#if i sound incomprehensible it is because i am a bit in bewilderment

[firebirdsdaughter]

HoroFuwa, 40 and RaidenFuwa, 44

These (both) got pretty long, so I’m gonna try and make a cut here… Is that still broken for Asks? Let’s find out!

40 = A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

My boys. I miss them already. TT^TT

Since I ended up not getting to this until post finale… Let’s do something post ending.

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“Vulcan.”

Fuwa looked up to find Horobi standing over him, a bundle of cloth folded over one arm, staring down at him. “… What?” He demanded cautiously, eyeing the items that looked suspiciously like clothing, then, “… And I have a name.”

How long since Horobi and Jin had invaded his apartment and never left? They’d essentially moved in weeks, maybe even months ago, and still neither of them had seen fit to start using his name. Again, he thought about how he should have kicked them out ages ago, but… Even though Jin had staked out the sofa as his own and Horobi insisted on cleaning everything constantly, they had proven to be reliable backup in the field, and it was mainly because of them that his miniature, personal mission of keeping the peace had become anything more than an uncoordinated vigilante act. Even though Horobi had commandeered all cooking duties after he caught Fuwa eating instant ramen for breakfast more than once, the HumaGear was actually a frightfully good cook, and it was… Nice to not have to worry about it. And maybe it was because they were HumaGear and didn’t require as much as a human might’ve, but even though the apartment had been small even when it was just him, had never been meant for multiple people, the company was… Despite himself, he enjoyed it. Things had been weird at first, but… The atmosphere had changed. Jin had actually apologised for hacking his chip and trying to kill him. And Horobi…

Horobi was still staring expectantly at him, one eyebrow raised. Horobi was the complicated one. The HumaGear he’d thought had caused all his suffering, who had turned out to be just another victim in a long chain of dominos. The one he caught himself staring at with alarming regularity, like when the sunlight made his hair glow gold, or the way his hands moved while he cleaned or cooked. The one that all of AIMS had apparently decided he was already sleeping with. He felt his face heating up again at just remembering some of the circulating rumours he’d convinced Naki to tell him, embarrassing even in their dry, indifferent tones—and yet… He’d kept asking.

“Jin is concerned about presentation.”

“… What?” He had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

Horobi just sighed. “He feels that your general appearance is too dissonant with ours. He thinks the new MetsubouJinrai should have a more… Unified air.”

Fuwa’s jaw dropped. “… What?” So they’d been sort of working together—but he didn’t remember ever agreeing to join…

But Horobi seemed unperturbed by his bewilderment, holding out the things in his arms. “I made these. Put them on.”

Fuwa blinked. “I… What?”

The HumaGear didn’t bother waiting for him to react, reaching down and grabbing his arm, pulling him to his feet and pushing the clothes toward him. “The point is that you wear them.” When Fuwa continued to be confused, Horobi sighed, shaking his head, then put the bundle down on the chair where Fuwa had been sitting. Before he could process what Horobi was doing, the HumaGear was undoing his tie with one hand, the other pulling his blazer off his shoulder.

With a yelp, Fuwa jerked away, struggling to fix his clothes. “Wha… What are you…?!”

Horobi blinked at him, hands still outstretched slightly, looking so innocently bewildered that Fuwa wanted to… He bit the inside of his cheek to focus. “You cannot wear two sets of clothes at once.” He said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Fuwa’s face turned even redder at the nonchalance the HumaGear was approaching the situation with. “That’s not—that isn’t the problem!” He got his suit jacket back over his shoulder from where Horobi had pulled it down to. “I’m not changing clothes in front of you!”

Horobi just looked even more confused. “… Why?”

He took a step forward, and Fuwa moved back quickly, trying to maintain the distance between them. “Because we’re—it’s—that’s not—” He swallowed, trying to recover his senses. Changing in front of Horobi would be weird, he told himself. Uncomfortable. There was absolutely no reason why he would be any sort of okay with it. None whatsoever.

The HumaGear’s frown deepened for a moment—then he surged forward again, catching Fuwa’s blazer by the lapels.  “It’s fine.” He insisted, pushing the jacket off the human’s shoulders again, “I am well aware of human anatomy.”

Frantically, Fuwa’s hands flew up and grabbed Horobi’s wrists, trying to keep things from going any further. “No, that’s not the—” The HumaGear shook his hands off, forcing him to grab again, “This is why there are so many rumours about us, damnit!”

Horobi froze.

He didn’t let go of Fuwa’s blazer, though—if anything, he was holding tighter, just… Staring. So long that Fuwa started to wonder if he’d broken him somehow. “… Horobi?”

“… Rumours?” The HumaGear’s voice was softer, slow, computing what he had said.

Fuwa swallowed, his face heating up even more. “I… I mean…” He bit his cheek even harder, trying to scramble up some way to backtrack, “Nothing… Weird… It’s… It’s just… People talking… It’s… It’s stupid… It’s nothing…” He couldn’t seem to come up with a plausible explanation for rumours that would involve Horobi taking his clothes off—especially not while trying to simultaneously push away the voice whispering that he found that idea was actually… Very appealing, and the fact that many of the stories Naki had retold for him had been quite… Intense.

Something was flickering in Horobi’s eyes, as well as his new earpiece. Like he was looking something up. As inept as he was with interpersonal interaction, there was no way he wouldn’t eventually come up with the correct conclusion (or what if he could even hack into the AIMS system? No one had been gossiping about them on the channels, right?). There wouldn’t be many types of human behaviour associated with these actions, after all. Fuwa felt a lump forming in his throat as he watched the HumaGear’s generally stoic expression shift just slightly. It felt like he’d become very adept at reading Horobi after all this time, and he found himself able to track as the HumaGear steadily went through the information he was finding, wondering what the final reaction would be. He half expected to be tossed aside in disgust, or at least for some sort of horror or shock—if only partially in the hopes of validating what he’d repeatedly told the part of him that had… Liked the idea, that it was impossible and ludicrous.

But instead… The elegant, mostly impassive features softened faintly, and the HumaGear shifted even closer, enough that Fuwa would have been able to feel his breath if he had been human, hold on Vulcan’s blazer shifting to accommodate. “… I see.” Fuwa waited, to be pushed away, belittled, glared at, something, something to make sense of, settle the chaos happening inside him, self-appointed reason and incomprehensible desire clashing violently. He found himself staring unconsciously at Horobi’s lips, fighting the urge to pull the HumaGear closer. Horobi would jerk away in revulsion at any moment. There was no point in deluding himself.

Resolution formed in the HumaGear’s expression, and Fuwa quickly closed his eyes, hoping to make the break easier… Only… Once Horobi pulled his wrists free of Vulcan’s weakening grasp, he merely pulled Fuwa’s suit jacket the rest of the way off. Then those long fingers were settling on Vulcan’s tie again, tugging on the knot without a single hesitation. Fuwa let out another small, startled sound, his eyes flying back open, hands floundering to catch Horobi’s arm again. “H—Horobi!” After getting the HumaGear to pause once more, he clutched tight as he could to the arm he held, hoping to… To… His heart was racing, and his face was burning. “Did you even…?” He swallowed, forcing himself to meet Horobi’s calm, earnest gaze. “You… You understand, don’t you?” He bit his lip, trying to also push down that nonsensically… Hopeful sliver of himself that was whispering that maybe… “What… What people are… Are saying…?” Though small, the HumaGear gave him a steady, visible nod. “If…” He swallowed again, trying to push his voice out, even as it waned, his mouth and throat drying up from the intensity of that stare… “If we keep going like this… It… It’ll be… It’ll practically be true…”

Horobi stared at him for another moment—then those hands were moving upward, delicately cupping his face, thumb trailing across Vulcan’s cheekbone. Horobi leaned even further in, until Fuwa could count his eyelashes, practically feel them brushing his face as the HumaGear’s lids lowered, his lips hovering just a hair’s breadth from Vulcan’s. “… Then let it be true, Fuwa Isamu.”

The breath was sucked out of Fuwa’s lungs even before Horobi closed the small distance, those perfect lips brushing gently over Vulcan’s, and Fuwa’s heartbeat shot up like it was trying to break its way out of his ribcage. The HumaGear held there for a moment, not moving, just a light, soft kiss, before pulling back just enough to look into Fuwa’s eyes questioningly.

There was only one answer.

Fuwa’s hands jumped to Horobi’s shoulders, pulling him back in. This kiss was more intense, desperate, starting some sort of spark that quickly infected both of them, hands moving, scrambling furiously for purchase, trying to get closer, mould together. Fuwa was only passingly aware of being lifted off his feet and pressed against the wall, wedging him between it and the HumaGear’s body, putting them at a level that he didn’t need to crick his neck to keep kissing, wrapping his legs around Horobi’s waist. The HumaGear’s hands paused only long enough to let him push the robe off, then one was weaving into his hair while the other yanked his shirt untucked, slipping underneath it, making him whimper weakly into the kiss. Their mouths moved against each other, Fuwa sucking in frantic breaths when he could, Horobi biting at his bottom lip.

It was… Amazing. For the first time in a long while, Fuwa felt completely comfortable letting go entirely, and the way Horobi was pressing ever closer against him, deepening the kiss even more, indicated he did, too. Vulcan rolled his hips experimentally forward, and felt the HumaGear shiver—grinning into the kiss, he moved again, more eagerly, and kept going. Horobi’s lower hand dropped to trail up his thigh to his hip, yanking him closer, drawing a proper moan from his throat—

A loud yelp shattered the moment completely.

Horobi didn’t actually drop him, miraculously, more set him down and jolted back, spinning around with inhuman speed—but Fuwa got some of the breath knocked out of him from it regardless. In the silence that followed, he had to wheeze for air several time before he managed to drag his head back up—and froze.

Jin was standing by the front door, eyes wide as dinner plates. Horobi was stunned himself, standing rigid while looking past Jin rather than at him, staring over his shoulder. The lump in Fuwa’s throat resurfaced immediately, his blood running cold. Jin wasn’t particularly fond of him to begin with, and even though they had gotten slightly more friendly and found a sort of balance recently… The kid was downright ferociously protective of his father and how uncertain Horobi was in regards to normal life. The last thing he needed was Jin thinking he was taking advantage of Horobi’s naivety—that was likely to get him a gun to the face. After a moment, he also noticed Jin was actually holding the doorknob, which the other HumaGear had apparently ripped right out of the door.

The silence continued for a long time. “… I knocked.” Jin said slowly, ice creeping into his tone, his expression shifting from shock to suspicion. He held up the knob. “… No one answered.”

Fuwa swallowed as best he could, acutely aware of how flushed and dishevelled he was. “I… We… Were… Uh…” Straightening up awkwardly, he tried to look to Horobi for help, but the HumaGear was still completely frozen.

Jin’s gaze was solidly on Vulcan, mouth twisting with disapproval. “I saw.”

Fuwa bit his lip. There definitely wasn’t a good explanation for what the other HumaGear had walked in on—at least, not one that would satisfy Jin. He was pretty sure the kid didn’t want to hear about inappropriate rumours being circulated about his father—plus, his glare was already starting to veer into slightly murderous.

“… I started it.” Horobi’s voice surprised them both, making them both look towards him. He still looked dazed, but had turned to face his son and seemed more collected.

Jin’s expression softened immediately, and he hurried forward, tossing the knob aside so that he could put his hands on his father’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Horobi,” Even his tone was completely different, warm and gentle, “You don’t have to say that.” It was still a little odd to hear them talk to each other—originally it had been the genuine softness they treated each other with, but now… It was the unusual dynamic they had. There was no question Horobi was the father, with the way Jin doted on and followed him around, always cheerfully trying to show him things and drag him places. But there was also something… Different about it. Every now and then, the contrast in their development showed. Like now, Jin was cradling his father’s face in his palm, gazing at him with worried affection, calling him by his name rather than using ‘Otou-san.’ Maybe he thought it would get through to his father better, or maybe it was an attempt to make sure he was taken seriously, not dismissed as some bratty kid. Either way, he only did it when he was being protective—and that made Fuwa feel quite… Nervous.

But instead of going quiet like he usually did, Horobi reached up and put his hand over Jin’s on his face. “I’m not.” He said, sounding abnormally sure of himself, considering the situation. “It was me.”

Jin stared into his father’s face for a moment, frowning slightly. Finally, he nodded slightly. “… Okay.” Letting go of Horobi’s shoulders, he stepped back. Horobi kept watching him for another second—then turned slowly and took a few steps back over to collect his fallen robe. When he straightened back up, his eyes caught Fuwa’s again, briefly restarting the spell. Vulcan’s heart jumped back into his throat, and it felt like he was floating, the urge to reach out a restart the kiss momentarily overtaking him… But Jin’s presence, pointedly glaring, arms already folded, made that impossible. At last, Horobi broke eye contact, turning away and disappearing into the other room, where he’d set up charging stations for both himself and Jin (without asking, as usual), and the silence turned… Tense.

Fuwa swallowed again, glancing sideways at Jin’s annoyed stare, trying to decide if he should say something. But the other HumaGear’s bearing made it very clear he had little interest in whatever explanations Vulcan had in mind. So, instead, Fuwa nodded awkwardly, hurriedly recovering his blazer from the floor at starting toward his room.

“If you hurt him…” Jin’s voice, quiet and controlled, absolutely dripping with venom, brought him to an abrupt stop, peering back over his shoulder, “I will hurt you.”

He could feel the other HumaGear’s glare burning into his back. Swallowing anxiously, he gave a quick nod of understanding, not trusting his voice, or that Jin would care what he said. When the other HumaGear said nothing more, he hurriedly turned and continued on his way towards his bedroom, trying to use his suit jacket to hide his blush.

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… Wow… Uh… So… Essay anyone? ^^; I got a little carried away. But I will persist!

Anyway! Onward!

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44 = tentative kisses given in the dark

Uh… Okay, so disclaimer, this will be my first time actually trying to write Fuwa and Raiden, so… I’m sorry.

For what, I don’t actually know yet.

I… Might veer into an AU for this.

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Fuwa crashed roughly into a shelf, cursing quietly as he tried to right himself. Of course the power in the building had to go out now, under the worst possible circumstances. Horobi was stuck at headquarters for who knew what because of Amatsu, there was a massive thunderstorm going on, and his stupid, ancient, cheap apartment building had to go and lose power. He couldn’t even pretend to not worry about his partner in peace (but really, ZAIA was showing way to much interest in what was allegedly a defunct android they had foisted on him for being a liability). Another crack of lightning outside briefly illuminated the room, letting him dodge the furniture in his way, making it a few more steps… To crash right into someone’s chest. He very nearly toppled over, but a pair of arms closed around him, holding him up by plastering him against the person he’s crashed into.

“Whoa there…” Murmured a voice by his ear, “You humans a pretty fragile, don’t want to injure yourself crashing around.”

Oh. Right. He was here, too.

He must have made some sound, because he heard a laugh beside his head. “Hey now, I’m not that bad.” Raiden teased, tightening his hold for a moment, one arm dropping down slightly to Fuwa’s waist, “In fact, seemed to me you were getting pretty fond of me…”

Fuwa felt his face heat up, and he quickly began squirming, trying to escape the other HumaGear’s hold. Raiden and his… ‘Distractions’ were the last thing he wanted to think about right now, in the middle of a blackout, with his partner gone and… “Let go of me!”

But Raiden refused to let go—instead, fingers curled under his chin, catching him off guard enough that he went still. The hand holding his face tipped his head up slightly, just as another bolt of lightning lit up the room, briefly shining on the other HumaGear’s face, revealing just how close he was. Raiden wasn’t much taller than him, but Fuwa still felt abruptly small and flimsy in his arms.

He’d thought he was doing quite well at hiding how… Interested he was, kept the stares to a minimum—but Raiden had been designed to infiltrate and gather information, a particularly snide part of him that sounded an awful lot like Horobi’s judgemental tone reminded him. He shouldn’t be surprised that a HumaGear made to go undercover as a spy would notice things. He just wished it didn’t have to come to a head now, and put him in such a compromising position.

But no. Here he was in the dark, in a storm, held tightly against Raiden’s chest, the other HumaGear holding his chin firmly in place, his heart beginning to hammer against his ribs. He only had a vague image in his mind from when the lightning had struck, couldn’t actually see much, but he could feel Raiden’s gaze boring into his, like the other HumaGear was looking right into his mind. And Raiden could see him, couldn’t he, with just a few adjustments to his visual system—and on top of that, his body was reacting very eagerly to being pressed up against the other HumaGear. It just wasn’t fair.

In the darkness, Raiden chuckled again. “Called it.” Fuwa could hear the grin in his voice. “Knew you wanted me.” The hand on his chin shifted a little to brush a thumb over his cheek, “The look on your face right now…” The other HumaGear’s voice came closer, his hair brushing Fuwa’s forehead as he leaned in, and Fuwa found himself fighting the urge to push forward, to seek out those smartass lips in the darkness, “You look so good…” The way he said it sounded almost like a human contemplating a piece of food, but… Not in a bad way. Somehow. Fuwa bit the inside of his cheek hard, trying to focus. He needed to get out of here. He was already in enough trouble with his bosses, he did need to be adding to the list.

Then, without warning, the arm around his waist slid downward, and the other HumaGear’s hand was on his ass, squeezing tightly, pulling him closer. A surprised gasp broke from his mouth, but it faded into a soft groan when Raiden didn’t let go, instead giving get another firm squeeze. “All of you is good…” The playful amusement in the voice just made his heart pound even faster. The hand on his chin moved again, positioning his face in a way that he just knew was right in front of the other HumaGear’s. “Mmmm… Think I like that expression even more…” Another squeeze, and he swore Raiden’s fingers were digging between the cheeks, even through his trousers. Even worse, the other HumaGear’s hips shifted slightly, rubbing against him, and his lips parted with a small moan before he could stop himself, his lids drooping—not that he could’ve seen anything with them open. “… Yup.” There was a small bit of satisfaction that Raiden’s voice was slightly uneven, too, “Definitely like this one better.”

His hips moved again, in time with another rough squeeze, and Fuwa let out a small whimper. Instead of trying to push away, his hands latched onto the other HumaGear’s jacket, clutching tightly. “P… Please…” Another squeeze of his ass, followed by a light, playful smack, and all sense abandoned him, “… Kiss me…”

Laughter rumbled somewhere in front of him, “You want it, him?” The hand disappeared from his chin, and Raiden shifted against him, repositioning to begin kneading his ass with both hands and hold Fuwa flush against him at the same time, “Hmmm…” The sound came closer, the other HumaGear was leaning in again, “… You do it.”

All the blood rushed to Fuwa’s head, his heart positively leaping in his ribs. Him? Start the… Raiden was clearly comfortable feeling him up like this, why couldn’t he…? But then the other HumaGear squeezed even tighter, grinding against him again, and all thoughts fell out the window.

He didn’t know exactly where Raiden was in the darkness, so he tilted forward slowly, carefully as he could while the other HumaGear thoroughly felt up his ass, trying to find him. They bumped noses first, then foreheads as Fuwa tried to reposition. Raiden had the decency to at least not move his head, and after a bit of fumbling…

The moment their lips connected, Fuwa felt awkward. It was stupid to be nervous when Raiden already had his hands on his backside, squeezing hard, but… His mouth moved uncertainly against the other HumaGear’s, who was surprisingly steady, considering the aggressiveness of his other actions, letting Fuwa hesitantly brush lips over his.

Fuwa wasn’t sure how long they went on like that. He was aware of the rain and the bursts of lightning for a bit, but they soon faded to the back, until the whole world was almost just the two of them. He only vaguely noticed when Raiden eased off on gripping at his ass, instead letting his eyes fully close and embracing the darkness.

Until the lights came back on.

It was Raiden who pulled away, untangling himself with ease and taking a few steps back. Fuwa barely caught himself on the nearby shelf that he had tripped over earlier when he toppled forward—he’d settled into leaning his full weight on the other HumaGear without even realising it. Floundering a little, he dragged his head back up to look at Raiden in bewilderment, his other hand reaching towards the other HumaGear, wanting to pull him close again. Why was he…?

“Ah ah…” Raiden’s hand caught his arm by the wrist, gently pushing it back down, and the other HumaGear stepped closer again, just slightly, those strong fingers brushing Fuwa’s cheek to tuck under his chin once more, holding his face so that their eyes met, “Later.” Raiden told him firmly, “You have work to do with the power back on, don’t you?” With that, he gave Fuwa a teasing smirk and a small chuck under the chin, then stepped away, turning and disappearing through a door before the human could say a word.

Leaving Fuwa alone to process what had just happened.

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Yay! I got it done! At last! Why are these so long? I dunno. I also dunno if that counts as ‘tentative,’ but Raiden always seems to scare the tentative right out of my writing. ^^;

Anyway, I am still up for doing these if y’all don’t mind it taking me a very long time…

send me a number and I will (very, very slowly) write something

#yuutolovesturtles #Asks #Firebird Writing #Kamen Rider Zero-One #Kamen Rider Zero One #Romance #HoroFuwa #RaidenFuwa #my precious evil stoic scorpion dad #my precious angry wolf dad #my precious evil angry thunder dodo #the Raiden-Fuwa is part of an AU I kinda have #wait I already said that #anyway #I hope they came out okay #I was nevry anxious about them #bc I've never actually written them alone before #(and you'll notice my brain still had to mention Horobi… ^^;) #but enough talk #to posting! #Binary Retro Rider

[indiavolowetrust]

Matthew 7:7

SUMMARY:  "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you."

Satan tutors a particularly curious, chatty student.

Notes: This MC is based on various female saints. Prior to falling into the Devildom, this MC lived in Catholic rural Spain -- hence the name Maria Cruz (MC). This fic explores the possibility of demons having their own language outside of the MC's native language, as well as Satan's inner wrathful nature.

1

My head pulses with the reverberation of the rain, the battering against the windowpane a thunderous, steady march. While I can’t quite fathom how the Devildom has changes in weather -- outside of temperature changes, that is -- it is difficult to do anything but take the anomaly in stride. In a realm crowded with demons, angels, and beings dangerously akin to monsters, it would be only a headache to dwell on it. A waste of time.

But aside from that, it is comforting. A vague resemblance to a typical autumnal rain. If I close my eyes for a moment, I can almost imagine that I am in one of Sister Marta’s classes again: bored, tapping my pen against the wooden desk, and on the verge of sleep, the sound lulling me into a placid state. Sister Marta would drone on and on about the syntax and grammar of Latin, citing various points in scripture. My pen would scrawl doodles and notes alike, creating looping whorls on my paper. And the occasional running line for each time I nodded off, of course. The storm would rage on and on, drawing my eyes to the rivulets of droplets on the window, and my patience and attention would slowly slip into nothingness.

I regret doing so each and every day that I spend in the Devildom.

I take another glance at the two books strewn on the desk, attempting to focus again. A compilation of notes sits beneath my hand, the two tomes in Latin and Enoch flipped open to what should be the same page. My fingers cramp from writing so much, protesting the constant workload, but I wholly ignore the sensation. If I had paid more attention in Latin class, I would be able to translate Enoch better. If I hadn’t drifted off so much and ignored Sister Marta, I wouldn’t have such a noticeable accent when speaking to the demons of the Devildom. If I hadn’t spent so much time daydreaming about the end of the school day, I wouldn’t have embarrassed myself upon my first arrival in the Devildom. My skin still bristles at the memory: my complete bewilderment, combined with the Lord Diavolo’s lack of foresight to provide me with a translator, had only led to disaster.

A complete idiot, some part of me says, chiding me. You looked like a complete idiot, spouting off nonsensical phrases in Latin. 

Then again, it wasn’t as if I had really believed in demons or angels before. How was I supposed to know that the language of the demons was only a derivative of Latin?

Another clap of thunder nearly shakes the House of Lamentation’s foundation. I read the hands of the grandfather clock: it is only half past midnight. Plenty of time to finish the last five pages of translations and vocabulary practice. I will myself to understand the texts before me, gripping the pen tightly in my hands. I force my eyes to focus. If I am to survive the remainder of my exchange year at RAD, I would have to do a much better job at hiding my humanity -- starting with disguising my Spanish accent. But the words only blur in my vision again, the call of sleep urging my eyelids to close, and I feel myself sway unsteadily in the chair. The stress and fatigue from work hits me all at once. The lull of the storm sings to me, exacerbating my exhaustion. My pen begins to drift off the paper. My head nods forward.

“Maria?”

I blink, immediately forcing myself back to consciousness again. My eyes scan the library, drawing itself over rows of bookshelves and dark mahogany tables. The dim lamp on the desk is dim and flickering, casting long shadows across the room.

And Satan stands in the doorway, looking just as surprised as I am.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, hand still on the doorknob.

I glance down at my notes. I’ve drifted far enough into sleep that I’ve drawn a crooked line over the preexisting words, I realize with embarrassment. I quickly hide the ruined sheet. “Just studying,” I respond. “It’s -- it’s late, isn’t it? What are you doing here?”

Satan arches a brow. “Well, aren’t we curious?”

“Ah, I didn’t mean --”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he dismisses, throwing a smile my way. It does nothing to disarm me, nor does it ease my sense of embarrassment. He reaches one of the bookshelves in the corner of the room with long strides and pulls a book off the shelf, evidently acquainted with the contents and layout of the library. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would read something to relax. I left one of my favorite novels here.”

I nod, trying to hide my discomfort. “I see.”

I look down on my notes again, reading over the newly written content, but I make sure to keep a wary watch over Satan out of the corner of my eye. While traveling to the human world with Satan, Lucifer, and Mammon had helped in forming the bonds between Satan and Lucifer, I cannot say the same for myself. Only a few weeks have passed since Satan’s outburst. Since his threats of, verbatim, slicing off my nose and ears, ripping off my arms and legs, and feeding me to the lower-level demons. While it is easy for someone like Lucifer to simply overlook the transgression, being a demon, it is much more difficult for a human like me to forget the terrifying experience. Satan had clearly meant to make good on his word. If Lucifer hadn’t stepped in, I would likely be nothing more than a pile of torn flesh and bone.

“You’ve gotten pretty proficient,” Satan’s voice says over my shoulder.

I nearly startle out of my chair, turning towards the source of the voice. Satan stands to the side of the desk, leaning as he regards my notes. His gaze draws itself over my notes and the tomes with interest. I shrink back instinctively from his presence, still caught in surprise. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice. The wrathful demon simply nods, as if satisfied by my work.

“So this is how you’ve become fluent so quickly,” Satan remarks, green eyes lighting up. “Tell me, are all humans like this?”

I shake my head. “Not really. It’s -- I just figured it would be a good idea if I learned more Enoch,” I explain hastily, my hands already working to close the tomes and collect my notes. “Didn’t want a repeat of the first few weeks of school.”

“Well, it was almost incomprehensible when you first started.”

My cheeks flush. “I --”

“And you’ve improved significantly,” he says. “You should be proud of yourself, human.”

There it is again: that brilliant, faux smile. I merely nod in acknowledgment and utter a small thank you as I gather the rest of my things, closing each tome with finality. Satan steps back as I stand from my seat, bearing various notes, notebooks, and a pen in my hands, and I do my best to offer him a smile in return. A goodbye gesture of sorts. If I am to have my choice in the situation, I will not spend another moment in Satan’s presence. Not alone, anyway. It is late, as it is. He probably wouldn’t be too offended if I made the excuse of exhaustion. I begin to make my way past him, the excuse falling from my lips.

Satan catches me by the arm. I flinch as I regard him, both the surprise and fear registering on my features before I can stop myself -- and Satan lets go immediately, the facade slipping almost imperceptibly. He draws his hand back to his side, the action creating distance between us once more. I stare awkwardly at him for a moment.

“I can tutor you, if you would like,” Satan finally says, breaking the silence. “Tomorrow, same place.”

Say no. Just outright refuse, my conscience advises, attempting to build my resolve. You can tutor yourself just as well as that demon can. Just say no and he’ll leave it alone.

* * *

The tip of the pen emerges from its casing with a gentle click, Satan’s fingers wrapped securely around its base. His eyes scour my written translation for a moment, peering over the frames of his reading glasses. He scratches corrections onto the paper after a moment, then pushes the notebook towards me. His pen taps on the various scrawlings.

Satan pushes his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose, “This word is pretty close, but there are too many connotations for it,” he explains. He writes out various characters in Enoch, pronouncing the syllables of each word. “It’s a bit more formal, but it’ll probably get your point across a little more clearly. Your professors will probably appreciate that.”

I take a look over Satan’s writings, comparing them to the text. As promised -- or mildly coerced, depending on how I regard the circumstances -- Satan had met me in a small library of the House of Lamentation, at least several high-grade novels and other books piled high before him. And, as expected, Satan is nothing but strict in his teachings. Each wrong stroke of an Enochian character leads to a quick, ruthless correction, Satan immediately scratching out the mistakes. Each wrong pronunciation of a word in Enoch incites a tsk from him, his typical gentlemanly countenance making way for his true nature. While it is somewhat reassuring that the demon no longer feels a need to hide his nature from me -- therefore making his outbursts more predictable if they do occur -- I still can’t quite shake the discomfort. The contrast between his outward and inward nature is unsettling.

I sigh inwardly, dispelling the thought. If I had really wanted to refuse, I should have done so right then and there. Because I was given a choice, wasn’t I? An implied choice. I could have said no. I could have refused. But then a memory had suddenly occurred to me, and I found myself completely stripped of my will.

Don’t you dare trifle with me, human, Satan’s voice echoes, the memory still fresh and palpable. If you dare say that you won’t make a pact with me again, you’ll pay for it with your -- 

“What’s wrong?” asks Satan, casting a glance at the space underneath my pen. Empty. “Is there something you don’t understand?”

I blink, then quickly shake my head. “No, I was -- I was just thinking about something.”

“Like what?”

My mind searches for an excuse, eyes inadvertently scrutinizing his appearance. While one would normally wear something more comfortable and casual for bed, Satan is dressed in an almost formal sweater and sweatpants that could be taken for slacks, his hair still perfectly mussed and styled from the school day. Nothing about him is undone. The meticulously thought-out details make me feel nearly out of place with my borrowed, oversized sweater, pyjama pants, and pineapple-like bun of curls sitting on top of my head. A slovenly effort when compared to Satan.

My eyes land on the reading glasses perched on top of his nose.

“Do you need those?” I ask, distracting myself from my own thoughts. “I always imagined demons were all-powerful. Did you have to go to a doctor in the human world to find your prescription?”

Satan looks surprised for a moment, as if he hadn’t expected me to comment. Or notice, depending on how low his expectations of humans are. “Well, no, but I thought they seemed appropriate.”

“You thought I would learn faster if you looked the part?”

“You like to ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” he counters, clearing his throat. “Curiosity killed the cat -- isn’t that what you humans always say?”

“‘Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back,” I recite, correcting him. I lean in closer to peer at his glasses, my curiosity overtaking my unease around the demon for a moment. The glass is thin, free of any curve in the glass. Moreover, they bear a plain yet distinctive design -- akin to what a gumshoe in a noir novel would wear. My mind flashes back to the book he had pulled off the shelf the other night. “They aren’t real.”

Satan gives me a withering look. “If you knew that, then why did you ask?”

“You’re wearing them because you want to look like Detective Vic Stone from Masking the Shadow,” I observe. Satan’s impassive facade falls for a moment, his flustered state suddenly apparent, and a sense of victory nearly quirks my lips into a smile. A strange sense of victory over the wrathful, figuratively masked demon -- but a victory nonetheless. “You can correct me if I’m wrong.”

Satan brings a hand to his face, partially obscuring the flush over his features. “You try my patience too much. If you have any other questions, I would suggest you ask them now.”

“Just one.”

“I’ll make sure to bind your mouth next time.”

“How much would you like to be paid per session?” I ask, ignoring his words. “I work part-time, so there isn’t really a --”

He cuts me off. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I echo, confused. “If this is because you think me incapable of compensating you, you are sorely mistaken.”

He sighs, obscuring his face as he focuses his attention back on the Enochian tome. Adjusts his glasses again. “Why wouldn’t I?” Satan says matter-of-factly, as if I should be aware of the answer. “That would be like refusing to take home a kitten in the rain. There’s no reason why I wouldn’t help you.”

“But --”

My words die in my throat as Satan places his hand on my head, patting my pineapple-like bun of curls as if I were truly a pet. That fake, polite smile graces his features once more. “You ask too many questions,” he says, his tone halfway to a threat. “Work.”

part 2

#obey me shall we date #obey me! #obey me satan #obey me fanfic #original character #writing #writing practice

[winterisakillerwrites]

Imperfect Tense - Part Three

Title: Imperfect Tense

One Shot: 3/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: Secrets are powerful things. They shape who we are and how we interact with others and with the world. Tom assumed his secret was safe and his life would remain as it ever was. He was wrong.

Authors Notes/Warnings: I thought this story was over when I had posted part two. It was an abrupt ending, yes, but it fit.

And then Molly decided there was more that needed to be said and here we are. This story is now complete….The journey Tom and Molly go on, however, most likely is not. There is too much more to explore for me to say I won’t ever come back to these two. But this particular part of their story has come to a close. I hope you all enjoy.  

Thank you again to @nonsensicalobsessions, @redfoxwritesstuff and @ciaodarknessmyheart for being sounding boards for this last part of the story. Your help has been so so valuable and I doubt this story would be as good as I feel it is without your help. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

“What the fucking hell were you thinking?!” Luke’s voice rose three octaves as he yelled at the pale, drawn man sitting before him. There was a fire in Luke’s eyes that Tom hadn’t seen and, gods above, he knew he deserved it. Every last bit of it.

It had been nearly three days since he’d come home and watched the life he’d left behind shatter beyond repair before him. Nearly three days since he’d seen the broken, angry, disbelieving pain swim in Molly’s eyes. Three days since she’d left and he’d learned he’d been a father. Twice now, if that stupid fucking letter was to be believed. God, it was a mess. A complete and utter travesty and there was nothing he could think of to do; no way he could fathom to fix the utter mess he had made of everything.

Luke had found him sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, almost an hour before. Tom had barely moved since Molly had stormed out; forcing himself to use the bathroom when need became too great, but hardly sleeping (when he had, he woke in a panic searching for Molly only to remember she was gone) and barely eating. He’d known time had passed, but honestly hadn’t been at all aware of just how much. His phone had rung incessantly for what felt like hours and after the dozenth time he’d looked and found Luke’s number instead of Molly’s, he’d thrown the infernal thing across the room, not caring if it broke. And frankly he had enjoyed the thud it made as the bloody thing collided with the wall.

But Luke was not one to be ignored and had Tom been in his right mind, he wouldn’t have been surprised when Luke had finally shown up to say whatever he’d had to say in person. He’d come storming in the house, cursing and yelling for Tom to “show his goddamned idiotic face and show it now.” Tom could remember hearing the thunder of Luke’s feet on the stairs and then the intake of breath as he came down the hall and stopped in the doorway.

Tom raised his head, blinking as Luke’s reddened face came into clear focus. Luke paused for barely a moment before charging in the room, brandishing a manila folder in his right hand. He paused and flipped the damned thing open, throwing their contents at Tom, who watched absently as they fell to the floor at his feet. A letter, he noted, much like the one Molly had been holding when he’d walked in the door and lost everything. And several print outs of what looked to be online articles. He blinked down at them and then up at Luke.

“Do you have any idea the kind of madness I’ve been dealing with for the past 72 hours?! You go off the fucking radar, don’t answer your goddamned phone, and this insanity is spreading like wildfire. Are you aware that she went to the press? That’s she’s told everyone?!”

Once again Tom blinked in confusion.

Molly? Molly had gone to the press and told them what he’d done? The thought froze his heart. He couldn’t believe she would do something like that. He’d known he’d hurt her…That he’d broken what they had, but for her to run off and tell the world? That wasn’t his Molly. That wasn’t the woman he’d known, he’d loved. Who’d loved him. “Molly…She couldn’t…She wouldn’t…” His voice cracked as he spoke the words, both from disuse and disbelief.

It was Luke’s turn to blink in bewilderment.

“Molly? Why would Molly…?” He shook his head. “No, she hasn’t answered any of my calls either….I’m talking about Heather James. You know, the woman you fucked in a club bathroom in LA two years back? She’s gone to the fucking press with not only your affair, which paints you in an absolutely terrific light seeing as your relationship with Molly was public knowledge at the fucking time, but the fact that you have a son by her! Jesus Christ, Tom, this is a fucking shit show.” He paused running a hand through his short, brown hair. “I’m barely managing to keep up with all of it. And with your engagement announcement two months back…This is bad. Very, very, VERY bad.”

Tom found himself nodding but not truly comprehending the words Luke spoke. It all seemed so surreal, like a horrid nightmare, and all he wanted was to wake from it and find that none of it had actually happened. To find Molly beside him, holding him and telling him she loved him. It couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

“…Are you even fucking listening to me, Tom?”

He slowly raised his head and met Luke’s gaze. Tom watched the exasperation and annoyance play across his publicist’s face as it became abundantly clear he hadn’t truly been listening. “What?” he managed to choke out.

Luke bit back a groan. “I was saying you and Molly need to release a joint statement on the matter. You need to say something to counteract this shit storm that is raining down on you. And you both need to do it now. Ignoring it isn’t going to work, not this time.”

Tom shook his head, his eyes burning once more with tears. “She’s gone.” It was the first time he’d spoken the words aloud and they sounded strange to his ears. Like they couldn’t be the truth. “She left.”

“When you say left…” Luke let the words trail off but Tom could hear the steel in them. It was clear he had a very good idea just what Tom had meant. And it was just as clear that he intended for Tom to say it aloud.

Tom cleared his throat, unsure just how to put this whole mess into words. “She…She had the letter when I got home,” he paused, working to clear his throat as the words threatened to choke him. “ She…She’d read it and asked me to tell her it wasn’t true…And I…I didn’t know what to do…I didn’t mean to…”

Luke blinked. “But she knew about the affair. You told her…” He trailed off, staring at Tom in enraged disbelief as understanding dawned. “You fucking didn’t tell her about it did you?” Fire burned in Luke’s eyes and he threw his hands up in frustrated incredulity. “You stupid, selfish, moronic fucking coward! You didn’t bloody ever tell her and she was blindsided by…Oh my fucking GOD Thomas, I am going to murder you!”

“I didn’t think…” Tom pleaded.

“No, you didn’t fucking think at all did you?” Luke ran a trembling hand through his hair, shaking his head in frustrating disbelief. “She had no idea about any of this…Dammit all Thomas, I thought you had fucking told her. I begged you to tell her. Why the fucking hell didn’t you?” Luke’s dark eyes locked on his own and the guilt and regret burned inside him.

“Because I didn’t want to lose her,” Tom snapped, glaring up at Luke. It didn’t matter that everything Luke said made sense. He should have told her straight off. He should have been honest. But he hadn’t and it had cost him everything. “I fucked up, Luke. Is that what you want to bloody hear?! I. Fucked. Up. I was a coward. A fucking spineless coward and now she’s gone! She’s having my baby and she left me because I fucked it all up!”

Luke’s mouth, which had been open ready to fire a snarky retort, slammed shut. He blinked at Tom for several minutes in apparent incomprehension before gathering himself enough to choke out, “Molly’s pregnant…”

Tom swallowed thickly and nodded.

Luke threw his hands in the air. “Fucking hell, Tom.” He paced feverishly around the room, muttering to himself and occasionally shooting daggers in Tom’s direction.

The guilt that had been simmering merrily away for the last several days boiled over and Tom fought to control his breathing. This was bad. This was very, very bad and he felt as though everything had turned violently on its head.

“…she’ll talk to me.”

“All my fault,” Tom muttered over and over again to himself. Because it was all his fault. Every last miniscule bit of it. He’d made one stupid, cowardly choice after another and suddenly here he was having to answer for each and every one with no idea how the hell he was going to do so.

“It bloody is and don’t you dare expect me to sugar coat it for you,” Luke snapped. “You should have told her from the word go. You had so many fucking chances to say something and you fucking didn’t. If you had this would have been bad but we could have fucking managed it…Now, fuck, I have no idea which way this will go. And when the goddamned media finds out not only that Molly’s pregnant but she’s left you…”

“That’s not the point!” Tom hissed, pushing himself to his feet. He fought off a giddy wave of dizziness and nausea at the sudden movement. “I don’t give a flying fuck what those bastards print about me. You think I honestly care?”

“Honestly, Tom? I don’t know. The way you’ve been…It’s like I don’t know who you are anymore.”

The words stung far more than he’d expected them to, but it could not fault the truth in them. This person he’d become; this lying, secretive, dishonest man wearing his face wasn’t one he’d recognized. And that terrified him. “What am I going to do?” He hadn’t directed the question at Luke, but his friend answered him all the same.

“I’m going to head back to the office and try to contact Heather James’ solicitor and see if we can try to sort this mess.” He paused and let his eyes roll over the broken man who’d fallen back to sit on the edge of the bed once more. “You are going to march yourself into the shower, clean yourself up, and eat. After that we’ll have to play it by ear.”

                                                            —

Tom had showered, dressed in the first pieces of clothing his fingers touched, and settled at the wooden table in his kitchen, a plate of toast before him, when he heard his front door open and close followed by Luke’s footsteps in the hallway. “Back here,” he called out, half-heartedly.

He let his eyes raise to the doorway as Luke wandered in the kitchen, a sober expression painted on his face.

“I’ve been in contact with Ms. James’ solicitor and as their letter stated they are requesting a paternity test which we are not contesting. They wanted to discuss financial support for the child but until it’s proven that he is, indeed, yours that subject matter is off the table. As are any visitation and living arrangements. I’ve also requested that neither Ms. James nor any member of her team or her family speak with the press regarding this matter…Though I fear that ship as long since sailed.” He paused taking a deep breath before clasping his hands together before him. “Still better to try to curtail this now then try to fight whatever else gets spread across the papers.”

Silently, Tom nodded not quite taking it all in. He might have a son. A son. A little boy he’d never met. The idea was overwhelming. A father…He’d always wanted to be a father. Had always hoped that if the day came, he would have been able to be involved from the word go. To watch his child grow within the belly of its mother. Had hoped to be in a steady, committed relationship. Had always planned on it happening with Molly.

But he’d been a stupid, selfish idiot and ruined any chance he’d had. And now because of it he could so easily lose the chance to be there for Molly and the child she was carrying. Fresh tears stung at his eyes and he pushed the toast away, his appetite all but gone.

“…can get you into have the bloodwork drawn tomorrow morning. It shouldn’t take more than two to three days for the results and once we’ve got them we can figure out what comes next.”

Tom cleared his throat and raised his eyes towards Luke once more. “If…If he’s mine, I want to be there for him. I need to be there…This mess isn’t his fault and I won’t have him suffering for it, regardless of how all of this came about.”

A brief flash of pity mixed with a resigned understanding flashed in Luke’s eyes and he nodded. “I know, Tom. I know. If he’s yours I’ll help make sure you are as involved as you want to be.” He paused and cleared his throat, eyes darkening slightly. “I spoke with Molly…”

Tom’s head snapped up at this. “Is she alright? Please tell me she’s okay…I can’t…”

Luke threw his hands up, trying to halt Tom’s explosion of words. “She is about as alright as she can be, given the circumstances…She is understandably upset and angry…”

“Did she….Will she let me talk to her…Let me try to explain.” The naked hope in his eyes tore at Luke but he shook his head.

“I don’t think that is such a good idea. I think you’ve done enough damage for now. Just…Just let her be. There will be time enough to sort out the details of how you will both handle this.”

“But I can’t just…” Even if it was hopeless he couldn’t just let it be. He had to try, he had to do something.

“Yes you bloody fucking can.” Luke snapped, hitting his fist against the table with enough force to rattle the forgotten plate of toast. “Do you not get it? Molly has every right in the world to wash her hands of you. To deny you the right to see the baby she’s carrying. Every. Bloody. Right. Fuck, she would be well within her rights to drag you through the courts and destroy you if you push her to it.”

Tom blinked in confusion, his heart thudding in his chest.

“This isn’t something you can smile and charm your way out of, Tom. You. Fucked. Up.” He empathized each word with the slam of his first to the table. “This isn’t going to simply blow over. Not only did you sleep with someone else, you lied to her about it. And you kept right on lying. You fucked up every bloody time you had the chance to come clean with Molly and you chose not to. This isn’t one mistake, Tom. This isn’t one slip-up. This is a series of stupid, fucking decisions and they are all on you. Every. Single. One. And you need to own that and then figure out how to live with it.”

Luke took a deep breath and settled himself onto the chair opposite from Tom. Neither spoke for several minutes.

“How?” Tom’s voice was small, almost broken.

Luke took a deep breath, resting his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You’ll have to figure that one out for yourself.” He turned towards the doorway, pausing momentarily to pull something from his pocket. “Almost forgot.” He placed it onto the table before Tom who looked at it in confusion. “Your mobile was in pieces…Again. And I have to be able to get hold of you. Try not to destroy this one.”

With a sigh Luke turned once more and headed down the hall and towards the front door. A moment later Tom heard it click shut and once more he was alone.

                                                         —

The car Luke had arranged arrived mid-morning the following day. Tom tried not to think about the parallel between this morning and one almost two years ago as he silently climbed into the backseat. He’d slept fitfully the previous night, tossing and turning for several hours before giving up the ghost entirely. It didn’t matter, he’d lost the right to sleep peacefully, and he’d known that.

He rested his head against the cool glass of the window as the city blurred past, paying it little mind. Luke had called shortly before the car had arrived to make sure he was up and ready. Tom wanted to resent Luke for doing so, for babying him, but given the mess he’d been (and honestly still was) he couldn’t bring himself to. Not when it was something Luke would have done before everything had fallen to pieces.

The car slowed and then finally came to a stop forty minutes later. He opened the car door and blinked up at the tall, dull, brick building. It was overcast, overhead rain clouds threatened. Fitting.

Climbing out, Tom made his way into the lobby of the building. It was well lit with several uncomfortable chrome and mutely coloured chairs lined near the wall of glass windows. Standing to the side of the main doors was Luke, absently staring at his mobile. He looked up at the sound of the doors and offered Tom a smile (which was honestly more of a grimace). In silence, they headed towards the lifts and then up towards the laboratory. Giving his blood and saliva samples was a simple matter; Tom and Luke were out of the building and back into the waiting car fifteen minutes later.

Neither man spoke as the car pulled off and merged back into the London late morning traffic. Luke turned his attention back to his mobile. He tapped away busily at the screen. Several minutes later Luke looked up, pocketing his mobile.  “I’ve let the solicitors know the samples were obtained and the results pending.”

Tom nodded. “Alright.”

What else could he possibly say? There weren’t words to describe the emotions coursing through him and he found himself both wishing that the little boy wasn’t his (how could he be a father to a child he didn’t know?) and that he was (if he was then maybe some good would come of all the mess he’d made). He didn’t dare voice either thought. How could he?

When the car stopped again it was in front of the offices for Prosper. Luke opened the door, looking back at the broken man staring sightlessly out of the opposite window. “Tom?”

Blinking Tom turned his attention from his thoughts and towards Luke. “Hm?”

“Call your mother. She’s called the office and my mobile several times trying to get hold of you. She’s worried sick.”

He nodded. The idea of talking to his mother, of hearing the disappointment and disapproval in her voice, terrified him. She loved Molly. Had been so incredibly happy when Tom told her of the engagement.

“That woman loves you, my boy, with all of her heart. You are so very lucky to have found her.” His mother’s words echoed in his mind, adding to the weight of the guilt and self-disgust he carried. She would kill him for this and he honestly couldn’t blame her. He’d had something amazing, something so fucking special, and he’d thrown it away. God, how could he have been such a fool?

What was worse was that by now his mother would have seen the articles, known what he’d done. And he knew he deserved every disappointed and disgusted word she would say to him. He was her son, yes, but she adored Molly and he’d broken her heart. But Luke had been right, avoiding his mother wouldn’t change what had happened and he knew, despite whatever anger and disappointment she felt towards him, she was worried. And despite the mess he’d made of everything, he couldn’t stand worrying his mother.

Tom barely noticed the car pulling to a stop and the driver had to call his name twice before he realized he was home. With a murmured thanks, Tom climbed out of the car and slowly up the steps towards his front door. The house felt so cold, so empty without Molly’s light and Tom fought back a sob as he pushed the door closed behind him and stood in the dim entry way.

Swallowing thickly, he stumbled his way into the lounge and dropped himself haphazardly onto the sofa. He sat, head cradled in his hands for what felt like hours before he took another deep breath and fumbled his new mobile from his pocket.

Clumsily, he dialed the familiar number, holding the phone to his ear as it rang once, twice before the line clicked. “Oh Thomas,” his mother’s worn voice answered. “My boy, what have you done?”

“Mum,” he breathed, the tears he’d fought finally breaking free. “Oh God, mum. I really messed up.”

                                                           —

Luke called early three days later letting him know the clinic had sent over the test results and that he was needed at Prosper as soon as he was able to go over them. Tom dressed with trepidation, his mind racing over just what fate awaited him. He’d been grateful Luke had sent a car, he didn’t think he could face driving or the chaos that public transport had become.

Since the tabloids had broken with the story of the affair and his illegitimate child, Tom found himself once more under a deluge of press attention. He’d been followed and hounded on his morning run (which he’d only restarted as a means to take his mind off of what was happening). Anytime he was spotted in public there was someone with a camera or yelling for his attention and comment on the story. He’d kept his head down as much as possible, knowing that if he snapped at them the way he longed to he would be making matters so much worse than they already were. And there was the fact that Luke would cheerfully beat him to death if he did anything to rock the boat on this.

The car was outside his gate at half past the hour and Tom quickly made his way out of the house and into its cool interior, mumbling a quiet hello to his driver. Traffic was lighter than he’d expected and they pulled to a stop in front of Prosper’s building in what felt like moments. Tom fought to contain the panic roiling inside of him as he made his way into the building and towards the lifts that would lead him to Luke’s office.

The low murmur of an office at work greeted him as the lift doors pinged open. Tom gave Nancy at reception a small smile as he headed down the hall towards Luke’s door. She’d been with Luke since he started the firm and they’d always gotten on well. She was just as no nonsense as Luke and, having worked in the industry for years, was an invaluable asset to the firm. Nancy nodded back and waved him on.

Luke’s door was ajar and Tom could hear his voice pouring out into the hallway. He paused at the door and knocked on its frame. Luke looked up, placing his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone in his hand and nodded Tom inside.

“Alright, I’ll get back to you about the interview…Alright. Take care.” Luke placed the phone back onto its cradle and turned his full attention on Tom who still stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Seriously mate, come in. I’m not going to bite.”

His jest pulled the tiniest twinge of a smile from Tom and he made his way inside, settling on the black leather chair across from Luke’s desk. They sat in silence for several moments before Tom spoke. “You called about the results?” He fought to keep his voice steady and even, though the extent of his nerves were clear in the way his foot bounced against the carpeted floor.

Luke nodded once. “They sent them over this morning.” He reached across the desk to hand Tom a sealed white envelope. Tom couldn’t hide the visible shake in his hand as he took the envelope. It took him several moments to still them enough to slip his finger beneath the seal and break it. With a deep breath and a mounting sense of foreboding, Tom pulled the sheets of paper from the envelope, unfolding them with care, before allowing his eyes to read over the stark black text.

His blood pounded in his ears and he had to read the words several times before the meaning became clear.

Regarding the child Francis Henry James…No paternal match…

No paternal match.

The boy wasn’t his.

The sharp sense of relief he felt at those words was dulled by a flash of disappointment that Tom couldn’t reconcile. This was a good thing. Wasn’t it? Things would be easier this way. But still, for a brief moment, Tom found himself grieving the loss of a child that might have been his. Of a life that wouldn’t ever be.

Tom swallowed against the lump in his throat. In all the panic and worry of the last several days, he hadn’t truly stopped and thought about what all of this would mean if the child hadn’t been his. Stupidly, he’d been laboring under the belief that the boy was his son and no matter what had happened between himself and the boy’s mother, that little boy, Francis…Frank, was his and was an innocent in all of this. And Tom would do everything in his power to do right by him. He’d been, unconsciously, making plans about what room he’d need to change into a child’s bedroom for when the boy would stay with him. Along with the room that would serve as a nursery for his baby with Molly…But that was all in vain now.

“Do I need to be drafting a press release asking for privacy as you and your son get to know one another?” Luke’s voice broke through the tangle of confusion in Tom’s mind causing him to stare up blankly. His publicist sat perched on the edge of his desk, arms folded across his chest with a carefully constructed neutral, yet expectant, expression painted across his face.

It was several minutes before Tom found his voice. “No,” he choked out, coughing to clear his throat. “You don’t need…He’s not…I’m not his father.” He blinked back tears, wiping at his face in frustrated helplessness.

Without saying a word, Luke was at his side with a box of tissue. Tom reached out and took one, blowing his nose and fighting valiantly to get himself back under control. But try as he might, Tom couldn’t stop the way his shoulders shook nor the tears that were trailing down his face. He was grateful Luke wasn’t forcing him to talk because he honestly didn’t think he could find the words to explain what the fuck was happening in his head.

He couldn’t say just how long he sat in Luke’s office, mourning the loss of the only good thing that could come from this mess he’d made. All he knew for certain was his head ached and his eyes felt raw as he was ushered into the back of the car Luke called for him. He would have winced at the brightness of the afternoon sunlight on his face had he not been wearing a pair of dark sunshades which were thrust at him on his way out the door.

“The last thing we need right now are pictures of you in tears,” Luke has grumbled as he shut the door behind Tom.

The ride back to his home was a blur. He could remember bits and pieces of the journey but he still blinked in confusion when the car pulled to a stop at the gate. Tom stumbled from the back of the car, punching the gate code in with shaking hands, and then slowly up the steps towards his door. He dropped the keys twice before managing to unlock the door and push it open.

The house was silent and dark for all that the midday sunlight was pouring in through the curtains lining the sitting room windows. He hated it. Hated everything about it. Tom fell back against the door, hearing it click shut against the push of his weight, and sank to the floor. He rested his head against his bent knees and simply fought to breathe.

He hadn’t any idea how long he’d been sitting there, he was only now aware that the hallway was now painted in growing shadow. Blinking, Tom rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands and slowly pushed himself to his feet. His back throbbed as he stood upright, attesting to the fact he must have been sitting for quite some time. He rubbed it absently as he made his way into the kitchen.

Pulling a glass from the cabinet, he carried it to the sink and filled it with cool water, downing it in three gulps. He filled the glass twice more before making his way into the living room and dropping himself onto the sofa. Everything he’d found himself clinging to, the faint glimmer of hope in the storm his life had fallen into, had been for nothing and once more he found himself floundering. How could he ever hope to fix any of this now?

                                                           —

The next few days crept past, Tom moving through the motions more than anything. He answered the phone when Luke or his mother called, insisting he was fine in a tone which fooled no one, least of all himself. He read scripts and tried to eat on a regular basis; though he failed more than succeeded in that front. Tom felt as though he was living underwater, he could see things happening around him, hear distant echoes but could not seem to reach out and actually be one with them. Not that he was truly trying over much.

Each time Luke called, Tom found himself asking if he’d heard anything from Molly. Desperate for something, anything to let him know she was alright. How could this ever be alright? She hadn’t called him, not that he’d expected her to but still he’d hoped, and each time he tried her number it rang out as disconnected. Luke had brushed him off nearly every time, “This is your mess, mate, and I won’t get myself involved any more than I need to.”

“Just let me know if she’s okay. I just need to know that she’s alright.”

“Tom,” Luke breathed out in exasperation, “Don’t put me in this situation, I am asking as your friend. And as hers. Please, let it be.”

“I can’t, Luke. Not when things are like this. Not if there isn’t a chance I could try to make this right.”

“No, Tom.”

He couldn’t seem to let the idea go. The need to speak with Molly, to know that she was alright. To try all he could do to fix the mess he’d made. And maybe, just maybe now that he knew for certain that the boy wasn’t his…Maybe she would be able to forgive him. Maybe that could make this work. Maybe they could be a family. Maybe…

                                                           —

Tom hadn’t let himself think as he made his way down the brightly lit hallway. Hadn’t acknowledged anything more than the blaze of hope that sparked in him when Molly had finally agreed to meet with him. It had taken nearly two weeks to get her to take his call, let alone speak with him, and even then he knew it was with extreme reluctance.

Luke had played middleman begrudgingly and made it perfectly clear though he was paid to look after Tom’s interests, he was firmly on Molly’s side in this. “Keep your head, Tom,” Luke had cautioned him as he handed over the folded piece of paper on which he’d written Molly’s current number. “She is giving you the chance to talk, don’t fuck this up. And please, for the love of god, don’t make this worse.”

He meticulously scanned each of the numbers on the doors until he’d come to Molly’s, trying to ignore the nerves fluttering steadily in his gut. Molly, he’d learned, had initially been staying at a friend’s while she searched for more permanent arrangements and had moved into her own flat the week before. The flat wasn’t too far from the house they’d shared, Tom had stared at the address she’d given him in disbelief. So close. She’d been so close and he’d not been any the wiser. The knowledge of it stung far more than he’d wanted to admit. But she’d agreed to meet with him. To talk. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

Taking a deep breath he raised his hand and knocked gently on the door. He rocked on his heels, shoving his hands firmly into his pockets to stop their fidgeting. He always seemed to fidget when he was nervous. He could hear a rustling from inside and the click of the lock unlatching. His heart stuttered and froze in his chest as the door opened and he found Molly standing before him.

He could see the toll of the last few weeks painted across her features. There were shadows under her light blue eyes and a wariness in them, and in her posture, he didn’t quite understand. She was clearly exhausted and it took all he had to keep himself from sweeping in and trying to fix things, as every fiber in his being wanted him to. She merely nodded at him, standing firmly in the doorway.

“How are you?” The question slipped from his lips without his bidding and Tom wanted to kick himself for it. “I’m sorry that was…I didn’t mean…”

“Just don’t, Tom,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

Tom felt his heart constrict in his chest at the pain he could see in Molly’s eyes, no matter how desperately she tried to hide it. He was the worst sort of person and he knew it. But maybe…Just maybe if she let him talk, let him explain, this might be a way to begin to rebuild the shattered trust between them.

Please. Please.

Several silent moments passed between them before Molly stood aside and allowed him to walk past her into the flat. He found his eyes scanning the small, but cozy, looking front room. There wasn’t a great deal in the way of furniture; a squashy grey sofa and matching arm chair, darkly stained coffee and end tables, and a wooden and metal bookshelf still mostly empty. Boxes lined the far left hand wall, stacked neatly with the top-most open.

Molly settled herself on the armchair, crossing her arms loosely across her chest. Tom quietly did the same on the sofa. Neither spoke, the silence between them growing more strained by the moment. He heard rather than saw Molly take a deep breath and quickly raised his eyes to her face. “You wanted to talk, Tom.”

Tom clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap. He could feel her cool eyes locked on him. It was now or never. He swallowed thickly before speaking, knowing he had to get the words out. Had to make her understand. The worst was over now. They could try to rebuild. It wouldn’t be easy, he knew that, but it would be worth it. They could do this.

“I…We got the results back. Of the paternity test. The child he…He isn’t mine.” The words came out in a rush and hope burned brightly in his eyes as Tom stared into Molly’s. It was going to be alright, it had to be. He’d been given a second chance. They both had. Surely, she could see that.

He waited, watching the emotion play across her face. Waited for the confusion to break into a quiet joy. For her to understand that it was over and that they could make this work. They could truly be a family. And he would make all of this up to her. He would make it right. This was his chance to do so.

“Oh.” The word tumbled from her lips. “I’m glad it’s settled for you then.” But she didn’t smile. No sign of relief spread across her features. Nothing had changed…

“Oh,” Tom echoed and felt his heart sink. “But I thought…”

“You thought what, Tom?” Molly’s sharp tone cut straight through him and he flinched at her words. “You thought that just because her paternity claim was false that everything would be fine? You lied to me Tom. You slept with someone else and then lied to me about it. You got a fucking STI and you kept that from me. You took what we had and threw it in the fire and you think that just because you dodged this particular bullet I should be grateful and forgive you?” Frustration and disbelief shone in her bright eyes. “I’m sorry Tom, but that is not how it works. That is not how any of this fucking works.”

“It was a mistake,” he started, needing her to listen to him. To give him a chance to fix it.

“No, Tom,” Molly snapped out, pushing herself to her feet. She paced around the room, hands waving as she carried on. “A mistake is getting the reservation times mixed up. A mistake is forgetting to call after you’ve made it home safe. Sleeping with someone else and lying about it for two years…That…That is not a fucking mistake and don’t you dare try to pass it off as such.”

He stood as well, staring at her as the words she’d thrown at him hit home. “I…Molly, please, tell me how to fix this,” he pleaded, unconsciously reaching out toward her. “Tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it. Anything. Anything at all. Just please, please let me fix this.” He took two cautious steps towards her.

Molly shook her head, taking several steps back from him. “You don’t get it, Tom. There is no fixing this.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and locked her eyes on his. “That time came and went two fucking years ago. You lied to me. Again and again and again. You made the life I thought we were building together into a nothing more than a mockery of what it should have been. You can’t fix this, Thomas. Not now.”

“Please don’t say that, Molly,” he begged, fear choking his voice. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. This couldn’t be happening. He had to fix this. He had to. “Please don’t. I can’t…I have to fix this. Please.”

Molly shook her head. “No, Tom. There is no fixing this.”

“But the baby…” His words trailed off as his eyes lingered on her distant form. Her baby. Their baby. This baby needed them both. They had to fix this. He had to fix this.

Molly’s hands unconsciously dropped to her stomach, cupping now barely visible swell there. He doubted he would have even seen it had she not done so. “Don’t, Tom,” She whispered, taking a deep breath before continuing her voice stronger. “This baby is the only reason I am even speaking to you.” There was a fire in her eyes Tom had never seen and truth be told it terrified him. Anger was never an emotion he’d ever truly seen from Molly, not centered on him, and to see it now let loose a very real spasm of fear. “Don’t you dare try to use this baby to get your own damned way!”

Tom leapt to his feet, hands raised before him, and took a tentative step towards Molly. “That isn’t what I’m trying to do.” And it wasn’t…Not completely. He couldn’t let her shut him out. Not now. He needed to fix this before it was too late.

“I think you should leave, Tom.”

Her words didn’t make any sense. “No, please don’t…” He couldn’t leave now. If he left then he might never get another chance to fix this. And he had to fix it. He had to.

Molly shook her head, walking with steadfast determination to the door. “I want you to leave right now. I can’t do this.”

“But…”

“Tom, please.”

He stood for several moments, indecision painted across his features before his shoulders slumped in defeat and he walked quietly to the door. Tom paused, his eyes roaming over Molly’s stoic face. He took a slow, deep breath and spoke quietly. “For what it’s worth, Molly, I am truly sorry.”

“That’s all well and good, Tom, but sorry doesn’t fix anything.”

Tom nodded, forcing the ghost of a smile as he felt the tears burning in his eyes. “I know.” And god I wish it would. Without another word he turned and walked out of the flat.

                                                           —

Luke’s call came almost an hour after Tom had made his way home. He thought, briefly, about simply letting the call go to voicemail; it would be infinitely easier than whatever Luke had to say. Instead he slid his finger across the screen and placed the call on speaker. “Yes, Luke?”

There was a resigned sigh before Luke’s voice echoed throughout the room. “Why can’t you listen to what I tell you? Just once, for the sheer novelty value of it.”

“I just…I wanted to fix it…”

Luke groaned. “Tom, you cannot fix this. Not now. The time to fix it was two damned years ago. And if you’d just told her like I all but begged you to…”

“I know, Luke,” Tom snapped, cutting the man off mid-sentence. “I fucking know! You don’t need to tell me I fucked up the best thing in my life because I’m a selfish bastard. I know, Luke. I can’t ever forget it! I just…I had to try.” He fought to keep his words steady as the composure he’d struggled desperately to keep finally broke. Sobs wracked him and he found himself gasping for breath. It took several minutes to calm himself enough to speak clearly. “I just…I couldn’t not try.”

“Well your trying could make this much, much worse. You have to know that,” Luke stressed and Tom could hear the strain in the man’s voice. “The press doesn’t know Molly is pregnant, and thank god for that, but it’s not something that can be hidden forever. Not with the way the press has been on what’s happened. And when it does come out, they are going to be brutal; not only to you but to her as well. You push her too far and she could wash her hands of you entirely. She could up and leave and keep the baby from you and fuck me, I don’t know if I could blame her.”

Tom felt the barely contained panic threatening to break loose once again. Molly leaving and keeping their baby from him. Both of them gone for good. His knees buckled and it took all he had to lower himself onto the floor lest they give out completely and he collapse. “She wouldn’t…Molly wouldn’t ever…”

“There was a time when she would have said the same thing about you and we both know how that turned out.” Luke let out a frustrated sigh. “Tom, speaking as your publicist, I’m asking…No, Tom, I’m telling you to leave her be. Don’t push. Don’t try to fix it. Just let me handle this. Please. Before it goes from bad to worse. Do you hear me?”

It was several moments before Tom realized that Luke could not see him nodding and croaked out his assent. Yes, he would leave her alone. He would let Luke sort this as best he could. The call ended soon after but Tom remained on the floor, his mind racing.

How had all of this spiraled so far out of control? How could he have let this happen? He knew better. He should have come clean to Molly when she had called him back that night; should have told her the truth and begged her forgiveness. But he hadn’t and now there was nothing he could do to fix the mess he’d made.

                                                         —

In the two weeks that followed, Tom did his best to keep to Luke’s request. He kept his head down as best he could, kept mostly to his home and went through the small pile of scripts that had started to accumulate. Not that he could actually focus on them; he’d read the same passage three times in the last ten minutes and still couldn’t make hide nor hair of any of it. With a tired groan, Tom tossed the script aside, rubbing his bleary eyes with the palms of his hands. There was no point in trying to pretend he was going to get anywhere with them, not with the way his mind refused to focus.

Pushing himself to his feet, he padded from the living room towards the kitchen. Mindlessly, he set about making himself a mug of tea; loose leaf tea from the cabinet, water in the kettle and setting it to boil, jug of milk from the refrigerator, mug and strainer set aside waiting. There was something soothing about the whole process; it was something he had done thousands of times. It made him think of home and his mum and the times when all the world’s ails could be cured with a cuppa.

As the kettle boiled he set about measuring out the tea and placing it in the strainer atop the green chipped mug. A few minutes later had the kettle boiled, the water poured, and the fragrant leaves brewing. Once steeped he tossed the used tea leaves, added his milk, and carried the mug back into the living room. Tea might not fix everything, but with all that had happened, it certainly couldn’t hurt.

He settled back onto the couch and sipped while he debated picking up the script once more. It wasn’t the best story he’d ever read, but decent enough. Under normal circumstances, and had his head been clearer, he knew he’d been very much taken in by it. As it was though…

Tom let out a soft sigh, resting his mug atop his knee and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. He needed to get himself together. Falling apart wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all himself; he’d known that. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

A muffled ring echoed from between the cushions of the sofa.

Perplexed, Tom sat staring for several long moments before his wits caught up with him. He leapt to his feet, placing his mug on the edge of the coffee table, and reached between the cushions where the ringing seemed be loudest. He grumbled as his fingers at first found nothing then just as quickly slid against the smooth metal back of his mobile. He yanked it out and slid his finger across the screen to answer, not bothering to look at the number. It was most likely his mother; she’d spent the past week trying to encourage him to come home for a few days to “get away”. He knew she worried over him and with all the goings on, her mothering instinct had gone into overdrive.

“Hello?”

Luke’s voice echoed through the mobile’s speaker. “Tom, is this a good time?”

While there wasn’t anything off about Luke’s question, there was something in the tone of it that set off alarm bells in Tom’s mind. Panic, potent and strong flooded through. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears as he fought for control of his voice. Something was wrong. Molly’s face flashed before his eyes.

Let her be okay. Let her and the baby be okay. Please. Please.

“Luke, what is it? What’s happened?” He knew his voice was shaking, knew all his bloody training was less than worthless now, and there was little he could do to stop it.

There was a soft sigh and a pause before Luke answered. “I’m about five minutes from yours and I have something we need to talk about.”

He managed to grunt something, he couldn’t say exactly what, in response and only half heard Luke’s answer before the call ended. He stared at the now blank screen as he collapsed back onto the sofa. His hands shook and he felt the mobile slip from his fingers to land on the rug below with a soft thump.

It took several minutes for Tom to register that the buzzing he was hearing was coming from the doorbell and not his head. It took another few moments to get to his feet and stumble towards the door. His fingers felt large, clumsy, and useless as he struggled with the lock. It took two tries to get it undone and to pull the darkly stained wooden door open.

Luke stood in the doorway, an unreadable expression painted across his face. He pulled his sunglasses off as he stepped inside and offered Tom a small, half-hearted smile which did little to put him at ease. They both stood in the entryway, silence spreading between them. There were so many things Tom wanted to ask but the words simply wouldn’t come.

“I think we should probably sit down for this,” Luke suggested, putting a hand on Tom’s shoulder and guiding him towards the living room.

Tom felt his heart plummet at Luke’s words and stumbled into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa. Luke settled in the arm-chair adjacent, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Clearing his throat, Tom forced himself to raise his eyes towards Luke and choked out. “What is it?”

Luke faltered for a moment before answering. He leant forward, pausing briefly to pull an envelope from his jacket pocket. “Over the last week and a half I’ve been in talks with a solicitor.” He paused once again and handed the envelope to Tom. His brow furrowing in confusion, Tom held the envelope in his hand staring from it to Luke. What could Heather possibly want now? Hadn’t she done enough?

“Molly’s solicitor.”

Tom’s head snapped up at this, his eyes widening as the colour drained slowly from his face. “Wh-what?”

“She had them contact me shortly after…Anyway, with all things being equal and with all that’s been happening, she wanted to get things in writing, as clearly as she could, before all of this gets out in the public. Because it will, Tom, whether you or I or Molly want it to or not.”

It was as if Luke was speaking from someplace far off, his voice was muffled and try as he might Tom could barely make sense of any of it. His fingers shook as he turned the off-white envelope over in his hands, only partially registering his name written across its front, and tore open its seal.

The paper inside was of surprisingly good quality; a creamy white which was a strong contrast to the crisp black of the text. The printed words seemed to blur as he struggled to make sense of them. His breath came in short, pained gasps as slowly, agonizingly their meaning became clear.

She wasn’t contesting his paternity and welcomed him to a paternity test if he so wished; if he wanted to be involved in the life of their child she would not deny him. But that was as far as she was prepared to go. He wasn’t allowed to contact her in any way unless in pertained to the child. She would share important doctor’s visits and any and all test results if requested. His presence at the birth would be up for discussion as the time drew closer though she did not want him alone with her in the room.

A choked sob fell from his lips as the paper slipped from his numb fingers to the floor. Tom couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. God this wasn’t happening. Please, god, this couldn’t be happening. He jumped at the feel of a hand resting on his shoulder and blinked up through tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed at Luke’s impassive face.

“Deep breath, mate. Just breathe.”

Tom struggled to draw in air, his lungs burning with the effort. It felt as though he was simply fighting to keep his head above the surface of a crushing sea. And each time he thought maybe, just maybe, he’d caught his breath another wave would crest and he’d be dragged back under.

“Why?” He managed to choke out.

Luke let out a soft, resigned sigh. “Because she knew you wouldn’t listen any other way.” He gripped Tom’s shoulder lightly. “You push and you push and you don’t listen. She knows you, Tom. And she took the steps she felt were necessary to protect herself. All you can do now is respect that. Don’t push her on this. Please, if you listen to nothing else I ask of you listen to this, please respect her choice in this matter. Respect the boundaries she is setting. Don’t push her to take this further.”

Unable to speak, Tom simply nodded. He didn’t have it in him to fight anymore, no matter how loudly his mind screamed for him to do so. This was his fault. All of it. Molly hated him and if he pushed any further he wasn’t completely sure if she wouldn’t take away the only remaining tie left between them. And he couldn’t lose that. Not after everything. But knowing that and accepting it were two completely different things and at that moment Tom wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to make that leap. And if he didn’t, what would it cost him?

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Tom Hiddleston x oc #Tom Hiddleston x ofc #Tom Hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #Imperfect Tense #mrs-captain-evans writing challenge #mce writing challenge

[osmw1]

Crowbar Nurse   Chapter 10 — The Villainess Princess Awakens

“Christ… we were so busy looking around us that we didn’t notice her right there. Does she seem okay?” “She’s unconscious… but she’s breathing, and her heartrate isn’t abnormal.”

I had one hand at the tip of her nose and the other on one of her wrists. Her chest was rising and falling with every breath and I could feel her pulse by her radius. She wasn’t even that pale either.

“This girl is quite the villainess princess.” “A vil—what?”

Kiryū’s face twisted in bewilderment. I suppose he’s never heard of the term.

“Umm, you know how in dating sims for girls, there’s always an evil rich girl character?” “Can’t say I’m familiar with female-oriented dating simulations.” “That was rhetorical. But you seemed to know a thing or two about them given the way you were speaking.” “…” “… fine, whatever. The evil rich girl character hates the heroine and treats her like dirt, and in the end, gets her just deserts.” “Oh, yeah, I get what you’re talking about… the punching bag for the player, in a sense.” “… that’s a little blunt, but, I mean, you’re not wrong…” “So, that’s the kind of character this girl is?”

Kiryū eyed the villainess princess who had lain on the ground.

“That’s right. Her name is Elizabeth. She was the rival of the protagonist of a popular fantasy visual novel from about ten years back, called DokiDoki☆Alice in Bourgeoisie Country.” “… what.” “As I said, she’s from DokiDoki☆Alice in Bourgeoisie Country.” “Huh?” “How many times do I have to tell you that it's DokiDoki☆Alice in Bourgeoisie Country. Elizabeth is an evil landlord who bought up lots of real estate and torments the protagonist because she moved in to one of Elizabeth’s properties without paying her respects. That cane over there? She uses it to beat the protagonist. Elizabeth may look cute, but she’s awfully ferocious, you know?” “DokiDoki☆Alice in Bourgeoisie Country… I have never heard of a title this absurd and ridiculous before.”

I could tell Kiryū was getting more exasperated as he muttered.

“Though the developer folded up quite a few years back, they still perform the DokiABC musical from time to time. It’s stubbornly popular. Anyway, in the game, you’re supposed to build relationship with your tenants and buy up property with your goal of being the most powerful landlord in the world.” “Tenants… property…” “You even fight against unscrupulous gangsters trying to buy up land, ultimately leading to you protecting your tenants in a gunfight showdown.” “… it, uhh, doesn’t exactly sound like it’d appeal to women, but what do I know…”

Kiryū slumped down and blinked blankly, seemingly shell-shocked from the newly acquired info.

“That’s why it’s funny though. Her curled silver pigtails, her purple dress, and her mithril walking stick… that’s Elizabeth, no doubt about it. Evil princesses like her are a common trope in novels, but they don’t come up too often in games, hey?” “… the more I think about it, the less I am sure of anything. Anyway, should we wake up said Elizabeth here?”

He wisely switched topics, to which I nodded yes while bending over to pat Elizabeth on the cheek.

“Hmm, I’m not sure if she’s a heavy sleeper or what, but she’s not waking up… she’s human, right?”

I looked up at Kiryū for an answer.

“… well, she’s clearly a character from another game. She’s got to be human.”

His answer sounded more like a sigh.

“Let me try swinging a little harder… hmm, no, nothing.” “Slap her any harder and I’d start feeling bad. Let’s leave it at this. There’s something more important, actually. Let me see your phone.”

His tone made it sound like he had a bright idea, so I reached into my pocket and pulled it out for him.

“Since we’re not in a proper part of the game, there shouldn’t be any enemies sneaking up on us. Staying here for the rest of our journey would be preferable.” “That makes sense… oh, the passcode is my birthday, ‘0511’.” “Change it right now.” “Noooo, don’t wanna.” “I’m not asking.” “Ouch, ouch, ouch! Fine! How about, umm… ‘1337’?” “No, because now I know it. Don’t go telling people your passcode. And add a few more digits too, so it’ll be harder for people to memorize. You never know when people are going to trick you with social engineering.” “Jeez, you nag more than my mother. I’ll change it as soon as I get back to the real world, okay?” “… I’m going to hold you to it. That’s a promise now, you hear?”

Unimpressed at my half-hearted reply, Kiryū scowled as he tapped the four digits to unlock my phone.

“… to no one’s surprise, we’ve got zero reception. Was there anything else different on your phone aside from that ‘Untitled’ app?” “No. Gah, I’ve only got 30% battery left. It would be nice to find a place to charge up.” “I don’t think we’ll have any luck here. We don’t have a Micro-USB cable anyway.”

It’d probably be better not to get my hopes up in finding some way to charge my phone here in Confi City.

“… alrighty. Why don’t we try launching this ‘Untitled’ app…?”

Uncertainty plagued Kiryū’s words as he kept his sight fixed on my phone.

“Let’s take a look and see what happens, I guess…”

My response wasn’t any more confident. This ‘Untitled’ intrigues me… but should we really be tapping on it? It’s not some sort of cursed app, is it? It’s not going to start a countdown to our demise or anything?

I was scaring myself more than anything…

“… oh, shit!”

His voice took me by surprise, both because it was sudden and very unlike him. The next thing I knew, my phone was back in my hands.

“Huh?”

What came immediately was the piercing ring of metal clashing against metal.

“Whoa?!”

I instinctively ducked and curled up into a ball before I dared to look at what was above me…

—The evil princess, Elizabeth, sent her mithril stick down upon my head, only to be intercepted by Kiryū’s crowbar at the last possible moment.

  ☆

  “… I’m ready for your apology anytime now.”

Like swatting a fly, Kiryū effortlessly parried Elizabeth’s attack while flatly sending his words at her. She disappointedly looks down at her cane, frustrated at her loss in the test of strength. To be fair, Kiryū is uncannily powerful…

“We have no hostile intentions towards you. However, what you have just done cannot be seen as anything other than an act of hostility. Do you understand?” “…”

Elizabeth’s kept silent—her loss of words and doubt of what was the correct action were evident. She chose to raise her weapon again.  Kiryū responded with no leniency and knocked her weapon away from her hand. Her fighting spirit was similarly disarmed.

“From what I can tell, you had awakened, stood up, scanned your surroundings, and immediately elected to attack as soon as you had noticed us.”

His words were calm as so was she. Rather, it would be more apt to describe Kiryū as composed as he picked his words very carefully.

“What reasons do you have to attack us? Explain yourself.” “…” “I will not do act with violence if you were to explain yourself. However, keep your silence up and… I, if not we, will consider you as an enemy.”

The gravity and severity of Kiryū’s tone weighed down on Elizabeth, who now seemed to be holding back tears as she bit her lower lip. I felt not so much uncomfortable, as much of a sense of déjà vu, perhaps? His speech was obviously unusual, but the cold and logical manner of his words were… like from some game… and how he stared blankly into the distance front of him… hmm…

“… umm, just wanted to double-check, but Elizabeth, you’re a human being from Japan, right?”

I raised my hand as I spoke up, almost as if I were asking for permission.

“Kiryū—err, this man here—him and I are were working overtime in a Japanese firm and hospital, respectively, before we were transported here. Were you a person in a similar situation? Or perhaps, are you from this game—or rather, this parallel universe?”

My question was met with Elizabeth shaking her head and a scoff, directed at herself if anything.

“… no, I’m no NPC. I’m just a regular human being who was just working overtime as well. So, who am I this time? Elizabeth?” “What do you mean ‘this time’?”

Kiryū immediately picked up what she put down.

“You’re saying you’ve had this happen to you before?” “… yeah, I suppose. If I look like a character from a game and this world is some sort of incomprehensible game world, then… yes, something like this has happened to me before.”

She spoke slowly. But unlike before where she was calm, now she was deliberating on her choice of words.

“Your character is… Kiryū Sōichirō from Rainbow Dreams High School☆Fantasia, right? And you over there?” “Umm, I’m Sera, the heroine from DC2. I mean, I look like her is all.” “Of course. So… whose phone is that?”

She pointed towards the phone that had been tossed onto me. Just as I was about to respond to her though, Kiryū stopped me in my tracks, perhaps to prevent me carelessly divulging any information.

Elizabeth knew what was up just from that. The smirk on her face was sickening. She looked like… she was about to cry—like as if she was forced to do something unpleasant. It was an expression of someone who fights back against the odds, knowing full well how grim they are.

“… I see.  So, it’s yours, Sera.” “What does that have anything to do with anything?”

Perhaps he was being protective of me, Kiryū stepped in between Elizabeth and me as he answered her. Oh, no… did I mess up and say something wrong?

“As I have mentioned before, you attacked us all of a sudden. Anyone else would have been too stunned to do anything, but you knew what to do from the moment you looked at our surroundings,” he pointed around as he spoke, “The way you attacked us, you seemed like you knew exactly what you had to do.” “…” “That means you know what’s going on here and you know how to get out, don’t you?”

His sternness now was a stark contrast to the Kiryū just moments ago, stuffing herbs in his pockets and flailing his crowbar around. Any bystander could tell that he was being on guard.

“Heheh… you’ve hit the nail on the head. You could say I know a little something about this world.”

Elizabeth mockingly scoffed again. And as before, the tears in her eyes didn’t seem to be happy tears.

“… the girl is the ‘core’ of this game. For as long as she lives, this game will never end.”

■Villainess Princess

A trope most commonly associated with female-oriented web novels and seldomly seen in video games. Usually, before the evil rich princess character gains her riches, status, and men, she would have a tragic backstory or event. This usually elicits the player’s empathy, making them question why she is in the role of the antagonist. It is also perhaps the way she overcame her adversity was how the rich girl was led onto the path of the villainess.

Author’s notes

In the field of disaster medicine, it is taught that when triaging without a proper blood pressure meter, systolic blood pressure can be approximated by feeling which areas of the body still has a palpable pulse. A radial pulse should measure 80 mmH, 70 mmHg by femoral pulse, 60 mmHg by carotid pulse, etc. For example, if only the patient's carotid pulse is palpable, their pulse pressure should be about 60 mmHg. If a patient’s normal blood pressure is unknown, a rough rule of thumb would be to consider them to be in shock if if their systolic blood pressure reads under 90 mmHg. (The author's notes were translated without any prior knowledge or understanding of medicine. Please do not use it as any sort of reference or help. Apply critical thinking to anything you read anywhere.)

contents: /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /next/

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#Average Translations #AvgTL #osm #light novels #ln #web novels #wn #syosetu #一般の英訳 #ライトノベル #ラノベ #オンライン小説 #オンラインノベル #小説家になろう #Crowbar Nurse #CBN #threehyphens #isekai #バールナース #異世界

[corystssides]

Roommates, Part 4

Words: 1464

Summary: Roman gives Patton all the details now that he’s back.

Warnings: second-hand embarrassment, probably, talking about one-night stands, mentions of a couple gay stereotypes, speculating about other people’s  orientations, betting, mentions of arguing, I believe that’s it but let me know.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Roman was headed back from the communal showers when he saw Logan emerge from his own room and stride furiously toward him. He wondered if Logan was going to solve all of Virgil’s problems with varying degrees of annoyance. But no--he diverted left when they got to the staircase. He nearly ran into Patton, who was coming off the staircase, but he didn’t acknowledge either of them, almost as though he hadn’t even seen them.

Patton stared after Logan, bewildered, as Roman came to stand next to him. “I wonder what bee’s in his bonnet,” Roman said.

“I dunno. He looked really mad though. I hope he and Virgil aren’t fighting,” Patton said, bewilderment turning to concern.

“Do they even have reasons to fight? They’re ‘just roommates, not friends,’ after all,” Roman said, mocking Logan.

“I feel like that gives them even more reasons to fight, since friends are supposed to get along,” Patton said, dryly. “Whatever it is though, I hope they work it out, otherwise game night is gonna be really awkward.”

“Yeah...about that…” Roman said, trailing off with a grimace.

“What? Is dating Virgil going to interfere with game night? Game night is sacrosanct, Roman!”

“I don’t know what that means, Pat,” Roman said, starting to walk towards the dorm. He pulled out his keys and started to wiggle the dorm key into its lock. “But no, dating Virgil isn’t going to interfere with game night,” he got the door unlocked and swept into the room, quietly adding, “uhh, especially since we’re uh, not, dating.”

The door closed behind Patton, which was good, because Roman would have died on the spot if the entire dorm could have heard him say, “Oh my gosh, you had a one-night stand with Virgil?!”

“Patton!” Roman squeaked, gesturing to the wall that they shared with Virgil and Logan, as though to say he is right there!

“Sorry,” Patton said, and then, in a whisper, “You had a one-night stand with Virgin Mobile, though?”

“Okay, first of all, I don’t like the judgement in your tone--” Roman said, already putting on the Heathers soundtrack so his neighbor couldn’t hear whatever ridiculous thing Patton said next.

“No no, that’s not what I meant to sound like!” Patton said. “Of course, expression of sexuality is totally normal and should be encouraged--”

“Patton.”

“--even if, uh, it doesn’t take a necessarily traditional route--”

“Patton!”

“--and as long as everything was consensual, I mean, there’s totally nothing wrong with that, I didn’t mean to make it sound like--”

“Patton!” Patton shut up, and Roman ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “We didn’t--we’re not dating, we didn’t have a one-night stand, nothing---nothing like that, okay? I asked Virgil to help me with my math since Logan wasn’t there and it’s positively incomprehensible, and then we were watching Lion King at like one am, and Virgil fell asleep, and I didn’t know if I had permission to sleep on your bed in situations like that, and I didn’t want to text and ask at one in the morning, so I just didn’t, okay? It was completely platonic sleeping together--not sleeping together--just--we were sleeping, just sleeping, not doing anything but sleeping, and it happened to be in the same bed, and--and that’s it, nothing else. No feelings towards each other, whatsoever, except, y’know, like friendship.”

“Well, you could have fooled me!” Patton said cheerfully.

“Patton what in the name of the Bard Himself is that supposed to mean?” Roman asked with a glare.

“Nothing,” Patton said, smile dropping, “I’m sorry. If you say there’s no attraction between the two of you, then there’s no attraction between the two of you.”

“Great,” Roman said. “As long as we’re clear on that.”

“Totally clear,” Patton said. “One thing that’s not clear, though: how is this going to make game night awkward?”

“Well, with the way Virgil sprinted out this morning, I have a feeling he’s, uh, pretty embarrassed about what happened. Heteros tend to do that, you know, when anything kinda gay happens.”

“Heteros?” Patton asked disbelievingly. “Virgil? Straight? Would you like to borrow my glasses?”

“I think you need your prescription checked,” Roman said, rolling his eyes. Now that the topic had turned lighter, he made his way towards the dresser, since he really should put clothes on instead of just a bathrobe. “Have you seen the way he acts towards me? Every time he sees me, he gets, like, this look of fear in his eyes or something. And until we spent the whole night arguing about coin flip problems, he wouldn’t even be within like a yard of me. It’s like ‘no homo’ deluxe. I’m just the only gay he knows about, obviously, because of the theater gay stereotype, which is why he acts normal around you.”

“Listen, Roman, the way he acts around you is like...the total opposite of ‘no homo.’ If anyone is an oblivious straight around here, it’s clearly Logan.”

Roman pulled out a tank top and a floral print shirt to put over it. “Patton, nobody owns that many NASA shirts unless they’re gay or literally living on the International Space Station. You’ve clearly been deciev--wait, what? What do you mean Virgil acts like the opposite of ‘no homo’?”

Patton gave a knowing smirk, picked up the note he’d left for Roman that morning and waved it around a bit. “You said there’s no attraction between the two of you, so there’s no attraction, but I’m just saying there’s a reason why it was so easy for me to assume that you two were dating now. Well, besides the fact that you two were literally in bed together.”

“Are you trying to imply something?” Roman asked, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans.

“I don’t really imply things, being straightforward is usually the best bet, but if I was implying something, I’d probably be implying that we’re not the only useless gays who don’t know how to ask someone on a date. But I don’t imply things. So you definitely shouldn’t act upon subtext like that.”

“Very subtle,” Roman said. “But first off, My Chemical Bromance isn’t my type, second off, I 100% doubt he even likes me in a neighborly way, and third off, not everyone in the world is gay, Patton. And besides, four gays in neighboring dorms who are not part of the gay residential community? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“We are part of the gayest generation,” Patton said. “Only half of us identify as straight.”

“Well, there you go, looks like neither Logan nor Virgil are gay then, sorry.”

“That’s not how statistics works and you know it,” Patton said.

Roman raised his hands up in a mocking surrender. “You’re right, you’re right. If we use statistics, there’s even less of a chance all four of us are gay. 50% chance, it’s exactly like a coin flip problem, which means the chance that all four of us are gay…” Roman pulled out his phone and pulled up the calculator. “...a little over six percent. Which means super unlikely.”

Patton’s smug look had yet to be removed. “Bet?”

“The numbers are on my side.”

“I’m not confident in your math skills. Bet?”

“Fine. Sure. Fifty bucks says that one or both of our neighbors is straight, and it’s probably Virgil.”

“Fifty bucks it is then!” Patton said, cheerfully. “No outright asking them though. They have to volunteer the information. We don’t want to put them in a situation where, if they were gay, they’d lie because they’re uncomfortable.”

“Great,” Roman said. “Can’t wait to be fifty bucks richer.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they cross the road,” Patton said teasingly. “In the meantime though, you should talk to Virgil about last night, and resolve the awkwardness between you two. Game night is Wednesday, after all.”

“Yeah…” Roman said, flopping backwards onto his bed. “I need to come up with a way to do that first. And since we are on the topic, if something like that happens again with anybody else, would you mind terribly if I sleep on your bed for the night?”

“Not at all!” Patton said.

“Fantastic,” Roman said. “Hopefully I won’t need it, but thanks.”

Patton grabbed a sweater and put it on. Then, he turned back towards the door. “Have fun talking to Virgil. I’m gonna go find Logan.”

“Why?”

“I want to find out if he and Virgil are fighting.”

Roman made a noise of amusement. “You can’t force them to get along.”

“I’m gonna make them friends if it’s the last thing I do,” Patton said. “I will fight them! With friendship!”

“Okay Patton.”

“See you later. Good luck!”

“Same to you.”

~

Next

#patton sanders #roman sanders #roommates #my fics #wow two chapters in a week? absurd #i can't tell if these two are ooc or not #they're so difficult to write well lol #announcer voice ''will roman and virgil resolve the tension between them? #will logan and virgil ever get along? #Is it really possible for four gays to end up as neighbors with the ''random'' roommate process? #How slow of a burn is this actually going to be? #find out next week on dragonball z!'' #tbh this is why i shouldn't be allowed to write tags on things lol #published: jan 16 2018

[minijenn]

Ending Of Sock Opera Part 1 Translated Into Latin and back

This starts right when Dipper shakes Bill’s hand 

enjoy

His own strength, and absolutely incredible cases of invasion, or of the very surprised at the sight of a precious stone in front of him will not be reserved. In fact, the last thing that he had never had hoped for, it was that he gestures with his hands in the the Big Dipper and alight with the fire in his hand, Bill PART OF A WHOLE when he launched a heatless and blue, and that I have just said, with the consent of with living faith. “Big Dipper, 500 …” Steven hardly inspired horrified bewilderment, his eyes wide and pulled him to his feet absently. “What’s - W;

"Steven! I can not explain!” The Big Dipper efforts to rationalize, even if, perhaps, I had before, and will cut him off, Bill rejoiced in having, rending it.

“Glad you could join us Rosebud” favorably received, that the young man had no plans interfered with the triumph of twisted edge tone gem. “And you’re just in time to pick up my promised CHILD pine tree, here I am now … let’s here Eenie, Meenie the youngest is … "he trailed off, her eyes, turning a dark shade of red to warn looking boots.” YOU! “

"Wha-” Pegasus with a sharp cut off his breathing air with a sudden pain tug. Quickly, ye are moving away in the tears of the abyss of the stern resistance of the attracting almost not consider the view of the deep roots, as it were, seemed desirous of nothing else of that to look for the violation of the essence of the sinful background of their ensnare the internet. And it will not be what it was as soon as I saw that, I ask, he cut it with the force of doing a just thing out of it, since we no longer feel completely nothing at all.

“Big Dipper” That was the first time and having to shout to the Big Dipper Steven shook off that something was gravely wrong.

“How W’re going in-?! "When he was shocked that bald Pegasus said it has looked as if they are occupied with the body. I grew up in alarm contact is reached with the clear form only to be passed through it, confirming that it is now immaterial so incomprehensible.” What is it that you do not?! is my body? “

And now, not only to see the Big Dipper, Bill, it was assumed to be the guilty of all those whom he may take them, that is, that it is never to be found. A dream of the devil is mad enough to go to the other side of the answer of the chilling But as soon as the sound of the began, and that Atticus was coming out of the mouth of the strange, frighteningly enough, and all the places.

It does not have the least idea of ​​them, it is a question, but it is very careful and you were afraid of the same, Steven and bind him to the land of Bootes’ s manically strives to Valerius, they began to pick some heads of the laughter of the recent to have stolen the body, the body is only to stand still almost. When Leo’s eyes and gasping, Stephen, and their shared appallment slits black into white, yellow, different standards have now become like a demon, he appropriated this vessel.

Little book, which he says has nothing to do for the first time: but on behalf of the laptop just to pluck when there is nothing to see but laughed heartily, wondering while he is near at last hit the twistedly the countdown to zero. At the same time the mainstream grab images of the Pegasus and stone seats near the right but again before tossing it wants to protect the wildly as harshly stepped on it, breaking into nothing more than randomly burned to bits rounds. Add insult demon pictures every word and then happily into small scraps Unknown People were lost and dropped on the left. This is clear by now, due to lack Snickers only that Bill was taking sadistic delight in seeing a fool looks over Sylvia is immaterial face because he knew all the time that they just lost everything: the laptop, the secrets of the pictures and the ability of the Stone of help to the body self. "We’re sorry, kid” Demon remorselessly smiled readily moved with the boys in the procession and desecrate nightmarish developers to develop just as long chilling moment of their time. “But now you have a dollar!”

#universe falls #sumbission #submission #ya;'ll remember that part of sock opera when bill gave dipper a dollar #cause i remember #it was my favorite part of that chapter #jfc these translastions

[noble-royalty]

Drafty draft

The air outside was warm and pleasant, even gentle at some extent. Eva breathed deeply, swinging her legs in the air rather childishly. From the very top of Wei Company’s building the glimmering city of her teenage years looked almost pitiful. It couldn’t compare to the beauty of Oban, nor was it as breathtaking as the Holy City of Dol Eva had had the luck to visit. Just a regular human city, like any other on Earth. Skyscrapers, shinning lights, cars and a few lone, scrappy buildings. Eva laughed to herself, taking some more sips of the beer that rested in her right hand. Somehow, such sentimental thoughts always seemed to fill her mind whenever she found time to come here. This rooftop was very similar to the one she had spent time on at Stern. Not as if Eva wanted to remember the place, but the habit of sitting on roofs and just enjoying the view was something she no longer could get rid of. In fact, initially Eva had planned to hang out with some co-workers at the bar, but soon found herself bored of their company. Mostly because the majority of them had chosen to talk about some love troubles, which only made Eva roll her eyes. It felt like the only topic men could discuss under the influence of alcohol. Eva couldn’t blame them, though. They lived simple lives, following the common, habitual path. She, on the other hand, had been flying across the whole galaxy and kicking Crogs out of the invaded planets. Of course, not by herself. Her long-known, close friends had been helping her. Aikka was one of them.

 Eva’s lips curled into a wide grin. She used to be literally crazy about him. There were many reasons any woman would. Aikka’s sole manners was something. Not to mention, that affectionate smile of his could really make one’s head spin. Lastly, Aikka was undeniably handsome. Possibly even more handsome than all the males she had seen in the life. Nevertheless, it didn’t change the fact Aikka was engaged to a Nourasian princess from a wealthy family. It had been arranged marriage, sure, but back in the day it had crushed all of her teenage dreams and hopes for something more than a good friendship with him. Eva let herself muse about the delicate topic a bit, before focusing on the drink. There was really no use pondering about what could have been. She was glad they had at least stayed in touch and remained great pals. (Eva could even call Aikka her best friend at this point). Suddenly the door behind her cracked and a familiar figure of the prince appeared in her sight. The famous saying worked just fine. Eva had to think about him, and here he was.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Aikka enquired, having approached the spot where Eva was currently sitting all by herself. He had been seeking her company for a while since they returned. As polite and courteous as ever. Eva moved to the side, slapping her hand against the cold surface as an invitation. There was more than enough space for the two of them. “Nah, I don’t mind, make yourself comfortable,” she flashed him a friendly smile. While Eva honestly wondered how in the world he had managed to figure out her whereabouts, his company didn’t bother her in the slightest. She felt fully comfortable around Aikka (despite formerly being in love with him) and it was a mutual feeling. “It had been quite a tiresome day I must say. Although looking at you one wouldn’t say you just returned from a dangerous mission,” he teased, taking notice of the empty beer cane next to her. In fact, there was a whole package behind her, but Aikka couldn’t see it.

 He tended to refrain from drinking any alcohol, so, unlike Eva, his hands were almost completely empty (not counting the little bottle of water he had taken from the space ship). “I’ll take it as a compliment, my dear prince,” Eva winked, giving his shoulder a nudge, “C’mon, wash that serious expression off your face and drink with me.” Having said that, Eva threw him one of the canes in a smooth movement. Aikka caught it. “You know more than anyone that I don’t drink Eva...” Aikka hesitated, observing the colorful design. “But if you wish for it so much, I will be glad to comply with your request.” He opened the cane with a characteristic ‘whoosh’ sound and let himself try it. A grimace of dislike touched the royal features. The taste was quite bitter and not something Aikka was used to drinking. He preferred far sweeter beverages, mostly made from specific fruits that grew on Nourasia during the sunny months. Nevertheless, Aikka made another sip, hoping it would get better. Eva was watching the whole process with fascination. “Oh, that’s my Aikka! Taking challenges and being a real man,” Eva teased him back, curling one arm around his neck in a friendly manner a moment later. To think that she was too shy to even hold his hand at Oban. Funny, how the things have changed since then.

 Aikka didn’t move, used to such physical contact from her side. Yes, he was officially a married man, but he felt absolutely nothing towards the Nourasian princess chosen by the Court. He even refrained from touching her in their private time. With Eva, on the other hand, he himself desired to be near her as much as possible, even if their interaction never went beyond the friendship line. (At least he believed so). The brief moment of silence didn’t last long though, broken by a sonorous laughter. Blinking in confusion, Aikka looked at Eva. His hand with a cane stopped a few centimeters away from the mouth (He had actually decided to drink it to the very end not to offend her.) “Pardon me. Have I said something funny?” Aikka was a bit taken aback by the sudden change. “No, I mean- Just before you came I was thinking about how I used to have this huge crush on you,” she laughed, waving her hand in the air. The light blush touched Eva’s cheeks, “Like I was this fifteen-year-old teenager, you know, and then you appeared out of nowhere so dashing and handsome like a prince charming, well, yes, you are a prince, I mean I was bewitched by you and all this. Typical teenager behavior I still feel a bit ashamed of…”

Aikka’s brows knitted, he wasn’t quite getting what exactly she meant by ‘crush’. Nor was he realizing the reason for Eva’s loud laughter. Having noticed the incomprehension of her companion, Eva only laughed more, scratching the back of her neck. “Ahah, sorry, sometimes I forget you don’t know the slang- I mean, how you say that, I was in love with you, like romantic attraction of sorts. Teenagers, they are so sentimental. I had to tell you sooner, but yeah, ha-ha, kind of how it is,” she attempted to explain, feeling slightly embarrassed. A dreadful silence established between them for a few seconds. And then Aikka choked, coughing loudly. Eva froze, observing how the prince’s dark skin turned almost purple. The great amount of beer got spit on the blue spacesuit, dirtying it with large brown stains. Dashing and handsome, huh? Eva almost regretted blurting such a thing out. “Hey, Aikka, are you okay?” Eva asked, crooking the head to the side in slight bewilderment. Aikka didn’t respond, attempting to cover up his embarrassment. The realization hit him so hard that the whole world seemed to stop for a while. She used to find him romantically attractive. Memories of Oban and Alwas flashed in front of his eyes. Everything fell into place - her red face, the worry and those sincere smiles. It wasn’t just simple friendliness as Aikka had thought. Eva, the woman he had and still viewed as a strong, fierce and extremely attractive one had actually harbored such feelings for him. It wasn’t a dream was it?

“Hey, don’t get worked up because of it, it’s not like you liked me this way, so...” Eva gave him another light nudge, trying to ease the mood (Oh dear, had she just made it awkward?). “And what if I did?” Aikka’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible, as he rubbed his face with hands. The large blush hadn’t disappeared at all, however. “You mean...” Eva said, stunned. ”You mean that you liked me too? Like you viewed me as a possible girlfriend?” Aikka gave a short, hesitant nod instead of an answer. “Oh wow, I feel flattered- What a funny coincidence,” Eva laughed again, taking a handkerchief from the pocket and handling it to him. “Here, wipe your face, you have beer everywhere.” Truly, Eva didn’t know what to do with this information. It felt pleasant to know that her feelings hadn’t been one-sided in the end, but still it barely changed a thing. She merely hoped that her little unintended confession wouldn’t put an end to their friendship. (Especially to this special feeling of comfort she had around Aikka). Although…maybe teasing him a bit isn’t that much of a bad idea, after all? It could be fun. “I am sorry, I just- I was sure you have never viewed me this way,” Aikka breathed out huskily, cleaning his suit and face from the sticky liquid. Having finished the procedure, he hesitatingly turned around to give the handkerchief back. “Thank you.”

Suddenly Eva’s phone rang, strident sound making both of them flinch. Not without a grumble, Eva flipped it open to see Don Wei’s face on the flashy screen. She didn’t even have to answer to know that her father required her immediate presence. “Seems like I have to go, there is some urgent stuff needing my help,” Eva sighed, then leaned closer to Aikka and, much to his shock, gave him a soft, yet long peck on the lips. “See you later tonight, my prince,” she smirked, mischief sparkling in the eyes for a brief moment. (His face was priceless. It was worth giving him her first kiss). Aikka’s face turned even redder, as Eva was walking away. His fingers touched the lips in some daze. Did she just kiss me? Aikka groaned, feelings as if his head was about to burst. He was confused with this sudden romantic affection. Was she just joking around? “Eva, please, don’t do such confusing things. Otherwise, I may fall for you all over again…” Yet those quiet murmurs didn’t reach her and merely dissolved in the evening air.

[racingtoaredlight]

The Private Life of Burger King

The last of the customers disappeared into the smoke and the thudding of their cankles receded into the grey distance. The smoke hung on the land. It drifted across the setting sun, which lay like an open wound across the western sky. In the ringing silence that followed the battle, very, very few, pitifully few cries could be heard from the bloody, mangled wreckage on the parking lot.

Ghostlike figures, stunned with horror, emerged from the Popeyes, stumbled and then ran forward crying - women, searching for their husbands, brothers, fathers, lovers first amongst the dying and then amongst the dead. The flickering light by which they searched was that of their burning village, which had that afternoon officially become part of the Whopper Empire.

The Whoppers.

From out of the wastes of central Florida they had swept, a savage force for which the world was utterly unprepared. They swept like a wildly wielded scythe, hacking, slashing, obliterating all that lay in their path, and calling it Have It Your Way.

And throughout the lands that feared them now or would come to fear them, no name inspired more terror than that of their leader, Burger King. The greatest of the fast food warlords, he stood alone, revered as a God among warriors, marked out by the cold light of his grey green eyes, the savage furrow of his brow, and the fact that he could beat the shit out of any of them.

Later that night the moon rose, and by its light a small party of corporate attorneys carrying torches rode quietly out from the Whopper encampment that sprawled over nearby hill. A casual observer would not have noticed anything remarkable about the man who rode at their centre, muffled in a heavy cloak, tense, hunched forward on his company horse as if weighed down by a heavy burden, because a casual observer would have been dead.

The band rode a few miles through the moonlit strip malls, picking their way along the paths until they came at last to a small clearing, and here they reined their horses in and waited on their leader.

He moved his horse slowly forward and surveyed the small group of Popeyes employees that stood huddled together in the centre of the clearing trying very hard at short notice to look deserted.

Hardly any smoke at all was rising from the primitive deep fryer ventilation stacks. Virtually no light appeared at the windows, and not a sound could be heard from any of them save that of a small cashier saying "Shhhhh....."

For a moment a strange flame-broiled fire seemed to flash from the eyes of the Whopper leader. A heavy deadly kind of a thing that you could hardly call a smile drew itself through his fine wispy beard. The strange kind of smiley thing would signify (briefly) to anyone who was stupid enough to look that there was nothing a Whopper warlord liked better after a day hacking people to bits than a big night out.

The door flew open. A Whopper warrior surged into the hut like a savage wind. Two workers ran screaming to their owner who was cowering wide eyed in the corner of the tiny room.

The warrior hurled his briefcase on to the table. The last surviving man from the kitchen staff, a grey and aged grandfather stepped bravely forward, eyes flashing. With a flash of his fryer basket the Whopper whipped off the old man's head which trundled across the floor and fetched up leaning rakishly against a table leg. The old man's body stood tensely for a moment, not knowing what to think. As it began slowly, majestically to topple forward, Burger King strode in and pushed it brusquely aside. He surveyed the happy domestic scene and bestowed a grim kind of smile on it. Then he walked over to a large booth and sat in it, testing it first for comfort. When he was satisfied with it he heaved heavy sigh and sat back.

The warrior grabbed at the terrified woman, pushed her side dishes roughly aside and brought her, trembling in front of the mighty Burger King.

She was middle aged and pretty, with cropped black hair. Her bosom heaved and her face was stark with fright.

Burger King regarded her with a slow contemptuous look.

"Does she know," he said at length in a low, dead voice, "who I am?"

"You... you are the mighty Burger King!" cried the woman.

Burger King's eyes fixed themselves on hers.

"Does she know," he hissed, "what I want of her?"

"I... I'll do anything for you, O Burger King," stammered the woman, "but spare my biscuits!"

Burger King said quietly, "Then begin." His eyes dropped and he gazed distantly into the fire.

Nervously, shaking with fear the woman stepped forward and laid a tentative pale hand on Burger King's arm.

The corporate attorney smacked her hand away.

"Not that!" he barked.

The woman started back, aflutter. She realized she would have to do better. Still shaking, she knelt down on the floor and started gently to push apart the Burger King's knees.

"Stop that!" roared the corporate attorney and shoved her violently backwards. Bewilderment began to mix with the terror in her eyes as she cowered on the floor.

"Come on” snapped the corporate attorney, "ask him what kind of day he's had."

"What...?" she wailed, "I don't... I don't understand what..."

The corporate attorney jabbed the corner of his briefcase against her throat.

"I said ask him," he hissed, "what kind of day he's had!"

The woman gasped with pain and incomprehension. The briefcase jabbed again. "Say it!"

"Er, what sort ...of... er, day..." she said in a hesitant, strangled squeak, "have you...had?"

"Dear!" hissed the corporate attorney, "say dear!"

Her eyes bulged in horror at the briefcase.

"What sort of day have sort of day have you, had..., dear?" she asked querulously.

Burger King looked up briefly, wearily.

"Oh, same as usual," he said, "violent."

He gazed back at the fire again.

"Right," said the corporate attorney to the woman, "go on."

She relaxed very slightly. She seemed to have passed some kind of test. Perhaps it would be straightforward from now on and she could at least get it over with. She moved nervously forward and started to caress the Burger King again.

"I said stop that!" the corporate attorney bellowed. He pulled her face close to his and breathed a lungful of chicken fries and Whooper fumes at her, which failed to cheer her up because it reminded her sharply of her late lamented husband who used to do the same thing to her every night. She sobbed.

"Be nice to him!" he snarled, "ask him how his work's going!"

She gawped at him. The nightmare was continuing. All she wanted to do was make spicy chicken tenders.

"Just say to him," the corporate attorney snarled again, "'How's the work going, dear?" He shoved her forward.

"How...how's the work going... dear?" she yelped miserably.

The corporate attorney shook her. "Put some affection into it!" he roared.

She sobbed again. "How...how's the work going... dear?" she yelped miserably again, but this time with a kind of pathetic pout at the end.

The mighty Burger King sighed.

"Oh, not too bad I suppose," he said in a world weary tone. "We swept through Alabama a bit. That was in the morning, then this afternoon was mainly pricing real estate for new locations, though there was a bit of bloodshed around half four. What sort of day have you had?"

So saying, he pulled a couple of scroll maps from out of his furs and started to study them abstractedly by the light of the Popeyes sign.

The Whopper warrior pulled a glowing basket out of the fryer and advanced menacingly on the woman.

"Tell him!" Go on! "

She leapt back with a shriek.

"Tell him!"

"Er, my husband and father were fired!" she said.

"Oh yes, dear?" said Burger King absently, not looking up from his maps.

"Spicy thighs were burnt!"

"Oh, er, really?"

"Well, er, that's about it, really... er.."

The corporate attorney advanced on her with the fryer basket again.

"Oh, and I was tortured a bit!" shrieked the woman.

Burger King looked up at her. "What?" he said, vaguely, "Sorry dear, I was just reading this..."

"Right," said the corporate attorney, "nag him!"

"What?"

"Just say, 'Look Burger King, put that thing away while I'm talking to you. Here I am, spend all day slaving over a hot...'"

"He'll transfer me to the Popeyes in Libya!"

"You’ll end up in a Popeyes in Syria you if you don't."

"I can't stand it!" cried the woman and collapsed on the floor. She flung herself on the great Burger King's feet. "Don't torment me," she wailed, "if you mean to wear our Jerry Rice chicken wing helmet just do it, but don't..."

The great Burger King surged to his feet and glowered down at her. "No," he muttered savagely, "you'd only laugh - you're just like all the others."

He stormed out of the hut and rode off into the night in such a rage that almost forgot to burn down the Dairy Queen next door before he left.

We will update this post with further developments on the merger talks between Burger King and Popeyes as they develop.

And just be happy I left out all the dog burning stuff.

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