them, and stopped when they threatened to shred the fabric, mewling in what was obviously a plea for help.

        Tien nudged them towards a table and together they extricated Jojo from the cardigan.  Once freed, she placed her forepaws, sans claws, on Lorel’s chest and headbutted her as she purred in thanks.  The warm weight and casual affection of the girl grounded Lorel in her body in a way she hadn’t felt in a very long time.  It felt so right she almost stroked the baby soft fur.

        As tempting as it was to pet the richly patterned coat, she didn’t feel like losing a hand.  She’d heard that predatory Changelings could be violently protective of their offspring. Moreover, she knew that interacting with one, especially in its animal form, was a slippery slope away from what it meant to be human.  She could feel her own cat rising to the surface, brushing insistently at the inside of her skin. Soon, she knew it would punish her with claws and teeth for denying it’s needs.

        Jojo, however, had different ideas.  A fluffy head nudged at her hand, a tiny whiskered nose squirming under her fingers.  Lorel gave into the urge and gently worked her nails between the ears that seemed too large for the little head.  Jojo purred and arched into the attention, her paws doing a slow dance like she wanted to knead at Lorel’s lap, but was too well-mannered to do so.

        A lump formed in her throat.  Had she once been this small and trusting?  Had she ever been this loved and cared for? Vague but colourful memories, like an impressionist painting, surfaced with the happy echoes of a childhood long past.

        She felt the eyes of every adult watching her, either overtly or in darting glances.  They would kill her before she could hurt Jojo. That watchfulness was somehow reassuring.  They’d embraced their savagery to protect their youngest and that, paradoxically, allowed her to relax.  While she would never intentionally harm a child, she wasn’t so certain about her other half; she only knew she shouldn’t trust it.

        A sandy-haired man in a blue plaid shirt set a few plates of food on the table and leaned down to press a kiss to Tien’s lips when she tilted her head up in welcome.  It was more than a quick peck. When his hand cupped the nape of her neck, Lorel averted her eyes. While the festivities certainly weren’t orgies like in the sordid tales with which she'd been regaled, the open affection was more than she was used to.

        Jojo stood with her forepaws on the table, her nose twitching at the scent of the food, and reached out with one claw to snag a cookie.

        “Hands for cookies,” Tien said as if it were an oft-repeated admonition.

        A shower of multi-coloured sparks burst in Lorel’s lap; she froze for fear of interfering with the shift.  An instant later, there was a naked girl sitting on her knee. Lorel shrugged out of her cardigan and helped Jojo into it.  The soft yellow hem fell to her knees. Lorel glanced at Tien and her partner. Neither of them appeared as if anything was out of the ordinary, no cutting rebukes or punishment for being nude where others could see.  There was a twinge in her heart from memories of a very different childhood.

        “This is my mate, Avery.”  Tien gestured to the man who had joined them.

        Lorel was thrown by the term.  “Mate” was such a primal word that it threatened to bring a flush to her cheeks.  She didn’t have time to mull it over because Avery offered a hand as he sat next to his… wife.

        “Nice to meet you.  Please eat.” He smiled and nudged a plate arranged with crispy bread and some sort of creamy dip towards her.  Meanwhile, Tien had moved the cookies away from Jojo and pushed the crudite, also arranged to be shared communally, in front of her.

        Lorel opened her mouth to politely refuse, but Jojo offered up a stalk of broccoli.  She couldn’t say no to that earnest expression. Making “nomnom” noises, Lorel carefully snatched the vegetable with her teeth, making the girl giggle.

        Allowing herself to relax, Lorel sat back and took the chance to look around at the people chatting, playing, and laughing. Several of the leopards looked back.  No one hid their open curiosity, but they didn’t stare either. At least they didn’t swarm her, although she suspected that if Tien wasn’t there then all bets were off.

        They all seemed so... human.  No one licked their lips over the grilling meat.  Perhaps it was too well-done to salivate over? At least they didn’t have a bloody carcass roasting in a pit.  While she was no vegetarian (her physiology couldn’t handle a no-meat diet), she couldn’t have stomached such a barbaric display.

        “Not what you expected?” asked Tien.

        “Not really,” she admitted.  “I know RainFire’s only a few years old, how did you get this many members?”

        “Well, Remi met some of us, like Lark and Theo, when he was roaming.  Some of the sentinels, and our healer, Finn, came from packs where there weren’t many opportunities for them.”  Lorel blinked at the blithe reference to soldiers, as if their occupations were something as prosaic as accountants or teachers.  That was the darker side they tried to hide, the violence hidden with a thin veneer of humanity. “Avery and I lived on our own until I got pregnant with Jojo; we wanted her to grow up in a pack like we did.  We put our feelers out among our friends and family and heard about RainFire.”

        The contentment pouring off the couple made Lorel want to wrinkle her nose.  She knew it was all a lie: love, loyalty, family. Scratch the surface and it was all illusion.  They were like everyone else, only with a public façade to lure in others. She wasn’t going to fall for that again.

        “And how many were press-ganged?” she muttered under her breath.

        Being accustomed to humans and Psy, Lorel had forgotten that the leopards had hearing as sharp as her own until she caught the twin glares cast her way.

        “He said he didn’t fall, he was attacked by invisible ninja.  I asked, ‘Isn’t invisible ninja redundant?’”

        Remi was only listening with half an ear to Hugo’s story of how Jasper had broken his arm while his eyes tracked Lorelei’s every move.  His leopard was restless at having an outsider in their midst. It hadn’t even reacted this strongly when he’d rescued two half-drowned Psy assassins, unarguably among the most lethal people on the planet.  Then again, neither of them were as beautiful as the ocelot.

        She was short with curves like a winding back road that he wanted to explore.  The cat wanted to memorize what she smelled like without her bakery mixing with it.  Underneath the acrid layer of fear, which was lessening now that Tien had gotten her talking, she smelled sweet with a bite of spice.

        He had to force himself to back off.  The need to shadow the virtual stranger in their midst was riding him hard, no matter that she appeared about as dangerous and as delicious as one of her cupcakes in that mint green dress.  Her flats, while practical indoors, sank into the thick carpet of leaves. Nor did she wear anything warmer than a butter yellow cardigan. While she was a Changeling and would be fine, most cats preferred to be warm.  He was wearing a forest-green cashmere sweater himself because he liked the texture of it, not because he was cold.

        Judging by her clothing, she hadn’t known what to expect, or no one had told her that she was a guest.  He cast a sideways glance at Elijah, who gave an unrepentant shrug.

        “No bear tactics involved.”  The soldier held up his hands as if to ward off a chewing out.  “All cat. But Tien might have forgotten to tell her she was invited.”  Remi and his cat were amused at their strategy. A pack circle event was meant to reinforce bonds: and thus, were perfect for introducing someone to the benefits of pack life.

        “That’s smart, so I know you weren’t the brains behind the operation.”

        “Au contraire.”  He pronounced it "ow contrary."  Remi rolled his eyes.  Elijah spoke several languages to varying degrees of fluency, but he liked to butcher French just to yank his alpha’s chain.  “I said we should place an order for the party, Tien and Avery took it from there. So really it was all my idea.”

        Remi started to formulate a quip, but stopped at the sound of Tien’s voice vibrating with anger that carried under the ambient noise.  He shifted towards the dominant maternal to hear her better.

        “…here because we want to be.”

        Lorelei’s response was a murmur that not even his sharp ears could pick up, but whatever it was, it cooled Tien’s temper.

        “We can’t let a predatory Changeling live within our borders,” she explained.  A thread of surprise wound through her words, like she hadn’t imagined that someone of their race could be ignorant of their laws, but she was as patient as if she was addressing the juveniles. “There are some who’d assume that meant we can’t hold our territory and would press the issue.  We’re not big or strong enough yet for that.”

        Pride swelled and ebbed within him.  Tien was a damn fine dominant maternal and he’d never regretted allowing her and her family to join the pack.  It was the sting of shame that tempered that pride. Most alphas, if they grew up in a functional pack, were carefully guided from a young age.  Remi partly blamed that lack of formative education for having waited so long before developing his own pack.

        If he’d started building RainFire earlier, then they could have weathered the turbulence that was the fall of Silence and the subsequent restructuring of the world better.  And he wouldn’t have had to deliver an ultimatum to a single submissive Changeling whose only mistake was to live on land they needed to claim.

        He huffed a laugh that brought him out of the pity party for one.  Once, being alpha of his own pack was unthinkable to him. Sometimes he looked around at his people and what they’d built together and felt as bemused as Lorelei looked.  Now he was kicking his own ass for not starting sooner. Fate was no doubt having a laugh at him.

        “…dominants are driven to protect,” Avery explained.  “…sives…” The male was no doubt explaining the hierarchy to her.  Really, it should have come as no surprise that she was unfamiliar with the power structure, but he’d assumed that she knew instinctually.  Then again, he of all people should know that instincts didn’t always coincide with what experience taught.

        Taking a drink of his beer, he turned to catch a glimpse of the small group.  Lorelei looked down at Jojo with an abashed expression. She had looped her arms around the girl to ensure she didn’t tumble off, not that the cub was in any danger of that.

        With the innocent honesty of small children, Jojo wrinkled her nose and said, “You smell funny.”

        Lorelei frowned and made a show of sniffing herself.  “I promise I showered today, with soap even.” She feigned confusion and the cub giggled.

        Remi’s blood ran cold.

        The slashes on Jojo’s face were more than an unusual birthmark.  They were the sign of a hunter, someone born with the skills to hunt those of their kind who went rogue, ones who subsumed themselves in their animal half.  Once they lost their humanity, they slaughtered without compunction, beginning with their loved ones.

        And a hunter’s chief ability was scent.

#my writing #psy changeling #fan fic #nalini singh #eventual romance #kid fic #sci fi #paranormal romance #pack dynamics #psy changeling trinity #original female character #remi denier #paranormal romantic suspense #scifi #werecat #leopard #sci-fi #eventual smut #hate to love #paranormaromance #fanfic #fat character #cajun french #plus-sized character #pack alpha #ocelot #shapeshifter #halloween #shape shifter #autumn

[pass-the-bechdel]

Alias s01e19 ‘Snowman’

Does it pass the Bechdel Test? No.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Four (22.22%).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Fourteen (77.78%).

Positive Content Rating:

Three

General Episode Quality: 

Odd.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel: 

Sydney and Francie talk about Sydney’s international trips, but Will is never not a party to that conversation.  

Female Characters:

Sydney Bristow

Francie Calfo

Irina Derevko

Judy Barnett

Male Characters:

Noah Hicks

Skyhook

Michael Vaughn

Will Tippin

Arvin Sloane

Douglas

Grey

Jack Bristow

Dixon

McCullough

Alexander Khasinau

Weiss

Kishell

Marshall

Other Notes:

I do not understand Dixon’s animosity towards Noah, at all.

SpyMommy!

I’ve been rewatching the series with a friend who made note of the way the series consistently ignores extractions, treating them as a fait accompli, something that just happens and needs to be accepted, instead of something as complicated as what we usually see. It therefore made the beginning of the episode, where Sydney and Noah’s extraction runs into some complications, very amusing this time around.

While Will and Francie’s C-plot, about them discovering that she has been lying about her trips, feels as if it exists entirely to give them both something to do, I do appreciate parts of it, including Sydney’s effortless recovery—is it a lie she’d planned out beforehand, or did she come up with it on the spot?—and the chemistry between Sydney’s two friends. 

The series’ mid-episode missions have always felt quite a bit like music videos, and this one, with almost no dialogue and set to Paul Oakenfold’s “Ready Steady Go”, feels like the epitome of that. 

This arc is weird.  

I mean, its placement—as a palate cleanser between the Rambaldi stuff of the past few episodes and the seasonal endgame—makes a certain amount of sense, at least. Additionally, the idea of introducing someone from Sydney’s past at SD-6 has definite potential. Noah, as a character, is actually fairly compelling—you can tell how a Sydney in her early twenties might have considered him interesting. And heck, last episode wasn’t bad at all. It’s this episode and its new wrinkle—that K-Directorate has hired an assassin to go after Khasinau, who turns out to be Noah, which Sydney only discovers after she’s accidentally mortally wounded him—that makes the whole thing nigh-incomprehensible, from a thematic standpoint. The episode ends up highlighting the way the series…really doesn’t care about the world it inhabits.

One of the odder omissions from the Alias narrative so far is the concept of evil being corrosive. We’ve talked about how Sydney managed to somehow work for SD-6 for seven years while still remaining immaculate, but the same can be said about characters like Dixon and Marshall, who have given no reason to doubt that they are still good guys. What’s more, Sydney—or anyone else—never expresses concern that continued exposure to SD-6 will somehow affect them.  Whatever dangers evil presents, the ability to corrupt is not one of them, the series implicitly argues. Sydney, despite seven years as an SD-6 agent, still doesn’t kill.  Dixon, despite an even longer tenure, is still meant to be seen as noble and moral and uncompromised. Even SpyDaddy, the character who most embodies shades of gray, has a good, morally justifiable reason for everything he’s done.

Noah as the Snowman, then, brings something genuinely new to the table: a character who does, in fact, appear to have gotten corrupted by his time in the espionage world.  He’s both a character who can make a note about how he dislikes having to kill, while secretly moonlighting as an assassin for reasons that are never explained. It’s a story full of potential, especially once you add the fact that he dies at Sydney’s hand.  

Unfortunately, the episode undermines itself at nearly every turn. First, it introduces the Snowman out of the blue, which prevents the mystery of his identity from being an actual proper mystery. Second, it insists on actually keeping his identity hidden, despite the fact that there’s really only one possible person he could be (the episode would have been much more tense if we’d known from the start). Third, the episode structures itself in such a way that doesn’t allow the Snowman to appear until the very end, which forces the writers to spend far too much time telling and not showing why he’s someone to fear. Finally, the fact that the reveal only occurs after Noah has been mortally wounded means we get to learn nothing of his circumstances or understand any potential implications from it. It turns him into a distraction, rather than a crucial part of Sydney’s journey.  

Imagine if, instead, the episode had allowed Sydney to encounter the Snowman in, say, the middle of the episode, and had been forced to confront him knowing at least part of what he was. The final confrontation might have featured Sydney demanding an explanation, and Noah providing one—perhaps it was all about the money, or something that started out with the best of intentions but became something else over time. Imagine if, after that, we’d seen Sydney actually intentionally kill Noah, instead of the wishy-washy accidental killing we get.  

I’ve mentioned before how odd it is for the series to consistently assert, in any way that does not actually involve an actual assertion, that Sydney does not kill. It’s the sort of thing that only really makes sense from a writing standpoint: given that we never actually see Sydney express qualms with killing, and that we see characters like Vaughn and Dixon occasionally use lethal force without comment, we must conclude that it is not a feature of the story, but rather, that it is the writers who have a problem with Sydney killing. This results in the worst of all worlds. We get a Sydney that makes no sense within her context, we’re robbed of an explanation that could further define her and the world she inhabits, and it makes SD-6 all the more incoherent. That said, though, these are largely passive problems. It is not until this episode where it becomes an active one.  If the series wanted an emotional gut punch, then why not have Sydney be actively responsible for killing Noah?  Why is a series that is, to a degree, meant to be about the shades of gray, so afraid of allowing its protagonist to actually exhibit them?  

#Alias #Alias Season One #Snowman #Female Representation #Bechdel Test #MimeParadox

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Day 3: Delirium

(We’re ready to shout.)

Whumptober 2019 Day 3: Delirium

Word Count: 3403

Relationships: none specified, although logince, roceit, and loceit can be interpreted as you like

Warnings:  Practical joke gone wrong, borderline delirious behaviour, accidental physical injury (cut on the forehead), slurred/frantic talking and implications of panic. Let me know if I missed any!

A/N: this is based on the hc that paradoxes physically effect logan and put him out of commission for a while. idk if it truly fits with the prompt, as i took a small liberty in the definition of delirium, so sorry if this isn’t what y’all are expecting. also, i know this is kinda late, but it’s still the third in my timezone!

It was supposed to be a joke.

It was just supposed to be a prank, absolutely harmless. It wasn’t meant to hurt him, it was just supposed to confuse him a little bit! He never wanted this, never wanted to hurt Logan. He’d never hurt their nerd, wouldn’t come at him with malicious intent.

They had all noticed how Logan reacted with the whole “snake eating its own tail” thing, how his words danced dizzy circles around themselves in a fervent scramble to rationalize the metaphor. It was funny at the time, so Roman thought it’d be okay! He, Virgil, and Patton all discussed it, and they’d agreed after only a little bit of convincing. They thought… they thought it’d be funny to tell Logan a few paradoxes, just to see if he’d get confused again. Patton loves jokes, and Virgil thought it’d be funny to see Logan attempt to make sense of something that can’t be made sense of, and Roman just wanted to see their nerd squirm, to tease him like they always do to one another. It wasn’t ever meant to be hurtful, or with the express purpose of making him upset. They thought he’d just slap Roman on the arm and it’d be in good-natured fun and they could all have a good, hearty chuckle! They were… they were supposed to laugh about it.

Logan didn’t laugh, not like he was meant to.

It’s not like Roman knew, going into it, that Logan wouldn’t be able to handle it. Of course he went off on that rant in one of the older videos, but he was snapped out of it easily, so they just assumed that it’d be okay, that Logan would be okay. The three of them had chuckled to each other, exchanged sneaky glances as they approached Logan who was sitting on the couch reading a book. Everything was fine, everything was relaxed, just a chill day. And then Roman plopped down next to him, stifled a giggle as the other two did the same (albeit less dramatically than he did), and leaned in close.

“This statement is false,” Roman whispered into Logan’s ear, leaned back with a shit-eating grin, and snickered when Logan stopped to process it. Taking inspiration from their resident snake was Virgil’s idea; although the liar’s paradox is simple, it’s effective, as all paradoxes should be. Maybe… too effective, in retrospect.

“This… what? If your statement is false, then... then that means that the claim that the statement is false is also untrue, which would mean that the statement is actually true. But… if the statement is true, then the claim that the sentence is false should also be true, which goes directly against the previous claim. I-- I-- what? How can a sentence be both false and true at the same time? The-- the sentence-- it’s true? And it being false must be true, too? But-- I-- how can-- t-- the st-- statement--” Logan rants frantically to himself, eyes gradually getting wider and more distressed as his words pick up their pace. He’s rambling to himself, alone in his thoughts, far into his head despite them being right there beside him. Logan pushes himself to his feet, stutters around sentences with wild eyes, aborted words like he’s a glitching machine. And then he’s clutching his hair in his fists, pulling harshly and his eyes are watering and he looks confused, and bewildered, and Roman feels such an insurmountable sense of dread well up in his chest.

“I can’t-- I-- c-- can’t think-- s-- stop-- I-- I… c’n…” Logan manages to get out, coming down from his outburst with words that slur into one another, such a juxtapose from his regular eloquence. Then Logan starts laughing, despite everything, and it makes everything so much worse. Why is he laughing? Patton looks horrified, and so does Virgil, and Roman probably looks worse. Because… because, what the fuck? There’s no way that a simple joke has done this, there’s no way. It’s impossible. It’s just a paradox, for crying out loud! It couldn’t have hurt him like this. (Roman couldn’t have hurt him like this… right?)

It takes Logan’s violently shaking hands, pulling hard on his wild locks, ripping a pained whine from his throat to intermingle with the hysterical, dazed laughter for Roman to break out of his stupor, and he finally surges forward to pry the logical side’s fists out of his hair. Logan looks through him, unseeing as he stumbles his way around incoherent sentences and empty rationalizations, and then his words slur to the point of being unintelligible. His usual clipped tone has melted into something unrecognizable, so unlike him, and the way his eyelids slip closed and his knees give out, it scares the shit out of Roman. It leaves his breath choked in his throat as he rushes forward to catch Logan before he falls, desperate to save him, keep him safe. But then Virgil’s there, too, just as afraid and reckless, and they knock into each other, and they’re too late.

The dull, heavy sound of Logan’s head smashing into the edge of the coffee table and thumping on the floor is something that won’t leave Roman for a long, long time.

“Logan!” Patton shouts, high and thick through tears, and his fingers scramble to do anything he can to help, but there’s really nothing to do. Roman groans, rubs his shoulder where he and Virgil collided hard, and then ignores his pain to sit back up. He drops down in front of where Logan lays on his side, uses quivering hands to roll him on his back, and then fails to keep the cry from escaping his lungs when he sees the blood all over Logan’s head. It comes from a large gash on his forehead, spills over his cheek and soaks his hair and colours his face in a shade that makes Roman want to go beat up bad guys in the Imagination until he passes out from weariness.

“F-- Fuck, Princey, he-- what the fuck?! Why did he freak out like that? I thought-- I thought he was just gonna get confused like before! Why did-- fuck!” Virgil snarls, panicked and angry as he kneels down beside Roman to help. His voice is doubling, something that only happens when he’s particularly perturbed, and intentionally or not, it gives a pull to someone else who’s been absent for the whole ordeal.

“I didn’t know he’d freak out this badly! I thought he’d-- damn it, I don’t know! I didn’t… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Roman retorts, just as angry, but exhaustion and shame creeps into his tone, and he can’t hide the regret that colours his words and actions. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help. Being faced with an unconscious Logan with his face slick with blood just makes him sick, and he plugs his nose to try to force the metallic tang from his senses. The prince’s hands don’t know what to do, how to move, and it seems like Virgil’s in the same boat, given his frustrated growl as he clenches his fists at his sides.

“Alright, alright, what’s going on here? The noise is absolutely lovely, but I really wouldn’t like to get back to my novel, so…” Footsteps patter on the stairs, lend themselves to a physical form as Deceit descends, and he sounds tired even through his villain act. He stops, tilts his head, and shuffles forward to observe the scene in front of him. He sees Patton, curled up into a ball on the couch with tear tracks on his face, Virgil, with his pupils blown wide and his nails digging into the wooden coffee table. He looks at Roman, who probably looks utterly devastated, and then he finally sees Logan, body splayed on the floor like a ragdoll. He sees the blood, the wound on the logical side’s face, and his expression morphs from weary annoyance to abject horror.

A strangled sound comes from the snake-like side, serious in a way that isn’t something the other sides see very often, and it’s that vulnerability in a moment of panic that causes Roman to immediately scoot out of the way to make more room for a third person. Deceit rushes over, looking far more worried than Roman was expecting, because he’s…. well, he’s Deceit. Deceit has never liked them, has only interacted with them outside of videos to tease and provoke. At least, that’s what it felt like. Surely, the other side shouldn’t care this much about the well-being of someone he barely speaks to, right?

“Shit, what happened?! I felt it, but I thought-- I thought one of you just stubbed a toe or something!” Deceit hisses, fear choking his words, sealing them in his lungs. He falls to the floor in front of Logan a gracefully as one probably could muster in this situation, which isn’t saying much, and immediately lifts Logan up and places his head in Deceit’s own lap instead of the floor. With a shaky exhale and an alarmed gaze that flits between everywhere and nowhere at once, Deceit waves a degloved hand slowly over Logan’s head, sealing the wound and cleaning the blood with a singular, smooth motion. The stitched-up cut is still there, since injuries like this can only be waved away by the side it’s been inflicted on, so it may just have to heal on its own.

Once he’s done, Deceit sighs, although not much less wobbly than before, and his hands come up to brush Logan’s hair away from his eyes. They comb through his tangled, dark hair, unknot the strands, and Roman almost doesn’t notice the smooth, glimmering scales that are usually hidden underneath bright yellow gloves. And then those scales are disappearing underneath Logan’s body, gripping under his knees and behind his back as Deceit lifts the still-unconscious side up off the floor.

“Wait, where-- what are you doing?” Roman asks, irritated with himself and scared for their friend. He doesn’t mean to make things harder, to fuck up more than he already has, but that’s nothing new, really, so Roman supposes he should be used to it by now. Once it’s come out of his mouth, Roman immediately shuts up, curls back in a sad, defeated sort of way, and maybe Deceit takes pity on him because of that.

“He needs to be in my room right now. It’ll help him heal faster,” Deceit mumbles, loud in the silence of the commons, and he looks down at the side in his arms in a way that feels more private than it reasonably should be. Virgil gets up off the floor and sits next to a still-distraught Patton, soothingly rubs his back even as his own jaw is tensed almost painfully, and he opens his mouth to protest. Deceit sees, tightens his grip on Logan, and shakes his head. “You… you still haven’t figured it out? I’m self-preservation. It’s how I knew something was wrong. I can feel the same pain when any one of you gets hurt, and I hurt extra on top of that when I’ve failed to do my job as a side. It’s my purpose, to protect you all, and to protect Thomas. I… my room will heal injuries over a short period of time. Logan only needs to sleep there overnight, and it should be gone by morning.”

Virgil, Patton, and Roman exchange glances, unsure and unsteady but do they really even have a choice here? Logan needs to rest, and if Deceit’s room will also heal his injury faster, then…

“Okay, but… can I come with? To say goodnight and make sure he’s okay,” Roman asks, small and guilty as he rubs his neck. He glances up, sees Deceit nod once in affirmation, and then he’s following the snake-like side down the hallway and around the corner and down the stairs, into the place that none of the light sides ever go. It’s admittedly also the first time Roman’s been down here, having been too scared to go before now. He doesn’t really know what to anticipate, but given his brother’s adoration for the place, he guesses it isn’t going to be pleasant.

So Roman kinda expects the stone walls. It’s cliche, but fitting. He also isn’t too surprised to see the long, red rug disappearing into the darkness at the end of the hall, isn’t shocked when there are torches attached to the wall acting as the only sources of light. It’s very dungeon-esque, fitting in the way that Thomas has split them up, and Roman almost feels uncomfortable with the knowledge that they’re only like this because of him and Patton’s combined efforts to sort them into groups based on things they used to believe. Of course, Roman still doesn’t trust Deceit yet, but he doesn’t necessarily hate him either, and his brother is… his brother. He hates him, but he also loves him, because he’s family. And no matter how much he despises Remus’ disturbing language, their constant fights and teasing and taunting, he still looks back fondly on when they used to play Knights vs. Warlocks, their respective role choices a surprise to no one. Roman doesn’t hate Remus, nor does he hate Deceit. He thinks their side of the mindscape is dreary, and boring, and kinda creepy, and maybe they like the aesthetic, but Roman can’t get over the one thing he was surprised by coming down here-- the cold.

It is so cold, a chill that seeps into his bones, locks his joints in place in a way that forces him to shuffle rather than stride. Every breeze feels like a gust of icy wind, and Roman can imagine that if he were barefoot, he might slip and fall because this whole place feels like it should be covered in inches and inches of hard ice. Roman shakes, quivers in the frigidity of the air, and follows along behind Deceit to the first door on the left. It’s outlined in bright yellow, and his logo is in the middle, clean and simple. It’s minimalistic and stylish, very different from Roman’s door, which is plastered in every kind of artsy or creative thing he can stick up there. Drawings, magazine cutouts, stickers, paintings, beaded necklaces and fairy lights and a wreath that stays year-round. They’re so different, in so many ways, and Roman is starting to regret not bothering to get to know Deceit more.

“It’s so cold… won’t Lo get sick?” Roman asks as they walk through the doorway, hugging himself to preserve his body heat for as long as possible. Deceit’s room is interesting, because despite the whole dungeon/cave aesthetic they have outside, the inside of his room is pretty normal… almost. It’s square, with a bed in the corner, a side table with an odd-looking machine on it, a desk piled with papers and CDs and pens, a bookshelf loaded with all sorts of novels, a closet and a bathroom and a plush rug and an enormous floor-to-ceiling aquarium filled with all types of species and colours of exotic-looking fish. It’s unexpected, and breathtaking, and it’s no wonder Deceit is here all the time. Roman could probably look at them forever, if he wasn’t sure he’d freeze to death after 10 minutes of marveling.

“He’ll be okay. I… I have heaters, an-- and a lot of blankets, and I’ll put the monitor on him to make sure he’s doing alright,” Deceit says, almost shyly, quiet and shifty in what Roman assumes has been caused by his own intrusion into Deceit’s private space. A fish swims closer to where Roman stands, shimmering shades of red and gold, and he huffs out a little laugh at his fish twin. Shifting his attention back to Deceit’s words, Roman relaxes at the reassurances, feels a lot better knowing that Deceit will give Logan ample care, but then his brain replays the sentences spoken once more, and he doesn’t understand.

“Wait, what’s ‘the monitor’?” Roman asks, brows furrowed as he rubs his arms in a way to regain some lost warmth, and he glances at the fish once again. It hasn’t moved, only stares at Roman with those odd eyes, dark and mesmerizing. Then its gaze flicks in the direction of Deceit and Logan, so Roman’s attention naturally follows.

Deceit looks like a deer caught in the headlights, a muted panic in the way his eyes widen and his mouth turns even further downwards. He lays Logan gently down on his bed, nestles him between the mound of blankets, and then begins to work on covering him up as much as possible. “I, uh… it’s a heart monitor. Since I’m cold-blooded, I have to use it when I sleep to alert me to when my body temperature is too low, or… ah, my-- my heart will slow and eventually stop without any kind of adjustment. I can’t produce my own body heat, so I need the heaters and blankets to make sure I don’t die in the night. It’s-- The cold is always worse at nighttime, so.”

And. And Roman has no fucking idea what to do with that. Is he concerned? Horrified? Distraught? All three? He doesn’t know what to feel, only that he’s filling with shame and disgust for himself once again. Deceit, while not always the friendliest, hasn’t ever been outwardly, plainly cruel to them, and yet… this is his life? Deceit has had to deal with the fear of dying every single time he goes to sleep at night, and Roman has been so caught up in himself and his “hero vs. villain” games that he just needlessly drove them further apart? Deceit lives in such a cold, dreary place, the polar opposite to the environment he needs to live in to survive as a side who is literally part-snake, and Roman has flaunted the warmth of the light sides without a single care as to how it must feel to be in his position? Deceit has been alone, suffering all this time under Roman’s nose, and Roman didn’t even notice?

God, he’s such an asshole. He has to do something about this, has to fix this somehow, but that’ll have to wait until Logan is okay.

Roman frowns, sighs as he walks over to sit beside an almost fully bundled-up Logan on Deceit’s bed. He just stares for a moment, drinks in the sight of a version of his nerd that’s just sleeping, that hasn’t been hurt by Roman’s stupid, reckless actions. He shudders, and he doesn’t know if it’s from the cold or from Logan, and he reaches out a hand to softly card through the sleeping side’s hair. He wants to apologize, beg for forgiveness, grovel at his feet if he has to, anything to make this right again, but Logan needs to rest, and Roman needs to make sure that Virgil and Patton are okay, so he strokes the logical side’s cheek one last time.

As he pulls away, he also hooks his pointer fingers under Logan’s glasses and lifts them off his face to make sure they don’t get damaged while he sleeps. Roman folds them up neatly, sets them down on the side table where Logan can reach them, and then inhales through his nose with closed eyes. He takes a moment to silently say sorry, to forgive himself just for now until he can ask for it from Logan later, and then he’s opening his eyes again.

The aquarium really is beautiful, and the way the light reflects off of the fish’s scales is incredible. The light refracts, casts beams onto the walls, and it feels like the whole room is underwater, too. Logan would fucking adore it, if he were awake, and Roman has a feeling that he and Deceit will get along just fine. He maybe even starts to believe that everything will be okay, gives a small smile when he stops at the door to look back one more time.

And if Roman notices how much Deceit’s hands tremble, how he gently curls a small, scaled hand protectively around the side of Logan’s face as a reminder that Logan is real and okay and not going anywhere, it’s not like he’s gonna say anything about it, anyway.

#whumptober2019 #no.3 #delirium #ts sides #sanders sides #ts logan #logan sanders #ts roman #roman sanders #ts deceit #deceit sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #sympathetic virgil #ts patton #patton sanders #sympathetic patton #remus is only mentioned #ambiguous relationships #all relationships are unspecified #loceit #roceit #logince #roloceit #? who knows #platonic lamp #tw injury #jasper's writing

[otdderamin]

Analysis: The hidden pain of Jester and Scanlan – CR C2 Ep76 and CR C1 Ep85

Spoilers for Campaign 1 through episode 85 and Campaign 2 through episode 76

One thing I really love about Critical Role from both campaigns is the way they show that the seemingly happy, jokey, funny, delightful people are really using that as a mask for a lot of pain and insecurity that they're either hiding or repressing and that can't last forever.

Scanlan was hurt and angry that no one asked about his issues seriously or asked what he needed, but he also buried everything and deflected when they did ask about him. He wanted to be seen and understood, but all he gave them was a facade of being fine. Until he broke.

Jester's playing with the same idea in a different way. She learned being seen is bad and her purpose is making other people happy. Her own desires aren't really important. She's afraid she'll disappoint everyone if she admits she's not okay (even to herself), so she buries it.

Both The Mighty Nein and a lot of the audience are kind of infantilizing her, largely ignoring her pain and complexity. Laura does not get enough credit for her roleplaying because I think that's the impression Jester is intentionally cultivating out of deep insecurity.

Misogyny is also a factor. She leans into a lot of ditzy, simple, girly tropes that are largely written off by men and many women as shallow. Laura is really playing with them to show there actually is a lot of depth there. But you have to be willing to deconstruct her to see it.

Jester wants to actively bring joy to people's lives because she's afraid that she won't be wanted if she doesn't. So, she's cultivated this happy, mischievous mask to hide behind and she's trapped herself behind it. She doesn't even want to see herself without it.

Just as much as Fjord trapped himself behind the faux-Vandran mask until he had a breakdown. Or Beau trapped herself behind the no-fucks-given mask she's been working really hard to set aside. Or Caleb trapped himself behind his bandages and bum disguise until his cover was blown.

But Jester's mask is harder to see around. She seems open and carefree and happy. Almost everyone in the Mighty Nein wants to feel that way and they're invested in the aspirational illusion. They really want one of them to be okay because maybe then they could learn, too.

 T: Full scene from Campaign 1 Episode 45

2:30:57 Vax: "How do you do it? You're risking your life as much as anyone in this group. You're almost dying every day. You're fucking smiling all the time. How do you do it?"

Liam: "I'm kind of asking as Liam to Sam, as well. But mostly as Vax to Scanlan."

Vax: "How do you do it? You almost died yesterday, as well. Or two days ago, fuck. Why do you do it?"

Scanlan, as if it's obvious: "Vax, I… I don't know. I mean, I just… I like you people okay. Everything before this was not as good. This is better, that's why. It's very simple. You had a shitty childhood, didn't you?"

Vax: "Yeah."

Scanlan: "You and the sister."

Vax: "Yeah."

Scanlan: "I think Grog had some troubles. We've all had our share of shit, before we all met. Now we're together. We're a family. This is better, that's how I smile. It's better than it was before. That's it."

Vax: "We're probably going to die in the next month."

Scanlan: "Yes, but it's fun while it lasts."

Vax looks at him in disbelief and bewilderment.

Scanlan gives a contented sigh.

Vax, dubiously: "Alright. I thought I might…"

Scanlan: "Glean some wisdom?"

Vax: "Yeah, but I'm just as confused as before."

Scanlan: "Listen, I'm older than you."

Vax: "How much older?"

Scanlan: "A bit. I've seen more than you have, and… it's all shitty, so it just depends on how you look at it. You can dwell on the shit, or you can just leave it behind in people's beds and keep going."

 But of course, Scanlan couldn't do it forever. He couldn't actually just leave all that shit behind him. He couldn't laugh all of it off. He reached the tipping point where he was too scared and hurt and angry to keep going.

Beau's started to see Jester's cracks and say something, most notably in episode 45 (4:55:48) and 46 (1:25:15), but she doesn't seem know how to address it without Jester pushing the concern away and deflecting, and I think she's scared Jester will pull away from her if she presses the matter. Beau might have the best chance, though.

Caleb tried to talk to her In episode 42 (1:08:49), but the conversation derailed almost instantly. She did express her fear she would never see her mother again, and that she was unsure about her feelings towards Fjord or his towards her, but again the conversation turned to other things fairly quickly. Still, it was more than she'd really shared before.

Jester actually showed her vulnerability and insecurity to Fjord in episode 72. but he was too up his own butt focused on his own rapidly spiraling break down to really notice or address it. Hopefully he keeps it in mind and circles back now that he's pulled through it.

 Campaign 2 Episode 72

2:49:51 Fjord: "I just feel like there's more out there. It's always more. Even Port Demali and before that, my world just got bigger and bigger and bigger, and more time goes on the more you realize there is and the more that we affect and the more we can be affected. And there's a part of me that wants to leave it all behind..."

Jester: "And just somewhere quiet and disappear, and hope that it never bothers you again?"

Fjord: "Yeah."

Jester: "yeah, I understand that."

Fjord: "I just don't think it will let me."

 Caduceus might be able to help if he understood, but Jester is baffling to him.

 Talks Machina for Campaign 2 Episode 50

0:51:24 Taliesin: "[Caduceus] hasn't figured out that Jester is an adult yet. He doesn't regard her as an adult. I mean, which is, he kind of, his whole thing with her is very childish and playful and is not really... [...] He hasn't figured out that she's probably got-- I mean, he's aware that there's other stuff going on, but he hasn't really gone looking for it yet, so... He's like, 'Aw, she's happy and fine. Good. Thank god somebody is.' And obviously that's not true. And he should know better, but he hasn't gone looking for it."

Dani: "He has bigger fish to fry at the moment."

Taliesin: "I mean, the angsty boys are very angsty, and they currently have one emo girl to deal with as well."

It appears from the last episode that Caduceus has finally figured out there's more going on with Jester and is trying to make up for what he didn't see before. He let her know he saw through her sadness. Maybe he'll be able to be someone she can come to when she's ready to talk.

Campaign 2 Episode 76

4:44:05 Caduceus: "You okay?"

Jester: "Me?"

Caduceus: "Yeah you."

Jester: "Oh yeah. I'm fine. I'm always fine."

Caduceus: "Well…"

Jester: "That's a lie."

Caduceus: "Nobody's always fine."

Jester: "That's a lie, Caduceus."

Caduceus: "You do a lot."

Jester: "Yeah."

Caduceus: "And I don't think you necessarily get as much credit as you deserve, as often as you should. You deserve… more pastries."

Jester, laughing: "Everybody deserves more pastries."

Caduceus: "Yeah, but you do."

Jester smiles sadly: "Thanks, Caduceus."

Caduceus: "Well, we'll be figuring out your Traveler Con soon enough, I'm sure."

Jester: "Yeah. We're gonna work- that's gonna be really cool, right?"

Caduceus: "You got a good crew for it, so…"

Jester: "Yeah."

Caduceus: "We're here for you."

Jester: "Thank you."

Caduceus: "Thank you. You've done… I don't even know how to tell you what this has meant."

Jester has been ignored in part because she seemed… not fine, but less of an immediate and impending disaster than the others. Now that things are settling down with everyone else, I think they're trying to do right by her and support her better. Time will tell if she lets them in.

No one in Campaign 2 is playing an easy character. No one is playing someone who's well adjusted and fine. No one has their shit figured out. At best they've learned pieces or ways of learning how to be more okay with the tumult. Jester is far come complex than she tries to appear.

Her arc is coming up soon and whatever happens will come with big growth and change for her. The big difference (or similarities) in how the stories of these two characters will play out will come down to how well their friends see behind the mask. Vox Machina didn't until it was too late. The Might Nein might be beginning to, and if they keep at it, that will make all the difference.

----------

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#critical role #critical role meta #Jester Lavorre #Scanlan Shorthalt #critical role analysis #analysis

[jaimesonsloan]

Behind Closed Doors

Weekly Writing Challenge - Week 3  Warning: Lots of smut, and some swearing; Just lots of NSFW things and also, this is a very long post as it part of Sloan’s backstory. 

You’ve been warned. xD

“Just call me Emma.” Her first name is revealed just before she empties the remainder of her glass, the amber liquid burning her throat. The blonde gives only the slightest of hints to the unpleasant sensation as she gestures to the empty chair next to her. Sloan removes his hat, dipping his head in gratitude as he takes his place at the table. Uncorking a fresh bottle of finely aged badlands bourbon with a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth he replies, “Emma is a lovely name.” Though the whiskey was originally only intended for himself, the man refills her glass and then pours some into his own dry vessel. Exhaling a satisfied sigh the woman continues, “And before ya ask why I’m here in this tavern all by my poor pitiful lonesome so late in the evenin, I used ta work at this bar, before I hid myself away at home. I started sewin all kinds of fancy dresses and suits to earn my livin. I werked about twelve hours a day every Saturday and Sunday. I served up drinks and cooked and cleaned and thangs.” A proud smile forms on her lips, clear of color as she wears no makeup, “Now, I only have to come to the city once every couple of weeks to auction off a few of my creations and here I am havin done just that this very fine day. I made me some good coin, iffin I do say so myself.” Gesturing to her refilled glass he lifts his own, “Then I say we drink to your success and give thanks that we are both in this very city at the very same time and both enjoying a bottle of very fine drink.” She smiles as she lifts her glass up and then quickly brings it to her lips to seal the toast. “And that I’m enjoying it with a very fine woman,” Sloan adds just before doing the same.

His eyes then travel slowly over her form, thinking of what lay hidden under the taut clothing that hugs her body. She leans against the back of her chair, eyeing Sloan, “By the looks of it, I’d say yer likin what yer lookin at?” His eyes intentionally continue to roam over her womanly curves, “I could lie and say that I do not think fondly of what I see if that would please you to hear.” Amber eyes meet with her sapphire blue gaze as she replies, showing him her bare arms, “Ya see all these scars, like tiny little slices all over em?” He nods in acknowledgment, “Yes, miss, I do.” She vaguely gestures her hand from her neck downward, until it disappears under the table, “I’m perty much covered all over in scars just like my arms. Ya still likin what yer lookin at?” She watches for his reaction to her confession as her fingertips now fiddle with her empty glass. The sharpshooter leans forward in his chair, his eyes staring intensely into her own as he reaches for the bottle sitting in between them. Wrapping his hand around it in a firm grip, he began pouring more drink for her to enjoy. “Your scars are beautiful. I would have a woman with a thousand scars over one with smooth flesh like a blank page of a book that has no words on it; no story to tell,” he reassures her with barely a blink. Slowly she brings her filled glass to her lips and takes a decent amount of whiskey into her mouth. Feeling the whiskey beginning to course through her veins, Emma relaxes in the man’s company, “Iffin ya say so, I s’pose. Not too proud of my scars and don’t much like rememberin the story behind em, iffin ya know what I mean.” She turns her eyes to her glass as she rests it on the table in front of her, “What kinda scars you got?”

Sloan smirks once again, his fingers drumming lazily in front of him as he speaks, “Training scars, battle scars, emotional scars; the usual scars that someone who comes here would generally possess.” He watches her steadily emptying yet another glass of whiskey, “You seem to be keeping a good pace, Emma. I’m guessing that this is a place you like to frequent while you are here on business as you stated.” She chuckles to his last words, “I can’t stand bein in this city sober, so I’ll be fine, don’t ya worry.” She took another decent drink and exhaled a long sigh, “Usual scars.” She chuckles once more,“Guess that’s perty much everybody ‘round here. Everybody’s all scarred up one way or another or lots of ways or maybe even all the ways a person can be scarred. I think I fall in the latter bunch. I think ya do too, iffin ya don’t mind me sayin so.” She shrugs her shoulders and glances about the tavern, “But s’pose havin that in common with somebody ain’t so bad.” She offers a silly sort of smile that was met with one of his own as she turns her eyes back to his. The man laughs after swallowing his last bit of drink he would have for the night, “I like you, Emma.” A smirk replaces the smile on his lips, “And I think you like me too.” He teases as he places the cork back onto the bottle.

Emma stares at Sloan with barely a blink as she brings her glass to her lips. Her eyes peer over the rim of the glass as she takes the large mouthful of whiskey that remained. As she sets the glass onto the table with a light clattering sound of glass against oak, she blinks, but only once and then swallows. The blonde slides her tongue across her lips,“Mayhaps I do, Mayhaps I don’t.” The words themselves did not sound very encouraging, but the tone and the slight curl of a smirk on her lips told a different story. She adjusts herself in her chair and leans back without a single change in her demeanor or expression. Sloan leans forward, his head crossing the halfway point of the table with his gaze shifting from her eyes to her lips and back to her eyes, “Oh, do you need more convincing?” He cocks his head to the side, adding with confidence, “Frankly, I think you have an interest in me.” His own tongue gently moves across his bottom lip before a slight hitch of hot air leaves his mouth. The scent of whiskey and mint tease the woman’s nose as his face moves in closer. 

She was beginning to think that perhaps he was right about maybe needing to be sober for something or another. However, the thought was fleeting as his gaze seemingly pierces her soul. “And what if I say yes ta both of those questions?” Emma bluntly asks. Leaning even closer towards her, he pauses with his lips barely centimeters from her own, smelling the whiskey on her own breath, “Then you would not mind if I did this then, hm?” Be it from the whiskey, or the company, it was clear that Sloan can’t seem to resist and neither can she as he leans in to kiss her. The blonde allows his lips to hover as she whispers with her warm breath fall against his face with each word, “I’ve been awful lonely and I ain’t usually one ta admit things like that, but it’s not every day I come across somebody that catches my attention.” She drags her tongue across her lips and lightly gulps. 

With that, Sloan leans in just that tiny space more and takes her lips. His left-hand holds the nape of her neck, while the right delicately cups her cheek and it wasn’t long her own hand rested against his. Her soft whimpers and with how she began to writhe beneath his hands and against his lips fed his desire, coaxing his lips and tongue to work against her own with a fiery intensity. The taste of the whiskey and mint mixing with her sweet saliva force a quickened breath to escape the man in the slight parting of their lips, followed by a few of her own. He could feel her pulse steadily climb beneath the thumb of his left hand and it was then Emma abruptly pulls away. There was a slight hint of fear in the woman’s eyes as they open and she quickly hides it away behind a smile, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. She clears her throat, averting her gaze, “Well then, that was… uh…somethin else now wasn’t it?” She laughed a quick few breathy chuckles rather nervously and cleared her throat once more as if her throat was bone dry. 

Turning her eyes to look at him, he smiles softly while she watches him take up her hand and softly kiss the skin, “No need to hide from me, Emma.” His eyes look to the door, before looking back at her lips. “Fuck it.” he murmurs as he presses his lips against hers again, causing whatever she was about to say to become meer muffled words and then sighs. His fingers thread through her long blonde locks while her hands met with his bearded cheeks. Despite being in a public place, the two were well hidden in the back corner and didn’t care who may or may not be watching for the time being. Moving his kiss from her lips to her neck he pulls her petite body over into his lap and despite his strength, he was gentle as if she was a delicate rose he wished for no one else to hold. Emma gasps in a shuddering breath as his hot breath escaped his nose, falling against her neck. Her fingers slide through his hair and to his back. She whispers through soft, quivering lips, “Sloan…not here.” She whimpers the rest, “Anywhere...but here.” But once those words left her lips, she found herself tilting her head back, giving the man much more room to roam and his lips travel over every extra inch she gave him before he forced himself to stop. 

Taking in a much-needed breath, Sloan traces back up her neck with gentle pecks before stopping at her ear, “I have a room upstairs.” His lips brush against her ear as he finishes his sentence, “and I want you so fucking bad.” His words vibrate against her skin coaxing her to whisper the words he needs to hear to venture forward, “I’ve wanted ya since the moment I laid eyes on ya.” All control was lost as he lifts her up from his lap with his lips burning against hers once more he makes his way to carry her upstairs. Whispers of those that notice fall on deaf ears as they pass by with her hand gripping his shirt, tugging it free of his trousers even before they made it to the top of the stairs. As he grips the knob on the door and kicks it open, Emma was already working his belt free of its buckle. 

His fingers fumble for the lock once he kicks the door closed behind them. The room was quaint, but it held a small hint of luxury as it was the best room the tavern offers. Once the door was locked he let Emma slide to her feet, making sure she got her footing before he releases her. He pulls his jacket and his shirt away from his body, tossing each aside. As she tugs at the buttons of his trousers, his large hands unfasten the buttons on her blouse, “I want to kiss each scar on your body. I want to forget about everything for just a few hours; just think about us.” He confesses while kicking off his boots. Not long after the two were standing before each other in their undergarments revealing quite the map of scars, telling the story of where each had been. He closes the space between them, one step at a time as she agrees, “Let’s forget, then.” 

Despite knowing they may both regret this later somehow, they both silently agree they would be willing to live with those consequences as their lips tangle for a brief moment. “You are beautiful, Emma.” Sloan insists as he slides her panties down, kneeling down in the same motion and kissing her scarred skin. Her body trembles to every sensation as she watches his lips trail down her stomach, coaxing goosebumps to splay out like a skymap of stars over her flesh. With her maidenhood exposed, Sloan places his mouth over it, kissing the nub and lightly flicking his tongue against it, tasting her salty sweetness. Every attempt she makes to speak, a gasped moan takes its place. His hands grip the backs of her thighs as his tongue and lips work against her delicate skin. Her hands drifted to grip his hair and one moves to brace herself on his shoulder as her knees began to buckle. Kissing her bud with determination, but with a form of grace, Sloan grips her back with his hands and coaxes her to the bed. 

Upon reaching the bed, Sloan pulls away from her just long enough to lay down on his back and lifts her to straddle his face. One hand grips her thigh and as his other hand inserts a digit into her hot flesh and Emma gasps out a moan. While working his finger in tandem with his tongue, the blonde can’t help but grind her hips. Never being handled this way was driving her wild and Sloan was all too eager to accept her womanhood grinding against his face. Leaning her head back he caught glimpses of her groping her breasts in ecstasy, encouraging him to slip a second finger within her. Her hand drifts from her breast to reaching behind her and taking hold of his erect manhood, only eliciting her to ride his face even more as she strokes him. He feels his shaft throbbing in her grip and pulls his mouth from her lifting her and positioning her near his waist. With his face still wet from being wedged between her thighs Emma’s lust-filled sapphire eyes stare into his as she slid further back, straddling his waist. 

Already, Sloan’s coarse manly hands traverse over her scarred, womanly body as she positions the tip of his manhood just at her entrance. With his eyes locked onto hers, his body shudders and blended sounds of pleasure fill the room once she lowers herself, taking his entirety deep inside of her. Amber eyes watch as this gorgeous woman slowly leaning her head back in bliss begins rocking her hips. His hands cup her swollen breasts as he thrusts his hips upward in tandem with her own movements. She grinds her hips faster, feeling his shaft stretching her tight walls. She leans back, bracing her hands on both of his thighs and Sloan was given a clear view of his member working into her. His hands grip her waist as he thrusts harder against her motions, watching each passion-filled movement she makes in awe. Sloan had been with many women before, but something in this woman sent him wild and the sight of it all only added to the lust that was building. 

Quickly, he pulls out from her and positions her on her hands and knees. With gentle coaxing, Emma bit her bottom lip as her head met with the pillow and he brought her rotund backside into the air. Without a moment's hesitation, Sloan carefully positions himself in and thrusts back inside of her with full force and Emma cries out blissfully. His hands reach under her body, pulling her back up, holding her against his chest as he takes her from behind. Her head leans back as he kisses and lightly bites her neck causing a soft hiss to erupt within her rhythmic moans. He grips her breasts with his hot breath pouring out raspy lustful words into her ear, “Emma you are so fucking beautiful. I want to see you cum so fucking bad. Cum for me, Emma.” One hand pulls her blonde hair down, exposing her neck once again as he kisses the skin. “Oh fuck!” she screams out, then gasps in a deep breath. She opens her mouth and cries out his name in ecstasy, gasping for air between each moan as he held her sweaty body tense and rigid against his own. The beautiful blissful expression on her face and in the sound of her moans, push him over the edge. Unable to take the pressure any longer, he pulls out from her womanhood, pushing her down, spilling his seed upon her bare behind. 

With both of them covered in sweat, Emma falls onto her stomach and Sloan collapses next to her. His words are shaky and sporadic as he attempts to catch his breath, “Emma...Please, do not go. Stay the night, here with me. I want to get to know the real you.” His words were sincere and it was quite the change from the commanding man that was present before. The blonde still lay on her belly with her body glistening with sweat and her behind painted with his bliss. Panting heavily and trying to catch her breath, she feels the room spinning. With her cheek resting against the bed, he saw her hair was a mess, some covering over her eyes as she looks at him. He couldn’t turn his eyes away even if he wanted to in this moment. Each huffed breath blows some of her hair about, but she couldn’t even be bothered to brush it away. She stares at him a moment through her locks of hair and then she closes her eyes, “Only if ya want me ta stay, Sloan. Don’t feel like ya gotta get ta know me.” She opens her eyes, looking directly at him, “It’s alright, I’m a big girl and I know yer not lookin fer nothin and I ain’t either.” Sloan could only sigh, shaking his head slightly, “You still that afraid of me?” A smile peeked out from behind her hair as he moves a hand to caress her cheek. His smile returns as he confesses to her,  “I want you to stay, even if it is just for the night...Just stay.”

As he brushes her hair away from her eyes she chuckles, “Well, iffin I’m gonna stay and ya wanna know the real me, yer gonna need ta know that I’ll be tryin ta hog the bed and all the blankets. Yer gonna have ta fight me fer em all night and ya know what else?” She lifts her head, brushing even more hair away from her face, “Sometimes I even snore.” She turns on her side, propping her head on her hand with her elbow sinking into the mattress, “How’s that fer gettin ta know the real me?” The man chuckles quietly in turn, his hand still caressing her cheek, “Well it is a fight you will have to lose, beautiful.” He moves in to kiss her lips once, before pulling back and smiling at her, “I meanwhile tend to talk in my sleep sometimes and I have bad news.” Her brows raise in curiosity, “Oh?” He brings the blankets up to cover them and pulls her close, “I’m afraid you will have to suffer through me holding you close to me tonight.” Emma exhales a sigh as she rests her head against his broad chest, “I might drool on ya, but alright.” Quiet laughter of the two could be heard and it wasn’t long they were sleeping soundly. 

The next morning, Sloan awoke alone in the bed they shared without a single slither of evidence that she was ever there. He gathers up his things and looks inside the empty room. As he shuts the door behind him he shuts the door to his heart. His deep voice mumbles out quietly, “Never again.”

@weekly-writing-challenge

#wwc #weekly writing challenge #week 3 #smut #fluff #jaimeson sloan #backstory #long read #sorry for my terrible smut writing #don't judge me #a day late

[ri-writing]

Sink Me In The River

Title: Sink Me In The River

Fandom: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

Characters: Cassian Andor, K-2SO, Bail Organa, Leia Organa

“I know you.”  It wasn't a question.  “And it's not from prior work with Draxel Security.”  

Cassian Andor kept his hands clasped behind his back as he locked gazes with the senator seated at the large oak desk.  That, he mentally told himself, was the fastest his cover had ever been blown.  Kay will probably say it's the fastest in the history of Alliance Intelligence.  He pushed the thought away and faced the immediate problem of how best to respond.  Bail Organa wasn't stupid, and it might be best to disclose the whole sordid mess.  At the same time, he knew that Imperial Intelligence had wired the office ages ago.  He had nearly two years of work on this job.  He couldn't afford....

“The room's clean.”  Organa folded his hands on top of the desk.  “If that helps you recall where we met.”

Cassian arched an eyebrow.  

“Oh, the good spymaster down the street sends someone every night to rectify that,” Organa smiled, as if they were playing a game.  “And every morning, I send his ears to places where they're more useful.  I believe they're down in the museum district today...all those school children on field trips should make for some enlightening audio.”

Cassian had the distinct impression that the senator was enjoying this far too much.  He doubted Organa would continue to think Imperial Intelligence was amusing once he learned he now warranted two spies in addition to the attempts at listening in.  

“I'm pretty sure you're Davits' programmer,” Organa continued, “And that your Magnum Opus is standing outside the door to my office.  Unfortunately, I don't remember your name.  Why don't we start there.”  Organa paused, then added, “Your real name.”

Cassian weighed the risks, then decided he really couldn't avoid the question.  Draven might be his commanding officer, but Bail Organa was Alliance Council.  He outranked them all.  “Lt. Cassian Andor, Sir.  You're correct in believing I'm under General Draven's command.”

Organa studied him a moment.  Cassian could see the wheels turning as Organa tried to determine if Draven was behind his sudden appearance in Organa's office or if the Imperials were also somehow involved.  He picked up the identification documents on his desk.  “And Oryn Byrne?”

“Is an Imperial Intelligence operative,” Cassian reported.  Even though it wasn't necessary, he felt compelled to share the obvious.  “I've been sent to spy on you, Sir.”

Organa's mouth twitched.  “Well, isn't that nice.  I was wondering how long that would take them.” He tossed Cassian's doctored documents onto the desk and leaned back in his chair.  “Do I want to ask how Draven managed to plant you in Imperial Intelligence?”

“By accident.  I was working as an aid to one of the Imperial Army's finest, and he recognized that I'm,” Cassian paused and chose the right words.  “Naturally observant.  Intelligence recruited me on his recommendation.”

Organa's mouth twitched again. Cassian had the distinct impression the senator found this all amusing.  He wondered if Organa had any idea how interested Intelligence was in how he spent his time.  “How long have you been...er...”

“Under?”  Cassian supplied. “About twenty one months.”  K-2SO would know for sure, but Kay was still standing outside the office after being ordered to stay put (at least, Cassian hoped Kay had stayed put.  With the security droid, he never quite knew what to expect).

“I see.”  Organa nodded almost to himself.  “I take it your mission is to catch me in a treasonous act sufficient to strip away my diplomatic immunity and then submit the requisite evidence to the appropriate judicial body to ensure a swift and just punishment?”

Cassian was quite sure the Empire did not have anything that could be called an appropriate judicial body with a straight face.  Courts and trials on Imperial soil had been shams for as long as he could remember.  He knew it wasn't his place to issue an indictment on the Empire's judicial system, so he went with, “Yes.”

“And your other mission is to find a way to...undermine all of that?”  Organa continued.

“Essentially.”  He hadn't worked out all the details yet.  

“How do you usually run these things?”  

“Sir?”

“When the Imperials ask Byrne or whatever name you use to investigate someone with Alliance sympathies.”

“This is a first for me, Sir.”  To be honest, Cassian wasn't sure why the Imperials would send one of their newest agents to spy on Organa.  The only explanation he'd been able to come up with was that Organa was of interest, but wasn't yet interesting enough to warrant a seasoned operative.  “I'll play it however you order.”

The sound of one of the heavy wooden doors opening interrupted whatever the senator was going to say next. An aid stepped inside with, “I'm sorry, senator, but you wanted to know when Senator Hosca's meeting let out....”

“Thank you.”  He nodded at Cassian.  “This will only take a few minutes.  Feel free to wait here.”

Cassian waited until Organa left before he made a cursory inspection of the office.  There was nothing nefarious hidden behind any of the artwork depicting what Cassian could only believe were Alderaanian landscapes.  While the antique chairs probably each cost more than the average family made in a year, there was nothing suspicious about them, either.  A brief check through the desk found nothing out of the ordinary.  Organa had office supplies, reports about various senate bills, and a holograph of his wife.  No wonder Imperial Intelligence was frustrated.  The room was very intentionally designed to have nothing incriminating. There was nothing even personal save the holo of the queen.

The door swung open again.  Out of habit, Cassian stepped away from the desk and straightened, ready to offer a salute.  Instead of the senator, a dark haired teenage girl stepped through the door.  She took one look at Cassian, blinked, and asked, “Who are you?”

Cassian quickly matched her face with the holos in his briefing files.  The senator's daughter.  “Oryn Byrne, Ma'am.  I've been appointed by the senate to oversee your father's security.”

Princess Leia Organa did not seem impressed with this news.  She spent a moment clearly measuring him up.  Her expression made clear she found him lacking.  “And the killing machine?”  She gestured to where K-2SO was peering through the door, watching the exchange.

“For security.”  Cassian replied evenly.

“If it would help,” Kay's tone was one that Cassian learned meant nothing resembling help was on its way, “I can elaborate.”

“Please don't.”  Cassian said before it got worse.

“But I am programmed for strategic analysis,” Kay protested.  “I can offer the likelihood that someone will kill the senator or that-”

“Kay.”  Cassian put an edge into the droid's name, then forced a smile as he turned back to the princess.  “He means well.”

“I see,” she said, in a voice that suggested she did see and that her opinion of him had somehow managed to decrease even further.  “And the reason you're alone in my father's office with a security machine standing at the door?”

“He had a call.”  Cassian offered, as if that was all the explanation anyone should need.

“And I am guarding the office,” Kay said, in a voice that both made clear he was not guarding the office and he was not pleased with standing by the door.  “For security.”

Cassian wasn't sure if Kay was doing it on purpose because he was feeling petulant or if he was that bad at lying.  He didn't think he wanted to know.

He was saved from having to make small talk with the princess of Alderaan when Organa returned to the room. “Leia, this is Oryn Byrne from Draxel Security.”  Organa dropped a stack of files on his desk.  They skidded across the surface and managed to come to a stop at the far end, barely beside the edge. “The Senate is concerned about the threats I've been receiving so he's going to be staying with us for the foreseeable future.”

The look on Leia's face suggested she didn't have faith in his ability to be a bodyguard.  As her father talked, however, her face softened and slipped into something pleasant.  “It's nice to meet you.”  She nodded in Cassian's direction.

“Likewise.”  Cassian returned.  He made a mental note not to trust the girl.  Spies weren't the only creatures who knew how to act or how to manipulate people. Politicians and royals both counted those skills among their most valued.  Her years of training likely rivaled his own.

“If you don't mind giving me a few minutes with Byrne, then we can head down to the main chamber.” Organa added.

Leia nodded as if an obedient daughter, then gave Cassian another smile on her way to the door.  He didn't miss the distrustful look she shot at Kay as the door closed behind her.

“You didn't tell her.”  Cassian remarked.

“I'd rather not worry her.” Organa replied.  “I've also learned that these types of conspiracies work better with fewer people involved.”  He looked at the door a long moment, then added, “If something ever does go wrong, though, you can trust her.”

Translation: please keep my teenage daughter out of this mess if at all possible.  Cassian could do that.

So this was part of a piece I started about two years ago and then abandoned to write more angsty Rogue One fic.  I've always liked it, and the original story is well and truly abandoned, so I went back and reworked it as a one-shot.

#rogue one #cassian andor #k-2so #bail organa #leia organa #ri fic

[pierregasly]

hiii, if you're still doing the dialogue prompts can I ask for sewis + 13? if that's not something you feel like writing then maybe 4? thank you :)

#4: “I should have told you a long time ago.”

(you’ll understand this better if you’ve read my other Sewis fics)

          “I love you.”

         And the words feel so foreign to you. So foreign it catches you in your tracks. There is a hand clutching at your wrist, tugging you backwards. You hear his heavy breathing, you sense his desperation as it buries itself into his words. But you don’t turn around. Not even as he begins to plead with every fiber of himself.

         “Sebastian… please.”

         You shut your eyes. A brief moment of clarity in the sweaty heat in the parking lot. Perhaps it’s how you know his eyes are starting to well, as you understand his voice is cracking under the weight of his own sorrow, even as… you feel just how badly he needs you.

         “Please…”

         You keep your eyes shut. The air around you is so still you can sense the evening air gently brushing your hair. All you do is remember.

         It is Baku, 2017. Ever since the night on the balcony, his attention follows you everywhere. In each interview when your back is turned or when you intentionally do not look to him. You’re trying so hard to suppress whatever softness for him may be tempted to boil to the surface. Whenever you turn your back, you recall his expression a few meters away. Australia. You looked to him and he smiled–and by god if you felt something there. When you returned to your hotel room that night you collapsed in a fear, an utter and inexplicable terror of what you’d felt flutter back to you. You recalled the sentences, phrases from the worst of your fights, from all your darker moments.

         “I think you should leave.”

         How he pushed you away and now more than anything he’s forcing you close.

         “You won’t tell anyone about this.”

         How he denied his affection, dismissed you and now every chance he presses himself to you.

         “You’re different.”

         How he told you this when he begged for you.

         How he said you made him want things he can never have.

         How he says you had changed–that you had altered what made him in the most beautiful ways.

         But never once did he admit he loves you.

         Not one damn time.

         Perhaps the tensions seeped over in that race. Both of you banging and charging each other into the corner. Your penalty. The anger. The darkness of his eyes subtly mocking you without verses. A large piece of you wanting to punch him. But you noticed it for a brief moment: the sadness. It lay hidden like a faltering flame deep within himself and you wished more than anything to cradle it, to hold that flicker in your beaten and calloused hands. To shelter him, to hold him–to have him. But even as you search, as you pry every dusty crevice of your aged mind: you do not discover gold. The cruel words; the deep ridges of bruising his nails left in the flesh of your back; the mean spirited dismissal of his affection; the hurt he caused you. But you still find yourself coming back to his smile, the rich hue of his skin beneath the sun, the charcoal bite of his eyes every time they peered towards you.

         Lewis caught up to you after the race. You were preparing to leave but he placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you. You knew without turning around who it was because you’d felt it so many times–dreamed of it. Eyes meet and the sun casts its fallen shadows over the city streets. He says your name, “Sebastian”, And you realize you missed how you sounded on his tongue.

         Immediately, your anger peaks. “What do you want?”, you bark, somehow calm but firm.

         Your tone takes him off guard and Lewis slides his hand off of your shoulder slowly and reluctantly. His expression transforms instantly at your snap, his brows narrowing and his eyes regaining their steely composure. “You haven’t apologized yet,” he utters coldly.

         The anger tempts inside you, pricking at your veins as it rises hotly into your cheeks. You attempt to contain it and if it were anyone else you would’ve apologized hours ago, left without another word. So you dismiss your emotions. You toss away your pain to the wind for just a moment and you treat him just as any other man.

         “Well,” you nod curtly, “I am very sorry for how I acted.”

         Lewis is taken back. He expected you to snap, to push him away, to swear or maybe to punch him in the jaw. The depression drips itself back into his vision and he appears even more lost than he every looked before. Even on the balcony, under the moonlight and his yearning for you itching at his trigger fingers. The silence pools heavy between you two. As past lovers. As racers. As rivals. As only… men. Alone. And alone without meaning.

         “Goodnight, Lewis.”

         He doesn’t force you back. But oh how you wanted him to.

         You turn away from him again as you have done so many times.

         He speaks something to you across the distance before you can leave him. He draws you back as he always managed. He says what you’ve always wanted him to say. What you’ve craved. The words blossom a flower, a field you’ve passed through only in the paradise of a dream.

         “I love you.”

         You freeze. Even as he approaches you from behind and his lips caress the shell of your ear. His hand slips forward, cradling your wrist but not to hold you there, not for force–only because he wants just one piece of you in his desiring hands. You’re back where you were before.

         “Sebastian… please.”

         Before you shut your eyes.

         “Please…”

         You keep your eyes shut.

         The first time he made love to you and the bitterness of his touch had blurred the line between every kiss… every embrace…

         The first time you slept together with your fingers twisting in the charms of his hair…

         And with those: the first time he asked you to leave.

         “I beg you.”

         In one swift action you twist yourself around. Your eyes meet and he appears startled by your reaction. “No,” you growl, “You don’t understand, and you never fucking will.” Your fists quiver, tremor by your sides with a furious fervency that you never knew hid in your bones. “You will never, ever fucking know how many hours I’ve spent hurt for last ten years.” Tears brim the lines of your eyes and you swear to god saw him biting back a sob. “You’ll know how many hours I spent wanting you, thinking you were mine only for you to throw me out–a kid, just a kid,” you put your head down. How many nights you spent tracing the muscle on his back, how long you spent memorizing every blemish on his skin. “I changed because of you. You changed me in the worst ways, Lewis.” You sense his collapse at the sound of his name and a silence that begged to be anything but permeated.

         Lewis tightens his grip around you, his chest centimeters away from your back. You can almost remember exactly how his heartbeat felt between your caressing fingertips. He tries to tell you: My mouth, my eyes, my hands are mine. But me? I’m yours. “I love you. I always have. And I should’ve told you a long time ago.” He lets go of your wrist then and you suddenly feel cold. “I have championships. I have gold. I have everything I ever wanted but you. Because you? Sebastian… I need you.” And all you ever wanted was to be loved. “If you don’t listen to a word I say, I understand. I only want you to know I’m sorry.” For hurting you again and again. Is that why he pulled his hands away from you? He was afraid of hurting you once again? “I am yours. Eternally.” As the stars belong in the sky as the waves in the ocean… as your heart in your chest. You hear him leaving, stepping away slowly. The whisper of I’m sorry filling the messy, broken void.

         The sun catches on your eyelashes and you open your eyes. Everything is still and there is not a voice or body around. In the distance, the city settles into an evening slumber mixed with color, light and love. You think how you both are melted and molded: one. That you yearn to mix your honeyed sunshine with the moonlight that drifted over his skin on the balcony. Him leaving provided you with most beautiful lie you could’ve ever hoped for. You hate, more than anything, how much you still love him with the dust of who you are, the skin you’ve always worn–body and soul. But even more? You hate that he keeps trying to have you after all these years. 

         What makes you chase him was one simple remembrance. The first moment in his life that Lewis smiled at you first. How you finally forget that you were never meant to be together at all. That there was no accident to your meeting. A blind spark drives you forward, a flame of hope–and it welded you together. When you finally catch up to him, Lewis widened his eyes in surprise. But before he can speak a word, you kiss him–long and dark as though making up for wasted moments. After a second of shock, he melts into your arms, his hands rising to hold your face. He traces his fingertips over your cheekbones, his breaths murmured with promises that he’ll never push you away again if you swear to never leave.

         “Your suffering is mine,” you both say as you kiss the words off quivering lips. He only holds you in his arms in the sunset on the city streets. The pillars of glass and concrete swallowed away by your love. It’s true: I can be anywhere as long as I have you.

         “Sebastian…”, Lewis says your name another time.

         “How do I know this isn’t a dream?”, you whisper.

         He smiles. “We share the same sky.”

         The sun dips one final time for the night as you prepare to dress yourself in the glow of his moonlight; and you know now, more than anything, how he cannot survive without your sunshine.

#:0 #starting off my summer freedom from school writing binge #so great to finally be free! #sewis #formula 1 #sebastian vettel #lewis hamilton #pressles musing #flood pressles box #sincerely anonymous #writing prompts

[writeanapocalae]

Nano 2019 Day 23 Writing

Rim flipped their attention back on Anson, eyes hard and cold. If he wasn’t careful, Rim would  be practicing on him. It brought a small smile to his own lips, to think that this young novice could think that they could take him on.

“Fine. You can stay in one of the guest rooms for two days only and then we can discuss payment. There will be a guard with you at all times, and you will be monitored heavily. You will not be paid for your time within our home.”

“I wouldn’t dream to be paid for staying here, though thank you for clarifying. I look forward to working together.”

Richard stood up, pulling a USB stick from the interior breast pocket of his blazer, and took the four steps across the room to hand it over to Anson, fingers brushing his ever so slightly. It didn’t feel like much through the leather of Anson’s gloves but he could tell it was there.

“That’s the information that we’ve gathered on Woo-Jin. We trust that none of these findings will be made public.

“That would be horribly unprofessional,” Anson pointed out, “and I hope to keep my visit here completely professional.”

Richard looked oddly flustered and turned his gaze to the floor. It was obvious but strange, for a man like Richard to respond as such, seeing as how much younger Richard was than Anson and the fact that Anson wasn’t exactly attractive. It was a reaction that happened sometimes though, usually from people who were attracted to danger and the concept of him more than who he was at all.

“Anything else?” Anson asked, pocketing the USB.

The Hyo’s all started talking then, quiet and hushed, even though Anson couldn’t understand it. He wondered if they knew he didn’t know. He decided not to correct them, sometimes it was better for them to overestimate him.

“No, that will be all,” Rim stated. “I’ll lead you to your room.”

They left their family’s side and took up their original position in front of Anson, while the other guards stood up. They left the parlor, all in silence, and went further down the hall. They reached the end of it, took a staircase up and then went across another hall about half way.

“This will be your room,” Rim explained. “Is there anything else you require?”

Anson looked at the door and then at Rim, looking them over more thoroughly now. Their skin was unnaturally pale and they smelled like foundation. There hair was long enough to be pulled back into a loose bun with some strands hanging intentionally down. Their hands were twitchy and quick, reaching for the guns in their holster but restrained, knowing that would get them killed faster than anything else.

“I am just curious,” Anson admitted, “as to why you dislike me so ardently?”

Rim leaned back against the door, their arms crossed over their chest. They looked him over, purposefully keeping their head tilted back so that they were looking down on him. They must have thought that it made them intimidation but really it was just opening their vulnerable throat.

“You have no reason to be here,” Rim explained in their curt manner. “I am more than enough to protect my family. I am more than capable of killing Woo-Jin on my own and I wouldn’t take the time to decided whether or not it was morally acceptable.”

Anson chuckled at that, not intending to interrupt. The quiet way that he laughed though, shaking his head, drew Rim’s attention though, made them sneer.

“Sorry, it’s just, it’s not exactly morality that I’m worried about.” He gestured at his face, at the thin tin that hid scars upon scars that still hurt all these years later. “This is what happened when I took a job without looking into it first. I’ve been tricked into getting myself worse than killed and I’d rather not make that mistake again. So, it’s not that I want to be the good guy, it’s that I want to make sure I’m not working for a bad guy.”

The confession made Rim’s expression change slightly, a bit more respect perhaps, definitely more of an understanding. It wasn’t enough.

“Have you ever killed someone?”

Rim took a long breath, looked down, at Anson’s heart. He wondered if that was a bad question, if that would get him in trouble somehow. “Not yet.”

“I’d recommend you be a little less eager for it then. You can get used to it, you can learn to enjoy it but the first one, it can destroy you. It is not something I would recommend.”

Rim’s expression changed back to one of disdain. “If it’s for my family, I will never hesitate.”

“Trust me, you’ll want to hesitate.”

A huff and Rim pushed off from the door. They gave some orders to the guards and then abandoned the conversation, power walking back down the hall the way they’d come. The female guard looked over her shoulder at the three of them but trailed off after Rim.

The one who had whispered to Anson during the meeting sighed and rolled his shoulders. “We’ve been trying to talk them down from their desire to become a hitman for years. It hasn’t worked so far.”

“Well, perhaps they won’t get the opportunity to try,” Anson hoped.

The quiet one unlocked the door to the room and held it open for Anson. He entered the room, which was not so much a room as it was a small apartment, and took a quick look around. With the guards staying close to his heels he went through the main space, which was a living room with a large screen television and fake plants, a kitchenette with a small island, and a table for eating at. There was a bedroom with a California King, lots of space to hide things under, and a half bath that had more fake plants in it. It was more modern than the halls and rooms that the family frequented but just as cold and unfeeling. It was like being in a hotel or a museum, you’re supposed to be there, but there was no way to feel at home there.

“One of us will go to your vehicle to retrieve any luggage you may have brought,” the guard offered, “is there anything we should know about?”

Anson gave him a soft smile. “Nothing is trapped, if that’s what you’re asking. There is a small handgun in the glove box, a sniper rifle under the back seat, a karambit under the passenger seat, two pistols and another knife in the suitcase that’s in the trunk. There is nothing that I am ashamed of in there so if you need to remove them you may, just leave the weaponry in the trunk so no one sees them and makes a scene.”

The man had one eyebrow raised but, other than that there was no change in his expression. “Of course, sir.”

“Do you have code names or anything I can refer to you by or am I stuck calling you Guard 1 and Guard 2?”

That got a laugh out of the guard. It was warm and open and it revealed his bright white teeth and the gap between them. In another situation, Anson could positively like the man but neither of their lives allowed for many friendships.

“We’ve got code names,” the guard said. “You can call me Bear and him Jackal.”

Jackal gave a small wave.

“You don’t talk much do you, Jackal?” Anson asked.

Jackal shook his head.

“He doesn’t talk,” Bear explained, “Thought I heard him laugh once but I think that was just some passerby. He signs though so if you know any ASL he’ll talk to you but other than that it’s all by text.”

“Good to know, sorry if I offended.”

Jackal just shrugged. That must have been fine then.

Jackal signed something to Bear and then made his way out of the room, to go and gather Anson’s things, he was sure. Anson led the way deeper into the living room and sat on the couch, legs spread wide and elbows resting on his knees. He looked up at Bear and gave him a smile that he hoped would be inviting. He knew that it made his cheeks crinkle and that half of it was hidden by the mask, but he hoped that the curve under his eye would get his friendliness across.

“So, Bear, what can you tell me about the Hyo family?”

#my writing #nano 2019 #anson/answer #jackal #rim

[lukes-writing]

Chapter 1: The Man from the Trailer

Project introduction | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Word count: 4000 Warnings: Mild violence, profanity

September 21st, 8:55 PM, Casino Northstar, Trinity Gate

The young man strides towards the casino’s main entrance, keeping his head down. Several people notice him - wealthy gentlemen in expensive suits with fine cigars in their hand, leaning against a luxurious car, trying to make a good impression on the women who accompany them, usually young enough to be their daughters.

They give him just one quick glance and continue to pay attention to the beauties by their side. Why should they care about some sketchy figure dressed in unkempt street clothes, walking with a heavy limp? His posture is hunched up, with hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Tall, but neither athletic or muscular; even though he has to be in his early twenties, he is still lanky like a teenager.

The casino in the Confederation District is built to resemble an ancient Roman building - white, with numerous pillars, a triangular pediment above the entrance, even a dome on the roof. There are several marble stairs leading to the glass-filled front door.

The sketchy man draws more attention as he starts to climb the stairs. The wealthy visitors presumed he’s there only to inhale the atmosphere of luxury and beauty. That he’s some kind of miserable homeless man, or possibly some trailer trash, just continuing his journey with no goal. But now, it seems this otherworldly man wants to disrupt their social bubble and invade their territory.

Some of them take his mere presence as an insult. This is no place for such lowlifes.

As the man conquers the last stair and starts to make his way to the main entrance, a large bouncer blocks his way. He’s shorter than the mysterious visitor, but much larger and stronger, dressed in a suit and sunglasses. “Hey, where do you think you’re going in such clothes?” he barks at the man.

The bouncer has mixed feelings about that guy. Of course, he looks unbecoming to say at least, but he’s not filthy and neither he does smell bad. There’s also nothing weird about his face. It’s completely forgettable, neither attractive or ugly. Long and thin, just like his body and limbs. A short stubble of facial hair, shaggy, short brown hair, prominent nose and tired, almost black eyes.

“I think I’m going inside for some gambling,” the limping man replies with a gruff voice. He seems not to be afraid of the big thug at all.

Subconsciously, the bouncer wants to get rid of the man, mainly because he just doesn’t belong here. His youthful appearance, however, can offer a reason to kick him out. “May I see your ID, please?” the bouncer requests curtly. “I am not allowed to let in anyone under the age of twenty-one.”

Annoyed, the man reaches into his pocket and hands the guard his ID card. The bouncer notices his name: Skellinger, Parker. Twenty-three years old. Parker receives his ID back, secretly enjoying the distress he caused. Inside, he’s laughing at the bouncer’s attempts to get rid of him. Outside, his face stays emotionless.

Sure, Parker is wearing a hoodie with a logo of some metal band almost nobody knows, well-worn jeans and durable army boots. However, he made sure the casino has no official dress code before he decided to go inside. The bouncer has no valid reason not to let him in.

The heavy finally gives up and steps aside, making room for Parker. “Thanks,” Parker utters and hands the man a five-dollar bill, confusing the bouncer even more. Then he walks in, his boots resting on the red carpet which covers the floor.

The casino’s inside is a display of luxury, just like the outside. There are men in suits everywhere, chatting, playing a variety of games the casino offers, drinking fine liquor and, if they have no official escort, flirting with waitresses dressed in splendid Roman gowns.

More and more people stare at Parker as he limps towards the big poker table made of heavy, dark wood like most of the furniture in the casino. Some with revulsion, some with amusement. Who does he think he is? Probably another lowlife trying to gain a fortune by gambling. It won’t take long and he will leave even poorer than he came. That’s how it goes.

To everyone’s surprise, Parker reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of banknotes. “Ten thousand,” he says. “Give me tokens, please.”

The surprised croupier does as Parker requested. The sketchy man nods and continues towards the poker table, now enjoying the attention of the whole casino. The regular visitors play for such amounts of money rather frequently, but nobody expected this particular guy to step up the game like this. The desperate souls are usually willing to bet only about a hundred dollars. However, this guy doesn’t look desperate at all.

His determination and confidence unsettles even the most famous gamblers.

The players around the poker table aren’t playing yet. They are up for a friendly talk and a glass of nice Scotch, enjoying the golden glow of the casino’s interior. Parker takes advantage of it and takes the free seat. The men stop talking immediately. Their body language now shows the man in a black hoodie makes them uncomfortable. However, they don’t ask him to leave. He has money - money they can possibly win from him. One of the men tells the croupier the game can start now.

“Would you like something to drink, Sir?” a waitress asks Parker as she passes by.

“Just a glass of Coke, thank you,” Parker replies, provoking even more mockery from his soon-to-be opponents who all enjoy glasses of fine alcohol.

The wealthy men see Parker and his money as easy prey. After all, they are the elite. The young gentleman wearing a fashionable crew cut is Trinity Gate’s poker champion. The overweight man with a mustache was able to start a renowned company thanks to the money he won in this game. And the remaining three men also aren’t amateurs. It’s something like a VIP club.

It’s no wonder they tend to underestimate Parker. But how justified their feelings are?

Parker would smile at the naivety of the men who play with him (or against him, as it seems the VIP players ganged up to bleed him dry as soon as possible), but he has full control over his facial expression. This is not only a result of countless poker games. He was just born with a natural talent for this.

What the men don’t know is that Parker has no chance of losing as he knows which cards do the men hold. He sees clear images in his mind. His sixth sense, as he calls it, has never betrayed him so far. Acquiring this kind of extrasensory perception was a painful, tormenting experience. So Parker doesn’t consider it wrong to use it for his own benefit, even though some may consider it cheating.

He intentionally lost a few rounds to keep the men’s guard down. They already started to snicker at his apparent lack of skills. But that’s what Parker wants. Calm them down, then strike.

The image in his mind is clearer when he closes his eyes, but he keeps them open to brush off any suspicion closing them may cause. The image is still bright as day. The young upstart has only three-of-a-kind - four of spades, four of diamonds, four of hearts. However, the fat man has a flush - five clubs.

Parker has a straight, so he has to fold and wait for the next opportunity.

It comes soon enough. First, he carefully starts to win some rounds when his hand is good enough. Then he steps up the game and in the end, there is only him, the young gentleman and the fat mustache man playing. The men have started to be suspicious about his skills which seem to get better with every round.

He finishes by going all-in when his pile of tokens is already considerably big. He already knows he has much better cards than both his opponents, so he ends up claiming the whole pot for himself. Not minding the shocked expressions of both men, he casually takes the tokens, exchanges them for dollars and walks away.

By then, he already has the attention of the whole casino. All the gamblers stopped playing for a while to witness the local poker champions getting obliterated by a random kid who came here for the first time. Before leaving, Parker generously tips the waitress who gave him the Coke he requested - the girl stares at the ten hundred-dollar bills in her hand in disbelief.

Nobody objects. This weird guy won the money fair and square… at least that’s what they think.

Parker’s sixth sense reveals everything. Which gamblers are armed. Who and what are they texting if they are on their phones - that guy over here with a young woman by his side definitely isn’t at work despite texting this lie to his wife. He’s aware of all hidden security cameras. To some degree, he’s also able to sense the mood and intentions of the people staring at him.

If he ever talked about his supernatural abilities, he would find it hard to explain them to a person confined to their basic five senses. They became a natural extension of himself. He sees things without his eyes, hears without his ears. That way, he can perceive things hidden from other people.

Some people notice the tattoo around his wrist. It’s a chain of five symbols - a circle, a square, a star, a plus sign and three wavy lines. Some of them recognize them as the symbols present on the so-called Zener cards which are used in the research of extrasensory perception. It could give them an idea about the true nature of this guy’s otherworldly luck, but they are all too hesitant to accept there is an actual psychic among them.

Parker finally steps out of the casino and slides the bouncer who let him in another pack of banknotes. Then he disappears God knows where.

Even though he’s gone, the other gamblers still find themselves unable to enjoy their night out as much as before. They have to constantly think about the young man who just invaded their territory, humiliated local champions, won a great sum of money and left like nothing happened.

The ones affected the most are, naturally, the two men who lost their money and dignity to Parker. They worked hard to earn the respect of the community and now, this random stranger made them a laughing matter. Some of their friends have already started to mock them for losing to such a lowlife.

The young businessman and the fat man with a mustache, who are best friends through thick and thin, exchange looks. They know there’s only one way left to regain their reputation. They don’t even start a new game. The duo just pays for their drinks, leaving a generous tip, then leaves the casino.

Parker can finally put a smile on his face as he counts the money he won from these two upstarts. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. It’s not that Parker is a poor man - he already has about a million dollars locked in a strongbox in his trailer. This isn’t the first splendid poker victory he achieved.

However, because of these magnificent victories, he can’t visit the same casino twice. He knows that the renowned gamblers tend to hold grudges against weird guys who just show up and scoop the pot, even if they (at least seemingly) play fair. When it comes to big money, a lot of people turn into sore losers.

Parker walks down the alley which is almost empty during this hour. This is not his first time in Trinity Gate - he grew attached to this place since it offers the best of all three American territories in just one city. When he turns around, he can see heavy industrial buildings, factories and functional high-rise buildings which can be found in most of the major cities in the Central Confederation.

However, if he drove a few kilometers to the northwest, he would end up among vast fields, greenhouses and ecological houses typical for the Commonwealth of Great Moors. And a look to the northeast offers a skyline of futuristic white skyscrapers of the Republic of Northeast.

The city of Trinity Gate was built near the end of the second civil war to serve as a neutral ground for negotiation. Now it consists of three districts, one for each territory, and the “Core” which is completely neutral. A simple map of the city resembles the Google Chrome logo.

Trinity Gate is located at the point where Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky meet. After the United States divided, Indiana joined the Great Moors while the Confederation claimed Kentucky and the Northeast got Ohio. However, that’s all Parker knows since he’s not much into politics.

He already started to make plans for the rest of the night. He will probably drive to the Great Moors district to get something good to eat. Since the Great Moors are mostly agricultural territory, their food has the highest possible quality and is always fresh.

The food here, in the Confederation district, usually tastes like military rations. What can you expect from a heavily industrial, militant area which is like a bomb with a short fuse?

As Parker walks through the park which is basically just an alley with trees and several benches, his sixth sense warns him. Someone is behind him. Two people. One is slimmer, the other one rather heavy. Parker smirks. His two friends from today’s poker night.

He pretends he’s not aware of them and just walks casually.

Later, he finally hears a voice: “Turn around. Slowly.”

He complies and stands face to face with the young businessman with a butch cut. He has a gun in his head, its muzzle aimed at Parker’s head. The fat guy is behind him, expecting what will come next. “The money,” the younger man hisses. “We know you didn’t play fair. Give them back.”

Parker just smiles at him. “Sore losers, huh? How can you prove I was cheating?”

“The money! Now!” the man barks. Parker stays calm, infuriating him even more. The man’s finger is trembling on the trigger and his face turned red. Wow, I guess I really pissed him off, Parker thinks.

“How are you gonna force me with an empty gun?” Parker asks casually.

The suited man cocks the gun. “What are you talking about? It’s loaded and ready to blow your fucking head away. Are you really gonna risk your life for some money?”

“I’d give you the money if you had some actual ammo in that guy, but if you don’t even bother to load that gun, I can only tell you to piss off,” Parker utters without a sign of nervousness in his voice.

“So you still believe the gun is empty,” the man grins. “Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

Parker shrugs. “If it’s necessary.”

The casino gambler just keeps pointing the gun at Parker’s forehead. Even without his sixth sense, Parker would be able to spot the man’s anxiety - trembling hand, droplets of sweat on his forehead, clenched teeth. “Come on, pull the trigger,” Parker taunts him. “I ain’t gonna give you the money. If the gun is loaded, shoot me.”

No response.

“Come on! Shoot me!” Parker raises his voice. “Prove me I’m wrong!”

The man finally gives up and lowers his gun. “Fuck,” he mutters, furious that this weird guy humiliated him once again. Of course, Parker knew the gun is empty. His sixth sense never disappoints.

Then, the men from the casino hear a rattling sound. The younger man’s face turns pale as he notices an iron chain in Parker’s hand, hanging from his wrist. Parker keeps this weapon wrapped around his forearm in case things get tough. Even though the men are already about to turn tail and leave, Parker can’t turn down some good beating when there are good targets.

He steps forward and cracks the chain like a whip. The young man screams in pain as the chain whips him and creates an ugly gash on his arm and back. Then, Parker turns around and strikes again, this time hitting the man’s head. The man collapses on the concrete pavement.

His overweight companion tries to run away, but Parker swishes the chain again. It wraps itself around the man’s leg. He trips and falls to the ground face first. Parker strikes him with the chain two more times - the metal lands on his back, then on his butt. The man wails in pain as Parker finally turns around and leaves.

“That’s what they deserve,” Parker mutters to himself as he wraps the chain around his forearm again. Then, he forgets about the incident and continues thinking about his late dinner in the Great Moors district.

September 22nd, 9:20 AM, Serenity Park, Trinity Gate

Wiccan Salisbury carefully examines the travel trailer parked in one of the nice parks in the Great Moors district, that kind of park with ponds, playgrounds and decorative fountains. The rising sun shines through the treetops above the man and a gentle wind makes them sway back and forth.

The trailer is large, big enough to substitute a house. He raises his eyebrows when he sees the car which belongs to the trailer - a matte black Jaguar convertible, elegant and beautiful. Definitely not a car for a regular person. It had to cost a fortune.

Wiccan knocks at the trailer’s door.

The resident takes an eternity to open and Wiccan starts to lose patience. He knows someone’s in there since muffled sounds can be heard from the inside. He knocks once again. This time, the resident opens the door.

When the door open, Wiccan hears loud music - soft female vocals accompanied by violins which gradually grow into aggressive screaming and heavy guitar riffs. Then he also sees the resident - a tall, scrawny young man wearing a black hoodie. He has an annoyed expression on his face. He takes a drag on the cigarette in his hand and blows the smoke in Wiccan’s direction.

Then he points somewhere in the distance. “Woodstock is this way, old man,” he says, his voice as annoyed as his face. Then he just slams the door shut.

“Just why did I sign up for dealing with another Skellinger?” Wiccan sighs. The young man’s remark leaves him calm - he’s already used to people making fun of his long dreadlocks and youthful clothes he’s wearing. He knocks on the door again and then two more times until the trailer’s resident opens again, this time angry.

“What the fuck do you want?” he spits out.

“Let’s be polite for a moment, okay?” Wiccan replies. “My name is Wiccan Salisbury. And you are Parker Skellinger, I presume.”

“Mhm,” the young man nods. The metal music still screams in the background, making the talk even harder.

“Let’s say I have a job offer for you,” Wiccan continues.

Parker cackles. “Look, old man. I have this car, this trailer and about a million dollars. What makes you think I’m all eager to get a job? If this is all you wanted, you can piss off.”

The older man tries hard not to snap at the condescending expression and tone of voice of the brat in front of him. Parker takes another puff from the cigarette and once again blows it in Wiccan’s face. “It’s not some kind of everyday job offer,” Wiccan says. “We’re looking for special people with special abilities. And, according to my files, you possess an ability someone might consider unnatural.”

This remark changes Parker’s cocky smirk into glare full of anger and disbelief. “Who the fuck are you?” he hisses. Wiccan smirks; he succeeded at disconcerting this man. Wiccan would never recruit this guy voluntarily - his physical condition isn’t ideal and his attitude is even worse. But he’s one of the few possible recruits roaming close to Trinity Gate, so it seems he has no choice.

“I’m just a man who seeks talented people for a special job. I know you’re a nomade - a guy made for adventures. The job I’m offering you would get you a lot of thrill. And you would also find yourself while doing it. No more pointless roaming and living as an outlaw. We would give your life a purpose.”

“Not interested,” Parker retorts.

“In that case, I have another motivation… and you won’t like it much,” Wiccan looks straight into Parker’s eyes which is enough to unsettle the younger man even more.

 Wiccan opens the folder full of papers he’s carrying. “Okay, Parker,” he says. “See these papers? This is evidence of every fraud, offense and crime you committed since you turned fifteen. We know you cheat in casinos to win money. We know you beat people up from time to time. The minor offenses like speeding or breach of the peace are also there to spice things up a little.”

“Prove it,” Parker barks. His face, however, turned pale. Wiccan knows he’s on the right trail.

“Just yesterday,” the man with dreadlocks reads from one of the papers. “You cheated in the Casino Northstar in the Confederation district to win a large sum of money. Then you used a chain to injure two men.”

“It was a self-defense!” Parker objects. “They had a gun!”

“Maybe it could be taken this way… but what about this?” Wiccan takes another sheet of paper. “About a month ago, St. Louis, the Great Moors territory. An armed robbery. Parker, you’re a really naughty boy. You cause trouble wherever you go.”

“How do you know?” Parker blurts and Wiccan smiles in satisfaction when he hears the panic in his voice.

“Well, we have means the FBI can dream about. We know about every move you make, every website you visit, every thing you buy. So let’s make a deal. If you don’t come with me, I would have to hand this folder to the police. And trust me, I can make them follow you wherever you go until they catch you - we have a million ways to track you. You wouldn’t have peace for the rest of your life. But if you agreed to go with me…”

Parker’s face scowls in anger. “Are you blackmailing me?”

Wiccan shrugs. “Call it whatever you want - I need you to come with me and we can both benefit from that. These files say you’re intelligent. Reckless, yeah. An asshole, definitely. But you’re smart. And if that’s true, you’re not going to refuse. Not when I can offer you something much better than years behind the bars.”

The younger man still doesn’t look convinced. “How can I trust you?”

Wiccan comes up with his trump card. “I used to know your older brother.”

Parker’s face grows cold once again. “I don’t have a brother,” he says with such ire in his voice even Wiccan backs off. The older man realizes it probably wasn’t the best idea to mention Gerard Skellinger, the former member of Team Menhir.

The man has to find a way to get Parker on his side again. “So I guess your relationship wasn’t really warm… well, Gerard never spoke about his siblings and he isn’t among us anymore, so I guess you can forget what I said.”

Parker frowns. “Not among us anymore? Does that mean he’s…”

“No, not dead. He just left us and went his own way.”

“Leaving people,” a bitter smirk appears on Parker’s face. “That’s what he knows best. Anyway, back to the topic. It seems that I don’t have many choices other than doing what you say, right? Can’t say I’m overjoyed about it, but it can be fun, I guess. Do I have to go right now? Can I take my car with me?”

“No, not right now,” Wiccan says, relieved that he made Parker comply. “I will tell you the exact time and place where you need to be. And having a car is actually a benefit.” Then, when he notices the arrogant smile returning to Parker’s face, he adds: “If you think you’re smart enough to just drive away as soon as I leave, think again. In the second I would find out you didn’t arrive at the meeting, I would inform all the law enforcement units and the hunt would begin.”

The smile on Parker’s face slightly fades, but it seems the young man wouldn’t attempt it anyway. “Understood,” he says. “So when and where?”

Author’s Note

I wholeheartedly thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did, please leave a comment, send me a message or share and let more people know about this story! You can also consider a small donation at www.paypal.me/lukassladky. Have a great day and stay tuned for the next chapter!

@notquitenovelist

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