#sometimes there was a strong smell of cat piss when I’d see the lights on in the basement
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Can honestly say about student housing… almost all those places are probably haunted because some dumb ass kids thought it might be fun to get stoned and fuck around with a ouija board at some point
My room was also a back side add on to a much older river town house. My roommate’s room was part of the original house and it had such a creepy vibe to it. I was like I know that’s the huge room but I simply do not want it I will take the small sunny room. But instead I got the one with the poltergeist.
#also her room was directly under the apartment of a registered sex offender whom she befriended and invited into our apartment and I simply#did not care for that#he wasn’t very old but he’d been sleeping with minors#bad energy in that house#also suspected meth lab in the basement#we tried to go down and explore it once because it was just… open to the outside#and sometimes there were lights on down there#I thought maybe there was some free laundry down there#but I literally got too creeped out to go all the way down the stairs#basements in that town were creepy holes in the ground that was just like dirt floor and rock walls#sometimes there was a strong smell of cat piss when I’d see the lights on in the basement#so many times I’ve just been like that is none of my business and I will not be asking further questions
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300 DIALOGUE PROMPTS
This is a rebloggable version of my prompt list at my writing blog. This has 105 prompts from my old list and 195 new prompts.
IF YOU USE THESE PROMPTS IN YOUR OWN LISTS, CREDIT @swanimagines !!
LIST A - GENERAL/FUNNY
A1. “Can I take a picture of you?”
A2. “Where do we sleep now?”
A3. “Be quiet, they’ll hear us!”
A4. “I cooked for us! Or tried to cook…”
A5. “Can you explain why my phone is up there?”
A6. “Ugh, people are so weird.”
A7. “Wait, who?”
A8. “But I can’t draw!”
A9. “Your forehead has sauce on it.”
A10. “Stop snoring! You sound like a chain saw.”
A11. “C’mon, you need a reason to get out of here and I have one.”
A12. “No, nooope. I won’t do it. Nope.”
A13. “Do you mean I have to touch that?”
A14. “Wow, a great idea, but I’d rather die.”
A15. “Oh there you are! I thought you had melted through the floor.” “I had plans to do that but then I called them off.”
A16. “I’m trash, just not that kind of trash.”
A17. “Always nagging, aren’t you? Every time I hear your voice, it’s in a language called nag.”
A18. “It’s 6pm, the fridge is mine until 7pm, so… shoo!”
A19: “What’s this?” “I bought you binoculars because now you get to look at them better… or you could go talk to them.”
A20. “I’m gonna hit you.” “What?” “Ugh, that came out wrong.”
A21. “I’m okay. I’m perfectly fine. Yeah… okay, I’m not fine.”
A22. “If you wait for tomorrow, tomorrow is coming. If you don’t wait for tomorrow, tomorrow is still coming.”
A23. “I’m not yelling, I’m discussing with you with a loud voice!”
A24. “Tell me something. Do I look like a bunny?”
A25. “Maybe that secret is that your mom is really a time traveler.”
A26. “Too bad, I wanted to see some ghosts.”
A27. “Not that song, turn it off now!”
A28. “Is this the Heaven?” “More like Hell.”
A29. “Hey keep it down there, I’m trying to sleep!”
A30. “Please don’t use my toothbrush again.”
A31. “Hey, calm down, it’s not so bad…” “Calm down? There’s a riot going on in my bathroom!”
A32. “It’s alright to be a bit crazy. At least a minute of craziness in a day keeps the doctor away.”
A33. “I thought you had left.” “I’d leave without tasting this sandwich? It would be a sign of insanity.”
A34. “The Great King/Queen/Ruler of Food is here again.”
A35. “What can I do… they just love Mr. Bunny.”
A36. “Wait, do we have a permission to do this?”
A37. “As long as that is on my wall, I swear I’m not going to sleep.”
A38. “Pillows? Pfft. Who needs pillows?”
A39. “That’s what you get for being such a dummy.”
A40. “You really need a haircut.”
A41. “You should keep that to yourself.”
A42. “Oh, how could I not say yes to that?”
A43. “Hi and bye!”
A44. “Well, what did you expect?”
A45. “Kick that door down.”
A46. “I’m not drunk!”
A47. “That’s not a stupid idea, it’s an idiotic idea.”
A48. “You’re the type of person who laughs at their own jokes.”
A49. “Oh, I didn’t know you had guests.”
A50. “Oh, are you looking for [insert name]? They’re probably setting themselves on fire right now.”
A51. “Don’t be scared.”
A52. “Did you just smile?”
A53. “Would you wanna go for a walk?”
A54. “My lights are flickering, it’s the infamous Ghost of the Living Room.”
A55. “This cookie is my spirit animal.”
A56. “Don’t be boring, dance with us!”
A57. “You should keep that candy behind locked doors. I might eat the whole bag otherwise.”
A58. “What’s your password?”
A59. “My backyard is not a waterpark.”
A60. “I think you should talk to them.”
A61. “I wish we had more time to chat.”
A62. “You’re smiling.”
A63. “Do you even know how to laugh?”
A64. “Well, it’s busted, no can do.”
A65. “I know what you think.”
A66. “At least I smell good.”
A67. “It happened a long time ago.”
A68. “What exactly should I be looking at?”
A69. “Why your shirt was in my fridge?”
A70. “Argh, don’t you guys ever use Google?”
A71. “I think you’re overreacting.”
A72. “Do you like board games?”
A73. “But it’s so cold!”
A74. “You should really learn to read some books.”
A75. “Wait, I know where your pants are.”
A76. “There’s no one there, dumbass.”
A77. “A fly has been harassing me for weeks.”
A78. “Be honest, do I have to keep this shirt?” “No?” “Dammit!”
A79. “Not my kid, not my responsibility.” “It’s a dog!” “No, it’s your kid.”
A80. “Sorry, I’ll be late.” “Why is that?” “A cat has been sleeping on me for an hour.”
A81. “I’m still bored.”
A82. “I recognize liars when I see them.”
A83. “Well, books usually have text on them.”
A84. “This is the perfect day to piss [Name] off.”
A85. “Get me their phone. Then we’ll talk.”
A86. “Because you’re so young.”
A87. “Hello, I am your servant today, what can I get you, oh Almighty?”
A88. “Why are you hiding?”
A89. “Why are we hiding?”
A90. “Why you would wanna live in a dumpster?”
A91. “It’s snowing!”
A92. “They’re late. Again.”
A93. “My bathroom smells like someone put a fish into my toilet.”
A94. “Don’t tempt me.”
A95. “You know how much I like chocolate.”
A96. “Stand back, this might get ugly.”
A97. “I can’t believe the way you got them arrested.”
A98. “Wait - did you just agree with me?”
A99. “Nah, dying would have been boring.”
A100. “Can’t you have fun for once in your life?”
LIST B - LOVE/FRIENDSHIP/COMFORT
B1. “You’re being shy with me, aren’t you…” “No I’m not!” “Yes you are!”
B2. “You make me feel free.”
B3. “You’re cute when you try not to blush.”
B4. “I might be having feelings for you, I’ve had them for a while.” “Yeah right.” “I’m serious.”
B5. “It’s true. I’ve loved you ever since I got to know you - and even if you don’t feel the same, I’m willing to accept it.”
B6. “What if I told you that there’s a surprise for you outside?”
B7. “Everything is okay now, I’m here, I’m here.”
B8. “My world was black before you came into it.”
B9. “Did you do all this… for me?”
B10. “Did you really think I’d leave without a kiss?”
B11. “I didn’t know there’s a feeling like this.”
B12. “You’re the first person who has understood me.”
B13. “I’m not the person you want in your life.” “Yes you are.”
B14. “People change. And I’m not who I was before. I’m sorry for what I did.”
B15. “Do you… maybe, want to go to grab a coffee with me sometime?”
B16. “I really like you! Uh… I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that.”
B17. “I know this isn’t very romantic, but…” “It’s romantic enough for me.”
B18. “I’m not like everyone else, you deserve someone better.” “There isn’t anyone better for me than you.”
B19. “What are you doing?” “Showing you how much I love you.”
B20. “Will you make me happy forever?”
B21. “I didn’t know you’re ticklish… this is going to be fun.”
B22. “Your bed could be more comfortable than me.” “Nah, I’m good.”
B23. “You guys are so cheesy it’s disgusting.” “Why, thank you!”
B24. “Can I sleep with you? I need someone by my side.”
B25. “You’re so warm…” “You’re so cold.” “Mmh, that’s why I like your warmth.”
B26. “You’re special to me.”
B27. “Are those my… aaargh gimme those back!”
B28. “I’ve been gathering my courage to talk to you for so long and now… I did it.”
B29. “It’s obvious you like them.”
B30. “Crushing hard, huh?”
B31. “This is the place we first met. And now here we are, years later.”
B32. “Awww, is this you?” “Gimme that!” “No! You’re so cute, look at those pants!”
B33. “You cleaned my house for me while I slept?”
B34. “Wait, did you just call me cute?”
B35. “You’re my only friend, but you’re also the best person in the world.”
B36. “I’ve been in love with you all this time.”
B37. “I care about you, maybe more than I should.”
B38. “Because I love you, you idiotic mufflehead!”
B39. “Honestly, I didn’t believe in strong friendships before I met you.”
B40. “Maybe that’s the reason why we’re friends. You’re as dumb as me.”
B41. “Is that a blush I see?”
B42. “Do you want to go out with me?”
B43. “We’re friends, you can tell me anything.”
B44. “You look like you need a friend.”
B45. “Ah, ah, no tickling! Or no kisses.”
B46. “I made you dinner.”
B47. “I lit up candles and everything, you deserve to relax.”
B48. “You want it, I’ll get it. Don’t try to stop me.”
B49. “You’re the only one that makes me go cheesy.”
B50. “Here, take my umbrella.”
B51. “I think I’m in love… with you.”
B52. “You bought roses for me?”
B53. “Dance with me.”
B54. “Marry me.”
B55. “Babe, we’ll travel the world together.”
B56. “I’ve talked to you once and I already know I’m going to fall in love with you.”
B57. “I heard [name] has a crush on you.”
B58. “You look amazing.”
B59. “Best friends will stand together, even through the harshest of waves.”
B60. “I’ll continue doing this until you smile.”
B61. “Can I hug you?”
B62. “I have always loved you.”
B63. “Don’t worry, you look beautiful.”
B64. “Your flirting is so bad it’s adorable.”
B65. “Do you have to get up? I was just getting comfy.”
B66. “Stooooop, you’re making me blush!”
B67. “Uh-uh, I won’t let you leave without a hug.”
B68. “I’ll be watching over you.”
B69. “I bought you chocolate.”
B70. “I dreamed about kissing you.”
B71. “You’re my best friend, and always will be.”
B72. “Am I dreaming or did you just say you like me?”
B73. “Your smile is beautiful.”
B74. “Have I ever told you how cute you are?”
B75. “I’m with you. I’m home.”
B76. “I would have never believed that one day we’d be so close.”
B77. “We’re friends, right? Friends stick together.”
B78. “I’ll always be here, whenever you need me.”
B79. “You smell nice.”
B80. “I’ve loved you since day one.”
B81. “You built a pillow fort for us?”
B82. “You saved me.”
B83. “You always manage to make me laugh.”
B84. “Thank you for being there for me.”
B85. “Why do you care?” “Because I love you!”
B86. “Do you think of me as a friend?”
B87. “I think I have feelings for them.”
B88. “I’ve tried to forbid myself from falling in love, but now I can’t help it.”
B89. “I can’t believe we’re still friends. I thought we’d grow past the fart joke part.” “What, fart jokes are the best!”
B90. “Good morning, want some breakfast?”
B91. “I’ve missed you so much.”
B92. “Are you cold? Here, take my jacket.”
B93. “I’m gonna dare you to kiss [Name].”
B94. “Oh my god, you like [Name]!”
B95. “They’re in love with you.” “Oh shut it.” “I wish you noticed how they look at you.”
B96. “Breakfast in bed? You’re spoiling me.”
B97. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”
B98. “Nobody is perfect. That’s what makes you special.”
B99. “I want you to be happy. You’re worth it.”
B100. “I don’t know how, but you always make me feel happy.”
LIST C - ANGST/ANGRY
C1. “I don’t want to feel anything anymore.”
C2. “I was there… and I didn’t do anything. I’m never forgiving myself for that.”
C3. “It’s none of your business.” “It’s my business if you cry because of me.”
C4. “Let go.” “I can’t.”
C5. “Leave. I don’t want you here.”
C6. “I never loved you.”
C7. “You were never there for me.”
C8. “You did that choice. Not me. You’re in this alone.”
C9. “You left me!”
C10. “It’s time you got to know how it feels to be betrayed.”
C11. “You appreciate some people only after they’re gone.”
C12. “I was willing to stay here with you until the end, but it was you who told me to stay away.”
C13. “No, you don’t have the right to come back to me and pretend that everything is okay again!”
C14. “You disgust me.”
C15. “Fine. If this is how it’s gonna be, then fine. I’m leaving you.”
C16. “They’re not coming back.”
C17. “I failed you. I failed everyone.”
C18. “You’re not worth it.”
C19. “How dare you stand there and tell me you still love me?”
C20. “I was an idiot to ever trust you.”
C21. “I can’t move on, and I don’t want to.”
C22. “I’m disgusted with myself that I once thought of you as my friend.”
C23. “They were my everything, and now they’re gone.”
C24. “It was you who broke our promise.”
C25. “You’re my friend.” “I have better friends than you ever were.”
C26. “I honestly want to set you on fire right now.”
C27. “There’s no one else to blame anymore, you made sure of it. It’s all on you now.”
C28. “I feel like there’s nothing waiting for me anymore.”
C29. “Tell me I’m wrong. Just say it.”
C30. “I love you, but I wish I didn’t.”
C31. “I hope you grow up one day. But I’m not going to be there to see it.”
C32. “What if I’m in too many pieces now to fix myself again?”
C33. “And here I thought that you’d keep your promises for once.”
C34. “Goodbye. Don’t come back.”
C35. “If this is love, I don’t want it.”
C36. “No one never stays, no one ever cares about me.”
C37. “Please, make it stop...”
C38. “It just feels like I can never let go... even if I try.”
C39. “I love them too much. And that always makes me go tumbling down the hill.”
C40. “I can’t do this anymore.”
C41. “Fuck you! Get out of my house!”
C42. “You’re not welcome here.”
C43. “Don’t expect me to fix things you broke.”
C44. “You always lie to me.”
C45. “Could you try stopping thinking like a machine and listen with your heart?”
C46. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone, but with you? I hope life will be torn apart on you.”
C47. “I wish you nothing but pain.”
C48. “I can’t take this any longer.”
C49. “You were my best friend, and you let me down.”
C50. “Forgive you? How could I ever forgive you for what you did?”
C51. “Don’t you dare close your eyes!”
C52. “I can’t feel the pulse.”
C53. “I can’t believe how I ever was a friend of such a toxic person.”
C54. “Everything reminds me about them. I just want to forget them, wipe them out from my life.”
C55. “I’ll be happy once you’re gone.”
C56. “Don’t give me those crocodile tears.”
C57. “You’re wrong, I have never loved you.”
C58. “Go to hell!”
C59. “I want you gone. Now.”
C60. “Oh, now my opinion matters? I wish we had never met!”
C61. “I’ll always hate you.”
C62. “You broke the promise. Again.”
C63. “I’d punch you if you were worth it.”
C64. “Nothing has changed in you, even when I wanted to believe so.”
C65. “Let go of me!”
C66. “Don’t touch me, you filthy scum!”
C67. “You did a bad thing for a good reason.” “But is it worth it if they died because of me?”
C68. “We’d/We’ll never get our happy ending.”
C69. “You’re never changing, are you? Always a dickhead.”
C70. “You’d never understand.”
C71. “I’m dying.”
C72. “I loved you years ago. But that feeling is long gone.”
C73. “I’m happier without you.”
C74. “I don’t even know who you are anymore, how do you expect me to love you?”
C75. “You abandoned me when I needed you the most.”
C76. “Do you think you could just magically waltz back into my life after everything you did?”
C77. “I waited for you for years before I finally found someone who won’t abandon me like you did, and now you come back and think we could be together again?”
C78. “There won’t be “us” anymore.”
C79. “You’ve lied to me all this time.”
C80. “I’m a monster.”
C81. “You’re a monster.”
C82. “Don’t hurt me!”
C83. “I’m leaving you.”
C84. “Please don’t go.”
C85. “I’ll never forgive you.”
C86. “No no no no, stay awake! Please!”
C87. “I don’t want to lose you too.”
C88. “Walk away and don’t come back, or I’ll fucking kill you.”
C89. “We need to get to the hospital!”
C90. “I know you hate me.”
C91. “Oh, so that’s what you think of me?”
C92. “I’m going to sleep on couch tonight.”
C93. “It’s my fault they’re dead.”
C94. “Don’t give me that bullshit, I know what happened!”
C95. “Give me one reason why we should still be together.”
C96. “If you had ever loved me, you wouldn’t have put everything else above me.”
C97. “You said you’d support me with this, but here we are.”
C98. “Why are you even here anymore? Just leave!”
C99. “I’ll be forgotten.”
C100. “Death doesn’t let you say goodbye.”
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Playground Love, Chapter 5: Fireflies and Angel Wings
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Aran Trevelyan/Tristan Trevelyan
Summary:
Aran and Tristan are childhood friends. Best friends. Brothers, almost. They’ve been inseparable since the moment they met, one rainy autumn day underneath the maple tree in the school playground.
Best friends don’t fall in love with each other. Surely not.
The new chapter of mine and @oftachancer’s collaborative fic, featuring her OC Aran and my OC Tristan Trevelyan, is up! Where Aran’s first kiss ever isn’t quite what he expected...
Read more on AO3!
*******
There were floating candles on the surface of the pond, pinpoints of light reflecting the evening sky. Aran sat on the ledge of the gazebo, leaning back against its walls, feet dangling over the mirror-smooth water. Up at the house and through the gardens, music ebbed and flowed. Strings and piano whispering their plaintive melodies as people danced and mingled and chatted, celebrating the day’s achievements at the Grand Tourney and sharing their expectations for the following day. Somewhere in the house, Tristan was being gladhanded by strangers over his showing at the jumping trials that morning. Deservedly. He’d been brilliant, placing first in his bracket and second overall, all strong and prideful. The look in his eyes as he rode…
Aran rubbed the back of his neck as a shiver ran through him despite the warmth of the evening. As though he were capable of anything and so bloody pleased about that fact… It had sent things tightening all through Aran’s core, uncomfortably. Other places, too.
Then again, a breeze could set him off these days, he reminded himself, watching the candles float and bob.
Tristan’s legs, though. The way they flexed as he posted from the saddle. The straight line of his spine. The ferocity of his smile.
“Aran!”
Crap. Shit. Fuck. He tugged his knees up to his chin as Josephine leaned over the low railing from the inside of the gazebo. He flushed at her bright smile, returning it nervously. “Hey, Josie!”
“What a day!” she gasped, settling in on the bench behind him.
“Yeah.” He winced as his voice cracked halfway through the word. He cleared his throat. “Yes. It was.” She wasn’t laughing; she was a good friend. He glanced up to see her offering her cup of punch and smiled gratefully, gulping and passing it back. “Thanks.”
“The candles are pretty,” she said, leaning against the rail to watch them. “Like stars.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” he grinned and listened to her giggle in reply.
“We’re alike, I think. Don’t you?”
He thought about her penchant for ruffles and things that glittered. How they could set each other off laughing with absolutely no reason. The time the summer before when he’d found her crying under the eaves. “Yeah, ish.”
“Would you…” she began, sounding suddenly breathless, “would you want to go out?”
“We are out,” he wrinkled his nose, confused.
“Oh, yes, I suppose we are.” She rested her chin on her hands, “I meant… Would you like to go out, sometime, with me?”
He ran his tongue over his teeth; they still felt too strange, too smooth, without his braces. “I don’t know; it’s supposed to rain the next few days. Where did you want to go?”
“Ottilie said you know your way through the maze.”
He chewed his lip, “Yeah.”
“Maybe you can take me through it?”
Aran nodded. “Sure.”
She flushed, happy in an instant. “Great.” She touched his shoulder. “Let’s go now.”
“ Now- now?” he asked, very aware of the still uncomfortable level of alert inside his hand-me-down slacks. They were far too long for him, benefit of having been Sam’s before they were his. His mother had pinned the legs up and every movement set the safety pins rubbing against his ankles. The waist was too wide, too, held up by suspenders beneath his jacket. Maybe she wouldn’t notice? No, it was Josie. She noticed everything. “It’s… the candles, though.”
“They’ll still be here.”
He hugged his knees, swallowing nervously. “Uh… no, thank you.”
“Please! It’s an adventure! Don’t you like adventures?”
“Sure.”
“So let’s go!”
“To the maze?”
“Yes. I’ve heard it’s a-maze-ing.”
Aran snorted, grinning, and the pun was almost enough to convince him. But the last time he’d been in there only a few days before, he’d become transfixed with Tristan’s back. With his sweat, like wings, dampening his shirt in the summer heat. He bit his tongue hard as his body tightened further. Stop, stop, stop. No, he was not getting up any time soon. “I’d rather just sit here.”
“May I join you then?”
Aran stared at her. “Uh…” But she was already climbing carefully over the railing to sit beside him on the gazebo’s ledge. They were of a height. Too close. He hugged his knees tighter. “Sure,” he answered belatedly. Not much choice now. “How’s the party?”
“Oh, the music is so wonderful!” she enthused. “And there are those little shrimp cakes again this year. Lady Trevelyan really knows how to throw a ball.”
“Aye.” His voice dropped inexplicably into his toes on the syllable. And he saw her lips twitch. “No laughing. Gazebo rules.”
“It’s sweet. You’re growing up.”
“Piss off.”
She smiled, turning to him. “We’re all growing up. It’s good. It’s normal.”
“Right. You get prettier and my throat develops a mind of its own.” His throat and the rest of him as well. It was like trying to govern a sea of cats, just moving through his day.
“You think I’m pretty?” she asked softly.
He frowned. “What? Of course you are.” It was dark, but he was pretty sure her cheeks were darkening. “Not that that’s all that matters,” he added hastily, remembering Winnie’s angst over their father calling her just that word. Demeaning, she’d snarled, fingers snapping. “You’re smart. Really clever. Sorry.”
She leaned towards him and he could smell the soap on her skin and the perfume waves that she’d walked through in the house that had attached themselves to her. Then her lips were on his and Aran froze, blinking. What? Why? Was all he could think for a long series of ineffable seconds. He’d never felt anyone’s lips on his own, except his mother’s and his sisters’, and this… wasn’t that different. Soft and pleasant.
He squinted when she ducked back. Was he supposed to do something? Say something? “Uh… thank you?”
She beamed at him. “I really like you.”
“Good?” He itched the side of his nose. “I like you, too.” Maybe she wanted to be his sister, too. She could have just asked.
“Maybe, if we go to the maze, you can show me how much.”
Did he not already? “Jo-“
Then her lips were on his again and he sat there, hugging his knees, trying to figure out why this was happening. She made a kind of sighing sound and her fingers touched his hair lightly. That was nice. He liked when she played with his hair. And when Tilly did. And Miranda and Winnie. It was soothing. Not like Tristan’s fingers when they barely brushed his ear and sent heat shuttling down his spine. He frowned, and she drew back.
“You’re right,” she breathed. Was he? he wondered. Right about what? “Let me know when you want to go to the maze? I’ll be in the ballroom, okay?” she whispered and then fled up into the gazebo and across the lawn. He watched her go, her skirt flapping in the evening breeze.
What the actual Void?
Read more on AO3!
#aran trevelyan#tristan trevelyan#aran x tristan#modern au#friends to lovers#childhood friends to lovers#dragon age fanfiction#playground love#oftachancer writes#johaerys writes
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Meet the character: Silke
BASICS
► Name ➔ “Silke Doomflare. And yes, it’s got something to do with my profession!”
► Are you single ➔ Silke’s eyes suddenly get a bit wider. She blinks, and then purses her lips, becoming oddly interested in the nearby wall. “It’s complicated.”
► Are you happy ➔ “Mm, yeah, I guess I could say so”, she states after thinking for a moment. “I’m studying things I love, my family is safe and alive, I have a handful of people I could consider my friends.. Can’t really complain, although a little bit more gil wouldn’t hurt...”
► Are you angry? ➔ “Well, usually not. Though, at the moment I’m a bit pissed off at a certain colleague of mine who loudly and unnecessarily harshly judged my thesis of pyromancy in front of our professor and classmates. Like, hellooo? You can give critique and still be polite about it, geez…”
► Are your parents still married ➔ “They are”, Silke nods proudly. "I’ve seen so many broken families lately. I feel very privileged… and lucky.”
EIGHT FACTS
► Birth Place ➔ “I’ve heard it was the place named Skatay Range. But I can’t remember a thing from it. I was so young when I was taken by slavers. So I like to think Kugane as my real birth place, since I grew up there.“
► Hair Color ➔ “Black I guess? At least it was the last time I checked! In bright light it looks like dark grey, though.”
► Eye Color ➔ Silke leans closer, so that the deep turquoise can hardly be missed. "You have troubles with your eyes or what? I happen to partly know a shady medic from a certain dark alley nearby. Want to know the address?”
► Birthday ➔ “Ninth sun of the first astral moon, I’ve heard.”
► Mood ➔ “Right now? I guess I’m feeling somewhat eager. There’s this new portal we’re going to test out tomorrow, and I was permitted to take part in it. Can you believe that? Usually they’re just like ‘no, Silke, don’t touch it, don’t touch anything’, but this time I’m allowed in. They must’ve finally noticed the genius I am.“
► Gender ➔ “God!” Silke yells and gets on her feet, pointing towards the roof. A long silence follows. “Seriously! Have you ever seen me on a battlefield? Have you seen the havoc I’ve --- no? Oh...”
► Summer or winter ➔ “Agh, such a difficult question. I like both. I like to swim and lay on a soft grass under a tree. But then again I also like to drink hot cocoa when it’s cold, wrap myself up into a blanket and watch the flames of our fireplace or snow falling outside.“
► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Afternoon of course? I’m not even awake before noon… no, wait. I like sleeping as well. Both?”
EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE
► Are you in love ➔ “Of course I am. If we don’t count the feeling of aether flowing through me while I cast spells and blow things to smithereens, I love most the smell of old tomes, parchment, ink and all sorts of sweets, especially ice-cream. I also love chocobos. If it wasn’t possible to be a mage I’d definitely become a chocobo breeder. Perhaps I’ll become one when my career is over and spells no longer stay in my head. I’ll retire and start breeding chocobos. Yes, a perfect plan!“
► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “I definitely do! I fell in love with my dog the moment I saw him. Have you ever visited Kugane? Well anyway, they have these small, orange, pointy eared and curly tailed dogs there in almost every house. It’s like their national dog or something, they’re so popular.”
► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “I hate to admit this, but it was him… I thought we were doing fine, but one day he started to complain I didn’t give him enough attention, and that I was studying too much. I mean… how can one even study too much? I don’t get it.“
► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “I guess I have. Not on purpose, though! Honestly, some people are so sensitive it’s harder not to break their hearts, geez… What an annoying subject to talk about, anyway.” Silke ruffles her head uneasily.
► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “Of course not. I wouldn’t be able to ever become an archmage if I wasn’t dedicated to my studies.“
► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ Silke’s usually cheerful expression grows darker suddenly. "My sister. We don’t see very often, but when we do, I try to show my care as much as I can. She’s hanging out with shady folk sometimes, and I can’t help but worry at times will she come home or not.”
► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “I surely hope not! Would be creepy to have someone admiring you from afar, without letting you know. Isn’t that like stalking? It’s only good manners to make yourself known so we can find out do we get along or not.“
► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “No, I don’t think so. Or perhaps I once almost did… there was this huge tome - as big as those holy scriptures they have in the cathedral - in a certain old bookstore. The merchant was old as sky and I was afraid they’d close the place soon. And the tome was expensive. I was a lot younger back then and didn’t have much money, and my sister was like ‘no Silke, you totally won’t buy a book written in some dead language no one can read to take more room in your previously cramped room and collect dust.’ At first I was about to leave it at that, but I ended up snitching money from her cache.” Silke grins impishly. “No regrets!”
SIX CHOICES
► Love or lust ➔ “I have to choose again? You’re, like, asking me do I like to enjoy nice things existing or actually take them to be mine.”
► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “What if I started to ask you annoying questions like strawberries or chocolate? Can’t choose, huh? Huh?”
► Cats or Dogs ➔ Silke falls silent for a moment. “…just when I was yapping at you for silly questions. Dogs all the way! I like cats too, and maybe I would be more of a cat person if my first pet had been a cat. But it was a dog, and there’s no going back!“
► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “A few best friends, absolutely. I have both, but I’ve noticed I enjoy the company of my closest friends a lot more. You can do all sorts of crazy stuff with them you can’t with anyone else.”
► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “Definitely a wild night out! I have romantic nights by myself all the time with wine and chocolate and our fireplace, and I rarely get to go out.“
► Day or night ➔ “I like both, actually. At days I’m studying, and at nights I’m doing my homework.” Silke shrugs and grins.
FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS
► Been caught sneaking out ➔ Silke becomes more serious once more. “Like I told you, I was taken from my original home by slavers. Life wasn’t very nice back then. I tried to run, many times. But I was very small and weak, and they were big, strong and fast.”
► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “This actually happened during one of my escape attempts. I was lucky I didn’t die. I still have a scar left.“ Silke lifts her bangs and shows a scar near her temple.
► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Freedom. Yes… I think losing our loved ones is the first thing we usually think of when someone asks for the thing we fear the most. But I think losing your freedom would be even worse. If you’re free, you can always start anew, but if you’re being held captive, you can’t do anything. Nothing at all.”
► Wanted to disappear ➔ Silke gives a long look at you and raises an eyebrow again. “Considering the things I just told you, there just may have been such situations...”
FOUR PREFERENCES
► Smile or eyes ➔ “Mmh, both are important, but I think I like eyes more. I’m not a spiritual person, but I still think you can kind of see their soul there. Their essence. If they’re good or evil. The creepiest thing I’ve seen is probably living people with empty eyes, especially those without any kindness in them…”
► Shorter or Taller ➔ “Shorter, definitely. I’m quite short myself despite my heels and I don’t like it when someone looks down on me. Well, most of people kind of have to, they can’t help it, but you know?“
► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “Pff, do you even need to ask? Intelligence, of course. There are very few things that… truly infuriate me… But the one thing I absolutely can’t stand in others is chosen stupidity. Yes, chosen! Can you believe, that there truly exists people who don’t want to learn new things, be it about themselves or other people or the world that surrounds them?” Silke starts to imitate an elderly person, talking in a low, hoarse tone: “Silly girl. If we would discover new things or try them out, we would be in a situation we’ve never been in before.” She bursts into a mocking laughter. “Yes, someone really said that to me…”
► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Relationship, hands down. I’ve had my share of hook-ups.” Silke apparently can’t stop her eyes rolling towards the roof as a protest.
FAMILY
► Do you and your family get along ➔ “Yeah, we get along very well. I have some arguments every now and then with my two siblings, but nothing too serious.”
► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “Not anymore. It used to be such a mess, though.” Silke lets out an uneasy laugh. “After me and Asagi were adopted, we got our life eventually back together. Despite a few ups and downs it’s been quite stable after that. A place to belong to and meaningful chores do wonders.”
► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ “No, definitely not. My parents have always been reasonable. Even during our wildest teenage years I can’t remember there would’ve been anything too major…“
► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ Silke has some difficulties holding back a sudden laughter. "I got kicked out of class, yeah! Though I still think it was unfair towards me. It wasn’t my fault. It was an alchemy class and I guess I had made some miscalculation with my mixture… I tried to tell my professor I’m not quite sure about it, but he just had to go and push his big head too close to the cauldron.”
FRIENDS
► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “No, I don’t hate my friends. If I did, I wouldn’t be friends with them, would I? Some of them have some annoying traits, but... hate? Nah.“
► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ "Sadly no… I’ve had some… disappointments. You know, there’s quite a lot of people who seem like they’re good friends, but once you have a bad day, or few bad days, they suddenly disappear and want to hear nothing about it. So weird. I certainly wouldn’t abandon my friends like that.”
► Who is your best friend ➔ “Absolutely Iris. She’s a bit odd sometimes, in a good way though, and her vocabulary is quite vulgar and it upsets some people, but I think it’s hilarious. I’ve never met anyone so quick-witted before. There’s not a single boring moment while she’s around. Oh, and nowadays there’s also this certain miqo’te called Shaura. We haven’t known each other for very long, but just like with Iris, we just clicked right away.“
► Who knows everything about you ➔ “I think my sister might… I’ve tried to keep some secrets from her, like me loaning her gil without asking sometimes, but I think she knows. I have no idea how the heck! I mean, I’m smart, but she’s even smarter… If it was possible, I would like to change brains with her for a day or two. I want to know how she does it.”
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(Originally posted by galacticrpmemes who has since deactivated. Now available again without having to reblog from private users)
ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴ ᴀɢᴇ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴꜱ ꜱᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀꜱ
change pronouns as needed!
cw mature content
“You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.”
“Tis cold in my tent, all alone…”
“We have been given the gift of freedom by our forbearers. Let us not squander it.”
“Surely it has not escaped your notice that I am both armed and armored. Any fight between us would be rather one-sided.”
“Be careful what you wish for. Power is treacherous. I have seen many people–great leaders–consumed by it.”
“Nobility does not exist without obligation. We owe everything we have, even our lives, to our land and people.”
“Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?”
“There is nothing I would not do for my homeland.”
“Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, _____. We must attend to reality.”
“Please, I have done… so much wrong. Allow me to do one last thing right.”
“That’s what I’m here for. To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners.”
“Nothing like a brush with death to make you… not like death much.”
“Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line.“
“Now that the warm and fuzzy part of the day is over we can get back to the ritual dismemberments. Oh wait, it’s not Tuesday is it?”
“Have you ever licked a lamp post in winter?”
“What? Lead? Me? No, no, no. No leading. Bad things happen when I lead. We get lost, people die, and the next thing you know I’m stranded somewhere without any pants.”
“Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements!“
“You’re the first woman/man/person I’ve ever spent the night with, and if I have my way you’ll be the last.“
“I love stories far too much to keep them to myself. Everyone should benefit from them, I think.”
“Oh, this looks fun! I bet we’ll have to work together and join hands and sing a happy song to get across!”
“The only way out of this game is to kill or be killed.”
“Change is coming to the world. Many fear change and will fight it with every fiber of their being. But sometimes, change is what they need the most. Sometimes, change is what sets them free.”
“You look upon the world around you and you think you know it well. I have smelled it as a wolf, listened as a cat, prowled shadows that you never dreamed existed.”
“Men are always willing to believe two things about a woman: one, that she is weak, and two, that she finds him attractive.”
“Now we threaten priests? How fun!”
“Some doors should never be re-opened.“
“’Tis a curious thing. I do not know how else to describe it.”
“If you’ve ever heard of me before, it’s probably all been about how I piss ale and murder little boys who look at me wrong. And that’s mostly true…”
“Misery, vomit and malt liquor. Ah, reminds me of home.”
“By the tits of my ancestors!”
“Shave my back and call me en elf!”
“I wish people wanted to share me more often. Especially the ladies. I want more ladies to share me.”
“Aye. I’ve tried twenty-seven different types of ale and learned I’m just the right height to give a human girl a good time. That doesn’t make me a good man.”
“I wonder what it is like to float…or drown.”
“Oooh, Shiny!”
“Now, let us crush something soft and watch it fountain blood. That is a girlish thing to want to do, yes?”
“So? What does it think? I don’t look any wider, do I? I find I am already too wide as it is.“
“Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret.”
“I am a simple creature. I like swords, I follow orders. What else is there to be puzzled by?”
“Happiness is fragile. Nothing can be built upon it that will last. Only duty endures.”
“Where is the cake? I was told there would be cake. The cake is a lie.”
“To be fooled by the world is unfortunate: By oneself, is deadly.”
“The enemy waits. Shall we grant him the death he asks of us?”
“I will not lie motionless in a bed with coverlets up to my chin, waiting for death to claim me.”
“I’m not the sort of person that leaves things unfinished. I’ll see this through, I promise.”
“You’d think one would find a less perilous place to explore.”
“People fear, not death, but having life taken from them. Many waste the life given to them, occupying themselves with things that do not matter. When the end comes, they say they did not have time enough to spend with loved ones, to fulfill dreams, to go on adventures they only talked about… But why should you fear death if you are happy with the life you have led, if you can look back on everything and say, ‘Yes, I am content. It is enough.’”
“Now that we’re in an intimate relationship I think maybe I should tell you where babies come from.”
“Love is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one’s mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else.”
“Planning has never been my strong suit. Now, killing…killing and love-making. Killing and love-making and witty retorts. Those I am better at.”
“Can you smell that? Like rotting flesh. Just like back in the City. Now if only you could find me a prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder and a corrupt politician, I’d really feel like I was home!”
“We all do our share of murdering around here, don’t we?”
“You tend to get up to interesting things. You meet interesting people and then you kill them. I’m game to tag along, if you are.”
“Let’s see… when was the last time I slipped my hand into some dark hole? Hmmm… I remember. Long story, that.”
“In truth, for the chance to be by your side I would storm the Dark City itself. Never doubt it.”
“We need absolute unity to fight against the fulcrum of true evil.”
“Your father made me swear on his deathbed you would not succeed him.”
“Kings, politics…all that is transitory.”
“Good to have you along the road.”
“Something you need? I’m sure either my boy or I can help you out.”
“Are you sure I can’t interest you in this hat? A pair of earrings perhaps? A cheese knife?”
“I hope your compassion hasn’t doomed us all.“
“She’ll put us all in the pot, she will. Just you watch.”
“I am a fly in the ointment. I am a whisper in the shadows. I am also an old, old woman. More than that you need not know.”
“You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide, either way, one’s a fool.”
“Be always aware… or is it oblivious? I can never remember.”
“Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature.”
“Weeks of scant food and water, the torture… oh, I’ve never felt better!“
“We should seize moments of levity, especially in troubled times.”
"Ah, I’m sure we’ll be at each other’s throats again in no time.”
“There is no glory in this!”
“I’m not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back.”
“They’ll take everything that I am from me– my dreams, hopes, fears… My love for you. All gone…”
“Am I not allowed to have regrets?”
“I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet of all things I desire nothing more than an end.”
“I prefer to be known as a just and compassionate king. ‘Strong’ too often comes to mean ‘tyrannical’.”
“Maker spit on you… I deserved… more…”
“Well, well. You little spitfire. All grown up and still playing the man.”
“Be firm in your beliefs, protect people from their own ignorance, and be as loyal as you can to your brothers, even knowing that you’ll share their deaths.”
“Nothing you have done has prepared you for what you face now.”
“Oh…you mean, am I married? I…no. No, I’ve never had the pleasure. If I did, I’d be lucky to find a woman as lovely as yourself.”
“My retribution is eternal, spirit, as is my pain. This is justice, no more.”
“You, you seem like a smart sort.“
“I’ve got a job and you’re helping me.”
“Booze an’ adventure sounds about right!“
"Whoa, dizzy for a moment there… how’d I get here?“
"You should learn your place. Meek, subservient, quiet.”
“You’re a light in this dark place.”
“Girl, you are wonderful. Thank you.”
“Take my advice friend: stay away from Storytellers, never know what they’ll say…”
“Some of us don’t match the bard-spy fetish. Like me, pretending I know the lute.”
“We are always in battle. It is only that some of us do not always realize it.”
“Do you ever wish you could have the freedom to piss anywhere you wanted without being stared at?”
“Phew! Am I bleeding? Oh look, a rip in my clothes.”
“I’m not going to die am I!?”
“Why is everything so complicated!?”
“We’re alive!”
“_____, your pet is lecturing me again.”
“As a girl, I broke the fingers of those that poked me needlessly. Just saying.”
“I have a good feeling about this.”
“Come on–no time to waste.”
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THE ONCE AND FUTURE PRINCE (Part 1)
For Reylo Week 2020. Day 6, Past, Present and Future.
Kylo Ren is dead. But Ben Solo is in solitary confinement in a bunker built just to hold him, about to go on trial for Lord Ren’s crimes. Half the Galaxy thinks it’s an injustice to try Ben for a dead man’s crimes, but the other half wants to see Kylo Ren hang from the highest gallows. Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa have both returned with Ben from the World Between Worlds. Luke and Rey are on one side, Leia is on the other. As Ben’s trial approaches, he ponders the past, tries to endure the present and hopes there will be a future for him in spite of Kylo Ren.’
This takes place in the same AU as “The Most Dangerous Game” and is a continuation of that story.
Ben Solo finished his push-ups, and his sit-ups, and he drank some water before doing his chin ups.’
He stretched, and did isometric exercises against the walls and then he sat on his cot.
It wasn’t that bad, really.
There were no chains, just the stun collar. And his cell, made of concrete and steel stood alone in an open concrete desert bordered by a vast green forest, in a perimeter of barbed wire and electric fences.
There was a little slot in the top that he could look through, if he stood on his cot, and a locked slot in the metal door, to shove his food through.
He liked to stand on his cot, and look through the slot, at the jailer's cottage, beyond the concrete desert, at the edge of the wood.
He also was allowed an hour of exercise outside, and every other day, the jailer would march him to the refresher stall at the other end of the perimeter, so he could keep clean.
He was not permitted a razor, so he kept his beard braided, in a long, thin braid that now reached just past his collarbone.
It wasn’t that bad, really.
When he was kept in a cell during his Sith training, he was always naked, there was no cot or pillow or sleeping bag or blankets, and the lights were always on.
There was only a toilet.
Also his wrists and ankles were manacled together and there was only thin soup and bread once a day.
In this cell, he got to wear shorts.
He had a berth to sleep on, and a desk, and he got three meals a day and books to read.
The jailer put the lights on at 9, and turned them off at midnight.
When he was in Sith training, Ben lived in a malnourished, fluorescent-lit, oatmeal-colored naked Hell of fear.
This was a whole different kind of Hell.
One that might last the rest of his life.
He hoped to either be set free, or sentenced to death.
Then again?
It wasn’t that bad, really.
Ben screamed, he roared and rushed the wall.
The collar stunned him, and he fell, unconscious, on the floor.
***
In the jailer’s cottage, a red light went off.
The jailer was not afraid of his prisoner, he felt bad for the man, for the conditions he was held under.
The red light nominally meant escape, but all it meant under current conditions was that Captain Solo had made a run at the wall so the collar would stun him, and he could have a little slice of oblivion.
He unlocked the cell and found his prisoner on the floor, unconscious and twitching, and he revived him.
“Ben? Ben, can you hear me?”
His heels were still drumming on the floor, so Commander Antilles administered the hypo.
Captain Solo returned to consciousness with a groan.
The Republic Air Command, which supported him, had promoted him from Lieutenant after the Battle of Exegol.
“Ben, you shouldn’t do that to yourself.”
“Oh, shit! The collar made me piss myself, again. I’m sorry about the mess, Commander Antilles. I’ll clean it up.”
“You probably can’t even stand, yet I brought the mop. It’s just pee. It wipes up. But you have to stop activating the stun collar. It’s not good for your body. It might kill you.”
“When, Wedge? When?”
***
“What happened? Did he try to escape, again?”
“Leia, I can’t do this. I remember when me and Luke used to take him to the park to fly his model X-Wing! You should come here, and shove his meals in a slot in a Beskar steel and concrete door! Talk to him through a tiny slot in the wall of the bunker you put him in, while he stands on a chair! You should have to run in and revive him after he runs, screaming at the wall so the collar stuns him! Find Ben lying there, twitching, in a puddle of pee!”
“Wedge, do you think I want to keep Ben confined like this? He broke out of four jails and put 15 men in the hospital! One of our Generals told me, regretfully, that we should just have him put down! Put down! Like a sick old tooka cat! He did this to himself! This is the very best I can do for Ben, right now!”
“I know. But it’s not easy.”
“Sometimes, Wedge? I’d like to just land at night in the Falcon, and say goodbye to him and tell him to listen to Chewie and be good to Rey and talk to me once in awhile and let him go.”
“He just got a letter from Rey. And one from Luke. I’ll take it to him, and slip it under the door with his dinner. See if you can get him some visits with her. Or maybe just get the regulations relaxed so that I can bring him his meals in person.”
“We’ll see.”
***
Dear Ben,
I’m back on Tattoine again.
I’m in Anchorhead, to give another rousing speech for the Justice For Ben Solo movement. I’d say public opinion is about 60-40 at this point.
The good news is, 60 in your favor.
The bad news is, the other 40 percent still want to see you hang from the highest tree.
I just about have the Tribunal ready to let you wear clothes, so I’ve sent you a box of coveralls.
Republic regulation overalls that say “Captain Solo” on them, just to remind people of who you really are.
And you hated it when I made you finish at the Republic Academy; even if I did try and cut your head off, Crazy Old Uncle Luke was right, sometimes.
I’m still behind you a hundred percent, Ben, and so is your Uncle Chewie. He sent you a tin of Wookiee cookies. Also in the package is a rug for your floor that Rey made from the rags of old Resistance uniforms that Leia wanted to throw out.
Wedge told me that you’re beginning to despair. There’s no reason for despair, Ben. I’m sure I was sent back from the World Between Worlds for your sake, and you were not sent back to rot in a cell for the rest of your life. Even if you are sentenced to life, or a long term, I will never stop fighting for you, and against the injustice that you should be punished for a dead man’s crimes.
I have convinced the Tribunal to let you appear at your hearing from your cell, but I’m hoping it won’t be the prison that you are in.
Stay strong, Ben. May the Force Be With You
Crazy Uncle Luke.
***
Dear Ben,
Chewie and I just got your new pilot’s pants with the red Corellian bloodstripe down the leg, and a certificate from Han’s home planet that they were awarded to you by the Corellian Parliament.
Hopefully, you can wear them at your trial.
Commander Antillies said he didn’t care if it was against regulations, he’s letting you have the rug that I made you.
I used my old arm wraps to make the pattern so that you would have something of me in your cell.
I’m on D’Qar, still, and I’d say it’s about 70-30 for you, here, and the 30 percent who think you should go to prison aren’t for a life sentence.
The Resistance understands what you sacrificed, and what you did for us.
By all your savage gods, Ben, I miss you so much.
I used to be ashamed of what we almost did in Snoke’s Throne Room, and I always felt guilty that you and I would meet at the Skywalker Farm, but now I’m glad we did.
Do you remember , during my training, when you told me that in a totalitarian state, sex is an act of rebellion and love is revolution?
I never knew what you were talking about until they carried you out of the Infirmary on a stretcher to throw you in jail.
I’m proud that we were lovers.
I wish we could be, again, and not for political reasons.
I’m so lonely for you, Ben.
I’m still sleeping in your tunic from the Battle of Exegol; I’ve had to wash it, but it still smells faintly like you, and I snuggle it close to my body at night, wishing I could snuggle up close to you.
I even miss the fights that we used to have through our bond; I keep trying to find a way to reach you through the Force-disrupting field they have around you.
I suppose I should write something really dirty to you, like the things I get embarrassed about that I yell while you make love to me, but I can’t think of things like that unless I’m in the moment with you.
Chewie and I have decided, if you get life, or anything more than 5 to ten years with a chance for parole?
We’re breaking you out of jail and going on the run.
Nobody on Tattoine or Arkanis will ever give you up; and like you always tell me?
You’re a Skywalker, the stars belong to you.
Don’t forget that, Ben. Or that I love you so much.
All my love,
Little Rebel Girl.
On-board the Finalizer; Supreme Leader Kylo Ren’s Flagship
It was a short walk to Lord Ren’s private exercise room, but they ran into General Pryde along the way.
He and Ben had a brief exchange and then they were on their way.
Rey waited until Ben had activated all the security locks.
“Is this private?”
“Yes. Ask your question.”
“Why does General Pryde make my skin crawl.”
“Because he’s an evil man. The only reason I have let him live is because I want him to live just long enough to see me destroy his life’s work.”
“That’s cruel, Ben. And you let him think that he’s, well, like a mentor to you. And you’re not a cruel man. Why?”
“Because he’s the most evil man I have ever known. General Pryde was the Chief Officer in charge of Snoke’s Detention block on his ship. He also organized the training for Force-sensitive First Order officers. Better known as Sith Training. It was more like torture. He had the trainees locked up in worse conditions than the prisoners. He made us fight to the death. His trainers were all former Imperial officers who were entirely depraved men. These are men who were in the detention blocks of Star Destroyers scheduled for execution by my grandfather when they were rescued by the end of the war. Pryde was one of them. They enjoyed subjecting us to beatings. Torture. Humiliation. Some of my fellow trainees, men and women, were systematically raped, to break their spirits.”
Rey was shocked.
She remembered General Organa-Solo telling her that even the people who were confederatesof the Sith and the Dark Side were drawn to its evil, because they were themselves evil.
But she hadn’t thought in terms of rapists.
Or sadists.
Or killers.
“That policy ended with me. Now that I am Supreme Leader, there is no torture. No corporal punishment. Rape, by anyone, in any form, on anyone else? On this ship, or off? It’s a capital crime. Off with your head. Execution by lightsaber.”
Ben stood up, and ignited his weapon.
“This lightsaber. Alright, Rey. Enough talk. Let’s pick up where we left off the last time.”
“You mean, in the woods?”
“I do. I owe you a dueling scar. But I won’t put it on your face. Maybe on your shoulder.”
Rey jumped back.
“Wait! Don’t we wear blast vests, or something?”
“No. What’s that going to teach you? No more talk. Defend yourself.”
Ben swung at her and Rey blocked him.
He saw the fear in her face change to anger and resolve.
Too much anger.
“Do you know why you beat me, in the woods, and gave me this scar, Rebel Girl?”
“Because I’m good.” Rey snarled.
Rey battled him back, as easily as she had before.
“Yes. You have balls, and some skill. And you are strong in the Force.”
They were at crossed sabers, but when Rey raised a fist to knock Kylo away, he blocked her punch, made some fast move to get away from her, swung around, kicked the lightsaber out of her hand and stopped his swing less than an inch away from her throat.
Fear returned to her eyes, but also a stubborn defiance.
“But you won because I didn’t expect you to have any skill. And because I was tired, angry, and emotionally desolate over what Snoke made me do. But I’ve won fights in worse shape, and with better opponents. You won because I didn’t want to hurt you. No one else you cross sabers with will have any such compunctions.”
Rey’s breath was short.
She could feel the heat of his lightsaber on her throat, but she refused to ask him to move away, or retract his blade.
Ben sensed mortal terror instinctively rising in Rey, and her struggle to keep it at bay.
That was too much.
He shut his lightsaber down.
She was trying not to shake with relief.
“Breathe, Rey. Breathe deeply. Listen to the sound of your teacher’s voice, and understand that I mean you no harm. Search your feelings. You know that what I am saying is true. This was a lesson. To teach you about just how much you do not know. And to show you that you’ll pay a high price for anger and arrogance, in combat. But you were never in danger. During some of our lessons, you may feel like you are in danger. But you’re not. And it’s not just because you are precious to me and I would never hurt you. I have absolute control over my lightsaber. It’s like an extension of my body. My lightsaber is my arm, my shield, my flesh made fire. I use it to create what I wish and destroy what I will. I want you to sit in this room, in the dark, with your lightsaber ignited in front of you. Do this until I return, and meditate on that concept. Remember my words.”
Rey meditated on Ben’s words, the concept he was teaching her, and on her own actions.
She eventually called to mind the image of Ben striking down General Pryde, amid fire and explosions ten times what she had seen on Snoke’s ship.
And she called to mind him at crossed sabers with her, telling her that she needed a teacher, when he could have effortlessly stuffed out her life.
She thought about him lying in the snow, wounded and bleeding.
He could have called his lightsaber to his hand and struck her down.
But he stayed his hand.
One man.
One lightsaber.
Two sets of actions.
One Light, and one Dark.
And the struggle, in the dark, with her lightsaber in front of her, to find the balance of the two within herself.
She was beginning to understand.
***
In that first week, Ben taught her the basics of swordsmanship, and after their practice, she did her lightsaber meditation for an hour.
She was surprised at the subject matter for the second week.
Fighting, and target shooting with a blaster.
Rey had thought herself pretty good with both, and she was better than at the lightsaber, but Ben, of course, beat her, effortlessly.
Then he explained to her why she had lost, how he had beaten her, and taught her a targeting meditation and an anger meditation.
You never win a fight, he explained, when you lash out in anger, and even in a fire-fight, you always have time to carefully draw, take aim, and fire.
“If I taught the troopers to shoot, instead of instructors like Mad Dog Hux? They’d be a lot better at it.”
The rest of the week he showed her how to fight and how to shoot.
Rey thought she saw a pattern in Ben’s training until he had them both dropped off in the wastes of Tattoine, with him dressed only in a pair of short exercise shorts, and her in a pair of those and an exercise breastband.
That, and desert boots.
They had no sun protection, no hats, and one canteen between them.
The midday suns blazed overhead, already roasting them.
“This is crazy! We’ll die out here.”
“No, we won’t. You’re a desert rat, and this is my Uncle’s home planet. My father’s business was based on this planet. We’ve both used to the desert. And there’s a moisture farm about ten miles from here. All we have to do is get there alive.”
“And we have no sun protection.”
“No.”
Rey took the shorts off, and squatted on the ground to make some mud.
She put her shorts back on and started slathering the mud on her exposed skin.
“This is really going to be a nasty, stinky day.”
Her teacher actually laughed as he pissed in the sand.
“Could be worse. We could be so dry that we had to look for a pool of Bantha pee. That really stinks.”
***
This test, of course, was about endurance, Rey thought.
But, when they finally made it to the moisture farm, Rey wanted to scream.
The place was clearly abandoned, and it looked like it had been for at least ten years.
Rey hardly noticed that other than windblown sand, the courtyard was clean.
Ben pressed his thumb against where there should have been a lock on the doorknob of the blighted main door, and then he turned it.
“We’re home.” He told her.
Rey walked into a beautiful place, all in browns and greens and cream.
It was cool, and smelled fresh, and as she walked from room to room, lights came on.
You couldn’t even hear the cooling unit working.
And it was very comfortable in the rooms; Ben must have started it from the ship, before they got off.
Unlike Ben’s rooms on the Star Destroyer, this place looked like somebody lived here.
“Rey?”
Ben was still in the doorway.
“This place is beautiful? Is this your home?”
“Yes. The old family homestead. You’re getting pee mud, everywhere.”
“Oh gods, Ben, I’m sorry!”
“It’s OK. I’ll have BB-9E clean it up. He must be around here, somewhere, because the cooling unit is on. There’s a hose behind the shed out back. We’ll get hosed down, and come back and take a long bath. Then you can look around.”
Ben looked around the door.
“Niner? Where are you?”
Rey heard an angry bleep.
“I’m sorry for him, in advance. I built him from junk when I was a teenager, and Artoo helped me repurpose a partly fried personality chip. Niner’s like me. He has moods.”
“Is this the same droid that ratted BB-8 out?”
“Niner didn’t know you, then. He’s my droid, Rey. Why wouldn’t he be loyal to me. Well, mostly. NINER!”
The black and silver astromech droid rolled over to Rey, bleeped, rolled away, and she heard rummaging from the kitchen.
He rolled back, and his head twirled around, and he opened one of his ports and a little hose came out.
He started squirting water all over Rey, and the floor.
“Niner! Stop! Don’t you squirt water on me, I’ll take out your cleaning circuit. I meant to clean the floor.”
Niner chirped, excitedly.
“Yes, I know we are both also a mess. Just clean the floor. Come on, Rey. He’s like a big, stupid dog. He pissed on you because he was excited to meet you.”
It sounded like Niner was bleeping an obscene retort at Ben as they went back outside.
***
It was, of course, the old Lars-Skywalker Farm, and it was Ben’s home.
The neighbors knew him as Ben Skywalker, a starpilot, and the grandson of Ani Skywalker, local lad made good, who was also a starpilot.
In the tunnels beneath the house, in the tanks where the Lars family had stored water, only one tank had Ben’s water supply.
The rest were filled with money, supplies, and a smuggler’s bounty.
He even had one tank that was a walk-in freezer, full of meat and frozen food.
One of the other locked tanks was a locked vault.
“That’s where I keep my money. I could hide out here for five years, if I needed to. Maybe more. The door is also coded for your fingerprint. This is your home now, too, Rey. I’m sorry I didn’t carry you over the threshold, but you smelled like piss.”
Rey laughed.
“Ben, you can’t. I’ve done nothing to deserve this?”
“You gave me a month to show you that I am not a monster. To begin your training. You know. Among other things.”
Rey felt herself blushing.
“You’re so cute when you pretend to be a prude. But I know better, don’t I? We’ll get to the tour of the bedroom, don’t you worry. And before you ask? All the plates and cups and utensils and so on are made of wood or stone because I’m a wild man. When I get angry, or when I brood and I feel said and that makes me angry? I love to throw things. And there’s only a mirror in the bedroom and the bathroom because I’m also a mirror puncher. They’re made of unbreakable glass. So are the windows. Because I also like to punch windows, and throw things through them. And this is the bedroom. Just like on the ship, this door leads to your bedroom. Only your fingerprint locks and unlocks it. If I’m having an episode, just lock yourself in this room and wait.”
“Is that why you have extra furniture in your stash.”
“Yes. But if you hear me in here, breaking things? Or in my office? Set your blaster to stun and shoot me. I’m not kidding. I never trash my office or my bedroom, but I can’t afford to destroy things, in here. And when I go into Wild Man mode? I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Ben also explained to her that if he was in Brooding Mystic Spoiled Brat mode, she should let him alone to brood in his office.
Or outside.
Unless she wanted to participate.
That was usually the mood accompanied by a whole jug of Huttese whiskey.
“Do you have other moods?”
“Yeah. My usual normal. Weird Cocky Goofy Idiot. And your favorite. Sexual Death Star.”
“I wouldn’t say you were normally a weird cocky goofy idiot. You’re so mean to yourself.”
“No. Just honest. It’s been a long day. I think I’d like to lie down and take a long nap? You can retire to your room, or you can try out my bed.”
“I’m tired, Ben. I’ve been walking in the desert all day. And if you think that all you have to do to get me interested, after the day you’ve put me through is lie there, naked, on your bed and look at me like that? You’re absolutely right. I am going to make you pay, you Sith bastard, for that desert march!”
“Talk is cheap, Rebel Girl.”
***
They stayed at the Skywalker Farm for the next two weeks, and then Ben returned Rey to Ahch-To.
Master Luke was waiting for them.
Ben was lugging a large crate with him.
“What’s that, Benjamin?”
Ben pointed his finger in his Uncle’s face.
“Don’t call me Benjamin! You’re a crazy old man, and I feel sorry for you, that’s what! So there’s a Wilderness Survival Pod in here for you along with the Wilderness Survival Tent for Rey. And also?”
He made another trip back to Darth Vader’s TIE Fighter, and returned with a small black canvas bag, with mesh panels on the end.
“My tooka had kittens. You shouldn’t be alone out here.”
Ben carefully handed his shocked Uncle the canvas bag.
“Bye Bye, little Ani. I want you to look after Crazy Old Skywalker. He needs a friend.”
“If he can’t take care of that kitten, Rey, you take Ani back to the base with you.”
“I will, Ben. Try not to get killed before I see you, again.”
“Hey, I killed Snoke, right? How hard can killing all his minions and toadies be? It’s not like I don’t know how the Sith operate.”
Supreme Leader Kylo Ren got into his TIE Fighter and flew away.
Rey turned to Master Luke, who had taken the little kitten out of the little carrier.
“He has a tiny little collar with his name on it. And his claws have been clipped.”
“Ben’s cat just had ten kittens. His and Hux’s quarters are full of tookas. I don’t think he has time to take care of them all, or room for them, so he has to give some of them away. It’s very sad.”
That was not what Luke meant.
He cradled the little cat, and Rey finally saw him smile.
“You know what this little fuzzball is, Rey? Hope. Let’s open these crates and put these tents together, and get this little guy back in his carrier, until we figure this out.”
#reylo week 2020#reylodaily#reylo past#reylo present#reylo future#Ben solo lives#trial of kylo ren#justice for ben solo#reylo smut#reylo fluff#reylo au
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What the Rain Can’t Wash Away - Chapter 19
*FINAL PIECE IN THE LOOK IN HER EYES TRILOGY*
Sixteen years after Lucifer rose and Dean lost his wife, he finds himself with a teenager, a Nephilim, an angel, and his brother living out a Full House rerun with some seriously dark undertones. How will he be able to raise his daughter, fight monsters, and deal with the loss of the love of his life? Sometimes moving on is the hardest part, but with the Winchester’s there’s always something harder around the corner. Isn’t there?
Chapter Nineteen, How will we survive this?
Ava
If I could’ve imagined the worst thing in the world, it would’ve been nothing compared to what was in front of me. Dean was a shell, at best. He winced at my touch, and I was trying with every piece of myself not to be angry with him or blame him. How could I? It wasn’t his fault, but fuck I needed him, too. Our daughter was dead, but the guilt was eating him alive. Probably because we all knew that there wasn’t a deal in the world that could get us out of this one. She was just gone.
I didn’t know how we would make it through. The only upside to everything, was that Dean couldn’t see me watching him, and so that’s all I did. I watched him constantly, for any sign or spark that we would be okay, or that he had a plan.
There was nothing.
I walked him in the room to see Nel, like I did when she was a baby, and he met her for the first time. He didn’t even cry, he just placed his hand on her arm and winced away, shaking his head. No. He turned and walked out without me, leaving me in the dust.
Sam caught me outside of the bunker, sitting on the hood of the Impala with my knees pressed against my chest. A half empty bottle of vodka was placed between my feet. The sky seemed dull, like the stars had lost their sparkle, but maybe it was me. Maybe I had lost my sparkle.
“Hey.”
“Sam,” I exhaled his name in a fog of breath into the cold winter night.
“How are you holding up?”
“Not good.” I shook the bottle at him before taking a swig; it stung, but not as much as everything else did. I wiped a tear with the back of my hand. “I don’t know how we are going to survive this, Sam.”
I glanced at him to catch him wince. He lowered himself next to me on the hood of the car, more leaning against it than sitting. “We’ve survived a lot of things that I never thought we would.” He was rubbing his chest with the heel of his hand and in the moonlight I could see a glisten of tears along his lash line.
“But this? She’s our girl, Sam.” I could feel my voice breaking, a spider web crack across my soul.
“I know.” He exhaled out of his nose sharply, with a small smile. “I remember the day she was born.”
“A parent isn’t supposed to live without her child. She was supposed to outlive me… outlive us.”
“We can’t give up,” Sam said intensely, turning to me. “Ave it isn’t over. It can’t be over. Nel and Jack… we will find them, and we will fix everything. I mean, fuck, you’re back after sixteen years. You don’t know what it was like losing you. That did something to Dean, to me… but we survived it, and now you’re back.”
“I want to believe you, Sam, but at some point our luck has to run out. We got Dean back, me back… but you both said it yourselves. God isn’t listening anymore.”
“Just trust me. I believe in us.”
“I want to… I really want to, but look at Dean. He’s gone, and I don’t think I can do this without him.”
“Dean’s strong, Ave. You know that,” Sam began, taking my hand in his. “He just needs some hope. We all do.”
Dean
I hated funerals, from day one I hated them, but this, nothing had ever been as bad as this. I’d lost a lot of people over the years, but nothing could compare to the pain of losing my kid. I stood, leaning on a goddamn walking stick. Ava helped me get dressed like I was a child, and no one would leave me alone for a second, not a fucking second since I’d been home. Every time I thought I was alone, I’d hear the famous hello Dean, and I’d about jump out of my skin. I had no privacy, but more than anything, I had no more fucking time.
I could hear Ava sniffling next to me like it was a loud speaker. I’d already yelled at her once today, so I felt like a big enough dick. I didn’t have a right to reach out and take her hand for comfort, and if I was being honest, I didn’t want the comfort. It was my fault that Nel was dead. I didn’t deserve the relief.
I’d only been home for a few days before we decided we needed to do it. My baby girl had been wrapped in cloth for long enough.
I could smell the gasoline burning my nose, but all I could see was Nel at one year old, standing on two fat wobbly legs, her knees with those little dimples that I thought I could drown in. I could see her with a skinned knee and two big wet eyes, crocodile tears rolling down her freckled cheeks. I could see her hand brush my cheeks as she forgave me for everything I’d done and everything I ever could do. Even at such a young age, she possessed traits that I never could. She was my whole life. At least she should’ve been, but no, hunting was my whole life. Now I didn’t even have that. Everything was ripped from me.
Suddenly I wanted to vomit, but I held my ground, pressing my palms into the smooth, polished wood of my walking stick, and pressed it into the ground. I could feel the heat and hear the hiss of the fire as it gained life.
“Ella,” Claire said, with a shaking voice. She was probably reading from her page that she’d written. It’d become a tradition. Burn your feelings along with the body, let it out into the atmosphere, breathe it into your lungs, and then breathe it out and let it go. But I thought that maybe this time, just this once; I could breathe it in and suffocate.
“I’m not good at this shit, but you deserve it. You deserve a poem or a whole novel of reasons why I love you, but I’m a bad writer. I never know the right thing to say. I’m angry all of the time, but you taught me that even when life expects us to be unhappy, that it’s okay to be happy anyway. I don’t know what to say, so I thought I’d make a list.”
I never noticed when I could see, but the salt and burn funerals smelled kind of like a barbecue.
“I love you because you’re so smart. You can spend all day reading, and I could spend all day watching you read.”
I taught her how to read.
“I love you because your laugh lights up a room. You’ve got the best smile. You could move mountains with it, and you did. You manipulated all of us with your smile.”
“Dad, please?” How could I say no to a face like hers?
“I love you because you knew how to hold a grudge. Jesus, Ella you were so petty it was ridiculous. You brought home a cat to piss off your dad and make a point...” Claire’s voice trailed off, and I could hear her laughing, but it was laced with something else. It was laced with a dark hopelessness. I recognized the sound, because it sounded like my own.
“My two other dads said it was fine. You did say they’d be taking over the parenting when you were in the middle of the ocean, right?”
“But more than anything,” her voice broke and shook with sobs. “I love you, because you are love. Everyone that you meet loves you. You love with everything in your heart. I can see it in your eyes, your face, and your body. You made this weird group a family, and you continued to love all of us even when we couldn’t love ourselves. You loved us, and I will love you my whole life.”
It’s a myth that losing a sense heightens the rest of the four senses. I didn’t gain super smell, or super hearing, but in that moment, I could’ve sworn that I could hear the sound of my own heart breaking. It was loud, like shattering glass inside of my chest. It was too fucking much. “I can’t do this,” I found myself muttering. The walking stick dropped from my hands, and I was running. I could hear Ava calling for me, and fuck it was terrifying. I was running against the blackness, away from the heat and the smoke with my hands out in front of me so I hopefully wouldn’t run smack into a tree.
Nel died. Eleanor died. Jack killed her. He murdered her and sucked her life right out of her.
“I’m scared, Dad. I don’t think I can fight him off much longer. I’m not strong enough.”
I lied to her. I told her I’d be strong enough, and I wasn’t.
I was still running and then I wasn’t. My toe caught something, a hole, a rock; it didn’t matter, because I was falling on my fucking face. My cheek stung as something sliced it right open. So I just laid there, nose in the frozen grass, hot blood falling out of my cheek, and my sunglasses skewed on my face. I probably looked fucking ridiculous, but that didn’t matter, did it? My daughter was dead, nothing mattered. Not anymore.
“Dean,” Ava said, her hand touching between my shoulder blades.
“Just leave me alone,” I snapped. “Just let me fucking be, goddamnit.”
“Dean,” Sam warned in a very parental tone, a tone he learned from me. Serves me right.
“Don’t.”
“I know you’re hurting,” Ava said, her voice breaking. “I am, too. She’s my daughter, too.”
“Not like she was mine.” It wasn’t fair. I was being a monster. Maybe I just needed her to hate me as much as I hated myself.
“You’re right, you stubborn fuck. You got sixteen years with her. I didn’t even get one.” I heard the sound of her stand up and storm away, the soft thuds of her shoes against the grass.
I sighed into the blood that was pooling into my mouth. Maybe Sammy would just let me drown there. I had no such luck, though. He reached around me and rolled me over. “You’re such an asshole,” he complained. “Claire’s gonna kick your ass for ruining Ella’s funeral.”
“Not helping, man,” I grumbled.
“You’re not helping either, Dean. We all love her. Not just you.”
I pulled away from Sam’s grip, and he forced my walking stick back into my hand.
“So fucking make it right with Ava,” he demanded. “She didn’t deserve that.”
He was right.
“I need some time,” I said weakly.
I heard Sam groan and suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder, I recognized the warmth of the palm that grazed over an old scar that had healed. “Cas,” I said with a sigh.
“I’ll come with you, Dean. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I complained.
“We don’t care,” Sam added. “I’m going to check on Ave.”
I nodded in the general direction of my brother’s voice, then turned toward where Cas’ arm was coming from. “I can’t do this, Cas.”
“You’re strong, Dean.”
“No, I’m not. Not strong enough.”
“There’s nothing more difficult than losing a child…”
“We didn’t lose her,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “She was murdered.”
“Dean,” Cas warned.
“Why haven’t you found anything?” I asked, shrugging out of his grip, holding onto the fucking walking stick for dear life.
“I've been searching, but Jack… Jack doesn’t want to be found.”
“What about Heaven?”
I could hear the familiar hesitation in Cas’ breathing that always came when Dean mentioned Heaven.
“You wouldn’t let me lock myself in that fucking box and now my kid is dead. I don’t give a shit if you don’t want to go to Heaven, Cas. Get your ass up there and bring her back,” I demanded with a force that I hadn’t used with Cas before. We were family, who the fuck do I think I am?
“Dean…”
“Don’t Dean me, damn it! Just do it!”
There was a woosh of air, and even though I didn’t see it, I knew that I was alone. For the first fucking time since I’d been blinded, I was completely alone.
Ella
I’d talked Dad into it. Sam thought it was a good idea, and so did Cas, but that didn’t stop Dad’s annoying insistence that I didn’t need an anti-possession tattoo.
“You won’t be anywhere near demons, so it’s a non-issue.”
“You don’t know that!”
We didn’t fight about a lot of things, but hunting was the one exception to the rule.
“You sure you don’t want to get a flower or something?” Dad asked anxiously, scratching the back of his head as the artist shaved the inside of my arm and prepped the area.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I laughed, shaking my head. “Come on and hold my hand, Dad.”
He made an annoyed face at me, sitting in the chair next to me. He took my hand, curling his fingers around mine.
It was a rite of passage, like I was officially a Winchester. So I put on a brave face, but as the stinging started I sucked in my breath.
“Hey kid, you have to remember to breathe.”
“Right,” I said through gritted teeth. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing. My god, I’m a huge baby!
“You remember Kevin?”
What? “Y-yeah I do.”
“He cried like a baby when he got his,” Dad said gently, stroking the back of my hand. “And his mom, Mrs. Tran, took it like a badass. Didn’t even wince.”
I let out a pained laugh and opened my eyes to meet my father’s concerned gaze. It was the same look he gave me when I had appendicitis when I was eight, or when I fell of my bike. I smiled at him tenderly. I knew my whole life that he would never let anything happen to me if he could help it. It was never a question on if I was safe with him. The life didn’t scare me, but I think that’s part of being a Winchester, too. It’s in my blood. The responsibility of knowledge. “You knew a lot of badass women, Dad.”
“I still do,” he said softly, pushing a hair off my forehead.
He was going to teach me how to drive when we left here, officially. I’d gotten my learners permit, and I was dying to learn. He’d been dragging his feet, but he knew I was growing up.
The artist’s gun went back over the same space to thicken the line, and I tensed up, squeezing his hand tighter. “Hey, you’ve got it,” Dad murmured, leaning closer to me. “You’re a fighter, kid. You can get through anything.” He was petting my hair and humming to me softly.
I knew he was feared from other hunters and monsters, but sometimes it was hard to see him for anything other than what he was to me.
There was a loud sound outside of the shop, shouting and something else that I didn’t recognize. The artist let up on the gun, and I sat up, turning toward the front door just in time to see Castiel push through the blacked out glass door. “Cas?” I asked, confused. “What’re you doing here? Is everything okay?”
He looked around confused, his eyebrows together, and his blue eyes scanning the area. “This is your Heaven? Getting a tattoo?”
“Heaven?” I turned to where Dad was sitting to find him gone. It was just Cas, and I alone in the shop. “Shit,” I murmured as everything flowed back to me. Michael. “He killed me, didn’t he?”
“It’s complicated,” Cas said with a sigh. He walked up to me and sat in Dad’s empty seat.
“Cas what happened? What aren’t you telling me?”
He took my hands in his, which made me immediately feel sick to my stomach. He wasn’t known to lie to me, if anything he was the most truthful of the three. He was an angel, and he believed in honesty. In most instances, he believed that we deserved the whole truth. “I will tell you everything,” he agreed, but before he began speaking he pulled me into a tight hug. It was unexpected, and I was stiff at first, but I quickly redirected and wrapped my arms around him. “It is good to see you, Eleanor. It is very good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Cas,” I whispered into his shoulder.
Castiel was emotional for an angel, sure, but for a person he’d never been much of a hugger. Every time I would try to hug him, he felt stiff and awkward, which was part of his charm nonetheless. But the tightness of his hug told me almost everything that I needed to know. Things were really bad, and as far as solutions go, they sent him to me… which meant that they had none.
—————
Chapter Twenty, A Little Piece of Heaven
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My wife disappeared a few weeks ago, and she isn't coming back
The night my wife disappeared was... rough, for a variety of reasons.
I've lived my life to this point with the faint suspicion that I may be cursed. Bad things just... happen to me. A coffee will spill on my lap when I'm wearing white slacks. I won't notice cat hair on a dark blouse until I'm nearly at work, and just as I pull into a parking space, I'll remember that my wife borrowed it and put it into her purse instead of mine. I've purchased randomly generated lottery tickets with every single number just one digit away from the jackpot on more than one occasion.
'But wait,' I can already hear you saying, 'if your life is so cursed, then how have you managed to see any kind of success? If you wear a blouse and slacks to work, surely you must at least make a decent wage.' Well, that boils down to two factors, factors that have made me question both my suspicion and my sanity on numerous occasions- negativity bias, and the frequency at which my 'curse' strikes. I can remember plenty of times where I've been shot in the foot by what, to the uninformed, appears to be simple coincidence, but these instances are spaced out just enough to keep onlookers chuckling and shaking their heads. 'You just need to look on the bright side of things!' I've heard it a million times, and even if it's frustrating at times, it's true, really. Once you live like this long enough, you learn to laugh some of the less painful missteps off. It's easier that way.
That was how I met my wife, hilariously enough. It was a hot day- August, if memory serves- and I was just out of work. There was a little popsicle cart that typically rolled through the park around 5pm or so, and well, hey, I'm a sucker for cherry. I had my prize unwrapped and was just about to cram the thing down my throat in an attempt to drop my internal temperature as fast as possible when my phone's message ringtone went off. In retrospect, it was kind of a dumb move, but I let my popsicle hang from my mouth as I fished my phone from my purse and hurried to respond to what was surely an urgent email and not some shitpost from my younger sister. Turns out, though, that it was indeed the latter- and, well, shitpost or not, my sense of humor's been warped for years. I don't remember what it was precisely, but whatever it was, it was enough to make me snort without thinking, and that action let my already-melting popsicle slip from my mouth. I dropped my phone back into my purse on instinct and juggled the popsicle for a few seconds, but it slipped from my hands and onto the ground with a heart-wrenching smack, stopping just long enough on my lap to leave a nice, bright-red stain on the knee of my brand new khakis.
The pants I didn't really care about- spend enough years spilling anything and everything on yourself and you'll eventually learn what Borax is and how to use it- but the popsicle? That was heartbreaking. Sure, it only cost, what, a dollar? But I was hot, I was tired from a long day, I hadn't eaten lunch at work since that time I got food poisoning on the clock and lost my cookies on my desk so my blood sugar was probably low, and my favorite flavor of popsicle just splattered all over the nasty, pigeon-shit covered path. I'm not too proud to admit that I almost started crying. Almost. I didn't actually cry, just... stared at the broken popsicle on the ground, the way the sweet, melting juice cascaded between the brick pavers before it reached the grass and leached into the soil. Maybe I was grounding myself in a way, following the juice's path with my eyes to keep from focusing on the disappointment, but I sure must have looked like a fucking lunatic doing it. I leaned my elbows on my knees and closed my eyes for a minute, for the sake of maintaining composure, and I didn't look up until I felt a tap on my shoulder.
She was gorgeous- dark hair pulled up in a curly ponytail and a warm, if somewhat tired-looking smile. A brief glance at her clothes told me she was a jogger, but that wasn't really the important part. She was offering me something- a popsicle. I could even make out the red through the wrapper. Apparently, she'd seen my little juggling act from a distance, and she said the look on my face made her feel bad enough to buy me a replacement. She got one for herself, too, and we ended up sitting for a while and just chatting, Borax and daily exercise be damned. Before she left, we swapped numbers, and that was how it all started, with a random act of kindness for an exhausted stranger. After a month, we were at each others' apartments constantly, within six, we'd moved in together, and by the end of the next year, I was looking at rings. We balanced everything about each other. I was neat where she was a bit on the messy side. I couldn't cook worth a damn- and I still can't- but her oldest brother went to culinary school and taught her everything she knows. I had a tendency to think about myself, to worry about how I looked and how I stood out, but she was the most giving person I'd ever met. She even made a habit of giving blood every two months or so. She said she'd started to make ends meet, but once she was financially stable, she just kept doing it. She said she liked knowing that she was doing something good. My luck even seemed to get better after that day, believe it or not. It was almost funny to think about, but in a way, my curse had blessed me with the chance to meet her, and once I did, it was almost as if it dissipated entirely.
That brings us to now- we've been married for two years, and we were even looking into fostering. We agreed we were going to seek older children, both for the sake of moving a kid out of the system and to be sure we wouldn't need to juggle a puppy and a baby. Who needs to potty train one tiny life after another, y'know? Plus, it would be nice knowing we got a kid out of a pipeline to failure. We weren't rich by any means, but we were comfortable, and we could certainly grant an elementary-age child a life they may not get somewhere else.
I had to stay late at work that night. One of the downsides of moving up the corporate ladder is, well, sometimes it means there's more work to be done, I guess. I'm not sure if it's my direct superior offloading tasks he doesn't want to do onto me, or if I'm just adjusting, but I digress. I was late. She knew about that- I'd texted her saying as much- and dinner would be on the table just as I was getting home. Or, it would have been, if I hadn't needed to stop for gas. Oh, well. I'd be a few minutes later than I'd promised, a habit I was doing my best to break, but at least I caught it before my car ran dry entirely and I wound up out of gas somewhere stupid again.
In retrospect, I should have sped home. Maybe if I was there, I could have done something. I keep telling myself that it wasn't my fault, that I had no way of knowing what was going to happen, because that's the most logical way to see the situation, but...
The apartment was still when I got home. Dinner was on the stove, still warm in the pot and covered to keep it that way, but the television was off, and the silence burned in my ears. She liked... likes. She likes to listen to music when she cooks. She told me when we started dating that too much quiet unnerved her, and in that moment, I finally understood what she meant. I left the kitchen, flipping the hall light on as I passed the switch, and the smell started to reach me just as I got to the bedroom door. It was closed, and I stopped with my hand on the knob. I knew I didn't want to open that door. The feeling in the pit of my stomach told me that this wasn't some romantic surprise. There was a taste in the air not unlike the one a nosebleed leaves behind, metallic and tacky and unpleasant, overpowering the heavy, savory scent of garlic from the alfredo sauce left on the stove. Still, I knew that if I didn't open it, I couldn't rest. Almost as if I was on autopilot, I twisted the knob and pushed inward.
The room was dark, lit only by the ambient glow seeping between the blinds from the street outside and a dim arc cast through the doorway by the bulb down the hall. As soon as the door was open, the smell hit me like a freight train; if I'd thought it was strong in the hallway, this was overbearing, as if someone was kneeling on my chest and forcing me to breathe with my head in a sack full of hot, wet pennies. I was so thrown by the stench that I almost didn't notice the sound at first, a faint squish in the far corner. I did not turn on the light, and what I could see, I wish I hadn't. The carpets that were lit were stained deeply, almost the same bright red as my knee some three years prior, but not quite. It's almost funny, the way memories tie together like that. I did not laugh.
I wish I could say I turned on the light, confronted whatever was in that darkened corner, done... something. I wish I could say that I'd lifted the bedside lamp and hurled it at the shuddering mass in that bedroom, if only to stop the sound of its chewing for a second. I wish I could say I'd done anything at all, but I can't. And I didn't. I closed the bedroom door, stepped back into the hall, and left the way I'd came, not even bothering to lock the apartment behind me or so much as close the door. I didn't snap out of that trance until I was in the car again, driving nowhere in particular, just... somewhere that wasn't home. I got a call from the police not long after. Apparently, a few neighbors heard screaming and called the cops, and when they arrived and investigated, they found our door wide open and a trail of blood leading from the bedroom out to the balcony. Nothing else. No body, no perpetrator, nothing. Just a bloodied floor and a puppy cowering in the corner of the bathtub in a puddle of his own piss.
I came back later that night to pick up my dog. Poor guy was shaking like a leaf for ages, practically refused to leave the bathroom on his own. The cops ended up carting him out in my jacket, if only to make their investigation a little bit easier without a puppy in the way. I don't know why I wasn't shaking, too. I guess that made them suspicious, but when they questioned me, I had an alibi. Around the time the first neighbor called, I was still getting gas. I'm on CCTV feeds from three different cameras, all timestamped and verified by the cashier working that evening. I found out next that it was, indeed, my wife's blood in the carpets. The tests came back later and, when compared against her donor records, it was a match. That's... that's where the investigation ran dry. They never found a body, nor any witnesses other than the neighbors who heard the scream.
In the silence of the car trip to my parents' house that night, I found myself falling back into old thought patterns, obsessive ideas that refused to leave my brain no matter how little sense they made. I managed to keep them at bay until I pulled into the driveway behind my little sister's car and my phone rang out with the quiet chime of a message alert. Numb, I lifted my phone from the center console and unlocked it. I had one new text message, from a number I recognized. It was my wife's, and in that moment, I knew that what I saw was real, and no amount of searching would ever bring her home.
12:51 AM-
Thanks for dinner.
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hopping into puddles [Ch. 4]
Pairing: Tsukishima Kei/Kuroo Tetsurou
Summary: Tsukishima Kei has bad luck when it comes to a lot of things, mainly when it comes to love. In fact, if it were up to him, he wouldn’t be looking in the first place. But because of a curse brought upon him by his idiotic ancestors, his only hope for a normal life is to find someone who accepts him and his…particularly abnormal nose. Not that it’ll ever happen…
Or at least, that’s what he’s accepted.
Then Kuroo Tetsurou shows up.
Rating: T (will change later)
Warnings: None
Note: Here’s a bit of a longer chapter for you guys, I’m very excited for next week ;) Big thanks to @emeraldwaves for reading this over!
AO3 Version
“Why do you have that stupid look on your face?” Kei tugged on his scarf as a few people jostled him, forcing him a little too close to Kuroo on the sidewalk. The other’s strong hands steadied him, a smirk adorning the older’s face, and Kei decided he wanted to go home only after about an hour out. Damn his boyfriend’s smug face. He wasn’t serious of course, as if he’d pass up an outing with Kuroo, though he’d never admit it. Hell, he was hardly getting used to admitting to himself that he maybe more than sort of tolerated the other’s company.
Yeah…that’s it.
As if reading his mind, Kuroo’s hand gripped his own, and a soft smile replaced his smirk as they walked, and Kei’s stomach flopped like the traitor it was. Damnit.
The worst part was he wasn’t angry at all. It pissed him off.
It had taken about a week and a half of begging after their initial makeup to convince Kei’s parents to let Kuroo take him out on a date. Like, a legitimate one. Outside.
It had been a painful discussion, one he’d tried having with his parents ages ago, and one that had never yielded results. However, Kei probably should’ve been more grateful for how convincing his boyfriend could be. It was almost annoying, how well he spun his words and manipulated his mother into letting them go.
“But Tsukishima-san, I can’t properly court your son if I can’t prove my gentlemanly tendencies out in public.”
Ha.
Kei had made fun of him for it for hours, but in the end, they’d won, and it was all that mattered. They’d gone to the park, and Kuroo refused to hold back on any of the activities. He took Kei on a boat ride, showed him the best spots for people watching, and took him to as many street vendors as possible until Kei thought he’d explode from all the sweets. By the end of it, Kei had felt five years younger, like some dumb little kid, seeing it all for the first time.
Kei tossed a coin into the fountain with little enthusiasm, not exactly understanding the goal. Kuroo had told him to, and he’d seen other people do it, so he simply watched the coin sink to the bottom of the water.
The lights of the vendor booths reflected off the surface, joining Kei’s face before a series of light ripples distorted the image.
Kei breathed in the clear air once again, never getting used to it. He’d been without this for so long, how had he done it? Sure, there were things he didn’t like. The streets were too crowded, people smelled and talked too loud, and a lot of stuff was overpriced. But the experience itself, it was threatening to make him explode with content, and he was extremely unfamiliar with how to handle it.
Kuroo knew how to ground him well enough.
“What did you wish for?” Kuroo was staring at him again, had been all night, but Kei was getting less and less unsettled by it.
“Wish?” Kei blinked, pushing up his glasses in unwanted embarrassment when Kuroo chuckled.
“Yes, ah sorry, I didn’t explain it.” Kuroo gestured to the other people lining the fountain, tossing in a coin occasionally. “You make a wish before you toss the coin, and hopefully it comes true.”
“That sounds childish.”
“Of course you’d say that,” Kuroo replied, and Kei couldn’t help but flush. It wasn’t said with annoyance or disappointment, only a fondness which Kei was not used to. It was as if Kuroo was determined to get him used to it though, with how often Kuroo regarded him with smiles and lovesick sighs. He wondered if it was on purpose, or if Kuroo was really that embarrassing.
Still, he thought about the concept. Wishing…he’d done a lot as a child. Wishing he could be free, wishing he didn’t look like a pig. His wishes were never answered. Surely people weren’t so naïve?
“Well, there’s no real guarantee that it’ll come true,” he whispered. “So what’s the point?”
He could feel Kuroo’s eyes on him, intense as ever, picking him apart, and Kei resisted the urge to look away. He half expected Kuroo to pry, he’d obviously picked up on the emotion Kei went to such lengths to hide. He always did, but it seemed as if Kuroo was cutting him some slack, at least while they were out.
Kuroo’s lazy smile was back as he took his own coin and tossed it into the water with a soft plop. “I think it’s less about it coming true and more about putting it out in the universe. If you think of it in the first place, maybe one day you’ll consider going after it. Or maybe it’s just for the hell of it. Doesn’t much matter.”
“Huh…” Kei furrowed his brow in thought, turning the idea over in his head. Wishing just for the hell of it…He didn’t get it, but maybe one day it would make sense. For now though, his biggest concern was Kuroo, and why he was trying to burn a hole through Kei’s scarf with his eyes.
Before he could speak up, there was a weight pressed against him, a warmth spreading across his side as the scent of cologne and fresh linen assaulted his nostrils. How Kuroo had even closed the gap so fast, he was unsure. Kei shuddered, feeling a hand touch his lower back gently. Kuroo’s gaze was practically predatory, and accompanied with the loving touch, he had Kei’s pulse racing. “For instance…ask me what I wished for.”
Kei bit his lip, hoping Kuroo couldn’t see the red dusting his cheeks under the scarf. There was a strong essence of want reflected in Kuroo’s eyes, but the intensity shockingly didn’t scare Kei away. That was the thing about Kuroo, he was magnetic, pulling Kei in easily, had done it since day one from the other side of the glass.
Kei exhaled, and Kuroo no doubt caught it, eyes going half lidded as Kei spoke. “What?”
Kuroo’s hand came up to cup his face over the scarf, eyes flitting around to make sure there were no people looking. “Well, when I tossed the coin, it popped into my head that I’d really like to kiss you. See? I put it out into the universe, and now I’m convinced that I’d like to pursue the goal.”
Kei could feel Kuroo’s breath tickling his face, and he hated how his voice trembled. “Oh…oh my god, you are so lame, please stop talking forever.”
“No problem,” Kuroo whispered, pulling up Kei’s scarf and closing the gap. Kei’s breath stuttered as he clumsily reach up to put his hand on Kuroo’s neck, pulling him closer with clear inexperience.
Damnit…
Kuroo didn’t seem to mind much. He tilted Kei’s head up, angling them better, a silent correction as their lips pulled apart only to slot back together a moment later. Each kiss was brief and innocent, but they felt like fire dancing on his lips. Kuroo’s hand tightened a bit on his lower back as his other one slipped to curl in Kei’s blond hair, and he couldn’t keep back the pleasured sigh it ripped from him. It was like he fit against Kuroo perfectly, yet it wasn’t enough. He’d never wanted to pull closer to someone more in his entire life, willingly begging for the suffocation as their kisses grew quicker and more frantic.
And almost as soon as it started, it was over. Kuroo pulled away, settling the scarf back over Kei’s mouth as he distanced himself. Kei was almost hurt, but then Kuroo was laughing, the anxiety clear and uncharacteristic on his handsome face. “Uh…sorry, I was close to getting really carried away and there are people coming, I figure you wouldn’t be a fan of pda…”
“O-oh, right,” Kei said, wishing he could rip the stupid scarf off because he was having issues breathing, and also really wishing they could do that again somewhere more private. God, what had happened to him? It was just Kuroo…
He blinked up at the older man, watching as he tried to get rid of his own blush but still refusing to stop looking at Kei, and the blond realized there was no ‘just Kuroo.’ Kuroo, who was sweet without wanting something in return, who was a huge sap but also a huge asshole with his jokes, and who treated Kei like he was someone important. Kuroo was all those things and so much more, not able to be defined or encompassed by a few words. It both irritated and astounded Kei, but regardless, all he could think about was those lips on his, making good on a dumb wish.
“Hey Kuroo,” Kei began, willing himself to not lose his nerve last minute. Kuroo tilted his head, reminding Kei of a cat, and he snorted through his own nervousness.
“Hm?”
“Do you have another coin?”
--
Yeah, the first date had been an experience.
Kuroo had walked him home afterwards, dutifully subjecting himself to Kei’s mother’s rigorous questioning, all with a patient smile. It was honestly impressive. Kei had retreated to his room sometime after, mulling the night over in his head until the early hours of the morning, before coming to the conclusion that he was unable to deny how happy he was.
Since then, Kuroo tried taking him out to do different things whenever he got the chance. Kei had been ecstatic naturally, even with all his mother’s worries. He’d tried not to get his hopes up during the first week or so, afraid she’d pull the plug on the outings. Shit, he was half expecting his mother to pop out of nowhere at some point in the evening, or hire a private spy to keep an eye on him. It wouldn’t be out of character…
“What if someone sees you?”
“Wear you scarf at all times! Or maybe a mask would be safer…”
“If anything happens, just call us!”
Ugh.
Kei didn’t need to be reminded of his situation. It wasn’t like he would consider not wearing a scarf to cover his face, in fact, he’d hardly been willing to hang out with Kuroo without it, and that was in the privacy of his room, before their dates began. The other usually had to coax him out of the fleece, and even then, Kei was hyper aware of Kuroo’s eyes on him. He often stuck his nose in a book, or sat in a way that he could hide in his arms or knees. Kei could count the number of times he let Kuroo look at him dead on with two hands. No matter how determined Kuroo was, or how much he insisted on liking Kei, the blond refused to believe he was anything pleasant to look at. Yet, Kuroo tried again and again to see his face, and Kei didn’t get why.
So again, he sort of knew why Kuroo pouted every now and again, but Kei was tired of not having clarification. Once more, he asked, “why do you have that stupid look on your face?”
“What look? This is how I always look babe,” Kuroo said with a wink, grabbing Kei’s hand and leading him into the movie theater. They were seeing some action film, not exactly Kei’s taste, but Kuroo had insisted it had gotten good reviews.
Kei snorted at the response, pushing his scarf up when it slid. “I’m not talking about your annoying smirk…”
“Wow—”
“I’m talking about that stupid pout you keep directing at my face, it’s creeping me out.” Kei didn’t pull his hand away, but he did notice when Kuroo’s grip loosened. He looked back to the older male with a start, but his inquiries were halted by a childish whine.
“That’s not romantic Kei…”
“Go to hell.”
“Not without you, and you’re an angel so there’s no way you’re—”
“Please stop.” Kei rolled his eyes, fiddling with his scarf as they took their seats. It was still a good ten minutes before the movie began, and Kei carefully pulled the strawberry candy he’d snuck in out of his pocket. He had to readjust his scarf in order to successfully hold it to his mouth, another annoyance.
“That’s the problem I have.” Kuroo’s voice was whiny, and the pout was back, and all Kei could do was arch an eyebrow at him, unamused.
“Um…what?”
“The. Scarf.”
Kei flinched at the sharpness, reminded of how aggravating Kuroo's words could be. For the most part, Kuroo was soft and playful around Kei. Sure, they’d get into their verbal jousts and would bicker from time to time, but Kei knew Kuroo was capable of cutting tones and intrusive quips that could render most people speechless. Sometimes Kuroo didn't even mean to, and would quickly back off as soon as he sensed he was making someone uncomfortable, but he wasn't doing that now. Though the pout was there, it didn't obscure the piercing quality of Kuroo's eyes as they glared at the item in question, and Kei reflexively brought a hand up to the material, as if it would dissolve under the stare if he didn't.
Damn, Kei thought he might dissolve when Kuroo continued, voice smooth and final. "I don't like it."
Oh.
For whatever reason, he felt his breath catch at the statement, his skin tingling with the strange urge to move closer, and yet put as much distance as possible between them. But no, that was the fear talking. Kei tried his best to clear his throat, unsure of how to move forward. Communication had never been his strong point, not when his friends consisted of his family members and people online for most of his life.
Around them, the lights dimmed completely, shrouding them in darkness as people hushed their children and got situated. All the while, Kei felt frozen in place, eyes searching Kuroo's golden ones even as movie previews were reflected blearily in them.
Kei would probably never be used to it, being picked apart like this. After spending his whole life with people unable to look at him past a few seconds, it was almost like sensory overload. So, he defaulted to what he did best, and he tried to laugh it off. "What? Don't like the color?" The whisper held no humor, and he cursed himself. And he thought he was a good liar, ha.
He swallowed when Kuroo’s eyes narrowed further at the material. Just drop it, take the bait. If Kei was being honest, he really didn't know what he was avoiding, but his gut instinct to run reasoned against the curiosity.
Kuroo, the bastard, never let things go. The other’s eyes softened, the displeasure seemingly dissolving as he took a deep breath. Gently, like he was handling glass, Kuroo's hands cupped Kei's face, meeting fabric instead of skin, and Kei's breath nearly stopped. His eyes flicked around them, but people were either too engrossed in the previews or sitting too far away to notice them. So, like a loser, Kei relaxed into the touch, breath hot and a bit too suffocating under the scarf as Kuroo’s warmth dispelled the tension, like magic. What he wouldn't give...
Maybe I could just pull it up over my mouth, then Kuroo won't see--
"I don't like not being able to see your face."
The hands cupping Kei's cheeks gripped a little tighter, as if expecting the way Kei tried to wrench away. Now he was stuck, breathing uneven and short, obstructed by this damn scarf. But Kei refused to remove it, because surely Kuroo had no idea what he was talking about. Delusional. Or he was just being nice, because Kuroo was too sweet for his own good.
But Kuroo doesn't lie. He promised he wouldn't.
Kei's mouth formed a grimace the older couldn't see, but the blond was sure his eyes must've reflected at least some of his turmoil, no matter how he tried to school them otherwise. Kuroo's gaze remained trained on him, like he could read his mind, and he pressed on. "I want to see you."
Kei didn't know what it was. It was probably the combination of Kuroo's adoring tone and the fact he'd never been told those words before, not once, which had his control slipping.
Kei couldn't run, but he could do what he could to convince Kuroo otherwise.
"Why? That doesn't make sense at all," Kei said, almost pleading, like if Kuroo would just take the words back, he could go back to normal. He wouldn't have to deal with the rush of feelings threatening to break the damn in his heart, wouldn't have to sit still as literally every perception of himself was flipped. "There's nothing worthwhile to see."
The sound of high speed cars and gunshots in the background swallowed his voice, but from how Kuroo's eyes narrowed, he knew he'd been heard.
"There is for me." Kuroo had that way of sounding so sure and certain of himself, and it made Kei’s stomach flip involuntarily, a shiver running up his spine.
Fuck. How was he supposed to respond to that? The chemicals in his brain were making him anxious and ecstatic all at once, all because of the person in front of him. Kuroo wanted to see him…
Kei didn't get a chance to question it, because Kuroo's hands were lightly fisting in the fabric, tugging in a soft gesture, and Kei's entire body tensed up. Kuroo’s voice was gentle, eyes searching, refusing to move forward without the go ahead. "Can I?"
God…
"But--"
"No one is watching," Kuroo supplied, and Kei barely realized how close he had leaned in. The whisper was louder than the movie to him, ringing in his ears and filling him with the weird giddiness and anxiety which he began to associate with the older man. "But, I won't if you don't want me to."
Don't say that.
How dare Kuroo pull him apart and then have the nerve to be sincere. The problem was, half of him actually wanted to indulge Kuroo. Maybe Kei was a huge masochist, but he wanted to see how much Kuroo could take, wanted to test how serious Kuroo was about him. Because he was certainly bluffing wasn't he? As much as Kuroo said he liked Kei and seemed to enjoy his company, there was only so much Kuroo could take of looking at him. It didn't change how Kei felt about him, but it was simply a fact.
Kei hated that he needed to know what his limit was, hated how he had the nerve to insult Kuroo by thinking he had a limit to how long he could look at Kei without searching for a different focal point.
Kei was asking to be hurt, and he'd probably never understand why. What did it matter? It was him being logical, that's what he told himself. Sooner or later, if Kuroo was as serious about Kei as he said, the blond would find out. Kei couldn't always wear his scarf, no matter how much he tried.
It was better to get it over with.
As he came to the conclusion, he ignored the way his hands shook in his lap as he nodded. "Don't blame me when you don't like what you see." As if Kuroo didn't already know.
Kuroo actually had the nerve to chuckle softly. "Oh babe, that would never happen."
So sure of yourself aren't you?
Kei wished he had that sort of confidence, he didn't even have a fraction of it really, but nevertheless he found himself nodding again, putting all his trust in the other as Kuroo pulled the soft fabric away from his cheeks.
The air against his face was so fresh, a welcome relief from the stuffiness the scarf offered, and Kei actually allowed himself to bask in it for a moment, enjoying the freedom and thrill of being out in the open. How nice would it be, just to walk around the city like this? He indulged in such a day dream, knowing full well he couldn't have it, yet for once that didn't stop him. Something about Kuroo made him feel better about things, put some weird spell on him where he dared to hope for things again, even though the man himself had the power to cause Kei's insecurities flare right back up with any bad reaction. Kei would know, after all, Kuroo managed to drive a decent spike in his heart after his initial lie. Kuroo could do so much damage, and Kei hated it, but couldn't find it in himself to run away, not entirely. And anyhow, as much as Kuroo could hurt him, he was always there to apologize, always so understanding. How could Kei not put at least a little faith in him?
Well I just did, so hopefully it doesn't backfire.
At the thought, his musings ended. He opened his eyes, prepared for the awkwardness or discomfort, and was bombarded by the look of pure enthrallment on Kuroo's face. The other's eyes gleamed with it, fiery as his hand tightened on the armrest, body rocking forward ever so slightly. If Kei had a list of words to pick from, all the synonyms in the world, nothing could replace describing the look as one of unreserved adoration.
It was too much. Kei felt his heart rate spike stupidly, his eyes going wide and thank god it’s dark in here. The flush on his face was probably fierce, not to mention deepening by the second as Kuroo's mouth twitched up into a soft smile, eyes never once leaving Kei's face.
What the hell what the hell what the hell--
"Uh-" Kei began, but couldn't concentrate with Kuroo staring at him. Well, it wasn't like Kuroo never stared, in fact, he often did on the rare occasions Kei didn't obscure his face, however it continued to stump Kei in the grandest of ways. No one ever stared, hell, most couldn't glance. And anyways, staring aside, Kuroo didn't even stare in disgust or pain, which was a whole different brand of confusing. Kei looked around, glancing back at Kuroo occasionally, waiting for him to turn away, but it never happened, and it was more unnerving and exciting by the minute. He really couldn't take these conflicting emotions, why did people do this?
Because it's nice, the traitorous part of his brain reminded. And you really like him.
Right.
Kei flushed harder, taking a deep breath as Kuroo smiled like an absolute dope, hands still sitting on Kei's shoulders, gripping the scarf. While his old instincts screamed at him to not ask, Kei couldn't help it, not when Kuroo was staring at him like he was some work of art and not...him. "W-what?"
The fluttery feeling in his stomach actually served to numb any fears about the response, which ended up being his fatal mistake when Kuroo actually did speak, completely catching him off guard. All the emotions were boiling over inside him, and he wasn't sure how things would end up, but...
Please, just wipe that stupid look off your--
"Kei, you're gorgeous."
It was admittedly the blow which did him in. Kei exhaled along with a full body shudder, and the flush had probably traveled well down his neck by now, the warmth searing his whole being. The emotions did indeed boil over, but they weren't as bad as he thought, in fact, the happiness overpowered everything in a way which was almost unreal to him. All because of one compliment too...
No, not just that.
It had everything to do with who was saying it, and how genuine it sounded. Kuroo said it while he was staring at Kei straight on, never once shying away. Fuck, was it even possible to feel this happy from one thing?
He guessed yeah, since he felt light in the most annoying way. Regardless of if he believed Kuroo or not, it didn't change the fact that Kuroo was affecting him, and Kei was compelled to kiss him, to wind his fingers in the soft black hair and drown in this feeling.
Instead, he swallowed, shaking his head with a frown. "Shut up, you're so weird, saying stuff like that." After all, even if Kuroo believed it, it was a lie right? Kei being gorgeous, unthinkable...it wasn't--
"Kei," Kuroo said, causing Kei's eyes to snap to his. The other was shaking his head slowly, the same affectionate smile in place as usual, and he reached up, the back of his hand resting on Kei's cheek, gliding smoothly across his skin. He didn't flinch when he brushed his nose, only continued, swiping his fingers over Kei's lips, like he was marveling at every inch. "I mean it, and I'll say it as much as I need to, so please let me."
Kei bit his lip, the words sinking in and making him squirm.
So certain...why even ask?
And well, if Kuroo was really going to be so stubborn about it, how could Kei stop him? The other probably wouldn't listen anyways. Somehow, the thought didn't annoy him as much as it should've, but he'd mull that over another time.
For now, Kuroo was warm and handsome in front of him, and Kei was sure he'd missed the whole beginning of the film due to their exchange, and nothing felt more right.
"Is that a yes?" Kuroo said playfully, his grin slowly growing, and Kei could only huff as he fell into the other's touch, closing his eyes while Kuroo cradled his face. "Mm."
--
It was well past midnight when Kuroo was walking Kei back up to his doorstep. The porch light was off, the only source being the garden lights illuminating the path from the gate. It was odd, seeing as how most of his family tended to be night people, but Kei wasn't questioning it, not when his heart was going crazy in his chest. Weird how no matter how many times Kuroo walked him home and kissed him goodbye, it would make him like this. He reached into his bag, hands shaking as he grasped his key, and turned back to Kuroo, who hadn't stopped wearing the same love struck expression since Kei had grabbed his hand after the movies. Honestly, how such a dork existed, Kei wasn't sure. He was more than grateful though, if the heat surging through him was any indication.
Kei grabbed Kuroo's hand tighter, as he did most nights when he didn't want him to go, maneuvering them to the corner where he knew the cameras couldn't see them. Oh, how thankful he was his father had been too lazy to ever install the last camera, which would've accounted for the blind spot. Now it was the perfect excuse to...well--
"I'll see you on Friday alright?" Kuroo said, automatically raising a hand to cup Kei's cheek, inching down until he reached the fabric of the scarf, a silent request. For once, Kei let him push it down, locking his fingers together to stop himself from reaching up to cover his nose. The smile on Kuroo's face didn't falter.
"Yeah, I'm meeting you at that place yeah? The address you sent me?" Kei spoke softly, stepping forward at the same time Kuroo did, their chests brushing together. Something about them had seemed different after the movies, after what had happened. They'd done this more than enough now, kissed each other goodbye. But the air was stiff, and Kei felt something stirring in his gut, like his brain was telling him to act on the feelings screaming inside him. He pushed the usual nerves away, the thoughts of how to best angle his face to make sure his nose didn't press against Kuroo's skin, because that would be gross right?
Right, and on a normal night he'd let that anxiety wear him away, but today he let Kuroo take control, relaxing his muscles while Kuroo delicately tilted his chin, his words mouthed against Kei's lips. "Yeah, it's a bar I like. I..."
Does he feel it too? The difference in the air, the want. Because that's what it was, Kei realized. He wanted Kuroo. The thought was all consuming, blocking out even the part of him which entertained the possibility of Kuroo not wanting him. But...
"Oh babe, that would never happen."
He swallowed when he saw Kuroo's eyes flash with craving, and he knew he was in trouble, the best kind. Kuroo cleared his throat, and Kei could feel him exhale, every muscle in his body telling him to take the plunge, to connect them and taste the lingering sweetness from the candy Kuroo had eaten at the movies. But well, he was learning more and more about how he liked to tease, and Kuroo was so good at provoking him, it was only fair.
"You what? The cat's got your tongue for once?"
Kuroo's eyes darkened at the amusing lilt of Kei's voice, his free hand immediately coming to wrap itself around Kei's waist. There was a bit of a challenge in the light laughter that came next, puffing out against Kei's lips, searing, and it was the last push. "Well, I just can't wait to see my wonderful boyfriend. You can tell, from all the moves I've made. But what about you? You just gonna stand there?"
Oh, of course not. Kei smirked, bringing their lips together gently, purposefully holding back. After all, that's how it usually went; things were innocent and brief before the kiss would end, but this time, Kei wanted more. Before Kuroo could pull away, Kei grabbed the back of his neck, keeping him there.
You think you're the only one making moves, yeah right.
His insistent mouth parted Kuroo's lips with inexperience, but not a hint of remorse. How new it was, for him to go for something so strongly. He guessed dumb things like romance made people act out of their comfort zones, but like hell was he going to think about it when Kuroo was immediately kissing back.
The other didn't seem to care about the messiness in the slightest, in fact he groaned into Kei's mouth when their tongues met, and it was all the warning the blond got before his waist was being encircled by both of Kuroo's arms, hoisting him up against the wall of the house.
Shit. Kei made a small, pleased noise in the back of his throat, and Kuroo's grip tightened, the muscles in his arms flexing deliciously, and Kei let the desire take over. He felt up Kuroo's arms, scratched lightly at his shoulders, all the while kissing him with intensity he didn't know he had. It didn't matter, nothing did, because Kuroo tasted like mint chocolate, and he couldn't get enough. And to his surprise, he wasn't the only one.
Kuroo was insatiable from that point on, slotting their mouths together as if he'd been holding himself back all along, like Kei was water on a hot afternoon, and it sent a shiver up the blond's spine in the best way.
Kuroo broke away sloppily, kissing Kei's cheek and down his neck a few times as he breathed ragged words into the cool night air. His lips tickled Kei's skin, and he loved it. "S-sorry just...you're so--"
"Shut up," Kei breathed, grabbing Kuroo's chin and kissing him with more desperation than he'd ever felt, using his other hand to cling to Kuroo, the only stable thing in his dizzying mind. That's all he knew and all he needed to know; he wanted Kuroo, more dates, more kisses, just more more more.
The slick pressure of Kuroo's tongue traced the roof of his mouth, exploring and meeting with Kei's in a frenzy, making it hard to keep up. It was exhilarating. It was sudden and clumsy, passionate and yearning, and Kei moaned into the kiss, his leg lifting to find purchase, and Kuroo instinctively grabbed his thigh, like he was about to hoist him up and--
The porch light flicked on, and Kei heard the lock of the door turn, and he felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured on the moment, soaking it in a panicked chill. He pushed Kuroo away quick as lightning, ears already burning a bright red, probably nothing compared to his pleasure flushed face. Fuck.
God, what was he, some teenager in a movie, caught by his parents kissing his boyfriend? Who cared? He was an adult damnit. Although, Kuroo didn't look much better, putting considerable distance between them as he smoothed out his hair and stared profusely at the floor. Ha.
Kei could only compose himself so much--which included pulling his scarf back over his face because if his mom saw him exposed he would never be let out again--before the door was opening to reveal not his parents, but his brother.
His brother, Akiteru, who looked way too smug to not have any idea about what just happened. Ugh. Kuroo all but choked next to him when the older Tsukishima finally spoke, and Kei decided finally that yes, he wished he was an only child.
"Hey kids, having fun?"
--
Kuroo Tetsurou: Hey! sorry I'll be a little late moonshine, the trains are delayed :(
That was the text which had led to Kei sitting on a bar stool, nervously fidgeting as he stared at the menu. Of course he wasn't angry with Kuroo, he'd be there eventually, but well, he'd never been anywhere by himself. Adult or not, there was something unsettling about sitting alone in a public place, especially when most parties around you were made up of two or more people.
He might as well try to order a beer, he told himself. However, he was having a hard time deciding, the nerves making his thought process go haywire, not to mention the noise and clatter around him. He was getting a lot of looks too...did that always happen? He knew it wasn't the most natural thing, wearing a scarf over his nose but he didn't think people would be so intrigued. Maybe that's how it always was, and he just never noticed because he was too focused on Kuroo the whole time...
He decided right then and there he wanted nothing more than for Kuroo to hurry up and arrive. Whether he was right or it was just his anxiety acting up, having Kuroo there would make it infinitely better, at least to have a familiar face and--
"Um, excuse me? Are you alright?" The voice was soft, friendly, like a breath of fresh air, to put it in the simplest terms. Wow, since when had he started talking like Kuroo?
Clutching his scarf out of habit, he looked up to meet the smiling face of one of the bartenders. The man's brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, showing off the black studs in his ears. His apron was noticeably dirty, like a lot of spills happened on his shift, but regardless he was grinning, his entire aura automatically putting Kei at ease. He had freckles and a bit of a sunburn on his neck, and even from where Kei was sitting, he could smell the saltwater on him. A classic beach goer it seemed, the exact opposite of Kei, but...
Kei had never been around a lot of people, but despite this he decided the guy couldn't be all bad. Call it intuition. The blond cleared his throat, nodding. "Yeah, I'm just waiting for someone." Kei looked down at the bartender's name tag, the writing a messy scrawl. Yamaguchi Tadashi.
"First time here? I can recommend you something if you'd like!" The brunet smiled brighter, and Kei had to squint from it, but after a few seconds of silence the smile seemed to morph into a panicked grimace. "U-unless of course you don't need help! I'm sorry if I assumed!"
Oh, Kei thought, yeah he's alright.
"No it's fine, I'll have whatever you think is best," Kei replied, shoulders relaxing at the same time the tension faded from Yamaguchi's expression. With those kinds of nerves and a smile so genuine, it was impossible for Kei to dislike this guy, and he decided that maybe the bar wasn't as scary as he thought.
Yamaguchi nodded, already running off to get Kei's drink. "Coming right up!"
--
Yamaguchi ended up being really knowledgeable about a lot of things, mostly volleyball and surfing, as well as a lot of television series which Kei had more or less been binge watching. In short, they had a lot to talk about, and the next hour breezed by comfortably. Kei's nerves had faded, and while he was disappointed the bar would be closing soon without Kuroo, he knew they could continue their date elsewhere.
Really, it was nice to actually engage with someone, and Yamaguchi didn't seem to mind Kei's short answers or awkwardness, so he was grateful. It also meant he got first priority service, and he was well into his third beer as he and Yamaguchi finished debating who the killer was on the drama show they were currently both following.
"Yeah but I don't know, I get how everyone thinks it was the father," Yamaguchi went on, polishing a mug while Kei sipped his beer through a straw. It looked strange and childish, but it wasn't like he could take off the scarf. "But I just think the sister is coming off as too innocent."
"Mm, I agree," Kei slurred, gulping down the last of the drink. "She's probably hiding something."
At the same time, Kei's phone buzzed, and luckily, Kuroo was only a few blocks away. They could still go to the park and see the fireworks if they hurried...
"Right? By the way Tsukki," Yamaguchi said casually, and Kei was honestly a bit too buzzed and giddy about his date to care much about the nickname. Whatever, it was fine if only the other used it. "Why are you wearing that scarf? If you don't mind me asking!"
Kei was glad he finished his drink, otherwise he probably would've started coughing. He faltered a bit as Yamaguchi raised an eyebrow, and Kei was reminded he hadn't been caught. Yamaguchi had no idea, and he never would. It wasn't Kei's obligation to show him or even tell him if he didn't want to. Kei berated himself internally, if he'd gotten legitimately drunk, he could've said something too telling. But the brunet had been good company all night, they'd even exchanged numbers, so the least Kei could do was offer up some excuse. "U-uh it's nothing. I have a pretty ugly scar, and I don't like people staring." He shrugged, hoping that would suffice. It wasn't super far from the truth anyways. So why was he so nervous? Was it just a permanent part of his existence? Probably.
Yamaguchi blinked and Kei's stomach growled from the tension, as if the other would leap forward and seize the fabric to see for himself. God what should I do? Idiot, you should've-- But then the other was smiling again a few seconds later, like it was no big deal. "Oh okay! I get it!"
Kei exhaled silently, the relief immense, and smiled as Yamaguchi continued his rant on why the sister was clearly at fault. Seemed he had no reason to worry, and his like of the bartender increased significantly. He should be honored really, Kei was not a people person.
When Kuroo did arrive to pick him up, he laughed at Kei's wobbly state, whining about how Kei had all the fun without him.
"Oh ssshut it, you're the late one," Kei slurred, smiling smugly as Kuroo helped him off the bar stool.
Kuroo laughed again, beginning to lead Kei towards the door. "Yes I know, and I'll make it up to you tomorrow. For now, we're taking you home."
"But--"
"We'll walk through the park, I know." Kuroo squeezed Kei's hand, and maybe it was the alcohol, but Kei had to refrain from pouncing on him. PDA was definitely not his thing, tipsy or not.
"Fine," he relented, making a note to himself to kiss Kuroo as soon as they were in private. Turning back, he waved at the bartender. "Later, Yamaguchi." He'd be sure to text the other tomorrow, since there was a new episode and all.
"Bye Tsukki!"
Ah damnit.
He heard Kuroo chuckle beside him, before his boyfriend was waving at the bartender as well. "Thanks for taking care of him."
Kei groaned internally, but it was conflicting, since Kuroo was so warm against him. It was hard to be anything but comfortable...
"So..." Kuroo began once they were outside on the sidewalk. "Tsukki huh? Did my Kei make a friend while I was gone?"
Kei felt a rush of satisfaction and embarrassment at the endearment, and with a successful night out and a few beers settling in his being, he couldn't help but smile.
"Maybe."
--
Weeks with Kei passed too quickly in Kuroo's opinion, but he couldn't complain, since he'd never been happier. Every moment with the blond, no matter how boring the activity, made Kuroo feel on top of the world, like it was all some dream, because there was no way he'd gotten this lucky.
He watched Kei flip through a book, smiling or laughing occasionally at a line, and Kuroo wished more than anything they were somewhere more private. His hands twitched, wanting to card his fingers through Kei's hair, to hold his hand or pull him into his lap. But he refrained, knowing Kei wasn't comfortable with it.
Currently, they were at a bookstore, expanding Kei's collection, and Kuroo didn't mind in the slightest when Kei read to him, his angelic voice a welcome soundtrack to Kuroo's existence. Kei was so smart, so opinionated and snarky, Kuroo loved it, and even when he was tired of talking, the blond's presence was enough to lull him into comfort. Kei was beautiful in other ways too, or more like every way, with his long eyelashes and fair skin, fine bones and honey brown eyes which lit up just enough to be noticed if he looked. Again, Kuroo had to be dreaming.
Of course, his thoughts weren't all innocent, especially since the first spontaneous make out session in front of Kei's house. They got more frequent naturally, from Kei's doorstep to the privacy of his room, and Kuroo wanted nothing more than to glide his hands over the untouched skin, to make Kei scream and writhe...
He'd look so good like that, begging for more...begging for him.
But those were bad thoughts to have in a public bookstore, and while he'd gotten boners in worse places, he wasn't a teenager anymore, and he'd rather not. It was frustrating though, not being able to act on those feelings, to take that next step in their relationship. Not because Kei didn't want to, god no, in fact Kuroo was pretty sure it was just the opposite. Kei was growing more comfortable initiating contact between them, enthusiastically too, and half of their heated moments were spurred on by him. Not to mention, all the nerves and worry from before were less apparent in the blond, and Kuroo was proud to say that Kei no longer wore his scarf when he came over, and covered his face less. Good thing too, he liked seeing Kei smile.
It was obvious they wanted each other, in every way, but well...neither of them felt like taking that step where Tsukishima's family could hear or walk in at any time. Even knowing they'd be in the vicinity at all made Kuroo cringe. So, the obvious choice was to take Kei to his apartment. They'd hung out there a few times sure, but it was a bit out of the way from the estates where Tsukishima's house sat, so it made more sense to go there or go on dates closer. Now they were more settled though, Kuroo figured it was the right time to invite Kei over for the night, and spoil him until morning.
Then Kei closed the book he'd been reading, and began to stand, effectively ending Kuroo's train of thought before it could go into dangerous territory. The blond's long legs never ceased to captivate him... "I'm going to get it, it's interesting enough. Ready to go?"
It took Kuroo longer than he would've liked to process the question, but he eventually managed to nod and grab his coat off the chair he'd been sitting in, grabbing Kei's coat as well and wrapping it around the taller's shoulders. As he pulled away, he let his hands slide down the length of his boyfriend's arms, gripping his wrists before pulling away and walking towards the register.
He'd be lying if he said he didn't secretly fist pump when he saw Kei blush, the red peeking out over the top of the scarf.
--
"Why do you keep staring like that?" Kei asked, a light scowl on his face as a particularly cold gust of wind blew past. They were walking back to Kei's, but it was getting colder by the second, and they had a ways to go. But Kei had insisted, still set on taking advantage of all the fresh air he'd missed out on growing up, whether he liked to admit it or not.
The coat he had on fit him nicely, the dark color making him practically shine, and okay, maybe Kuroo hadn't gotten over his craving yet, doubt he ever would, even when they did have sex.
"Like what, moonshine?" Kuroo smirked, knowing full well he probably had been undressing Kei with his eyes all day, but it’s not like that was information he had to hide. He'd caught Kei staring more than a few times too, and the thought was enough to get his imagination working overtime.
"You know what I mean," Kei muttered, wrapping his arms around himself tighter, and Kuroo reached forward to tighten his scarf a bit more so it wouldn't go flying. As much as he hated the thing, he knew it would be trouble in the long run if Kei lost it. He secured a knot in the fabric, moving closer to the taller in order to adjust the clothing. Turns out, that was a mistake. His hand brushed against Kei's cheek, and he realized he was closer than he should've been, as horny and impulsive as he was feeling. Their chests were practically touching, and his other hand was settled on Kei's nape, and Kuroo swore he could feel the blond's pulse even through the fleece. Kei's eyes snapped to his, the warm color melting Kuroo on the spot. Kei was so gorgeous, he couldn't help it. He probably looked predatory, ready to pounce at a moment's notice, and it was almost scary. Kuroo had never been in love, so having such a strong emotion attached to his desire...it was unbelievable how apparent it was, how powerful. Kei laughed after a few seconds, his scowl dissolving, eyes going lidded, and seriously, the blond was trying to kill him. "That face..."
This little...
Kuroo's throat felt dry, his hands robotically removing themselves from the soft fleece, and the combination was his undoing. Kei standing there, looking at him like that...and memories of his light moans and clawing hands...
Kuroo's apartment wasn't far, maybe Kei would be willing to walk back, or take a cab. They could stay there for the night, just the two of them. Kuroo hadn't been planning on giving his invite right then, on the sidewalk as people walked by quickly seeking shelter from the cold, but well, it seemed right, and he was always one to follow his instincts. "Kei...do you..."
"Yes?" The blond whispered, staring at Kuroo's lips. He clenched his fists at his sides, taking a step back. Focus, you're in public, control yourself for Kei's sake.
At least until they were at his place, right?
His place, where they'd be alone, and he'd gladly warm Kei up.
The thought lit a fire inside him. "Do you want to--"
And then there was a rumbling from the sky, and he saw Kei jump from the sound. What...
Blinking, he looked around, noticing the vacant sidewalk and filled taxi cabs, their tires screeching as traffic halted. Oh no.
People were rushing under awnings, road congestion was heavy, and he suddenly felt like an idiot for not noticing the signs sooner. It was freezing, cloudy, and people were trying to get home like the world was ending. He should really invest in the weather app.
At the thought, it finally started pouring, the rain so heavy he couldn't see down the road anymore, and he automatically pulled Kei underneath a store awning, cursing himself. "Damn, what is this?"
"You didn't know?" Another voice asked, and Kuroo turned to see a passerby seeking shelter under the same tarp. "The news said there was a big storm coming, just my luck to get caught in it. Best to make a run for it now." And then the man was moving down the block, most likely hunting for a cab. Good luck.
Kuroo turned to his boyfriend, pulling him close to keep them both warm and weighing their options. Kei must've been cold, considering he didn't even try pulling away. The cabs looked packed, and in this traffic it was hardly worth it. There was no way they could walk in this, and the wind was too strong to buy an umbrella. They could get sick, and like hell was he bringing Kei home to his high strung parents drenched and freezing.
Shit.
Maybe the trains...
They'll be delayed though.
He was such an idiot, he'd been thinking of only himself and his wants instead of paying attention to his surroundings, now they were stuck, and no matter what decision he made, it would take them forever to get home. Cabs would be so expensive right now, and that was if they actually got an available one...
Ah man, what now? Maybe I can have Kei call his driver, or we could just wait...
"Kuroo?"
But it's freezing, and the trains won't be much better, plus they're crowded...
"Kuroo."
"I know, some boyfriend I am, but I'm trying to think of--"
"Tetsurou." The sound of his name leaving Kei's lips was what finally knocked sense into him, or out of him...both? The rush of the more personal address was almost enough to make him forget where they were, and descend into never ending bliss, because wow he never thought he could love the sound of his own name this much. But, the increased volume of the thunder in the sky kept him grounded in reality. Kuroo glanced at his boyfriend, who was now reluctantly pulling away from his embrace to face him. He was shaking...
"Kei...baby, we really need to get you home," Kuroo said again, like it wasn't obvious. Sure he was freezing too, he wouldn't object to a heater, but he was already a natural furnace as he was, in fact, he got hot too easily. But Kei, he was the opposite, perpetually cold. "Can you call--"
"It's fine," Kei said quickly, inching further away from Kuroo despite his obvious need for warmth. Huh?
Finally, after his brain stopped being stupid, Kuroo homed in on the signs of anxiousness Kei often exhibited. The blond's fingers were locked together, pulling and tightening, and he was glaring daggers at the dirty cement, the flush on his face high. Given how Kuroo hadn't done anything particularly corny other than the pet name, which he said so often it was a wonder Kei even registered it anymore (he couldn't help it, sue him), he was more than confused.
"Uh...what?" Kuroo asked, because it certainly wasn't fine. It was getting late, and they'd get soaked without an umbrella, and--
"Let's just stay at a hotel. One night won't hurt, there's tons on this block," Kei whispered, eyes still vehemently locked on the concrete, his form tense and shivering, but Kuroo now knew it wasn't all from the cold.
He froze up, barely catching his jaw from dropping. Oh. Oh. Kuroo exhaled slowly, gently reaching over to wrap his arm around Kei, and hoped he wasn't as stiff as he felt. Yeah, of course they should go to a hotel. That was the most reasonable, logical option. They could be dry, and head back to Kei's house in the morning. After spending the night. In the hotel. In a bed. Alone. Together.
Shit.
Kei was still fidgeting, but the desire to be warm must've taken over his embarrassment, because he gladly fell back into Kuroo's touch. He felt so nice against him...
"Unless, you don't--"
"No!" Kuroo cut him off, tightening his hold, and kissed the top of Kei's head. He could do this, his first priority was to take care of Kei, to find them a place to stay. Whatever came after, he'd deal with it then. "That's a great idea, come on, I'm pretty sure there's one a few buildings down."
Kei nodded against him, huddled close as they stepped out from under the awning, braving the rain. All the while, with thoughts of Kei snuggled next to him in bed, Kuroo only seemed to remember one thing.
He was going to die.
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Bran
The ashes fell like a soft grey snow.
He padded over dry needles and brown leaves, to the edge of the wood where the pines grew thin. Beyond the open fields he could see the great piles of man-rock stark against the swirling flames. The wind blew hot and rich with the smell of blood and burnt meat, so strong he began to slaver.
Yet as one smell drew them onward, others warned them back. He sniffed at the drifting smoke. Men, many men, many horses, and fire, fire, fire. No smell was more dangerous, not even the hard cold smell of iron, the stuff of man-claws and hardskin. The smoke and ash clouded his eyes, and in the sky he saw a great winged snake whose roar was a river of flame. He bared his teeth, but then the snake was gone. Behind the cliffs tall fires were eating up the stars.
All through the night the fires crackled, and once there was a great roar and a crash that made the earth jump under his feet. Dogs barked and whined and horses screamed in terror. Howls shuddered through the night; the howls of the man-pack, wails of fear and wild shouts, laughter and screams. No beast was as noisy as man. He pricked up his ears and listened, and his brother growled at every sound. They prowled under the trees as a piney wind blew ashes and embers through the sky. In time the flames began to dwindle, and then they were gone. The sun rose grey and smoky that morning.
Only then did he leave the trees, stalking slow across the fields. His brother ran with him, drawn to the smell of blood and death. They padded silent through the dens the men had built of wood and grass and mud. Many and more were burned and many and more were collapsed; others stood as they had before. Yet nowhere did they see or scent a living man. Crows blanketed the bodies and leapt into the air screeching when his brother and he came near. The wild dogs slunk away before them.
Beneath the great grey cliffs a horse was dying noisily, struggling to rise on a broken leg and screaming when he fell. His brother circled round him, then tore out his throat while the horse kicked feebly and rolled his eyes. When he approached the carcass his brother snapped at him and laid back his ears, and he cuffed him with a forepaw and bit his leg. They fought amidst the grass and dirt and falling ashes beside the dead horse, until his brother rolled on his back in submission, tail tucked low. One more bite at his upturned throat; then he fed, and let his brother feed, and licked the blood off his black fur.
The dark place was pulling at him by then, the house of whispers where all men were blind. He could feel its cold fingers on him. The stony smell of it was a whisper up the nose. He struggled against the pull. He did not like the darkness. He was wolf. He was hunter and stalker and slayer, and he belonged with his brothers and sisters in the deep woods, running free beneath a starry sky. He sat on his haunches, raised his head, and howled. I will not go, he cried. I am wolf, I will not go. Yet even so the darkness thickened, until it covered his eyes and filled his nose and stopped his ears, so he could not see or smell or hear or run, and the grey cliffs were gone and the dead horse was gone and his brother was gone and all was black and still and black and cold and black and dead and black . . .
"Bran," a voice was whispering softly. "Bran, come back. Come back now, Bran. Bran . . . "
He closed his third eye and opened the other two, the old two, the blind two. In the dark place all men were blind. But someone was holding him. He could feel arms around him, the warmth of a body snuggled close. He could hear Hodor singing "Hodor, hodor, hodor," quietly to himself.
"Bran?" It was Meera's voice. "You were thrashing, making terrible noises. What did you see?"
"Winterfell." His tongue felt strange and thick in his mouth. One day when I come back I won't know how to talk anymore. "It was Winterfell. It was all on fire. There were horse smells, and steel, and blood. They killed everyone, Meera."
He felt her hand on his face, stroking back his hair. "You're all sweaty," she said. "Do you need a drink?"
"A drink," he agreed. She held a skin to his lips, and Bran swallowed so fast the water ran out of the corner of his mouth. He was always weak and thirsty when he came back. And hungry too. He remembered the dying horse, the taste of blood in his mouth, the smell of burnt flesh in the morning air. "How long?"
"Three days," said Jojen. The boy had come up softfoot, or perhaps he had been there all along; in this blind black world, Bran could not have said. "We were afraid for you."
"I was with Summer," Bran said.
"Too long. You'll starve yourself. Meera dribbled a little water down your throat, and we smeared honey on your mouth, but it is not enough."
"I ate," said Bran. "We ran down an elk and had to drive off a treecat that tried to steal him." The cat had been tan-and-brown, only half the size of the direwolves, but fierce. He remembered the musky smell of him, and the way he had snarled down at them from the limb of the oak.
"The wolf ate," Jojen said. "Not you. Take care, Bran. Remember who you are."
He remembered who he was all too well; Bran the boy, Bran the broken. Better Bran the beastling. Was it any wonder he would sooner dream his Summer dreams, his wolf dreams? Here in the chill damp darkness of the tomb his third eye had finally opened. He could reach Summer whenever he wanted, and once he had even touched Ghost and talked to Jon. Though maybe he had only dreamed that. He could not understand why Jojen was always trying to pull him back now. Bran used the strength of his arms to squirm to a sitting position. "I have to tell Osha what I saw. Is she here? Where did she go?"
The wildling woman herself gave answer. "Nowhere, m'lord. I've had my fill o' blundering in the black." He heard the scrape of a heel on stone, turned his head toward the sound, but saw nothing. He thought he could smell her, but he wasn't sure. All of them stank alike, and he did not have Summer's nose to tell one from the other. "Last night I pissed on a king's foot," Osha went on. "Might be it was morning, who can say? I was sleeping, but now I'm not." They all slept a lot, not only Bran. There was nothing else to do, Sleep and eat and sleep again, and sometimes talk a little . . . but not too much, and only in whispers, just to be safe. Osha might have liked it better if they had never talked at all, but there was no way to quiet Rickon, or to stop Hodor from muttering, "Hodor, hodor, hodor," endlessly to himself.
"Osha," Bran said, "I saw Winterfell burning." Off to his left, he could hear the soft sound of Rickon's breathing.
"A dream," said Osha.
"A wolf dream," said Bran. "I smelled it too. Nothing smells like fire, or blood."
"Whose blood?"
"Men, horses, dogs, everyone. We have to go see."
"This scrawny skin of mine's the only one I got," said Osha. "That squid prince catches hold o' me, they'll strip it off my back with a whip."
Meera's hand found Bran's in the darkness and gave his fingers a squeeze. "I'll go if you're afraid."
Bran heard fingers fumbling at leather, followed by the sound of steel on flint. Then again. A spark flew, caught. Osha blew softly. A long pale flame awoke, stretching upward like a girl on her toes. Osha's face floated above it. She touched the flame with the head of a torch. Bran had to squint as the pitch began to burn, filling the world with orange glare. The light woke Rickon, who sat up yawning.
When the shadows moved, it looked for an instant as if the dead were rising as well. Lyanna and Brandon, Lord Rickard Stark their father, Lord Edwyle his father, Lord Willam and his brother Artos the Implacable, Lord Donnor and Lord Beron and Lord Rodwell, one-eyed Lord Jonnel, Lord Barth and Lord Brandon and Lord Cregan who had fought the Dragonknight. On their stone chairs they sat with stone wolves at their feet. This was where they came when the warmth had seeped out of their bodies; this was the dark hall of the dead, where the living feared to tread.
And in the mouth of the empty tomb that waited for Lord Eddard Stark, beneath his stately granite likeness, the six fugitives huddled round their little cache of bread and water and dried meat. "Little enough left," Osha muttered as she blinked down on their stores. "I'd need to go up soon to steal food in any case, or we'd be down to eating Hodor."
"Hodor," Hodor said, grinning at her.
"Is it day or night up there?" Osha wondered. "I've lost all count o' such."
"Day," Bran told her, "but it's dark from all the smoke."
"M'lord is certain?"
Never moving his broken body, he reached out all the same, and for an instant he was seeing double. There stood Osha holding the torch, and Meera and Jojen and Hodor, and the double row of tall granite pillars and long dead lords behind them stretching away into darkness . . . but there was Winterfell as well, grey with drifting smoke, the massive oak-and-iron gates charred and askew, the drawbridge down in a tangle of broken chains and missing planks. Bodies floated in the moat, islands for the crows.
"Certain," he declared.
Osha chewed on that a moment. "I'll risk a look then. I want the lot o' you close behind. Meera, get Bran's basket."
"Are we going home?" Rickon asked excitedly. "I want my horse. And I want applecakes and butter and honey, and Shaggy. Are we going where Shaggydog is?"
"Yes," Bran promised, "but you have to be quiet."
Meera strapped the wicker basket to Hodor's back and helped lift Bran into it, easing his useless legs through the holes. He had a queer flutter in his belly. He knew what awaited them above, but that did not make it any less fearful. As they set off, he turned to give his father one last look, and it seemed to Bran that there was a sadness in Lord Eddard's eyes, as if he did not want them to go. We have to, he thought. It's time.
Osha carried her long oaken spear in one hand and the torch in the other. A naked sword hung down her back, one of the last to bear Mikken's mark. He had forged it for Lord Eddard's tomb, to keep his ghost at rest. But with Mikken slain and the ironmen guarding the armory, good steel had been hard to resist, even if it meant grave-robbing. Meera had claimed Lord Rickard's blade, though she complained that it was too heavy. Brandon took his namesake's, the sword made for the uncle he had never known. He knew he would not be much use in a fight, but even so the blade felt good in his hand.
But it was only a game, and Bran knew it.
Their footsteps echoed through the cavernous crypts. The shadows behind them swallowed his father as the shadows ahead retreated to unveil other statues; no mere lords, these, but the old Kings in the North. On their brows they wore stone crowns. Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt. Edwyn the Spring King. Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf. Brandon the Burner and Brandon the Shipwright. Jorah and Jonos, Brandon the Bad, Walton the Moon King, Edderion the Bridegroom, Eyron, Benjen the Sweet and Benjen the Bitter, King Edrick Snowbeard. Their faces were stern and strong, and some of them had done terrible things, but they were Starks every one, and Bran knew all their tales. He had never feared the crypts; they were part of his home and who he was, and he had always known that one day he would lie here too.
But now he was not so certain. If I go up, will I ever come back down? Where will I go when I die?
"Wait," Osha said when they reached the twisting stone stairs that led up to the surface, and down to the deeper levels where kings more ancient still sat their dark thrones. She handed Meera the torch. "I'll grope my way up." For a time they could hear the sound of her footfalls, but they grew softer and softer until they faded away entirely. "Hodor," said Hodor nervously.
Bran had told himself a hundred times how much he hated hiding down here in the dark, how much he wanted to see the sun again, to ride his horse through wind and rain. But now that the moment was upon him, he was afraid. He'd felt safe in the darkness; when you could not even find your own hand in front of your face, it was easy to believe that no enemies could ever find you either. And the stone lords had given him courage. Even when he could not see them, he had known they were there.
It seemed a long while before they heard anything again. Bran had begun to fear that something had happened to Osha. His brother was squirming restlessly. "I want to go home!" he said loudly. Hodor bobbed his head and said, "Hodor." Then they heard the footsteps again, growing louder, and after a few minutes Osha emerged into the light, looking grim. "Something is blocking the door. I can't move it."
"Hodor can move anything," said Bran.
Osha gave the huge stableboy an appraising look. "Might be he can. Come on, then."
The steps were narrow, so they had to climb in single file. Osha led. Behind came Hodor, with Bran crouched low on his back so his head wouldn't hit the ceiling. Meera followed with the torch, and Jojen brought up the rear, leading Rickon by the hand. Around and around they went, and up and up. Bran thought he could smell smoke now, but perhaps that was only the torch.
The door to the crypts was made of ironwood. It was old and heavy, and lay at a slant to the ground. Only one person could approach it at a time. Osha tried once more when she reached it, but Bran could see that it was not budging. "Let Hodor try."
They had to pull Bran from his basket first, so he would not get squished. Meera squatted beside him on the steps, one arm thrown protectively across his shoulders, as Osha and Hodor traded places. "Open the door, Hodor," Bran said.
The huge stableboy put both hands flat on the door, pushed, and grunted. "Hodor?" He slammed a fist against the wood, and it did not so much as jump. "Hodor."
"Use your back," urged Bran. "And your legs."
Turning, Hodor put his back to the wood and shoved. Again. Again. "Hodor!" He put one foot on a higher step so he was bent under the slant of the door and tried to rise. This time the wood groaned and creaked. "Hodor!" The other foot came up a step, and Hodor spread his legs apart, braced, and straightened. His face turned red, and Bran could see cords in his neck bulging as he strained against the weight above him. "Hodor hodor hodor hodor hodor HODOR!" From above came a dull rumble. Then suddenly the door jerked upward and a shaft of daylight fell across Bran's face, blinding him for a moment. Another shove brought the sound of shifting stone, and then the way was open. Osha poked her spear through and slid out after it, and Rickon squirmed through Meera's legs to follow. Hodor shoved the door open all the way and stepped to the surface. The Reeds had to carry Bran up the last few steps.
The sky was a pale grey, and smoke eddied all around them. They stood in the shadow of the First Keep, or what remained of it. One whole side of the building had torn loose and fallen away. Stone and shattered gargoyles lay strewn across the yard. They fell just where I did, Bran thought when he saw them. Some of the gargoyles had broken into so many pieces it made him wonder how he was alive at all. Nearby some crows were pecking at a body crushed beneath the tumbled stone, but he lay facedown and Bran could not say who he was.
The First Keep had not been used for many hundreds of years, but now it was more of a shell than ever. The floors had burned inside it, and all the beams. Where the wall had fallen away, they could see right into the rooms, even into the privy. Yet behind, the broken tower still stood, no more burned than before. Jojen Reed was coughing from the smoke. "Take me home!" Rickon demanded. "I want to be home!" Hodor stomped in a circle. "Hodor," he whimpered in a small voice. They stood huddled together with ruin and death all around them.
"We made noise enough to wake a dragon," Osha said, "but there's no one come. The castle's dead and burned, just as Bran dreamed, but we had best—" She broke off suddenly at a noise behind them, and whirled with her spear at the ready.
Two lean dark shapes emerged from behind the broken tower, padding slowly through the rubble. Rickon gave a happy shout of "Shaggy!" and the black direwolf came bounding toward him. Summer advanced more slowly, rubbed his head up against Bran's arm, and licked his face.
"We should go," said Jojen. "So much death will bring other wolves besides Summer and Shaggydog, and not all on four feet."
"Aye, soon enough," Osha agreed, "but we need food, and there may be some survived this, Stay together. Meera, keep your shield up and guard our backs."
It took the rest of the morning to make a slow circuit of the castle. The great granite walls remained, blackened here and there by fire but otherwise untouched. But within, all was death and destruction. The doors of the Great Hall were charred and smoldering, and inside the rafters had given way and the whole roof had crashed down onto the floor. The green and yellow panes of the glass gardens were all in shards, the trees and fruits and flowers torn up or left exposed to die. Of the stables, made of wood and thatch, nothing remained but ashes, embers, and dead horses. Bran thought of his Dancer, and wanted to weep. There was a shallow steaming lake beneath the Library Tower, and hot water gushing from a crack in its side. The bridge between the Bell Tower and the rookery had collapsed into the yard below, and Maester Luwin's turret was gone. They saw a dull red glow shining up through the narrow cellar windows beneath the Great Keep, and a second fire still burning in one of the storehouses.
Osha called softly through the blowing smoke as they went, but no one answered. They saw one dog worrying at a corpse, but he ran when he caught the scents of the direwolves; the rest had been slain in the kennels. The maester's ravens were paying court to some of the corpses, while the crows from the broken tower attended others. Bran recognized Poxy Tym, even though someone had taken an axe to his face. One charred corpse, outside the ashen shell of Mother's sept, sat with his arms drawn up and his hands balled into hard black fists, as if to punch anyone who dared approach him. "If the gods are good," Osha said in a low angry voice, "the Others will take them that did this work."
"It was Theon," Bran said blackly.
"No. Look." She pointed across the yard with her spear. "That's one of his ironmen. And there. And that's Greyjoy's warhorse, see? The black one with the arrows in him." She moved among the dead, frowning. "And here's Black Lorren." He had been hacked and cut so badly that his beard looked a reddish-brown now. "Took a few with him, he did." Osha turned over one of the other corpses with her foot. "There's a badge. A little man, all red."
"The flayed man of the Dreadfort," said Bran.
Summer howled, and darted away.
"The godswood." Meera Reed ran after the direwolf, her shield and frog spear to hand. The rest of them trailed after, threading their way through smoke and fallen stones. The air was sweeter under the trees. A few pines along the edge of the wood had been scorched, but deeper in the damp soil and green wood had defeated the flames. "There is a power in living wood," said Jojen Reed, almost as if he knew what Bran was thinking, "a power strong as fire."
On the edge of the black pool, beneath the shelter of the heart tree, Maester Luwin lay on his belly in the dirt. A trail of blood twisted back through damp leaves where he had crawled. Summer stood over him, and Bran thought he was dead at first, but when Meera touched his throat, the maester moaned. "Hodor?" Hodor said mournfully. "Hodor?"
Gently, they eased Luwin onto his back. He had grey eyes and grey hair, and once his robes had been grey as well, but they were darker now where the blood had soaked through. "Bran," he said softly when he saw him sitting tall on Hodor's back. "And Rickon too." He smiled. "The gods are good. I knew . . . "
"Knew?" said Bran uncertainly.
"The legs, I could tell . . . the clothes fit, but the muscles in his legs . . . poor lad . . . " He coughed, and blood came up from inside him. "You vanished . . . in the woods . . . how, though?"
"We never went," said Bran. "Well, only to the edge, and then doubled back. I sent the wolves on to make a trail, but we hid in Father's tomb."
"The crypts." Luwin chuckled, a froth of blood on his lips. When the maester tried to move, he gave a sharp gasp of pain.
Tears filled Bran's eyes. When a man was hurt you took him to the maester, but what could you do when your maester was hurt?
"We'll need to make a litter to carry him," said Osha.
"No use," said Luwin. "I'm dying, woman."
"You can't," said Rickon angrily. "No you can't." Beside him, Shaggydog bared his teeth and growled.
The maester smiled. "Hush now, child, I'm much older than you. I can . . . die as I please."
"Hodor, down," said Bran. Hodor went to his knees beside the maester.
"Listen," Luwin said to Osha, "the princes . . . Robb's heirs. Not . . . not together . . . do you hear?"
The wildling woman leaned on her spear. "Aye. Safer apart. But where to take them? I'd thought, might be these Cerwyns . . . "
Maester Luwin shook his head, though it was plain to see what the effort cost him. "Cerwyn boy's dead. Ser Rodrik, Leobald Tallhart, Lady Hornwood . . . all slain. Deepwood fallen, Moat Cailin, soon Torrhen's Square. Ironmen on the Stony Shore. And east, the Bastard of Bolton."
"Then where?" asked Osha.
"White Harbor . . . the Umbers . . . I do not know . . . war everywhere . . . each man against his neighbor, and winter coming . . . such folly, such black mad folly . . . " Maester Luwin reached up and grasped Bran's forearm, his fingers closing with a desperate strength. "You must be strong now. Strong."
"I will be," Bran said, though it was hard. Ser Rodrik killed and Maester Luwin, everyone, everyone . . .
"Good," the maester said. "A good boy. Your . . . your father's son, Bran. Now go."
Osha gazed up at the weirwood, at the red face carved in the pale trunk. "And leave you for the gods?"
"I beg . . . " The maester swallowed. "A . . . a drink of water, and . . . another boon. If you would . . . "
"Aye." She turned to Meera. "Take the boys."
Jojen and Meera led Rickon out between them. Hodor followed. Low branches whipped at Bran's face as they pushed between the trees, and the leaves brushed away his tears. Osha joined them in the yard a few moments later. She said no word of Maester Luwin. "Hodor must stay with Bran, to be his legs," the wildling woman said briskly. "I will take Rickon with me."
"We'll go with Bran," said Jojen Reed.
"Aye, I thought you might," said Osha. "Believe I'll try the East Gate, and follow the kingsroad a ways."
"We'll take the Hunter's Gate," said Meera.
"Hodor," said Hodor.
They stopped at the kitchens first. Osha found some loaves of burned bread that were still edible, and even a cold roast fowl that she ripped in half. Meera unearthed a crock of honey and a big sack of apples. Outside, they made their farewells. Rickon sobbed and clung to Hodor's leg until Osha gave him a smack with the butt end of her spear. Then he followed her quick enough. Shaggydog stalked after them. The last Bran saw of them was the direwolf's tail as it vanished behind the broken tower.
The iron portcullis that closed the Hunter's Gate had been warped so badly by heat it could not be raised more than a foot. They had to squeeze beneath its spikes, one by one.
"Will we go to your lord father?" Bran asked as they crossed the drawbridge between the walls. "To Greywater Watch?"
Meera looked to her brother for the answer. "Our road is north," Jojen announced.
At the edge of the wolfswood, Bran turned in his basket for one last glimpse of the castle that had been his life. Wisps of smoke still rose into the grey sky, but no more than might have risen from Winterfell's chimneys on a cold autumn afternoon. Soot stains marked some of the arrow loops, and here and there a crack or a missing merlon could be seen in the curtain wall, but it seemed little enough from this distance. Beyond, the tops of the keeps and towers still stood as they had for hundreds of years, and it was hard to tell that the castle had been sacked and burned at all. The stone is strong, Bran told himself, the roots of the trees go deep, and under the ground the Kings of Winter sit their thrones. So long as those remained, Winterfell remained. It was not dead, just broken. Like me, he thought. I'm not dead either.
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To Yourself
If you say yes, prison will just be a leaf in the wind...
(For myself. I’ve been told I have to exercise 5 times a week by a local doctor and she’ll see me in a month. What better way to get motivated than thinking Blackwatch Commander Reyes is mentally kicking your ass?)
(I’d cry myself to sleep every night if he was in charge of me good lordBUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT)
(Also, any constructive critic on the writing is greatly appreciated! Especially the writing on Gabe).
~
Your mind is still racing around the fact that the police haven’t hauled you off to some prison already.
You’re sitting there, hands cuffed behind your back on the metal fold-out chair they were so kindly to give you, as one beef cake of an officer told you before he threw your ass inside the interrogators room. You look to the large one-sided window, knowing there was someone on the other side staring right back at you and mocking you. You gather the saliva in your mouth before spitting it on the ground, glaring at the window. For you, asshole.
You’re getting that anxiety again, you don’t know how long you’ve been in this damn room, or if anyone is outside ready to come in and tell you with a smile on their face. You feel tightness in your chest, your head spinning. You feel something is wrong, way wrong, the same questions swim in your head. How long has it been? Is it daylight out? How long has it been, how long has it been..
How long, how long, how long, how long-
Just as you’re ready to throw your head back and scream, the door flies open and hits the wall behind it with enough force to put a small dent into it, making you jump. You hear an irritated grunt coming from outside the room but it’s quickly snuffed out by the gloved hand that slams the door shut.
A tall man, tan and with too many scars on his face to count stands before you with a file in his hand. He doesn’t look at you, his stance is strong, intimidating and dominant. The file comes down on the metal table with a thwap as he grabs the other chair behind him and has a seat, acting like he’s ready to talk about the weather with his nonchalant attitude.
His beanie covers his entire head but he look up to his face and see he’s got the most chocolate colored eyes you’ve ever seen. He’s got a mustache and a goatee, keeping it trimmed most of the time, you think. His clothes look military, black and fit to form his giant muscles that look like they yearn for freedom from their binds. A belt here, another one there, god how many did this guy need? Some of them had shot gun bullets on them, strapped in tight.
“You”
You don’t look up. Were you intimidated? Why, you thought, who the hell needs to be?
“Hey! Look at me when I’m talking to you, niña”
You get a boost of courage, you didn’t know all the Spanish in the world but ‘girl’ was something you knew. You shoot your head up to look up and see he’s glaring right into you. No. Probably right in your soul.
“The fuck YOU want, huh!?”, you snap at the stranger. He immediately stands and comes right at you with his fists clenched at his sides, soon he's reaching out and grabbing the chair and you. You struggle with the bonds, gritting your teeth with eyes glaring back at him. You begin to scream, kicking your legs up and trying to kick him.
“Calm the fuck down, niña! Antes de atarme las piernas!”, he’s gripping your shoulder so tightly you think your bones will break.
“FUCK OFF! DON’T TOUCH ME!”, you’re yelling and raging ensue before you are slamming up against the table, closer than you were before to it. The force of the slam makes you grunt and he’s towering over you, grabbing your legs. You let out a blood curdling scream this time, thinking he’s going to rape you. You begin hyperventilating, the edges of your vision going blurry. This is what he was here for! you think, mind screaming, tears running down your face as he still holds on to you.
Before you know it, he’s off of you and backs away. You glare up at him, eyes burning from the tears running down your face. You take aim for his crotch but suddenly feel your legs restricted by something metallic. You keep struggling and yelling, resisting the urge to fall silent. He stands there with an eyebrow raised, his muscular arms crossed against his chest.
In the midst of your cries, he speaks, “I got all night, niña, you best shut up and stop your crying before I shut that mouth up too”. After a few seconds of saying that, you bite lip, snorting hot air out of your nose. You want to keep screaming, cry for help, anything, this is all too much for you. A strange man you’ve never met before just waltz in, cuffs your legs to the chair and glares at you like all the other officers in the building.
He leans back against the wall, checking his fake watch on his wrist with a bored sigh, like he lost all interest suddenly.
You shut your eyes and dip your head down, wishing to be anywhere far from here. This fucking guy is an asshole and you just want out. The tears streaming your face start to plop on to the concrete floor- plip, plip, plip.
“Tch, why are YOU crying? Got somethin’ in your eyes, niñita?”
Another insult.
“ANSWER ME!”
The roar makes you jump in your seat, you shake your head. He growls, suddenly very close to you. You glance up to see his ear and hand in your face, he’s holding his ear up to you.
“What was that? Didn’t catch a goddamn word”
“N-No..”, you sniffle and feel a little smaller and more embarrassed. You see him bend down, his hands on his hips. “That’s fucking ‘Sir’ to you, niñita”, before he raises back up and walks over to the table, grabbing the file and opening it.
“Puntura..? Stupid name, if you ask me”, Oh really? Never thought to ask YOU, “Raised by your grandma Lima, grandpa Jeremiah and older brother August in Patras, Greece..”
What!?
Your eyes go wide for a second, he starts naming your family members, the street you grew up on, the friend you had as a child, the cat you held when you were sad. He starts getting deeper; your anxiety, your personality, the small jobs you took on when your grandmother died of cancer on February 4th, 2058. He’s getting closer to your other jobs, the other ones where you had to make Bee Stings for local snipers in some gang that paid you to make the venom. You shake your head, telling him to stop. He keeps talking. Your fingers clench so hard your knuckles turn white, you snarl and start yelling at him again to. Just. Stop!
“STOP! Stop it! Stop talking about.. Me! My life! What the fuck do you know, asshole!?”
He closes the file, slapping it back on the table. He glares at you, pointing a finger at you.
“I told you to shut it! I’ll just leave you in here with the lights off, niñita, you want that? I got your FEARS in here, girl”, he thrusts a finger to the door, “I’ll walk out of here with the lights out, letting you scream and scream until you can’t talk anymore then maybe I’ll consider coming back in or maybe..”
He leans over the table, he’s so close to your face you can smell the cigarettes he smoked today, before coming in to see you.
“I’ll let the officers take you out to a prison where you can rot, get raped and no one can hear your cries from the closed off stone walls in your fucking prison cell. You’ll be NOTHING, you’ll be just another sex toy for the prison-”
“Stop it! Stop talking! I get it, okay!? Fucking christ! Don’t need to.., “ you catch your breath, “To talk about that shit.. Damn..”, you were shivering. The tears were long gone and only seething rage was left inside. You were scared, scared out of your mind as to what he might do at that moment. You turn your head away from his scarred face, those eyes burning into you like coal.
He doesn’t say anything, still at your face, “The.. The fuck you want anyway? You’re not an officer, you’re not them..”, your words dripping venom.
“Well, congratulations she doesn’t say something stupid for once!”, he gives a slow clap while moving back. You roll your eyes, that was totally unnecessary. You’re annoyed but he doesn’t care. He takes his chair again, this time turning it around and sitting in it backwards. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a cigarette pack. He smacks it against his arm before pulling out one white stick with his teeth and lighting it with a black lighter.
You sighed, annoyed even more. He was taking his sweet time. You thought of all the scenarios that ran through your mind at that moment. He inhales the chemicals, glancing at you, smirks then blowing the smoke right in your face. It catches you off guard and you try holding in your breath before you accidentally breathe in a little and start coughing. You hear him laugh and take another smoke. You can’t bat the air away with your hands and it pisses you off.
“So.. tell me, niñita-”
“Don’t call me that”
“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want, nin-ni-TA”
You growl, he just glares and taps the ashes on the desk.
“How did you make the Bee Stings? It’s not an artsy hobby, I can guess that much”
The Bee Stings.. Or ‘tsimpímata’ as your client called them. They were the opposite of those rejuv packs their small company made. They were death in a syringe. They were lethal poisonous liquid bullets that took your victim out within minutes. The lungs were attacked first, sucking the air from your body as slowly as possible while blood began to boil in your throat. The feeling of choking on your vomit over the toilet. Soon, every orifice in your head bled until your heart shut down from the shock and damage.
You had seen pictures of the victims, their faces covered in their own blood, their clothes stained. You were tired of those emails coming in of the attachments with dead bodies, sometimes there were rows. You were paid a mighty fine sum of money, fifty grand a tube. You shake your head, “Tch”.
“Better speak up, niña.. Before I have to go..”
“There’s nothing I can really tell you without my head getting blown off..”, you look to the right of you, remembering two people in purple busting your door down and threatening you with your own concoction that they would kill you if you ever told anyone about the Bee Stings. “I can’t tell.. They’ll fucking kill me, they’ll take turns like that stupid idiot said..”, you remember the numerous emails you got too about how they had a bunch of hungry men looking for attention at their base. You shivered, shaking off the memory.
“Tut, tut, tut..” was all that left him before he grabbed your file and headed for the door. Your eyes went wide as saucers, your head shook, “No, no, nononono! Please! PLEASE! Wait!”
He’s out the door, the lights are out and you’re back to hyperventilating and crying within seconds.
The darkness consumes you. you're in the black void with no light coming out from the other side of that door. You cry, you struggle, you scream and kick against the chair.
“T-the emails! The fucking emails! The GOD DAMN EMAILS! PLEASE!”
Inhaling and exhaling grows longer, you can’t tell your vision gets blurry again, you can’t see a thing. It’s dark, it’s too dark. You’re having an all out anxiety attack, the breathing gets harsher, your throat wheezing out every breath. You think you’ll pass out, wake up in a prison cell and your life will be over.
Until the lights blink on, footsteps are heard but you don’t process them. The light shines too bright, you think you’re blind until the blurriness comes back and black fills your vision. You hadn’t passed out though, you’re still there in the room.
“Hey! Hey, hey.. Breathe, breathe..”, he begins rubbing your back, gentle and soft. He’s comforting you in your vulnerable state. You can’t think straight, you can’t breathe like he says. He shakes his head, cursing in Spanish.
“Escucha que tienes esto, solo relájate... Look,” He puts his hands on either side of your face, covering your ears while bringing your eyes up to meet his. “Breathe in”, you try the first time but cough, you can hardly do anything. He repeats himself, shushing you, speaking to you in gentle Spanish and English words. The second time, you take in a deep inhale.
“Good, good.. Now hold it”
You hold it, your face red from tears and exhaustion. He nods, “Breathe out..”
You let out the air and you’re told to do that five or six times before your whole body shudders, shoulders relaxing, heart stops racing.. Your attack is over. Normal breathing but the shivering doesn’t stop.
The man who kept you in here lets go of you, his face almost turning into something sympathetic until it goes away forever. You can finally breathe normally, the strength in you gone, turned to dust. You look down at your shirt, seeing wet spots where your tears fell. It’s like a little mini rainstorm happened there.
It’s silent. There’s no stupid wise-crack, no joke being said. You had stopped crying a while ago. You glance at the military dude and sigh, exhausted from the bullshit you just went through.
Suddenly you feel a presence behind you, a clack of metal and you feel your wrists no longer bound. They drop to your sides, sore from being behind you this whole time. You shudder again, letting out a shaky breath. He’s facing you now, kneeling down as he uncuffs your legs. He backs up, having both pair of cuffs on his fingers.
You rotate your ankles and wrists, putting the feel back in them again. You nod to yourself, closing your eyes and reconnecting to the real world. He set you free, he took them off. You’re surprised, a confusing look on your face as he shifts his weight against the table.
“You good, pequeño?”, this time that word sounds endearing, like he was calling you something less offensive. You give a slight nod, “Y-Yes, sir..”, you manage to get out. You didn’t want to say it. You had been angry before, scared of him and now he had just brought you back from a high attack on your mind and body. It was strange what he had done. He heard your cries and pleas, came running back in to bring you out of the dark.
He pats your shoulder, you flinch at the touch as you were expecting more rough treatment. He doesn’t say anything, clearing his throat before taking the other chair to sit it in front of you. He sits down.
“Ready to explain?”, his voice is serious, firm yet again. You nod, sitting up slowly to look into his eyes. You shake your head, clearing it before speaking.
“Bee Sting was created by another chemist in the company who contacted me.. I’m being honest, I don’t know who they’re called but they emailed me, made me a deal and gave me fifty grand a pop for those tubes of the lethal shit..”, goosebumps run across your back, you cross your arms and rub your hands along them. The man across from you takes out a cigarette and offers you it.
You shake your head, “I-If it was a joint, I’d accept.. Thanks though..”, your damn voice still shakes. You’re embarrassed. Stop fucking stuttering.
“Heh, good.. A nasty habit to have..”, he puts the stick in his mouth and lights it. This time he turns his head away until your out of shot and blows it at the window. He’s being nice. You want to question it but stop. You can’t go through that bullshit again. “Keep going..”, he says.
“I made the liquid.. Learned the chemistry, got the equipment with the money saved up..”, you notice the smoke wafting through the room, “It was.. A commissioned poison.. I made it, I made it to how they wanted their victims to die..”. You sigh, your leg now shaking. You couldn’t get over this stupid tick even if you tried.
You look up, expecting shock, horror, bewilderment on the grown man’s face. It’s not there and you’re confused all over again. You stop yourself, better save your breath. He’s just nodding, tapping the ashes from the cigarette, “Mhm..Right..”, he crosses his arms.
“What’d you do with the money?”
“I sent half to my brother, he’s got his own family now.. A baby girl.. named Felicia”, the image of her brown curls turns your lips into a half smile but it doesn’t last long. “I haven’t spoken to them since.. The.. The Omnic Crisis”.
“Your file said you were a mile from the blasts.. How’d you get out?”
“I thought this was about the-”
“Answer the question”, his voice is a little deeper. His eyes are cold, still as a rock in the water.
“The Army, they came in and evacuated everyone and we were sent into Vola ..”, you remember the screams, the sounds. Explosions and more screams, the sounds make you itch the back of your head. Your eyes glaze over as your lured deeper and deeper into those awful memories, a snap of his fingers brings you back. “Hey, pay attention”.
“I, uh.. I got money from my grandpa and was given my own apartment with the money, I stopped working a regular nine to five and started learning chemistry, it was so easy.. Just learning that shit, you know? I don’t know how I know it, I just do..”, you shake your head. “I couldn’t believe these people paid me FIFTY grand to do something so.. So dangerous, so vile.. I questioned it one time over an email and they said, “This is for the good of the people of Greece, to weed them out”.. I have no idea what that means..”.
Soon your head is pounding, like a drop of color in the water, then spreading inward. And suddenly, after what it felt like hours being inside that room; A question hits you and you can’t stop yourself from asking it aloud.
“What’s your name?”
The barrel chested man puts it cigarette out on the table, standing up and motions you to stand up as well. You stand quickly, maybe a little too quickly for your liking.
“You ever hear of Overwatch, kid?”
The name is familiar, it’s a name that has meaning. You’ve heard of the Overwatch and the heroes who’d do anything to save the innocent. You suddenly suspect he’s a part of it. Your eyes are curious, your head swimming with questions again.
“I’m Gabriel Reyes.. Second-in-Command, but more importantly I’m in charge of Blackwatch, the spec ops of Overwatch” he tells you and suddenly it hits you.
You’re not just standing in front of some ‘military guy’, you’re standing at a living, breathing legend. Your voice is gone, air trapped in your throat. You’re both staring at each other in the eye. You’re looking inside him to see if this was a joke. A stupid, cruel prank. You see all seriousness, two eyes telling you he isn’t fucking around.
It’s really him and you want to cry. You want to hug him and tell him that him and the people of Overwatch saved your family from death. You step back, thinking better of it as his body language indicates that he isn’t the hugging type.
“W-What… Why.. What… Are you doing here?”, you’re almost speechless, you can’t think and want to lie down. The wind pushed you over the cliff.
“Well, sunshine, I’m here to recruit you”
“What!?”, that came out too fast and you wonder if he’ll get mad and yell but he doesn’t. You’re searching for answers. “You..”, you sigh, “You can’t be serious, this is a joke!” you turn away from him, pacing the room now.
“No, no, no.. This is wrong, I’m not.. Spec ops? Like… What!?”
Gabe shakes his head and chuckles, finding your freak out funny. You can’t see what’s so damn funny, this guy was asking you of all people to be a part of the biggest peace maker organizations in your life. You shake your head, “I’m fucking dreaming.. This..”
“You’re not ‘fucking dreaming’, niño, I’m telling you to join Blackwatch because of your track record.. You did more than make the lethal shit, you were a sniper in a small militia group that failed and was killed by rogue Omnics, oh yeah, don’t think I didn’t see that”
You had tried wiping memory all about that part of your life in Vola, you were considered the best sniper in the Nkremístike Apergía. You and your brother were sniper buddies, always challenging each other to kill the most Omnics and keep your militia safe. The memories come back, you block them out before you could be lured again. You look at Gabe up and down before shaking your head, still thinking this was all a dream or a cruel joke.
“You got better snipers in your team..”, you let out with a defeated sigh.
Gabe snorts, “You’re right. We did. Until he was ambushed by a few Omnics in October and killed”.
“Oh..”
“Yeah, ‘Oh’ is right, niño.. That’s why I’m giving you a chance. A chance to redeem yourself, a chance to stop gettin’ paid by this dumbass company and probably put an end to them”.
It was still real and happening. An offer. From Gabriel Reyes himself. Who works at Overwatch and Blackwatch- you hadn’t heard of Blackwatch until it came out of his mouth. You nod, not in accepting his offer but processing this crazy information. You pace again, he’s waiting for an answer but is silent about it. You stare at the walls, the table, the chair, keeping your mind leveled out and focused. If you say no, you’ll basically rot in hell with four walls..
If you say yes, prison will just be a leaf in the wind.
#Overwatch#Gabriel Reyes#Blackwatch#Reaper#oc and gabriel#different point of view#Omnics#Omnic Crisis
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Ivory Keys: An Excerpt (to be used as base Treatment for Feature Screenplay) by Ara Bear
Evening. Smoke clouds fill an exposed brick, jazz club on the lower east side. The year is 1972. Patrons come and go as they please, musicians bump along behind the laughter, tobacco, and too loud talk. Though no one pays attention to the music around them, everyone moves to its rhythm. Music cuts, people move, to get away from whatever conversation they no longer want to have; or the music treads on, urging you to find your pace – talk too slow, too fast, just right.
When people enter, they notice the chunks missing from cracked brick and cement walls, and then the bar. Maybe the tune, but never who is playing the tune, who is controlling the rhythm.
William Shepard noticed the cracked brick, but it wasn’t the bar he saw second; it was Nick – and some could even argue that it was Nick he saw first.
William with his golden pompadour waves and early acceptance to Stanford Medical School, was not meant for the lower east side, but he needed a break to breathe. And breathe he did.
William was with his friends and girlfriend Jenny. They all spoke at once about the dingy place, the fog, the jazz; they were squeamish, but interested in the city’s underbelly. Will could not even speak to the beauty they all missed among the grime – Nick.
Nick’s jawline was covered in five o’clock shadow, with a single piece of chocolate, almost black hair, falling in front of his forehead, long enough to reach his right eye. His head hung down as he clamored away at ivory keys. William saw all of this.
Jenny, his friends, the room, and Nick all grappled for William’s attention. Nick won. But, Jenny tugged at William and lead the friends to a table closest to the bar, farthest from Nick. Will sat easily, snapping back into reality.
The night carried on as any other. They drank, laughed, smoked, talked, smoked, laughed, drank. They – including Will – fell into the rhythm played by Nick and his ivory keys, all the while forgetting he was even there.
Music cut out and it was time to make a choice: move on or wait for the next tune. Will and his friends chose the former; it was Thursday and it was getting late. Jenny and their friends went outside and left Will with the check. He was used to it. He sat at the bar, until the waiter would lock eyes with him long enough for him to mime “Check
please.” A new song had not rung over the room yet in a couple minutes. Nick had left his post and a new artist set up shop.
Sauntering off stage in tight blue flares and a – supposed to be white – dingy t-shirt, Nick made his way to the bar, to sit, in the seat next to Will. Turning to get the waiter’s eye Will caught Nick just as he sat down.
Nick commanded the bar; he had the waiter tending to him almost before he settled in his seat; he’d noticed Will having trouble and made a motion toward him, asking for two bourbons: two fingers, dry.
“Oh, no. I just need the check,” Will spoke up.
“Not a fan of bourbon?” said Nick.
“No. Yes,” Will fumbled. “What I meant was, I don’t mind Bourbon, I’m just picking up the bill, then
meeting my friends outside.”
“So, just not a fan of me?” Nick chuckled.
“What? No. You were great. Really,” said Will.
“Name a song from tonight,” said Nick.
Will was flustered. He had noticed Nick, but now he saw him there, so close. It was clear Nick was only
teasing. Even so, Will hadn’t an answer.
“All of it. Great. Really,” said Will.
The waiter came back with two bourbons.
“Have a drink and I’ll consider it square,” said Nick.
Tempted, Will sat silently for a second. He noticed the veins that outlined Nick’s hands as he reached for his
own glass.
“I’ll pay for mine, but I can’t,” said Will.
Nick swiftly knocked back the drink he was holding and reached out for the second glass.
“Don’t sweat it,” said Nick.
And just as Will was on his way, Nick crossed one leg over the other, accidentally brushing his foot against
Will’s . Will looked down, then back to Nick. “Don’t sweat it,” said Will.
Will went back to his dorm on the upper West side and dropped Jenny to her room.
“Comin in?,” she said.
“Not tonight, I’m just exhausted. Been a long day,” said Will.
The two-kissed goodnight and Will went back to his room.
On the opposite side of the city, Nick wandered through the desolate streets of Brooklyn, making sharp turns
at every corner and running through every light. He moved like every muscle was controlled by a melody; taking two quick steps then a slow followed by a flourish of the arm or the occasional spin. He did not care who saw him, who judged him.
Nick made his way into a tenement building somewhere between the ritzy Park Slope and the colorless Bay Ridge. 40th street; a tan cinder block building, but you wouldn’t notice that amidst the illegible graffiti that painted its every inch. The sidewalks steamed from subway grates where Nick could feel the D train rumble under him. The corners smelled of piss and sweat – and home, for Nick.
Nick continued his melodic steps up to his apartment. Opening the door Nick saw his father in the kitchen. “You up?” said Nick.
“Got off tomorrow, can finally sleep in. Thought I’d make the most of it,” said Nick’s dad.
“Long as you’re not waitin’ for me,” replied Nick.
“Stay up with the old man?”
The two settled into their modest living room with two single chairs and a T.V. Nick’s dad grabbed a beer from the fridge and tossed one to Nick who fiddled with the TV antennae, trying to get a signal, or steal the neighbors – whichever worked first. Catching a signal, the two sat down to an episode of “The Odd Couple.”
“Always thought those two were a couple of fags,” said Nick’s dad.
Nick sat silently, sipping his beer then putting it down. Nick’s dad looked to him for a response. Nick grabbed his beer and continued to drink, though he was almost finished he drank like it was half full.
“Fags on T.V. and I’m barely makin’ rent working construction. Man’s work. Don’t pay like it used to.”
Nick finished his beer and fished in his seat for the remote. He flipped the channel and passed the remote to his father.
“Early day tomorrow, think I’m gonna call it a night,” said Nick.
Two weeks had gone by since that night. Nick had been playing in various clubs in the city and the city streets. Will, however, had spent the past two weekends back at that same club, hoping for another chance to see Nick, for another chance at bourbon, two fingers dry.
It was Saturday night and Will is tired of waiting.
Making his way back home, Will thought about Jenny. She had bought him a gold cuff link, pressed with Stanford’s crest to congratulate him on his acceptance. Will, then, gingerly rubbed his thumb over the cuff link. He hadn’t seen much of Jenny lately and as he approached campus, thought of stopping in to see her.
Five city-blocks out from the dorms, Will could hear soft jazz playing. He stopped rubbing the cuff link and closed his eyes. Will back tracked his steps and leaned against the open doorway of the club. There wasn’t the same underground vibe and people actually listened to the music around them and took it in as a substitute for conversation. Red light beamed over top shelf whiskey air.
Engrossed, Will walked in and took a moment to peer around the room.
“Alright, alright, alright bad cats, we have one more for ya tonight. Welcome this far-out fox all the way from Brooklyn...Nick Holt, on the sweet ivory keys,” said the club announcer.
Will saw red. Not because of the light in the room or a sudden surge of anger, but from his longing and excitement. Now he knew his name – Nick.
Will posted himself up at the bar, never facing inward, only out toward the stage, toward Nick. He never even ordered a drink. Just sat and watched. Just sat and smiled, and bumped on, to Nick’s rhythm.
After his set, Nick did as before. Sauntered off, sat at the bar. Next to Will. “You dig Jazz I gather?” said Nick.
“Something like that,” said Will.
Before Nick had the chance to retort, Will ordered two bourbons.
“Figured I owed you,” said Will.
“For last time? Said, don’t stress it,” said Nick
“For your ‘sweet keys’,” said Will. And the two laughed
Nick, had seen Will walk in. Keys first and everything else second was Nick’s way of focusing on his goals.
But even still, that night he played on, hard and strong making sure not to lose a single person in the room.
“Yea, that guy is somethin’ else,” said Nick.
The waiter came back with the bourbons.
“You forgot to tell ‘em dry.”
Will had not managed to come off as cool as he had wanted. “So jazz, why?,” Will said trying to recover.
“Why not? But really man, we’re losing the greats, Armstrong?,” said Nick.
Will wanted to listen to Nick, but he could not focus beyond his lips to hear what he was actually saying. “And not to come off as you know..., but I think I could be that great,” finished Nick.
Will stared blankly and filled the musky wood smelling air with “I have some records back at my place.” “Maybe I should come by sometime,” said Nick.
“How ‘bout now?” Will said, shocking himself in his reply.
Nick was puzzled, but smirked as he lifted his drink and looked straight down the glass. Nick knocked back
his drink.
“Easy when it’s mostly ice,” teased Nick.
“Come to think of it, I might have some better stuff, and I don’t have an ice machine,” said Will.
The two left the bar at a hesitant pace, almost waiting for one of them to turn around, make an excuse to why
tonight wasn’t a good night. But, neither did, so they walked on. Will’s place was so close, there was no time wasted between them being at a crowded bar and them alone in Will’s room. It was quick enough that they could not think, which was terrifying, but also a relief.
“You have got two records man,” said Nick. “And neither are good; I mean Bread? Bowie? Psychs and depressants, where’s the groove?”
Will walked over to where Nick was in his room. The record player was set up on the desk by his bed. Will liked to put on music as he slept. “Excuse you, but I have at least five: Hendrix, Morrison, Bowie, Bread, and Zeppelin.”
“Listen to what they tell you to. Who are you, what do you want to hear?” said Nick.
“Maybe I like what these artists have to say,” Although, Will knew he knew not a thing about music and it was showing.
“Yea. Thought you brought me back here to listen to jazz?”
Will took the Bowie record from Nick’s hand, touching it slightly. “I said I had records, you assumed jazz. I just didn’t correct you.”
Nick moved in closer to Will. He reached for the record. “Maybe I’d like to hear this,” he said, as he grabbed it with a flourish. He spun it once in his hand then slid the record from its casing and placed it on the turn table. Leaning over Nick, Will placed the needle on his favorite spot. Will, just over Nick’s shoulder could take in his subtle scent of liquor and sweat. It was sweeter than one might think. Nick couldn’t help but notice their proximity and turned his face, away from the spinning record, to meet Will’s face by his shoulder.
“Did you also lie about that drink?” said Nick.
Will, abruptly, removed himself from behind Nick. He went off to his closet and rummaged for a minute. He knew exactly where his liquor was, but needed time to think, assess. He went through the logic like the med student he was sure to be, weighing possible outcomes, situations, what could go right, what could go wrong. Finally, he reemerged, bottle of whiskey in hand.
Nick walked over to Will.
“Well?” said Nick.
Will pointed to a glass on his desk and began to step away.
“No need,” said Nick. And Nick took the bottle from Will, twisted off the cap and began to drink straight
from the bottle. He took his pull then passed it to Will; Will did the same. When it was Nick’s turn to take the bottle, he did but, he held it to his side.
“Name’s Nick,” he said.
“I know, the club guy said it before you went on. Nick Holt,” it was burned into Will’s memory.
Nick looked away and smirked; when he came back into the moment Will reached up and placed back
Nick’s straggling hair that never wanted to be anywhere but, in front of his eyes. Nick, with his free hand met Will’s wrist by his forehead, and pinned it against the closet door behind him, snapping it shut. Will was breathless. Nick pressed his lips to Will’s, both of them tasting of whiskey. Will jerked, but only for a moment before allowing Nick to do as he pleased.
With the bottle still in his hand, Nick continued to kiss Will and removed his other hand from Will’s wrist to begin to explore Will’s body. There was no thinking now as Will pushed away from the closet urging the two to stumble back to Will’s bed. They stopped long enough for Nick to take another swig from the bottle, set it down on Will’s desk, and now with free hands undo his fly.
As he had done that first night at the bar, Nick took complete control. He started stripping Will, pressing him down chest first on the bed as he climbed on top. Will muffled his breath and screeching moans into a pillow, in part to not let anyone else know what was happening and in part to not let Nick know his inexperience.
Done, Nick slipped on to one side of the bed. Will propped himself up with his head in his hands and his elbow digging into the now needed to be washed sheets.
“Name’s Will,” he said, looking up at Nick.
Still somewhat breathy Nick replied, “Nice to meet you.” The two laughed to themselves, then with each other.
“I have a girlfriend,” said Will.
“We all do.”
“What?”
Nick had put together Will’s inexperience early in the night, but did not care.
And this is how it went for three months. Will met Nick at gigs; Nick stood outside of Will’s dorm hall. Nick
introduced Will to the underground gay clubs of the east side, of Brooklyn and Queens. They danced, hard and sensual against the streaky nightlife lights and sweaty bodies, who were just like theirs. Nick spent nights teaching Will about music, sound, soul and rhythm; Will told Nick of his hopes and dreams of becoming a trauma surgeon overseas; if he could not stop the war in Vietnam, he would aide its victims. A pressure had been released on both of them: for Will, he cared about something beyond himself and his success and now Nick only played the ivory keys on weekends; his weeknights were too filled with Will.
The two created an oblivion between them where they saw, felt, and touched nothing else in the world, but each other, with only brief moments pulling them out. They found it hard to hide themselves in in public.
One day, making their way from the upper west side to Brooklyn the two had no choice, but to ride the subway. They caught the 1 train downtown; both stood against the train door. When they spoke, they did so in such proximity one could either think they were lovers or both hard of hearing.
“Take me to your place,” said Will.
Nick leaned in, so close he spoke into Will’s lips and nose. “Think I’m rollin’ with someone else? But, dear you are water turned to wine, I could want nothing more,” said Nick.
Will playfully pushed his hand against Nick’s chest; Nick moved his hand to meet Will’s in a loose holding of hands. Looking away from Nick to see what stop they were at, Will noticed eyes burning holes into him and Nick, each faced looked utterly disgusted with the two. At the following stop, a man pushed through Nick and Will, rougher that necessary followed by a mumble under his breath. They joined together again once the door closed, but this time when Nick came closer to Will, Will moved and pointed to two seats at the far back of the train.
Five months now. Will was set to graduate in a few weeks, Nick was still lapping up gigs where he could. They were in Will’s bed when they spoke of their lives to come; Miles Davis echoing off the turntable.
“I want to...to be with you after you finish” said Nick.
“I’ll be in California. You want to be in California, middle of nowhere with no license?”
“You are worth a license and nowhere with you is better than I ever thought I’d get,” Nick moved his bare
body on to Will’s.
Nick was serious and would not let the subject lie. He got frustrated by Will’s deflections each time he
brought it up.
“Prove it!,” shouted Nick in the middle of Washington Square park. “Tell me you love me, or I’m out.” “Would you stop. I don’t work for my money. My dad will cut me off, if I tell I lose everything,” said Will. “Nothing every distracts me from my music and I let you.”
Nicked stormed off, basically ran back to Brooklyn. He was upset, red cheeked and puffy. Meanwhile, Will
had went back up to Columbia. He didn’t want to lose Nick, but he couldn’t see their future the way Nick could. He found a way to buy himself some time, while still showing his commitment, for Nick. He walked passed the jazz club, passed his dorm and vigorously began knocking on a door.
Nick was now home, his dad in the chair, beer in one hand remote in the other. “Dad! Dad?”
Nick’s father turned to look at him.
“Son. Someone jump ya?” he said watching his tear, streaked son’s face.
“No. I got something to tell you.”
Back on the west side, the door behind Will’s fist opened. It was Jenny. He had seen her less in the past few
months, but she chalked it up to pre-med stress which was an understatement. Jenny went in for a kiss, but Will pulled back.
“I’m going to the other side of the country Jen. I think it’s time.”
He left Jenny sobbing on her bed. One person off his chest.
Nick was now hurriedly packing a backpack, shoving in as much as he could.
“No lip wrist musicians in my house. This ain’t even our house Nicky! The landlord sure to put us out there.
Send us both on our asses. You like that? Being on your ass? No. Not here. When you want to be a man, you knock on my door.”
Nick pushed passed his dad practically leaping over the tenement steps, floating to Will’s dorm.
“I broke up with Jenny. See? I told you, it’s just you,” Will said as Nick moved passed him to his bed. Will was so excited to give his news to Nick he failed to take notice of his bags, both in hand and under
watery eyes.
“I’m did it. I’m out” said Nick.
“You told your dad?”
“Yea. And I’m out. Pest control; don’t like fags. I mean, I knew but hoped but couldn’t keep hoping.” Will stood without words, just like the first time he had seen Nick.
“No Jenny, guess there is no reason you can’t stay here,” said Will.
In the summer months Will and Nick carried on as they had before that day. They made plans of their new
life in California. Will told Nick he’d come out to his dad and everything was moving along fine; rhythmic almost in their pattern. But, like any rhythm one note has to break pattern, to get to the next part of a song going; to change it, to move it along.
“I don’t think I have enough summer wear for a year. I’m gonna start lookin for clubs out there. Somethin’ to do when you’re being smart,” said Nick.
Two weeks before Stanford and Will knew he couldn’t keep up the lie any longer.
“He doesn’t know,” said Will.
They were on the subway, on their way back from one of their best nights out. Neither knew it would be their
last.
“Huh?”
“You can’t come to California. I’m going to the other side of the country.” And so Will went on to gave the same trodden talk he’d given Jenny months before.
“I think it’s time we—“ and just as Will was about to put an end to it all the train came to its next stop. Nick got up and walked off. Will did not chase him. He had too much to lose. It was time.
Mid-day. Fifteen years passed. Will now lived upstate; he was a general surgeon, had a wife and a son with another on the way. He went on like Nick had never happened, though he always knew he did. He never did anything or anyone with as much love as he had done Nick. Fifteen years since he had been with a man.
One night after work, Will went into the city. He went back to one of the underground clubs that Nick had brought him to, only to find it no longer existed. Defeated, Will made his way back to his car, prepared to drive home. He didn’t know what it was he was looking for. Then a tune caught his ear. Two blocks south. “My Funny Valentine.”Willcouldn’tbelievejazzlastedthislong,itwas1987. Hefollowedthetuneandstoppedin.Afterafew scans of the room, Will came up blank.
“You lookin for someone baby?” said a man by the bar.
He was dressed in mostly neon and glitter stroked his eyelids.
“No. Thank You.”
“Oh, I know your type. Shy?”
Who was this man and how did he know? Was it always that present on Will’s face? The unknown man
scribbled a number on a napkin. Just as Will got up to leave he brushed him with his foot.
“Not your type? Fine. Call this number, sure we got one for you,” and Will was on his way.
Will went home. He left the napkin in his car glove box. He looked to the glove box every day; on his way to
work, on his way home. One day during lunch, Will went out and made a call. “Yes? Hello? Yes, Hi. I was told to call this number if I want—“
“I know what you want baby,” said the voice on the other line. “Just tell me when and how you want it.” “I don’t—this was a mistake.”
“Hold on, hold on. What’s your type? I have a fit fella; 6ft blonde. 23.”
“Too young.”
“Ok. How about mid-thirties, dark hair with a little salt sprinkled in?” “Yes, yes. That’s fine.”
“Where am I sending, him honey?”
“East side motel, 8’oclock,” and Will hung up the phone.
The whole drive over to the city, Will’s chest felt heavy and his mind cloudy. He had made it to the hotel, 15 minutes early. Enough time to pour himself a drink. He needed to breathe.
A knock came at the door. The man’s back was turned at Will’s opening of the door; “You ready for me?” replied the man. He turned on his heels to face Will.
“William goddamn Shepard.” It was Nick.
As Will drove off back to security he could not yet bring himself home. He stopped at a local bar and decided to stay for the day. He grabbed a seat. “Bourbon,” he said and held up two fingers. “Make it dry.”
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