#presumably completely unaware of my torment

[yesimwriting]

Dying Starlight

A/n: i dont think an audience for this exists?? ik it’s not shadow and bone related, but ive been reading red queen and i wanted to try writing maven and ive been playing with this idea. umm...on the off-chance that there is an audience for this i do think of this as more of a series but i’ll probably end up deleting this lol 

(Series?) Summary: reader is a childhood friend of Mare’s who isn’t officially part of the Scarlet Guard but gets captured by Maven. As a prisoner, she feels like her mind is being messed with as she begins to see a more human side of Maven. The new King tells himself the only thing he sees in her is that she’s a way to get to Mare, but something about her genuiness is infectious. 

-- 

Irony twists things. Right now, the irony that my last thoughts might be about how I wish I had been trusted with a suicide pill twist my impending doom into something almost comical. I’d laugh, but I’d rather not startle the rats in my cell. This has been their home for presumably years, but I’ve only been down here a few hours. 

I scratch the back of my wrist, staring at tired stone walls like they’ve done something to me. I wish I knew what time it was. How long have I been down here? How long has it been since I was separated from Mare? An hour? Three?Each passing minute strikes me like a bullet, but I can’t count them. I’ve never had a talent for accurately feeling the passage of time.

My head aches, frustration and dread tangling themselves in the pit of my stomach. Mare told me the Queen can search through someone’s mind, seeing memories even they can’t remember. What will they do when they see I know virtually nothing? What will happen when they see how close Mare and I truly are? i can’t do anything and the unknown hurts more than my bruised rib. 

The sound of the heavy door that divides the luxury of the castle from the wasteland of the cells creaks. I only let my arms flinch, moving from my side to wrap defensively around my stomach. Dull footsteps echo down the pathway that lead to the cell I’m in. I don’t cringe, not even when the sound of walking stops. 

I was not born into a rich family, but I was born into a proud one. Fear was practically a criminal act in my household. I’ve been trained to suppress all signs of weakness. My eyes don’t leave the stone wall, I mentally trace the pattern of a long crack in a specific rock. It reminds me of the slope of the Big Dipper. 

Will I ever see stars again? The answer leaves a sharp pain in my chest. 

“Mare told me about you.” 

The words jar me, my stomach dropping in revulsion. Mare had trusted him, and here he stands--successful because he’s a traitor. I know what it’s like to be the most overlooked sibling and to crave to change that. I know what it’s like to want to succeed more than you want air in your lungs, but I don’t think I’d ever betray someone. I like to think that there’s a line even the monster in me won’t cross. 

I don’t look at him, partially out of an attempt to protest and partially because I’m afraid of what I’ll see. “She might have mentioned you in passing.” 

His scoff is ridiculous. “She didn’t lie about your sense of humor.” 

That almost makes me wince. His words are too close, too personal. It’s like he knows me. I turn my. head, ready to cut through the uneasy beginning to get to the miserable middle if it brings me to the end faster. 

“You’re here to torment me, not make small talk.” Turning had been a mistake. I regret it instantly. His expression is unforgiving--cold, sharp, and made up of only angles. But that’s not why I stare. I did not expect him to be objectively attractive. The fine slope of his nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the ice blue of his eyes. I need to snap out of this mindset. I’m sure his beauty will not be so distracting when he’s burning me. “Though some might consider that the same thing.” 

He scoffs again, the sound dry. The sneer of his lips does not diminish his attractiveness. The fact makes me loathe him. “I wonder if you’ll still be so prone to humor after you’ve been broken--any information of worth extracted from your thoughts.” 

“Let me save everyone the trouble and just tell you everything that I know now.” My back straightens despite the pain in my ribs. I look pathetic, dirty and in a torn dress. He’s regal, dressed in fine, all black clothing. “I know that Mare wanted to kill you today, I know that she needed a distraction and that her distraction needed to be expendable, which is why I’m sitting in front of you.” I squeeze my hands together awkwardly, a bit of genuine irritation rolling in my stomach. “That’s literally all I know, I’m not even part of the Guard.” I scratch the back of my wrist. If I were him, I wouldn’t believe that, but I’m being honest. How pitiful can one person be that they’re worth more disconnected from the group they work for than as an actual member? “You don’t take that kind of risk for someone that’s only skill set is in thought.” 

I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but I don’t regret it. Maybe he’ll think that my story is so pathetic it has to be true. “You have to know more than that.” 

“The Scarlet Guard only reaches out to me on a need-to-know basis, and anything worthwhile to you is something I clearly didn’t need to know.” In a way, I’m glad I can’t give him anything. “So are you going to kill me with a bullet or do you prefer more flamboyant executions?” My death should be plain. I am human completely--I bleed red and I have no powers. “I do think anything more than a simple death is more trouble than I’m worth.” 

His lips press together oddly, something beneath his expression tightening. “You don’t think your dearest friend will return for you?”

The sarcasm in his voice sparks something in me I thought only my sister could. “I think she has a lot of responsibilities and I wouldn’t blame her for having priorities.” 

His eyebrows draw together. “I think you’re painfully unaware of how attached to you she is.” I press my lips into a thin line. “She’ll come for you.”

Something selfish in me hopes that he’s right. No one has ever wanted me enough to come back for me. My mother wanted perfect daughters that knew how to only think in terms of trapping men with stable careers. My sister did it, but I could never manage, and to my mother that made me useless. 

“If you believe it,” I mumble beneath my breath.

I don’t know if he hears me. I can’t bring myself to care if he did. “For your sake, you better not have lied to me.” 

My back relaxes against the raspy wall, fighting down a grimace as the motion irritates my rib injury. “Cross my heart, Your Highness.” 

I watch him carefully, his expression turning into something much more grim. “A King is referred to as His Majesty.” 

“My father was a prominent war general and my mother only wanted daughters she could use to social climb.” I fight down a grin. “I know what I said.” 

His expression darkens into something bone chilling. “I am the King and you’ll refer to me as such or deal with even less pleasant circumstances.” 

I fight against the urge to cower, picturing Mare’s strength in my veins. There’s weakness in everyone, and if I squint I can see the thin cracks in him. “You have everything--the crown, the power, the support of the people, and it’s still not enough. You won and you still feel like you’re competing.” 

“You don’t know anything,” he seethes, practically growling. 

I shouldn’t press him, but the more he reacts, the more weaknesses are revealed. “I know what it’s like to have a sibling that’s the sun, and no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you’re always trapped in a shadow.” 

The lighting makes his eyes look almost glazed over. “My mother will be here soon and the truth will be revealed.” 

He can run from me, but not the truth. Cal has nothing, he has everything--the father that never cared for him is dead, and yet he’s still trapped. Our similarities hurt me more than my physical injuries. 

Maven turns, his gaze moving off of me feels like the removal of heavy shackles. “It would do you well to not press me. You’re worth as much whole as you are broken.” 

There’s the strangest hint of something more to his voice. I wonder if he’s speaking to more than just me. “You haven’t won until that voice in your head telling you that you’re not enough is silenced.”

“You’re a powerless girl who isn’t even wanted by a dying cause and couldn’t find a husband to drag her above the poverty line. You know nothing about me, and if you keep pretending I’ll slaughter you in front of your dear friend.” 

He leaves without another word. I fall asleep with my back against the wall and my ribs aching. 

#red queen #red queen x reader #maven #maven calore #maven calore x reader #maven calore imagine #red queen imagine #mare barrow #cal calore #bookboyfriend #book boyfriend x reader

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The Counterfeit Marquise

A literary fairy tale published in 1697, presumably by Charles Perrault and François-Timoléon De Choisy (who spent a considerable amount of his life in drag, just like the protagonists of this story).

Translated by Ranjit Bolt, featured in Warner’s Wonder tales: six stories of enchantment (1996).

Cw: gender disphoria.

The Marquis de Banneville had been married barely six months to a beautiful and highly intelligent young heiress when he was killed in battle at Saint-Denis. His widow was profoundly affected. They had still been very much in love and no domestic quarrels had disturbed their happiness. She did not allow herself an excess of grief. With none of the usual lamentations, she withdrew to one of her country houses to weep at her leisure, without constraint or ostentation. But no sooner had she arrived than it was pointed out to her, on the basis of irrefutable evidence, that she was carrying a child. At first she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing a little replica of the man she had loved so much. She was careful to preserve her husband’s precious remains, and took every possible step to keep his memory alive. Her pregnancy was very easy, but as her time drew near she was tormented by a host of anxieties. She pictured a soldier’s gruesome death in its full horror. She imagined the same fate for the child she was expecting and, unable to reconcile herself to such a distressing idea, prayed a thousand times to heaven to send her a daughter who, by virtue of her sex, would be spared so cruel a fate. She did more: she made up her mind that, if nature did not answer her wishes, she would correct her. She took all the necessary precautions and made the midwife promise to announce to the world the birth of a girl, even if it was a boy.

Thanks to these measures the business was effected smoothly. Money settles everything. The marquise was absolute mistress in her château and word soon spread that she had given birth to a girl, though the child was actually a boy. It was taken to the curé who, in good faith, christened it Marianne. The wet nurse was also won over. She brought little Marianne up and subsequently became her governess. She was taught everything a girl of noble birth should know: dancing; music; the harpsichord. She grasped everything with such precocity her mother had no choice but to have her taught languages, history, even modern philosophy. There was no danger of so many subjects becoming confused in a mind where everything was arranged with such remarkable orderliness. And what was extraordinary, not to say delightful, was that so fine a mind should be found in the body of an angel. At twelve her figure was already formed. True, she had been a little constricted from infancy with an iron corset, to widen her hips and lift her bosom. But this had been a complete success and (though I shall not describe her until her first journey to Paris) she was already a very beautiful girl. She lived in blissful ignorance, quite unaware that she was not a girl. She was known in the province as la belle Marianne. All the minor gentry roundabout came to pay court to her, believing she was a rich heiress. She listened to them all and answered their gallantries with great wit and frankness. My heart, she said to her mother one day, isn’t made for provincials. If I receive them kindly it’s because I want to please people.

Be careful, my child, said the marquise: you’re talking like a coquette.

Ah, maman, she answered, let them come. Let them love me as much as they like. Why should you worry as long as I don’t love them?

The marquise was delighted to hear this, and gave her complete licence with these young men who, in any case, never strayed beyond the bounds of decorum. She knew the truth and so feared no consequences. La belle Marianne would study till noon and spend the rest of the day at her toilette.

After devoting the whole morning to my mind, she would say gaily, It’s only right to give the afternoon to my eyes, my mouth, all this little body of mine.

Indeed, she did not begin dressing till four. Her suitors would usually have gathered by then, and would take pleasure in watching her toilette. Her chambermaids would do her hair, but she would always add some new embellishment herself. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in great curls. The fire in her eyes and the freshness of her complexion were quite dazzling, and all this beauty was animated and enhanced by the thousand charming remarks that poured continually from the prettiest mouth in the world. All the young men around her adored her, nor did she miss any opportunity to increase that adoration. She would herself, with exquisite grace, put pendants in her ears – either of pearls, rubies or diamonds – all of which suited her to perfection. She wore beauty spots, preferably so tiny that one could barely see them with the naked eye and, if her complexion had not been so delicate and fine, could not have seen them at all. When putting them on she made a great show of consulting now one suitor, now another, as to which would suit her best. Her mother was overjoyed and kept congratulating herself on her ingenuity. He is twelve years old, she would say to herself under her breath. Soon I should have had to think about sending him to the Military Academy, and in two years he would have followed his poor father. Whereupon, transported with affection, she would go and kiss her darling daughter, and would let her indulge in all the coquetries that she would have condemned in anyone else’s child.

This is how matters stood when the Marquise de Banneville was obliged to go to Paris to deal with a lawsuit that one of her neighbours had taken out against her. Naturally she took her daughter with her, and soon realised that a pretty young girl can be useful when it comes to making petitions. The first person she went to see was her old friend the Comtesse d’Alettef,11 to ask for her advice and her protection for her daughter. The comtesse was struck by Marianne’s beauty and so enjoyed kissing her that she did so several times. She took on herself the task of chaperoning her, and looked after her when her mother was busy with her suit, promising to keep her amused. Marianne could not have fallen into better hands. The comtesse was born to enjoy life. She had managed to separate herself from an inconvenient husband. Not that he lacked qualities (he loved pleasure as much as she did) but since they could not agree in their choice of pleasures, they had the good sense not to get in one another’s way and each followed their own inclinations. The comtesse, though not young any more, was beautiful. But the desire for lovers had given way to the desire for money, and gambling was now her chief passion. She took Marianne everywhere, and everywhere she was received with delight.

Meanwhile, the Marquise de Banneville slept easily. She was well aware of the comtesse’s somewhat dubious reputation, and would never have trusted her with a real daughter. But quite apart from the fact that Marianne had been brought up with a strong sense of virtue, the marquise wanted a little amusement and so left her to her own devices, merely telling her that she was entering a scene very different from that of the provinces; that she would encounter passionate, devoted lovers at every turn; that she must not believe them too readily; that if she felt herself giving way she was to come and tell her everything; and that in future she would look on her as a friend rather than a daughter, and give her such advice as she herself might take.

Marianne, whom people were starting to call the little marquise, promised her mother that she would disclose all her feelings to her and, relying on past experience, believed herself a match for the gallantry of the French court. This was a bold undertaking thirty years ago. Magnificent dresses were made for her; all the newest fashions tried on her. The comtesse, who presided over all this, saw to it that her hair was dressed by Mlle de Canillac. She had only some child’s earrings and a few jewels; her mother gave her all hers, which were of poor workmanship, and managed at relatively little expense to have two pairs of diamond pendants made for her ears, and five or six crisping pins for her hair. These were all the ornaments she needed. The comtesse would send her carriage for her immediately after dinner and take her to the theatre, the opera, or the gaming houses. She was universally admired. Wives and daughters never tired of caressing her, and the loveliest of them heard her beauty praised without a hint of jealousy. A certain hidden charm, which they felt but did not understand, attracted them to her and forced them to pay homage where homage was due. Everyone succumbed to her spell and her wit, which was even more irresistible than her beauty, won her more certain and lasting conquests. The first thing that captivated them was the dazzling whiteness of her complexion. The bloom in her cheeks, forever appearing and reappearing, never ceased to amaze them. Her eyes were blue and as lively as one could wish; they flashed from beneath two heavy lids that made their glances more tender and languishing. Her face was oval-shaped and her scarlet lips, which protruded slightly, would break – even when she spoke with the utmost seriousness – into a dozen delightful creases, and into a dozen even more delightful when she laughed. This exterior – so charming in itself – was enhanced by all that a good education can add to an excellent nature. There was a radiance, a modesty in the little marquise’s countenance that inspired respect. She had a sense of occasion: she always wore a cap when she went to church, never a beauty spot – avoiding the ostentation cultivated by most women. At Mass, she would say, One prays to God; at balls one dances; and one must do both with total commitment.

She had been leading a most agreeable life for three months when Carnival came round. All the princes and officers had returned from camp, and everywhere entertainments were being held again. Everyone was giving parties and there was a great ball at the Palais Royal. The comtesse, who was too old to show her face on such occasions, decided to go masked and took the little marquise with her. She was dressed as a shepherdess in an extremely simple but becoming costume. Her hair, which hung down to her waist, was tied up in great curls with pink ribbons – no pearls, no diamonds, only a beautiful cap. She had dressed herself, but even so all eyes were fixed on her. That night her beauty was triumphant.

The handsome Prince Sionad was there, dressed as a woman – a rival to the fair sex who, in the opinion of connoisseurs, took first prize for beauty. On arriving at the ball the comtesse decided to go and sit behind the lovely Sionad. Chère princesse, she said as she drew near and introduced the little marquise, here is a young shepherdess you should find worth looking at. Marianne approached respectfully and wanted to kiss the hem of the prince’s dress (or should I say the princess’s) but he lifted her up, embraced her tenderly and cried delightedly: What a lovely girl! What fine features! What a smile! What delicacy! And if I’m not mistaken, she is as clever as she is beautiful.

The little marquise had responded only with a bashful smile when a young prince came up and claimed her for a dance. At first all eyes were fixed on him, owing to his rank. But when people saw her answering his questions without awkwardness or embarrassment; saw what a feel she had for the music; how gracefully she moved; her little jumps in time; her smiles, subtle without being malicious and the fresh glow that vigorous exercise brought to her face, total silence, as at a concert, descended on the hall. The violinists found to their delight that they could hear themselves play, and everyone seemed intent on watching and wondering at her. The dance ended with applause, little of it for the prince, popular though he was.

The acclaim that the little marquise had received at the Palais Royal ball greatly increased the comtesse’s affection and concern for her. She could no longer do without her and she offered her rooms in her house, so that she could enjoy her company at her leisure. But on no account would her mother agree to this. The little marquise was almost fourteen and, if the secret of her birth was to be kept, it was vital that no one should be on intimate terms with her except her governess, who got her up and saw her into bed. She was still quite ignorant of her situation and, though she had many admirers, felt nothing for them. She cared for nothing and no one but herself and her appearance. People spoke to her of nothing else. She drank down this delicious praise in long draughts and thought herself the most beautiful person in the world; the more so since her mirror swore to her every day that the praise was justified.

One day she was at the theatre, in the first tier, when she noticed a beautiful young man in the next box. He wore a scarlet doublet embroidered with gold and silver, but what fascinated her were his dazzling diamond earrings and three or four beauty spots. She watched him intently and found his countenance so sweet and amiable that she could not contain herself, and said to the comtesse: Madame, look at that young man! Isn’t he handsome! Indeed, said the comtesse, but he is too conscious of his looks, and that is not becoming in a man. He might as well dress as a girl.

The performance went on and they said nothing more, but the little marquise often turned her head, no longer able to concentrate on the play, which was The Feign’d Alcibiades. Some days later she was at the theatre again in the third tier. The same young man, who drew such attention to himself with his extraordinary adornments, was in the second tier. He watched the little marquise at his leisure, as fascinated by her as she had been by him on the previous occasion, but less restrained. He kept turning his back on the actors, unable to take his eyes off her and she, for her part, responded in a manner less than consistent with the dictates of modesty. She felt in this exchange of looks something she had never experienced before: a certain joy at once subtle and profound, which passes from the eyes to the heart and constitutes the only real happiness in life. At last the play ended and, while they waited for the afterpiece, the beautiful young man left his box and went to ask the little marquise’s name. The porters, who saw her often, were happy to oblige him; they even told him where she lived. He now saw that she was of noble birth and decided, if possible, to make her acquaintance, even if he went no further. He resolved (love being ingenious) to enter her box by accident.

Ah, madame, he cried, I beg your pardon: I thought this was my box. The Marquise de Banneville loved intrigue and made the most of this one. Monsieur, she said to him with great frankness, we are indeed fortunate in your mistake: a man as handsome as you is welcome anywhere.

She hoped in this way to detain him so that she could look at him at her leisure; examine him and his adornments; please her daughter (whose feelings she had already detected) and, in a word, have some harmless amusement. He hesitated before deciding to remain in the box without taking a seat at the front. They asked him a hundred questions, to which he replied very wittily. His manner and tone of voice had an undeniable charm. The little marquise asked him why he wore pendants in his ears. He replied that he always had: his ears had been pierced when he was a child. As for the rest, they must excuse these little embellishments, normally only suitable for the fair sex, on the grounds of youth.

Everything suits you, monsieur, said the little marquise with a blush. You can wear beauty spots and bracelets as far as we’re concerned. You wouldn’t be the first. These days young men are always doing themselves up like girls. The conversation never flagged. When the afterpiece was over he conducted the ladies to their coach and had his follow it as far as the marquise’s house where, not daring to enter, he sent a page to present his compliments.

During the days that followed they saw him everywhere: in church; in the park; at the opera and the theatre. He was always unassuming, always respectful. He would bow low to the little marquise, not daring to approach or speak to her. He seemed to have but one object, and wasted no time in attaining it. Finally, after three weeks, the Marquise de Banneville’s brother (who was a state councillor) called and suggested that she receive a visitor – his good friend and neighbour, the Marquis de Bercour. He assured her that he was an excellent man and brought him round immediately after lunch. The marquis was the handsomest man in the world; his hair was black and arranged in thick, natural-looking curls. It was cut in line with the ears so that his diamond earrings could be seen. On this particular day he had attached to each of these a pearl. He also wore two or three beauty spots (no more) to emphasise his fine complexion.

Ah, brother, said the marquise, is this the Marquis de Bercour? Yes, madame, replied the marquis, and he cannot live any longer without seeing the loveliest girl in the world.

As he said this he turned towards the little marquise, who was beside herself with joy. They sat and talked, exchanging news, discussing amusements and new books. The little marquise was a versatile conversationalist, and they were soon at ease with one another. The old councillor was the first to leave, the marquis the last, having remained as long as he felt he could.

After this he never missed an opportunity of paying court to the girl he loved, and always made sure that everything was perfect. When the good weather came and they went out walking to Vincennes or in the Bois, they would find a magnificent collation, which seemed to have been brought there by magic, at a place specially chosen in the shade of some trees. One day there would be violins; the next oboes. The marquis had apparently given no instructions, yet it was obvious that he had arranged everything. Nevertheless, it took several days to guess who had given the little marquise a magnificent present. One morning a carrier brought a chest to her house which he said was from the Comtesse Alettef. She opened it eagerly and was delighted to find in it gloves, scents, pomades, perfumed oils, gold boxes, little toilet cases, more than a dozen snuff boxes in different styles, and countless other treasures. The little marquise wanted to thank the comtesse, who had no idea what she was talking about. She found out in the end, but reproached herself more than once for not having guessed at once.

These little attentions advanced the marquis’s cause considerably. The little marquise greatly appreciated them. Madame, she said to her mother with admirable honesty, I no longer know where I am. Once I wanted to be beautiful in everyone’s eyes; now the only person I want to find me beautiful is the marquis. I used to love balls, plays, receptions, places where there was a lot of noise. Now I’m tired of all that. My only pleasure in life is to be alone and think about the man I love. He’s coming soon, I whisper to myself. Perhaps he’ll tell me he loves me. Yes, madame, he hasn’t said that yet; hasn’t spoken those wonderful words: I love you, though his eyes and his actions have told me so a hundred times. Then, my child, replied the marquise, I’m very sorry for you. You were happy before you saw the marquis. You enjoyed everyone’s company; everyone loved you and you loved only yourself, your own person, your beauty. You were wholly consumed with the desire to please, and please you did. Why change such a delightful life? Take my advice, my dear child: let your sole concern be to profit from the advantages nature has given you. Be beautiful: you have experienced that joy; is there any other to touch it? To draw everyone’s gaze; to win all hearts; to delight people wherever one goes; to hear oneself praised continually, and not by flatterers; to be loved by all and love only oneself: that, my child, is the height of happiness, and you can enjoy it for a long time. You are a queen, don’t make yourself a slave: you must resist at the outset a passion that is carrying you away in spite of yourself. Now you command, but soon you will obey. Men are fickle: the marquis loves you today – tomorrow he will love someone else.

Stop loving me! said the little marquise. Love someone else! And she burst into tears.

Her mother, who loved her dearly, tried to console her and succeeded by telling her that the marquis was coming. There was a lot at stake and this incipient passion caused her considerable alarm. Where will it lead? she asked herself. To what bizarre conclusion. If the marquis declares himself – if he plucks up courage and asks for certain favours – she will refuse him nothing. But then, she reflected, the little marquise has been well trained; she is sensible; at most she will grant such trifling favours as will leave them in ignorance – an ignorance essential to their happiness.

They were talking like this when someone came to tell them that the marquis had sent them a dozen partridges, and that he was at the door, not daring to enter as he had just returned from hunting.

Send him in! cried the little marquise. We want to see him in his hunting clothes. He entered a moment later, all apologies for powder marks, sun burn and a dishevelled wig. No, no, said the little marquise. I assure you, we like you better dressed informally like this than in all your finery. If that is so, madame, he replied, next time you will see me dressed as a stoker.

He remained standing, as though about to leave. They made him sit and the marquise, kind soul, told them to sit together while she went to her study to write. The chambermaids knew what was what and withdrew to the dressing-room, leaving the lovers alone together. They were silent for a while. The little marquise, still flustered after her talk with her mother, scarcely dared raise her eyes, and the marquis, even more embarrassed, looked at her and sighed. There was something tender in this silence. The looks they exchanged, the sighs they could not contain, were for them a form of language – a language lovers often use – and their mutual embarrassment seemed to them a sign of love. The little marquise was the first to awake from this reverie.

You’re dreaming, marquis, she said. What of? Hunting? Ah, beautiful marquise, said the marquis, how lucky hunters are! They are not in love. What do you mean? she rejoined. Is being in love really so terrible? Madame, he replied, it is the greatest happiness in life. But unrequited love is the greatest misfortune. I am in love and it is not requited. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world. Venus herself would not dare put herself before her. I love her and she does not love me. She has no feelings. She sees me, she listens to me, and she remains cruelly silent. She even turns her eyes away from mine. How heartless! How can I doubt my fate? As he spoke these last words, the marquis knelt down before the little marquise and kissed her hands – nor did she object. Her eyes were lowered and let fall great tears.

Beautiful marquise, he said, you’re crying. You’re crying and I know the reason for your tears. My love is irksome to you. Ah, marquis, she answered with a heavy sigh, one can cry for joy as well as pain. I’ve never been so happy. She said no more and, stretching out her arms to her beloved marquis, granted him the favours she would have denied all the kings of the earth. Caresses were all the protestations of love they needed. The marquis found in the little marquise’s lips a compliance that her eyes had hidden from him, and this conversation would have lasted longer if the marquise had not emerged from her study. She found them laughing and crying at the same time, and wondered whether such tears had ever needed drying.

The marquis immediately rose to leave, but the marquise said to him pleasantly: Monsieur, won’t you stay and dine on the partridges you brought? He needed little persuading. What he desired more than anything else in the world was to be on familiar terms in this house. He stayed, even though he was dressed in hunting clothes, and had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the girl he loved eat. It is one of life’s chief delights. To watch at close quarters a pink mouth that, as it opens, reveals gums of coral and teeth of alabaster; that opens and closes with the rapidity that accompanies all the actions of youth; to see a beautiful face animated by an often repeated pleasure, and to be experiencing the same pleasure at the same time – this is a privilege love grants to few.

After that happy day the marquis made sure he dined there every night. It was a regular affair and the little marquise’s suitors, who had had no cause to be jealous of one another, took it as settled. She had made her choice and they all admitted that beauty and vanity, however powerful, are no defence against love. The Comte d’****, one of her most ardent admirers, had a keen sense that his passion was being made light of. He was handsome, well built, brave, a soldier: he could not allow the little marquise to give herself to the Marquis de Bercour, whom he considered vastly inferior in every respect to himself. He decided to pick a quarrel with him and so disgrace him, thinking him too effeminate to dare cross swords with him. However, to his great surprise, at the first word he uttered when they met at the Porte des Tuileries, the marquis drew his sword and thrust at him with gusto. After a hard-fought duel they were parted by mutual friends.

This adventure pleased the little marquise. It gave her lover a war-like air, though she trembled for him nevertheless. She saw clearly that her beauty and her preference for him would constantly be exposing him to such encounters, and she said to him one day: Marquis, we must put an end to jealousy once and for all; we must silence gossip. We love one another and always will. We must bind ourselves to one another with ties that only death can break.

Ah, beautiful marquise, he said, what are you thinking of? Does our happiness bore you? Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to pleasure. Let us remain as we are. For my part, I am content with your favours and will never ask you for anything more. But I am not content, said the little marquise. I can see clearly that there is something missing in our happiness, and perhaps we will find it when you belong to me entirely, and I to you. It would not be right, replied the marquis, for you to throw in your lot with a younger son who has spent the bulk of his fortune and whom you still know only by appearances, which are often deceptive.

But that’s just what I love about it, she interrupted. I’m so happy that I have enough money for us both, and to have the chance of showing you that I love you and you alone.

They had reached this point when the Marquise de Banneville interrupted them. She had been closeted with her agents, and thought she would refresh herself with some lively young company, but she found them in a deeply serious mood. The marquis had been greatly put out by the little marquise’s proposal. Ostensibly it was very much to his advantage, but he had secret objections to it, which he considered insurmountable. The little marquise, for her part, was a little annoyed at having taken such a bold step in vain, but she soon recovered, deciding that the marquis had refused out of respect for her – or that he wished to prove the depth of his feelings for her. This thought made her decide to speak to her mother about it, and she did so the following day.

No one was ever more astonished than the Marquise de Banneville when her daughter spoke to her of marriage. She was sixteen and no longer a child. Her eyes had not been opened to her situation, and her mother hoped they never would be. She was careful not to agree to the match, but to reveal the truth would have been a painful solution both for her daughter and the marquis. She resolved to do so only as a last resort. Meanwhile she would prevent, or at least postpone, the marriage. The marquis was in agreement with her on this, but the little marquise – passionate creature that she was – begged, entreated, wept, used every means to persuade her mother. She never doubted her lover, since he did not dare oppose her with the same firmness. Finally she pushed her mother to the point where she said these words to her: My dear child, you leave me no choice: against my better judgement I must reveal to you something that I would have given my life to conceal from you. I loved your poor father and when I lost him so tragically, in dread of your meeting the same fate, I prayed with all my heart for a daughter. I was not so fortunate: I gave birth to a son and I have brought him up as a daughter. His sweetness, his inclinations, his beauty, all assisted my plan. I have a son and the whole world believes I have a daughter. Ah, madame! cried the little marquise, is it possible that I …? Yes, my child, said her mother embracing her, you are a boy. I can see how painful this news must be for you. Habit has given you a different nature. You are used to a life very different from the one you might have led. I wanted you to be happy and would never have revealed the sad truth to you if your obstinacy over the marquis had not forced me to. You see now what you were about to do? How, but for me, you would have exposed yourself to public ridicule?

The little marquise did not answer. Instead she merely wept and in vain her mother said to her: But my child, go on living as you were. Be the beautiful little marquise still – loved, adored by all who see her. Love your beautiful marquis if you like, but do not think of marrying him. Alas! cried the little marquise through her tears, he has asked for nothing more. He flies into a rage when I mention marriage. Ah! Could it be that he knows my secret? If I thought that, dear mother, I would go and hide myself in the furthest corner of the earth. Could he know it? In floods of tears now, she added: Alas, poor little marquise, what will you do? Will you dare show your face again and act the beauty? But what have you said? What have you done? What name can one give the favours you have granted the marquis? Blush! Blush, unhappy girl! Ah, nature you are blind: why did you not warn me of my duty? Alas! I acted in good faith, but now I see the truth and I must behave quite differently in future. I must not think about the man I love – I must do what is right.

She was uttering these words with determination when it was announced that the marquis was at the door of the antechamber. He entered with a happy air and was amazed to see both mother and daughter with lowered eyes and in tears. The mother did not wait for him to speak but rose and went to her room. He took courage and said: What’s the matter, beautiful marquise? If something is distressing you, won’t you share it with your friends? What? You won’t even look at me! Am I the cause of this weeping? Am I to blame without knowing it?

The little marquise dissolved in tears. No! No! she cried. No! That could never be, and if it were so I would not feel as I do. Nature is wise and there is a reason for everything she does.

The marquis had no idea what all this meant. He was asking for an explanation when the marquise, who had recovered a little, left her room and came to her daughter’s aid. Look at her, she said to the marquis. As you see, she is quite beside herself. I am to blame. I tried to stop her but she would have her fortune told, and they said she would never marry the man she loved. That has upset her, Monsieur le Marquis, and you know why.

For my part, madame, he replied, I am not at all upset. Let her remain always as she is. I ask only to see her. I shall be more than happy if she will consider me her best friend.

With this the conversation ended. Emotions had been stirred, and would take time to settle. But they settled so completely that after eight days there was no sign of any upheaval. The marquis’s presence, his charm, his caresses, obliterated from the little marquise’s mind everything her mother had told her. She no longer believed any of it, or rather did not wish to believe. Pleasure triumphed over reflection. She lived as she had done before with her lover and felt her passion increase with such violence that thoughts of a lasting union returned to torment her. Yes, she said to herself, he cannot go back on his word now. He will never desert me. She had resolved to speak of it again, when her mother fell ill. Her illness was so grave that after three days all hope of a cure was abandoned. She made her will and sent for her brother, the councillor, whom she appointed the little marquise’s guardian. He was her uncle and her heir, since all the property came from the mother. She confided to him the truth about her daughter’s birth, begging him to take it seriously and to let her lead a life of innocent pleasure that would harm no one and which, since it precluded her marrying, would guarantee his children a rich inheritance.

The good councillor was delighted at this news and saw his sister die without shedding a tear. The income of thirty thousand francs that she left the little marquise seemed certain to pass to his children, and he had only to encourage his niece’s infatuation for the marquis. He did so with great success, telling her that he would be like a father to her and had no wish to be her guardian except in name.

This sympathetic behaviour consoled the little marquise somewhat – and she was certainly distraught – but the sight of her beloved marquis consoled her even more. She saw that she was absolute mistress of her fate, and her sole aim was to share it with the man she loved. Six months of official mourning passed, after which pleasures of all kinds once again filled her life. She went often to balls, the theatre, the opera, and always in the same company. The marquis never left her side and all her other suitors, seeing that it was a settled affair, had withdrawn. They lived happily and would perhaps have thought of nothing else, if malicious tongues could have left them in peace. Everywhere, people were saying that, while the little marquise was beautiful, since her mother’s death she had lost all sense of decorum: she was seen everywhere with the marquis; he was practically living in her house; he dined there every day and never left before midnight. Her best friends found grounds for censure in this: they sent her anonymous letters and warned her uncle, who spoke to her about it. Finally, things went so far that the little marquise went back to her first idea and decided to marry the marquis. She put this to him forcefully; he resisted likewise, only agreeing on condition that the marriage would be a purely public affair, and that they would live together like brother and sister. This, he said, was how they must always love one another. The little marquise readily agreed. She often remembered what her mother had told her. She spoke of it to her uncle, who began by outlining all the pitfalls of marriage and ended by giving his consent. He saw that, by this means, the income of thirty thousand francs was sure to pass to his family. There was no danger of his niece having children by the Marquis de Bercour whereas, if she did not marry him, her notion that she was a girl might change with time and with her beauty, which was sure to fade. So a wedding day was fixed on, bridal clothes made and the ceremony held at the good uncle’s house. (As guardian he undertook to give the wedding feast.)

The little marquise had never looked as beautiful as she did that day. She wore a dress of black velours completely covered in gems, pink ribbons in her hair and diamond pendants in her ears. The Comtesse d’Alettef, who would always love her, went with her to the church, where the marquis was waiting. He wore a black velours cloak decked with gold braid, his hair was in curls, his face powdered, there were diamond pendants in his ears and beauty spots on his face. In short, he was adorned in such a way that his best friends could not excuse such vanity. The couple were united for ever and everyone showered them with blessings. The banquet was magnificent, the king’s music and the violons were there. At last the hour came and relatives and friends put the couple together in a nuptial bed and embraced them, the men laughing, a few good old aunts weeping.

It was then that the little marquise was astonished to find how cold and insensitive her lover was. He stayed at one end of the bed, sighing and weeping. She approached him tentatively. He did not seem to notice her. Finally, no longer able to endure so painful a state of affairs, she said: What have I done to you, marquis? Don’t you love me any more? Answer me or I shall die, and it will be your fault.

Alas, madame, said the marquis, didn’t I tell you? We were living together happily – you loved me – and now you will hate me. I have deceived you. Come here and see.

So saying he took her hand and placed it on the most beautiful bosom in the world. You see, he said, dissolving in tears, you see I am useless to you: I am a woman like you.

Who could describe here the little marquise’s surprise and delight? At this moment she had no doubt that she was a boy and, throwing herself into the arms of her beloved marquis, she gave him the same surprise, the same delight. They soon made their peace, wondered at their fate – a fate that had brought matters on to such a happy conclusion – and exchanged a thousand vows of undying love.

As for me, said the little marquise, I am too used to being a girl, and I want to remain one all my life. How could I bring myself to wear a man’s hat?

And I, said the marquis, have used a sword more than once without disgracing myself. I’ll tell you about my adventures some day. Let’s continue as we are, then. Beautiful marquise, enjoy all the pleasures of your sex, and I shall enjoy all the freedom of mine.

The day after the wedding they received the usual compliments and, eight days later, left for the provinces, where they still live in one of their châteaux. The uncle should visit them there: he would find, to his surprise, that a beautiful child has resulted from their marriage – one to put paid to his hopes of a rich inheritance.

#Charles Perrault #François-Timoléon De Choisy #genderqueer folktales #trans representation #laura retells #except not really it's more like laura copy pastes this time

[hajimes-erect-ahoge]

Postmortem- Chapter 18

Shuichi finally confronts Kokichi.

ao3

Finding Ouma proved to be much harder than expected, Saihara’s few moments of hesitation seeming to be all that the other boy needed to get a headstart. After he dashed up the stairs, Saihara was left with an empty corridor. The rest of the boys must have made their way back to their rooms already, as there was no one in sight.

The apartment complex wasn’t necessarily that big, leaving only a few places that Ouma could’ve gone. That is, if he was even in the apartment complex to begin with. Allowing himself to make the assumption that Ouma hadn’t gone far, Saihara set off to check the common room and the dorms, as well as asking the others if they had seen the other boy.

The more time that passed, the more frantic Saihara became. The puzzle pieces slowly started to click in his mind, cementing the fact that Ouma was indeed being genuine with his confession. And of course, Saihara had to accuse him of lying, only aiding in making the situation more of a mess. Nonetheless, there was nothing he could do now but pray that he would find Ouma soon so he could apologize to him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ouma had discovered this place not too long after moving into the apartment complex, his natural inclination to explore the place taking over. Right at the end of the hall where the dorms were located there was a closet, similar to the one in the hospital. Anyone else would’ve just ignored this, but Ouma, being naturally curious, felt compelled to investigate it. His suspicions as to where this door led were confirmed when he was met with a staircase, presumably leading up to the roof. He filed this information in the back of his head, storing it there for later use.

Right now was the perfect time to use that information, he thought to himself as he sat cross-legged near the edge of the roof. It wasn’t nearly as high up as the roof of the hospital was, and he wasn’t as scarily close to the edge as he was when he sat there, but it fulfilled its purpose of giving him a place to be alone with his thoughts.

Belatedly, he recalled the time when Saihara found him up on the roof and reassured him that he wasn’t alone. Ouma found himself missing the warmth of Saihara’s hand by his face, lingering there after gently tucking his hair behind his ear.

But now all that he felt was cold.

In a way, he supposed that he deserved this. Being alone had always been his default state of being, and he was a fool for believing that he could live otherwise. It was his fault for allowing himself to fall prey to the delusion that he could be loved by someone else, be wanted by someone else. Especially when that someone else was Saihara.

The truth was that Saihara deserved better than him. He deserved someone who didn’t come with so much baggage and so many layers of distrust, someone who was capable of loving him like he should be loved. Ouma could never be that person for Saihara.

Maybe it was better this way. Having Ouma’s impulsive and heartfelt confession be dismissed as a lie was logically the best thing that could happen, as the two of them could continue their lives being just friends and nothing more.

...So why did it hurt so much?

Smothering his feelings and lying to Saihara about his feelings was the best course of action, so why did it hurt so much?

Maybe he was tired of lying, parading around and disguising himself as someone that he wasn’t. But lying was all that he knew how to do. When he wasn’t lying he was running away from his problems, ignoring the pang in his chest when Saihara called out his name and chased after him.

Suppressing his emotions, running away, ignoring the pain- it was a vicious cycle of suffering for Ouma. But if bearing this pain meant that others could be happy he would willingly do so, subjecting himself to this torment until the day he dies. As long as Saihara was happy everything would be okay.

The plan was simple: Ouma would act as if nothing happened between him and Saihara, dodging any of the other boy’s attempts to bring up his confession. As far as Ouma was concerned, the whole exchange had never even happened in the first place. The purpose of this was to make sure Saihara was blissfully unaware of Ouma’s feelings, allowing him to live in peace while Ouma suffered internally. Everything would be fine that way.

But of course, the universe had other plans for him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Saihara had been pacing throughout the apartment, having failed in locating Ouma. He knew that the other boy would have to return there eventually, so he waited.

And boy did Ouma keep him waiting.

It was long after Momota had gone to bed, the night stretching on uncomfortably. Saihara couldn’t sleep even if he wanted to, worry gnawing at his heart with every passing second. Had he really hurt Ouma so much that he didn’t even want to face him? Or was he just overthinking things and Ouma was completely fine?

No, there’s no way he isn’t upset… I’m almost certain that his confession was genuine.

As the implications of that statement became more apparent, the logical part of Saihara’s brain came to a screeching halt.

Wait a second… Ouma-kun has feelings for me?!

Eyes wide and face flushed, Saihara had to fight off his internal sense of doubt as he tried to calm himself down.

His brain immediately fired a plethora of responses to the conclusion he had just drawn, trying to convince him that he was wrong. But each and every one of these excuses was shot down with the logical facts of the situation.

If Ouma-kun was lying, why would he have run away like that? It just doesn’t make sense…

All feelings of drowsiness left his body as he was now alert, nervously chewing at his bottom lip as his brain frantically fired one thought after another.

But Ouma-kun having feelings for me doesn’t make sense either! Why would he even see me that way?! I’m so boring and awkward, and he’s so entertaining and smart… and cute… 

Saihara was so engrossed with his thoughts that he didn’t even notice Ouma strategically opening the door as quietly as possible, slipping into the apartment without being detected.

Ouma had almost made it to the bedroom when the wooden floor beneath him creaked, signaling his presence. Saihara gave a surprised yelp, having been startled out of his thoughts of utter disbelief. He turned towards the source of the disturbance only to spot Ouma, who was standing there as nonchalantly as possible.

“Well if it isn’t my beloved Saihara-chan! I totally didn’t even see you there!” The sarcasm in his voice was evident, making it clear that he didn’t want to talk.

“Um… Ouma-kun? Can I-”

Ouma gave a theatrical yawn, cutting Saihara off mid-sentence.

“Wow, would you look at that! I’m beat!” He made his way to the bedroom, swinging open the door. “I better get to bed now! Good night, Saihara-chan!”

“W-Wait! About before-” Saihara desperately tried to gain Ouma’s attention, but it was no use.

“Oh, by the way!” Ouma drummed his fingers along the edge of the door, not even bothering to turn and face Saihara. “I’ll be sleeping in your bed again! Alone.”

The door to the bedroom was slammed shut, Ouma having no concern for the sleeping Momota. Meanwhile, Saihara stood there dumbfounded at how easily he was shut out.

With a sigh, he made himself comfortable on the couch, resigning himself to sleeping there as he was too cowardly to face Ouma once more.

This is gonna be harder than I thought…

~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days were filled with similar encounters, in which Saihara attempted to bring up their conversation in the game room and Ouma came up with increasingly creative solutions as to why he couldn’t talk at the time.

When Saihara wasn’t trying to bring up what occurred between them, Ouma would act completely normal. But as soon as he tried changing the subject, Ouma would hit the abort button and immediately leave to go somewhere else. It didn’t help that Ouma was exceptionally observant, being able to detect whenever Saihara was about to bring up what happened. The ex-detective was never particularly good at hiding his emotions, after all.

The amount of times that Saihara failed to confront Ouma was starting to get ridiculous, making him almost consider dropping the subject completely. Almost.

But Saihara had a few ideas of his own, having figured out Ouma’s pattern by now. Every time he would even come close to having a serious talk with him, Ouma would bolt out of the room with some extravagant excuse after dismissing Saihara’s statements completely. If he was able to corner Ouma and leave him no means of escape, then Saihara could successfully spring the dreaded discussion upon him.

Although trapping him somewhere and forcing him to talk about something he clearly didn’t want to talk about seemed a bit cruel, it was inevitable as Ouma had left him no other choice. While he couldn’t guarantee that Ouma would cooperate once they were alone, the fact that they would be talking in the first place would be progress, even if it was only Saihara speaking.

Ignoring what had happened was simply not an option. Not when guilt overloaded Saihara’s brain every time he spoke with Ouma, wishing that he had handled the situation differently. He was going to fix this, and he was going to do it now.

Saihara glanced at the clock, taking note of the time. It was almost noon, and Ouma was usually awake by now. Normally, Saihara would also be waking up around now, but he hadn’t been sleeping as well the past few days after what happened. After excusing himself from the living room where he and Momota were, Saihara made his way to the bedroom to confront Ouma.

He could practically feel his heart thrumming against his ribcage as he slowly opened the door to the bedroom, the prospect of talking with Ouma about this sending flutters down his stomach. While it was true that Saihara had tried speaking with him about this many times, the reality that it was actually about to happen made him even more nervous than before. Nonetheless, he forced himself to continue, stepping into the bedroom gingerly.

“Ouma-kun?” Saihara spoke barely above a whisper, not wanting to startle the other boy. “Are you awake?”

Entering the room, Saihara saw Ouma sitting up in his bed, staring back at him tiredly. After a few beats of silence Ouma perked up, plastering a fake smile onto his face.

“Gooood morning, Saihara-chan!” he drawled cheerfully, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Man, what time is it? I don’t know about you but I slept like a baby last night!” He stretched his arms out in front of him, yawning theatrically.

“Good morning.” Ignoring his shaking hands, Saihara closed the door behind him, standing in front of it and blocking off Ouma’s escape route. The other boy immediately recognized his intentions, eyes widening and body tensing noticeably. “Listen, Ouma-kun…” With a sigh, Saihara continued. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for a while but you kept avoiding me, so-”

“Hmm? I have nooo idea what you’re talking about!” Ouma sprung out of bed, approaching Saihara with a glare. “Maybe Saihara-chan needs to go back to bed since he keeps imagining things!”

Although he was smiling, his eyes betrayed feelings of anger and resentment as he stared daggers at Saihara, silently telling him to drop the subject and move out of the way. But Saihara was surprisingly stubborn, having been fed up with Ouma’s constant avoidance and running away. He crossed his arms, unmoving.

“I’m not imagining anything. I know exactly what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work.” Saihara refuted Ouma’s words, the other boy narrowing his eyes bitterly. “I’m not leaving until you hear me out.” Saihara allowed his gaze to soften, attempting to put Ouma at ease. “I understand that this must be hard for you but I can’t let you keep running away from your feelings. Not when…”

Saihara clenched his fists, staring down at the ground. A flurry of emotions had overwhelmed him, clouding his mind. Meanwhile, Ouma was silent, giving Saihara time to collect his thoughts and put them into words.

After having adequate time to piece his thoughts together, Saihara looked back towards Ouma. “I-I care about you a lot, Ouma-kun. I like you a lot, too. And I’m sorry for not believing you the other day. I just…” Saihara gulped, fighting the urge to cry. “I find it so hard to believe that someone like you has feelings for someone like me. I’m so boring and awkward and I just don’t understand why-”

“Shh, it’s okay Saihara-chan.” Ouma was suddenly by his side, wiping away his tears. “Just breathe, okay? I’m right here.”

Saihara gave a weak nod, leaning into the touch. Ouma wasn’t used to comforting others besides the standard affirmations, so he stood in silence as Saihara composed himself.

“Thank you, Ouma-kun.” Saihara sniffled, “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have accused you of lying when you said that you liked me. I just couldn’t believe it, you know?” He gave a small smile, a hint of sadness still behind it. “But I should’ve known better… You’ve grown so much since the killing game, you wouldn’t lie about something like that. And then you ran away and I just felt awful… So I’m sorry. Again.”

Ouma stared at him blankly, hesitantly speaking.

“Geez, Saihara-chan… You don’t need to keep apologizing like that…”

He was silent for a moment before continuing, his expression shifting into something more serious.

“I’m sorry too. For avoiding you.” Ouma sighed, looking over his shoulder, “I guess I could’ve handled this a lot better… But where’s the fun in that?” He gave a sly smile, breathing a sigh of relief when Saihara smiled back, shaking his head.

“But seriously…” Ouma’s smile vanished, his serious expression returning. “I do really like you, Saihara-chan. And that’s not a lie.”

“I like you too, Ouma-kun. I think it’s cute how you always cling to me, and I really appreciate you being vulnerable with me… So if it’s okay with you, I’d really like to pursue a deeper relationship with you… O-Oh, but only if you want to, of course!” Saihara stammered.

When he looked back at Ouma he noticed that his face was flushed, accompanied by a small pout. Saihara was worried that he said something wrong, but then Ouma smiled ever so slightly, staring at the ground.

“Of course I would like that, you dummy…” he mumbled, almost going unheard by Saihara.

“R-Really?!” Saihara nearly shouted, giving a sheepish smile.

“Uh-huh!” Ouma affirmed proudly, “But only if Saihara-chan promises to buy me all the Panta in the world!”

Saihara chuckled, “Anything to make you happy.”

“Great!” Ouma skipped over to Saihara, suddenly embracing him. Saihara froze momentarily before wrapping his arms around Ouma, holding him even closer.

Ouma pulled away much too quickly for Saihara’s liking, leaving him craving more contact with the boy.

“Well don’t just stand there! We’ve got to get ready, right?” Ouma announced excitedly.

“Uhh, sure…” Saihara agreed confusedly. “Wait, what are we getting ready for exactly?”

“Our first date, of course!” Ouma frowned, his bottom lip quivering as crocodile tears threatened to stream down his face. “D-Don’t tell me… Saihara-chan doesn’t love me anymore?!”

Saihara chuckled at the other boy’s theatrics, shaking his head. “A first date sounds great. What do you want to do?”

“Hmm…” Ouma thought for a moment before settling on the easiest and quickest option, taking Saihara’s hand in his. “Close your eyes and come with me!”

Barely having time to protest against the sudden action or voice his confusion, Saihara was suddenly being dragged out of the apartment by an overly excited Ouma, their destination unknown. Wherever they were going was fine with Saihara, as he was content going anywhere as long as it was with Ouma.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Open your eyes!”

Saihara did as he was told, opening his eyes and allowing himself to take in their surroundings. His eyes landed on a bench in the distance, surrounded by a plethora of green grasses as well as a walking path and even a fountain.

“The park?” Saihara wondered aloud, looking towards Ouma for confirmation.

“Yep!” Ouma chirped, “There’s a walking path that’ll take us through the whole park, so we can talk while we explore!”

“That’s right… We’ve come here for training so many times but we’ve never really explored the place.” Saihara added thoughtfully.

“Exactly! Now come on, let’s get going!” Ouma led Saihara towards the direction of the walking path, bouncing up and down eagerly.

Their hands still entwined with one another, they set about walking along the path. Every now and then they would pass some other couples or individuals walking down the path, who fortunately paid no attention to the two boys. The scenery of the park wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy, but it was a nice change of pace from being inside the apartment all of the time. There were bushes, trees, and various structures such as benches and small statues, the sun shining brightly and the breeze blowing ever so lightly.

As expected, Ouma carried most of the conversation, ranting to Saihara about anything and everything that came to mind, the other boy enjoying his company greatly. While the thought of being seen holding hands with someone in public made him quite nervous, the sight of Ouma’s brightly smiling face was more than enough to put his nerves at ease.

Being seen holding hands with Ouma wasn’t his only worry, however. Saihara couldn’t tell if it was due to his habit of overthinking or if it was due to his exceptional skills of observation, but he couldn’t help but worry about the other boy. Just yesterday he was avoiding Saihara at all costs, bottling up his feelings and avoiding confrontation. Although he definitely seemed to be enjoying himself right now, Saihara wondered if he was still holding back some of his true emotions. But now wasn’t the time to bring that, he supposed. They were having a great time together and Saihara didn’t intend on ruining the mood.

Eventually, the path they were walking on looped around and brought them back to their destination. The sun was just about to set, the breeze picking up as clouds gathered together in the sky. A few droplets of rain fell from the sky, interrupting Saihara and Ouma’s conversation.

Ouma stopped walking and stuck his hands out experimentally, not being surprised when more droplets of water landed on him. Meanwhile, Saihara gazed up at the clouds, taking note of how the sky darkened.

“We should hurry back… It looks like a storm is heading in.” Saihara observed.

Ouma nodded, quickening his pace as he and Saihara headed back to the apartment complex.

They had only been walking for a few moments when it started to downright pour, effectively soaking the both of them. Freezing in place due to sheer shock at the suddenness of it all, the two boys simply looked at each other, resigning themselves to their fate.

Then Ouma giggled.

“Are you…” Saihara blinked, trying to get water droplets out of his eyes so he could see clearly. “Are you laughing?”

“Nishishi, maybe I am!” Ouma stole Saihara’s jacket from him, running off with it. “But I think you have bigger problems right now!”

“Ugh, Ouma-kun, seriously?” Saihara gave chase, carefully avoiding the puddles that Ouma haphazardly stepped in. “Give that back! We need to get back to the apartment, now!”

Thankfully for Saihara, Ouma stopped running and held his jacket in front of him. Just as Saihara caught up to him he realized that he was holding it over a giant puddle that had formed, snickering deviously.

“Is something wrong, Saihara-chan?” he taunted, fully aware of what he was doing.

“Ouma-kun…” Saihara’s expression darkened.

“Yes?”

“Give it back.”

“Make me!”

Saihara lunged for his jacket, but he was too slow. His jacket fell into the puddle, and Saihara felt at least lucky that he had nothing in his pockets.

Rather than scolding Ouma for his childish behavior, Saihara smirked, feeling more playful now than ever. Ouma noticed this, feeling taken aback for a short moment before composing himself.

“You’re so gonna get it now.” Saihara pulled his jacket out of the puddle, slowly and ominously walking up to Ouma.

“Oh? What’re you gonna do, huh?” Ouma asked cockily.

His question was answered when Saihara quickly and swiftly wrapped the wet jacket around Ouma’s head, the jacket falling onto his shoulders and swallowing his small figure. Saihara laughed as Ouma peeled the jacket off of his head, tossing it back towards Saihara.

“Blegh! What was that for?!” Ouma complained, rubbing at his wet face.

“You wanted my jacket so badly I decided to give it to you.” Saihara commented slyly, causing Ouma to stick out his tongue at him.

“Fine, fine… You win!” Ouma pouted, “Just take me back to the apartment already, I’m starting to get cold!” He accentuated his words with a shiver, making Saihara feel a twinge of guilt for what he did.

“Sure… And I’m sorry for wrapping your head with my soaking wet jacket.” Despite his words, Saihara couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all. Only someone like Ouma could bring out this side of him.

“You better be! Now let’s go!” Ouma took Saihara’s hand once more, the two of them making their way back to the apartment complex.

It may have been cold, rainy and dark out, but neither of them regretted coming to the park that day.

#postmortem #my writing #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #kokichi ouma #kokichi oma #shuichi saihara #oumasai #saiouma #ousai #saiou

[blaster-aichi]

IF24 speculation screaming

               Preview

With all of the preview caps available, there’s been a lot to take in; from Ibuki with Majesty Lord to Emi’s fairy wings to all the boys’ younger selves playing together in the park. So this might be a tad all over the place but hoping to condense thoughts coherently.

— Emi and Aichi are both shown to be wearing their powered forms; this might be as part of a flashback which covered Emi’s first interaction with Aichi after his disappearance, allowing Shuka to remain in the season past her sacrifice. For Aichi, there seems little reason (or even if it’s possible) for him to done the Alfred costume at this stage, and with his eyes normal, I’ve my doubts that the new screencap of him takes place in the present, more so after the glimpse in the preview after IF23. Something assuming full control isn’t likely to care what state he’s in or continue any pretense that he has any control over himself. It might be in part why Aichi hasn’t paid that much attention to Ibuki, picking to brutalize Ren instead, when their history might be crucial in the foundation of IF’s story. It may come from Emi and Kai’s taking flight, comparing the Aichi of then to the one of now radiating all kinds of ominous energy or Nome’s recounting earlier events. The point for Emi when Aichi was no longer missing but the enemy; she was well aware by her and Shuka’s infiltration in the first episode and we’ve been shown notable moments through their fight, but not the moment when they discovered the identity of the Jammers’ commander-in-chief.

— Twitter Fanguards are excited at the prospect that the young boys playing in the park is a sign that the timeline’s resolution will grant the ideal timeline where no-one is left alone. To be cautiously optimistic, the thought that had come to my mind initially was the scene being a depiction of a timeline that Kai and/or Ibuki are fighting for or one they imagine might have come about if they had done something differently, sparing Aichi the anguish of his IF childhood and connecting everyone far earlier. If it’s the former, there’s hope that IF25 might serve as an epilogue to emphasize on giving us an glimpse at this perfect timeline while the Outside World characters establish all is well on their end and returning to their normal lives.

              Destiny Conductor 2.0 Nome

The glow of Nome’s screencap insinuates his usage of the Akashic Records, but the smile he has is rather ominous, suggesting that his taking off after recruiting Ibuki and Suiko always had a much more sinister undertone to it. The possibility that’s been sprouting personally since Kourin was debunked as being the one pulling Aichi’s strings is that Nome has been the one in that position all along.

During the PsyZombie arc, it’s possible that, whether through Takuto or by another means, Nome became infected by Brandt’s power, positioning him as his brother’s successor. With Brandt defeated once, by taking hold of the Akashic Records, he/it was able to take an entirely different approach: if it couldn’t twist the original timeline to its will, it would use another. The starting point: the boy who crushed Brandt’s ambition.

As established by Takuto as the strongest, Aichi became the primary target of this second effort. Whether the Aichi of IF is his Outside World self pulled within the world and overwritten to live a second childhood like Kai-kun, or the one native to IF World, it works either way.       — Outside World Aichi, who might have still held a fragment of Brandt’s power within him from Destiny Conductor’s direct involvement in his sealing, through his Psyqualia which has remained tainted since, thus never freeing him entirely from the power, even though he was unaware ever since, had that exploited as a seed from which his imagination would fester from the below.      — IF World Aichi, whose life was monitored by Nome, to prevent any future possible encounters with Vanguard. Using the Akashic Records, Nome mapped out both Kai-kun and Aichi’s so the former’s would be as happy and peaceful as possible while the latters’ plunged him into the depths of solitude, haunting him with images of Kai-kun to ready Aichi for breaking, by his own hand or seeing Kai-kun by happenstance. As a result, Aichi’s power had no outlet and festered, spilling over ultimately when Takuto appeared and turned the key. In the scenario of Outside World Aichi, his line “it’s been a while, Kourin” would reference their time together directly, but in the case he was native to IF’s timeline, it might be Brandt speaking through him. In a manner of speaking, IF serves the same purpose as the Sanctuary from Legion Mate; a means of containing Aichi so that he can’t wreck havoc, whether in good way or bad.

The colour scheme of Aichi’s power has resembled Brandt’s and his binding Kai-kun resembled Link Joker’s (a clan with which Brandt has a connection) power to Lock — Ibuki even saying “Unlock” while Superior Realizing Harmonics Messiah — so until it’s 1000% debunked, I’m still clinging to this theory that’s been building over the past few months.

Aichi isn’t Nome/Brandt’s sole target, however. Charged with their duty to oversee the multiverse, the Tatsunagis are in the enemy’s sights. Takuto and Kourin placed half of the family within IF straight away, Rekka and Ren following and we were witness to Nome roping in Ibuki and Suiko. Aichi was used as bait in order to draw the family in its entirety within a world that is distorted to the point of requiring intervention, where the strongest fighter has been twisted into the enemy. There’s simply no coincidence about collecting them in one place, Takuto was used as the objective for Rekka and Ren.     — Takuto specifically has the additional motivation of being the failed first Destiny Conductor. If Brandt has been within Aichi, that might have been reflected in his demeanour leading up to and during the meeting with Takuto; there’s not enough to discern if IF Aichi truly has the hostile side we’ve been seeing or that be a result of the current crisis.     — Like Aichi, if  IF Kai-kun is the Outside World version sealed, that would likewise remove him from being an immediate threat, as one of the strongest Vanguard fighters. Meaning that Ren and Ibuki, as the other greatest threats to a Brandt resurgence, were perfect candidates for the remaining Tatsunagis’ teams, bringing all the vital players for Brandt’s previous failure onto the board.

And in a world without Vanguard, a world where Aichi is overflowing with power that even he couldn’t control, it’s the perfect time for Nome to step onto the stage and reveal himself.

              Emi, Kai and Aichi

The screencap of a winged Emi and Kai gives the impression that they, alone, are heading to the final battle with Aichi, and it’s tremendously fitting. Emi began this journey with one partner by her side, and this way, she would end it with one. Though the nature of that partner will have changed drastically: from someone important to her, who belongs to another world, to someone invaluable to Aichi, presumably native to the timeline with them.

The dynamic between IF Emi, Kai and Aichi is quite unique; with the state of the multiverse in mind, Emi represents the life of isolation Aichi has lived until this point, the only person who was with him throughout years of torment and loneliness. Whereas Kai embodies the possibility wrought from other timelines; what Aichi could and should have grown into, the friends around him that Aichi was meant to have connected with. They represent Aichi’s family and friends respectively, the two people most important to him in IF’s timeline where one was his reality, his daytime, and the other his long-off dream, his nighttime. Both, equally, want him back, even if it might cost the existence of the three of them — like Aichi, they’re prepared to sacrifice themselves if it means grasping what they believe is right.

For those who know Fate/Grand Order, IF very much resembles a Lostbelt, so at the resolution of the fight, with its correction, the world is likely to vanish — with anyone who belongs there. If Aichi, Emi and Kai are all native to IF — and they’re the only characters at the heart of this story who we don’t know for certain come from the Outside World — Emi and Kai separating from the others spares their friends the anguish of losing someone else right before them. The Outside World characters know the cost, but they don’t have to witness it, and can remember Emi and Kai by their happier times. Ibuki and the others instead are charged with stopping Nome’s ambition with the family and their partners gathered as well as seeing the small Kai-kun and Aichi meet, so their assignment to correct history is complete.

Emi and Kai’s battle with Aichi is a much more personal one, so they go ahead to save him by their own hands. Emi to get back the brother she’s been chasing all along, Kai to see the happiness he was gifted shared with the person who gave up so much to protect it, whom he wants to see smile by his side, who he wants to return Blaster Blade to. When Aichi is rescued, the three of them remain together, accepting the end of their world and their anguish. Kai-kun doesn’t return to his parents, having already made the choice of Aichi and the original timeline over them long ago, it serves as a demonstration for Aichi’s eyes that he won’t be left behind in the shadows anymore. After losing so much, none of the trio are alone as they watch their world fading away, reconciling and huddling or even Kai-kun and Aichi having a cardfight so that Kai can share with Aichi the fun they were supposed to have, Emi watching as her brother shows the side she’s always known him to have before someone else. It’s bittersweet, but all three of them could be united and experience true happiness at the end.

#Cardfight!! Vanguard #Cardfight!! Vanguard IF #cfv spoilers #speculation #goes out there hard for maybe one last time for this season #IF is honestly a blessing for all the fun theorizing it's brought back to me #no matter how bumpy it got at times I love it for that alone

[harmonyindark245]

Secrets [3]

Summary: King's Archeron's kingdom is made up of secrets, which include both betrayal and treason. When the Prince of Velaris and his Inner Circle visit the kingdom, these secrets start revealing themselves. How will these affect the 3 Archeron Princesses, who themselves have a very deadly secret?

AN: All characters belong to Sarah J. Maas.

Warnings: Slight Mature Language, Alcohol Consumption

Word Count - 2.6k

Hope you all enjoy!

Masterlist

Cassian had been correct when he had said that the kingdom was a colorful drab. There wasn’t a single surface in the corridors that hadn’t been painted on, however, the life around him seemed extremely boring. He had gone to Rhys and Az’s room to see if they would join him on his meaningless stroll through the palace but Rhys’ room was empty and Az had not even bothered to open the door. So that's how Cassian found himself loitering the corridors of the massive palace.

For a kingdom that is known to hide many secrets, there was very little restriction and boundaries for outsiders. He could have robbed the treasury and probably would’ve been welcomed inside. Not that Cassian would do that. Maybe.

Cassian stopped in front of massive doors that were painted on. There were various designs but the most common were of books. Cassian guessed it must have been the library. He also remembered Princess Nesta saying that she might be in the library. He smiled to himself as he thought about their interaction. He had never enjoyed troubling someone that much. The thought of having another spat with Nesta was more appealing than grilling Az regarding the loving looks Elain was giving him. 

Cassian rubbed his palms together just before he opened the doors. He looked around and found that he was right, it was a library. There were candles lit. Mother above they were so laid back.

He saw Nesta looking up at him with a scowl. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” She asked him with a sour voice.

“Haven’t you heard of electricity? Lamps are much better than those wax candles. More efficient for visibility as well.” Cassian said as he strode towards where Nesta was seated and plunked down beside her. 

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him, a scowl still present on her face. “Yes I have. Father thought it was a waste of time to install them where they are not required.” Cassian looked at her stormy blue-gray eyes. They appeared to be hiding something big. Nesta noticed how he was looking into her eyes and she turned her head away from him. 

“The King, right? Whom we haven’t met yet. What should we expect, huh?” He nudged Nesta with his elbow, which caused Nesta to jump out of her chair. She glowered at him and Cassian stood up as well, towering over her. 

“You’ll be meeting him at dinner. Now, please move away so that i can leave.” She told him in a cold voice and started moving past him. Without thinking about it, Cassian caught hold of her hand. 

“But, I just came.” He said, trying not to sound desperate. 

Nesta looked him over once and scoffed at him. “And, I am leaving.” She left him standing in the library, without looking back, once again. 

---------------------------------------------------

Feyre didn’t want to go to dinner, but she had no other option as her father would also be present there. Feyre thought that the prince was extremely handsome and she really wanted to make a portrait of him. Unfortunately, he was an arrogant asshole. Feyre was wearing one of her best gowns laid out by Elain. 

She stripped down and stood in front of the mirror. There were bruises and scars all over from sparring accidents or whenever Tamlin was not in a good mood and would often hurt Feyre. Initially, she had not minded, but afterwards when she did protest, Tamlin had told her that she was overacting and was just weak. After that, Feyre had not said anything about it, no matter how much she hated it.

She scrubbed herself and wore the gown. She noticed she had lost weight, also the courtesy of Tamlin. Feyre wondered how she had let herself get dictated. She had also started drifting away from her sisters. They disapproved of Tamlin and Feyre was too damn stubborn. It was that which had caused Feyre to end up in such a colossal mess. 

There was a knock on her door followed by Elain’s soft voice. “Feyre, are you ready?” She quickly tied her dress and told Elain to come in. 

Elain entered and gave Feyre a concerned look. “Feyre, are you okay?” 

Feyre just shook her head and said, “I need some help with my hair.” Elain gave her a sad smile.

“I would love to help you, Feyre.”

----------------------------------------------------

Azriel was early. It wasn’t much of a shock to him. He never paid attention to looking good. He just appeared. And it wasn’t as if he needed to do anything to look good. 

After his encounter with Princess Elain, he had walked back to his room and replayed every single moment in his mind. He too deserved a reprieve and officially, he wasn’t on duty till the next day. And Cauldron only knew what he had stored for him. He waited nearby the entrance, not wanting to walk in alone. 

From behind he heard footsteps approach him. He turned to see Princess Nesta striding towards him. She held her head high as she regarded him. 

“Azriel. I believe we weren’t properly introduced in the afternoon.” He said as a greeting. She gave him a calculated look. “And I would also like to apologise for whatever Cassian said to you and will probably say in the future.” 

She smiled at him as she said, “Then I would like to apologise for whatever ways my sisters find to torment you. They tend to get a bit out of hand.” 

Azriel smiled back and held the doors open for her. From behind he saw Princess Elain walking hand in hand with another lady who could only be Princess Feyre, considering the similarities between her and Princess Nesta.

He bowed his head towards them. “Princess Feyre, Elain.” Elain’s eyes gleamed as she smiled. “Azriel. As you already know, this is my sister Feyre.” She turned towards Feyre who was looking at him with curious eyes. “Feyre, this is Azriel, one of the Prince’s companions.” 

Princess Feyre smiled back at him. She then glanced at Elain and then back at him. “I better go inside to check if everything is proper. Elain, why don’t you stay here and wait for the other’s to arrive?” Before Elain could respond, Feyre rushed inside, leaving both Azriel and Elain alone.

“So,” Elain started, swinging her hands. “Here we are, alone. Again.” Azriel hid his smile from her. “Apparently, this time I cannot trick you into taking a stroll.” She said, while smiling.

“Well, there is always after dinner.” Azriel offered softly. Elain looked up at him. “If you would like to.” Azriel added immediately, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

She smiled up at him. “I would love to.” 

“Princess Elain, good evening!” A voice came from behind and Elain instantly stiffened. Lucien Vanserra came up behind her. Elain turned around to face him. Azriel couldn’t see her expression but he could guess she had a fake smile plastered on. “You were so busy the entire day, I couldn’t catch hold of you!”

“And you never will.” Az heard her mumble under her breath and Az disguised his laugh into a cough. Lucien looked up at him. 

“I’m sorry did you say something?” He asked.

Az pointed towards himself. “Me? No, I don't think so. You must be hearing things, Vanserra.” Az could see Rhys and everyone else walk towards them with one question lingering in their eyes. Why the hell are you talking to Vanserra?

Lucien looked at Elain. “I wanted to talk to you about the question I asked you yesterday. If we could go somewhere…” 

Elain flinched at his words and thankfully, Rhys came up beside her and said, “Aah, Elain. I apologise for keeping you waiting. Let’s go inside now shall we.” Elain nodded her head absentmindedly and shot an apologetic look towards Lucien. 

Lucien just glared at Rhys which caused Az to smirk. He wondered why he felt happy that Lucien couldn’t talk to Elain all alone. Maybe because he had found her to be a good friend.

-----------------------------------------------------

Nesta had been greeted by Elain's mystery man, Azriel outside the door. He seemed good enough. In the small greeting she had also gotten the other man's name, Cassian. 

She had been seated by a servant who told her that Elain had fixed seats for everyone. Her seat appeared to be the nearest to the head of the table where her father always sat. Feyre was sitting on the left side of Nesta with a seat empty in the middle, presumably for Elain. 

Soon, Elain entered the dining hall with Prince Rhysand at her side and his companions behind him. Behind all of them, Prince Lucien had also entered. 

Nesta had completely forgotten about him and Elain. From her side Feyre whispered, “I had completely forgotten that Prince Lucien was to be joining us as well.” 

Elain came and sat in between them as the others were led to their seats. “This dinner is already a nightmare.” she said as she took hold of a fork in her hand. She held it so tightly, her knuckles started turning white. From across her, Azriel saw and he smiled softly. Nesta saw that from far away in his seat, Lucien was also looking at Elain, however unaware that she was probably plotting his murder. 

Suddenly, Elain gasped. Both Feyre and Nesta looked at her while the others didn’t notice. Before Elain could tell them what happened, the King’s arrival was announced. They all stood up as the King entered the dining hall. Nesta saw that he was wearing one of his most elegant clothes. His jewel studded crown was atop his head, each jewel polished and cut to perfection. However, he was not smiling. He had stopped being pleasant after their mother’s death, 15 years ago. There were times when he would not even acknowledge any of them. He sat down on his throne-like seat at the head of the table and motioned for everyone else to be seated as well.  

Everyone was talking amongst themselves while dinner and wine was being served. After the servants left the hall, the King clinked his spoon to his glass, attracting everyone’s attention.

“I would like to welcome Prince Rhysand and his Inner Circle, Amren, Morrigan, Cassian and Azriel, to our beloved Kingdom.” He announced. Nesta took a sip of wine and sorted. “There is a motive behind this visit.” Nesta tensed. “The Mortal Kingdom and the Kingdom of Night will be forming a marriage alliance.” The sound of a spoon dropping came and they all looked towards Feyre, who was looking at the Prince with wide eyes. The King ignored her and continued, “The Prince may choose whom he wants to get married to. I hope you all enjoy your stay.” With that final statement the King sat down. Nesta let out a breath of relief. At least now, she could ensure that the Prince didn’t choose her. 

From the other side, Prince Lucien stood up, “Your Majesty, even I have an announcement that I would like to make.” The King regarded him carefully and then said, “Very well, go ahead.”

“Oh no.” Elain whispered from beside her. Then Nesta understood what was about to happen. But Lucien wouldn’t do such a thing right after the King had made that announcement, would he?

“After spending time here, I have come to enjoy this kingdom and it’s company.” Then he looked towards Elain who fidgeted nervously under his gaze. “And there is one person who has become very dear to me.” He then glanced towards the King and Elain was once again clutching her fork. “Your Majesty, I would like to ask you for Princess Elain’s hand in marriage.” 

A long duration of silence followed. Then finally, Nesta’s father said, “I would be glad to offer you her hand.” Prince Lucien had a triumphant smile on his face. “However, she will decide and tell you within two days if she accepts or not.” He continued. Elain looked up at her father in shock. “Sit down Prince Lucien.” He then clapped his hands and smiled. “Let’s start feasting.”

------------------------------------------------------

After the worst dinner ever, Elain was pacing in her room. 

Elain had left dinner as soon as possible. She had lost all sense in the afternoon while she was with Azriel. She knew she had made a mistake by being a bit too straightforward. But Elain couldn’t help it. Somehow, she felt as if she could truly be herself around Azriel, even though she barely knew him. Now she feared that she might have scared him off. He had barely looked towards her after Prince Lucien announced his intentions. 

And then there was Prince Lucien. Why did he have to make a gesture in front of everyone? In front of her father? Now they all were expecting an answer from her in two day’s time. She had begun spiralling in her thoughts when suddenly there was a knock on her door. She marched towards the door and swung it open. “What is it?!” She shouted before she could even see who it was. 

“It is us, your saviours, Princess Elain!” She looked up to see both her sisters at the threshold. Nesta had an amused smile playing on her face as Feyre was bowing down in accordance with her previous comment. Elain couldn’t help but giggle. 

Nesta moved forward. “And we come bearing gifts.” She held up her hand to show Elain an entire bottle filled with whiskey. Elain gasped with awe. She held out her hand and cradled the bottle close to her chest. Feyre held up her hand which also had a bottle of whiskey. “That’s all for you. Nesta and I will share this one.” Elain laughed this time and let them into her room. Nesta sat down on a wooden chair while Feyre dropped down on the plush sofa. Elain sat on the carpet leaning against Nesta’s legs. 

Elain opened her bottle and took a huge gulp of it, the whiskey burning down her throat. “Mmmm. Mother above, it’s been so long since I had a proper drink.”

Feyre had opened her bottle as well. “I believe the last time was when we took Prince Lucien to our beloved tavern.” She took a sip and passed the botte to Nesta. Nesta graciously accepted it and took a sip herself.

Elain groaned. “Ugh. I tried so hard to be nice, but I couldn’t. I don’t know why I ever thought it would be nice to befriend him.”

Nesta snorted. “What did you expect from little Tamilin’s best friend?” Both Elain and Nesta laughed while Feyre shifted uncomfortably. Nesta saw and bluntly asked, “What did he do now?” 

Feyre reached out and grabbed the bottle from Nesta’s hand and simply shrugged as she said, “Tamlin wants me to get married to him.” She started chugging whiskey from the bottle. Both Elain and Nesta looked at her with their jaws on the floor and eyes wide open. Nesta got up and left the room. She returned a few minutes later with another bottle in her hand. 

“We’re all going to hell anyway.”

--------------------------------------------------------

“Your Majesty.” Two voices came from behind. The King turned to look at the two men standing in front of him. 

“I believe there were three of you, weren’t there?” He said as he started moving towards them. The one with long hair smiled and said, “He decided to stay a bit longer and handle things over there.”

The King smiled at them. “So both of you failed.” He shook his head at them. 

The other man just replied, “Your Majesty we haven’t failed. We are nearer to success than we ever have been.” 

The King turned around and clasped his hands together. “Then soon, we shall strike the Mortal Kingdom. And then, my child,” he pointed towards the tall one, “You shall be named King.”

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[brooklynislandgirl]

Volentine's Wishes

Keni,

I remembered what you said last year, about the small rodent-giving practices. It took some time to gather both information and the rodents, but I did it. Apparently, it is cruel to keep just one of them, which makes sense. This is probably why they are a symbol of love! It is very important that they stay together once in love.

So, I procured two of them. However, two has turned into seven in the time it took me to return with them. They should all be very friendly, at least, I’ve been petting them daily as I was advised. By the time the five babies were born, both parents stopped biting me during these pettings, so it must have worked. They are very friendly now!

I hope they will bring you much happiness and love, as you do me,

-A

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

It wasn’t until she’d reached her quarters that Melakeni Ivers allowed her composure to come apart. She leans back against the door almost the moment before it seals itself into place and takes a deep and shuddering breath, letting the ache flow through every fibre of her body. Her eyes squeeze shut and she rolls the back of her head against the solidness behind her. It is a grief that she’s held onto tightly, until now, where she can set it free. He had been so close. And she hadn’t so much of a glimpse of him before he was gone again.

She is used to having an Anakin-shaped hole living inside of her. She is used to traversing through her day offering comfort and healing to those who are sick and hurt without a second thought, be they Jedi or civilian. Consulting with other healers, the medical droids, the Masters who are terribly good at exhibiting external compassion when very little stirs them within. She is used to running her fingers through the soil of the medicinal herbs, feeling their life thrive in the vibrancy of their leaves, the aroma their oils leave behind that in some ways faintly remind her of a home she has not seen in too many years.  These kinds of days drift by with an ease that blurs and blends them into the back of her mind into a quiet sort of white-noise memory. Those days Anakin’s Presence is simply a close and often soothing companion, the thing that gives her softest smiles their brightness. That keeps the glow of her eyes alive and glimmering even when she is wilting from exhaustion.  There are days when she is accompanying her Master as either a tool or a prop or an extra set of senses, hands and so on. She has never been able to explain once she overcame her fear of the man why it is that he appeals to her so, beyond what is normal through the bonds Jedi and their apprentices. She cannot explain because she doesn’t know what it is, or why it still remains as strong as it does. When she is with him, there is very little time for introspection, and Anakin’s Presence is a buffer against the too much; too much pain, too much heat and awareness and agony. He is the softness that keeps her focused, keeps her thriving.

But ones like today? The ghost of him cannot fill the hole left behind. The abject yearning that claws its way through her until everything feels like it is in tatters and the only remedy is to find herself with arms wrapped around his waist. Breathing him in and assuring herself that he is alive and as whole as he can be, and that harm’s way has not found a way to sink its teeth into him. The want of his lips on her neck as she presses her face into his hair or his chest. There need be nothing wanton about any of it, just the language they speak of and to each other in their own way, that connection and completion they feel with no one else but each other.

When the quiet little sob of grief is finally swallowed down she opens her eyes and squares her shoulders. Straightens her robes and smooths her hair back into place. Reaching out with the Force, she trips the switch of the small lights of her chamber, and feels everything settle around her. Feels she is being... stared at.

The room is not so large that she cannot immediately find what is amiss, not so filled with all the possessions that they are not, by rite and tradition, allowed to have. The pillows have eked by as necessary bedding for frail limbs. The chest to keep her robes and secret things likewise, traded and bartered and smuggled for through illegal channels. The Council does not know that at least three of the grandest cities belong to her city and that she has made use of them in her private hours.

She cannot help but smile to herself. One of these days, she will bring Anakin. A moment later, green like forests, she shakes her head to diminish the daydream that springs up from that particular thought, and she makes her silent barefooted way to where the little enclosure is draped with one of her spare robes. It is the note that finds itself in her hand first. There is no residual warmth on the flimsi of his touch but she can imagine the sweeping strokes of his stylus. She runs a fingertip over the letters and feels the bright bloom of his excitement conveyed within them, as well as the near painful preciseness used to make every letter correct, the verbal equivalent of his wording and cadence. There is a pulse that rushes through her as her nastic responses quicken. She lifts the note to her lips after the seventh read-through. A dozen kisses saved for later.

Each time her giggles come a little louder until they fill the small room with joy. She can imagine what his hand will look like, the nicks and scars from having taken repeated torment to befriend their new little family. She will need to make a salve for it. For now though, she can feel herself humming within on an oscillating frequency normally reserved for more intense moments of Inevitable Doom. Her hands actually shake a little as she reaches out to pull aside her robe. And there within their containment, one peeking out of the doorway of what looks like some clay-moulded bark, is a tiny rodent. All twitchy nosed and sleek mottled fur and those restive dark eyes that had spied her even from across the darkened room. A few investigative sniffs proves her not to be Anakin and there is some hesitation as its little fight-or-flight instinct is engaged, though when she sets the lid aside and drapes her knuckles against the gravel, it eventually comes to see what she is. 

And this is inherently the danger of herbivores, because he does try to make a snack of one of her fingers. Right then. She rises and gathers bits of clover and mint and other greens from the neat little plants kept along shelves of her walls. Ones that she mists morning and night and whispers her truths to, the very ones that Anakin always seems to enjoy visiting, one of the things he likes about her chamber, that brings him a kind of only-slightly-guilty happiness. The little vole makes quick work of most of the meal, then drags away some for his mate, or so she presumes. She will have to research their care and feeding, though it seems that Anakin has, in fact, provided them a lovely little home to the best of his ability. She goes to sit at her desk and pulls out her datapad.

M-D-A The specimens that you have delivered to me are exactly perfect for the research project. They seem satisfied with their current conditions and of course I will keep them under the strictest observation. You have my absolute gratitude for being able to assist me, and you find me in your debt. I would be most glad to share the results of these observations with you upon your return to Galactic City, where I may properly thank you for going out of your way for me, my oldest friend.

I hope your latest mission sees you in good spirits and that the Force keeps you safe. I very much love hearing of your adventures off-world and the holo-net can hardly make up for the personal details your telling of them brings.

I am unaware of having to travel in the near future, so if you should have any need of me in the meantime, I of course will gladly look forward to your messages. Until then, know I wish you health and good cheer. May the Force be with you, always. With deepest respect and admiration, Melakeni

It seems cold and brittle and distant, like starlight on a moonless night. It feels like there is so much left unspoken because that is how it must be, in coded messages and aching spirit.  Anakin understands and she would never trade any of this save for another life where they might be free of constraints put upon them by the Order. Though she does wonder if that would make him happy or if what is now frustration would become something dull and listless, the bound-up denial of his natural compassion and desire to help those that need him most. It is a thing to consider, because as far as she is aware, they must be together as well, or suffer the same kind of separation sickness as the two little rodents tending each other and what she assumes are their five adorable children.

And what does she hope that he sees?

That they are loved already, mostly sight-unseen and bite-unfelt. That through their tiniest little glimmers of presence she feels even more connected to Anakin in his absence. That her message carries all of her love and hopes for him. That he has but to think of her and she will reach out to him across time and space and anything else that dare come between.

With or without the Time of Voles, with or without his physical proximity, there is no one that can occupy the shape of him inside of her.

#mynameisanakin #Images of Broken Light|Anakin Skywalker #Pools of Sorrow-Waves of Joy|Anikeni #Across the Universe|Star Wars AU #Warfront|The Clone Wars #Scintillating Light|Coruscant #//thank you Shady! Those are really cute and I can just. #//So sweet #rodent tw #mouse tw #Vole-n-time 2021 #submission

[canonconspiracy]

Competence (Sebastian x Reader)

AN:  Alright, so Kuro is not in my current fandoms, but this has been waiting in my NTP for a while.  I will likely make a various fandom book on Wattpad and AO3 to shove this in.  For the meantime, this is a Tumblr exclusive.

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji

Fanfiction By: @rmorningstar21

Pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x Reader

You were, as Sebatian seemed to put it, the able bodied caretaker of the Phantomhive Manor.  When you would praise him as being much more able-bodied than yourself, he would simply say that he was one hell of a butler, which you could respect.  Along with Takana, you had experienced that horrible day that brought tragedy to the Phantomhive Mansion, and as such, you had been kept as the head maid.  The Earl was not easy to please, and you left much of the pleasing to the handsome butler, often checking in on him when you had the time.  

Today, the group had to get ready for a toy embassador from a possible partnering company, and everyone was on high alert.  You had tended to the linen, dusted, arranged just about anything breakable, and had gone to check upon your coworkers.  As you expected, their stations, especially your underlings, were in utter disaster.  

Bardroy had expected that instead of cooking in the oven, it would be much faster for him to use a flamethrower on this evening’s meal.  As you checked in upon him, you grabbed your nose in disgust as you stared at the charred meal.  Paired around the charred dining, even the table had received some minor burns.  Luckily, it had been a metal table, and would just need a little elbow grease to take care of it.  

As you heard footsteps nearby, you bit your lip nervously before turning to Bardroy.  “Leave the room and stall Sebastian,” you instructed quickly, before shooing him.  You got to work upon the room, though the garbage that would have remnants of the charred meal would give away what had happened.  At worst, you knew that if you were able to make use of the meat, it would be less of a torment upon Sebastian.  Taking a large knife, you took the charred meat, removing any remnants of the charring and repurposing it into a traditional Japanese dish.  Though it was not what Sebastian had ordered the cook Bardroy to make, it would at least be satisfactory.  

Your hands worked quickly at the meal, while you listened to the uncomfortable conversation outside.  Bardroy was not incredible at stalling Sebastian, as none of them ever were.  You would never be able to stall him yourself, but at least you had gotten Bardroy out of the way, making your work a great deal easier.  It had merely taken you 15 minutes to fix the disaster of the kitchen, while another five minutes was taken to remove the markings upon the table from the flamethrower.  

Taking a deep sigh, you could hear the door opening, and quickly made your way out of the room before Sebastian could say anything to you about cleaning up anyone else’s messes.  He knew, of course, that it was you.  As his red eyes landed upon the organized meal, a relieved smile attempted to pull at his lips.  Though you had not seen it as you rushed off to see what Mey-Rin was doing, his red eyes took a longer than usual glance over at you before he was summoned once again by the young Phantomhive Earl.  

When you had found Mey-Rin, she had an uncomfortable look upon her face, simply staring at the mess she had created.  You felt a burning in your heart as you looked at all the shattered glass, a grimace apparent upon your face.  “Mey-Rin?” you questioned in a deep, almost demonic tone, causing her to flinch.  

“Y-yes, Miss Y/N?” she asked, taking a glance over at you with her broken glasses.  

You cleared your throat, straightening yourself up as to not completely freak out upon her.  “You understand that your performance reflects upon me, correct?” you asked her through gritted teeth.  Watching as she nodded quickly, you let out an aggravated sigh before shooing her off with your hand.  “Go while I fix this.  If you see Sebastian, keep him busy.”

She nodded quickly before dismissing herself, leaving you to clean up mounds of broken china.  Working quickly, you made sure not to leave any sort of mess behind as you cleaned it all up.  While Sebastian would obviously notice the china in the trash, it could not be helped.  You made quick work of setting the shelving back up, placing any china that had not been broken respectively back upon the shelf.  

As if it was clockwork, you could hear the footsteps of Sebastian Michaelis, and you made haste to get out of the area.  There was plenty more to be done, after all, and you ran off to see what disaster that Finny had likely created in the garden.  It was unfortunate when the other workers believed that they could make Sebastian’s jaw drop - typically when they would come up with ideas of that nature, you were stuck cleaning up the mess.

Finny had completely destroyed the gardening, and your angered eyes did not even glance over to him as they stared upon the horrible sight.  Rolling up your sleeves, you merely motioned for the boy to leave you be while you cleaned up the disaster in front of you, creating a rock garden in its place.  This had taken you significantly longer than the other two cleanups, and you were fully unaware of Sebastian’s red eyes staring out at you while you worked so quickly to clean the mess.  His lips slipped into a frown as he saw all the hard work you had to do to clean up after your coworkers, though if it had not been you, it would have been him fixing everything up.

Unknown to you, Sebastian had still given a lecture to the other workers, as being one hell of a butler meant that he was also well-aware of his surroundings.  There was no fooling Sebastian Michaelis, but as you had finished the gardening, you took a moment to lean against a nearby tree, soaking in the fresh air.  What you had not heard as you were catching your breath was the quick and quiet saunter of the handsome butler, before you had been face to face with those handsome red eyes.

“Well, as usual, you have exceeded my expectations,” Sebastian practically purred out, his breath hot upon your lips.  You could feel your cheeks heating up as you stared into those eyes, though you kept your breath as steady as possible.  Though the man was handsome, talented, and the one that your heart had chosen, you always made sure to keep a cool visage with the man.  

“I should say that I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you teased gently, a smile tugging upon your lips, “though I understand there’s no fooling you.  I was merely doing my job.”

He chuckled darkly, though you could feel a hand brought to the side of your face, causing you to feel your breath hitch in your throat.  You were not sure what Sebastian’s angle was today, but he was truly beginning to wear at your cool visage.  As you felt the warm hand, with his thumb tracing over your cheekbone, your heart began to speed up.  

“Your job and the job of many others,” he corrected, a smirk playing upon his lips.  “Maybe you deserve a reward.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush off what Sebastian was doing.  As he had done similar to Mey-Rin in the past while yelling at her, you presumed it was merely some similar teasing, masochistic banter as he had used with her.  “I simply strive to be worthy of my salt,” you replied, as if on command, as a confident recording.  

He looked displeased of your stagnant nature, and though he was a fine butler, he had moments that he was not quite as patient as it would seem.  Without warning, you felt warm lips, almost like fire pressed against your own.  Under the taste upon his lips, you could taste something completely undefinable, as if he had been devouring the very soul of a human being.  For some reason, though, the taste was a bit bittersweet, even desirable.  Recognizing that you had yet to kiss him back, you brought your arms gently around his neck, reciprocating the kiss.  At the consent of your arms, you felt his slender hands upon your waist, pinning you to the tree you leaned against as the two of you kissed.  

When the two of you had separated, he held a satisfied smirk upon his face, while your face held a bit of a flustered blush, quirky smile tugging upon your own lips.  As if nothing had happened, he said, “It’s about time we prepare for the guest’s dining experience,” straightening his gloves upon his hands and glancing over to the mansion.  

Upon his words, you nodded.  “Indeed we shall,” you said quickly, your composure slowly coming back to you.  You took another moment to glance at the handsome butler before heading off to check upon the less than adequate, quirky coworkers that you worked along side.  Luckily, they had been told to take a break, so no new messes were there to be cleaned once more.   

#kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji II #sebastian michaelis #reader insert #sebastian x reader #x reader #xreader #anime #kuroshitsuji oneshot #tumblr exclusive

[marshmallow-phd]

Secret in His Eyes

Spinoff of Sins of the Father

Genre: Mafia Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: A vacation exploring China’s famous city was supposed to be relaxing. When you witness a horrifying murder, you instead find yourself in police custody, unable to run. Trying to stay alive, you meet Luhan, and you believe you can trust him. You never imagined that he might be the one you should be running from.

Part: Prologue I 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I Final

**

“This is getting ridiculous!” Tao screeched, throwing the file he had in his hand so the papers went flying through the air. Their flat surface, however, caused them to fall slowly through the air, fluttering down like oversized snowflakes. A much calmer reaction to Tao’s outburst.

Luhan was barely paying attention. His eyes were trained on the monitor of his computer. From the camera that was set up in your room, he could see your every move. Not that you did much of that.

Like a good little prisoner, you stayed in your room, only venturing out to grab a meal from the kitchen. The room had its own private bathroom, so there wasn’t any other reason for you to leave other than pure curiosity. And Luhan was impressed at your ability to suppress your own inquisitive urges. If he was left in a room in a giant mansion where the door was unlocked, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from exploring.

It was kind of saddening, the way you’d resigned yourself to your current circumstances. The whole thing sort of reminded Luhan of an abandoned puppy left out in the rain. A single heartstring he didn’t know he still possessed was being tugged on. And it bothered him. He’d been watching you do nothing but read the books Yixing dropped off for you for the past three days. It was driving him crazy. He could only imagine how you were doing.

“Hello? Luhan!”

“What!” Irritated, Luhan minimized the window, cutting you off from his vision before turning in his chair.

Tao rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to talk to you about another shipment being seized by the police and you’re busy gawking at the girl.”

“I was not gawking!” Luhan yelled back.

“You kind of were,” Kris smirked from the couch. His eyes didn’t leave the Bazaar magazine he was flipping through so how the hell would he know?

“I’m just making sure that she’s staying where she’s supposed to.”

A snicker was very apparent underneath Tao’s tone as he pointed out, “If she hasn’t tried to sneak out by now, I doubt she will.”

Annoyed and going a little stir crazy himself, Luhan pushed off from the desk and stood up. Heading for the door, he almost made it out of the office, before-

“Where are you going?” Kris got up from the couch, tossing the magazine off to the side.

Biting back a groan, Luhan looked over his shoulder at his partners, only slightly fibbing, “Whoever killed Xiaofei is connected to whoever keeps interfering with our business. I have a hunch that it leads back to the police station since they’re mainly the ones who keep busting our deals. I’m just going to see it out.”

Kris nodding, that rare thoughtful look scrunching his face. “Good luck, then. Let us know if you find anything out.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted.” Luhan got out of there before he could be interrogated anymore. Because while he was telling the truth in regards to what he planned on doing, he wasn’t going alone.

**

These past few days had been the slowest kind of torture. The kind that wasn’t painful to the body, but to the mind. Rest never came from this kind of endless torment, not even in your dreams. All day, you were forced to wonder what would happen to you. The only person you had interacted with was the doctor when he came to drop a few books off to keep yourself occupied, but he didn’t know or didn’t want to tell you what was in store for your future. As thankful as you were for the momentary distractions the novels gave, your mind could only concentrate on the words for so long before it wandered back into the mystery of your surroundings.

You just wanted answers. Lin said they wouldn’t kill you, but could you entirely believe that? These were most certainly the kind of people who could change their mind in a split second and not think twice about pulling the trigger.

Sighing to yourself for hundredth time, you wrapped your arms around your bended legs and rested your forehead on your thighs. You simply wanted out of here. You wanted to remember what the sky looked like, what the air tasted of, what the sound of other people bombarding your ears was like. Isolation was only welcoming when it was by choice.

Knock, knock, knock.

Sliding off the bed, you walked over to the door fully expecting Yixing to be standing on the other side. When it turned out to be Lin, you frowned. “You know how to knock?”

“Now that’s just rude.” Lin gave you a once over, as if he had any right to judge your clothes.

The morning after your little fainting incident, there was a pile of clothes folded neatly just inside the door. A small gesture that you were thankful for given how gross your old clothes were starting to get – after you got over the fact that someone entered the room while you were asleep, that is. But you didn’t really think Lin had a right to judge your appearance since you didn’t pick out the articles yourself. Sure, the clothes fit alright, but they still weren’t yours.

Lin motioned over his shoulder with his head. “That’s decent enough. Come on.”

You stayed planted where you were, completely untrusting. “Where are we going?”

Already exasperated, Lin huffed, explaining, “We’re going to stake out the police station, see if you recognize anyone as the killer.”

“First of all, I already told you I didn’t see his face. Second of all, what if someone there recognizes me?”

Apparently, pointing out the logical flaws in his plan just made Lin even more annoyed with you. He rolled eyes so far you wondered if they might get stuck back there before reappearing, staring straight at you. “The windows of my car so tinted that they wouldn’t be able to tell how many people are even inside. And second of all, I sent one of my men ahead to plant a bug, so you’ll be listening not watching.”

Okay…. Even with that little explanation, you were still confused, but you stepped out of the room anyway, shutting the door before following him down the hall. “If there’s a bug, then why do we have to go to the station?”

“It’s a short range bug,” Lin grumbled. “We have to be close to pick up the signal, keeps anyone from accidentally stumbling across it.”

“So, then why are you taking me with you?” you asked. It seemed a bit dumb to you to take the police where you could easily get back to safety.

Your questions made Lin snap. “Do you want to go back into that room forever?”

You shrank back at his outburst, more fearful than ever at the fire in his eyes. You really needed to learn to pick your battles and squash your curiosity. “Sorry.”

Running his hand through his hair, Lin shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. That was… dumb. I should have just explained in the first place. But as I told you earlier, you’re the only one who can lead us to the killer. Whoever he works for is interfering with our business and I- I mean, the bosses are getting antsy about it. If our shipments keep getting intercepted and our men get killed, a lot of people are going to lose their livelihoods.”

Keeping your mouth shut about how those people should have decided to be involved in work that was a bit more legal was the hardest thing you’d done within the past few weeks. You might have even drawn blood with how hard you were biting down on your cheek. What they did with their lives was none of your business. You didn’t know what brought them to this dark underworld so who were you to judge?

“What?” Lin teased. “No sassy comment this time?”

You scoffed as you stepped inside what seemed to be a very large garage attached to the side of the house. “Don’t presume to know me.”

“I believe there’s an English expression about a pot calling the kettle a name?” Lin rounded a black, two-door sports car that had windows so dark they practically blended in with the paint job.

Ignoring his rather good comeback, you eyed the vehicle, pointing to the windows. “Is that even legal?”

“Haven’t gotten a ticket yet.” Lin jumped into the driver’s seat, roaring the engine to life. Surprisingly, he waited patiently for you get into the car so the two of you could leave. With no other choice, you opened the door and slid inside.

It was an odd situation to be in. You weren’t handcuffed or held at knife point or coerced in any serious way to tag along for this mission. Like an obedient dog, he said come and you came. Granted, he was basically dangling an irritable steak in front of your face. No, this wasn’t quite true freedom, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as the trees blurred by you, giving way for homes and then businesses until you were fully immersed into the city once again.

Your cheeks were hurting, no longer used to the action of smiling occurring within your facial muscles. The car swerved suddenly before shifting back into place. When you looked over at Lin, he shrugged, keeping his eyes on the horizon.

“There was a dog in the road.”

Uh-huh.

Shaking your head, you turned back to the window. So many people were milling about, going on with their lives, unaware of little you in the passenger seat, being driven around by a gang member. And how could they know? They had no idea of your existence and that had to be a very blissful ignorance.

Lin pulled over and parked the car along the sidewalk while giving a perfect view of the police station on the opposite corner. He fiddled with his phone along with the buttons on the radio until multiple voices started coming through the speakers loud and clear.

“Okay,” he turned to you with a serious expression, “I need you to listen carefully, see if you recognize any of the voices.”

You nodded nervously. At first, everything was just garbled nonsense. It was hard to discern one voice from another, especially given the language barrier. Not to mention they were all basically male voices from what you could tell. Similar tones that were hard to separate out.

“Anyone?” Lin asked hopefully after ten or so minutes.

Leaning back in the seat, defeated, you shook your head. “No, I’m sorry.”

Lin said something sharply in his mother tongue – you suspected it was a curse word given the indentions in his voice, but you were too afraid to ask.

“Well, we just got here,” you pointed out. “Maybe I’ll- wait!”

“What?”

“Shh!”

Lin’s jaw dropped at your boldness. “Excuse-”

You pointed to the radio and turned the volume up, making him shut up immediately. Because it wasn’t any of the male voices that you recognized.

It was Detective Zhuang. You couldn’t understand a word she was saying, but a strange comfort washed over you. She was the person you felt was on your side through all of this. The urge to run inside where she would protect you was strong, but you fought it. You didn’t want to put anyone else in unnecessary danger.

Lin’s eyes flickered back and forth between you and the radio before he switched it off and threw the car in drive. Deep, harsh lines were forming on his face as his frown deepened.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you questioned, “What was that about?”

“You said the killer was a man,” he growled, eyes never leaving the road. “So what if you recognize the lead detective’s voice? She wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. She was just the one who took your statement. That’s not useful.”

He had a very valid point. You simply became a little overexcited at hearing a familiar, friendly voice for once.

Believing your adventure into the outside world to be over, you closed your eyes and leaned your forehead against the cool glass of the window. Your mind wandered through random paths. You wondered if Shishi was alright and if she’d ever learned of what happened to you that night. Your family appeared, too. They had to be worried why you never got off the plane, why you hadn’t come home yet. Would you ever make it back?

When the car came to a full stop again and Lin had turned off the engine, you opened your eyes, confused. The ride back was much shorter than the ride in. Had you fallen asleep?

But as you straightened up and looked around, it was obvious that you were still within the city limits. The neighborhood you’d arrived at was a little more run down, not as modern as downtown, remnants of the old way of life still present in the buildings and people milling about. No one stared at the flashy, high-end car that clearly didn’t belong there. Everyone minded their own business as if it was something they saw every day.

You looked over at Lin, who was already unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of the car. “What are we doing here?”

“I’m hungry. Come on.”

He didn’t even bother to see if you were following him before he slipped inside a tiny door and into an equally tiny restaurant. Through the window you could see him greet the ancient owner with a respectful bow. Once he was upright again, the old lady pulled Lin in for a hug. What that his grandmother?

Through the dusty window, Lin motioned for you to join him with his finger. Rolling your eyes, you undid your seatbelt and went inside.

Your babysitter was already sitting at a table, eyes scanning over a worn paper menu aimlessly. Every character was in simplified Chinese and no pictures gave you a clue as to what some of the dishes were.

“I already ordered for us,” Lin declared as you took the chair across from him. “You’ll like it. Trust me. None of those big fancy restaurants can compete with the real thing here.”

You pulled your eyebrows together, unsure of how to read this situation. “What are you doing, exactly?”

Picking up the wooden chopsticks laying on his side of the small square table, Lin inspected the utensil as if that was much more interesting than conversing with you. “Waiting for food. I told you, I’m hungry. I didn’t feel like making anything back at the house and I was sick of watching you eat nothing but sandwiches.”

Watching…? “Have you been spying on me?”

Lin tossed the chopstick down and leaned back in his chair so his elbow was resting on the back. “No, I haven’t been spying. But it’s my job to watch you. Especially when you leave the room. Thanks for making that easy, by the way. Only going to the kitchen to make another sandwich and back to your room.”

You pursed your lips. The only reason you kept with that type of meal was because it was quick and easy, leaving very little chance of running into someone you really didn’t want to. Even though staying within those four walls constantly was driving you mad, being outside of your room made you anxious. But you didn’t want to admit again that you were scared, so you shrugged instead. “It’s just food.”

“Plain, boring food. I’m going to show you what a meal looks like.”

“And you won’t get in trouble for this?” Why you even cared about him getting in trouble was beyond you. Why should you be worried if his bosses would yell at him for buying you a meal or taking his time out in the city? It couldn’t be because he was being somewhat nice to you, could it? Lin’s back and forth personality was frustrating to you. After that first day, you could have sworn he thought of you as nothing more than pawn, a tool that he had to put up with for the time being. But now he was treating you like an actual human being.

Lin laughed like the idea of being reprimanded was a nice joke. “Why would I get in trouble?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you replied sarcastically, a little put off by his attitude once again. “Maybe because you left me in the car where I could have easily run away?”

While you thought you’d cornered him, Lin just smirked as he took a sip of water. “You wouldn’t have gotten far. When you were passed out, Yixing put a tracker in you.”

“Are you serious?” Frantically, you started searching your body for any sign of the entry point.

Lin was thrown into a laughing fit. His mouth was open wide with how funny he thought he was that his chin looked dislocated. Infuriated, you threw a balled up napkin at his face. It landed right on his nose, but he went on, unfazed.

“Yixing would never do that even if I held a gun to his head,” Lin told you as his finally got himself under control. “Human rights and things like that.”

He could actually refuse? You shook your head. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“The hierarchy, I guess?” You weren’t sure how to phrase it. Obviously, there had to be some sort of ranking to keep everyone in line, right?

“The hierarchy?” he echoed. “Between me and Yixing?” You nodded. Lin leaned forward so his arms were resting on the table. “There isn’t, really. Yixing isn’t in the… group. Not anymore. Now he’s just a good friend. He’s just here visiting and can’t help but have a bleeding heart for anyone with a cold.”

“Why isn’t he in the group anymore?” you asked innocently.  

Right then, the old lady came back with the food that Lin had ordered. After putting the bowls of noodles and sauce-covered meats down on the table, she patted Lin’s head and walked away. The way he dove right in told you that he wasn’t going to reveal the reason the doctor was no longer in their little club.

It was a bit weird to see the owner be so friendly with the kind of person that most ordinary people would steer clear from. Actually, it was kind of… sweet.

You took a few bites of the chicken in front of you, your mouth watering as the tangy delicious flavor hit your tongue. Your stomach was practically begging for more.

“Good?” Lin asked. Since your mouth was fully, you nodded happily. A smile spread across his own lips. “Good. I’m glad.”

His inquire and satisfaction with your reply suddenly made you feel a bit awkward. You cleared your throat to try and chase it away. “So, is she your grandmother?”

Lin chuckled and shook his head. “No. She’s just someone I helped out a while back.”

“Helped out?” Please don’t say you killed someone for her.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “She was about to get thrown out of here because she was so behind on rent. It’s not just her business, though. She lives upstairs. So, I bought the place from the original owner.”

“Ah,” you nodded, understanding. “And that makes you the owner now?”

“Nope.”

You blinked. “But you just said-”

“I gave the place to her.”

You were stunned. Lin just kept on eating as if he’d something simple like the sky was blue or birds had feathers. “That, um,” you swallowed thickly, still processing to fit together what he told you with the previous image of gangsters you had painted in your prejudiced head. “That was very sweet of you.”

He shrugged, going back to the meal. “We’re not all guns and violence. Not all the time. Besides, I like the food here. Finding a new place with good food is a hassle.”

It almost too easy to see right through that last part. He was playing it off too much. Even with your harsh picture of him that you’d contrived on the first meeting, you could tell that he did it out of simple kindness.

The more you thought you were figuring this man out, the more of a mystery he became. There were so many facets of his character that you were constantly being proven wrong or shown another side. In the last hour alone, he’d made you smile, teased you, and given you a small amount of trust.

Just who was this man sitting across from you?

#exo #exo mafia au #exo mafia!au #luhan x reader #luhan #lu han #kris wu #wu yifan #Huang zitao #z.tao #tao #zhang yixing #lay #exo gang au #exo gang!au #exo series #Secret in His Eyes

[solletichi]

100 Follower Special- Revenge Fic!

Tsym for 100 followers!! I love all you guys so much! Thank you all for encouraging me and giving me feedback on my writing❤️❤️❤️❤️

If you guys wanna give me other excuses to wreck Kokichi feel free to leave me an ask!

~~~~~~~~~ 

Kaede was practicing the piano when she felt two hands poke at her sides, startlig her out of her practice. She jumped nearly two miles high at the sensation, and turned around to see none other than Kokichi with a devilish smirk on his face.

“Kokichi! What’re you doing! I was in the middle of practicing!”

“Nishishi, consider this my revenge!”

“Wait, d-don’t! I- GAH!”

Kokichi tackled her and positioned his weight above her on the ground, sparing no time in marcilessly clawing at her stomach.

“K-KOKICHI STAHAHAHAP!” He danced his fingers alond her sides as if he was playing the piano, being so delicate yet so cruel at the same time.

“Now it’s my turn to play you like the piano, nishishi!”

“NOHOHOHO! I’M SOHOHOREEHEEY”

“Hmph, luckily for you I’ve still got four other victim to get to, so I’m gonna cut this short. See ya, Kayayday!” He leaped off of her and sprinted out of the room in order to find his next victim. Kaede just lay there on the ground, panting and bewildered at what just happened. She sighed and lifted herself off the ground, dusting off her skirt and sitting back at her piano.

~~~~~~~~

Kokichi snuck into Miu’s lab to see her fiddling with some new invention of hers as usual. Not even bothering to hide his presence, he slammed the door behind him, making sure that Miu knew he was there.

“EEEEK! What the hell was that for, asshole!” she cowered, “You scared the crap outta me!”

“I came to show you my new invention!” Kokichi beamed, pulling a white feather out of his pocket. “I call it the Tickle Machine 3000!”

“That’s just a feather you fuckin’ moron! There’s nothing special about that!”

“God, you’re such a stickler for the details. Maybe that’s why no one likes a fat whore like you.”

“W-What’re you gonna do with that thing anyway? Is that why you came here?! To tickle torture the hell outta me?!” she exclaimed.

“Wow, for a dumb whore pig you actually got something right for once!”

“Wait, really?! Don’t tell me this is revenge for the other day!”

Without saying anything, Kokichi charhed and pounced on her, ruthlessly tickling her with the feather he brought. He dusted it under her arms, on her navel, and even her neck and ears. Each location had Miu going hysterical, howling with laughter.

“STOHOHOP IHIHIT YOU LITTLE SHIHIT!”

“Why should I? A whore bitchlet like you deserves to be punished!”

“NAHAHAHA FUHUHUCK!”

Kokichi sighed, finally stepping off of her. “Today’s your lucky day: I’m letting you go! But just for now, nishishi! That’s two down, three to go!” Kokichi ran out of the room once again in pursuit of his next victim.

“Stupid little shota...” Miu mumbled to herself, picking herself off the ground and resuming her work on her invention.

~~~~~~~~

Kaito was walking past the courtyard on his way to the dorms to meet up with Shuichi. Just as he was about to enter the dorms he felt someone poking at his underarms, causing him to jolt and freeze in place.

“Nishishi, does Kaito Momota happen to be ticklish?”

Kaito whipped around to face Kokichi, “What the hell was that for?!”

“Revenge, duh!” Kokichi continued poking and prodding at every inch of Kaito’s torso, while the latter could do nothing but squirm in place.

“STAHAHAHAP YOU AHAHASS!”

He managed to get a grip on Kokichi and push him back, only for Kokichi to lunge at him and tackle him to the ground. Kokichi continued his ministrations from the ground, drawing random patterns and constellations against Kaito’s stomach.

“Hell no! This is what you get for torturing me the other day!”

Kokichi stopped when he looked through the windows of the dorms and saw Shuichi walking down the stairs, presumably coming out to meet Kaito.

“Well whaddya know, I see my next victim! Nice playing with ya spaceman!” Kokichi picked himself up and entered the dorms, leaving Kaito a flushed mess on the ground.

~~~~~~~~~

Once Kokichi entered the dorms he immediately pounced on Shuichi, who was completely unaware of the torment that Kokichi had put the others through.

“GAH! K-Kokichi! What’re you- EEK!”

“I’m getting revenge on everyone- yes, even you Shuichi- who tickled me the other day! And now it’s your turn!” Kokichi furiously spidered his fingers along Shuichi’s sides and stomach.

“KOKICHIHIHI STOHOHOP!”

“This is an interrogation! I’ll let you go, if you tell me what I want, kay?” Kokichi smiled miscievously. He slowed down his ministrations to allow Shuichi to speak, albeit through labored breaths.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Tell me where Rantaro is! Once you tell me where he is I’ll stop torturing you and torture him instead!”

“I-I can’t do that! I don’t even- EEP!”

Kokichi resumed tickling Shuichi, poking at the empty spaces between his ribs.

“Tell me where Rantaro is!”

“I DOHOHON’T KNOHOHOW!”

“Aw, you don’t? That’s a shame... guess I’ll just have to find him myself! Thanks anyway Shumai!” And with that Kokichi began to explore the campus in search of Rantaro.

~~~~~~~~

Eventually, Kokichi found Rantaro in the library along with Kirumi and Maki. Rantaro was sitting by himself, and Kokichi saw this as the perfect opportunity to strike. He used both of his hands to flutter his fingers along Rantaro’s sides from behind. While he was expecting a surprised reaction and a fit of laughter from the other boy, what he got instead was a confused look.

“Kokichi? Are you trying to-“

“This is revenge for the other day when all you guys held me down and tickled me!”

“Ah, I see. Well I hate to break it to you but I’m not ticklish.”

“N-No way! You have to be!”

“Nope, sorry.”

“That’s so unfair!”

“What’re you two talking about?” Kirumi asked, overhearing the exchange.

“Looks like Kokichi wanted revenge from when I tickled him the other day. Too bad I’m not ticklish?”

“That’s right. That must’ve been quite embarrassing for you, no?”

“S-Shut up!” Kokichi spat. “Are you ticklish?”

“I regret to inform you that I am not.” She replied.

“Neither am I.” Maki joined in.

Kokichi whipped his head back and forth, looking at the three people that surrounded him. “Maki? Well it’s not like I call if a professional killer- GAH!”

Kokichi was cut off by Rantaro poking him in the side.

“R-Rantaro!”

“Must suck being the only ticklish one here, huh?” he smirked, getting up from his seat.

“W-Wait! I didn’t- I mean!” Kokichi backed away from Rantaro’s wiggling fingers only to back into Kirumi.

“It seems you’re in a similar situation yet again, Kokichi. If it is requested of me to tickle you by the others, I’d be more than happy to.”

“Then Kirumi, would you help me tickle Kokichi? What about you, Maki?”

“Of course.” Kirumi replied.

“Sure.” Maki responded, a sadistic smile forming on her face.

“Wait! No! Not again!” Kokichi practically begged. He tried to escape but there was nowhere to go: he was surrounded by three people tauntingly wiggling their fingers at him.

Rantaro scooped Kokichi up and placed him on the ground, positioning himself over his hips. Kirumi held down his arms while Maki positioned herself by his feet, removing his shoes.

“Are you ready, Kokichi?”

“Nohoho!” he was reduced to a state of frantic laughter and begging, though the tickling had yet to even start yet.

“Three... two... One!” All at once, Rantaro slipped his hand underneath Kokichi’s shirt and began dancing his fingers all over the sensitive skin, Kirumi began teasing his neck with a featherduster she always kept on her and Maki furiously scribbled her fingers over Kokichi’s soles. It was absolute hell.

Rantaro was a master tickler, and Kirumi’s featherduster and Maki’s nimble fingers were merciless. Kokichi couldn’t even attempt to hold back his laughter; his senses were overloaded with the electrifying sensations shocking his entire body.

“AHAAHAHAHA STAHAHAHAP IHIHIT! I CAN’T TAHAKE IHIHIT!”

“Should’ve thought about that before you came to get revenge on me.”

Rantaro picked up the pace and began scribbling at Kokichi’s underarms, effectively driving him insane. Kirumi continued to tease his neck and collarbone, while Maki continued her merciless assualt on his vulnerable soles.

Eventually, Kokichi’s face turned a deep shade of red and his movements became weak, signaling that it was time to stop. The three of them stood up, leaving Kokichi a panting and flushed mess on the ground.

“Well that settles that,” Rantaro began, “Know you know not to mess with me ever again, right Kokichi?”

Kokichi didn’t reply, he just lay on the ground in utter shock at what just happened. He had almost successfully gotten revenge on everybody, but no, Rantaro just had to be not ticklish. Then him, Maki and Kirumi just had to gang up on him and torture him again. Kokichi sighed to himself. Maybe getting revenge again wouldn’t be such a good idea...

#tickling #tickle fic #my writing #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #kokichi ouma #kaito momota #miu iruma #kaede akamatsu #shuichi saihara #rantaro amami #maki harukawa #kirumi tojo

[starry-nightflyer]

“SWIGGITY SWEEDBACK, LEAVE ME SOME FEEDBACK!” - @da-chubby-burb . Chapter five! Holy shit! Okay, you guys BLOW ME AWAY with your responses and predictions for every chapter I write for @littlekiwifrog’s fucking spectacular It AU. Seriously, I love you all. I want to give a HUGE Shout out to my betas, SkyHighDisco-New, @navy-follower, and @clownxwithxaxpaperxboat  These three are freaking amazing human beings and I love them all. You all deserve hot cocoa! As per usual, enjoy the chapter!

[FIRST] [SECOND] [THIRD] [FOURTH]

Georgie awoke in darkness. He frowned, squirmed, and tried to move his oddly unresponsive body out from under whatever pinned him in place, heartbeat quickening as he did so. The darkness engulfing him didn’t cease to be, but something atop him shifted, just enough to pin him closer to- well- what he was on top of, he didn’t know. All he knew was that it was very hot, and very dark, and he wanted to get out from under it, thank you very much. His sleep-glazed eyes began to focus on what looked to be a mess of white sheets, which caused him to stop scrambling to get free.

They weren’t his sheets, but they seemed familiar.

He frowned in the dark and slowly reached one hand out in front of him, pawing at the sheets, still incredibly aware of the weight on his back. It was hot, and it shifted around slightly, letting out small breaths of air before settling back down atop him. It was only when a soft snore resonated from above him that he figured it out. He huffed out an irritated breath and put a bit more effort into squirming, his legs tangling in the bedsheets.

“Billy! You’re squishin’ me!” He squawked, giving the weight atop him a shove. The snores above him intensified and he groaned exasperatedly. “Bill,” he whined, drawing out the name to last a small eternity. “Get off!” The snoring stopped and something atop him shifted.

A soft, somewhat irritated moan rang in his ears, a yawn following. “Juh-” Bill audibly swallowed before trying again, “Juh-Juh…” Georgie glared at the blankets and pushed at Bill’s chest, not in the mood to wait for his brother’s tongue to start working.

“Yes, it’s me. Now get off!” Bill groaned softly, but obliged, Georgie wiggling out from under his arms and taking a gulping breath of air, the cold morning air causing him to cross his arms against his chest. Bill laughed softly behind him and he whirled around to stick out his tongue, pushing at the arm that was still wrapped around his shoulder. “You’re still sweaty.” He observed as his brother retracted his arm and rubbed at his tired eyes, the brilliant blue they normally carried muted from sleep, looking almost glassy. Georgie watched his brother stand, fiddling idly with the bottom of his cream nightshirt.

“Suh-Sorry,” he muttered, yawning once more into his hand. Georgie tugged his legs from the blankets and sat upright on the bed, tilting his head to the side slightly like a curious dog.

“Feelin’ any better?” Bill visibly stiffened, his cheeks draining of color.

“Fine.” He replied, a soft smile gracing his lips. Georgie frowned. He could always tell when his brother was lying, as much as Bill liked to pretend he didn’t. There were two key things he had become aware of in his seven years of living. One, was that his stutter would intensify so much, he could hardly speak, even though he had been fine moments before. The other dead giveaway was when he spoke in single, harsh syllables that didn’t tie his tongue into knots, tugging them from his throat like they were stuck within it.

“Are you sure?” He asked, leaning forward, ignoring the way that Bill flinched back. “Because you don’t look fine.” Bill’s smile faded into something that looked more like a grimace and he rubbed at his face with the heel of his hand.

“I’m shu-sure,” he averted his eyes, but Georgie had seen the lie outright. After all, he knew Bill didn’t scare easily, but he had been shaking the night before. Surely that would stick with him into the morning? Still, Georgie bit his lip against the remark on his tongue, simply nodding and rising from the mess of blankets, stretching his arms high above his head with a heavy exhale.

“’M'kay,” he mumbled, sidestepping Bill and shooting him a sleepy grin before pushing open the door and stepping out into the hallway, deciding to brush his teeth before getting on with his morning. He was completely unaware of the way Bill watched him walk away, looking borderline frightened before shutting and latching the door to his room, retreating back behind the closed door.

Bill put his head into his hands the second Georgie was out of sight and let out a long, shuddering sigh, flopping backward onto his bed and trying to force images of last night’s dream out of his head. It wasn’t working. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make them leave, images of demons readying themselves to spring, the scent of blood, the feeling of pure terror as something- something hideous and otherworldly and wrong latched itself around his ankle, and the sound of his own deranged screams and wails before he had awoken in a cold sweat.

He changed out of his pyjamas in silence save for his thoughts, desperately wishing it wasn’t so quiet. Every creak from the floorboards set him off, thinking that the beast of his nightmare was coming for him, which was ridiculous. Even though he scolded himself for thinking such things, he couldn’t block out the noises of Georgie’s desperate screaming that his brain seemed content to repeat in an endless loop, growing steadily louder as he tugged his green t-shirt over his head and buttoned his jeans.

He would never admit that he had woken up a few more times that night on the verge of tears, his chest aching like his heart had fractured within it and his lungs screaming for air, a pair of hideous, gleaming yellow eyes etched into his mind. He made sure to tug the sleeping mass of Georgie just a little closer every time, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him closer to his side. Then, he would resume his staring competition with his ceiling until his eyelids were too heavy for him to keep open and he drifted off into a tormented sort of sleep that had him awake and gasping for breath mere minutes after, and so the cycle would continue.

He was reminded of that as he flopped backward onto his still-warm bed, letting his left hand hang loosely over the edge, knuckles grazing the floor. It was stupid to get so worked up over a dream. He was fourteen, not four, but somehow, that particular nightmare had deemed itself as different from the rest. He took a heaving breath and rolled over, shoving his fingers through his hair once in a futile attempt to get it to hang straight. Most nightmares, he had discovered, weren’t forgotten as easily as dreams, but still faded and lost some of their horrific quality by morning. But, this one wasn’t a normal nightmare, of that much, he was certain. The details were so crisp, so clear and unwavering in his mind that he knew this dream wasn’t going to leave him alone, even in his waking hours.

He rose from the bed with a small sigh, stretching once before plodding out of the room, stealing down the hall and cautiously peering into the kitchen. It didn’t look like either of his parents were up yet, which was always a plus. Quickly, knowing that he didn’t have much time until Georgie flew in, he made for the phone and quietly dialed, hoping against all odds that Ben was up.

He tangled his fingers in the white cord and let his head fall to the cold wall as the first ring echoed in his ears. And the second. Ben picked up on the third warbling ring and took a breath. Bill spoke before Ben could gather his words.

“I nuh-need to talk to you,” he mumbled, fighting not to let his voice crack.

“Bill, are you-”

“I’m fuh-fine, Ben,” he let the lie slip from his lips like he had the night before, guilt gnawing at his gut. “I juh-ju-just need to talk.”

There was a slight shuffling on the other end of the line, which Bill presumed to be Ben grabbing a chair before he resumed speaking. “Right, okay. Talk.” Bill scrubbed a hand over his face.

“No, luh-like, in puh-puh-” he took a shuddering breath through his nose, “person.” He could practically hear the pitying look Ben was wearing through the static and fought to keep himself from letting it get to him.

“Um, today?” Bill nodded vigorously before realizing Ben couldn’t see it. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the phone tightly to his ear.

“Yes, puh-please.” He managed, silently cursing the fact that his voice wavered.

“You okay?” It was the way that Ben sounded so genuinely concerned that made Bill bite his lip, desperate to keep composure.

“Sort of.” He felt a small surge of pride at the lack of a stutter in those two words and felt his mood lift. “I juh-just wanted to tuh-tuh-”

Damn it.

He trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose and gritting his teeth. “Talk to you.” He felt like a broken record as those words left his lips.

“Oh.” He could sense the hesitance in Ben’s words and stayed silent, knowing that, although he wanted Bill to speak, he wasn’t going to wait very long before continuing. “Actually, I was just about to call you. Mike, Richie, and I were going to check out the Neibolt house. Mike’s dad’s doing some research on historical buildings and figured that we’d want to help out…” He could practically hear Ben shrug.

“Oh, th-that’s fuh-fine, I guess,” Bill managed, shuffling awkwardly and twining his fingers with the cord. Ben took a deep breath and Bill could hear it through the line, mingling with the static.

“I was going to invite you along…” Bill smiled in spite of the situation, feeling the knot in his gut loosen considerably. “But, if you don’t want to, I totally get it-”

“I’ll cuh-come,” he interrupted. “That suh-sounds…” He searched for the right word for a moment. He settled with “different,” and Ben half-laughed.

“Good. Richie didn’t want to come until he heard there would be ice-cream.” Bill snorted.

“Suh-sounds like Tuh-Trashmouth,” he agreed. The two boys stayed in silence for a moment, before Ben broke it by clearing his throat.

“Why did you call me?”

Bill blinked. “What do you muh-mean?" 

Ben sighed. "Just, I haven’t known you that long. I’m not complaining, but I thought you would have called somebody else if you wanted to talk…” Ben’s voice sounded genuinely concerned, but also touched, that he was the one Bill would call.

“Nah,” Bill leaned against the wall, knowing that it was his turn to speak. “You’re the buh-best listener,” he explained, “Richie wuh-would make a joke and tuh-try to muh-make me smile. Muh-Mike would try to fix th-things.” He mentally began to do an inventory of his friends, counting them off on his fingers. “Bev’s duh-dad would kick her ass if I cuh-called. Stan would th-think I was overreacting. And Eddie wuh-would fuh-freak out. I still want tuh-to tell them, but yuh-you’re the best at juh-just listening.” It felt like something heavy lifted off of his chest when he said those words, as though just admitting that he wanted to talk would be enough to make the horrors he had faced the night before a little less frightening.

Ben laughed. “Thanks, Big Bill.”

Bill nodded. “Don’t muh-mention it. Trust me, yuh-you’re great.” Once again, they lapsed into silence, but it was far more comfortable than the last time.

“Meet you there around noon?”

“Suh-sounds good.”

“Cool!” The dial tone sounded almost hollow in his ears and he let it ring for a moment before hanging the phone back on the wall, taking care not to tangle the cord before latching the white device into place.

“What’re you doing?” Bill nearly leapt out of his skin at the sudden presence of a new voice, turning to shoot a glare at his younger brother.

“You sh-shouldn’t be eaves-duh-dropping,” he scolded. Georgie had the decency to look sheepish. His eyes fell to the ground.

“Sorry, Billy,” he mumbled to his socks, looking back at Bill after a few moments. “But I didn’t hear much, promise!” Bill rolled his eyes fondly, still glad to be hearing his brother’s voice, even if the dream had long since passed.

“I wuh-was just tuh-talking to Ben,” he explained, running his fingers through his fair a couple times more, silently wishing for a comb. “He in-invited me to go on some kuh-kind of huh-historic hunt at the Nuh-Neibolt house.” Georgie nodded, pulling one chair from the table and sliding into it, one hand reaching for the muffins on the table.

“Are you gonna go?” He inquired around a mouthful of muffin, crumbs spilling down the front of his yellow shirt. Bill shrugged amiably.

“Probably.” He admitted, biting back the: Yes! That jumped onto his tongue in hopes that Georgie wouldn’t ask to tag along. He, however, knew that his efforts would prove futile the second the words left his mouth. Georgie’s eyes lit up.

“Can I come? Please?” Bill wanted so badly to say no, but once he looked into his brother’s wide eyes, he knew he was a goner.

“Well…” he started, averting his eyes and snatching a muffin. “I duh-don’t know if I wuh-want you there,” he confessed. Georgie let out a high pitched whine and rocked back and forth on his chair.

“Pleeeaase?” He begged. Bill slumped into a chair across from him and took a bite out of the chocolate-chip muffin, making sure to chew slowly.

“I dunno, are you shu-shure you cuh-can handle it?” He asked after swallowing, leaning forward slightly as he took another bite. “It is the Nuh-Neibolt Street house, yuh-you know the one.”

Georgie huffed out an irritated breath. “Yeah, I know. It’s not that scary.”

Bill raised his eyebrows skeptically. “It sc-scared Richie pretty buh-badly the other day…” he continued. Georgie squared his shoulders, brushing crumbs from his lap.

“I can handle it,” he insisted, “I promise!” Bill hummed slightly in thought, which caused Georgie to squirm in place. “Billy!” Bill held up one finger and swallowed.

“Okay,” he agreed, secretly loving the way Georgie’s face shone with a pure, childlike sort of glee.

“Really?”

Bill couldn’t help the answer that slipped past his lips. “No.” Georgie’s face fell and he had just opened his mouth to protest when Bill let out a laugh. “Just kuh-kidding.” Georgie glared at him and pointed his muffin at his older brother accusingly.

“That was mean!”

Bill grinned. “I wuh-was kidding!” He managed to say before a muffin wrapper hit him in the face, leaving a trail of crumbs down his shirt. Bill shook his head and looked over to where his younger brother sat with a pleased expression on his face. A soft laugh escaped Bill and he pushed his chair back and stood, balling up his own wrapper and pulling his arm back like he was going to make a game-winning pitch. Georgie squealed and shoved his chair aside, ducking behind the table as Bill let the wrapper fly. It hit the cupboard behind his target with a dull thud, prompting said target to giggle and peer over the edge of the table.

“You missed!” He sang in a mocking voice, sticking out his tongue at Bill. That, of course, was when Bill whipped out the wrapper that Georgie had pummeled him with and hurled it at his brother. It was a beautiful throw. Georgie squeaked as it hit him squarely in the face. A small surge of pride flared in his chest and a smug grin found his lips as Georgie shot him a scowl.

“That one duh-didn’t miss.” Bill remarked, leaning back cockily on his chair, watching as Georgie tossed the wrappers into the garbage bin.

“Yeah, but it was my wrapper.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “So?” Georgie opened his mouth to argue further, but then he seemed to realize how petty he was being and giggled. Bill soon joined him, and even though the horrors of last night didn’t fade from behind his eyes, he couldn’t help but feel just a little bit better.

“Did you guh-get the camera fuh-from Dad?” It had been nearly an hour, and Bill was beginning to grow restless from waiting. His knees jittered as he sat on the front porch, bike at the ready mere feet away from him. The door behind him swung open and he turned to look as Georgie pranced toward him.

“Yep!” His brother proclaimed, stopping only to lace his yellow sneakers. The device in question swung loosely around his neck, the boy wearing it struggling to adjust the strap the second he stood. Bill laughed softly and moved to his side.

“Nuh-need some help with that?” He asked, gesturing to the strap. His brother nodded and grinned widely as Bill worked the weatherbeaten strip of leather, taking a moment to loosen it before pulling it tight, letting it hang at Georgie’s chest rather than at his ankles. He gave the strap one final yank. “That shu-should do it.” He took a step back to admire his handiwork.

“Thanks Billy!” Georgie chirped, practically bouncing down the front steps to his bike, camera swaying along with his movements. “How much longer until they get here?” Bill sank back down to the loose boards and drummed on his knees.

“Dunno. Th-they just said they’d-” A bicycle bell rang in the distance, effectively cutting him off and answering Georgie’s question. Bill squinted down the street in the direction of the noise, putting one hand on his forehead to shield his eyes as he stood, Georgie bounding ahead of him to get to his bike, camera swinging wildly. “Pick us up.” He finished with a wide smile, moving to leap astride Silver.

“Hi-ho, Big Bill!” Richie’s voice rang through the street in what he thought passed for a British accent, punctuated with a hoot from Mike and a laugh from Ben. Bill rolled his eyes, standing up on Silver’s pedals and beginning to pump his legs, Georgie already far ahead of him. “Stopping day!” The three on bikes were closer now, close enough to see the eye-rolls that were shared at Richie’s attempts to make them laugh.

“You do know that voice is awful, right?” Mike pointed out. Richie gasped.

“You fockin’ wot, mate?”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Ben scolded, jutting out his chin in the direction of Georgie and Bill, who were now mere feet away, Bill beginning to pedal in slow, lazy circles around the group. Georgie simply stopped, already scuffed sneakers hitting the ground. Richie pushed up his glasses, having the decency to sound sheepish.

“Hey, Georgie.” Georgie puffed up his chest, wheeling his bike a little faster and gliding on the street, steadily shooting ahead of the group. Mike laughed at his enthusiasm.

“What’s he so worked up about?”

Bill shrugged and the four of them fell in sync, Georgie shooting to the end of the street and looping back a couple of times. “He’s juh-just excited that Duh-Dad let him use the camera,” he explained, “and he luh-loves you guys.”

“Rightly so, although…” Richie waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “my heart does belong to Mrs. K.” Bill snorted, trying not to let his amusement show, knowing that it would only set the trashmouth off. Luckily for him, Richie didn’t notice and the group lapsed into silence, save for the steady grinding of their chains and the sound of tires on the concrete. Bill was glad for the quiet company and focused his gaze on the street below him, not trusting himself to look up at the houses without feeling that same dread from last night creeping back into his heart.

So instead, he busied himself by looking at the autumn leaves, still speckled with green amongst the orange, red, and golden yellow hues, crunching under the spinning tires that carried him down the familiar street.

“YOU’RE SO SLOW!” Georgie hooted, his voice startling Bill as it was so close and so loud, practically right in his ear. The handlebars swung and Bill had to take a sharp breath in through his nose as he struggled to keep the bike steady for a moment.

“We’ll cuh-catch up, Georgie,” Bill managed with a watery smile. He pretended not to notice the uneasy looks that were shared behind his back as Georgie looped around the group and shot back up the street.

“You okay?” It was Mike who spoke up, effortlessly wheeling his bike so it was right next to Bill’s beast of a ride. Bill shook his head.

“Not ruh-really,” he admitted, “I’ll ex-puh-plain later.”

Mike nodded. “Fair enough.” A wide grin broke out across his face. “After all, this is going to be fun!” Richie scoffed.

“What are we even doing at the house anyway? Real estate? Starting up a sex dungeon?” Mike shook his head, ignoring the gross remark.

“No, my dad’s doing a project on the old parts of Derry, like really old. He wanted to check Neibolt off of the list.” He gestured to the camera hanging around his neck. “We take some pictures, and then we’re done. Just in and out.” He addressed the latter part mostly at Richie, whose frown had been deepening through Mike’s explanation.

“And there’s ice-cream, right?” He pressed.

Mike laughed. “Of course, idiot.”

Richie shuddered. “Jeez man, you drive a hard bargain.” His tone turned serious, and Bill could see that even though he was hiding it with a joke, he was genuinely unnerved. “That place is creepy as fuck.”

“You’re already on the way there.” Ben pointed out, which silenced the Trashmouth for a moment, but once Bill saw the lopsided smirk creeping onto his freckled face, he knew they were in for a long ride.

“But, I could just sit outside,” Richie wheedled. “I bet Georgie’s not going inside.” All eyes turned to Bill, Richie’s silently pleading with him to agree from behind his thick coke-bottle glasses. Bill shook his head.

“Nah, he’s cuh-coming in. He suh-says he can handle it.” Mike let out a triumphant “Ha!” and Richie groaned. Bill could tell that although he despised the house, he wasn’t going to play lookout. His assumption was confirmed with the next words that escaped the Trashmouth’s throat.

“Okay, fine,” he said grudgingly, with a slight scowl, “I’ll go in.”

“That’s the spirit!” Ben enthused.

“But-” Richie visibly shuddered. “If I see one fuckin’ clown in there, I’m noping the hell out.”

“Cuh-come on, Rich. None of th-them are real,” Bill prompted. Richie sighed heavily and pushed up his glasses, putting on a bit more speed.

“Fine. But if there’s one real clown, I’m leaving you in the freakin’ dust.”

Mike shrugged, keeping pace with him as he began to pull ahead. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” There was silence for a few moments more, until Georgie came rocketing back down the street, swerving to avoid the four.

“Come oonnnnnnn!” He moaned as he looped back around them, his feet a nothing more than a yellow blur on the pedals. “You guys are so slow!”

“Slow?” Mike asked, to which the younger boy nodded. He then turned to Richie, and Bill watched his eyes light up with a mischievous gleam. “Hey, Rich, are we slow?” Bill held back with Ben, watching as the other two slowly began to accelerate.

“Why, my good sir!” Richie gasped in the voice of the British guy, causing Georgie to giggle. “I don’t believe that rubbish!” Georgie suddenly seemed to notice the way they were gaining on him and tried to accelerate forward, letting out a squeal of surprise when both Richie and Mike shot past him, grinning across the street at each other. Bill watched with a grin until they disappeared around a corner. Fear fell upon him like a lead weight.

I can’t see him.

I can’t see him, and what if that- that thing gets him and he screams out my name, but I can’t get to him because he’s dead and that thing, that fucking thing with the yellow eyes and sharp teeth will get him all because of me and-

“Bill?” Bill took a heaving breath through his nose and turned to face Ben, the round boy’s bike directly across from Silver’s hulking frame. “Why’d you call?” He asked softly. Bill set his jaw and pedaled a little harder.

“It’s stuh-stupid,” he growled, suddenly feeling apprehensive. “It sh-shouldn’t have buh-buh-bugged me so much.”

“That’s fine.”

Bill chose his next words carefully. “It was huh-horrible, Ben,” he began softly, noting how the other boy’s gaze softened, “if you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?”

“O-kay?” Ben sounded unsure, but Bill knew that he needed to tell someone. Anyone. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

“It was like a duh-dream. Buh-But not, not really.” He kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead as they rounded the corner, his eyes latching onto the fleeting figures of his brother and his friends, smiling as Richie almost toppled from his bike as he attempted to stand on the seat, hawaiian shirt streaming out behind him like a banner. He could see Ben frown out of his peripheral vision and bit his tongue before elaborating, “it was tuh-too real. I wuh-was on this st-street.” He could see it behind his eyes and set his shoulders, trying to stifle the sudden surge of emotions in his chest. “An-and it was wrong. It suh-seemed almost normal, but it wuh-was so cuh-cold.” He could feel his stutter beginning to intensify behind his closed lips and swallowed hard, as if that would keep it at bay. “It wuh-was raining, too. But cuh-cold rain, like huh-huh-huh-” He closed his eyes, keeping his hands firmly clasped around SIlver’s handlebars, just feeling the street beneath him.

Took a breath.

What was it like, Bill?

What did you see?

“Hail. It was huh-hailing, but with ruh-rain, and it hurt.” He was ahead of Ben now, but not by much, the other boy’s shadow still overlapping his own. “And it was eh-empty too, th-there was nuh-nuh-nobody there.” A shudder ripped through him. “But I had tuh-to walk. You nuh-know how in duh-dreams how you cuh-can’t always cuh-control what you duh-do?” Ben nodded.

“Yeah.”

Bill began to pedal faster.

“It was luh-like that. I huh-had to keep walking.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully, taking a moment to come up alongside Bill. “Okay, I get it.”

Bill laughed humorlessly. “Cuh-course you do.” There was silence for a few moments more as Bill gathered his thoughts, snatches of the dream shooting through his head at a million miles per hour. “And th-then, the houses wuh-wuh-were falling apart, like th-they weren’t even th-there to begin with. All old and duh-decayed.” Bill tried not to begin shaking as twisted screams echoed in his head. “Th-th-the screaming came nuh-huh-huh-” He inhaled sharply through his nose and let it out through his teeth. “Next.” Ben was beginning to look more and more concerned with each stuttered syllable.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bill shook his head no, but he didn’t wait for Ben to offer him comfort.

“It was Juh-Juh-Georgie.” His closed fists began to tremble against Silver’s handle grips. “He wuh-was screaming, but it wuh-wasn’t like he was puh-playing. Huh-he was screaming because, buh-buh-because-” Bill swallowed hard. “He wuh-was hurt and sc-scared and al-al-alone, because I wuh-wasn’t there.” His voice trembled and he screwed up his face, as if that would take the fear out of his words. “The water I was wuh-wading th-th-through turned to ice, and I cuh-couldn’t move. Ah-and Georgie juh-just kept screaming, he cuh-cuh-called for help and I couldn't…” A sob worked its way out of his throat.

“Bill, breathe,” Ben instructed, wheeling himself closer. “You don’t have to keep going.”

Bill lowered his head. “I’m guh-gonna.” He spat.

“Okay,” Ben mumbled, sounding somewhat unsure.

“Okay,” Bill echoed. “He sounded so duh-desperate, and th-then there wuh-was a crack. And th-th-there were all these nuh-noises. Something wuh-was eating him.” Ben looked almost sick, but Bill didn’t stop, knowing that if he didn’t get it out then, he wouldn’t at all. “And it suh-said it was all muh-muh-my fault. And th-then I could see It, cuh-cuh-crouching over huh-him with so many fuh-fucking teeth…”

He could see his brother ahead, a yellow speck dancing above his blue bike, protected by the two boys on either side of him. He held tightly to that image while he spoke, not wanting his fears to pull him under again. “I cuh-closed my eyes buh-because I couldn’t kuh-keep looking. It suh-smelled like blood. It kuh-kept telling muh-me that I cuh-couldn’t save him, and th-th-that it was…” He inhaled sharply through his teeth, shoulders heaving with ragged breaths. “My fault.” He fought against the bile rising in his throat, forcing himself to continue. “And th-then, It guh-got me. It puh-puh-pulled me under the wuh-water and I-” His voice cracked miserably. “I woke up.” Ben was visibly shaken, but didn’t comment outright.

Bill couldn’t blame him. It took a few moments of silence for Ben to gather his words again, the round boy speaking slowly, but deliberately. “That’s not normal.”

Bill barked out a laugh. “You could say that again.” The silence that followed was one of acceptance, and frankly, was far more comforting than the unhealthy pauses and gaps during their phone conversation. It felt trusting, as though the pair of them were completely in sync. They would have stayed in a comfortable silence, had the Neibolt house been further away.

Its lopsided windows leered down at them with loose boards for eyebrows, the house looking almost slanted, like it could come down on their heads if they so much as breathed on it. It made everything seem cold, unforgiving, like the black spires that jutted from atop it, piercing the sky with their twisted points. The bikes of his younger brother and two friends were already strewn about the untrimmed, yellowing front lawn, the owners engaged in a rather loud conversation. Bill squeezed the brakes and skidded to a stop, wheeling the bike past the rusted gate and onto the grass, taking the time to stand Silver upright. Ben’s bike hit the dirt behind him with a soft thud and the pair turned to face the scene in front of them.

Georgie was hooting and cheering, pointing at Richie whilst prancing in circles around him, carefully avoiding the yellow flowers mixed in with the stiff grass.

“I BEAT YOU!” He crowed before turning his attention to Mike, an infectious grin dominating his youthful face, eyes shining. “AND I BEAT YOU!”

Mike put his hands in the air defensively. “Richie almost crashed in front of me, he slowed me down!” He protested. Georgie giggled.

Richie shrugged. “That’s just how I roll, Mikey!” He proclaimed, pushing up his glasses.

“Right,” Mike agreed. “That’s how you roll. In front of me. Off of the sidewalk and into the bushes.” Richie clapped him on the back, earning an eye-roll.

“Exactly! See?” He pointed finger guns at Mike. “This guy gets it.” It looked like they were going to continue, and they probably would have, had Bill not cut them off.

“Ruh-Right, so what are we huh-here to do, exactly?” Everyone turned to Mike expectantly, even Georgie calming down and shooting him a curious look. Mike surveyed his small audience for a moment before speaking.

“Like I said before, we’re just here to take a few pictures. Just of the rooms and stuff, maybe the old well.” Bill tried to fend off the unease he felt as he gazed at the lone tree and parched yellow flowers surrounding them. They seemed wrong, but he knew he was just being ridiculous.

He had to be imagining the feeling of being watched, right?

He brushed it off, tuning into Mike’s words. “It’ll be fine,” he closed with, shooting Richie a meaningful glance. Richie shuddered.

“Let’s get this over with.” Mike was the first one to move, wiping his hands on his beige pants before pacing toward the house, camera at the ready. He stopped only to get a shot of the crooked door frame, brambles and dead leaves clinging to the brittle supports. The others watched him for a moment as he stiffened, letting the camera swing freely around his neck. He looked at them over his shoulder.

“You guys coming?” That was all the encouragement they needed. Ben nodded, and Bill fell in step behind him, Richie and Georgie bringing up the rear. Bill could practically feel the tension leaking off his friends. It was heavy, muggy, like summer heat that would make it feel like you were walking through something alive, something that clung to your skin along with your own sweat and scent of the outdoors, making every step feel weighted. That was all Bill could feel as the five of them entered the house, the scent of stagnant air and dust filling his nostrils as he stepped in.

The floorboards creaked beneath them as they trudged in together, bits of dust flying around their feet with each step. The inside didn’t look much better than the outside, the wooden walls looking as though they housed at least a thousand different species of bugs. Bill turned his attention from the house over to Georgie, who was fiddling with the camera, pointing it at various areas of the house without taking any pictures, framing shots in his head. He pointed the camera at Bill, and a flash lit up the room.

There was a mechanical grinding, and then a small polaroid picture fell from it. Georgie tugged it off and began to shake it, knocking it against his off-green pants a few times, peering excitedly at it as the white-framed black square framed lit up to reveal Bill’s somewhat startled expression and the dingy inside of twenty-nine Neibolt Street.

Bill felt his breath hitch in his throat when he saw the rather dark shadow that seemed to be right behind him. Before he could take a closer look, Georgie had it clasped happily between his fingers, and was about to fold it in half to stick in his pocket when Ben stopped him.

“Here,” he flipped open his bookbag and motioned for Georgie to drop the picture inside. “Then, it won’t get crumpled,” he explained. Georgie flashed him a wide grin.

“Thanks, Ben!” He chirped, depositing the paper before bounding off in the opposite direction of the group, camera swinging wildly as he turned to face the door, framing a few more shots and giggling to himself. Bill couldn’t help the small smile that found him as he watched his brother prance about, setting up a few more shots as they ventured deeper into the abandoned building. Bill watched Ben’s lips curve up into a smile and felt some of the tension in the air melt away. Even Richie seemed to have relaxed a little, his tensed shoulders falling slack beneath the salmon-pink shirt he wore.

“So…” he drawled, slipping into the voice of the British guy, “I say, good sir, what rooms shall we traverse on this fine day?”

Mike laughed. “I told you, Rich! A few shots of some of the downstairs rooms, maybe check out the basement…” Mike’s face suddenly lit up with a mischievous gleam. “And I also wanted to get a shot of that creepy clown room upstairs…”

Richie slumped forward, groaning theatrically. “Do we have to?” He moaned.

Mike shrugged. “If we want to finish this history hunt and get the ice-cream my dad promised us, we do!” Ben nodded.

“Yeah, that’s kind of the whole reason we’re here, Richie.” The Trashmouth groaned.

“Okay, I just don’t remember ‘Kinky clown puppet theatre’ being on that list!” He spluttered. “Think of the children!” Ben snorted. Richie scrunched up his face. “Well, child,” he corrected.

Bill grinned, pushing his unease aside.

“Georgie’s fine, guys. Ruh-Right, Georgie?” Georgie backed up toward him, pointing the camera at a fractured window.

“Yep!” He agreed, sticking his tongue out in concentration. It was then that Georgie stopped walking with the group, and listened, tilting his head like an attentive dog. He could still hear the footsteps of his brother and his friends, but above that, something else- something different. The group, however didn’t notice.

They didn’t notice the way the sound wavered and crackled in his ears with haunting phrases, making up what seemed to be a melody that echoed in his head. They didn’t notice when he slipped away from them in the direction of the stairs leading to the well, armed only with his camera.

He took a few steps away from the other four, trying to place where exactly he had heard it before as it rang in his head. It sounded familiar, almost comforting, which floored him. It wasn’t a nice tune, but it was so, so recognizable that it just seemed so much more alien to him. He could still hear Bill talking to Richie to reassure him as he stole toward one of the slanted doors, the thing hanging open on its rusted hinges, holding up the door with what could easily have been gum and sheer force of will. The singing was muffled slightly by the wood, but Georgie knew that it would become clearer once he entered the room concealed by the gnarled oak planks.

Georgie pushed slightly on the door, and was surprised when it didn’t do so much as squeal, simply swinging open invitingly. “There’s no actual cuh-clowns here.” Georgie could see stairs leading down now, a small window in the cement wall of what appeared to be a cellar illuminating an old well, dust particles dancing in the sunlight. Recognition suddenly sparked in his chest, along with hope.

“Penny?” He asked excitedly, leaning on the handrail that didn’t look like it would support his weight.

It wobbled, but didn’t fall, so he kept his hand on it as he strode down the stairs, keeping one hand on the camera. If his friend had heard him, he didn’t show it, the words not stopping or even faltering, just continuing in their steady rhythm. They rang from the bottom of the well, and Georgie found himself being drawn toward it, like a magnet to a metallic surface. He crept to it, delicately perching on the edge of it with his trusty camera at the ready.

The bricks crumbled slightly under his hand, the scent of dust almost overpowering now, but he scarcely noticed, waiting for his moment to strike. He leaned forward, small smile on his face, camera poised-

“BOO!” A bright flash lit the darkness of the well for a split second, leaving bright spots across his vision.

He could have sworn he saw two eyes down in the darkness before the light faded, and was about to lean closer to check when-

“GEORGIE!” He turned, a confused look crossing his face as he rested his weight against the cracked bricks of the well, still holding tightly to the camera with his free hand. “Get away from-!” The brick supporting Georgie’s weight crumbled beneath him.

It was as though he was falling in slow motion, every clawing movement he made slowed to a crawl. Dust flew from beneath his palm as it skidded forward just far enough for him to teeter over the stone lip of the well, nearly hitting his head on the winch hanging in the air above him.

The boy hardly had enough time to let out a startled shriek before gravity took hold, intending to drag him completely into the inky depths of the well. “GEORGIE!” Bill howled again, his voice breaking. Georgie only screamed in response, the gaping maw of the well looming ever closer, ever nearer as gravity hurled him toward it.

Georgie filled his lungs with air and squeezed his eyes shut tight, intent on letting out another scream when something stopped him. His eyes slid open uncertainly. A white glove pushed lightly on the middle of his chest, long fingers keeping him upright and suspended. His wide-eyed gaze trailed from the off-white ruffles lacing the connected wrist, to the red bells looped carefully around it, all the way up to the yellow-eyed gaze of his friend.

Heart hammering, he let himself be lifted by the clown, a single strong arm pushing him out of the well and out of danger. His yellow converse hit the ground and he staggered back, arms splayed at his sides. In that moment, he made eye contact with his rescuer.

The clown looked back at him almost expectantly, eyes wide, hair illuminated by the cracked window looking almost like flames. Georgie let out a nervous laugh, swallowing once dryly.

“D-Did I scare you?” He asked, having the decency to look sheepish.

An expression of confused disgust crossed Penny’s face, the upper lip of the clown raising into a snarl, eyes flashing with sheer revulsion. Before Georgie could question him further, he was retracting his long limb back into the well, yellow eyes flickering before disappearing into the darkness. Georgie crossed his arms, an almost smug smile flashing onto his face as he turned to face Bill and the others. “That was close!” He remarked, biting back a cheeky grin.

Try saying he’s imaginary now.

The reactions he was seeing, however, didn’t quite match the ones he had expected. Bill was clutching the railing with white knuckles, his mouth hanging open, blue eyes blown wide in what looked like terror. Richie was next in line and he looked like he was trying to disappear into the wall behind him, face deathly pale. His eyes were huge behind his glasses, intensified by the thick lenses he wore. Georgie’s gaze trailed up to Ben next, brow furrowing as he saw the way the round boy was gripping the handrail, his shoulders tense and his mouth gaping. Mike was the last person Georgie looked at, and he was dismayed to see that the tall boy was visibly shaken, clutching the railing as though it was grounding him.

Georgie frowned, stepping away from the well on unsteady limbs. “What-?” He was interrupted from his full statement by Richie backing up into Ben, crashing into the bigger boy and sprawling crookedly across the lopsided steps.

“We have to leave.” He got to his feet, his voice shaking almost as much as his knees. Georgie could see the way his eyes looked when they connected with those of Bill, tension and fear rolling off of him in waves. He swallowed hard, hands trembling. “Now!”

#Turned good AU #my writing #littlekiwifrog #Georgie denbrough #IT'S DONE #It 2017 #It fanfiction #This one was a bitch to write #I'm so glad it's over tbh #ugh #The next chapter will be out... #soon-ish #I make no promises #but soon #probably #*shrug*

[stargatelover]

Catherine Langford: An Origins Story

Friday - July 21, 2017 Category: FEATURES | Tags: Origins, SG-1

by Darren The Stargate story began with Catherine Langford. When the gate was lifted from the sands of the Giza Plateau she was there. When the U.S. government decided to back research to figure out how to use it, she was there. And when Daniel Jackson cracked the code and the gate was dialed, Catherine was there.

In some ways her life story is the story of the origins of the Stargate program — from childhood to her young adult life, from the loss of her fiance to her final years.

Stargate Origins will tell the story of an important, never-before-seen chapter in Catherine’s life. To get ready for that, let’s do a deep-dive into everything that we know about Stargate’s founding matriarch …

CHILDHOOD

Catherine was just a young girl of 12 when she accompanied her father, German archaeologist Dr. Langford, to a dig at Giza, Egypt in 1928. It was here that the Stargate was discovered, buried thousands of years earlier after humans rebelled against the Goa’uld System Lord Ra. (Here, too, is where she first acquired the Eye of Ra amulet — which she would eventually give to Daniel Jackson.)

We know rather little about Catherine’s relationship with her father. She obviously followed in his footsteps in devoting much of her adult life to the Stargate and the mysteries it held. Later in life he would show a willingness to lie to her about the fate of her fiance, and Catherine believed that he would have done so in order to protect her.

YOUNG ADULTHOOD

Catherine may likely have gone on to scientific and archaeological studies of her own. We don’t know for certain what she studied in her school years, or if like her father she ever completed a PhD. But she did show brilliant insight during the early years of experimentation on the Stargate. By 1945 the gate had been put into a U.S. military facility, where her father led a team that attempted to make it work — and briefly succeeded (“The Torment of Tantalus”).

In fact it may have been Catherine’s advice — to use direct rather than alternating current to charge the gate — that allowed it to be dialed to Heliopolis.

But as a young woman Catherine was evidently kept at a distance from her father’s work. She knew all about the gate and what it was he was doing in his work, but was not permitted to participate.

CATHERINE AND ERNEST

It was in the 1940s that Catherine would have fallen in love with a young scientist working alongside her father: Ernest Littlefield. Their relationship was tender and grew serious, with Catherine prodding her beau to speak to her father about their future together.

When the Stargate was successfully dialed in 1945 Ernest volunteered to go through, not knowing if he would survive or be able to return. When he did not return (and was presumed dead), Dr. Langford told his daughter that he had died in a laboratory accident.

This at least allowed her to grieve and to move on with her life, not knowing that the man she loved had chosen the Stargate project over her.

CATHERINE’S CAREER

We don’t know what it was that Catherine did with her professional life. Did she teach? Work for the military? Become an international archaeologist in her own right? She did amass an impressive archaeological collection over her lifetime (which upon her death would be bequeathed to Daniel).

Following the accident and the end of World War II the government abandoned the project, locking away the Stargate. Thus the gate was not available to her for many years, though her research intensified.

We do know that she lived in New York and that she spent some four decades trying to convince the government to take the Stargate out of mothballs and restart the research program. She had some knowledge of her father’s associates, including a German named Heinrich Gruber. Following the death of her father she received what she believed to be all of his notes (though she remained unaware that the gate had been dialed successfully in 1945).

In the late 1960s Catherine herself began research into the Stargate — possibly motivated by her father’s death, or possibly by a visit from Daniel Jackson and Samantha Carter in disguise (“1969”). At this point the gate itself, however, remained locked away in an armory in Washington, D.C.

THE STARGATE PROJECT

In her later years Catherine finally succeeded in the life’s ambition: after petitioning multiple presidential administrations she finally convinced the government to restart the research into the Stargate. Starting in the early 1990s Catherine herself headed up the project, which was to be located at a military installation at Creek Mountain, Colorado, under the supervision of General West.

On her team were engineers and archaeologists — experts in astrophysics like Samantha Carter, and in ancient cultures and languages like Gary Meyers and Barbara Shore. A dialing computer was devised to provide the most basic operations of dialing the Stargate, allowing the inner ring to spin and the chevrons to be encoded.

But the work stagnated. What they did not have was a viable address to dial.

It was at this point that the elder Catherine approached Dr. Daniel Jackson, a young man clearly brilliant but belittled by the academic community for his theories about alien involvement in ancient human civilizations (“Stargate” the Movie). Daniel was recruited and brought into the program, and within weeks had cracked the code. When he stepped through the Stargate for the very first time, Catherine gave him the amulet she had found in Giza as a child.

RETIREMENT

After the first Stargate team’s battle with Ra Jack O’Neill returned to Earth and convinced his superiors that the gate needed to be shut down. He returned Catherine’s amulet, and she (no doubt with some reluctance) entered her years of quiet retirement. She knew only that Daniel had chosen to stay behind on Abydos.

We do not know if Catherine ever married or had children. She did have at least one sibling as well as a niece, Sabrina Gosling. Some time after Daniel’s return a year later and the opening of Stargate Command (now at Cheyenne Mountain, under the command of General George Hammond) Daniel discovered film recordings of the 1945 experiments. He approached Catherine to learn more, visiting her at her home.

Catherine was incensed to learn that the program had been reactivated and, just as when she was a young woman, she had been kept out of it. Daniel insisted that she be read in, and Catherine joined SG-1 on a trip to Heliopolis. There they found an aged Ernest, alive and more-or-less well. After surviving a storm that destroyed the seaside castle where he had been living for 50 years, Ernest and the team returned home to Earth.

FINAL YEARS

Catherine and Ernest were able to reconnect and live out their final years together. Not only had she been reunited with the man she loved, but Catherine had the chance to see her vision fulfilled: the gate had been unlocked, and teams of brave men and women were using it to explore the galaxy. And she stayed in contact with Daniel. Eight years after the inception of the S.G.C., Catherine Langford died (“Moebius, Part 1”). Daniel Jackson attended her funeral, and spoke these words to her gathered family and friends:

“Catherine Langford was more than just kind and generous. She had a gift — of an endless, open-minded, child-like curiosity. She saw the world not for what it was but for what it could be — and she saw potential in people that others failed to recognize. Like her father before her, her contributions to science have changed the world more than most people know.

I for one have no idea where I would be today if I’d never met her. She changed my life in more ways than I ever could have imagined.”

#stargate #stargate sg1 #catherine langford #gateworld #stargate origins

[imhereforbvcky]

I’ll Be Good - Part 22 (End)

Masterlist -  Series Masterlist  -  Part 21

Summary: Series - You’re an old colleague of Natasha’s who finds herself face to face with the Winter Soldier on the wrong end of an Avengers’ op. Chapter – Your future after the dangerous decision you made on the rooftop, and an unexpected glimpse into your past when Natasha peaks into the file she found.

Warnings: swearing, violence

Word Count: 3911 (welp I didn’t even try to keep this short... Oh well.)

Author’s Note: I cannot believe this is the end!!! Bittersweet! I’m not 100% sure how I feel about the file piece... But I’m just going to go with it. Maybe one day if inspiration strikes I’ll revisit that part in another way... teeny sequel or something, I don’t know. Anyway, hopefully this gives everyone closure and you enjoyed reading my first fic! Yay!

For the second time in the few months since you’d first run into Natasha again, you woke to a screaming pain radiating through your shoulder as you returned to consciousness. The steady beeping of the heart monitor increased as you became more aware of the pain crying out all over your body.

Your side continued to ache where the Commander had slipped his slender knife between your ribs, but now the pain radiated over your torso with every breath. A dull ache rippling beneath a pattern of deep bruising. Exhaustion held an entirely new meaning. Every muscle ached when you slowly tried testing a few of them, checking for mobility. Finding yourself mostly free you tried to will yourself to move, hoping that if you sat up more, the shrieking pain in your shoulder would subside.

As your eyes fluttered open, Nat immediately jumped up from her chair in the corner, silently stepping closer, her sharp eyes flashing over to the crumpled form beside you. You glanced down to your side to find Bucky, dead asleep, a mess of tangled dark hair covering his face and creeping over your blanket. His head rested on crossed forearms beside you on the hospital bed and you bit back a small grateful smile, knowing how exhausted he must be. It was clear from the thick scruff on his jaw and the fact that he could fall asleep in such a precarious way, that he hadn’t left your side, not for days.

Days. You’d been here for days…

“He’s been a complete nightmare,” Nat whispered with a grin, “Make him get some real sleep, would you?”

Your fingers found their way to the edges of his hair, fanning the soft pieces over the blanket. You gave a small nod and asked where you were.

“Still in Dresden,” she replied stepping toward the door. Bucky stirred at the sound of her voice. “You needed a triage unit after that stunt. You’re lucky you’re alive at all. We’ll get you on the quinjet and back to a cradle as soon as you’re cleared to fly.”

You nodded, brushing your fingers through the hair covering Bucky’s face, pushing it back as gently as you could. There was no need to wake him, he was clearly exhausted.

“Nat?” You called softly before she could slip out of the room. She hummed her acknowledgement while turning back to you, half way through the door. “Did you find… you didn’t find a file,… did you?”

Your eyes stayed locked on her, but you were so tired and the narcotics dampening the pain also dampened your senses. She frowned slightly but shook her head once, “No, I’m sorry. Just your records while you were there and the ID you came in with.”

She paused long enough to watch whether you’d accept her words as truth, satisfied with your sigh, “Must’ve had it on him then.” When your head fell back to the pillow she slid out into the hall.

The Day of the Rescue

Natasha had tucked the Shadow Project file inside a more generic manila envelope along with Y/N’s ID and a small hard drive carrying more recent digital records from the secure network as she left the location, climbing quickly into the ambulance with Y/N and Bucky.

“Medical records,” she’d lied coolly, well partial lie. At the hospital they’d rushed Y/N into surgery so quickly that they hadn’t bothered to ask about any medical history. Once the rest of the team settled into relative normalcy for the next few hours until there would be more news from the surgeons, Natasha slipped into an empty patient room and closed the door behind her. She made sure she was well hidden from view before opening the envelope and removing the file that was of most interest to her.

The heavy weight of a most bitter nostalgia washed over her as she ran her fingertips over the lettering on the cover, taking a moment to brace herself for the memories that the contents would surely conjure. Taking a quick, deep breath, she flipped the folder open.

On the left side the intake form was pinned to the cover with the essential information, a photo of Y/N as a young girl, and a brief summary. It included her name, one Natasha hadn’t heard in years, a description of her appearance at intake and a line that made Natasha pause, confused and startled.

Prisoner status: Political leverage; in custody for temporary holding. active training.

Natasha continued poring over the page, fighting the reeling thoughts that led her in every direction while trying to reconcile this record with what she remembered. All of it impossible. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes darted over the words until she finally made it to the “Reason for Transfer.” Y/N had never been alone and orphaned like the other “widows,” she was connected to a powerful family, presumably taken for leverage. But prisoners weren’t kept at the Red Room, agents were created.

Desperate for more information, Natasha glanced to the right half of the folder, thick with the many pages she quickly recognized as mission reports. She knew somewhere there lived a similar file with her own name, and her own stack of red ink that marked missions “complete” and their targets “deceased.”

Closing her eyes against the memories, Natasha lifted the intake form, finding beneath it an incident report that confirmed her own knowledge: girls in the Red Room were only ever made into agents or they were dispatched. Y/N’s presence as a prisoner was unprecedented and had only been meant as a temporary holding situation. It was a standard tactic to avoid hostage detection and discovery: constantly change the location of the prisoner. One minute it could be an underground bunker in Siberia, the next an experimental biomedical facility for girls, who knows what was meant to come next. Some staff there, unaware of Y/N’s status as a temporary prisoner had pushed her into a training program.

Natasha slunk into the chair in the room with the file open on her lap. She knew the rest, remembered when Y/N had been shoved into her training room looking terrified and utterly silent, but following every order to the letter. It all made sense now. Of course she followed the orders without a second thought, she had no choice. She’d probably been carted from facility to facility for weeks, with nothing but harsh orders and brutal hands. Her silence and obedience had inspired this “Shadow Project,” and the program’s patented implanted memories did the rest of the work to help Y/N forget the life she’d held onto before.

Letting the intake form drift back on top of the incident report, Nat remained stone still, only her eyes casually scanning the page as it settled back to its place. The words didn’t really sink in, she wasn’t really reading until her eyes danced across two words in particular. Зимний Cолдат. She lurched forward reading the line again and again, her mouth falling slightly open in horror.

Transferred from: Custody of the Winter Soldier by order of Vasily Karpov (HYDRA, Siberia)

With shaking hands and frantic, tearful eyes, Natasha decided quickly. She resolved to let this join the host of secrets and memories that would die with her. Y/N needed Bucky, and he wasn’t the Winter Soldier who had been programmed to follow Karpov’s orders, including this transfer order. Neither of them could see this. The guilt would eat Bucky alive and the idea that Y/N had a life she’d been torn from and a family who’d left her to this would ignite a new rage that Nat could never hope to contain.

Acting quickly, she tore the intake form and incident report from the folder before tucking the remainder of the file back into the large manilla envelope. The two reports she laid carefully in the sink before grabbing the canister of rubbing alcohol from the counter and dousing the pages. She watched the ink swirl off the pages and down the drain, dragging with it her own fear and shock. The dread she had instantly felt at reading that line was quietly replaced with a calm that she couldn’t quite call relief.

She knew intrinsically that this information needed to disappear, she wished she had never learned of it herself, and carried a heavy responsibility to make sure no one else ever learned of it either. She rinsed the pages clean of any ink before shredding them and shoving the pieces into the slot for biohazardous sharps. If some janitor saw the tarnished scraps of paper there, he or she wouldn’t dare reach for them. The rest she’d have to dispose of elsewhere, she’d been gone too long already.

Y/N’s question weighed on Natasha’s mind with a gentle sadness. She had never lied to Y/N before, and didn’t like to now, but she couldn’t go back now. The file was destroyed, and would bring nothing but torment.

“Why’d you lie about the file?”

Natasha sighed heavily, turning to Tony, who was comfortably seated in the chair just outside Y/N’s door. “You know, most people consider it rude to eavesdrop,” she murmured.

“Like I’m not going to take a chance to hear what you three could possibly have to say to each other,” he continued fidgeting with his watch. “You three are like those little Russian nesting dolls with all your secrets. Endless.”

“I like that,” Nat deflected, turning to leave, “Maybe I’ll call her Mатрёшка from now on.”

“Hey! I was talking to you!” He followed her quickly down the hall. “When are you going to tell her about that file?”

“I'm not,” she hissed, giving Tony a harsh warning look. “There is no file. Not anymore.”

“Good.”

“Good?” She stopped short, turning to him with crossed arms. “Tony Stark, King Know-It-All thinks it’s ‘good' that there's something he'll never know?”

“King Know-It-All? That's what you're--?” he scoffed as she raised one teasing eyebrow. He shook his head in mild irritation. “I can’t imagine there’s anything but grief in that file. I just think some things are better left in the past, that's all. I think I would know.”

The surprised widening of Natasha’s eyes lasted only a split second before her usual calm, restrained smile returned. Apparently he’d had enough of surprises hidden in HYDRA files. She squeezed his hand softly before continuing her route down the hall, “I couldn't agree more.”

Bucky stirred at the sound of Natasha’s voice. His muscles ached from having fallen asleep leaning over Y/N’s bed. He knew he should go get cleaned up get some real sleep, but even when Natasha came to sit with her and he finally made it to his hotel room nearby, he never found a deep enough sleep. He’d wake with a start, Y/N’s voice echoing in his ears before that memory of the heavy metallic click of her pistol forced his eyes open in an instant. At least in his restless sleep he could escape the sound that followed: that thundering eruption that he’d been unable to stop or save her from.

Steve and, surprisingly, Tony had told him repeatedly over the last few days while she was in and out of surgeries or unconscious in her room or sliding into MRI machines and X-Ray rooms, that she’d done a brave thing, that he should give her the dignity of her choice, no matter what came of it in the end. But he found himself watching her with a simmering anger.

He was angry with himself for sending her to that rooftop alone. He was angry with her for making such a carelessly fatal decision. He was angry with Steve for being so ready to leave her there. He was livid with Natasha for helping her pull it all off - for confirming when the building was clear, giving Y/N the green light to self-destruct.

He was angry but he was also devastated and afraid. He wanted her back so badly, needed Y/N to open her eyes and remember him, know him. There weren’t many people who could know with a look what he was thinking or when he needed space. There weren’t many people who had been used like they had, who were trying to rebuild like they were, to recover some humanity and he craved that closeness with her.

He wanted her to open her eyes and look at him the way she only ever looked at him, with clear and honest eyes. He wanted to to feel her curled beneath his arm, or let him shield her from the hostility of those who would never really see her for who she was trying to be.

Not that she ever really let anyone stand for her when she could do it herself, he thought with a smirk, rubbing the back of his neck, head still bent down, his hair, falling like a curtain around his face. When he heard her softly whispered “Hi,” he froze for a moment. He thought he must have dreamt it, like he’d been remembering her voice for days. But in his nightmares her voice was resolute and clear. Just now it was faint and fragile.

“Hi,” he answered, rough and heavy from an too short a sleep. He shifted quickly so that he was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed beside you, before he recovered some semblance of normal thought processing. “I… Do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened?” he fired off quickly, realizing he should probably call for a doctor.

You nodded, tired eyes holding his gaze, the blue an icy storm tempered only with caution and fear. “Well Nat said we’re still in Dresden,” you trailed off quietly, looking down at your hands. “I don’t remember how I got here, exactly… But I remember… I remember your voice.”

Bucky reached forward, slipping his fingers over the side of your neck, thumb ghosting comforting sweeps over your cheek while he leaned toward you, resting his forehead on yours. He just needed to touch you, to hold you closer in some way, though he was cognizant enough to be gentle. You’d been lost to him for days and the doctors had warned repeatedly that there was no way to tell what or who you might remember, if there would be lasting impact from the head trauma you’d suffered.

“You sounded so… scared,” you continued as he nodded, taking in a deep breath and holding it for a moment.

“You were saying goodbye,” he breathed and you closed your eyes, embracing the closeness, how his breath tickled your face, how tightly he held you, how your own hand had come to rest on top of his.

“I thought it was goodbye.”

“Damn, I love you, Y/N,” he began, “But I could kill. Why didn’t you wait for me? You could have… You were this close to dying out there.”

“I know.”

“Do you?!” his face drew away from yours, though his fingers remained curled around the back of your neck, like he couldn’t stand to let go of you now, but his eyes were boring into you with so much anger, it left you speechless. “You live like you’re invincible! Are you done yet? With this… whatever this search for redemption is? Or revenge or whatever it is that keeps driving you into these reckless situations?”

You were silent, chewing on your lip, suddenly seeing the string of disastrous decisions you’d made the way Bucky must see them. Though in truth, you considered this one a success: Bucky was alive, and free, and safe, as was the rest of the team, and the Commander couldn’t claim to be a single one of those things. But seeing Bucky’s anger also let you see his pain. How you’d hurt him while trying to save him from the monsters of your own past. He needed to get this out, and you needed to listen.

“Because I can’t…” He paused and his thumb began sweeping over your cheek again. Whether the gesture was meant to comfort you or him was unclear. “I can’t sit here and watch you throw it all away again and again. I love you. God damn it, Y/N. I want to be with you, but you have to decide that being with me is more important than your vendetta. That you are more important than this vendetta!”

“This wasn’t revenge, Bucky. I did this for you,” you pleaded. “I needed to end it if there was any chance for you. For us, if I lived through it...” He didn’t seem convinced, and you couldn’t blame him. Your excuses sounded thin even on your own ears.

Your fingertips slipped over his jaw, your hands resting on either side of his face, forcing him to look you in the eye. “No more revenge. I promise. I’m here, Bucky. This is what I want.”

You let your hands slip from his face, over his neck, taking fistfuls of his shirt to pull yourself closer, as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. His arms glided over your shoulders, wrapping over your back and pressing you close as gently as he could, but the pressure made you wince at the pain of angling your newly repaired shoulder, and the ache of the bruises mapping their blue and yellow progress across your torso.

“M’sorry,” Bucky mumbled against the top of your head, releasing you slowly. You shook your head to dismiss the superfluous apology, but he stood from the bed anyway, “I should call a doctor now that you’re awake. See if we can get you home.” He leaned forward to press a soft and lingering kiss to your forehead.

Needing more of him, not wanting him to leave even for a second, your hand flew to the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to meet your lips in a slow and deep, I’ve-missed-you-so-fucking-much kiss. His lips pressed against yours, shifting as you pulled hungrily for his. The warmth that radiated across your skin was addicting, you’d missed it so desperately, missed him.

You felt him lean forward, guiding you back against your bed. He pulled away slowly, hovering over you for a moment before promising to return with a doctor. “Y/N?” he paused at the door waiting for your humming reply. “If you ever do something this “selfless” again, there will be a line of angry Avengers with a lot to say about it.”

You laughed softly at his half-serious warning, his plea to you not to go around sacrificing yourself for others. “So this is what Sergeant Barnes looks like,” you teased. “Very bossy.”

“You have no idea. And that’s an order,” he played along with your teasing.

“Yeah, well, you know me. I don’t take orders.”

As tired as he looked, you absolutely loved the slightly irritated grin that made its way across his face, starting in one corner of his mouth and creeping across his entire face. That smile that you thought you’d never see again. You’d given that smile up twice and now that you were seeing it again, you couldn’t imagine ever finding the strength to give it up again.

Months Later

“Look, Barnes,” you taunted Bucky as he lay flat on the ground, rifle pressed to his shoulder, making minuscule adjustments to his aim. “I think you’re going to have to give it up and admit that I’m the better shot.”

He exhaled a slow, steady breath, squeezing the trigger. You smiled when the shot fired and you heard the bullet sink into the paper target. “Not a chance, sweetheart.”

Lifting the binoculars to your eyes, you looked down the range, a long way down the range, looking for his fresh bullet hole in the target. Damn. Just barely to the left of your own.

“You’re pretty good, with your self-adjusting scopes that do all the work for you,” he teased, carrying both your weapons to the next lane, for a longer shot. “But where would you be if that thing cracked? Or the wiring was fried?”

You rolled your eyes, this was the perpetual argument between the two of you about your favorite field weapons. He refused to accept that modern technology would come through reliably in the field, and preferred his careful but slow calculations and a simple rifle. You’d been at this for half an hour already, you’d bet a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and dibs on a pristine new semi-automatic handgun for the next mission to the winner of this shooting match.

Your competition was cut short, though, when Tony called your name on his way to the helipad. “Let’s go! We’ve got a party to crash!”

You smirked at his choice of words, it was hardly a party, but you were going to crash it anyway. Bucky reached for your waist as you set your weapon down, pulling your entire body flush with his, his hands firmly holding your hips. “Be careful,” he managed between several greedy, rushed kisses. He swatted your ass as you slipped out of his grip and headed for the helicopter.

“Who won?” Sam hollered, from the other end of the yard.

“Too soon to tell!”

“Damn it, Y/N, I’ve got a free lunch riding on this!” he shouted back, “You better not lose to Regarding Henry over there!”

You shook your head laughing at Sam’s endless supply of disparaging nicknames for Bucky.

“This is serious, Y/N!” He shouted back, “That’s my lunch!”

Fully armed and seated opposite Tony in the helicopter, you peered out of the window as the craft approached the target location. You weren’t at all surprised that Tony would take a phone call seconds from the start of a mission, while the machinery around him clicked his suit into place. You rolled your eyes at his nonchalance, but quickly snapped to attention when you heard his greeting.

“Secretary Ross, I’m a little busy, what do you need?”

“Cut the shit, Tony,” Ross’s voice rang through the helicopter’s speakers. You tilted your head with an amused expression at his irritated tone. “Three days ago in Morocco your team was spotted with an unknown acquisition. Who the hell is she? You know we need to be informed of any additions to the Avengers team.”

“Three days ago? Nope, sorry. I don’t know what you mean…”

“Stark, if it’s this mystery bomber from Germany, she’s wanted for questioning.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We took a vacation to see the sights after a very stressful mission in Dresden.”

“Tony, don’t--!”

“Yep, gotta go. Sorry I couldn’t help, sounds like you’re chasing a shadow.” The satisfied grin that lit up Tony’s face as he winked at you was impossible to avoid. You laughed softly, shaking your head in disbelief at Tony’s utter disregard for traditional authority. Admiring it, really.

“You ready?” He nodded toward you, pulling open the door to the helicopter for you. “No galactically stupid and rash decisions right? I really don’t want to have to call Barnes in to pick you up…”

You shoved him lightly backward into the helicopter for his insolent teasing. Before you stepped forward to dive from the helicopter, you turned back to him with an easy grin, “Don’t worry, I’ll be good.”

Tags

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#bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #bucky banres x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky #i'll be good part 22 #i'll be good #i'll be good fic #my fic

[cassiopeiassky]

When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 36

Hi everyone!  Sorry about the longer than usual wait...I might end up alternating between weekly and twice weekly updates for the near future.

Plot:  When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.  

Word count: 3592

Warnings:

For the entire work:  Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst.  This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut.  If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Implied threats of assault/rape, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, bad guys being douchebags, unwanted touching,    If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.  If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie.  I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests.   Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

“The final touch,” he murmurs as he presents a bottle of perfume, “A gift from the Kapitan.”  He says it with a fair amount of disgust, and you’re surprised that he allowed that emotion to leak through considering how paranoid he’s been about the cameras.

“Oh…oh no,” you push the offending bottle away after just one small sniff, “No no no.  That – that is a powerful smell.  I can’t wear that, it gave me an immediate headache! I’m sorry, Mikhail, but I can’t…”

“But solnishko –“

“It is fine, Mikhail, if lisichka is sensitive to smells, we will not make her wear it.  My brother and I are not unreasonable.”  Nicolai sweeps into the room – you hadn’t even heard the door open.

You’d swear that the temperature just dropped by fifteen degrees.

Mikhail stops what he’s doing and immediately goes to the nearest wall, pressing his back against it and lowering his gaze to the ground while Nicolai slowly and deliberately steps up to you.

Without warning, Nicolai pulls back his hand and strikes you across the face.  It’s an open-handed slap, but it fucking hurts.  Before you can react, he takes your jaw in between his forefinger and thumb and forcibly turns your head until you’re facing him directly.  It takes you completely by surprise how fast he can move.

“Whether or not we are in the room with you, you will show Anatoliy and me the proper respect.  Do you understand?”  Nicolai’s intonation is almost kind even though his hold is painful; the jarring contrast between his actions and voice is terrifying, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to have bruising from his grasp tomorrow.

You slowly nod as best you can while still in his grip, and he finally lets go.  Despite your best efforts, a shuddering exhale escapes, and you hate that he can see how shaken you are.

Nicolai takes a step back and sweeps his eyes over you.  “You look positively lovely, lisichka!  I had no idea you had such potential for beauty.”  He sounds joyful as he smiles, but nothing of the smile comes close to reaching those heartless and cruel green eyes.

You’re careful to keep your expression neutral at the obviously backhanded compliment, but that doesn’t stop your thoughts: Fuck you, asshole.  Nice suit and bowtie.  Oh, and by the way, you look surprisingly dapper for a soulless megalomaniac psychopath.

“Are you ready?”  he holds out his arm.

Even though the thought of touching him is revolting, you have no choice but to take it.

You don’t say a word as he leads you through the manor with Mikhail following close behind, and you pay close attention to where you’re going, just in case it proves useful at a later time.

“You know, lisichka, you do not need to remain confined to your room.  Just ask Mikhail to escort you so you are not alone – I would not want you to be caught alone and unaware by one of Anatoliy’s men.  They can be a bit…uncouth.”  He laughs, he actually laughs.

It doesn’t seem as though he requires a reply, so you don’t give one.

He brings you into a large formal dining room.  Like everywhere else in this godforsaken place, it is decorated with an appalling amount of gaudy or antique furnishings.  They really need to fire their decorator.  The table is front of a large fireplace, and mounted above the mantle is a curved…sword?  It looks lethal; it certainly doesn’t fit the décor.  What the hell…

“Ah, I see you are admiring my father’s shashka.”  Nicolai’s voice breaks into your thoughts.  He puts his head close to yours as he murmurs, “It is just as sharp as it looks, lisichka.  And yes, I know how to use it.”

The words send a chill up your spine, but you manage, just barely, to not give him the satisfaction of reacting.  There’s a trace of disappointment in his gaze; it’s a small victory.

Murmuring catches your attention, and you look over to see a group of men standing off to the side; Anatoliy is among them.  He points you out to his comrades, and they begin to catcall as you walk over to the table while Nicolai calmly chuckles.  Unbelievable. You’d never been catcalled in your life, and now there are several men whistling at you and saying only God knows what amongst each other.  

Pricks.

Mikhail pushes in your chair as you take your seat just to the right of the head of the table before walking to what is presumably his station against the wall.  There’s a place set on your right and another directly across from you, so you’ll be completely surrounded when Anatoliy and Metzger take their seats.  

The pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and you do your best to be invisible but you know that you’re failing miserably.  Placing your hands in your lap, you stare at your empty dinner plate and try to think of something – anything – other than your current situation.

The men suddenly quiet as Nicolai takes his seat at the head of the table, and you look up to see Anatoliy saunter toward you; as he does so, he eyeballs you like you’re nothing more than a premium steak in a butcher shop.  You don’t turn around as he walks behind you, which hopefully means that he’ll be taking the seat across instead of next to you…but you hear him pause.

Oh God, please keep walking…

It’s incredibly hard to breathe with that shark lurking about.

“Alright, as you can see, lisichka is alive and well,” Nicolai announces grandly.

What?  Who is he talking to?  You look up for the first time to see that the wall across from you contains a screen holding the images of Steve, Tony, and Nat.  Their mouths are moving, but the audio must be muted because you can’t hear anything.

Wait…where’s Bucky?

You recoil sharply when Anatoliy’s fingertip touches your shoulder, lightly running up and over to your neck before bringing his hand forward to rest around the collar; it probably looks as though he’s choking you.  Fixated on Bucky’s absence, you don’t notice Anatoliy bending over until his face is buried into the crook of your neck.  A strangled cry escapes your throat as he inhales deeply and then moves his lips to your ear.  

“Lisichka, I was going to be angry at you for not wearing the perfume I provided, but even without it you smell delightful.”

You lock eyes with Tony on the screen, desperately needing to focus on someone safe as you try to ignore Anatoliy’s nauseating touch.  Tony is saying something but you still can’t hear him, so you try to read his lips instead. No luck; you’re entirely too unsettled to properly concentrate.

“Anatoliy, do not smother our pet.  No matter how this plays out, I am sure there will be time enough later for you to get your fill of her.”  Anatoliy laughs lightly at Nicolai’s comment and pulls away to take his seat. Unfortunately, that seat is next to you.

Metzger suddenly appears out of nowhere and takes the seat across from you, but turns his back to you so he can face the screen.  Ugly little troll.

“Grigory,” Nicolai looks over at one of the men standing against the wall, “please turn up the incoming audio, so that we may hear our friends on the other line.”

A tall man with sharp cheekbones and cropped black hair walks closer, and even from across the room you can see that he’s got one pale eye and one dark eye.  He stares at you unflinchingly as he reaches the equipment control panel that is set into the wall next to the video screen.  His calculating, mismatched gaze makes you extremely uncomfortable, and you’re almost afraid to look away in case he pounces. There’s something about this man that is extremely predatory.

“Are you afraid of him, lisichka?” Anatoliy leans close and puts his arm possessively around your shoulders.  “Do not worry, I will protect you.”  The snicker that follows makes your skin crawl and your breath stutter.

“Stop tormenting her! You have what you want, and we are complying with your orders!” Steve’s voice suddenly echoes across the room, and you can finally take a deep breath at hearing something familiar.

“Ah, but I don’t have everything I want, not yet,” Nicolai coolly demurs.  “And surely you can see she is well, yes?  Lisichka walked in here of her own volition; she is clothed, fed, and clean.  She has been pampered like the special and valuable pet she is; I hardly think that is tormenting her.  Now, if you do not mind, I would like to proceed with business.”

“We’re ready when you are,” Tony’s voice is tight as he reaches over to quiet Steve with a hand to his shoulder, and you can clearly see their concern for you mixed with the anger written on their faces, but they compose themselves enough to continue.

“I told you that I wanted all of you on the call.  Where is the Soldat?”  Nicolai sounds incredibly annoyed, and you yourself are impatient for the answer.  Where is Bucky?  You thought for sure that you’d see him, and the overwhelming disappointment weighs heavily on your heart.  Why isn’t he there?  Your eyes dart over the screen, looking for any sign of him in the room your friends are calling from, and it’s only then that you notice the large window behind Tony, Steve, and Nat showcasing a dramatic skyline.  Are they in New York, at the tower?  They are, aren’t they… The realization that they’re still so far away is soul crushing.

“He’s not with us,” Steve answers evenly.  His answer feels like a punch to your stomach.

“What do you mean, he is not with you?” Anatoliy asks skeptically. “From what I observed, I doubt very much that he would allow you to leave him behind.  Besides, his cooperation is part of what we require.”

“Yeah, well, technically speaking he left us behind.  The Love Machine let his emotions get the best of him, and he took off,” Tony begins; his tone drips annoyed exasperation as he pinches the bridge of his nose.  “We don’t know where he is and we haven’t been able to make contact or trace him for the past three days; we can only assume that he’s on his way to you.”  

You watch Tony attentively. You don’t doubt for a moment that Bucky wanted immediate action, but it seems unlikely that he would be reckless; he’s too well trained for that.  Besides, from what you’ve been told, he’s a brilliant tactician.  He of all people would know that the stakes are too high to act on impulse.  Right?

And…they’d told you to keep the nature of your relationship with Bucky quiet…but Tony just broadcast it. Something’s up.  Well, duh, something’s up – they are planning to rescue you.  So this is part of their plan?  Or are they winging it because Bucky really did leave them behind?

“I find that hard to believe.  He is your teammate, I am sure you are in contact with him,” Nicolai counters drily.

“We’re not; he took off without us and either shut off or destroyed his comms.  He’s not thinking straight since you took her.  She’s his reason for living, did you really think he would just calmly sit by while we ponder the impossibilities of the situation?” Tony speaks as though he’s talking to a couple of five year olds.  “We had to tranq him, multiple times, but the serum has enhanced his metabolism so much that they weren’t very effective.”

Anatoliy sighs heavily, but Nicolai simply shrugs as he looks over.  “It makes no difference in the end, brother, he is on his way here. We can use her to control him until we find out about the efficacy of the triggers.”

“Yes…speaking of the triggers…I heard rumors they are no longer effective.  Is that true?” Metzger speaks up for the first time; his voice still grates at your ears, and you have sudden flashes of him laughing at you as he administered the cure.  

It’s clear that the question catches Steve, Tony, and Nat off guard; this isn’t widely known information. It certainly begs the question - how do these men know?

“I will take that as a yes, then,” Anatoliy smirks; no one bothers to correct him.

“Do you know anything about this, lisichka?  They have already confirmed that he loves you; I am sure he confided in you.  Do you know about the removal of the triggers? Any extra details?  For your sake, do not lie to me.”  Nicolai’s voice is cold, calculating.

Everyone, including your friends on the screen, are watching you.

“It’s okay to tell them what you know, Kiddo.”  Tony speaks gently as Steve nods in encouragement.

You open your mouth to speak for the first time; your voice is weaker than you’d like.  “Um, he just said that the triggers were removed.”

Metzger is watching you intently with squinted eyes while Nicolai drums his fingers on the table.

Anatoliy grabs your jaw and forcibly turns you to face him, much like Nicolai did earlier; this is a fucking obnoxious commonality between them, and with his other arm still over your shoulder, you are completely caged in by him.

You distantly hear the protests of your friends, but Anatoliy ignores them.

“Do you care to change your response, lisichka?”

He stares at you for a long moment as he holds your face close to his; the smell of his breath is sickening but you have no choice but to breathe it in.

He finally releases his hold on you, and you stare at him wide-eyed for a second or two before answering, “I don’t know anything else – that’s all he ever said about the triggers.” It’s the truth – the two of you had talked about pretty much everything, but he didn’t go into great detail about the triggers or the process by which they were rendered ineffective.

“You expect me to believe that?  The man loves you, do you honestly expect us to believe that he would not tell you about this?”

“He did tell me about them, I already told you that!  But that’s all he said on the matter.”  You try to keep your voice even but your fear is starting to give way to indignation and anger, and a fierce protectiveness for the man you love makes you bolder than you should be.  “He’s trying to rebuild his life.  Yes, he told me about what happened to him, what he was forced to do, and about the horrid things that were done to him courtesy of Dr. Frankenstein’s uncle,” you shoot a withering glare at Metzger, and gain a small amount of satisfaction when he shrinks back just a bit.  Fucking coward.  “But those weren’t the things he enjoyed talking about, so he didn’t necessarily give me every single detail.  He liked to talk about other things, like his interests and hobbies; he has those, you know. And he still has goals and dreams. I realize that you look at Bucky and just see some kind of weapon, but he’s not –  he’s a person.”

You see the smile growing across Anatoliy’s face…fuck. You got too emotional – you just gave away your feelings for Bucky.  Hopefully this works with whatever they’re planning…

“Aw, this is so sweet, is it not, Nicolai?  She loves him,” Anatoliy coos as he brushes his fingers over the collar.  God, you wish he would stop fucking touching you.

“Yes…it appears that she does.”  Nicolai sounds so fucking smug, you want nothing more in that moment than to turn around and punch him, but you know that even if you land the hit, ultimately it will do no good and will probably just result in a lot of suffering for you.  You clench your jaw and remain still.  “Too bad it is such a tragic love story, yes?”

You glance up at the screen apologetically – all three of them are telling you it’s okay, that you didn’t do anything wrong.

“Well, tell the Soldat that we have a surprise for him when he gets here.  He is not as impervious as he believes himself to be.  As for you – you are to continue to ignore the weapons trading I told you about; if you or anyone steps in to hinder the deals over the next week, I will see to it that lisichka bears the punishment for your disobedience.”  Nicolai motions and Grigory steps forward.  “I will be in contact when I have further need of you.” He nods, and Grigory pushes a button that disconnects the call, and you have to fight back tears when the familiar faces disappear.

So he’s using you to keep them from interfering with his business; how many people will die because of this? On top of everything else, guilt starts to set in.

Anatoliy fixes his gaze on the group of men standing off to the side.  “You may go – you know your assignments.”

They file out, but you hear a set of approaching footsteps and look up to see Grigory walking toward the table.  Now that he’s closer, you can see that he has one pale blue eye and one dark brown eye; the effect of his contrasting gaze is even more disconcerting up close.  He doesn’t say anything, but he takes the seat next to Metzger.

“Lisichka, this is Grigory Smetanin.  He is my second in command,” Anatoliy purrs, enjoying every single second of your obvious discomfort.  “You will treat him with the proper amount of respect, yes?”

You don’t trust your voice, so you simply nod.  Grigory continues to stare at you, a smug leer growing across his face.

“Good, that is settled.  I, for one, am hungry,” Nicolai announces.

“So am I,” Grigory doesn’t take his eyes off you as he utters his comment, leaving no room for misinterpretation.  This man clearly sees you as nothing more than prey.

Nicolai smiles; he smiles as if this is just a normal dinner party. “Mikhail, we are ready for our dinner.”

Anatoliy finally removes his arm from your shoulders, for the first time in what feels like hours you can take a deep breath.

They begin to discuss strategy for their weapons dealing, and for the most part you zone out, consumed by your internal struggle.  Where was Bucky?  Why wasn’t he there?  Logically you know that he must have had a good reason, but your heart doesn’t understand that.  It hurts.  You really needed to see him.  Did he actually take off, like Tony said?

Where are you, Bucky?  

You’re so deep in your thoughts that you don’t notice the presence behind you until an arm is reaching over your shoulder.  You flinch sharply, causing all four men at the table to start laughing.  

“It is just me, solnishko – I am so sorry, I did not mean to startle you.”  A reassuring hand on your other shoulder and Mikhail’s gentle whisper breaks through your panic, and you see that he is placing a dish of food in front of you.

It’s too much.  It’s just getting to be too damn much.  

You take deep breaths, doing your best to stay calm while the vultures surrounding you watch with amusement.  You fucking hate them.

Mikhail serves the three men and resumes his position against the wall, and his warnings echo in your head.  Unsure of the protocol, you don’t move to eat until they do; it isn’t worth risking their anger.  You eat for the same reason, even though you’ve no appetite whatsoever.  These men are obviously cracked, and you don’t know what will set them off.

Occupied with pushing around the stewed meat and potatoes on your plate, you don’t realize that the conversation has stopped until someone clears his throat.  Your fork pauses as you raise your eyes.

“Dr. Metzger asked you a question, lisichka.  Do not be rude.”  Nicolai is looking at you with a raised eyebrow – he looks more amused than angry.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?”  You hardly recognize your own voice, meek and small as it sounds – you haven’t sounded like this since before Christopher died.  Part of you hates yourself for reverting to this behavior, but the other part recognizes it for what it is; a survival mechanism.

“Did the Soldat tell you what his trigger words are?  Or how many?” Well, that’s an odd question. Don’t they already know?  They seem to know everything else.

You bite your lip as you think; something is vaguely jogging your memory.  But do you tell them?  One glance around the room tells you that you dare not lie – they’ll know if you do. Fuck.  “There are ten words, but Bucky never told me what they are, he just told me that he still gets really anxious when he hears them in passing conversation – I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it was something about how hearing just one of those ten words will throw his entire day off.”

Metzger suddenly gets a huge grin as he triumphantly slams something onto the table, causing you to jump and everyone else to look at him in annoyance.  

What the fuck…a Trapper Keeper?  Is this dillhole secretly an eleven-year-old?  What self-respecting doctor has a goddamn Trapper Keeper?!

Biting down on your lip to keep your comments to yourself, you watch as Metzger opens the binder almost gleefully.  “These are my uncle’s personal notes – they were kept in the family, fortunately for me; not even HYDRA has seen these!  I have information here that no one else has!”

You almost expect a maniacal laugh, but it doesn’t come.

“Dr. Zola was not only brilliant, he was also very careful.  It does not matter if those triggers were erased from his mind.  The Soldat can still be activated.”

What?

He smiles, and the room seems just a little dimmer.  “My uncle built in a contingency plan, just in case things with HYDRA went wrong. You see, my dear, there is a second set of trigger words.”

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***If your name is in bold I couldn’t get your tag to work***

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #my work #when everything's made to be broken (I just want you to know who i am) #WEMtbB #Part 36

[anmousewrites]

Storm Warning, Ch 1

Here it is! The long awaited first chapter preview of STORM WARNING.

Get your toesies wet just below the cut!

The shadows seemed to stick to him as much as he stuck to them, and the ever-present hum of machinery lulled Yoru into a state of calm contentment. To another thief, that feeling would be a death sentence. To Yoru, it was just a sign that the job was going as planned. There had always been thieves, and he thought that maybe his family had been thieving since about the same time. He knew well the measure of night and took solace in all of its oddities. He took solace in his own oddities, too, because life was especially short when you felt called to do dangerous things as a profession.

In the darkness above the guard station he laid on the maintenance catwalk and closed his eyes, listening to the scattered conversations below. He had a basic grasp of the language, enough to get by. Not enough to wax poetic, but he had other languages to fulfill that particular requirement.

Underneath, they discussed an hourly status update. That was usual. And from what he gathered, there was nothing of note occurring. That was true, because he hadn’t yet occurred and he did not think that someone would be here with the same intent. There was, by the nature of things, more things to steal than there were thieves.

He pulled himself up, moving farther away from the guard station and towards their storage systems. It was far too late, or far too early, for any of this place to be very crowded. He thought that perhaps he could have done this job during the day with about the same amount of success but it wasn’t a rush job. Everyone could rest easily, and he would slip in and out with his prize completely unseen.

There were proper lights closer to the ground, but even they were few and far between the farther he got from where the guards had collected. Instead, he was nearing an unusual red glow. Not his target, and he thought that he would pass it by entirely without knowing its source. That wasn’t so bad. Work often provided the best inspiration for his written passion and the eerie lights surely would be worth a few words on a page.

And then the screaming started.

That made Yoru stop in his tracks, his head tilted as he tracked the noise. That was not a typical nighttime sound. Buried just under the agony was the sound of crackling electricity, and these two things together meant a change of plans. Neither of those things should have been there, and both spelled potential trouble for him if he was unaware of their source.

And, well, someone was screaming. It sounded as though they were in a great deal of pain. It was not something so easily dismissed.

The enchanting light source and the disquieting noise seemed to have the same source. Soundlessly he jumped from one catwalk to another, and when he was close enough he climbed down from the maintenance structure and onto the roof of a lower building. He laid along it’s sloped surface and peered over the edge. So harsh was the light and so thick were the shadows that he was nearly invisible where he lay.

It was some sort of glass enclosure, and the red light seemed to have been a practical measure; the floodlights had been filtered to dampen them. Someone sleeping or working nearby must have complained about the glare. That was not so strange, red was a lot easier on the eyes in the dark. It was what was inside the glass that surprised him.

There was a lone man, shirtless and on his knees. Out of his back protruded all manner of nasty-looking technology. The cycle was easy to spot; things would go quiet for a few moments, and then the electricity would start to crackle and he would start screaming again. At first it was wordless but soon enough, the silence between was filled with weak struggle and breathless pleading for the torment to end.

This did not sit well with Yoru. He had seen much of the darkness in the world, arguably he made his living from it, but this seemed senseless. Barbarity aside, if the lights made problems, surely the screams would as well? There must have been another way.

He moved away from the edge. This would not help him reach his goal, though it brewed at the back of his mind. It was cyclical, and it hadn’t been going on when he entered the facility. But, it went on often enough that they had a set up for it, and that no one seemed to pay it much mind. Interesting.

Yoru dropped down off the side of the building, quiet as a sigh. Ground level was the most dangerous, the most populated, the most well-lit, but the challenge was not more than he could handle. He had the layout memorized and while he hadn’t seen that torture chamber back there (it had been labeled ‘organic generator’ on the map) the rest of it seemed to line up pretty neatly. A few more corners and he would have his prize.

Usually he’d be after the data terminal that was to the right. He took it, and took a moment to take the plug from his bag and slot it in where it was meant to go. He wasn’t here expressly to information drain, but he was sure he could find a buyer for it when he was gone. Today, his employers wanted something a little more concrete. Of course, he lived to please.

He was looking for one of the captain’s quarters. It was one of the same beige tents that populated the decrepit hangar, only this lucky fellow got one for himself. In it, presumably, was one sleeping body and a very specific firearm.

It had been stolen from a local gangster with sentimental attachments. He’d wanted the man dead, but Yoru wasn’t an assassin by trade. He’d settle for his weapon returned, and that was something that Yoru could do. He tried to leave the assassination jobs to the professionals. He was, at best, a hobbyist.

He slipped inside, the darkness therein eagerly eating him up. The low bunk and messy desk weren’t a surprise. The fact that it held two bodies, not one, was. Still, not a problem. Quiet enough for one was quiet enough for two. Yoru stepped in, slipped the gun into his belt and ducked out again, pulling himself away from the shadows with some reluctance. Back into the dim, then.

The screaming had stopped.

Yoru hesitated. Then, instead of leaving as he should have, he doubled back the way he had come. He wanted to see that ‘organic generator’ again. His stomach sank to think of the reason for the quiet that now enveloped them. Perhaps the map had not been a misnomer at all.

He had to stop short, jumping back into the shadow of a building when he heard footsteps much closer than he expected. He sank back behind a disorganized shelf of supplies and spied through it with little trouble.

They were dragging the man away. Or, he thought it was the same man. He seemed to be unconscious. And the machinery was no longer attached to him. Yoru did not get a clear look at his back to see what damage had been wrought.

He should leave, but he didn’t. This was a completely avoidable risk, but he reasoned it away tidily enough. His intuition said to go for it, and he would trust that over all sense. The two people who had apprehended the man then tossed him unceremoniously into a smaller tent. Yoru heard them chatter to each other and watched their backs as they retreated down the narrow alley between constructs.

This time, the tent he ducked into was lantern-lit. He didn’t like the light, but ignored in in favour of looking around. The room was entirely empty except the man on the ground and now Yoru saw the awful mess that had become of his back. It had been fitted with some sort of permanent fixtures, right into the flesh, but they seemed badly healed and seeped blood around the edges. The fixtures themselves seemed to leak some sort of terrible, dark fluid.

Yoru bent down. The man could scream and alert everyone around them, but his shaky breathing made it all the more likely that he was on the verge of passing out.

A pair of brown eyes blinked at him under the too-short regulation haircut. Yoru caught the word for ‘foreigner’, which he was, and then the word for ‘help’.

Which, he decided, he also was. Perhaps a bad choice. It would not have been his first.

Yoru took the man’s arm and pulled it over his shoulder. He checked his pulse, wanting to make sure he wouldn’t be carting around a dead man, but it seemed he was merely exhausted. No sooner had he drawn close to Yoru than he promptly lost consciousness. Maybe for the better. At least he was quiet now. It wouldn’t be the first time Yoru had dragged a lifeless body around. It probably wouldn’t be the last.

With his two prizes, Yoru made his way out of the base camp just as quietly as he had entered it. No one was any the wiser.

~*~

To some people, Yoru was an idiot. He didn’t deny that sometimes he took risks that others viewed as unnecessary. In fact, he was often the first to say so. His saving graces were of course, his success and his sanity. Whatever he did, he obviously did it well enough to make a career. And, unlike some people he knew, he could sleep at night.

He traded the gun for payment ahead of schedule and left the job with a flourish and a smile. Then, he took his other acquisition and found themselves a place to lay low, as far away from the pulsating tendrils of the military that Yoru could manage.

And it was a good thing he did because when the man woke, it was not quietly.

He sat bolt upright in the bed, gasping harshly as though he had run a mile. Or, perhaps, as though he had been drowning. That was probably closer to reality. Yoru had been dozing in a chair next to the bed, not quite willing to leave the man alone in case he dropped off in his sleep. Dropped off into death, that was, as he didn’t seem to be holding on to life with all that much enthusiasm.

He jumped, frantic and lost, and Yoru was awake in an instant.

“Woah, my friend. You’re safe. You’re safe.” Yoru didn’t know enough of his language to get much of an explanation in and he didn’t think the man was in any state to listen if he tried.

As for a response, the man gripped the blanket he was under with a hand that went white at the knuckles and spouted too many questions for Yoru to keep track of. So, Yoru fired back one of his own.

“What’s your name?” He tried.

The man was shaking and he curled in on himself, pressing himself back against the corner that framed the bed. He stuttered something about the ‘organic generator’, Yoru recognized the phrase, and then what seemed to be a string of numbers. An ID of some kind?

Yoru stood and took the man by the shoulders and firmly, calmly, asked him something else.

“What does your mother call you?”

The man looked at him wild-eyed and shocked but he had stopped shaking and managed to get an answer out to him.

“Dan.” He answered weakly.

Yoru released him, and sat down again where he had been next to the bed. Then, he smiled.

“Hello Dan. I’m Yoru.” He said. He switched to omnian after the fact, hoping that the man had picked some up. Most military personnel usually did. “You speak omni? I’m running out of words.”

Dan nodded, and he tried to press his face to his hands when he seemed to realize he only had one.

He looked at the bandaged stump, and then at Yoru.

“My hand…?” He asked.

“You didn’t have it when I rescued you. I’m afraid I don’t know.” Yoru said sympathetically. The wound hadn’t looked new, but it had looked a little roughed up so he had bandaged it regardless. A lot of Dan had looked rough, and Yoru had put both considerable time and effort into cleaning him up and patching what he could.

Dan held the injured arm close to his chest, used his other hand to rub his face. “Where am I? Who are you?” He asked. He sounded tired and there was an edge of panic creeping into his words. He was trying to hold it together. Yoru tried to answer him as reassuringly as he was able.

“I found you in a military encampment not far from here. I wasn’t there for you, but you asked me for help and so, here we are.” He gestured to the room around them. “It’s a safehouse, someplace I trust. I don’t know who I stole you from, exactly, but I figured it was better if we kept things low key for a while.”

“They won’t be happy that I’m gone.” Dan said. He seemed comfortable enough using the language but Yoru could hear where his accent pulled at his words.

“Are you happy that you’re gone?” He asked in response.

Dan didn’t look at him, and the one hand he had tightened over the bandages of the hand he had lost. Then he nodded.

“How about I make us some tea, and we’ll take a look at all those injuries.” Yoru said gently.

“What time is it?” Dan did look up at him then. He looked pale and exhausted, and when Yoru stood he laid a hand on Dan’s shoulder. It was much more gently than before, and Dan seemed to lean into the contact.

“About 4 a.m.” Yoru glanced at the clock. He went to put the kettle on, but noted Dan’s wince at his answer.

“That’s… You must be tired.” He said eventually.

“Nonsense. I’m a thief. We’re awake all the time.” He said easily.

He made them both some tea. He was careful when he passed it to Dan and rightly so, his hand shook as he tried to take the cup.

“I don’t know what to do.” Dan said eventually. He seemed to be taking more solace in the heat of the tea than the drink itself. “I’ve never… I mean… I usually follow the rules.” He said.

“There’s a first time for everything.” Yoru said thoughtfully.

Dan nodded and fell into silence again. There wasn’t a lot that could be done, not immediately. The first step was just getting him to talk, about anything at all. The physical recovery certainly couldn’t be hurried. Yoru was not a professional, not at this, but he thought that it was going to be a long time before Dan was well again.

He prompted the man to at least drink a little of his tea and he did, without argument. Then Yoru broke the silence in earnest. “Let’s take a look at the damage.” He nodded towards Dan’s various injuries. “I’m sure you’ll sleep better once they’ve been cleaned.”

Yoru worked methodically. He was pretty experienced with bandaging people up. That was part of the business as much as the actual thievery was. Dan was compliant, doing whatever Yoru asked without complaint.

“You’ve had a rough time, haven’t you?” Yoru said, mostly to himself. A lot of the bleeding had stopped already, but the bruises were huge and dark. As the bleeding slowed, it was clear that the skin around the metal implants was very irritated. He didn’t have anything to help that at the moment.

“I was… I made the energy.” Dan said shakily. “I made the energy. But I guess they needed a way to channel it. I think. I-... I’m a little confused, still. My head hurts.” He said.

Without a moment's hesitation, Yoru brushed his fingers through what little was left of Dan’s hair. “I’ll find you something to take for it, okay?” He offered.

“You’re not from here.” Dan said. He seemed to have trouble looking at Yoru for very long. He’d glance at him, stare for a moment, and then look away. Yoru let him. That was the least of his worries right now. “Are you from Hino?” Hinomoto, a neighbouring country to Syama. They found themselves currently in the latter, which explained Yoru’s lack of proficiency with the language.

“I’m not from anywhere.” He said with a smile. Not what Dan meant, but closer to the truth nonetheless. “But I am glad that we crossed paths. How fortuitous.”

“For...fortuitous.” Dan frowned over the word.

“Lucky.” Yoru translated. “It’s lucky that I was there, and that you had strength enough to call to me.”

“You sound… weird.” Dan said. It wasn’t spoken with any malice, and he seemed displeased at how rude it sounded to his own ears. Yoru laughed.

“Different accent, remember? And, perhaps, I use big words when little ones will work just fine.” Yoru said. “It’s not a good habit.”

“I like listening to you talk.” Dan said. Of course he did. It meant he wasn’t alone, and Yoru could not even fathom how much of a problem that would be for the man.

“You’re in luck, my friend. I like to talk.” Yoru said with a smile. This time, Dan tried to smile back.

Yoru finished his work with the bandages and he was tactful enough not to let Dan see any of the mess he had made. Knowing you were falling apart was not a comforting thought. Dan did not need to see that, not now.

“Let’s be adventurous.” Yoru said to him. “Do you think you could eat something, if I made it for you?”

Dan hesitated, but then nodded enthusiastically. “I am very hungry.”

“Let’s take it slow, and see what happens.” Yoru said reasonably as he stood again.

This time, Dan glanced at the clock. Behind the curtains, the sun may very well have been rising.

“It is late. We will sleep all day, at this rate.” He said worriedly.

“Then we sleep all day.” Yoru answered him. “The only rules that you have now, my friend, are the ones you make yourself.”

#storm warning #chapter 1 arc