#thorn: tries to imitates but fails

[commanderfoxdeservesbetter]

Clone Wars Headcanon: Fox seeing Fives’ ghost

Fives trying to tell him about the chips and since Tup was following around Fives when he died, Tup also follows Fox around

Them both talking over each other and Fox bemoans to Thorn who doesn’t not believe him for seeing ghosts (he asks them questions and Fox tells Thorn their answers if they’re appropriate) but why follow Fox around?

Them seeing first hand the missions Fox goes on and when he is out under the chip’s control (hence his blackout), he doesn’t respond to them at all despite their calls.

It’s one of the most terrifying things they’ve ever witnessed

Tup spotting Dogma once and demanding Fox go talk to him his vod is alive?? Dogma is alive and in the Coruscant Guard?? but Dogma was reconned so when Fox greets him, he does so with a different name and Tup wishes he never asked in the first place

Them noticing how close Thorn and Fox are and when Thorn is sent to Scipio, Tup agrees to follow and look after him only to come back with Thorn’s ghost

Fox doesn’t learn from a report but when he wakes up from another blackout mission to see Thorn’s ghost hovering in his office

It’s a good thing his office is soundproof because his screams had all three of the ghosts crying, trying to reach out to him

Fox stops talking to the ghosts after that and they’re forced to watch as Fox continues to work despite the grief and the pain

They watch as he refuses to go to the medbay, stitching up his own wounds and washing the blood from his hands

The Senate building gets put on lockdown and they watch as Fox tries to save his men but he can’t save them all and Dogma who isn’t Dogma at all was one of the casualties and his ghost joins Fives, Tup and Thorn

They watch as he’s put under so much stress from Palps and the toll the blackout missions become, knowing what went on in the mission while Fox has no clue

They sit by him as he wakes up and starts over and over and over, as he fails over and over and can do nothing to save his men or his batchmates or the Jedi

They watch as he’s consistently tortured by Palps more often with words than electricity, as he’s consistently told what he’s doing wrong and degraded and humiliated for his actions, as he’s blamed for Senator’s dying while his Vod barely are mentioned

They can do nothing no matter how much they try; Thorn tries talking to Fox but he ignores him; Fives tries to move things but every attempt is unsuccessful; Tup tries to reach out the the Vod around him but no one can see them; Dogma is the only one who doesn’t do anything. He just sits next to Fox or hovers by while Fox does paperwork or stands to attention when listening to Palps or have a breakdown when things get too rough

Dogma knows what it’s like being alone so he just tries to offer him comfort but Fox thinks himself unworthy to have that so he tries not to acknowledge it but he can’t help but feel better knowing someone is there

They all watch in horror as Palps activates his chip and has Fox fight his batchmates, never hesitating, no mercy in his attacks and Cody making a decision that the others wouldn’t even fathom and going for a kill shot regardless that this is his vod’ika, his little brother who took on too much and shouldn’t have had too, the brother he did absolute anything for on Kamino including taking a hit that gave him his infamous scar, the vod who Cody try to shelter by placing on Coruscant but it just made things worse

They watch as Fox falls, hand coming up to his chest, a brutal imitation of Fives’ death and Cody can’t spare him a glance even when his other batchmates have already started screaming, forgoing the fight to catch Fox before he hits the ground, who are now unconcerned about Sidious as their brother is now dying

Cody can’t spare a glance because he needs to pick up where his batchmates left off in the fight - the Jedi are good but they need all the help they can get and Cody has to turn away to continue fighting Sidious no matter how much he wants to hold Fox like Wolffe is, place his hands in his chest to stop the bleeding like Rex is trying to do, brush his hair back and whisper reassurances like he can hear Bly and Ponds doing.

Cody always had to make the hard decisions and this is his punishment for not saving Fox sooner

Cody is loyal, too loyal, and it’s his downfall and he can’t turn back now as Fox softly calls for him no matter how much he wants to. This wasn’t his choice and his faith that used to be firm and unbreakable begins to crack and he can’t handle it so he shoves it down like how he unintentionally taught to Fox when they were younger and continues in his mission

The three ghosts get joined by another, the Commander of the Coruscant, and follow him as he goes to Cody, unwilling to leave his Ori’vod alone even in death

#star wars #tcw #the clone wars #commander fox #clone wars #commander thorn #commander cody #clone trooper dogma #arc trooper fives #clone trooper tup #wow this got sad

[twistedmusings]

Arabesque and Plie

A/N: I don't know why, as I crying trying to write my paper, I thought of my old ballet classes. There is such an intimacy in dancing a pas de deux with someone, especially with lifts, and such a tenderness when you see them communicate with just their faces...so I immediately put a twst spin on it. Warnings: Malleus and Leona trying to one up each other but failing because they are too focused on moving with you as one.

Malleus Draconia and Leona Kingscholar meet outside the gates of Ramshackle, only one of them being called out to meet you...how would they react when you ask them for some help?

----

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Malleus blinks as he looks at the dorm leader of Savannaclaw, the other glaring at him as they both met near the entrance of Ramshackle. Leona huffed and looked down at the package in Malleus’s hand.

“You brought a gift?”

“...I would think it is rather impolite to arrive at a dear friend’s house without a gift.”

Leona clicks his tongue as he pushes the gate open, forcing his way inside and refusing to look back at the dorm leader following him.

You really had gone and invited the lizard and not him? Where the hell did you get off? Here he was being decent enough to hand you the homework you had missed, after Vil forced him to do it, and you had gone and invited this cold blooded iguana to your place?

“Were you invited as well, Kingscholar?”

Wouldn’t he like to know.

“Mind your damn business, lizard, I’m just here on business.”

Malleus nods as he knocks on the door, both dorm leaders looking around as they heard music coming from...somewhere. Leona’s ears twitched as the door opened, the music getting somewhat louder as Grimm opened the door with an exhausted look and shaky paws.

“UGH! FINALLY.”

He floats over to Malleus as he points back at the entrance of Ramshackle.

“Please do something about them! My paws are hurting so much and I don’t think I can keep it up for much more!”

Blue eyes turn to Leona, Grimm tilting his head and looking at Leona up and down.

“...did you get los--”

“Just show me where the herbivore is.”

Leona spits out and makes his way into Ramshackle first, not looking back at the two as he looks around. He had never been in Ramshackle dorm but from what Jack told him it was simple and compact. His eyes had already spotted three great napping spots, which he would make use of the moment he handed you these damn papers, before he stepped into the foyer.

“Letting your pet open up the door for you now? Is the title of dorm leader getting to y--”

His teeth click as Leona shuts his mouth while his ears perked up at the growing intensity of the music in the room. Although, maybe that wasn’t the only reason they were up.

Eyes immediately went to your legs. .

The leg that was standing straight like an arrow seemed to not waver as the other extended itself out, one of your arms reaching outwards while you moved the other arm back so that your hand would press against your extended leg, the position imitating a sort of hunting bow as you held the position for as long as you could--

Leona jumped when you let out a breath, immediately dropping your position and spitting out a small ‘dammit’ into the air.

His surprise lasted only a moment as the mood was amazingly ruined by the two people he forgot were there, Malleus walking up behind him as Grimm took the snack filled box into the kitchen.

“Child of man.”

You turn around.

“Oh! Malleus! There you are! I need--”

Your eyes fall on the Savannaclaw dorm leader, tilting your head as he waits for his greeting.

“...do you need something from me, Leona-senpai?”

You little--

“Hah? Am I not allowed in your dorm? Only lizard boy over here can come over?”

“What? No! I’m just...surprised. You never really leave Savannaclaw that often, at least that is what Jack says.”

Leona tosses the papers on a nearby coffee table and lays himself out on your couch.

“He doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does...tell him next time to mind his business.”

You roll your eyes before holding out your hand for Malleus to take, the other quickly taking it and following you to the middle of the room.

“Grim mentioned you performing some sort of physical task that left him exhausted.” He looks down at the way your hands fit together before smiling.

“Are you in need of magical assistance?”

“As much as I would like to take a raincheck on that, the only thing I need right is you, Tsunotarou.”

You jump as you hear Leona drop one of his shoes on the floor loudly, taking the other one off slowly and refusing to look your way.

“...me?”

The Diasmonia dorm leader squeezes your hand lightly as he feels an unlikely warmth in his chest at your words. He briefly wondered if he should speak about the sleepless night he had, his mind far too giddy about you inviting him over that he held himself back on the sun waiting to rise in favor of sleeping as much as he could so he could enjoy his day with you.

“Yes! I just need you to…”

You hum and put a finger to your chin, tapping it twice as you figured out the best way to explain what you wanted from him.

“You know, I think it would just be quicker to show you.”

You rush over to the phone Crowley had given you, tapping the screen as music started to play from the small speakers. Malleus remains rooted to his spot as you get on your tiptoes, the shoes you got from Sam yesterday greatly aiding you in keeping comfortable as you move your arms up and down while concentrating on the routine you had memorized over and over.

Lime green eyes widen as you extend yourself back, dropping down to touch the floor as your other leg goes up with your movements before reaching back as if being held by someone. He watches you hold the position for a few seconds before both of your feet drop gently as you move closer to him.

Your eyes open to reveal a sad look, both feet now on pointed toes as you reach out to him only to pull back gently and lean forward only a slight bit before moving back and going into a simple arabesque.

The music grew in intensity as two sets of eyes are on you now, watching you spin twice before you raised your arms along with the crescendo and your leg going up to try to match their height--

You hiss in pain as you drop the position immediately, Leona sitting up quickly as Malleus is at your side in an instant.

“Child of man--”

“Are you trying to stretch yourself out, herbivore?”

You sigh and stop the music, shaking one of your legs out to get rid of the cramps.

“Before coming here I used to do ballet in my free time. I thought that maybe they would have a ballet club on campus but Vargas said he has never heard of ballet before--so here I am trying to kill my boredom by dancing to one of my old routines and putting a new story to it.”

Both dorm leaders want to say something but find themselves rather lost.

Malleus recognizes this type of dance despite it being called a different name in the Valley of Thorns and Leona has only been around traditional Afterglow dances so what you just did impressed him more than he’d care to admit.

You pout.

“And I thought that I could maybe do a pas de deux by myself but--I’m not strong enough.”

Leona nods.

“So you needed someone to help you...is that it?”

“Exactly!” you grin and turn to look at Malleus,“You don’t mind right? It’s not like you have to do anything too complicated just...spin me when I tell you to and when the time comes for me to do that pose--”

You try to imitate it as best as possible.

“Just hold my leg up! All you need to do.”

Malleus had pretty much already made up his mind, nodding to your every word as you instruct him on where he should hold and for how long--

Only for him to frown as Leona grabs your wrist and pulls you away from him.

“If you needed someone to just hold you still, you could have used that raccoon over there.”

“THEY DID!”

Grim comes out of the kitchen with a plate full of snacks as he makes his way upstairs.

“My paws are shaking from trying to keep their entire leg up...I never asked for this type of exercise!”

You sigh.

“It wasn’t that bad, Grim!”

“YOU WEREN’T THE ONE ALMOST GETTING SQUASHED WHEN YOUR LEG CAME

DOWN!”

Grim goes upstairs.

“AND DON'T EXPECT TO GET ANY SNACKS.”

Leona tries to speak up but stops when Malleus puts a hand on your shoulder.

“You were only here to deliver some homework, correct?”

He tugs you back lightly.

“You should be getting back to your dorm, Kingscholar.”

The lion prince growls only to grab your wrist and pull you back.

“You don’t tell me what to do, Malleus. If I wanted to live here I would do so instantly.”

“Uh...no?”

They both turn to you, Malleus looking down with a kind smile as Leona glares at what you were going to say next.

“Shall we get started, child of man?”

“I can help you just as well as he can!”

“Sit down for now, Leona-senpai?”

Malleus can’t help the smile on his face as you lead him back to the center of the room. You had called for him after all, Kingscholar was just here because...well he didn’t know.

You start up the music again and begin the routine, Malleus smiling all the while you seem to glide effortlessly through movements that seemed far too complicated for him to put together. One moment you were crossing your legs and the other you were stretching out your leg while balancing yourself in one foot.

He readies his arm as you move on tip toes towards him, giving him a gentle smile before turning your back to him and going into an arabesque.

“Grab my waist Mal and...gently spin me around.”

The dorm leader does as he is told, meeting your eyes and chuckling when you make a face at him.

“You said there was a story to this, child of man?”

You start moving backward, one leg stretching out and remaining steady as his hand now moved to your lower back so he could support some of your weight.

“The original story is somewhat cliched...so I was thinking of making it a story about an adventurer who meets a lonely king. They don’t know they are a king because he purposefully keeps it from them--I’m going to learn forward, okay?”

His hands are on your waist as you glide down, touching the floor with your foot as your other foot goes straight up, coming back up elegantly as you explain the plot further.

“The adventurer and the king spend a lot of time together...yet the king feels like if he reveals his secret now the adventurer would run. So he keeps it hidden until an unfortunate incident--”

You hold out your hand for him as you stand on your tiptoes, Malleus taking it and giving it a gentle squeeze before watching you raise one of your legs up so that it is at the same height as his stomach.

“Yet when it is revealed he finds that the adventurer doesn’t care who he is. All they care about is the person who they care for the most...and that is the king.”

Were you trying to tease him? This story sounded far too familiar. If he were to pick a character to relate to it would certainly be the monarch. While Malleus certainly wasn’t scared to show you who he was, he just wanted the mystery to last a bit longer so you would stay at his side. If you had known he was the Malleus Draconia, would you act as light hearted as you are now? Or would you pull away and cower in fear?

The very thought made him anxious as you turned your back towards him again, your hands raising up as you got ready to go into your big arabesque position. You give Malleus a quick cue as you stretch yourself out, your leg rising up as far as it could--only to lay gently against Malleus’s hand as you let out a sigh of relief.

“...do you think the adventurer would stay with the King?”

“Huh?”

Malleus can see he caught you by surprise as he lets your leg go down slowly, setting you back into first position before you once again stand on your tiptoes and put your hand up so Malleus could spin you around twice. At this point, he was entirely focused on where your hands were going and how you were moving, picking up on each cue as he dared to look into your eyes.

“I know this is your story but if the adventurer were to leave...the King would be rather heartbroken. I am certain that he would prefer if the adventurer were to stay.”

He knows he would prefer it if you stayed. And if he ever dared to be so bold, he would prefer that you stayed by his side.

The music fades out after the last note, Malleus still holding your hand as you try to catch your breath.

Had he said too much? Did he perhaps make you uncomfortable? The story was from your imagination and he was just reading far too into it--

His eyes widen as your other hand rests on top of his, looking at you with surprise as you giggle and pull them close to your heart.

“If the King would have them...I’m sure the adventurer could find a new home with him.”

“If you want to help then...fine.”

Leona smirks as he watches you apologize to Malleus, the other visibly disappointed which already made him feel pretty great. He hadn’t even meant to stay here for too long and yet you had picked him for this little dance of yours. Suck it, lizard.

He turns to look at you, watching your eyes staring at him intently as he leads you to the center of the room.

“What is it?”

“...do you think you can lift me up?”

Oh you were being really funny, weren’t you? Of course he could lift you up. Out of all of the Magishift members and out of all the people in Savannaclaw, he was the strongest one. At this point you were just asking stupid questions.

“Try me.”

You nod as you pick a different song, starting it up as you start out in first position with your back turned to him. He watched as you bend your leg and bring it up to your thigh, slowly unbending it and lifting it up as it goes past your head. Eyebrows raised, he goes to support it but you stop him with a sound.

What? Wasn’t that what he was here for? He watches you glide into every move with great precision, turning towards him with one foot as the other is raised halfway. In his opinion, it made you look like a living doll.

He wasn’t sure why he liked that so much.

You walk back towards him slowly, your hands at your side with your palms facing outwards before you do a single turn and speak up.

“Grab me by the waist and just hold me. I’ll tell you when to spin.”

With great effort, you lift up your leg once again and stretch out while giving him the command to gently spin you. Leona nods as his hold on you changes, turning you around slowly and watching you bend down sideways.

His hold changes from one hand to one, wrapping his arm around your waist as his other hand starts to outstretch to support him better. You come back up and smile as he gives you a shit eating grin.

“Did you expect that?”

“I almost don’t want to give you the satisfaction of an answer.”

Leona takes great care to make sure that his hold on you is as light as it can be. If he was holding onto you for dear life, he was sure that your bones would immediately break. And with the way this dance was going, it seemed that you needed him to be as gentle as possible.

Already a tall order for him.

“So what’s the story of this dance?”

He takes a hold of your waist as you stretch yourself out, both hands going outwards as he brings you back in slowly.

“The original is a bit cliche but...maybe I should make it about an adventurer trying to find a lost prince--I’m going to need you to lift me up over your head.”

You glide to the right before jumping up, Leona giving you the extra boost you needed as you put one leg up and your arms stretching themselves out as they briefly rubbed against his ears.

“Maybe the adventurer hears a story of a missing prince who was never seen again after a quarrel with his country, yet the country needed the prince’s plans in order to succeed in battle. So they asked an adventurer to please seek him out.”

A prince, huh?

He gently guides you down but his hands never leave your waist as you instruct him to keep his hold a bit tight as you stretch yourself out towards the other dorm leader sitting on the couch but being greedily pulled back to Leona.

“Unbeknownst to them, the adventurer had already met the prince. They had stopped the prince’s rather tedious plans to take over some foreign land. The adventurer understood why they would want him back...but they didn’t know if he would accept.”

You tell him that you are going to move forward and that when you do he should immediately lift you up. It is surprising that he follows your every move so effortlessly, but maybe he was just that in tune with what you were doing. It’s the first time he has held someone so closely without trying to cause them physical harm. Besides, it was amazing to see you remain composed and relaxed as he lifted you up into the air only to watch you hold your pose.

“So? Did the adventurer get to the prince?”

He turns your waist clockwise fast, making you spin around in four circles before stopping you as you lean forward and raise your leg up, the movements getting a bit faster as his hands went from looking at the back of your head to your waist.

“They did...but the prince told them that he just wanted to stay where he was now. How it wouldn’t be worth it to go back home after all the shameful things he has done.”

Leona can almost feel your determination as you pull away from him. Why would you pick a prince out of all people? And one of an outcast nonetheless. Were you still trying to call him out for his past mistakes? Was that all he was to you? The dorm leader who had tried to cheat his way to victory?”

You smile and hold out your hand, Leona raising his slowly and taking your as you raise your leg up.

“But the adventurer wouldn’t leave it there. They know what the prince is capable of...all they need to do is make sure that he sees it as well.”

A quick glide downwards as he picks you right up, setting you down on two feet before you resume your position on your tiptoes.

“The adventurer tells the prince that there are plenty of things that only he can do that nobody else can. Even if the crown wasn’t his, he would still hold great power over the decisions of his kingdom. One didn’t need to wear a crown to have great power.”

You turn your back towards him and start getting ready to go into your great arabesque position--!

Only to stop when Leona stands in front of you and goes down on one knee, staring at you in the eyes while you raise your leg up and instead of fully stretching yourself back...you merely lean down and rest your hands on his shoulders.

He may be lazy but he knows symbolism when he sees one. If you were to be the adventurer and he was the prince, he imagined himself staring up at you as you spoke words of comfort to him and him alone. The bastard in the story must be pretty lucky to have someone like the adventurer believe in them…

The music fades out slowly as you go back into first position, Leona scratching the back of his head with a bored look while you pick up your phone and stop the music altogether.

“First Vil and now you, everyone is making me work today.”

Leona can’t look at you in the face, not after he pulled that cliche sort of move. One moment of weakness and he was putting himself in the shoes and feeling jealous of a character that didn't even exist! When did he get so pathetic?

He mumbles a quick goodbye and heads out, deciding that he needed to nap for the rest of the day after that embarrassing moment--

“Leona-senpai!”

The dorm leader stops in his tracks, turning around with an annoyed look only for it to melt away as you trot over to him and smile.

“Mind if I call you in case I need your help again?”

Damn you. Damn you, damn you, damn you you made him so weak--

He leans close and grins before flicking your forehead.

“If you reward me properly then...maybe.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst imagines #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #twst mc #twst x reader #//I feel like this is so cheesy and self indulgent....but good Im glad it is ò uó

[kyun-toast]

[ATEEZ] Mafia!Hongjoong - Fateful

word count: 2.2k warnings: explicit language, gun use, death, mentions of alcohol summary: a feisty baby for a feisty scorpio a/n: I started writing this so loyal to mafia!ateez but now that I’ve watched kingdom, I’ve changed my mind - I wanna be a pirate hoe.

“You forgot your toothbrush.” You said, sat by the desk, arms crossed. “Good thing I didn’t finish unpacking right, you can take your shit just the way it came in the boxes, hmm?” You didn’t get angry very often due to the pure fact that your expectations for your boyfriend were so low at this point. The way that your words, let alone your face, held no emotion terrified the boy. He shuffled around your apartment, gathering his things with eyes to the ground in guilt.

“Can you hurry up? I have places to be.” You said, fingers massaging your temple.

Stopping in his tracks, the boy turned to you with pleading eyes for the nth time today, “Baby, I’m so sorry, please, I didn’t mean to hurt you like tha-”

“I’m sorry, what? You disrespected me, not hurt me, there’s a difference-”

“Why are you doing this to me? You know I love you.” He pleaded.

“Is that a serious question right now? You cheated with my assistant in your first week as intern at my firm, then tried and miserably failed to gaslight and manipulate me into believing your lies which I find pretty bold considering that I’m literally a lawyer. I respect the attempt though.”

“Baby, it was an acci-”

“No, shut up, I’m not done speaking. And you did this while I bought out this apartment for you because I felt bad for your sorry ass having to live with your dumb friends. I had to spoon feed you through law school and now through life too? You should be grateful that I’m letting you leave with all your things considering I bought them all too.”

He stood there with his hands gathered, staring back at the floor again.

“What. You got nothing to say? I thought so. You gonna leave now or what?” You questioned. He took his boxes, feet dragging across the floor to the door. You rolled your eyes as you closed the door on him. Before needing to look for a new intern and a new assistant, you needed a drink more than anything.

-

It was a regular Friday evening at the bar for Hongjoong and the boys. In celebration of Ateez’s successful expansion of their ‘business ventures’, Hongjoong had decided to spend the rest of the day at their usual spot. Despite having been set up for the sole purpose of laundering their dirty money, Bar 1117 was doing ironically well. Due to the nightlife business booming, Hongjoong had gained another alibi to keep him under the radar and he couldn’t be more comfortable with where his life was at.

“No, I reckon it’s Yeosang” San said, bringing the glass of whisky to his lips.

“I back that, he’s not got the emotional capacity for it.” Woo agreed, laughing.

“Yeah, just because I don’t take any of your shit doesn’t mean I’ll do the same to my wife. I bet Mingi. He’s definitely getting married last.” Yeo rebutted.

“What wh-”

Before Mingi could finish, Seonghwa cut through, “Considering our line of work, no one’s gonna be getting married any time soon. Right Joong?”

Turning to the leader of the boys, Seonghwa saw that Hongjoong had his head turned away from the conversation, eyes scanning up and down a figure at the bar. Hongjoong was never a man to be distracted by anything or anyone, always focused on his business so it was a rare occurrence for him to be looking so intently at a person. The boys catching onto this, they followed his gaze to a man sat so close to the lucky person’s face, his facial expressions showing his desperation for a way to break down their walls.

“This might be interesting…” Wooyoung smirked.

-

“I genuinely couldn’t care less.” You said, head cocked to the side in your hand, staring dead straight into the man’s eyes. However, the man had no intention of ever stopping his speech as he sat next to you at the bar.

“Come on, you really don’t know my father? He was in today’s paper?” He carried on as you zoned out of the conversation and occasionally cringed at the man’s stale breath, wondering how many more men were going to be responsible for the deepening wrinkles between your brows. As you took a sip from your drink, you locked eyes with a blonde-haired man across the room. His features were delicate yet sharp like the thorn of a rose, or a shard of glass, eyes twinkling with mischief. He raised his glass at you and smirked, amused by the situation that you were in.

“Listen here, bitch-” The man grabbed your wrist, forcing your attention back to him, “You’re gonna take the drinks I buy you, listen when I speak and sit pretty like a woman is supposed to.” He spat.

“Grrrr, scary.” You crudely imitated the growl in the man’s voice, still uninterested, “What a man your mother raised. I bet she’s proud, hmm?”

Anger radiating from the man’s body, he grabbed the glass out of your hand and threw it at the wall behind you, missing your face by inches.

“Oh, so now you’re going to scare me into sleeping with you? You need to brush up on some people skills.” You laughed, throwing you head back. You only composed yourself to grab the man’s collar, causing him to stumble off his stool. “You want to throw another glass at me? Try it.”

You hadn’t noticed the blonde-haired man stroll up to your table seeing that you were so caught up in the situation.

“Hi, I’m Hongjoong. How’s your night going? Anything I can help you with?” He asked, rubbing his hands together, surprisingly composed despite the mess. You let go of the man as the name triggered something in your head, remembering it being mentioned a few times behind closed-door meetings with your father.

“Are all the whores around here like this? I came here for some fun and this is how I’m treated? Fuck this place and every one of you here.” The man started at Hongjoong. You sat there, curling your fists ready to punch the man this time but Hongjoong noticed and interjected.

He placed his hands on the ledge of the table, leaning forward to obstruct the space between you and the man. As he did, you noticed the glimpse of a gun hanging from inside his fitted jacket, the slick shine of the metal winking at you in the light.

“I’d rather die than come to this shithole again.” The man carried on and you noticed the mischievous glint that was once in Hongjoong’s eyes finally fade to black.

“Oh, sure thing, I don’t think I want to see you here again anyway.” Hongjoong muttered and what happened in the next few seconds flew by so fast it barely registered in your brain.

The blonde-haired man reached into his jacket to pull the handgun out and shoot the man clean between the brows. At the same time, you pointed the small pistol you always kept concealed on your body at Hongjoong in reflex, having been taught to react to the sound of gunmetal in this way since you were a child.

Once you realised that the bullet wasn’t intended for you, you sensed seven pairs of eyes trained on you. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw that the boys once sat at Hongjoong’s table were all stood up, half of their guns out pointed to the man, and the other half at you, the next possible threat to their leader.

It was then that you realised that this man was the leader of Ateez, Seoul’s biggest underground organization responsible for the running of the city. It may have been politicians and businessmen in the spotlight, but behind the curtains, it was Ateez pulling at their puppet strings.

“Easy with that, angel.” Hongjoong turned to you smiling and raised a hand at the boys to lower their weapons. He continued chuckling, “I felt like you might have an attitude, but I didn’t expect this from you.”

As if it were a regular occurrence, two barmen came round to dispose of the body and your eyes followed, gun still pointing at the blonde man. Using the tip of his fingers, he gently lowered your gun to point at the floor.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, “I know some people that can sort that out.”

“Yeah those people are my paralegals paying off police in their missing persons hunts and forging their death certificates.”

Everything had fallen into place for you in that brief encounter. You knew that your father and his firm were involved in some dark business, but you never questioned it. Respecting your father’s wishes in telling you that keeping you in the dark was keeping you safe, you let it go.

However, it was only a few years ago that he had begun to tell you about his private dealings as consigliere to the organisation Ateez. That recently, his age-old friend had stepped down as mob boss and handed everything down to his son. Chuckling at how much he saw the image of his friend in the young blood, he mentioned that you would be in a similar position, that you too would be handed the law firm and become consigliere by tradition.

You had always expected to take up this mantle since you were young, as you figured that the men coming to your house for private meetings while you played in the garden did not treat you with unparalleled respect for no reason. You just didn’t realise that it would mean for you to be so heavily tied with the illicit world of the mafia then.

From then on, you trained close by your father’s side, learning the ins and outs of the world of jurisdiction, though you were never exposed directly to the ongoings with the mafia as your father had said, “the time will come when it needs to.”

“Then I guess today is the day.” You whispered to yourself smiling, you held your hand out to Hongjoong. “I’m Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my father has always spoken very highly of you.”

Confused at first, a spark was ignited in Hongjoong as the shine returned to his eyes, and the amused smirk to his lips, your name triggering something in him. Realising that you were the daughter to one of the men he most respected in his life, he took your hand and brought it to his face to kiss gently, “And it’s a pleasure to meet you too, I’ve heard a great deal about you as well, but who knew my future right-hand man would be so hot.” He said as he flashed a sly smile.

The more he observed, the flames within Hongjoong only grew as he could sense the fire in you too. The most beautiful person he had ever set eyes on was to be his consigliere? Couldn’t be any more perfect. He wondered what more you could achieve together and pictured only pure wildfire.

“You better watch your mouth Mr. Kim, unless you want to start a war between the family before I even take up my position.”

“Of course, I have nothing but respect for you and your father. I was told that I wouldn’t be meeting you until he was to step down from his position, but I guess my lucky stars have aligned perfectly tonight.”

“Also, I’m more than capable of dealing with these things myself, there was no need for you to play knight in shining armour.”

“Sure, holed up in your guarded palace of a law firm, you’ve never had experience in the real world. Things are different here and what happened at this bar is just the cusp of it, princess.” He rebutted voice dripping honey, flirting his way through the conversation.

“But who is it advising your every action and saving your asses in the courtrooms, hmm?”

You and Hongjoong continued to jab at each other while the boys sat back in disbelief at the situation. Common people would have run the other way as soon as a gun was shot in their vicinity. So for you to have pulled one out in retaliation and furthering that, started arguing with their Captain, it was a sight to see.

“Bets on who’s going to win this one?” Yunho broke the silence.

“I’m betting tonight’s drinks on the lady.” Mingi said, throwing his black card onto the table.

“Me too, Hongjoong hyung looks too smitten for pride games right now.” Jongho agreed.

“Looks like we’ve got our first to tie the knot then.” San chuckled, nudging at Wooyoung who replied, “Hmmm, she doesn’t look like the typical housewife type though.” Analysing the unmatched confidence exuding from your body language.

Soon after, Hongjoong led you to the table of boys, pulling a chair out for you.

“Guys, this is Y/N L/N, future consigliere to Ateez, and not to mention, my future wife.” He smirked, eyes glowing.

“Carry on and I’ll be future Captain by regicide, Hongjoong,” you shot him a glare as you took your seat, “considering our fateful encounter, it looks like I’ll be seeing you more often with my father now, I hope we can get along.”

You poured yourself a glass of whisky and smiled while Hongjoong could already sense the eventful days ahead with none other than you by his side. -

Mafia AU Masterlist

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #kim hongjoong #hongjoong oneshot #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong #mafia!ateez #ateez mafia au #mafia ateez #ateez mafia #ateez headcanons #Hongjoong au #ateez au #ateez fanfic #ateez x y/n #ateez x reader

[vincess-princess]

war?

Fandom: Motley Crue Characters, pairings: minor Nikki Sixx\Vince Neil, Nikki Sixx, Vince Neil, Tommy Lee, Mick Mars Rating: Teen so far, may change in the future Warnings: displays of extreme radiation poisoning, violence, unreality (so far) Summary: The boys go into a post-nuclear war-themed quest room, but is it really just a quest room?

idea by @dopefreshprincess, thank you so much for giving me inspiration <3

Chapter 1/?

Word count: 8059

“Wow!” Tommy looked around, eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is sick!”

Nikki did not reply, as did the others were gaping silently at the landscape extending in front of them. Escape room managers always tried to assure them of the reality of the experience, but the layout of all the escape rooms they visited before could be usually proved fake, sometimes by smallest of details. Not this one, though: the desolate, ravaged, post-nuclear war landscape looked uncannily real. They could even feel the hot breeze in their hair, bits of sand carried by it scraping their skin.

A desert sprawled in front of them, the ceiling that imitated the sky painted pale orange, no clouds, the lamp replacing the sun emitting so much heat Nikki could already feel droplets of sweat sliding down his back. Here and there bare, skeletal-looking trees stretched their branches up towards the sky – they barely reach the group’s waists, but trailed along the ground for meters. The only other plant around was spiky grey grass with frail stems. Nikki kneeled in front of one of them, trying to understand how it managed to grow through a completely dry, hardened soil. Wait, that’s a fake, he reminded himself. It was probably made of rubber and just stuck into the ground, it didn’t need no water.

Nikki reached out and tried to tear the plant out of the ground, but quickly drew his hand back with a hiss. The stem had little hair-thin thorns, sharper than needles. A few of them pierced through his skin and got stuck in his finger. Fuck, those sure as hell weren’t rubber.

“Huh?” Vince turned his head, distracted from fascinatedly observing the location by Nikki’s hiss. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Nikki said quickly, knowing how sharp-tongued Vince was. “Just got a splinter.”

“Are you gonna survive?” Vince inquired in a serious tone, but with a sly smile on his lips.

“I hope so,” Nikki muttered, trying to be angry at the mocking smile Vince shot him and failing miserably. “Careful with these things. They’re damn realistic.”

“Told you, these guys make the best escape rooms I’ve ever been in,” Mick said. He was the only one to remain relatively unimpressed, though his gaze lingered on the sand dunes a little bit longer than needed. “It’s gonna be a real survival quest, so buckle up.”

“Ain’t no quest too hard for us,” Tommy grinned. “Let’s set a world record on this one, lads.”

“Hell yeah!” Vince joined him, eyes sparkling. “The harder, the more fun!”

Mick rolled his eyes in exasperation. “That’s why you two absolutely can’t have nice things. You’re on a thin fucking ice, Sixx,” he added, side-eyeing Nikki.

“Hey, I haven’t even said anything!”

“I know you well enough.”

Nikki huffed with annoyance, but purely to keep face. He knew, of course, that Mick was right.

“Are we setting off at last?” Tommy was practically jumping with excitement. “Come on, come on, you snails!” he waved his hands in an inviting gesture. “Could you speed up a little?”

“We ain’t in a hurry,” Mick cut him down, but carefully stepped off the platform that took them to the location. The platform rose up swiftly and disappeared in the sky. Nikki traced it with his eyes. They would not be able to call it back, only in an extreme emergency, and the level of emergency was going to be decided by the quest room staff, who were supposed to watch the travelers constantly. In reality, though, when Nikki peeked into the security room half of the cameras weren’t working, and the only guard there was too busy playing his new Nintendo switch. So they couldn’t really count on staff; from now on they had to complete the quest to get out. Usually it added to the thrill, but now Nikki’s guts felt uneasy at the thought.

“Hm.” Mick stomped his foot on the ground. “The sand is very thin. We shouldn’t have any problem walking.”

“Then let’s walk!” Vince called, fidgeting in his place. “I wanna see the destroyed city replica! Is it gonna have real radiation there?”

“You ask me? Boy, I’ve never been here. I can only tell you what Chris told me, and he never mentioned it. Everything is possible. Do you even know where the city is?”

“It’s gonna show up eventually anyway, no?” Vince tilted his head. “The quest zone is not that big.”

“Why are you so sure?” Mick raised an eyebrow. Nikki could feel frustration radiating off him. He probably wanted to make every second of this adventure worthwhile instead of speedrunning it. “Besides, you ain’t getting to no goddamn city without supplies and gear.”

“Aren’t they in the backpacks?” Vince frowned, then pulled his backpack off his back. The easiness with which Vince tossed it around was suspicious, like it carried no weight whatsoever.

Nikki weighed his own backpack with his arm and a cold shiver ran down his spine. How could he not notice how light it was?

Meanwhile, Vince had already opened his bag, and his eyebrows arched in surprise.

“There ain’t nothing there!”

“The hell-“ Nikki pulled at the zip and tore the backpack open. His bad feeling proved right - it was empty.

“Mine too!” Tommy shoved his hand inside, feeling the material up as if trying to find secret pockets there. The thin, chip fabric of the backpack couldn’t hide any pockets within it even with the most intricate design.

“Same thing”, Mick pursed his lips, having checked his. “Shit’s getting interesting.”

“The hell we’re gonna do without supplies? We are in a desert!” Tommy exclaimed, throwing his backpack to the ground with frustration. “We paid for an empty backpack?!”

“What, the quest suddenly too tough for ya?” Mick snorted, but then his face softened at Tommy’s helpless expression. “Relax, kid. They ain’t gonna let their clients die. We’ll probably find supplies along the way.”

“They probably aren’t gonna just lie there in the middle of a desert, though,” Nikki said. He could understand Tommy’s disappointment – the quest from the average difficulty just switched to expert, and Tommy was never the one to enjoy meticulous resource-gathering instead of fighting and cracking codes. He, however, didn’t seem to share Tommy’s feelings – instead, he could feel anticipation building up in his chest. This was gonna be a real test of character, and he was gonna show everyone he could pass it. Especially Vince.

“No shit, Sixx,” Tommy murmured, still worked-up, but relaxing slightly. “Then where the hell are we supposed to find them? We don’t even have a map.”

“Hey, quit whining,” Vince joined in. He didn’t seem to be upset in a slightest, though his flippant smile disappeared from his lips. “Nikki is right. We gotta find a city or some settlements. They must be full of lost stuff. And we’ll get a shelter from the heat.” He wiped sweat off his forehead, caught Nikki’s gaze and smiled with corners of his mouth. When he turned away, Nikki smiled back.

“Well, I’ll look at y’all after a couple of hours walking through the desert,” Tommy muttered indignantly, but didn’t continue his rant. He went to a big rock a few feet away and plopped onto it with a grim expression. Mick, Nikki and Vince exchanged looks.

“Okay, so what are we doing now?” Vince asked in a low voice. “I’m already thirsty. Where’s that city of theirs? Mick?”

“Don’t ask me,” Mick waved his hand. “I haven’t been here before, remember? I just know that it exists. I don’t think it’s that far away, though. The zone can’t be bigger than a day or two of walking. The building didn’t look that big to me from the outside, at least.”

“These plants probably have some water in them, like cactuses,” Nikki nodded at the grey spiky grass. “You could try sucking on them-“

“No, thanks, I’m not that desperate,” Vince interrupted him, rolling his eyes. “So what, we’re looking for a city?”

“Well, you’d rather stay here?” Mick raised his eyebrow. “No? Good. I swear, a little bit more of this senseless talk and I’m leaving without you.” He turned his back to them and headed forward, not sparing them a single look.

“Why is he so pissy?” Vince muttered to Nikki.

“Angry because of the supplies?” Nikki shrugged in response and looked back at Tommy, who was still sitting on the rock with his back turned to the rest of the world. He seemed to hunch, looking at something on the ground. “Hey, T-bone! We’re leaving!”

“Uh-huh,” Tommy murmured, not paying them any attention. What, was he refusing to come with them?

Well, that was getting ridiculous.

“T-bone!” Nikki approached him and not so gently slapped him on the shoulder. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” Tommy looked up at Nikki distractedly. “Nik, do you think this map is supposed to have enemies?”

“I’m gonna be disappointed if it doesn’t” Nikki grinned. “But probably not in the middle of a desert. Maybe in the city. But we’d be supposed to find weapons for them, wouldn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded and rose up from his rock. “Where we going?”

“Looking for the city,” Vince said from behind Nikki’s back. “We’re pretty sure it’s somewhere close.”

“You’re sure,” Tommy made a dissatisfied face. “Okay, if you’re so sure, let’s go there.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass today,” Vince told him, but with no malice in his voice. “How’d you survive in a real apocalypse? Y’know, when there are no supplies lying around, prepared specifically for you?”

“Well, there ain’t gonna be no apocalypse in my lifetime,” Tommy shook his head, picked up his backpack and headed after Mick, who was already a tiny silhouette against the orange skies and seemingly had no intention of waiting for them.

The thin layer of sand was easy to walk on, and their heavy boots prevented them from getting sand between their toes. What they weren’t preventing them from, however, was the heat. The lamp imitated the sun a little bit too well; as it traveled across the sky (Nikki wondered if it was fixed on a rope or if some mechanism did the moving), it became hotter and hotter. Soon their jackets were off, and their t-shirts were soaking wet.

“How long has it been? Two hours?” Vince asked, fanning himself with his stupid cowboy hat that Nikki hadn’t managed to talk him out of wearing. “I swear, if we don’t find water soon, I’m gonna drink my own piss.”

“I can offer you another, much more nutritious fluid-“ Nikki was interrupted by a backpack flung at his face and barely managed to duck in time. “Hey, you could’ve just said no!”

“I’d rather die of thirst,” Vince promised gloomily, but before he turned away, Nikki caught a glimpse of a smile on his face. He sped up to catch up with Mick. Nikki didn’t want to march forward alone, so he slowed his pace, waiting for Tommy.

“What kind of enemies do you think we’re gonna encounter?” Tommy asked him, somewhat anxious.

“No clue, dude,” Nikki said carelessly. “Some mutated rabid rats? Mad scavengers? I hope it’ll be mad scavengers. The robots we were shooting last time were too predictable.”

“And the weapons?” Tommy didn’t seem relieved by his words in a slightest.

“I hope paintball guns – so you can see when you hit someone, y’know. Laser guns are too glitchy.”

“You think it will be just actors?” Tommy shot him a glance. Nikki frowned. Why was he so worked-up anyway? They were on a quest, they were supposed to have fun, not worry.

“Of course. Do you think they’re gonna release actual animals on us or something? That’s just a game.” Nikki shook his head at Tommy when he opened his mouth again, no longer willing to answer weird questions. “Come on, let’s catch up with those two. Or they’ll find loot earlier than us and will take all the alcohol.” He grabbed Tommy’s arm and pulled him forward. Tommy followed, like a puppet obeying every twitch of its master’s fingers.

Half an hour later, literally nothing changed. The sky was the same sickish orange; the sand was crumpling under their boots with barely audible crunching sounds. The tension was hanging in the air like fog, enveloping their little group whole, getting more and more thick. The frown on Mick’s face deepened with every their step.

“I swear, if I knew how fucking big it would be…” he began.

“Hey, hey, no need to apologize,” Nikki interrupted him.

“I wasn’t,” Mick flashed him an irritated glance. “I wanted to say I’d tell Chris to stuff his recommendations up his ass. I fucking knew he’s a survival games junkie. He gets a kick out of harsh conditions. Unlike me.” He stopped so suddenly Tommy almost collided with him. “That’s it. We’re making camp here.”

“Not that we have anything to make that camp with,” Tommy murmured, but wilted under Mick’s stern gaze. “You can sit on your backpack,” he suggested hastily. “Or on that rock over there-“

“Um, guys,” Vince, who wandered away during their conversation, spoke up from where he was bending over to the rock Tommy offered Mick to sit on, “you need to see this.”

“What’s that?” Mick shuffled towards him. When his gaze landed on the rock, his eyebrows flew up. “Holy shit.”

Mick and Vince’s troubled faces evoked a bad feeling in Nikki’s gut. The feeling of wrongness that hatched in his stomach ever since they discovered the backpacks were empty raised its head again, making him shiver. He almost didn’t step forward to look at the rock, almost turned away. Almost.

Run, the rock said in uneven, shaky handwriting, probably done with chalk, probably in a hurry. Run.

“What the hell?.. Nikki raised his head to meet Mick’s gaze, knowing he had no explanation for this, but still nurturing a stupid little spring of hope that the smartest of them, the oldest of them would be able to explain it. But Mick’s face showed nothing but bewilderment. And… what was that?

Tommy approached them quietly from the back, read the inscription and inhaled sharply through his teeth with a hiss. He said nothing. It was weird, but not weirder than this entire fucking thing.

“It’s a joke, right?” Vince said in a shaky voice. “It must be a joke.”

“I’d love to tear off the arms of whoever wrote this and shove them up their ass,” Mick muttered disgruntledly. “Not funny at all.”

Nikki just nodded, kneeling in front of the rock. He rubbed the word with his thumb, wanting to see if it could be erased easily. His thumb got a little dirty, but the writing remained intact. Nikki licked his finger and tried again, to no avail.

“That’s not chalk,” Mick said, frowning. “It would erase. Why the hell didn’t Chris tell me about this shit? Maybe he did it?..”

“I don’t think so,” Tommy said suddenly. “It looks old.”

“And the sky is orange here, do you think it really is in real life?” Mick cut him off angrily. Tommy bit his lip and stared at the ground, fidgeting with something in his hands. “It’s probably just a prank by another visitor. Well, good job, asshole, now you’ve got everyone worked up.” He turned his back to the rock. “Dunno about you, but I’m not gonna stand around this goddamn rock all day. We still need to get supplies somehow.”

“Yeah, right,” Nikki nodded, getting up and lining up with Mick. “Let’s go, guys. It’s getting late.”

“I’ve heard deserts get super cold at night,” Vince remarked. “We better find a shelter by the time the sun sets.”

They set off again, but the decisiveness that floated in the air when they just entered faded. Instead the tension and frustration returned, and there was a new one now - fear. The latter was completely illogical, Nikki tried to persuade himself, but all in vain – the icky cold lump in his stomach remained, gaining more thorns the more Nikki thought about the writing on the rock. Fuck, he definitely needed a drink. He could only hope the supplies would have alcohol – they usually did, allegedly for medical purposes.

Nikki didn’t know how much time passed. Maybe half an hour, maybe more. It was hard to determine with the sky the same orange color, the “sun” invisible behind thick clouds. Eventually, though, it began to get colder – Nikki only realized that when he caught Tommy shiver. Already sulky, Tommy now looked like a ruffled chick that just fell out of the nest.

Nikki was already thinking about suggesting calling it a night and making camp where they were when Vince broke the gloomy silence.

“There’s something ahead.”

Nikki squinted, staring forward. Against the sky, now reddish as the “sun” was setting, was a group of silhouettes.

“Those might be just mountains,” Mick said, barely trying to cover the exhaustion in his voice.

“They’re too upright for mountains,” Vince shook his head. “The sides are too flat. And anyway, that would be better than spending the night in the middle of a fucking desert. My throat is dry as a fucking sandpaper.”

“Whatever,” Mick threw his hands up. “We ain’t got nowhere else to go anyway.”

They headed towards the shadows in the distance. Although none of them was ready to say it, reaching something after an entire day full of sand already felt like a small victory. They might even find a cave to sleep in there, Nikki mused. Now even a rough rocky mountain soil was better than getting sand in their asses.

But as they drew closer it became clear those were no mountains. Though destroyed and decayed, those were buildings. Soon they reached a road – battered and covered in sand, but a road nevertheless.

“Hell yeah!” Vince smiled triumphantly. “Told ya we’re getting there!”

“Okay, okay, don’t forget to mark this date down. It’s not often that you turn out to be right,” Mick grumbled, but relief in his voice was obvious. Vince rolled his eyes, but did not say anything in return – maybe didn’t want to spoil the mood. Even Tommy cheered up. They sped up to reach the city before the night set.

It turned out to be farther than they imagined, and when they did reach the city, it was already night. Just as Vince said, the heat was soon replaced by freezing wind, so they weren’t feeling picky and headed to the first building on their way. The left half of it lay in ruins, concrete mixed with metal, crooked metal rods sticking out of the walls that were still standing. Nikki touched the concrete – it was cold and coated his fingertips in dust. The right half, though, remained relatively unharmed, apart from shattered windows. It even still had a door intact.

“With our luck, I won’t be surprised if the door is locked,” Mick muttered as he touched the door handle with uncertainty. It easily yielded under his touch. He carefully pushed the door.

A musty smell enveloped them, the dust in the air making them cough. It was dark inside, and the windows didn’t provide enough light to make out details – the night was moonless, and there were no stars in the sky, - but this just made the image more uncannily real. How did they make the dust covering the floor look like it hasn’t been touched in ages while the building probably had visitors the very night before them?

“I can’t fucking see anything,” Mick grumbled somewhere ahead. “Should’ve brought headlights.”

“There must be at least some loot in here,” Nikki tried to cheer him up. “Maybe there’ll be flashlights.”

“There might just as likely not be any,” Mick sighed. “But at least we won’t have to sleep in a freezing wind. Though it’s not much warmer here either, those goddamn windows-“

A loud crash followed by a yelp interrupted him. Mick and Nikki shot each other alerted looks and sprinted towards the source of the sound. In the corner of the room, there was a hole covered by a thin sheet of metal – apparently not strong enough to hold a man’s- Vince burst into the room, waving around a metal rod in his hand that he probably pulled out of a broken wall, - not strong enough to hold Tommy’s body weight. Nikki plopped onto his knees and peered into the hole. Vince grabbed him by the collar, to make sure he wouldn’t fall. It was so dark down there they couldn’t even see the floor.

“Drummer, you alright?” Mick called out anxiously, staring into the darkness of the hole intensely. A second of silence felt like an hour, Nikki’s heart skipped a bit. Then Tommy spoke from down there.

“Yeah… I think.” They listened intently to the rustling and creaking from down there as Tommy tried to get on his own two feet. “I’m al- oh, shit!” something heavy fell onto a metal sheet with a loud clatter.

“T-bone?” Nikki called again, but received no response. A little lump of anxiety in his stomach reminded of itself again as it began to unravel. “Tom, fucking say something!”

“Fuck,” Tommy finally hissed. “My knee hurts as shit.”

“Broken?” Vince tried to catch a look of Tommy, but the view of the hole was obstructed by two dark messy heads.

A few pained breaths later, Tommy replied. “No, I don’t… think so.”

“Can you stand?” Nikki jumped up, looking around the room for a ladder, or a rope, or, at least, a wooden bar to put into the hole. But the room was barren, apart from a few chairs looking like they would turn to dust the moment they’re touched, ruined bookshelves with burned black books scattered across the floor, and a broken computer standing on the only remaining desk.

The desk had three drawers and a cabinet. The cabinet was locked. The drawers were mostly empty, one even had a couple of dead cockroaches in it. Nikki almost overlooked a little cylindrical object in the corner of the lowest drawer. He carefully touched it. The surface felt like cheap plastic.

Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a flashlight. Nikki fidgeted with it for a bit and found a button, which he carefully pressed. The first couple of seconds it wasn’t lighting up Nikki’s heart skipped a bit; but then a weak ray of light shone through the dirty glass.

“Guys! Look what I found!” He dashed back to the hole, where Mick and Vince still stood, quietly discussing something. Tommy’s voice from down there joined them occasionally.

“A flashlight?” Mick raised an eyebrow. “And that’s all?”

“Well, do you want a stage projector instead?” Nikki snapped back. “This is better than nothing. Tommy, can you walk?”

“Not sure,” came a muffled reply. “Gimme a sec… Ouch.”

“So no?” Nikki frowned.

“Well, I can stand, but it hurtsб” Tommy reported. “Not sure about walking. I can’t see a thing, and there’s so much debris here, I don’t wanna break a leg on one of them.”

“Well, then I’ve got you covered, pal.” Nikki showed him a flashlight. Tommy squeezed his eyes, trying to make out what Nikki was holding. Then he beamed.

“Man, that’s great! It’s definitely a part of the quest, so we’re on the right track! Give it to me, I’ll try to look around.” He caught the flashlight thrown by Nikki. “Eh, man, they could have put better props here. This one looks like it’s from a gas station.”

“What, you think they would give you top-tier gear here?” Mick raised his eyebrow. “Be thankful for what you have.”

“Hey, don’t be so bitter,” Vince stood up for Tommy. “For all the money they get, they could have bought better props as well. This thing looks like it may kick the bucket at any moment.”

Nikki decided not to listen to their banter anymore. “Look for a ladder, or at least a rope,” he told Tommy and moved away from the hole to walk one more time around the room in case he missed something. He tried to sit in a chair, but it cracked so threateningly under him he decided not to tempt fate. Then he turned to bookshelves. Books were often used to hide clues; maybe that was the case here as well?

However, most books were burnt and battered. Nikki opened one, but the pages were so dark the text was unintelligible. Some of them were glued together, others torn. It was just another fucking prop, Nikki realized, flinging the book into the wall in frustration. Just a waste of a good book-

The book crashed into the wall and fell onto the floor, pages flying around. One of them was significantly lighter than the others. It landed right next to Nikki’s feet, as though inviting him to pick it up.

Well, Nikki rolled his eyes, for sure that wasn’t supposed to be a clue or something like that, not at all.

He picked up the piece of paper and turned it upside down. On it a few numbers were written, in ornate, neat handwriting. Must be a password or something. But for what?

Nikki turned around, and his gaze fell on a seemingly dysfunctional computer. Why did he assume it was dysfunctional first hand?

Nikki carefully touched the keyboard sprinkled with dust. They really did a good job making everything look old and abandoned. He pressed the space key, then ran his fingers along the keys, pressing many at once – no reaction. Then he reached out for the turn-on button. Also no reaction.

Oh well, it wasn’t going to be as easy as this, after all. Nikki stuffed the paper piece in his pocket and returned to the hole, where Mick and Vince conversed lazily. Judging by the occasional streaks of light landing on the walls, Tommy was exploring down there.

“Oh, hey, guys, it’s pretty nice in here!” he shouted, attracting their attention. “Is that a fucking potbelly stove?”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Well, I’ve only seen those in movies but it does look like one. And what are those…” his voice quietened for a few seconds as he was fussing with something. “Guys! There are sleeping bags here!”

“Really?!” Vince would have dove into the hole headfirst if not for Mick who grabbed him unceremoniously by the collar. “Hey, what the fuck, man?!”

“Who the fuck is gonna drag you two up then? My back won’t let me, you want Sixx alone to do it?”

“Well, if there are sleeping bags, then there must also be a ladder or something,” Vince muttered, ashamed. “Isn’t it clear that’s a checkpoint?”

“No, it isn’t,” Mick cut him off. “Not until we find a lad-“

“I found rope!” Tommy’s jubilant voice rang through the building. Mick, stopped mid-sentence, pursed his lips.

“Hey, Mick, do you think I should start a notebook to mark down when I’m being right?” Vince patted his shoulder, grinning. Mick shook his hand off.

“Bring it here,” Nikki said, looking around for something to fix the rope on. The table seemed sturdy and heavy enough, but they all were grown adult men as well. Nikki headed over to the table and tried to move it, to no avail. Maybe it was screwed to the floor for this very purpose.

“Hey, we can fix the rope to the table over here, if it’s long enough,” he suggested.

“Might work.” Mick glanced towards it and nodded. “Though I’m not a keen rope-climber…”

“Me neither,” Nikki tried to reassure him. “I always failed at it on the P.E. lessons”

“You had rope climbing on your P.E. lessons?” Mick raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Schools sure have geared up since I graduated.”

“We also jumped a bench,” Nikki recalled, “and did pull-ups on a bar. Oh how I hated it.”

“Y’all are spoiled,” Mick murmured. “All we had were a ball and the teacher’s whistle. A volleyball net, if the school was fancy.”

“Hate to interrupt your sweet chatter.” Vince suddenly appeared behind their backs. He already held the end of the rope in his hands. “But if I don’t get into a sleeping bag within five minutes, I’m gonna riot. You checked the table?”

“Yep, seems trustworthy.”

“Mick, your time to shine,” Vince offered him, the only one among them knowing how to tie a reliable knot, the end of the rope.

“You forgot a magic word,” Mick grumbled but kneeled in front of the table. “There are rope traces on this table leg already, so it must be the right way.”

“Are all clients supposed to hurt themselves falling through the floor?” Nikki wondered, kneeling beside Mick. He loved watching his rope work, though never managed to do it quite like him.

“You wanted adventure, you got it,” Mick replied, his fingers quickly working.

“Well, yeah, we all know it’s just an imitation,” Nikki shrugged. “A pretty good one, but still.”

“There wouldn’t be one if all those people didn’t actually want it to come true, even in part.”

“Well, I don’t,” Nikki resented. “I don’t want the world to fucking burn to the ground. And all those people don’t, too. They just want to… I dunno. Feel like movie protagonists for a while?”

“Movie protagonists always have a purpose. They don’t go out into the wild just because they love the wild that much.” Mick finished the knot and got up, cutting their conversation short. Nikki tried to follow him but hit his head on the tabletop.

“Ouch!” he fell back on his knees, checking his head for damage. Just as he reached for the sore spot on his head, he noticed a wire that was running along the wall of the cabinet and sliding into a hole on the floor. The wire was connected to the computer. Oh, so they need to fix it in the basement for the computer to start working, Nikki realized. That the computer was supposed to be turned on he had no doubt, or there wouldn’t be a password in the book.

“You alright?” Vince asked when Nikki crawled from under the table and got up. “We don’t need any more injuries here.”

“I’ll survive,” Nikki promised. They headed towards the hole where Tommy already stood with the flashlight, waiting for them.

“Wait a sec, I’m gonna move all those debris away,” he hurried to clear the floor under the hole, stumbled on something and hissed in pain. “Shit! I hope there’s a first aid kit somewhere here.”

“If you still can walk, then it’s not that serious,” Mick told him. “Not a fracture or a broken bone at least. Gonna heal in a couple of days.”

“Yeah, but where are we gonna get these couple of days?” Nikki murmured so that Tommy wouldn’t hear him. “Our time here is limited. We can’t just waste it waiting for him to recover.”

“What are you gonna do then, send him back?” Mick snapped. “Let him hobble through the desert alone, with no supplies?”

“Well, no, of course not,” Nikki mumbled ashamedly. “But we could… I dunno… investigate the location while he heals his ankle?”

“Yeah, and he totally won’t jump after us on one leg the whole way,” Mick said sarcastically, diminishing Nikki to a puddle on the floor. He didn’t bring the topic up anymore.

Vince was the first to descend, carefully sliding down the rope. Tommy, beaming, waved the flashlight around, demonstrating the room so proudly he as though had decorated it himself. A smile slowly widened on Vince’s face.

“Come look!” he called them. Nikki climbed down the rope so fast he burned the skin on his palms. Mick wasn’t that eager to follow; quite on the contrary, he stood up there looking around for a few seconds and then hurried out of sight.

“The hell he went to-“ Tommy began, but Mick was already back, dragging something clanging with him.

“We are gonna attract the entire local wildlife with the light and the voices,” he explained, breathing heavily. “Better cover up.”

“Oh, Mick, c’mon!” Vince laughed. “Who are we gonna attract? Actors are all at home sleeping at this time.”

“Some of them work night shifts,” Mick reminded as he carefully lowered his legs into the hole and wrapped them around the rope. He grasped the metal sheet he brought and drew it over the hole, leaving only a small crack. “And some of them aren’t people,” he finished once his feet were firmly on the ground.

Vince huffed, but did not continue the argument. And Nikki was thankful to him for that.

The shelter they accidentally discovered was small but neat. It was a little bit warmer here, without the wind, but the walls still couldn’t really protect from the cold. They were probably drywall, but they did look appropriate for the location - like old, weathered-down concrete. Even the smell was authentic, dusty and heavy. Four sleeping bags were laid out around the potbelly stove in the center, looking old but functioning. A pipe ran down one of the walls with a very convenient tap in the middle. Every now and then a drop of water fell down from the tap onto a small wet spot on the floor. In the corner there were some boxes piled up on top of one another, and in the other – wooden crate. The entire location was poorly lit by groups of green, toxic-looking mushrooms in the corners and on the ceiling. They looked so real Nikki had to grab and feel the material of one to confirm it was rubber.

“Were you in a real apocalyptic setting, this one could have burned off the skin on your fingers,” Mick muttered.

“Glad we aren’t,” Nikki said, words coming out a little bit strained. “Though there probably wouldn’t really be mushrooms glowing with radiation. Is that even possible? Won’t it just kill them, like any other living thing?”

“Nature always finds a way,” Mick said, kneeling on front of the potbelly stove and peeping inside. “Jeez, this one belongs in a museum. And we need coal or wood to light it up.”

“There were carton boxes in the corner,” Nikki nodded towards them. “What about a lighter? I hope we won’t have to use a flint or something.”

“I have one,” Tommy said from the corner where he examined the crate, fingers carefully running over the lid. He “I had to take out my sigs, but they didn’t notice the lighter.”

“That’s technically cheating,” Vince said lazily, already sprawled on a sleeping bag. “But practically you just saved us a lot of trouble.” He sat up, his shoulders twitching from cold. “Damn, it’s freezing here. Gimme the lighter.”

Tommy threw it over his shoulder in Vince’s direction, missing by a few feet at least. Vince caught it nevertheless – probably the only time his baseball school team skills were put to use.

“Don’t burn the entire basement,” Mick advised half-heartedly as Vince trudged to the boxes in the corner. Vince grumbled something unintelligible in reply.

The cracking sound from the other corner distracted them.

“Guys, I think I found supplies,” Tommy said, holding up the lid of the crate that he had just opened.

“What’s there?” Mick and Nikki rushed towards him. Vince looked at the box he held in his hands for a second, dropped it and joined them. “Any food?!”

“Well, those feel grainy,” Tommy brought a plain fabric bag to his eyes, dug his fingers into its sides. “Cereals, probably.” He put it back, picked up some other package and shook it. “Those sound like crackers.”

“Three cans with corn,” Nikki reported, rummaging in the other end of the crate. “And, uh, ramen,” He dug out a familiar-looking box. At least they removed the plastic wrapping that they have on in stores.

“Any fruit, veggies?” Vince peered over their shoulders. “No? Well, we aren’t gonna last long on such a diet.”

“We aren’t gonna stay here long either,” Nikki reminded him. “What did you expect from a post-apocalyptic setting, an all-you-can-eat buffet?”

“Nothing, man,” Vince retreated, “I’m just saying, we’ve seen plants and trees on our way here, some edible plants could as well survive too- uh, nevermind.”

“That’s all good and stuff, but where are we supposed to put them? I haven’t seen any plates here.”

“Over there, in the corner,” Mick headed to the farthest, most poorly lit corner of the basement, which Nikki overlooked at first, and with a clang pulled out a pot, rather old and battered, but seemingly without any holes. “But these need to be washed first, or we all will get poisoned.”

“I’m busy with the fire,” Vince immediately said, grabbing the box he dropped and holding it in front of himself in a protective gesture. “Tommy can do it. Or Nikki.”

“Guys, there’s something else beneath the food,” Tommy said, pulling out a yellow box with a black wire. “Some device?”

“Oh!” Mick’s face lit up for the first time during the day. “That’s a Geiger counter, if I’m not mistaken. Since we’re in a post-nuclear war wasteland, it’s gonna prove useful.”

“Does it work from the batteries?” Tommy turned it over in search of a switch. “Because there might be problems with electricity here.”

“It’s supposed to,” Mick took the box and examined it as well. “The limit for this one is 5000 mSv – uh, what are mSv? – and I have literally zero idea how dangerous it actually is. Did anyone read up on the theory before the quest?”

He received only confused mumbling in response.

“Do you think anyone else who completed this quest did?” Vince finally said defensively. “I’m pretty sure they weren’t experts on radiation either.”

“That does not excuse our ignorance,” Mick sighed. “Well, 5000 is a big number so if there is this much radiation, it’s not safe.”

They fell silent for a second, only Tommy kept rummaging in the crate. Finally, he fished out something with a victorious yell.

“Knew it would be here!” He waved a piece of paper in front of their faces. “Vince is right – they wouldn’t have given us this thing without explaining how it works. There are some numbers here – I guess radiation levels, but I can’t see them, it’s too dark.”

“Gimme,” Mick immediately snatched it from Tommy’s hands, receiving an indignant yelp in response. “Shit, I can’t see a thing either. Vince, what’s up with the fire?”

“This damn carton doesn’t want to burn,” Vince said from where he was kneeling in front of the potbelly stove. “It just chars.”

“Lord, why do I have to do everything myself,” Mick raised his eyes to the moldy ceiling. “Hold this and don’t let go for dear life,” he handed Vince the piece of paper. Vince pressed it to his chest in an overplayed protective gesture. A few curses later the carton finally caught fire from the lighter, and the flame started strengthening slowly but surely.

“Now, gimme.” Mick grabbed the paper and brought it closer to the fire, maybe a little bit too dangerously close. “Yeah, drummer was right. So, 2 mSv is what a person receives daily, 100 is what radiation workers receive in 5 years, 1000 causes cancer in 5% of people exposed… doesn’t sound too dangerous to me. 5000, though… kills a half.”

“Shit,” Vince commented laconically. “So anything above 1000 is a big no-no, we get it.”

“Pretty much,” Mick nodded. “How much is here, I wonder. Turn this thing on.”

Nikki reached out and pulled the switch. The arrow wandered a little over the bar, but never ventured into even remotely dangerous areas and finally stopped on 12 mSv.

“Well, that’s a little more than usual but still not much,” Mick concluded. “But we should be careful when advancing into the city. It’s supposed to have suffered a nuclear blast, and radiation will go up the closer we are to the center.”

“You think it will ever reach the limit on the counter?” Tommy asked, anxious.

“Don’t think so.” Mick waved his hand in the air. “But we gotta check it frequently, just in case.”

Nikki, who was silent all this time, finally spoke.

“I mean, it’s nice that y’all are enjoying yourself so much, but can we at least stop pretending that there’s actually radiation? This thing just shows what it’s programmed to show. There ain’t no radiation neither here nor in the city center. Where the hell would they get it from?”

Mick raised his eyes, examining Nikki with his piercing gaze. He wasn’t angry or disappointed – thoughtful, rather.

“Well,” he finally said a few seconds later, “there are two things to this. First – when in Rome, do as Romans do. Second – how do you know the radiation isn’t real?”

“How?” Nikki frowned, surprised by Mick’s answer. Mick’s, who was the most sensible of them all and the least prone to stupid illusions. “Because this ain’t real post-apocalyptic wasteland, and these walls are built out of drywall, the sun is a lamp and the mushrooms are made of rubber!”

“And what is radiation made of?” Mick asked. “No, really, how can you fake radiation well enough to deceive a Geiger counter? Because the counter is very real, we’ve been given those at school”.

“Well, then it’s programmed to show what it shows,” Nikki retorted. “And we can’t actually prove it’s not lying.”

“Nor that it is,” Mick replied. “Of course, this is all just a big game of pretend, Sixx. But it doesn’t matter that everything here is fake. We’re gonna take the counter with us anyway; even if it’s lying, its data will show us what places to avoid, since it’s been programmed, as you’re claiming. It was left here for a reason.”

“I guess,” Nikki sighed, turning away. He didn’t know how to explain that their interest and excitement was a little bit too fake in its genuineness. He knew how quests worked. He has completed them many times. A couple of riddles to solve, a couple of actors dressed as zombies to “kill” with laser guns. The ultimate satisfaction upon reaching the end – and after that, all-encompassing boredom again, again, until the next dose of adrenaline.

And this one is going to be just the same. Should be just the same.

Oh god, please let it be just the same.

“Anyway,” Mick broke the silence first. “I’m putting this thing in my backpack, but we’re gonna take it out regularly to check radiation level. Now, I don’t know what about you, but I’m hungry as hell, and the dishes question still stands.”

“Nikki should do it,” Vince said immediately, receiving an “et tu, Brute” look from Nikki. “Since he’s such a wet blanket.”

“Yep,” Tommy quickly counted the odds and sided with the right people. Nikki shot him a death glance. Tommy smiled sheepishly, but didn’t take his words back.

“Well, then go on, Sixx,” Mick handed him the pot, and Nikki wanted to put it on his friend’s head. With a loud bang. “We’ll sort out the rest of equipment while you’re busy.”

The water from the tap was cold, but seemed clean and only smelt a little of metal. Nikki rinsed the pot and the plates he was handed, not quite thoroughly, but the others were too hungry to notice. Meanwhile, Vince and Tommy dug out of the corner three empty plastic bottles, tastefully rumpled to look old, but nevertheless functional. As hard as they tried, they couldn’t find any cutlery, though. Apparently, desert rogues in a post-apocalyptic landscape were too down-to-earth to eat with spoons.

Soon they were sitting around the potbelly stove watching the water heat up terribly, terribly slowly. Nikki never paid attention to how much time it takes to heat a liter or two of water. This fire was no match to his electric kettle back in his apartment. But that was probably why kettles were made anyway.

“So, what do we have?” Mick spoke again. He didn’t seem to like the role of a leader much, but this quest was like no other – without him, the other three would have probably given up by now. “Three packages of cereals, four packs of crackers, three cans of corn which we’re gonna eat right now, a pack of noodles, the Geiger counter, a flashlight, sleeping bags, a pot and four plates and three water bottles.” He sighed. “And not a single medical item. That’s not much. Drummer, how’s your leg?”

“Hurts,” Tommy said honestly. “But like, more in a dull, pulsating way. I can bear it. I can walk even. I won’t make you wait, I promise.” He was nervous, his eyes darting between the other three, checking their reactions. “Just don’t send me back. This quest is so much fun, I don’t wanna miss it.”

“Okay, okay,” Mick raised his hand in a calming gesture. “Nobody was going to leave you behind anyway, right?” His eyes stopped on Nikki, and a frown was sent his way. Nikki huffed and turned away.

“Thanks, guys,” Tommy said with visible relief. “I took one for the team to find this amazing place, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a hero,” Nikki reassured him distractedly. He was getting cold: he could feel how icy the floor was even through the fabric of the sleeping bag. “D’ya wanna light up the fire a little bit? It’s freezing here.”

“You can try, but I tell you, that won’t be enough,” Mick shook his head. He was sitting hugging himself on the sleeping bag, his feet propped up right against the stove for more warmth. “These boxes don’t burn hot enough. We’re gonna need coal or lighter fluid. Which we don’t have.”

“Sucks,” Vince murmured, for the first time in a while. That was strange – he was usually the most talkative one of the bunch, challenged only by Tommy.

Nikki leaned in to him, examining his face anxiously. Vince looked at him tiredly from under his eyelashes, but didn’t move back. His lips were of sickly bluish color, his fingers grappling the folds of his jacket, fruitlessly squeezing them together, unnaturally white.

“Are you alright?” Nikki whispered to him. Vince jerked his head towards him, a sarcastic retort ready to drop from his lips – but then, a tired sigh replaced it.

“Is that really so noticeable?” he whispered back. “I mean, you guys don’t seem to be bothered by it much. But Nikki, man, I’m gonna turn into an ice statue soon. I can’t feel my toes already.”

“Shit,” Nikki ran his gaze across the room again, hoping to find something, anything that could help. But, apart from the trash in the corners, discovered nothing new.

“Get in the sleeping bag,” he said finally. “At least put your feet in it. And take my jacket. Corn’s gonna be done soon, a nice hot meal will warm you up. And we’ll put together some kind of tea after that-”

“Hey, chill, man,” Vince smiled slightly. Nikki felt the tips of his ears warm up. “I ain’t taking your jacket, I don’t want you to freeze to death. Just… I dunno. My hands are so cold…”

“Here,” Nikki moved so close to him their knees bumped together, gently wrapped his hands over Vince’s wrists and guided his hands under his jacket, where his body warmth collected. They felt like ice chunks even through his t-shirt. Vince sighed with pleasure and closed his eyes. Nikki caught Tommy chuckle quietly and made a scary face towards him. Tommy raised his hands in pretended surrender.

Everything was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

The corn was consumed in tired silence. Thanks to the potbelly stove, the room did warm up slightly after a while, and a meal after a long day of walking made them all drowsy. By the rules, they should have left a guard up, but none of them dared to suggest it, afraid of being the one picked to watch. And what could get them in a basement of a destroyed building in the middle of a desert?

A lot, it turned out later, but that night they slept soundly, still happy in their ignorance.

#motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #vinikki #vinikki fanfiction #nikki sixx\vince neil #mick mars #tommy lee #nikki sixx #vince neil #post apocalyptic #post apocalypse #post apocalyptic fiction #wow look at me actually putting something out as though im not a loser who hasnt updated in 4 months #i dont know what this is. i dont know where im going with this #i just know that this is and im writing it #and i dont know what im gonna write next right until my fingers hit the keyboard #war?

[pearlplusau]

Chapter 6 - Part 1, Trip down memory lane

At the crystal gem temple, the sky proceeds its early air breeze and pink hue, the sea proceeds to come and go, the sand proceeds its existence not as grains, but as a land.

The temple door glows, a thin stem but with pointy thorns glow rose from the midst of the door and separated the door left and right. From the pink glow, out comes Coral, stretching and yawning from lying on her neat pile of pink fabric for a few hours. As she walks out of the door, she sees Rose, the leader of the crystal gem, in her glorious white dress and thick fluffy, curly pink hair, standing right at the foot of the warp pad.

“Morning Coral~!” she called out with a tone that makes you think she’s a Disney princess in the woods, “Ready for our new day planned?”

“Of course! What did you have in mind?” Coral questioned, but still standing at the doorway.

“Well, before we actually go, can you recall anything from the, “incident”?” Rose formed her words very carefully, hoping that it won't upset her dear pearl.

“Hmm…” Coral tried to remember, she really does, but all there was between her leaving and coming back on the shore was pitch black, nothing.

It’s been a week since the incident, Coral still couldn’t recall what happened to her, facing some sort of memory loss. “I…I just can’t remember, the only possible reason why I left in the middle of the night is to go for a midnight fabric shopping?”

Rose was worried for her, she even consulted Garnet if there’s anything she saw that involves Coral’s sudden disappearance.

Garnet, the fusion with extraordinary abilities, was unable to see how she couldn’t foresee the incident, nor could she see any upcoming battles or fights in the near future. She’s becoming more frustrated, which decreases her vision clarity day by day. “There wasn’t anything on the night she left, and there isn’t anything dangerous that could be coming our way, or maybe there’s something I’m not factoring in? Hmmm…”

Hearing Coral’s response was not gonna ruin their day planned. For the past week, Coral was invited by Rose to different places, trying to see if there’s any way she can remember anything, but so far, no luck.

“It…it’s okay, don’t worry about that too much.” Rose tried to reassure, to herself more than to Coral. “Let’s start the day, shall we?”

“Ok, where are we going today?” Coral asked, fully awake. They travelled to many places for the past week, and everyday it's somewhere rarely visited, but the experience in travelling with Rose is very, very new.

Rose started to say, “Well, for today, we’ll be-“but she was interrupted before she could finish.

“Pardon the intrusion,” It was Pearl.

Pearl poked her head in from outside, trying her best not to interrupt but failed,  “Rose, can I talk to you for a moment?” Rose turned and saw Pearl, who was trying her best not to throw any daggers at the other pink gem’s direction. “There’s the matter of… corrupted gems. Garnet foresees two giant gem-worms, trolling around the old kindergarten, and she said the best outcome from the capture requires you to be there.”

Pearl however, was initially more concern with Coral and her every step, but after a day or two she got very much over her guilt and tries to forget the incident ever happened, she resumed disregarding her in the more dangerous missions with Garnet, even though she was not keen in breaking her promise to the team leader.

The leader of the crystal gems gently refused the mission, “Apologies my pearl, but I should really focus on Coral’s situation right now, if we don’t find out where or what happened to her, the same thing might happen to the rest of us, and I would not wish for anyone else to suffer whatever Coral went through.”

“But Rose, just look at her, she’s fine, she wasn’t hurt, the warp pad to homeworld is still disabled, there's nothing else for us to worry about.” Pearl tried to reason with the big gem, but her heavy, dark eyes told her there's nothing that she can say that would change her mind.

“I’m sorry Pearl but it looks like you and Garnet are going to take care of the gem monster, I’m sure you two can handle it without me.” Rose threw a quick glance at Coral, urging her to follow her elsewhere.

“Come on Coral, we’ll talk on the way there.” She led the pink gem on the warp pad and they both warped away.

-

The path taken is a lot more... dangerous than the previous adventures they had.

The duo walked until there's a giant mountain of a wall in front of them. Rose gestured to Coral to climb the steep mountain.

“Uhm, Rose, you didn’t have to spend so much time for me, Pearl and Garnet need you more on the gem hunt.” Coral looked nervous, scratching her head, and trying to look away from her leader.

“But, Coral, you're not a waste of time if that’s what you're thinking, your problem is just as important as the gem monster, who’s probably harmless since there's no humans or other earth critters around there.” Rose reassured the pearl and they to climb up the mountain.

It was a long climb, but Coral was upbeat and a lot more energetic after being reassured, and they got to the cave full of Rose’s weapon collection.

“Huh, can’t believe we would need to come back here after the war, '' she watched as her leader walked to the white platform covered in water, a hand size pedestal rose up to the pink gems waist. Rose placed her hand on the top of the pedestal and concentrated, “I’m not looking for weapons, armour, or anything for battle, I just need something that can help me and my situation.”

Behind Coral, a small white box rose up to her ankle.

“Uhh, Rose, is this what you’re looking for?” Coral called out and got her leader’s attention.

Rose turned to where Coral stood, “I…I think so.”

They examined the small, palm sized box, it was the size of Coral’s gem, but somehow heavier, there was a little mark for the box to be opened.

Rose opened the lid, and peeked the inside of the box.

It’s….

“A pebble?” And sure enough, it was a small, oval rock that hasn’t been incubated or dripped with any diamond essence.

“You know,” Coral carefully paused and observed the stone, said, “This pebble looks so familiar, doesn’t it remind you of someone? I know I mentioned that I can't recall recent events, but the great memories we had in our past lives is still something I can never forget.”

She slowly raises the pebble up to her eye level, hoping Rose would marvel the stone along with her. But something was not right…

Coral turned to her leader, hoping for some kind of reaction, but she was surprised to see the shocking darken expression of Rose Quartz.

“Uhm, Rose, are you… alright?” the pearl questioned.

She could see the big gem was holding on to something, holding it back. It was still daylight, but being inside the cave made it felt, dark. There were the sounds of water drops dripping from the ceiling poles, “Drip……. drip…….. drip….” into the clear, shallow pool.

Moments later, Rose’s expression shifted from stiff and dread to….hope?

“Why yes Coral, I think I am…” Her hope slowly transitions into, joy? “You know, one of the pebbles back at homeworld looks just like this one.”

Coral was glad she wasn’t being rude by mentioning their past lives. “Ohhh, the one with the green outfit? What was the name, Pebble 2TJ?”

Rose looked, actually thrilled! “Oh yeah, he’s always doing this neat cartwheel all around the room, it looked so fun, heyhey, what if…”

Rose was rather hyped, she got so excited she decided to do the cartwheel, for the first time.

She extended her arms and legs, forming a star figure, and said to the pink gem on the left, “Hey Coral, look at this!” She tilted her whole body to her right, but her hand didn’t catch the total amount of her body weight and slipped,

THUD! Rose quartz collapsed on the floor.

“Ohno! Rose!” Coral panicked and went to the fallen pink gem, “Rose! Are you alright?”

Rose, who positioned herself on her back to ease the pain, she giggled and said, “Yes, I think I'm fine.”

She proceeds to stay on the floor, Coral wasn’t sure what to do, “Uhm, Rose, do you need help getting up?” Coral asked.

“Oh no need, in fact, you should come down with me, we’ve been standing for a long time, and my legs are a bit tired anyway.” She sat down next to her leader.

“You know, that fall reminded me of another time we had, when we tried to balance the throne on a giant ball to make it bouncy, but it somehow ended up on fire or something, what fun times we had.” Rose chuckled at the amazing memories they made together.

Coral decided to add on to favourite moments and said, “Remember when you got your leg ship? You were so happy you grabbed me by the waist and spun me around, and I didn’t even mind, it was such a fun time.” 

The pearl peeked at the big gem, who was peeking into the box under the pebble.

“Oh look, in the box, there's three sticks in white, yellow and blue respectively.” Each stick has a shape of the respective diamonds, the blue and yellow stick have their diamond placed in the middle, and the white stick has its on the top.

“Huh…” Coral took a closer inspection of the three items and asked, “What are these? And why do you have them?”

Rose was scanning through her memory bank, they do look familiar… “I think these are from the early stages of the earth colonization, I got so bored on the moon I think I asked Pearl if there was anything we could do, she said the game was from an earth citizen back in the day.”

Rose went on about the game. “Pearl announced the game as gem refiguration, we picked them up, and imitated the gems in their tone, actions and their voices. There’s this one time where I made the white stick talk like White, Oh Starlight, there you are! Did you have fun? Did you get it all out of your system? And then Pearl would chuckle at my little fake white voice, saying that I sound just like her. We would play as the other diamonds too, Pearl knew Blue and Yellow’s pearls, she even did their voices! I would hold up a yellow stick, making it command in Yellow’s voice, then pearl would do her little hologram thing and say things their pearls would say, Now how is my wonderlous, amazing, everlasting diamond? Is there anything I can do for you? And we would both chuckle and giggle as we are indirectly making fun of them without them knowing! And- Coral whats wrong?”

Rose slowly noticed the discomfort as the story went on, she went from being interested in listening, to losing the smile, to worrying eyes, to a sudden darkened face.

“Oh! It's…it’s nothing, it’s just…as I was listening, I couldn’t help but wonder where I was while it all happened…”

“Well, you would be there obviously, just…not with us?” Rose scratched her head, hoping to retrieve some form of adequate response. “You were right with me, but you got bored a bit earlier and kinda fell asleep? We didn’t want to bother you so we just... played it on our own…”

Coral had her left hand scratching her right arm, “So…You guys had fun…. without me?”

Rose slowly realizes the pain she’s causing her dear pearl, she wanted to say she misspoke but Coral got to her first.

“Nonono, it's fine, i…I guess, I just, never thought….”

She turned to her side, arms holding her knees to her chin, and laid on the floor, trying to think this through.

Rose tried to reach her hand out, she wanted to assure that game was nothing, but deep down, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead she retracted her reaching hand, and placed it to her side, giving Coral some much needed space.

It was awfully quiet for the both of them, the sticks had scrambled around with the box on its side, only the pebble remained in the box. Rose collected the items and put everything back where it was, and sat by the water alone. 

Coral noticed the shift of her leader, and followed her by sitting next to her by the water.

Rose and Coral looked at their reflections in the water, they stared at the water for a long time, until…

“Remember the first day you came to me?” Rose spoke while looking at Coral’s reflection, hoping she would do the same.

“It was some time after I saw Blue and Yellow’s pearls, I saw how considerate of them with their diamonds, how they were always with their diamonds, standing by their side no matter what. That’s what I wanted, someone who can listen and understand.”

Coral gleamed at the idea, and commented,  “Yeah, Us spending time together was the best, but then, someone else came along…”

Oh dear, Rose thought, is it the reason for the memory loss, trying to forget certain aspects of her life? The pearl continued, “Maybe I wasn’t doing my part right? Maybe you weren’t satisfied with my service back then? And, that’s why she came to….”

Rose didn’t need to hear the end of the sentence, she already knew what she was going to say.

Replace me…

Rose couldn’t take anymore of her sadness, she turned to the pearl, grabbed on her shoulders, and hugged her tight. “Oh Coral, I'm so sorry I made you feel this way, i should’ve been more considerate. But when Pearl came in, I was… told to spend more time with her, to get to know her, so she wont feel like an outsider when she’s with us.”

Coral slowly returned the hug, burying her face into her leader’s hair, wishing she could stay there forever. But it was getting late, and they should really head back.

“Come on, let's go home.” They left the cave, went down the steep mountain, and back on the warp pad.

Back at the temple, the duo was met up with Pearl and Garnet back from their mission. The two gems were covered in sand and dust.

 “Ah, Pearl and Garnet, how did the mission go?” the crystal gem leader turned to her fellow comrades and asked.

Garnet shrugged, dusting off the dust from her shoulder, “Could’ve been better.”

Pearl echoed, “Could have…”

Coral noticed Pearl’s defeated sigh, but Rose didn’t take much notice, “Excellent, If anyone needs me I’ll be in my room.” And marched straight to her cloudy pink room and promptly shut the door within a swift second.

She heavily leans on the door, “Why did it hurt so much?” Rose thought as she leaned against the closed door, her fist on her chest, trying to ease a pain.

Garnet decided to go out and take a walk, leaving the 2 pearls at the temple.

Coral was still in her hyper fun mood as she was humming, twirling and just being happy, something she hasn’t been in a long time. Standing on the side, watching her was Pearl, arms crossed, and generally not looking as happy.

She slowly approached the pink gem, and gained her attention with a slight cough.

“Ahem,” and slowly moves her fist away from her mouth.

Coral, still looking pleased, and not getting the pragmatic signs, lovingly asks, “Oh hey Pearl! What’s up?”

“You know this will pass eventually don’t you?” Pearl spoke, trying her best to not sound rude, but came off as a rather cruel statement.

“Huh?” Coral turned around, and hadn't really noticed Pearl during her time with Rose. “Wha…what are you talking about?” Coral questions in a strain voice, sounding almost hurt, but Pearl didn’t take notice.

“I think you know what I’m talking about, your small, brief attention hogging from Rose. She may be worried sick about your absence and the possible chance your encounter threatens what’s we’re fighting for, but for all we know, you could just be deceiving us, deceiving her just to keep her all to yourself.” Pearl’s accusation of Coral surprised the pink gem.

She tried to defend herself, “Pearl, you’re not making any sense. Why would I want to lie to Rose just to get close to her? We were just hanging out and having fun...”

“No more lies,” Pearl interrupted, “instead of trying to sweet talk your way out of this mess, why don’t we try something, physical?” She reached her hand to her glowing gem and conjured her staff, swifting the point to the tip of Coral’s nose.

“Coral! I challenge you to a duel at the sky arena, pearl vs pearl. If you win, I’ll let you off on your little scheme and you may…continue deceiving our leader without me getting all over your business.”

She did a slight thrust and pointed the tip between Coral’s eyes, forcing her to back off and smack the weapon aside.

Pearl retracted her weapon and twirled it all around her while she proceeded, “But if I win, you’re going to halt your devious act and leave the rebellion for the rest of time, you are to resign as Rose’s left hand soldier and never come back. Your disloyalty has already stripped you of your trust in the Crystal Gems, if you will not accept this challenge, I have no choice but to take you down before you do anything else, do you understand!?”

Coral stood and composed herself, she knows how serious Pearl takes her battles with anyone, so she can’t deny it, but she also knows how skilled of a fighter Pearl truly is. They may have trained together, but Pearl was always the fast learner, she also has a strategy for literally anything, so other than the duel, there’s probably something else she’s not revealing.

Coral took a deep breath, exhaled as she fixed her eyes at Pearl, and drew her lance.

CLANK, the weapons were intact.

“I accept your challenge, Pearl.” Coral said with as much determination she could muster.

“Excellent,” Pearl returned her staff into her gem, and slowly walked away while stating, “We shall battle at the breaking dawn of tomorrow, sharpen your lance, as well as your mind.” And then ballerina twirled into her room.

Coral watched as the temple door closed off, her lance planted between her feet as she said to herself, “I’ll be ready.”

End of Part 1

(A/N: Heyyo, welcome to the end of part 1 of chapter 6, first off, to clear something up. If you were somehow questioning my ability to draw, then yes Ii did some tracing on certain screenshots of the show, to make everything go faster. If for every part, I drew just 4 images without tracing, it would take at least 2 more months for me to finish it. So please, i'm not making money out of this, and the artwork isn't the main feature, just a visual assistant for the reading process.

Also thank you @marzipanotaku16​ for being my “beta reader” and doing a great job at pointing out certain areas that can do better!

So from the previous post, the next chapter will be uploaded next week from today! Unless, and it's just an idea, unless the first part of chapter 6 got more than 80 notes, then I'll consider posting the next part earlier. But that's just an idea I'm not sure that would be fulfilled. (It might be tho)

Lastly, the reference for the drawn images will be reblogged the next day.

Anyways, see ya next week, or earlier! Peace out! Bye! 

#pearlplsuau #stevenuniverse #writing #rosequartz #pinkpearl #Pearl #Coral

[scripts4dreamers]

Not Your Hero. Chapter 1

Prologue, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four

AN: With the Victory Tour well underway, things are changing fast. 

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Haymitch Abernathy, Chaff Mitchelle, Mags Flannagan 

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation 

Prompt/Inspiration: Prom Queen - Molly Kate Kestner

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

You pulled your legs up under your chin and tried to breathe slowly, closing your eyes and and praying that the motion of the train would be able to settle your stomach. However, with your eyes closed, you could see the faces of all the tributes you’d outlived all the clearer, projected larger than life on screens, with their grieving families underneath. You shuddered thinking about the sound one of the mothers in district nine had made; a sort of wail, loud and piercing, like her heart was being ripped from her chest right before your eyes. She’d been clutching two small children by their shoulders, twin girls, probably around nine or ten years old. They’d been crying too, but one of the girls had met your eye and the depth of despair you’d seen there had chilled you to the bone. Their brother was dead and you were not, that look said, and there was nothing you could do to make up for that.

Whatever confidence you’d had going in to the tour had evaporated by the time you’d reached district twelve and now, with district four coming up, you could feel yourself slowly unraveling. It wasn’t just the speeches, and facing the families of the fallen tributes, it was everything. It was the parties and the dinners and the interviews, it was seeing the highlights of your games recapped on every television screen twenty-four hours a day, it was the fact that the capitol was edging closer and closer and, for some reason, the closer it got, the more filled with dread you became.

If it wasn’t for the others, you weren’t sure what you’d have done. Because, of course, you weren’t alone in this. At each district, there were other victors to meet, people like you who knew what it took to survive the Hunger Games, and who had done this same trip themselves once. At first you hadn’t quite known what to think about them. It was strange meeting people you’d been seeing on TV for your entire life, even stranger considering you’d seen basically all of them murder other children. But, of course, they’d seen you do the same and, when Seeder Howell, Victor of the 30th Hunger Games, had pulled you into a hug and whispered that you would be alright, you’d found a glimmer of something you’d been looking for for months now; hope. It was such a relief to be understood again, to not have to explain yourself, and your limits, to everyone all the time, that you found yourself actually trying to make friends. Many of the victors were much older than you, of course, and not all of them had decided to join you once you left their district but, luckily, enough had so that the train didn’t seem empty and haunted anymore. At any given moment you might bump into Indigo Weaver, Alto Combe or even, if you were in the bar cart, the elusive Haymitch Abernathy. Your prep team were beside themselves. They’d never seen so many famous people in once place, they often squawked, wasn’t it just so exciting?

“Land ahoy!” Chaff, another victor from district 11 called out, his loud voice echoing through the carriage.

Your heart pinched and you pressed your face into your knees harder, forcing yourself to breathe slowly again. You were not looking forward to this, not at all. The face of the blonde boy flashed behind your eyes again and you bit back a whimper. These speeches had been hard enough when the tributes you were thanking were virtual strangers but now, with district four officially in sight, things were about to get a whole lot more personal.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Chaff asked, sitting down heavily next to you, “Not excited about the party they’re throwing for you?”

“Go away, Chaff,” you replied, trying to sound firm and failing miserably.

“No, I get it,” Chaff continued, as though you hadn’t spoken at all, “this one’s gonna be tough for you. You beat out one of their tributes in the finale, didn’t you?”

You looked up and glared at the older man, a move that may have been more effective if your eyes hadn’t been red and puffy from crying, and contemplated the merits of cussing him out or just ignoring him entirely. Chaff raised an eyebrow and you sighed, feeling your fragile attempts at indignation evaporate. James said you should try opening up more, that it would help in the long run and you liked Chaff. It didn’t make sense for you to bite his head off, not when he’d only ever tried to help.

“Both, actually,” you said, staring determinedly out of the window, “I killed the girl, and two of the other careers with an electrical device I made from bits of landmine and a current generator I got from a sponsor. But that was pretty early on. It was the boy I killed in the finale.”

It felt odd, talking about this with somebody. For so long you’d shut down any and all discussion about the games, not even daring to let yourself think about them for fear of triggering a panic but now, with the other victors’ constant encouragement, you were at least trying. It felt like pulling a deep thorn out of your arm; nearly unbearable at first but then, once it was out, there was a kind of relief, like maybe now you could start bandaging that particular wound.

Chaff nodded, like he understood and you realised, again, that he probably knew all of this already. He was just trying to get you to talk, to share with him, like everyone was always saying you should.

“Do you know his name?” He asked.

You nodded, “Boyd.” you said softly and then, as an afterthought, “He was eighteen.”

You weren’t sure why that was important exactly. Were you trying to absolve yourself? Was pointing out that this boy was nearly three years older than you were at the time supposed to justify what you’d done? Were you bragging? Or was there something else to it, a desire to make the blonde boy in your memory feel more like a real person, someone who had lived and breathed and dreamed. And died, at your hands.

“Mmm,” Chaff hummed, agreeing with you on whatever point it was you were trying to make, “they won’t blame you, you know?”

“Who?”

“The mentors. Finnick and Mags are good people, they won’t blame you for anything you did in the arena.” he explained.

You pressed your lips together and nodded tersely, “And the families?”

Chaff looked down at the stump where his left hand used to be and sighed, seemingly lost for words. He patted your knee comfortingly and stood.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid,” he promised, “you’ve just gotta keep yourself alive, that’s all anyone can ask.” he continued, cryptically, “You should probably go find your prep team. We’ll be arriving soon.”

“Okay,” you whispered, worrying at the inside of your cheek with your teeth.

Outside you could see trees and hills flashing by and, in the distance, a strip of blue reflecting the sun that must have been the ocean. You’d never seen it before, only the occasional crude imitation in the Hunger Games. The sight of it filled you with something like calm. The ocean had been there for billions of years, it had seen hundreds of billions of people come and go, swallowed their joys and sorrows alike and stayed exactly the same. Surely, if it could persist, you could too?

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

Mags’ hands were rough. They pulled at Finnick’s hair hard, making him wince and reach up to see what it was she was doing.

“Stop,” Mags said, slapping his hand away, “I have to get rid of these knots before the cameras arrive.”

“Arrive?” Finnick laughed, “Mags, they’ve been here for two days already. It’s a little late for that.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately and stepped in front of Finnick, resting her hands on her hips expectantly. She was so small that, even with Finnick sitting down, Mags was just barely taller than him, but anyone who had met her knew that size was no true indication of power, and she had more than a little fight in her. Finnick looked down, thoroughly chastised by one look.

“Exactly, Mr Odair,” Mags explained, moving back to continue untangling his hair, “they’ve been here for two days and the poor girl hasn’t even arrived yet. Imagine the circus that’ll show up when they finally do get in.”

“There’s always press on a Victory Tour,” Finnick offered.

“I know, but this is a lot,” she countered, “even by your standards. It makes me nervous.” Mags faded into silence, letting the sound of the brush echo through Finnick’s empty bedroom for a while, lost in her own thoughts. “Poor thing,” she eventually muttered, mostly to herself, “turned sixteen in the arena, what a horrible way to celebrate.”

“Poor thing?” Finnick responded, with an incredulous laugh, “She killed both of our kids, you know?”

Mags waved him away, “Tsk, I know that. And they would have killed her if they could. That’s how the games work, Fin, we can’t blame her for being a better player.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off the sharp stab of guilt that thinking about Boyd and Ariel always brought on.

“I know,” he eventually relented, “I know that. I just-it’s so frustrating, sending them in every year only to watch them die, you know? I really thought we had a winner this year, and when Boyd got so far…” Finnick’s voice trailed off.

Mags nodded understandingly, though Finnick couldn’t see it, “Fifty-eight years I’ve been doing this,” she said simply, “I was a mentor for twenty before I brought home my first win,” she squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, “you’re young, it’ll happen. You’ve just got to keep trying.”

Finnick hummed noncommittally, thinking privately that there was no way he would survive losing another twenty-six tributes. Mags might be able to do it but, then again, she’d always been far, far stronger than him. Impulsively, Finnick reached back and grabbed Mags’ hand, resting his cheek against it like he was fourteen again.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Mags said, running her fingers through her hair, “we’ll be alright. It’s only a day. Soon they’ll all climb back into their dens and leave us alone for another six months.”

“But first we have to get through the tour,” Finnick pointed out.

She nodded, “First we have to get through the tour.”

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

Finnick smiled and counted to ten in his head, waiting patiently for the mayor of his district to finish the long, drawn out rambling he called a speech. Every year it was roughly the same; meaningless references to the Capitol’s generosity, the importance of the games, the valor of those who fought in them and his own, genuine joy at meeting [Insert whichever victor just won’s name here], a worthy champion. Finnick, the other victors and several important members of local government were clustered strategically near the base of the stairs in the Justice building so the crews of Capitol filmmakers could get shots of everyone individually, and as a group, waiting excitedly for the arrival of the newest victor. After skipping the ordeal that had been your public speech, and the mandatory quick trip to the beach every victor was entitled to, Finnick had been unable to wiggle his way out of this, the last event; a dinner hosted by the mayor in honor of you. It was sure to be horrendous.

While the mayor droned on and on and on (somewhere in roughly the middle of his speech Finnick predicted), Finnick leaned over to the two men standing to his left and slightly behind him, keeping his voice low.

“So, what’s she like?” he asked softly, “Is she as insufferable as they usually are.”

“She’s less insufferable than you are,” Haymitch answered, surprisingly less drunk than Finnick had expected him to be, “but, granted that’s a rather low bar.”

Finnick chuckled and shot a look at Chaff, who smiled slightly, but shrugged.

“She’s nice, I like her,” he said softly, “she’s got spirit but,” he winced, “you remember how it was just after your games. She’s got a lot to work through.”

“Group therapy with our drunk Uncle Chaff, you mean?” Finnick teased. Chaff shrugged again, which he took to be agreement, and continued, “I remember how that goes. Well then, maybe when it’s my turn to share in the Safety Circle I’ll ask her why she choked my tribute to death, that’ll be fun.”

Haymitch chuckled but Chaff shot him a dark look.

“Don’t make this harder on her, Odair” Chaff said, “lord knows this whole thing is unbearable enough as it is without you making an ass of yourself.”

Finnick gave him a look of mock outrage, “What? It’s a simple question! You’re telling me I can’t ask a simple question?”

“I mean it,” Chaff warned, “she’s been through hell and back, the last thing she needs is your bruised ego getting in the way of her recovery.”

“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Don’t worry, Chaff,” Haymitch interjected, “I’ve got no doubts in my mind that Finnick will like the new girl just fine.”

There must have been some sort of inside joke there, because Chaff chuckled.

“What?” Finnick asked, annoyed at being left out

“Oh, nothing. She’s an interesting girl,” Haymitch interjected, “let’s just say, it might be a little like looking in a mirror.”

“Doubtful,” Finnick retorted under his breath.

Even if the others had heard him, they didn’t have any time to respond because, right at that moment, Finnick heard the telltale phrase;

“A worthy champion.” signalling the end of the mayor’s speech, and the room burst into rapturous applause.

Finnick got his first glimpse of you at the top of the stairs and his breath hitched in his throat. Even from where he was standing, he could tell you were beautiful, the type of beautiful that doesn’t come around every day, the kind of beautiful that can’t be ignored, no matter how hard you try. A hush fell over the room as you made your descent, your beautiful black gown reflecting the light like the world’s most subtle and sophisticated disco ball. You smiled graciously at your audience, the perfect blend of confident and humble, even blowing a kiss to your mentor, Jason as you walked. Your eyes glanced, unseeing, in Finnick’s direction, and he felt his heart stutter just a little bit. Something on his face must’ve showed his surprise, because he heard Haymitch suppressing a laugh from behind his back and, flushed with embarrassment, Finnick forced his face back into its casual mask of amused indifference.

Okay, so you were attractive. That wasn’t unusual for a victor. It didn’t change anything, not really.

At least that’s what he told himself as his eyes clung to you, watching intently as you laughed at some horrendous joke the mayor made and, with every ounce of feigned surprise you could muster, consented to saying a few words to open the evening.

You stepped up to the mic and, for the first time, Finnick saw a glimmer of discomfort in your eyes. But before he could do much more than notice you had smoothed it away with another gracious smile.

“Hi,” You started with a breathy laugh, breaking the tension and endearing yourself to the audience from the start, “I promise I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to take a moment to thank Mayor Eluuicious and his government for organizing this beautiful event for me tonight. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all the effort you’ve all put in,”

“Well, we couldn’t pass up the chance to celebrate your sixteenth birthday with some proper flair,” the mayor joked, earning a rather more forced laugh from the crowd.

You acknowledged his words with a smile, but continued, “it’s been so lovely being here in district four, and I will be truly sad to say goodbye but,” you finished, “I’m not gone yet so let's party.”

You stepped off the staircase and were promptly engulfed by a crowd of people, all clambering to get pictures with you or to ask questions about your experience in the games. It was a dance Finnick knew well. Usually he would be off and finding a drink by now, scoping out the event from some corner where he knew he would be seen by everyone, including the cameras, just like he was supposed to, but something was making him feel off balance. It felt like he was fifteen again; shaky and unsure of himself, desperately hoping that no one could see how inexperienced he was.

“So, how screwed are you then?” Haymitch asked, appearing next to Finnick like a phantom, a full glass of clear liquid already clutched in his hand and a smug smile on his face.

Finnick growled, “Fuck off, Haymitch.” And stalked off, determined to regain some of his composure before someone who actually mattered noticed his awkwardness.

Before long, Finnick had downed two glasses of champagne, and was most of his way through a third, leaning casually against a pillar near the modest buffet table and watching your movements like a hawk. From what he could tell, you were good at this. Every movement you made was calculated without looking forced, every smile incandescent with happiness while still maintaining a distance and mystery to it, every phrase balanced and fair, treating all equally and showing favoritism towards none. Of course, the cameras ate it up, basically falling over themselves to talk to you, to get an exclusive clip or a photograph to take home to the Capitol, but Finnick didn’t care much about that. He was watching for the other moments, the brief flashes of reality that slipped through your carefully schooled features without you even meaning to. There weren’t many; an eye roll here, a subtle wink to Chaff or Jason there, clenching your fists whenever someone came too close, things like that. It was these that Finnick found so fascinating, and what kept him from trying his best to charm his way into an early exit.

He watched from afar as you gestured towards the food table, extracting yourself politely, but firmly from the mayor and three high ranking government officials. As you made your way towards the table, Finnick heard you exhale loudly and watched as the marks of exhaustion started to creep its way onto your face. You piled your plate high with mini meat pies and bits of deep fried fish, looking conspiratorially over your shoulder, as though to check that no one had followed you over. Finnick found the sight somewhere between endearing and frustrating, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Hey there, Y/N,” he called, stepping out of the shadows with his signature catlike grin, “bored of your adoring fans already?”

At the sound of his voice you jumped, clenching your fists and turning to face the attacker quickly, only to relax and let out a breathy sigh of relief when you saw who it was. Finnick felt a pinch of guilt at the look of shock on your face, but pushed it down and leant casually against the table.

“Finnick,” you breathed, pressing a hand to the base of your throat, “I didn’t see you there.”

“I can see that,” he replied, gesturing down at your plate of spilled food.

You glanced down at the mess and blushed, looking sheepishly over your shoulder at the crowd to see if anyone else had noticed. Up close Finnick was relieved to see that a lot of your radiance came from particularly good make up. While you were attractive, some might even say beautiful, it was in a softer, more realistic way, less harsh angles and overly white teeth and more actual sixteen year-old girl.

“Not the best introduction I guess,” you laughed nervously, fiddling with your dress, “I’m sorry we didn’t meet earlier, Mags was so complimentary about you.”

Something about you made Finnick feel unsettled, like the floor beneath him was sliding around and trying to trip him up. It was exciting, but also nerve-wracking, and totally not something he was used to. Part of him wanted to push, to see how much more thrilling and uncomfortable he could make it, the other just wanted to run and hide somewhere far away where you’d never be able to find him. The effect was disorienting but, being himself, Finnick leaned into it, letting the reckless portion of his mind take the wheel.

“Yeah, well, Mags is much braver than I am. You see,” Finnick continued sardonically, leaning in as though to tell you a secret, “I’m not quite done grieving the deaths of my two tributes. Didn’t feel up to a beach trip, I’m sure you understand.”

You pressed your lips together so they disappeared into a thin red line. Your face went blank instantly, hardening back into an expressionless mask as your bright Y/E/C eyes deadened, sending a shiver down Finnick’s spine. You didn’t seem much like a sixteen year old at that moment at all. The smiling, giggling girl had vanished, leaving a stranger in her place. This person seemed dangerous, this person seemed like the victor of the Hunger Games. There was a masochistic part of Finnick that liked seeing this more dangerous side of you. It was thrilling, and genuine and so much more interesting than the pleasantries and quibbling that usually happened on these trips.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said, devoid of any emotion, “excuse me.”

And with that, you stormed past him, knocking his arm hard with your shoulder as you passed.

“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, rubbing the spot where your bodies had connected.

If you heard at all you ignored him and he watched, with a slight sinking feeling, as you rejoined the party, your perfect smile firmly back in place as though nothing at all had happened. It took roughly eight seconds for Finnick to realise what an ass he’d just been and he sighed, swallowing hard past the disappointment he felt in himself.

“Why did I do that?” he asked himself softly, turning back to the buffet table and noticing, with another pang of guilt, your untouched food, “Ah, shit. Um, you there,” he gestured to one of the Capitol servers that he knew had arrived with the train.

The man scurried over, obviously holding in a minor freak-out at being addressed by Finnick Odair, “Yes, Mr Odair?”

“Can you-uh-can you make sure there’s some food ready for Miss Y/L/N when she gets back on the train?” Finnick asked, “Something tells me she won’t have much time for eating tonight.”

“Yes of course, right away Mr Odair.” The attendant nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, with a semi-distracted smile.

“Well that was nice of you,” Mags noted, appearing at Finnick’s side like a ghost, “what brought that on?”

Finnick shrugged and wrapped his arm around the small woman’s shoulders, kissing the top of her head, “Call it an olive branch. Or an apology.”

Mags raised her eyebrows at him, “Making friends fast as usual. Does this mean you want to sit this tour out and just join the others at the Capitol?”

Finnick thought for a moment, the sound of your laughter catching his ear as Chaff whispered something to you under his breath. The sound was light and clear, and made something in the pit of Finnick’s chest feel fluttery and delicate.

“Uh-no,” he said, ignoring the knowing look on Mags’ face, “no, let’s go with them. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” Mags asked.

“In case,” Finnick shrugged, “I don’t know, in case something good happens.”

“Okay,” Mags chuckled, “I’ll go get started on the packing.”

Finnick thanked her softly and then shoved his hands into his pockets, continuing to watch you from the sidelines. Eventually you looked up and met his eye, fear turning to confusion when he smiled gently and raised a hand in greeting. Hesitantly, you smiled back, your eyes still questioning his intentions, but Finnick took it. He still wasn’t sure about you. There was something just under the surface with you, close enough for him to sense, but still too deep down for him to identify that he wanted to reach.

“Well, you’ve intrigued me,” Finnick whispered to himself, “let’s see what happens next.”

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

Tag list: @i-love-you-green​, @heatherhollowayst​

#jordsie #jordsie writes #Not Your Hero #thg #the hunger games #the hunger games imagine #finnick odair #finnick #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #catching fire imagine #catching fire #mockingjay #thg 2020 #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games aesthetic #finnick odair aesthetic

[baybee45]

A/N: Commander Thorn/reader

Warnings: PG-13,follows canon and has Unhealthy Coping skills

The Price of Love

The sun was lazily breaking the horizon, as if the star itself was unsure whether it should wake up. In your dreaming haze you hear the flowing water of the shower in the fresher. Your mind -- the amazing three pound organ that it is -- seamlessly adds this new effect to your picturesque dream. 

You're waiting for your love to return, by the calming ebb and flow of a turquoise lake.

The early morning light trickles in pass the half opened blinds. Like ethereal fingers, their feather light touch beckon you softly to wake up. In sleepy defiance you however, turn over, your bare back now exposed to the suns embrace. 

A light breeze whips across the soft cresting waves on the shoreline. The light mist cools your face as sunlight flickers through the low hanging branches of your shaded oasis.

Crisp water droplets fall on your skin, causing your muscles to jump after each tiny, harmless shock. A calloused finger tip gently traces through the pooling water in abstract shapes. The landscape of your lake country turns misty, slowly fading to the background as you begin to awake. 

A promised vacation fulfilled, a secret honeymoon.

"Good morning cyar'ika." He kisses into the space between your neck and your shoulder.

"It's to early for it to be good yet, Thorn." You mumble into your pillow with a half smile.

"Awww, let me see what I can do about that." He coos softly as he joins you in a blanket fort made for two. His kisses trail up your back and across your shoulder as he pulls you in closer. His stubbled face nuzzles into your neck, whispering sweet nothing with each tender kiss. 

"I can stop... if you want me too?"

"It's a lil to late for that now isn't it?" You said shifting around to face him. His amber eyes burned brighter and warmer then the golden morning glow that now bathed the room. Wrapping your arms around his neck your hands combed through his damp hair. Dark strands just beginning to curl around your fingers. He would say he was due for a cut but for now he was letting it be because you liked it a bit longer.

Your moment of marital bliss is interrupted by a demanding comlink, angrily beeping in background. You both try to ignore it. Thorn let's out a resigned sigh and gives you one last lingering kiss. Letting out a small chuckle as if to say 'sorry' he pulls away from you, grabbing the comlink from the side table.

Your eyes narrow with growing annoyance from the disruption. By working alot of overtime and through good old fashion begging you had managed to get three weeks off. Even though you knew it would be impossible for Thorn to have that much time, you were expecting at least a week of uninterrupted alone time with your new husband. A price you pay to be with a Commander of the Coruscant Guard you guess. Thorn was always on call.

He sits back on the edge of the bed. You come up behind him, arms coming around his broad and overworked shoulders, half eavesdropping, half just trying to distract him.

"Right...right away... sir." He stutters finishing the call, trying to keep a small veneer of composer through all the barely there kisses you have been leaving on his skin. 

"I have to escort Senator Amidala to Scipio."

"When?" 

"Now." he said his voice painted with disappointment as he half turns to face you. "Have to get everything prepared and the men ready for take off later this afternoon."

"Did you really, wake me up just to tease me like that!?" You complain and dramatically fall back with a loud sigh.

"I'm sorry cyar'ika." Thorn said leaning back for a kiss.

"You can kiss me when you get back, you little tease." You huffed throwing your pillow at him for good measure. He lets out a half whine half laugh.

"I love you cyar'ika."

"Mmm hmmm." You croon turning over to fall back asleep.

For the Republic! 

   The funny thing about the worst moment in your life is you don't know until after the fact. Until after the unrelenting timer has already counted down to zero. Exploding and tearing you away from every preconceived thought you had. The future that once was so clear and bright was now shrouded in thick, noxious darkness. Questions, regrets, like hot shrapnel sear through you. 

Why didn’t I... What If... If only I did something... Why didn’t I... What If... If only... Why didn’t I kiss you goodbye... What If made up an excuse for you to stay... If only... Why didn’t I... What If... If only... Why didn’t I... What If I’d begged you to stay...Why didn’t I say I love one last time... If only I tried...

  Lodging themselves so deep into the crevices of your mind. You're worried not even time will be able to coax them out, to heal.

     There was no frivolous ceremony given. No funeral was held, not even a body put to rest. No greater meaning or spit-shined purpose tacked on for his death. Thorn was just a weapon. A weapon made out of human flesh and a beating heart. He was nothing more to the Republic then a random set of numbers that had happened to give its self a name. Just a serial number lost and easily replaced. Except he wasn't. Not for you.

     He was a person, who name was not his only distinguishing feature. A kind smile and knowing eyes burning with life and love. Who's arms you needed so much right now, to steady you from your shaking limbs. Thorn was a person, Thorn was your person.

     Each minute felt like an hour, everyone more difficult then the last. Crying so hard you would leave yourself breathless. It was a small relief from the suffocating 'what ifs' and 'maybes', that had become like a well worn paths in your mind. In the end you knew nothing would bring him back, no matter how much you pleaded and cried to an unhearing diety.

    The days slowly bleed into each other. The silence rings deafeningly in your ears, in this place that was once called 'ours'. You make ill-fated attempts to distract yourself from your cracked and crumbling world. You shower with his soap and call his office to hear his voice one more time, for the thousandth time. On a whim you put on his favorite dress and the candy apple red lipstick that he said made your lips sweet and hard to resist. You want so desperately to see his face, to feel him again, you head out to 79s. 

     It’s almost his touch but not quite, its not really his face, just a cheap imitation. But after a few shots burn their way down your throat a cheap imitation passes and after a few more shots, ‘almost’ becomes enough. 

  Still in his favourite dress you stumble into your apartment. The sweet aftertaste of your lips feels more like bile and regret on your tounge. Your eyes long for sleep but your afraid to close them only to see Thorns' eyes, no longer warm but cold and lifeless. All you want to do is forget and collapse in the bed, in our b—. 

     Your legs give out under the weight of what you once had tried to bottle up. Sobering thoughts make your late night choices harder to excuse, harder to deal with. Raw emotions liked jagged pieces of glass slice deep with a pain you can not be prepare for. Like a tsunami coming and you having nowhere to go. All you can do is brace yourself for impact and with whatever meager strength you have left, fight to survive. A pain that has to be felt, because words fail utterly to describe. 

     The morning sunlight eventually breaks through the half closed blinds, its touch feels like a branding iron on your tear soaked skin. 

    "St— stay away from me." You pleaded with tears spilling down your face.

   "It's okay I'm here for you." your memories of him try to comfort.

    "No...no." your voice cracks. The words barely being able to get out of your ever tightening throat. You try with a sluggish inhale to breathe air, to breathe life into your burning lungs. 

    "You're not here, that's what's wrong." 

    Grief is the price you pay. The price you pay for the stolen kisses. For the times you spent wrapped safely in his arms. The price you pay to visit him again in a lifetimes worth of memories cut short. Grief is the price you pay for loving him.

#coruscant guard #star wars tcw #star wars the clone wars #tcw #the clone wars #clone wars #star wars fandom #star wars fanfiction #clone x reader #commander thorn #Angst #clone troopers #clone wars fanfic #clone wars fandom

[brotbrotbrotlamb]

amortentia

“Look, the only thing that has changed is the way I’m acting towards you,” she rolled her eyes, “everything else stayed the same. And you’re being really dumb and annoying right now, but I still love you to the moon and back.”

Staring at her, nonplussed, Bread nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Suddenly, she said, “Kiss me.”

He choked.

Warnings: n/a

Word count: 3k

“So class,” said Professor Slughorn one day, “today we will be brewing this potion.”

He motioned to a cauldron in front of the class, which contained a liquid with a distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen. 

“Can anyone tell me what it is and what its properties are?”

Patricia Havisham’s hand in front of Lamb shot up.

“Yes, Miss Havisham?” 

“Amortentia, Sir. Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in existence. Despite its power, Amortentia doesn't create actual love; it's impossible to manufacture or imitate love. The person under the effect of the potion will only hold an obsession for the person who administered it,” her housemate basically recited the textbook.

“Wonderful memory work, Miss Havisham! Five points to Gryffindor,” Slughorn smiled, and Havisham ducked her head. Lamb snorted softly, knowing that Slughorn, being a Slytherin, definitely knew what he was doing when he said “memory work”. 

“Really, laughing at your own housemate?” an annoying voice entered her ears. “How unkind of you, Chan.”

“Shut up, you ho,” Lamb’s smile fell from her face immediately, only to be replaced by a scowl. “As if you Slytherins would have any sympathy for your own housemates.”

“At least we seem united,” Bread smirked mockingly, and Lamb wished for the three thousandth time that she wasn’t sitting beside him, but Slughorn wanted to encourage inter-house unity and all.

“Miss Chan, would you like to answer this question?” Slughorn suddenly focused his attention on her.

“Oh,” she started, before raising her shoulders slightly in a shrug. “Uh, professor, could you repeat your question?”

“What are some distinctive features of Amortentia?”

“Well, uh, it has a mother-of-pearl sheen and its steam rises in spirals. You can also smell the person you like in the potion."

"Correct! Five more points to Gryffindor. Anyways…" Slughorn started talking, but Lamb tuned his voice out. There was really nothing you couldn't learn about Amortentia from the textbooks. Her gaze absentmindedly wandered to the cauldron at the front of the class, where the Amortentia was. She wondered what it smelled like.

Then, Bread was standing up and everyone was standing up and Slughorn was going back to his desk… Wait, that meant it was brewing time.

"Slow reflexes, Chan?" Bread said, grabbing a handful of ashwinder eggs and moonstones. 

"None of your business, anyway," she pursed her lips, occasionally glancing back at the board to ensure she had the right ingredients. "Have you really got nothing else to do other than to taunt me?"

"It's not taunting," he said, "it's affectionate teasing.”

Lamb gagged.

The lesson passed by uneventfully. Lamb ground up the moonstone and chucked in the ingredients while Bread was responsible for stirring the potion. 

“It’s one pearl, not two,” Bread hissed, barely stopping her from throwing in two mother-of-pearls. 

“It is?” Lamb raised an eyebrow, glancing at the board, which clearly said “one mother-of-pearl”. She put one down and dropped the other one into the potion. “So it is.”

“I know you’re dumb, but please take this seriously, Chan,” Bread sneered, “that way you won’t be a complete disappointment.”

“What’s the use of being good at potions if you have an unfixable, ugly personality?” she rolled her eyes right back. “It was just a lapse in focus. Last week you nearly put four lionfish spines and exploded the entire class.”

“It was three.”

“It’s still wrong,” Lamb replied, before noting that a pleasant scent was wafting from their cauldron. Leaning closer, she frowned. “Is it done already? I still haven’t put in the rose thorns.”

“Wait,” Bread suddenly narrowed his eyes and began taking steps back. “Wait, step away.”

“No, what did you to it? I put all the ingredients in the right order,” ignoring his words, Lamb positioned her face above the cauldron, trying to discern the abnormality. “It looks more orange than white. Bread, what did you—”

BOOM!

An earth-shaking explosion rocked the entire classroom. The contents of the entire cauldron shot out of the cauldron, covering Lamb and somehow only Lamb with the unfinished mixture. There was a moment of absolute silence, in which the girl stared at herself, surprised that she wasn’t covered in burns, before sinking down in her chair.

“Miss Lamb! Mister Bread! What happened here?” Slughorn’s voice was stricter than she had ever heard it. Just when she tried to answer, a dizzying spell came over her, causing her eyes to roll to the back of her head and her entire body to lurch forward unexpectedly. Something soft caught her just as her head headed for the corner of the table, saving her just in time.

Slowly, the dizzy spell cleared, and she could gradually regain control of her senses. Looking up, Lamb was met with the dumb face of her seat-mate… Wait… No…

“Bread,” she said, the clarity of her voice surprising even herself. The boy who was currently supporting her weight flinched, before turning to her, snapping, “What?”

“You’re really hot, you know that?” her mouth said on its own accord. Lamb gasped, appalled for a split second, before her brain dissolved into mush. Yeah, yeah, she agreed. “You are really, really hot.”

Starting from that day onwards, Hogwarts was no longer peaceful.

-

“Are you serious?” Lamb knew that the boy beside her was raging, but she didn’t really want to know why, because he looked so manly while he yelled. Staring dreamily at the object of her dreams for the past few days, she sighed in satisfaction. If only she could stare at him forever.

“Apologies, Bread,” Slughorn sighed, except he was sighing for a completely different reason. “I can’t make an antidote unless I know exactly what you and Miss Lamb put in that potion.”

“Can’t we just give her a general antidote? Anything to stop her from acting like,” he gestured furiously to her, “like this?”

“Hey!” Lamb exclaimed, drawing the attention of the two other people in the room. “I still can understand you, you know? Just because a cauldron exploded in my face doesn’t mean my intelligence is impaired. Plus, I don’t want to go back to before.”

Bread muttered something that sounded like, “You have no intelligence to be ‘impaired’.”

“M’boy,” Slughorn said, his tone somewhat mournful, “you know we administered the antidote for Amortentia yesterday. There were no changes. Unless we know the exact procedure you followed yesterday, there is almost no chance of getting the correct antidote.”

“There’s no way of stopping this?” Bread said, horrified.

“Unless it wears off, of course,” Slughorn added, but then hesitated. “But… this seems to be a very potent potion. It’s unclear when this will wear off.”

Bread sagged in his seat, and Lamb would have giggled at the sight of him seemingly aging decades in a single second had she not realised that he looked good no matter what he did.

“Oh my God,” she said, “Bread. You look so handsome no matter how I—”

“Stop,” he snapped, then glanced at Slughorn and added, “please.”

Lamb pouted.

-

“I just don’t understand how I hated him before,” Lamb ranted to her friends as they walked through the doors of the Great Hall. “He’s just so dashing, and handsome, and sweet, and kind, and patient, and I don’t know how I was so blind before!”

“Uh,” Chocolate interrupted, “one of your reasons was that he was a Slytherin.”

“Oh, seriously, house unity is what’s really important,” Lamb rolled her eyes. “I was so stupid. There’s nothing wrong with inter-house dating.”

“Dating?” Jelly made a lenny face. “Are we really going there?”

“I mean, she’s under the effects of a failed Amortentia,” Xiaolongbao pointed out. “So, duh.”

“It’s not failed,” Lamb argued, “I’d say it’s the most successful batch that’s ever been made. Bread indeed, making everything he does better and more perfect.”

Suddenly, her eyes lit up as she spotted someone walking in with his friends. 

“Bread!” she yelled, getting up from her seat.

“Do we stop her?” Sorbet asked, conflicted.

“No,” Xiaolongbao replied at the same time Chocolate said, “yes.”

Glaring at the former, Chocolate explained, “I’d rather Lamb get angry at me now than her getting mad at me after the potion wears off.”

Shuddering at the thought, Xiaolongbao conceded. “That’s true.”

Lamb was about to launch herself at Bread when Chocolate abruptly grabbed her arm and pulled her back. 

“Sorry, gents,” her friend smiled sarcastically, “just doing some damage control. Oi, Lamb, come on!”

“Noooooo,” she whined as she was dragged bit by bit back to the Gryffindor table. “I was going to confess my love!”

“Everyone is watching!” Chocolate hissed, glancing around the Great Hall and noticing that everyone’s eyes were on them, even the professors. “You can do it later. Please. Just come back now.”

Lamb frowned, but gave in. “Fine.”

-

“Bread,” Lamb said to him once she sat down beside him in potions.

He looked up, surprise flashing over his face at the fact that she wasn’t professing her love for him for once. “What?”

“Go with me to Hogsmeade this Sunday.”

She watched him sag, like she had just obliterated his hopes and dreams. 

“No.”

“Please!”

“No.”

“Pretty please.”

“I will never say yes.”

“You will say yes!” Lamb declared. Suddenly, her face morphed to one of confusion. “Wait. What did I just say?”

“I will say yes?” Bread repeated, before realising too late with a look of dawning horror on his face.

“Yes! See, I told you you would say yes,” Lamb grinned, looping her arm around his. Bread flinched, but didn’t move his hand away. She would come right back if he did. “You’re the best crush ever.”

“Crush?” he repeated, bemused.

“Well, I want to change that to boyfriend if you’d let me,” she smirked, and he instantly turned his head away, slightly mortified at the fact that she was the one flirting with him.

“No,” he said, and her face fell. “No, and that’s final.”

-

“Honestly, Madam Puddifoot’s is just,” she scrunched her nose up, shaking her head. “I don’t know what sort of vapid, uncultured, shallow person goes into that place. I would die before I brought my boyfriend,” she grinned, before tiptoeing to boop his nose, “to that sort of place.”

He scrunched his nose too, but for a completely different reason. “Dude. I know you’re under a love potion, but stop calling me your boyfriend. I’m not.”

“But it’s so cute,” Lamb’s smile dropped, “you’re cute.”

He barely resisted the smile that subconsciously appeared at her words.

“Stop spouting nonsense,” he scowled, though there was no heat behind his words. 

“But anyway,” she ignored him, “let’s go to Zonkos! I know you love the jokes. I’m not a big fan of them but hey! If you love them I’ll accompany you too. Because that’s what girlfriends do.”

“For the last time,” he said through clenched teeth, “I’m not your boyfriend, you’re not my girlfriend, and we’re not in a relationship. I’m only doing this so you won’t kill me for embarrassing you entirely in front of the school.”

“Oh, when I go back to normal, silly me is going to think I’m embarrassing her anyway,” Lamb waved her hand dismissively, “so don’t worry. And anyway, surely you know that I’m even infatuated with you because you were the person for which I held the most romantic attraction?”

He stopped in the middle of Hogsmeade, drawing a few curious looks. “What?” he hissed, incredulous.

She shook her head. “And I thought you were intelligent. The reason why I’m even affected by a supposedly-failed potion like that is because I liked someone at all. If I was aromantic, like I’m sure Chocolate probably is, it wouldn’t work on me at all.”

He glanced at her strangely, trying to mask the turmoil within him. “Why are you strangely sentient?”

“Look, the only thing that has changed is the way I’m acting towards you,” she rolled her eyes, “everything else stayed the same. And you’re being really dumb and annoying right now, but I still love you to the moon and back.”

Staring at her, nonplussed, Bread nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Suddenly, she said, “Kiss me.”

He choked.

-

Fortunately (or unfortunately, Bread’s traitorous mind suggested), they didn’t actually get to that. 

-

It was the middle of Potions and they were brewing the Invigoration Draught when Lamb suddenly seized up in her spot beside him. Bread, concerned, looked over at the girl, only to meet her panicked and distressed eyes, and he instantly knew.

He just knew.

It had been exactly a month since the cauldron exploded in her face.

Even as she bolted out of the classroom, ignoring Slughorn’s calls, he didn’t do anything to stop her. Instead, he continued brewing the potion, his heart and his mind battling for dominance. While his brain told him he should clearly be relieved at such a nightmare passing, his heart was screaming for him to chase after her, be sad, declare his love for her, anything for her to come back.

He chose to believe he was relieved, even while his heart ached in the corner.

Why. Was. He. Even. Sad?

-

“Oh my God, Lamb, please come out and eat,” Chocolate pleaded through the door of the bathroom. “It’s been a day. You will actually die. Plus, I can’t see you, but I’m sure you look ugly crying.”

Lamb laughed involuntarily, choking on it right after. Her body was trembling, wracked with all the sobs she managed to muster after coming back to her senses. She had embarrassed herself for one whole month, thirty whole days, in front of the entire school.

At that thought, the tears began falling again.

“Lamb! Please come out! We’ll Obliviate everyone for you!” Xiaolongbao yelled.

“We’ll send Bread to China so you’ll never see him,” Jelly suggested.

“I mean, like, who needs Bread anyway?” Sorbet said, unsure. Immediately afterwards, multiple voices started yelling, and through the noise, Lamb could pick out a “Okay, okay! I’m sorry! I was trying to be helpful!” and she snorted at her friends’ immaturity.

Going out felt like dying. She couldn’t believe she had been so bold, so stupid, so un-Lamb. She wasn’t even sure if she could face anyone ever again.

“Lamb I WILL BUST THIS DOOR OPEN IF YOU DON’T COME OUT! I WON’T LET YOU STARVE!” Chocolate screamed, and started banging on the door.

“Okay, okay,” Lamb conceded, wiping her tears off her face. Staring at herself in the mirror, she realised she looked like an absolute nightmare. “I’m coming out.”

“FINALLY!” Jelly exclaimed.

-

When she saw Bread in the corridor, she bolted immediately in the opposite direction.

-

“Hey,” he said, giving her a mini heart attack with the way he appeared just behind her. She gave him no time to talk before sprinting away maniacally, as if chased by Dementors.

“Please wait!” he called, but she ignored it, focusing on the sound of her beating heart. Whether it was exercise or nerves, she didn’t know.

-

She skipped Potions just for this. She was sure Slughorn would understand.

-

Lamb gasped as she was pulled into an alcove. Looking up, she saw the face that had been haunting her like a malevolent spirit that just wouldn’t go away. She paled dramatically, and tried to tug her hand away.

“Let go,” she whispered, but he didn’t budge.

“No,” he said, before taking in a deep breath.

“Look,” he said, and she did exactly that. “I know you’re embarrassed. But like, uh, you don’t really have to. I don’t think so. Because like, you know, you’re only embarrassed if like, the person that’s involved in whatever you did, uh, doesn’t like it or has a bad impression of you. But like, hey, that didn’t happen. So, uh, you don’t have to be sad. Or starve yourself. I haven’t seen you eat properly in days.”

Lamb struggled to understand. 

“You’ve been watching me eat?” she settled for a question.

His lips flattened into a straight line as his hand rubbed his neck.

“I mean like,” he said awkwardly, “I’ve kinda always been watching you?”

“What are you, a stalker?” she asked.

Even though it was dark, she could see his embarrassment. “I expected something else but. like, okay…”

“No, no,” she backtracked. “I like it.”

She wanted to slap herself.

They stared at each other for a long time.

“So what you, or not you, or maybe it was you,” he fumbled, “what you said about having feelings for me already, leading to you actually getting affected. Was that… was that true?”

There it was, the dreaded question. What should she say? Yes? No? The truth? A lie?

“You want the truth or the lie?”

“Obviously the truth.”

Lamb took a deep breath.

“No,” she told him, watching his reaction carefully. Instantly, his face crumbled, before an impenetrable mask blocked any feelings from even showing on his face.

“I see,” he said icily, “I’ll leave you alone.”

Then, before she could help it, a grin, so wide she felt like she was splitting her face in two, took over her face and swept her off her feet. 

“Dude,” she said, and he stopped, hearing the clear smile in her voice. “I was joking. The answer is yes a hundred times over.”

He froze.

“Because yes, I, uh,” she stuttered, feeling her cheeks heat up. “I like you, okay? I do like you. And I hate that it took this stupid potion for me to actually show it but like, yes! I do like you!”

Slowly, he turned to face her, the same shit-eating grin she had on her face on his.

“Good, because, uh,” he paused, before saying, “I think I might like you too.”

And so Hogwarts became peaceful again.

taglist: @danishmiilk​ @slippinglasses​ 

#breadandlamb #fluff #again #sort of like a repost but i never posted it in the first place

[pamphletstoinspire]

August 30 - Today is the feast day of Saint Rose of Lima.  Ora pro nobis.

Born Isabella de Flores, Saint Rose was the daughter of a Spanish immigrant father and a Peruvian mother. She was personally confirmed by the Archbishop of Lima, Saint Turibiuis de Mongrovejo, and took the name Rose. Her family and friends had been calling her “Rosa,” as when she was still an infant, one of the family’s servants had seen her face miraculously transform into the vision of a mystical Rose.  All of Saint Rose's sufferings were offered for the conversion of sinners, and the thought of the multitudes in hell was ever before her soul. She died in 1617, at the age of thirty-one.

by F. M. Capes, 1899

We may not say that St. Rose was the first saint of the New World, for God only knows His own; but she was the first of America's children to be placed in the calendar of canonized saints–the first flower gathered from that part of the great garden over which St. Dominic has been placed as the husbandman of Jesus Christ.

Almost before she was out of her infancy, that love of Our Lord's suffering, which was afterwards to become the ruling passion of her life, began to lay hold of little Rose's heart. How God speaks to the baby souls of those early-chosen children of His special delight; by what channels the Divine secrets are imparted to their barely-opened minds; what marvelous gift enables them to entertain and understand thoughts far beyond their years–we cannot know; but that such special communications are made to some of the Saints even as little children is certain.

In St. Rose's case the working of these mysterious operations in her heart was witnessed to by the fact that, as a little thing barely able to walk, she would often be found, having managed to escape from her guardians or companions, absorbed in deep infantine contemplation before a picture of the thorn-crowned Christ, in His mantle of scorn, which hung in her mother's room.

Her own apprenticeship in her Master's school, too, began early; for from the time that she was three years old Rose de Flores was the subject of one accident or complaint after another, and was kept perpetually in states of suffering which were sharp trials to her childish patience.

This ideal she realized in her life. It is this life of penance and mysticism which is presented to the reader in these pages. Everything in her life calls for admiration, many things for imitation, some, maybe, for explanation. The reader of this record of her ways and works will perforce exclaim: ‘Wonderful is God in His saints'–wonderful in their number, in their graces, in their variety.

St. Rose's life was eminently wonderful in its marvelous penance, its deep, earnest, and all but continuous prayer, its perfect union with God. She studied in the school of Christ; her book was the Cross; her Master the Crucified. Naturally of delicate health, weak in body, and physically feeble, hers was a life of chronic suffering. To this she added much fasting, abstinence, and penances of every kind, as will be seen from the perusal of this interesting and instructive life. But all her sufferings, whether sent by God or self-inflicted, were borne for God, with God, and in God.

She could say with the Apostle: ‘With Christ I am nailed to the Cross; and I live, now not I, but Christ liveth in me. Her suffering life was a life of detachment from the world–a life of union with God. If she could make her own the words of St. Paul, ‘The world is crucified to me, and I to the world, she could add with equal truth, ‘I live in the faith of the Son of God, Who loved me and delivered Himself for me.' 

ST. ROSE OF LIMA, VIRGIN BY FATHER FRANCIS XAVIER WENINGER, 1876

God gave to the Christians of America, and all over the world, a beautiful example of holiness, at the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth century, in the Saint whose festival is this day commemorated by the Catholic Church. Her native place was Lima, the capital of Peru. She was named Isabel, but while yet in the cradle, she was called Rose, as her face, in its loveliness, resembled a rose. She took the surname of St. Mary, by order of the Blessed Virgin. Already in her childhood, her conduct was holy. Her intention was to follow the example of St. Catherine of Sienna, whose life she had read, and therefore she entered the third order of St. Dominic. When five years old, she consecrated her virginity to God, and was such a perfect hand-maiden of the Lord, that during her whole life, she never offended Him by a mortal sin, nor even intentionally by one that was venial. Her time was divided between prayer and work. Twelve hours she gave to devout exercises, two or three to sleep, the rest to work.

When grown to womanhood, her hand was sought by several, but she always unhesitatingly gave the answer, that she was already promised to a heavenly spouse. That, however, her parents might no further urge her, she herself cut off her hair, as a sign of her consecration to God. She treated her innocent body with extreme severity. From her childhood she abstained from fruit, which, in Peru, is so delicious. Her fasts and abstinences were more than human; for, when scarcely six years old, her nourishment consisted almost entirely of water and bread. At the age of fifteen, she made a vow never to eat meat, except when obliged by obedience. Not even when sick did she partake of better food. Sometimes for five or eight days, she ate nothing at all, living only on the bread of angels. During the whole of Lent, she took only five citron seeds, daily. Incredible as this may appear to the reader, it is told by unquestionable authority. Her bed was a rough board, or some knotted logs of wood. Her pillow was a bag filled with rushes or stones.

Every night she scourged her body with two small iron chains, in remembrance of the painful scourging of our Saviour, and for the conversion of sinners. When, however, her Confessor forbade her this, she, after the example of St. Catherine of Sienna, bound, three times around her body, a thin chain, which in a few weeks, had cut so deeply into the flesh that it was scarcely to be seen. Fearing that she would be compelled to reveal it, she prayed to God for help, and the chain became loose of itself. Hardly were the wounds healed, when she again wore the chain, until her Confessor, being informed of it, forbade her to do so, She then had a penitential robe made of horse-hair, which reached below her knees, and occasioned her intense suffering. She wore under her veil, in remembrance of our Saviour's crown of thorns, a crown which was studded inside with pins, and which wounded her head most painfully. To attend the better to her prayers, she loved solitude above everything.

To this end, she asked the permission of her parents to build a small cell for herself in the corner of the garden. This cell was only five feet long and four feet wide; but she lived more happily in it than many others do in royal palaces. O, how many graces she obtained from heaven in this place! How many visions she had there of St. Catherine of Sienna, her Guardian Angel, the Blessed Virgin, and even of Christ Himself! She was also frequently favored with visions in other places. The most remarkable of these was one which she had on Palm Sunday, in the chapel of the Holy Rosary, before an image of the Blessed Virgin. Rose, gazing at the picture, perceived that the Virgin Mother, as well as the divine Child, regarded her most graciously, and at last she heard distinctly from the lips of the divine Child, the words: “Rose, you shall be my spouse.” Although filled with holy awe, she replied, in the words which the Blessed Virgin had spoken to the Angel: ” Behold, I am a handmaid of the Lord, be it done to me according to thy word.” After this, the Virgin Mother said: “May you well appreciate the favor which my Son has accorded to you, dear Rose!”

I leave it to the pious reader to picture to himself the inexpressible joy which this vision gave to Rose. It served her as a most powerful incentive to the practice of all virtues. Among these virtues, surely not the least was the heroic patience which this holy virgin showed, as well in bodily suffering, as in interior, spiritual anguish. The Almighty permitted her, for fifteen years, to be daily tormented, at least, for an hour, by the most hideous imaginations, which were of such a nature, that she sometimes thought that she was in the midst of hell. She could think neither of God nor of the graces He had bestowed upon her; neither did prayer or devout reading give her any comfort. It sometimes seemed as if she had been forsaken by God. In this manner, God wished to prove and purify her virtue, as He had done in regard to many other Saints. Her patience was also most severely tried by painful diseases, as she sometimes had a combination of two or three maladies at the same time, and suffered most intensely.

During the last three years of her life, she was disabled in almost all her limbs; but her resignation to the will of God was too perfect to allow her to utter a word of complaint. All she desired and prayed for was to suffer still more for Christ's sake. She, at the same time, encouraged other sick persons, whom she served with indescribable kindness, as long as she was well. She endeavored to comfort them when it was necessary to prepare them for a happy death; for, her greatest joy was to speak of God and to lead others to Him. One day when she was greatly troubled about her salvation, Christ appeared to her and said: ” My daughter, I condemn those only who will not be saved.” He assured her at the same time, first, that she would go to heaven; secondly, that she never would lose His grace through mortal sin; thirdly, that divine assistance would never fail her in any emergency. God also revealed to her the day and hour of her death, which took place in her thirty-first year. After the holy sacraments had been administered to her, she begged all present to forgive her faults, and exhorted them to love God. The nearer the hour of her death approached, the greater became her joy.

Shortly before her end, she went into an ecstasy, and after it, she said to her Confessor: ” Oh! how much I could tell you of the sweetness of God, and of the blissful heavenly dwelling of the Almighty!” She requested her brother to take away the pillow that had been placed under her head, that she might die on the boards, as Christ had died on the cross. When this was done, she exclaimed three times: “Jesus, Jesus, be with me!” and expired. After death, her face was so beautiful, that all who looked at her were lost in astonishment. Her funeral was most imposing. The Canons first carried the body a part of the way to the church; after them the senate, and finally, the superiors of the different orders, so great was the esteem they all entertained for her holiness. God honored her after her death, by many miracles; and Clement X. canonized her in 1671 and placed her among the number of the holy virgins. 

#st rose of lima

[theholycovenantrpg]

In the beginning was JASPER RICHE, a RESURRECTED loyal to the cause of the MORTALS. He is said to be THIRTY TWO and uses HE/HIM pronouns. In this New Testament he serves as a MEMBER of the ROUND TABLE and is the REINCARNATION OF CAIN. Blessed be his name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

Some men are born to greatness, their names written out in gold, while others are only the makers of it—Jasper Riche is a peculiar combination of the two. Born to an extraordinary legacy, the Riche name at once attracts glowing awe and wrenching fear: his ancestors proudly vaunted the fact that they were responsible for the fall of the Heretics to the angelic and demonic armies, but Jasper’s father bolstered this heritage to heights grander still, attracting an impressive reputation for glory and absolute authority. Nevertheless, Jasper treads the path of politics and diplomacy: highly regarded as a member of the Round Table, he is renowned for his unorthodox overtures, offering counsel which is often greeted by wary reception. Unlike his half-brother, a fairly elected public figure, Jasper is strangely unnerving and almost otherworldly: though there are many who admire his private nature and quiet intelligence, others find his intensity slightly bizarre. Under the curtain of night, Jasper secretly examines and experiments on stolen cadavers which were once inhabited by the hungering Daemonium, ravenous and unpredictable manifestations of evil. While his investigations have certainly yielded some insight, Jasper has yet to uncover the mystery of divinity which lingers beneath. He is widely regarded as something of a visionary and he bears a strange mark on his inner forearm: the mark of Cain.

THE HISTORY.

No father deserved the admiration of his child so absolutely as Jasper Riche’s did his. With his heart fastened into the lacuna at the handle of his sword, his father was the sort of man who owned the means to have the whole world set in silver should he wish it so. He was not said to be a particularly cruel man, but a certain wealth inevitably bred a certain sort of person, and thus what his marauding eyes fell upon he would always have, plucking the stars from the cosmos and pulling them greedily to his mouth. Jasper was not quite his mirror image, but rather his finishing polish. With a conquest that felt almost Alexandrian, the father’s aspirations spotlighted the things that he could hold in his hands, the flash of iridium seizing the sun’s gaze, but the son was something of a visionary, a maverick, far more interested in the hidden powers lingering behind the thing that the actual thing itself. Even as a boy, the world was a strange divination that he sought to apprehend. Of his mother he preserved only the faint outline of her, the memory of her ghost stolen from them before Jasper had lived a year—and then, it was just the two of them. For some, being born the natural inheritor of so prosperous a birthright felt more cruelty than kindness, but Jasper never felt the bruise of its burden. Instead, he felt strangely powerful—primordial, even, though when he suggested to his nurse as much, she would only cup his cheek and remind him that such a thing was surely impossible.

While Jasper’s father prided himself on the distinction of his natural heir, the existence of another child brandishing the Riche name arranged itself faintly around the boy. To Jasper’s mind, the mark Luca left behind was indelible. The child had some success in stealing his father’s attention away, but it never stuck; the man always returned to his golden scion. Jasper’s father taught him how to wield a tongue as capably as a sword, how to win men’s trust and how to know when to break it—the boy would never be the conqueror that his father was, far more comfortable under the glow of the moon than the rays of the sun, but he never failed to achieve his admiration. And yet, for all his power and prestige, in spite of the many raids of plunder the man undertook, laying waste to territories that would soon fall beneath his thumb, Jasper’s father was not invincible. Indeed, like all mortals, he was only flesh and bone. Only twelve years old and both his parents stolen from him, Jasper was forced into the arms of a brother he had spent much of his adolescence resenting the existence of; the grand promise of his inheritance tugged behind him like a thread picked loose at the end of his sleeve. Jasper’s father had been generous enough to bestow upon Luca their ancestral name, and if that wasn’t enough to draw Jasper’s ire, he certainly never hesitated to conjure up new reasons for his dislike. His new mother was not particularly kind to him, though he conceded that was to be expected—how could he hope to receive her love, when she had only held his father’s interest for a moment, and he might have had a lifetime of it?

Though he scarcely gave his new family a kind thought in passing, Jasper felt his loneliness spout from inside him—a prodigious sickness spreading from a dark pomegranate seed. He had no desire to be coddled in the woman’s arms as she did with her real son, swaddled in a blanket of gentle commendations and compliments, but he recoiled nastily at the way her face twisted into something cold as she begrudgingly ladled soup into his bowl. She was not a terribly unpleasant woman, but she had decided not to love him, and Jasper had decided to return the favour. Luca, meanwhile, was a thorn in his side. Where his brother was always pursued by a sickly throng of smiles, Jasper was more comfortable curled up on a ledge in the dark, his thumbs leafing through pages of science and religion; secrets and lies. Though he read extensively on the topics of philosophy and theology, he committed himself to his physical training, as his father once did—and all the while, there was his brother, clinging to him as if he was his own shadow. Even as they sparred in the courtyard, a song of silver ringing out in the air, Jasper created a prison around himself. He was a natural soldier, but each time he swung his sword he learned how he preferred his books to weaponry; he chose philosophy over conquest; Jasper discovered he cared not for the glory of battle, as his father had, but for the secret of divinity that arranged itself around old bones. Tales of rebirth and new discovery sewed themselves to his lips, and he chose to unravel them.

When he finally came of age, Jasper Riche wielded his birthright like a sharpened blade, setting forth for the Holy Land with only inky scribbles and his prodigious wealth to keep him company. Leafing through ancient pages and worn texts, wandering curiously through tales of science and vespers, one question had settled itself on his shoulders as he grew older. If his father was the sort of man who should have been invincible, why wasn’t he? In the Holy Land, immortality grew from every spout: angels and demons glowed with their heredity, but humans grew old like foetid fruit—Jasper sought to test that. His new cornucopia was nothing short of a wonder: he purchased himself a seat on the Round Table, and Jasper began to indulge his curiosities in secret. When the light caught his jaw, he seemed a regular diplomat, shadows coiling themselves behind his slick grin, but at night he slipped behind invisible and impenetrable doors, embracing a crude imitation of divinity. At first, all he could get his hands on were old cadavers, once inhabited by the empty bellies of the Daemonium, but as he dug away, he began to understand the godhood that lingered beneath the flesh. Jasper began to marvel: was divinity really theology? Or merely alchemy? If only he might get his hands on something more worthwhile, perhaps then Jasper could answer his prayer. As God might have done once.

THE CONNECTIONS.

LUCA RICHE: Half Brother. One is the sun and the other is the moon—the two couldn’t be more different if they’d tried. Though Jasper had once held his father’s pride in his palm like a breakable jewel, Luca has always outshone him. Without giving off any light of his own, he must resort to feeding on it. From the first moment, Luca had opened up his arms in hope of a brotherly embrace, but Jasper had walked indifferently past them; something poisonous still rests on the tip of his tongue, just as it always has. In some ways, he suspects that his brother is the son his father had always had in mind: a soldier, a leader, effortlessly commanding followers—and yet, his father’s raw authority eluded him, his fierce violence escaped him, lacking all severity.  With nothing but his brother’s love left to him, Jasper had fled to the Holy Land, abandoning Luca to his longing. Yet, though the cord was cut, Fate would stitch it back together. Fate, as cruel as she is compassionate, would sit them opposite each other at the Round Table. Jasper goes on resisting Luca’s attempts at bridging the gap, cutting the rope before it touches the other side, but there is something curiously indivisible about their relationship that he cannot ignore. It is as if the universe insists on pulling them together—in spite of his wishes.

AZAZEL: Intrigue. She is, simply put, an enchantress; a vision cut from dark dreams—and though he is not alone in such belief, he refuses to indulge her by telling her that. She is, after all, a creature who has always received exactly what she wants. He scoffs spitefully as he watches the masses fall devotedly at her feet, and yet her Hellhounds guard her so intimately that, even when her worshippers reach out to her and she takes them luxuriously in her arms, they still come away with nothing. As if a ghost, she is always out of reach. Azazel has sat on her infernal-given throne for decades now, the Temples filled with her bewitching glow, and even still nobody quite knows what she is. None have delved their hands between her ribs and survived to tell the tale—the Moon has become a riddle Jasper is not afraid of unravelling. His strategy is this: all fall at her feet without her ever having to ask for it, but what does one do when there is one who protests? When there is one who refuses to bow? He has done precisely this, and he appears to have succeeded. Azazel’s interest has been piqued, pulled toward him by something more than curiosity. His scheme looks to be working.

CADE BEKKER: Best Friend. Jasper refused to accept the brother that life had given him; but then, he thought—why not find another? In the beginning, Cade had been nothing more to him than a slice of intrigue, yet another mortal who had survived the Blood Plague. He was at once a soldier and a reckoning, a friend of the people and an undisputed king; he hoped to unpick the secret of divinity beneath. Now, though, he means far more. One might not think it, but brotherhood has always been a necessity to Jasper. Seeking understanding above all things, he has always longed to be seen, to be believed in like religion, to feel a gaze on him and know he is recognised. Luca had never understood that, but his real brother, his true brother, had never faltered. The two are an indivisible unit and, hand-in-glove, and the world only watches as they rule it. Cade has unlocked something in Jasper that he has never yielded freely: the truth. He is the only one who has seen the parts he buries deep beneath, the only person who has been permitted into his subterranean world—and, a brother tried and true, he plays his part, supplying Jasper with hair, blood; anything that might help in his research. Together, perhaps they can reveal the trick of divinity. Perhaps they can make it chemistry. 

ARIANNE ALTIER: Looking Glass. They’ve been family for as long as he cares to remember, but theirs is a family that is nothing if not unconventional. Where Luca had Romilda, his North Star, his bright light, so had Jasper set his sights on Arianne—though, perhaps it was more accurate to say that she’d set her sights upon him. In her, he sees a sliver of himself; this is at once a source of infinite joy for him, and infinite irritation. Their closeness is not something either of them had ever selected for themselves; it felt oddly preordained. Jasper is one of the few people immune to Arianne’s charms and wiles—he has learned her every wink and sigh, swallowing all her tricks. He chews them up and spittles them back out at her feet. She sees no fault in him that she doesn’t already own, she can pinpoint no weakness of his that isn’t also hers, and Jasper delights in reminding her of the fact. And yet, for all their antagonism, for all their jeering and hassle and competition, they find comfort in one another. They are, after all, a constant reminder that neither one of them are alone. Nevertheless, he has his claws in her, and she in him—they are always only one itch away from pulling each other to pieces.

Jasper is portrayed by Theo James and was written by CAS. He is currently TAKEN by HAILEY.

#original rp #literate rp #fantasy rp #biblical rp #lsrpg #m #r #jasper riche #cm #c

[ragingbookdragon]

How Rare And Beautiful It Is That We Exist

The super angsty collab with the lovely and beautiful @livia-art​ PS, go follow her ‘cause she’s AMAZING :)

A Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Story

Word Count: 2,100 Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst, Death Author’s Note: Based off Sleeping At Last’s ‘Saturn’. Cry like Liv and I did drawing and writing it. -Thorne :)

He stood in front of the mirror adjusting the tie, fingers slipping up and down the silky fabric. Hesitation drilled into his mind as he paused, taking in his reflection. It had been years since he’d put on a suit that wasn’t made of Kevlar and tri-weave titanium. Years since he’d attended any type of higher-class function. Jason inhaled deeply, pulling the tie up the base of his throat before he tugged at the bottom of the suit jacket, satisfied that this was the best he was going to look. About that time, the doorbell rang, and he turned, making his way to the front door. His hand curled around the doorknob and he twisted it, pulling it open to reveal his father, lightly smiling at him. “Jason. Good to see you.” Jason offered him a grin in return, accepting the hug Bruce gave him.

           “Good to see me? You saw me two days ago?” Bruce laughed as he released his son, watching him close the door, then begin their walk down the hallway and stairs.

           “What can I say? I miss my sons. Even my favorite one.” Something warm spread through Jason’s chest, but instead of commenting on it, he returned,

           “Don’t let Dick and Damian hear you say that…they’ll get jealous.” Bruce stopped in front of the door, holding it open for them.

           “Isn’t Tim included in that?” His son gave an amused grunt as he stepped through the door, waiting for Bruce to follow.

           “Tim knows he’s not the favorite by a longshot.” He watched Bruce frown momentarily before murmuring,

           “I’ll need to remind him he’s my second favorite when I get home then.” They climbed into the waiting car, sliding into the backseats. As Jason fastened his seatbelt, he glanced at Bruce and asked,

           “How come you didn’t bring along the rest of them anyway? Shouldn’t this be a family event?” Bruce paused, hands slowing over the seatbelt he pulled at; a moment passed by, then he replied,

           “…You and I haven’t spent any time together unless it was on patrol…I think we’re long overdue for some father-son time…” He looked at Jason, doubt running through steel-blue eyes as he hesitated, “…Does it bother you? If it does, I can call Dick and the others. I wouldn’t want-” Jason reached over, placing a hand on his shoulder, an easy smile on his lips as he reassured,

           “Bruce…it’s okay.” He squeezed his shoulder gently, adding, “And it is long overdue.” The relieved look that crossed Bruce’s features almost made him chuckle, but he swallowed it down, pulling his hand away and quipped, “Just please don’t tell me that I’m gonna have to suck up to the socialites…god, I hate doing that.” Bruce snorted, shaking his head.

           “Don’t worry. The theatre box we’ll be in is just us.” Jason raised an eyebrow at that and questioned,

           “We’re going to the movies?” His father hummed, gaze drifting out the window as he absentmindedly replied,

           “Theatre. We’re watching a play.” The reply made Jason roll his eyes and he mocked lowly,

           “Theatre. We’re watching a play. Should’ve said music hall instead.” Bruce gave no answer other than a quiet chuckle, and a few moments later, they were stepping inside the theatre, climbing the steps to the box. Jason lagged Bruce a few steps, hand tightening around the railing as he asked, “So, what are we watching?” They stepped into the box, taking their seats, gazes shifting to the stage; something in Bruce’s expression made him apprehensive, then Bruce disclosed,

           “The Mark of Zorro.” Jason’s expression went slack as the words failed him, and when he finally found them, he whispered,

           “…Are you sure you want to be here…to see this Bruce?” He watched Bruce’s jaw clench slightly, and after a minute, he nodded.

           “…Despite the tragedy that I faced that night…it was one of the best nights I’d ever had…with both my parents…” He looked over at Jason, eyes sad, but warm all the same. “I want to share this with you…son.” Jason blinked, the lump starting to grow in his throat, and tried to speak, but instead managed a simple nod. Bruce smiled in return, and the theatre began to darken, guiding their eyes back to the stage.

A Few Hours Later:

           “THAT WAS GREAT! OH MAN I’D FORGOTTEN HOW MUCH FUN PLAYS WERE! BRUCE! DID YOU SEE THE DUELING THEY DID?! OH MY GOD, IT WAS GLORIOUS! THEY WERE FIGHTING WITH ACUTAL RAPIERS! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT IS TO FIGHT WITH A RAPIER?! IT’S INSANE!” Bruce observed Jason’s ecstatic words, grinning as he watched him imitate the motions of the previous duel. “OH, AND THE ENDING! THE PICTURE FALLING AND THE ‘Z’ BEING THERE! OH, IT WAS SUCH…POETIC CINEMA!” He couldn’t help the snort that come from him, and as Jason’s head whipped his way, he raised a hand to his mouth, coughing to cover it. “ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME?!” Bruce grinned, shaking his head.

           “I’d never laugh at you Jason. Never.”

           “YOU’RE LYING RIGHT NOW! YOU JUST SNORTED! THAT COUNTS AS LAUGHING!” The longer he ranted, the more humorous it became, and ultimately, Bruce broke down, laughter flowing from him. Jason watched, ranting a few more times, but eventually joined him. When they finally calmed, they were wiping tears from their eyes with one hand, the other rubbing at their stomachs; Jason sucked in some air, letting out a breathy chuckle. “I haven’t laughed that hard in forever.” Bruce nodded, reaching up to rub his aching jaw.

           “Agreed.” Jason reached over, elbowing him in the side.

           “I forgot you could laugh Bruce.” His father stopped, the joyful expression quickly replaced with a heartbreaking, sorrowful one.

           “…I didn’t laugh a lot after you were gone…didn’t feel like it.” Jason’s face dropped as well, the memories of a darker time coming back to the surface. He shifted his weight between his feet, eyes staring downwards so he didn’t have to look at Bruce; he didn’t want to see the pain etched across his face. “Things got easier after Tim came along…but he always saw himself as stand-in…never the son I thought he was.” Jason inhaled deeply, gathering the courage to look back at his father and say,

           “Things are better now than they were Bruce.” His father tried to smile, but could only form a grimace, nodding along.

           “…They are…” Bruce took a breath, looking up at the sky before he shifted his gaze back down, a small smile on his face; he tipped his head to the side. “Let’s get out of here and go home.” Jason nodded, feet beginning to shift in the direction of the entrance when a shadow fell across them. A glint of silver shone in the moonlight, the sharp snap of the hammer followed by a bright flash rocked their senses, and Bruce reacted, sliding between the bullet and Jason.

You taught me the courage of stars before you left. How light carries on endlessly, even after death. With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite. How rare and beautiful it is, to even exist.

           Everything shifted as time distorted, and Jason watched, teal eyes widening with each passing second as Bruce jerked backwards, knees beginning to collapse under him. Jason first instinct was to apprehend the fleeing shooter, but the more pressing matter of Bruce collapsing outranked it; he caught Bruce as he dropped, arms winding around his chest, hands seeking out wherever the bullet had entered. They hit the ground, Bruce’s shoulders pressed back against Jason’s chest, head resting against his clavicle. Jason stared in horror as the crimson liquid spread, staining the pristine white shirt Bruce had on. He reached forward, fingers splaying against the center of Bruce’s chest, hissing, “Shit. Shit. Shit.” He looked around, voice panicky. “Bruce where’s your cellphone? I need to call an ambulance.” Bruce groaned, shaking his head, voice soft as he teased,

           “Left it in the car…not polite to bring cellphones into…theatres...” Had the situation not been so dire, Jason would’ve laughed, but the reality was beaming down on him, the alley walls closing tighter and tighter around them and he spat,

           “Oh, come on! You’re always prepared! You’re gonna tell me the one-time you’re shot you’re not carrying a phone?!” The blood started to slip between his fingers, making his grip weak as he pressed harder, and he angrily continued, “What were you thinking?! Why would you do something like this?!” Bruce shook his head at Jason’s words, and he let out a low curse, sighing, “Look, someone must’ve heard the gun go off. Help is gonna find us, Bruce. Don’t worry.” His father gave a weak chuckle, steel-blue eyes catching Jason’s for a moment before he glanced upwards to the sky and murmured,

           “Look at all of them Jay…the stars…how courageous they are to keep shining even after they’ve died.” His gaze drifted back to Jason’s and he praised, “Just like you...so strong-willed and-” Bruce’s voice faltered, breathing heavily and swallowing thickly as he pushed the words out. “Passionate…everything is everlasting Jason…life and death are just terms…just…stages of existence…but rarity and beauty…comes through living…through existing…” He paused, smiling at Jason, pearly white teeth stained red. “Your existence is up there, Jay…with the best of them all…and all that greatness out there? The universe and all it has? That’s all for you to see Jay…for your eyes…”

I couldn’t help but ask, for you to say it all again. I tried to write it down, but I could never find a pen. I’d give anything to hear you say it one more time, That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes.

           Jason sucked in a breath, but it didn’t do any good. His lungs were on fire and his chest burned as if he’d inhaled smoke from a wildfire. He could barely see Bruce’s face anymore, vision too blurred by the endless number of tears streaming down his face. He choked on his breath, stuttering out, “Stay-stay awake old man. Help is coming.” Bruce’s breathing had quieted, no longer the heavy puffs in and out he’d taken just moments earlier; he hummed lowly.

           “Just…restin’ my…eyes Jay…” Jason groaned, curling his arms tighter around his chest.

           “No-no-no. Don’t do that.” He formed a smile, breathing out, “Tell me again about the universe. How it’s all for me to see.” The corners of Bruce’s lips turned upwards, and he murmured,

           “…Got a…pen?” Jason shifted his hands, right pressing tightly to the wound, the other searching his suit pockets. After a moment, he frowned and whispered,

           “I can’t find one.” He dropped his head against Bruce’s, chin propped on his head. “C’mon old man…tell me again…I’ll give anything for it.” He clenched his eyes shut, the pressure forcing more tears down his cheeks, then he felt a hand brush in his hair, and he shifted, opening his eyes to look down, seeing Bruce smile faintly at him.

           “It’s all for you Jay…all the universe…everything…” His lips wobbled as he nodded and acknowledged,

           “Thank you…dad.” As if he’d been given a few seconds more of life, Bruce’s smile grew and he breathed gently,

           “I’m proud…of you…Jason…always have been…always…will be…” The hand softly patting his hair began to slip, and Jason’s heart stopped as he heard, “…Love you…son…” Jason’s hand shot forward, gripping Bruce’s, the words tumbling from his mouth like a cascade of rapid waters.

           “Dad don’t go. Please don’t go. I love you too dad. Please just…don’t leave me here by myself.” This time, his pleas sparked no response, and Jason shifted, pulling Bruce against him, one arm crossing Bruce’s chest, the other cradling his head. His fingers brushed against his father’s temple, pushing the hair from his sweat-slicked forehead. Warmth spread across his fingertips, but Jason didn’t feel any of it…all he felt was cold…and freezing. His jaw clenched, the air restricting in his lungs as he tried to take a breath in. Warmth flowed down his cheeks as he shut his eyes, grip tightening as he began to rock slightly. Too many emotions built up at once: anger, hurt, pain, sorrow, but all he could manage were silent tears. Another flash of light surrounded him, the piercing shrill of a siren in his ears, but he heard nothing, felt nothing.

           Jason opened his eyes, tipping his head up to the sky, gaze attended by the billions of twinkling stars above him, as if they would save him.

With shortness of breath, I’ll explain the infinite. How rare, and beautiful it truly is, that we exist.

#dc fanart #dc art #bruce wayne imagines #jason todd imagines #fanart #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce wayne fanfiction #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fanfic #batman #batman fanfic #batfamily #batfamily fanfiction #batfamily fanfic #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #red hood #red hood fanfiction #red hood fanfic #dc comics #dc imagine #dc imagines #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

[hphmbang2020]

Merry Christmas, Kyril!

@kyril-hphm

From your Secret Santa, @unoriginal2tall

Kyril used his thumb and forefinger to rub his eyes before he returned his glasses to their rightful place. He was exhausted. He'd always kept busy during his time at Hogwarts. Between classes, the vaults, and maintaining some semblance of a social life, he was used to late nights and even the occasional all nighter. But with the start of sixth year came an increase in schoolwork that had seriously eaten into his sleep schedule. Still he opened his eyes and, with a weary sigh, resumed work on his partially finished potion.

Potions class was always difficult when one was tired. The cool, damp air of the dungeons came into contrast with the warmth of the fires used to heat the cauldrons. There was even the risk of pleasant smells and vapors filling the air, though that was dependent on the potion to be brewed for the day. Today's assignment was perhaps the worst offender of all, amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world. Even some of the ingredients smelled nice on their own. All of these things combined and seemed to drag Kyril's eyelids down repeatedly. He should have taken a wide-eye potion this morning. 

Somehow he managed to keep his eyes open and his hands moving. Just a few more steps and then class would be over. As he leaned closer to stir, the warm vapors began to wash over him and threatened to close his eyes once more. Concentrate Kyril. Think about something to keep your mind working. The Christmas holiday approached quickly and planning for that should be enough excitement to drive off his weariness. He glanced aside to his table mate Merula Snyde, occasional thorn in his side and yet somehow still fun to be around. She always stayed for Christmas, but what exactly could the two Slytherins do together? Hopefully something that did not end in yet another duel. Kyril's mind searched and a possibility began to play out for him.

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

Kyril found himself in the warm and inviting Three Broomsticks, its interior decorated in all manner of bright Christmas decorations. He sat in a corner booth by himself near the fireplace, a thick book open on the table next to an untouched butterbeer. Before he had time to consider why he was here, his table was suddenly approached by Merula. She wore a plain green sweater under a heavy black coat and had a butterbeer in hand.

"Vasiley. Spending time with all your friends I see," she quipped while she sauntered up to the table.

"Snyde. Yes, they were just listing all your best qualities," he replied coolly, his face composed and calm as ever.

She set her drink on the table and threw her coat off into the booth. "Well, allow me to interrupt then," she said as she slid herself onto the seat across from him. She eyed his still full drink. "Are you going to babysit that all night or what?" Merula asked derisively.

"I will drink at my own pace, thank you. Not everything has to be a competition between us," came Kyril's retort as he tried to re-focus on his book. For some strange reason he was having difficulty making out the words.

The girl's face became mischievous. "Oh I see. Afraid to lose are we?" she taunted. Merula grabbed her drink and quickly gulped down a fifth of the sickly sweet liquid. "Ahhhhhh!" she let out an exaggerated gasp as she set the mug down and then wiped a bit of liquid from the corner of her mouth.

"Your childish tactics won't work on me anymore Snyde," Kyril said though his eyes involuntarily flickered between her mug and his own. He was not going to fall for this. That was until she began to reach for her drink once more. He was not losing, even in a contest that was objectively stupid and childish. He snatched his own mug and began to chug. With that the race was on.

Some time later both teenagers struggled to finish a fifth mug. A pair of stomachs rebelled against all the liquid and sugar that had been forced upon them. The two locked eyes, each determined not to lose. "Ready to give up Snyde? You don't look so good," Kyril asked.

"In your dreams Vasiley. You're looking fairly pale yourself. Well, paler," she fired back. Damn her.

Both Slytherins knocked back the rest of their drinks and slammed their glasses onto the table at the same time. Kyril waited a moment for his stomach to calm slightly. This couldn't continue, else one or both of them would have to vomit. However he knew that neither of them would want to lose. Then he got an idea. "You know, we could call it a draw. If you'd like," Kyril offered.

"Pffft. A draw? Why would I want to draw? I'm the most powerful..." she began before she paused with a look of unease. "I suppose in the spirit of Christmas I could accept a draw. Think of it as my gift to you," the girl added with false confidence.

"Wow, you are so generous," he sarcastically replied with a roll of his eyes. Still he breathed a sigh of relief that the silly competition had come to an end. "Care to walk back to the castle?"

Merula responded with a shrug and a disinterested, "Yeah, alright I guess." She wasn't quite able to hide the slight twitch of her lips that threatened to become a smile if left unchecked though. 

The pair slowly got up, put on their heavy coats, and made their way to the door. Neither wanted to move particularly fast after all the butterbeer they'd just drank. That was until they got outside and began to trudge through the snow, all exposed skin feeling the bite of the bitterly cold December air. A few warming charms helped mitigate this, but still neither wanted to stay outside for any longer than they had to.

"Hey Kyril!" he heard a familiar voice call from behind. He turned towards the sound, but when he did the entire world swirled around him. There was darkness for the blink of an eye and then he no longer walked through the cold snow of Hogsmeade with Merula. Instead he found he had just entered the heat filled Hogwarts kitchens, also decorated for the Christmas season, and was being approached by the lovable rogue Jae Kim in his trademark yellow hoodie. It was then Kyril realized that that was the voice he'd heard.

"Hey Jae," he replied automatically in his confusion.

"What brings you to my home away from home?" Jae asked curiously. "Didn't think I'd get to see you in detention again."

"I'm not sure," Kyril responded honestly, still taken aback by his sudden change in surroundings. "Wait how did you manage to get detention over Christmas?"

"Ah ah ah," Jae said with a sarcastic wag of his finger. "I can't just go around giving away my secrets like that."

Kyril couldn't help a small smile at his friend's flippant answer. Knowing Jae there were any number of infractions that could be the cause of his Christmastime captivity. Most likely it was a combination of multiple offenses. Kyril adjusted the glasses that had become slightly askew on his face before he replied sarcastically, "Yes, well I suppose you wouldn't want anyone to imitate you."

"Exactly. There can only be one Jae Kim in the school or it would never survive," Jae said in a way that almost seemed like bragging. "Say, since you're here, care to help with some dishes?" The Gryffindor's eyes seemed to grow twice as large as he asked, and Kyril swore to himself. Surely he had better things to do than dishes, and yet...

"Sigh. Fine. I will help with some dishes," the Slytherin accepted with a heavy emphasis on the word some. This was not going to end up like the time Jae tricked him into doing all the work for the day.

"Hooray," the shifty Gryffindor exclaimed. "Glad I've got my old work flirt back." With this he gave a wink and headed off to one of the many sinks piled high with dishes, followed by a Kyril who had failed to keep himself from blushing.

They each rolled up their sleeves and got to work scrubbing, rinsing, and drying dish after dish. As they moved around each other to get things put away, Jae began to get playful. He'd bump into Kyril with his hips or run his hand across Kyril's shoulders. The Slytherin couldn't determine whether he was more annoyed or excited by this.

"Would you mind helping me get something from the storage cupboard?" Jae whispered into his ear as they neared the end of their pile of dishes. 

Kyril gulped and then watched the other boy head towards the main storage cupboard. After a moment's hesitation he followed. When he got there he saw Jae playfully launch himself onto a large sack of flour, which exploded and filled the room with the white powder. As Kyril attempted to clear the air of flour it suddenly changed to a clump of snow falling from a tree branch right onto him.

"Kyril! Are you alright?" he heard a concerned girl say from nearby. Was that Chiara? His suspicions were confirmed when moments later he had cleared the snow from his face enough to see. As she drew near him she used her wand to quickly dry him off and warm him. Bless her healer training.

Kyril removed his glasses to clean the snow off of them. "Chiara. Yes I am now, thanks to you," he answered her. This earned him one of her big smiles that always brightened his day. She had on a heavy coat with a Hufflepuff color scheme and badger crest. "What are you doing out here in the snow anyway?" the boy asked while he looked at his surroundings. They seemed to be on the outskirts of the forbidden forest.

"Oh, I brought some friends to play with Borf for a bit," the cheerful Puff answered as she gestured to a trio of crups following after her. Two were white with light brown spots, and the third had a coat that was fully chocolate brown. They bound their way through the snow and began sniffing the Slytherin boy. "Come on out Borf!" Chiara called further into the forest, and moments later the large grey werewolf pup came running out of the forest through the snow. He made his way to the werewolf girl and received the pats on his head he wanted.

 Kyril bent down and began to pet the crups. They were quite cute and all seemed full of energy, six tails wagged about and occasionally sent bits of snow flying this way or that. It was then the boy had an idea. "Chiara, do you think they'd enjoy playing with me in my animagus form?" he asked curiously.

"Kyril that's brilliant, they'd love it!" she exclaimed as she ran over and gave him a hug that warmed him more than her spells had earlier. Well alright then. 

His question answered he used the magic that was now a part of him to change his form. He leaned forward and by the time his hands would have hit the ground they had already changed into large paws covered in white fur. Where once stood a proud and stoic Slytherin now sat the big furry body of a Samoyed. The crups and werewolf pup were confused briefly, before they began to jump around and bark with excitement at the new furred friend that had suddenly appeared.

Kyril had always found his animagus form freeing. It was as though leaving his human form behind also left behind all of his problems, at least temporarily. He hopped through the snow to a nearby tree and began to dig. After a moment he found the treasure he'd been looking for, a large and sturdy stick. He picked it up in his mouth and showed it to the other animals. Then without warning he took off in a run away from the group. As he had hoped there were soon four sets of paws that chased after him.

He didn't know how long he played with the crups and Borf. They'd played keep away with the stick and after that was some basic play fighting that all canines do. Chiara even got involved by throwing different sticks she found for them to chase. What he did know is that he was exhausted by the time he'd transformed back and taken a seat on a fallen log next to Chiara. He took a moment to catch his breath before speaking. "Pant. That was fun. I don't often get the chance to get loose like that," he eventually stated.

"I'm glad you got to enjoy yourself. And that all of them got to have a good time," she added while pointing to the group of canines that had gathered around them to lay down. They too seemed to have been worn out by all the playing. Chiara moved a little closer to Kyril before she wordlessly rested her head on his shoulder.

They sat there in silence for a while, before Chiara eventually stood up and stretched. "Well, I should probably be getting these crups back to Kettleburn soon. I'm glad I ran into you. I think everyone had a great time," the cheerful teen said. She collected the crups and began to make her way out of the sparse treeline they were in.

"I'll join you," Kyril called after her as he rose to join her. As he caught up to her they passed between two trees and the world turned on its head again. He tripped and fell towards the forest floor. Only instead of grass, roots, and snow he found himself on a stone floor covered in straw. He looked about enough to realize he was in the owlery before he attempted to stand.

It was then he noticed he was no longer in his usual sweater and slacks. No he was in a floor length light turquoise dress that hugged his slim figure closely. His white hair had been lengthened to fall past his shoulders, but fortunately he was in matching turquoise flats and not heels. He didn't know how, but somehow Dariah was behind this. 

As he made his way toward the exit though, he heard the door open. Damn, someone must be here to send a letter. He quickly looked around and decided the balcony was the best place to stay out of the newcomer's way. Hopefully they'd mail their letter and leave without paying him much mind. He made his way to the edge and immediately regretted the decision as he realized he didn't have a coat on. Still he went up to the railing to look out over the grounds of Hogwarts. He didn't often see the view from up here since his common room was in the dungeon and not one of the castle's towers.

 He heard footsteps enter the owlery and then stop in the middle of the floor. Crap, they must have spotted him. Kyril just hoped it wasn't someone he knew. Seconds later, his hopes were dashed when he clearly heard his friend Talbott say, "Oh. Hello. I'm not used to other people coming here for anything besides the post."

"Yes, well I'm just enjoying the view," Kyril replied while he attempted to make his voice higher so he wouldn't be recognized. He moved involuntarily pressed himself to the railing in an attempt to put more distance between them.

This quickly backfired when Talbott worried aloud, "Hey you're getting awful close to the edge there. Careful you don't fall." He came closer and soon stood directly behind the crossdressed Slytherin. His concern was touching, but also a bit patronizing. As though he was incompetent and clumsy.

"I'm not a child, I'll be fine," Kyril snapped in his normal voice because he forgot he was supposed to be disguising it. He leaned over the ledge and looked down to prove his point. It was then he realized just how high they were and he began to wobble some from the sight. The irony of a fall from the tower because he attempted to prove he wouldn't fall was lost on him in the moment of panic.

Suddenly a pair of firm hands grab him by the hips and steadied him. "It's okay. I've got you," Talbott's calm voice reassured him. Kyril leaned back and stretched out his arms. For a second it felt like he was flying. Then he brought his feet back onto the balcony floor and turned to Talbott without thinking. "Kyril?" Talbott asked in confusion.

Before he could answer he began to hear another voice calling his name. This time it was Rowan's, and as he repeated "Kyril. Kyril." in a loud whisper he suddenly felt his shoulder be pushed and the world around him disappeared. Instead he was back in the potions classroom leaned against his table. He must have fallen asleep in class.

His face red from the dreams he'd had, he looked down at his cauldron and his heart sank. Amortentia was not supposed to be gurgling and brown at any point. How in Merlin's name was he going to fix this before…

"Ahem. Vasiley. Normally you are more attentive with your potions. Care to explain how your amortentia ended up in such a sorry state?" Snape droned in his typical dripping sarcasm. On the other side of the table Merula snickered. Kyril put those happy dreams away to think about later. For now he needed to figure out how to explain this.

#hphmsecretsanta2019 #hogwarts mystery #hphm

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

A Lesson In Thievery

Request: Sorta a sequel to your first story with Markus, a few months after where some thieves try to steal from Reader’s garden/farm. And Markus gets protective.

Warnings: Blood, cursing, dismembering

Your farm was flourishing.  The gardens were thriving and producing deliciously huge produce. You even had a nice flower bed growing alongside your house. With roses and pansies and daisies. It added some beautiful colour to your dry, dirt covered land.  The herd of goats were few, but they were some of the best animals you’ve cared for in a while. 

Thanks to your little Boogeyman that is. Who, the night you made the arrangement with him, went out to “scout” the competition.  He came back a few days later with two goats and a body of a farmhand, wrapped up in vines and dragged the entire way to your garden. 

“Look, dollface, It’s good fertiliser.” Markus explained as he started to dig up your once neat and tidy, but very empty, vegetable patch, with his roots. Dragging the body of the young man deep into the earth. “Don’t worry about nothin’, alright? If you’re serious about letting me stay, then I’m serious about making sure you ain’t caught. Go put those goats with the others and I’ll deal with the rest.” 

You were too shocked to even form an argument.  You hadn’t, entirely, been serious about killing the next door rancher. But killing his ranch-hands?! That sickened you to the core. 

“Aye! Doll, don’t wing out on me now.” The talking pumpkin that was now patting down the soil neatly over the buried body. “I know it’s a shock, but if I kill ya rival right away, it’ll be suspicious. Let people think there’s a monster. Let them blame one another. And then, strike. Cause then, it’ll be the norm to be taken by the Boogeyman.” 

You could only nod. You grabbed the goats’ leashes and led them into the barn. They didn’t seem at all fazed by the creature that led them here. Nor the body of their care-taker being dragged across large fields of grass.  You patted them down, made sure they had water and food, and returned to your bed. You didn’t sleep that night, nor the nights that followed. But within a few months, your life with Markus did in fact become the norm. And it became a common thing for you to wander out during the night to fetch water, and find the Pumpkin man tearing apart a human body to use as fertiliser. 

“Ya don’t need to watch this, doll.” Markus said to you one night as you joined him by the vegetable garden. “I know how sickenin’ it is to ya. Especially when you’ve never killed before.”

“I’ve skinned goats and hunted pheasants.” You replied softly, bending down by the tangled mess of vines that was Markus’ somewhat human form. You used a small spade to dig a little deeper into the earth and Markus sprinkled some fingers into the hole.  You planned to plant more pumpkins tomorrow. So Markus could lay in the open without seeming to be out of the ordinary. 

“It’s not the same, love. And you know it.” Markus said. But didn’t bother to try to usher you away. If you wanted to help, then there was no time like the present to become immune to a little death.

“I know. But I wanna make sure you do it properly. Since last time you left the villager’s boots on the body.” You couldn’t help but tease. And Markus sighed dramatically. Dipping his head, as if in great despair. 

“The one time I do something wrong.” Markus murmured. Irritation biting at the edge of his words. “Instead of all the good things I do for you; you instead tap-dance on the one mistake.” 

You shrugged and flicked his head. Chuckling at the way tried to slap your hand away, even as the hollow echo radiating from his carved eyes.  “You know I am grateful for your... help.” 

“Funny way of showin’ it, doll.” Markus grumbled. And suddenly his form collapsed in on himself. His human form untangled itself into a mess of green vines and dug himself into a softer patch of the garden.  You knew he was immediately absorbing the nutrients from the carcass beneath the ground. 

“I’ll cook you a nice roast when I get a cow next.” You suggested. “Maybe with some herbs and spices.” 

Markus hummed in delight at the thought. The sound rippled through the hollowed out pumpkin and the carvings cracked and formed an expression close to dreamy.  “That, my dear, would be fucking amazing.” 

_______________________________________________________________

After you returned to your house and blew out of the candles; Markus settled down in the dirt to rest.  He couldn’t sleep entirely. But if he stayed still long enough, with his eyes closed and his head looking like a regular pumpkin, Markus could almost imitate sleep. 

And as he did, his vines stretched out far throughout your land. Only to the fence of the gardens and your home. Spreading the nutrients he absorbed from the carcass and distributing it about your estate.  It wasn’t much, but Markus enjoyed a little green. Especially when it brought a soft smile to your face whenever you see your little colourful petals bloom.

Finally settling in for the night, Markus started to let his mind drift.  It didn’t go far, much to his irritation. Since his vines sensed movement on the far side of your home.  There was only one set of footsteps. But they were heavy, and Markus felt the distribution of the person’s weight on the pads of their feet. They were sneaking.  Pushing through your few lanes of corn towards your house.  And Markus didn’t exactly like how this person seemed to be carrying something on their back. 

Too lazy to move, Markus shifted his vines beneath the soil. The person looked down, feeling the earth tremble beneath his boots. And then, the ground exploded and a thick black vine captured the Human in Markus’ grasp. And he knew instantly who the trespasser was. 

“Oh, (y/n) will love this.” Markus smirked. And with a hard tug, the vine slithered into the ground. The man clawed at the grass, screaming and begging as his body started to sink beneath the surface of the earth.  His last breath was cursing your name, and his hand dragged down a corn stalk in a last attempt to save himself from this unknown monster. 

You barely even stirred that night.  In your dreams, you heard whispered pleas and wet paper being shredded. But you slept soundly, and witnessed nothing. 

Until early in the morning you felt cold tendrils wrap around your leg. They were gentle and soothing, until the sharp pricks of their thorns pierced into your skin.  “Ow! What the fuck, Markus?” You grumbled. Kicking away the Being’s vines as he loomed over you by the side of the bed. 

“I have something to show you.” Markus cooed excitedly. Practically bouncing on his vines beside you.  You mumbled softly and pushed back the blankets. Dragging yourself up into a sitting position to rub the sleep from your eyes. 

“Couldn’t it wait when it’s more morning?” You asked, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. 

“No. Because the crows will be all over it! Come on, doll-face. Let’s go.” Markus, growing impatient, grabbed you around the waist and hurled you over his head. You yelped, but the vines around your torso held you firm as the Pumpkin on walking tendrils exited the house.  You smelled it before you saw it. And you didn’t want to see it, but Markus’ excitement was a little too contagious... for your liking.  But as he set you down by the corn stalks, you noticed two things. First, there was a stalk missing.  Secondly, there was now a scare-crow standing where the missing stalk once was.  And you didn’t need to ask. You knew who was nailed to the post, bloody and torn. Straw stuffed into his dismembered arms and legs. Stitched together crudely enough that you could see your old rival falling apart before you. 

“Oh my God.” You whispered. So many emotions burst through you.  Fear. Disgust.  Satisfaction.  Nausea.  So weird emotions entangled themselves in your gut that you felt your blood run cold. 

“He was sneaking towards the house last night.” Markus said. Choosing to ignore the horrified expression you were wearing. “He was carrying an axe. Sharpened and heavy too. Didn’t much like how that looked so I killed him.” 

You stared up at the farmer. After hearing that, you weren’t feeling as bad for such a fate. But there was still that little bit of disgust.  “Are you going to take him down before he starts rotting?” You asked. And Markus shrugged. 

“To be honest, doll. I don’t think the gardens would like someone like that in their soil. He’s rotten to the core. I was thinking of tearing him up some more and throwing him in a river for the nymphs to eat,”  That didn’t sound too bad. And you admitted to yourself that you didn’t like the thought of your old rival being in your garden.  It just didn’t feel right. Even though the thought of some amazing produce being grown from him, and sold to the markets, would be a good final fuck you.

“Ok, do you need help?” You asked and Markus looked down at you with a curved eye socket. Cracks formed the expression of doubt as he tilted his head towards you. 

“No, doll. You stay here and do the farming thing. I’ll deal with the body. I just wanted to show you that I could decorate... a little.”  You chuckled and shook your head. 

“Are you suggesting you wanna start decorating my farm with bodies, Mark?” You asked and the pumpkin looked at you in horror. 

“By the Gods, no! I didn’t mean it like that. Just... I don’t know. Maybe some hedges. Or stones. Something other than plants. Some actual trees would be nice.” 

You looked around your farm. It was very bare of trees and anything other than small plants and produce. Maybe you could use a few shapely hedges or rocks to fill in the space you had.  “Alright. I can understand that. How about, I leave you in charge of decorating. But if I don’t like it, it has to go.” 

Markus was obviously excited by that notion. He tried to hide it. But the little wiggles his vines did as he pretended to think over your proposal was both adorable and not very subtle.

“Alright. Ya got a deal!” Markus finally replied. And you nodded, deciding to just leave him to take down the scare-crow and begin his work on covering up the scene.  Though you were glad that your rival was gone. Some part of you loathed the idea of the village finding out. But until then, you could get his animals over here and use them as you could.  Maybe even get Markus to make it look like a big monster had attacked the next farm. Anything to make it seem like you didn’t just murder him to save your hide from losing money. 

#Markus #Markus oc #Markus pumpkin #oc #original character #Markus x reader #monster #monster boyfriend #Markus monster #monster x reader #reader insert #monster lover

[gaamagirl565]

Matters of the heart ep 7

Matters of the heart Episode 7 Learning from the best {OPENING CREDITS} {Open to Isaiah playing with Draki on the hay bale} Isaiah: *giggles as Draki slithers over him* Draki! Ah! That tickles! {Draki nuzzles into his neck; Isaiah pets him} Isaiah: Love ya too buddy… {Varian walks out of the house tying up his hair} Isaiah: Dad! Dad! Look at this new trick Draki and I can do! Ready boy? {Isaiah tosses Draki in the air and as he comes back down Isaiah reaches his hand up and lets his snake effortlessly glide from one arm to the other and onto a nearby tree branch} Varian: wow...you two are getting good at that...just...Be careful okay? Isaiah: Daaaaddd...I milk his venom every day plus Draki would never hurt me! Right, Draki?...Draki? {Pan to Ruddiger hissing at Draki and Draki doing the same; Isaiah runs over and picks up his snake} Isaiah: Can you two go one day without fighting!? {Zapada walks into frame} Zapada: Snakes always seem to have a chip on their shoulder in my opinion… Varian: Well hello there… {Varian walks over and kisses her forehead} Varian: Isaiah, aren’t you going to say hello? Isaiah: *rolls eyes*...hello… {Varian narrows his eyes; Isaiah looks away} Varian: Don’t worry...give him time Zapada: E în regulă, iubirea mea...I just came to give you luck for your big day… Isaiah: Big day? Varian: Your grandfather is going to be teaching me the ins and outs of leadership… Isaiah: Can I come too!? Draki and I would love to help! Right Draki? {Draki pops his head out from a bush with a mouse in his mouth} Varian: Well normally this kind of event is for the current leader and the heir...but I don’t see why you can’t ask your grandfather if-? Isaiah: WOOHOO! Zapada: I will come too...If it’s okay of course... I will how you say..S-Spectate… Varian: how can I refuse you? {Zapada blushes and pulls on her cloak; Isaiah gags; cut to Varian walking onto the field with Isaiah and Zapda in tow} Quirin: There are my boys! You ready to get started? Varian: Actually dad...Isaiah has something he wants to ask. Quirin: Oh, Really? Isaiah: C-can I learn too? Quirin: well normally the tests of a leader are for the heir but...I don’t see why not. Isaiah: Yes! {Zapada sits off to the side} Zapada: Go team-...oh my...who do I root for? {cut to a hillside} Quirin: The first test is a test of strength...you must these two barrels must get to the bottom of the hill without damaging the goods inside and load them onto the cart below. It’s a steep incline so all your muscles will be working. Good luck! {Varian picks up the two barrels and slowly makes his way down the hill; Meanwhile, Isaiah has trouble lifting the two heavy barrels} Isaiah: urrgh! This is impossible...Dads lived on the farm his whole life, of course, he’s used to it...hmmm. {Isaiah gets an Idea and put the Barrels on their sides} Zapada: What is he….oh no… {Isaiah ties a rope around them and slowly starts lowering them down the hill; the rope snaps and Isaiah struggles to grab one of the barrels and it pulls him down the hill at a high speed; he zooms past Varian and plunges into the cart turning all the apples in the barrels to mush} Varian: Isaiah! {Varian, Zapada, and Quirn rush over to the cart} Varian: Buddy, are you okay!? Isaiah: *giggling* l-lets do that again! Varian: Phew… Quirin: Well considering you damaged both barrels, Isaiah...Varian wins. Isaiah: But I got here first! Varian: but you damaged the apples… Isaiah: And made a new product!...apple sauce… {Varian has an “are you serious look and we cut to the next test} Quirin: This test is a test of Cunning...you’ll need all your brainpower to figure this out...at the top of this tree is a flag...your goal is to retrieve it by any means. Don’t think you can just climb it. The thorns on this tree are poisonous. Touch one and you’ll wish you hadn’t. Zapada: wait...if you can’t climb it...how did you get the flag up there? Quirin: Not through easy means. Zapada: *gulps* be careful, Varian! Varian: Don’t worry! Your man has got this! {Isaiah examines the tree and gets and idea} Isaiah: Draki! Here boy! {Draki slithers up his arm} Isaiah: Think you can get that flag? {Draki looks up and hisses before slithering onto the tree} Varian: What the? {Draki gets to the top, grabs the flag and come down} Quirin: Isaiah wins! Varian: EYYY! He used a snake that’s cheating! Quirin: nope! I said by any means… Isaiah: Looks like I’m a better leader… Varian: oh ho...really? Zapada: oh dear… Varian: care to place a wager on that? Isaiah: now you’re speaking my language...lets so whomever wins the most cleans the lab for a month. Varian: deal! {they shake hands; begin montage of the challenges} Quirin: this test is one of diplomacy! {shows two sets of kids fighting over and apple; Varian cuts the apple in half and has his two share it; Pan over to Isaiah who is holding each kid back from killing each other} Quirin: this test is one of empathy… {shows a homeless on the road} Varian: here have some coin….

{Varian gives him money} Isaiah: here sir… {Isaiah gives him a cloth blanket and a bag of apples} {Varian pouts; Zapads face palms; fade to the Cult HQ} Noremoth: Come now sweet Vessel you must eat… Cassandra:.... Noremoth: It’s your favorite…please? You need strength! Cassandra: so I can kill my friends and family? I don’t think so! Noremoth: don’t think of it like that! Think of it like...Liberation for the weak! They’re constantly ignored in Corona!...you would know about that...wouldn’t you? {Cassandra lunges forward and grabs him; her eyes glow} Noremoth: oopsie daisy! Strike a nerve, did I? Cassandra: if you want to keep your tongue I’d shut up… Noremoth: or what, Sweet vessel o’mine? Larkspur: Noremoth… Noremoth: M’LADY! I-I…*kneels* Larkspur: Now now Noremoth you should know better than to antagonize our most important asset. Cassandra: I. am. not. Yours! Larkspur: no? Oh your right!...you belong to Zhan tiri. Cassandra: I DON’T BELONG TO THAT THING EITHER! {Magic surges through Cassandra making her scream and fall to her knees; Noremoth cringes and feels sympathy for her} Larkspur:..Zhan tiri seems to disagree… {Cassandra stares on in shock} Larkspur: Listen Vessel...you are no longer whom you were in the past...your past self died the second you stole the moonstone… {Noremoth looks between his leader and Cassandra} Larkspur:...There is nothing but Zhan tiri now...I suggest you make your peace with it… {Larkspur goes to walk away and noremoth follows leaving Cassandra alone; cut back to old Corona} Varian: OW!... Zapada: Sorry! Why on earth did you think using a cactus was a good idea!? Varian: It seemed like...A good idea at the tim-AHH! Zapada: well now you ARE a cactus! Look at all these spines! Varian: ughh… Zapada: is it not quite silly what you’re doing? Varian: huh? What do you mean? Zapada: this silly competition...what is the point? You’re next in line as the leader anyway. Varian: well it’s...fun… Zapada: competing to the point of injury is fun? *plucks a spine* Varian: OWW!...when you put it like that...ah!..it’s just ya know..Father-son bonding… Zapada: This is father-son bonding? Varian:....yes? Zapada: I will never understand Corona… Varian: OWWW! {Cut to the next challenge} Quirin: This next test is one of courage...you will have to face your worst fear. As a leader many things will frighten you but you cannot let it stop you. Especially when people count on you. Isaiah: *winces* Quirin: Your fears are...different...hard to emulate but we did our best… Varian: Deep breaths..c’mon… Quirin: Varian...you are afraid of blood...but you will see plenty of it as a leader… {Varian nods} Quirin: Over there is a bucket of sheep’s blood… Varian: *gags* Quirin: You will remove your glove and stick a hand in it for 60 seconds… Varian: oh lovely… {Varian walks over to the bucket} Quirin: Whenever you’re ready... {Quirin holds up a pocket watch} Isaiah: Too chicken, dad? {Varian growls and shoves his ungloved hand into the bucket} Varian: Uagh!... Quirin: hmm… {Varian is cringing but doesn’t move} Zapada: oh, iubirea mea… Quirin: Alright! Thats a minute {Varian jumps from the bucket and over to a trough of water to wash is hand; all the while gaging} Quirin: Isaiah you’re next… Isaiah: what is mine? Alchemy? A small firecracker? Quirin: Rain… {Isaiah’s eyes dilate in horror} Isaiah: w-what? Quirin: as a leader, you must face all kinds of fear...even past traumas...we’re able to imitate rain by using a rainstick and pouring water into a bucket with holes at the bottom… Isaiah: *wince* Quirin: You will stand with eyes closed under the bucket for a whole minute...like your father… {Isaiah pales and his breathing quickens} Varian: Isaiah..it’s okay you don’t have to- Isaiah: no!..I’ll do it…. {Quirin nods and takes out the pocket watch; Isaiah goes and stands under the bucket; with a deep breath he closes his eyes} Isaiah: I’m ready… {Quirin nods at the two men that were standing by; one man turns over the rainstick making it sound like falling rain; the other pours water in the bucket have small droplets fall out the bottom and onto Isaiah} Isaiah: *whimpers* {Varian bites his lip; Zapada looks on in confused shock; Isaiah opens his eyes and is suddenly on dead mans curve watching his mother and the duke be killed by bandits in the rain} Estelle: Isaiah! Help me! {Cut to reality} Isaiah: *screams and lunges away from the water and onto the ground whimpering loudly* Quirin:....30 seconds…. {Varian runs to his side} Varian: Isaiah? {Isaiah yelps and jerks away from him; Isaiah looks around with panic before running away} Zapada:...What..just happened? Quirin:...Isaiah failed the test of courage…and...I think we did too much... Varian: Isaiah…. {Cuts to sunset and Isaiah is sitting under a tree with Draki in hand} Isaiah: I tried my best...right Draki?...maybe I’m just not a leader… Varian: Isaiah? {Isaiah looks over and immediately looks away; Varian walks over and sits by him} Varian: Buddy?...I’m sorry that happened...you wanna talk about it? Isaiah:.... Varian: Isaiah...I know what you thinking of… {Isaiah looks up at him} Varian: sometimes I think of it too...how scared she must’ve been...I made a promise to protect your mother and I failed her...so maybe I deserve to fail this too… Isaiah: I just wanted to show you that…I’m not a screwup… Varian: What? Isaiah: I keep messing things up...I wanted to prove people wrong and I got a scar! I wanted to impress the princess and instead almost got Akina killed!... I lied to you so I could get revenge… Varian: oh, buddy… Isaiah: I just thought maybe if I could pass these tests I could..I don’t know..show you I’m not a screwup... Varian: ...show me? Or show yourself? {Isaiah buries his head in his knees} Varian: Isaiah you wanna talk about being a screwup? The first time I met the queen I blew up my village with boilers I had underground… {Isaiah looks up shocked} Isaiah: okay..pfft...thats pretty bad… Varian: My point is...People mess up..it’s part of being human...whats important is to learn from your mistakes...and Isaiah...don’t try to make other people proud of you...Be proud of yourself...there is only one of you...and you are amazing… {Isaiah hugs him} Isaiah: I love you dad… Varian: I love you too… {END CREDITS}

#tangled #tangled the series #tangled oc #TTS #RTA #rapunzel’s tangled adventure #Varian #Zapada #Isaiah #matters of the heart #tangled next gen

[thefinishpiece]

Dance Of Exploding Eggs

The dead do not wash their feet.

Neither does not Nadia. She was still alive, still staring at the marks of peckish dirt encasing her feet like a spotted glaze. Yet, less appetizing.

Instead, she was reviled to find where her veins strutted up to form long, sinewy ridges—her usually clear complexion blemished in wildfires of tawny gunk.

Even her tiny hairs, which she regularly shaved, were now trees bristling in leaves of muddied bluster. In the clefts between her toes, little clans of grungy warriors built camps and lit fires, letting their filth fly freely, while fending off the fungal barbarians sure to be surrounding them any second now.

Her toenails fared no better, each one piling unto itself as a layered cake of dead cells. Hardened, deadened, sharp—soot-stricken orphans seeking shelter beneath the curves, shivering yet ordained by structure to never clog or obstruct the construction of new nail, which constantly builds outward as a bridge of flattened crystal-flesh. Until gravity clutches it and pulls it down, looping back into the very toe it tried to escape from, almost like a parasite that can’t quite leave the taste of its host behind.

And the stench from all this—pervading passed all bounds of invisible air, leaping up so fast and flourishing, by the time it reaches the nose it is a blossoming fist of smell, punching nostrils closed, knocking out any other aroma present.

How could any conscious being permit such an expanse of putridness to grow on itself?

Nadia did not have to ponder for long because she blamed herself supremely and solely. Just as well, since she blamed herself often and deeply.

“I have to wash my feet...” she muttered to herself. “A good soak is all they need.”

In her quiet inspection, she lamented the dead. For as they were, being deceased, their feet could deteriorate and decay all they like, because at six-feet-under earthly crust, no one can smell them or complain about them, and they themselves could not openly accuse themselves of being the opposite of hygienic and failing to hide natural odor from their own judgmental eyes. Because despite how natural the growth of dirtiness on feet seemed to be, it was still considered hideous to everyone—especially Nadia—and frowned upon by many in circles high above the very ground upon which these very feet walked on.

“There is fungus growing on these, I just know it.” Nadia assured herself.

But as she did, pinching the derelict spots in quiet contempt, her companion muddled platitudes of support, remarking how happy he would be to scrape off all those mushrooms on her feet and cook a nice dish with them—maybe a soup or pasta or something.

“Wild shrooms like that always have such an earthly taste you can’t find anywhere else!”

“Here then, have a taste yourself!” Nadia sneered, shoving her foot right into her companion’s face, her wilderness-blessed toes tapping classical melodies on his face.

He playfully grabbed her ankle and kissed her toes all over, licking his lips, wearing a face like a golden-tongued chef being asked by the gods to decide whose confection was best—was it the lemon-frosted cream-cake by Hekate, or perhaps the pineapple-pudding pie which Hermes made?

Nadia giggled, curling her toes, still concerned by her bothersome feet, but quite content to have someone overcome it for the sake of amusing her. And he did amuse her—in all ways. It is the only reason she even agreed to go on this trip—especially after what happened so long ago.

Otherwise, she would have stayed at home, soaking her feet to a wrinkled gleam.

And as she removed her foot from his face, returning her leg to a proper position, she was appropriately careful not to disturb the eggs on the dashboard, which were bundled together in a basket, with blots of cotton mixed in to keep them buoyant and prevent unintentional collision.

As they both quit laughing—his attention focusing in on the road ahead and Nadia suddenly forgetful of the plague wreaking havoc on her feet—the quiet hiss of the eggs could be heard. Whatever it was developing within them, it emitted this sullen spitting, penetrating through its shell at a volume just loud enough to hear in silence, but just silent enough to be swallowed by any mention of another sound (any other mention of sound).

Nadia gazed at the eggs, listening to them curse and whine, wondering if it was pain or hate that compelled them to make such sour tones.

“These things are so foul.” Nadia noted. Her companion nodded without looking. “Sure, but so are your feet.”

A smirk bit his face, and Nadia just shook her head smiling. At least she had him here. These eggs seemed rather harmless with him here.

|1|

The shells were golden, as if molded after myth and greed.

But why did they have to stay in the bathroom? On the sink, where they paired with their reflection to ensure a double flood of grotesque gold every time Nadia must floss her teeth or comb her hair? Why could they not be hidden somewhere out of sight—especially somewhere insulated so their acidic whispers could not be audible to anyone?

Especially to Nadia, who was in here simply to clean her feet, not hear the hissing of eggs she only agreed to transport because he had asked. No one else could have convinced her.

Her hope was that the droning drops of the bath faucet would wrestle the background noise to a comfortable hum, a soothing sensory song of automated splash and meditative whirl. Her plan functioned the way she intended—as soon as the metallic mouth started spraying its aquatic continuum, the noise of the eggs suddenly dispersed.

But they remained problematic in sight—they clung to her peripheral vision, a visual squid stretching its tentacles all around her attention.

Nadia prepared herself in front of the toilet rather than the mirror, quite resistant to being in the same reflection as these hideous eggs. Her companion rested in the adjacent room, a reasonably upheld hotel room which was lighted in decorative wallpapers depicting seashells and seahorses—a recently refurbished décor which imitated the appearance of something fancier than the price indicated.

But in spite of such comfortable accommodations, a thorn continued to reside in Nadia’s proverbial sides.

Those eggs, which strung such horrible tunes in the air and were plunged in equally offensive hue—a gold of unnatural paleness, something not gifted from heaven but from some otherworldly dimension where an affectionate spectrum does not exist, thus having to translate its previous color into one compatible with this reality, but without an actual frame of reference to consummate the translation. There was no color in this place that could suffice for these eggs. And the gold that they finally settled on was not even really matched to any credible source—it may have been a color you could recognize and possibly categorize, but only in a dissimilar demeanor, such as comparing the tides of ocean to the tides of flame.

These eggs had chosen a color that only pretended to be a color.

This imitative impression disgusted every sensibility Nadia possessed. But for whatever morbid condition ailing her, she could not bring herself to look away. And this only further repulsed her.

So, in response, she swathed a towel over the eggs, concealing them from view, then proceeded to peel herself bare and bathe. However, every once in a while, she still glanced at that mound of cerulean-cloth, knowing in her mind’s eye exactly what lay beneath, even though it had been deafened and buried. It was the power of a thought over a reality.

Nadia sighed. She desperately desired to change the course of her thoughts. She sunk into the porcelain tub, at first cold and crippling, awaiting its eventual completion.

The faucet drummed, and waves formed floor after floor of boiling bubbles, swirling in suds, molten layers of cleansing water swaying over her to and fro, steady and unhurried. The coldness was removed, replaced by rippling heat, almost as if blankets of temper were tenderly placed over her body, one after the other, building a tomb of liquid steam around her.

It was a reverse evaporation—the atmosphere condensation upon her, the dissolved now soluble again. Once free particles of hotness pinched from the sky and folded into pockets of wetness, spraying on Nadia’s body in a measured massage.

Finally, she was relaxing.

Her mind receded to memories—as a wandering mind is known to do. Instances made of time and place, proportioned to emotional heights, to moody lows, to kinetic propulsion of person and thing, interacting in a dream, where motion is unclear, and the most prominent aspect is how far away something so superbly significant can feel. That paradox of memory.

In hers, there was a beach.

On a day of stormy composition. Yet rain had held back, and a warm breeze flew swanlike across the scene. Deep hues of sapphire magma spiraling against the shore, not in rage but in prance.

How strange to see it cascading in the horizon, colliding with a sky of dreary steel, specks of blackened rust puncturing the clouds—much akin to dirt on feet. But it is not dark. Even through stormy screens, sunlight performs its duty and the world is visible in leaden beauty.

Nadia is there, in a dress.

A thing of red-clay converted to silk, with threaded jewels of turquoise. She is spinning in an unseen weaver’s wheel, their fingers rolling her around. But she is not dancing alone. For there is another, a man, joining her and twirling with her. His unbuttoned shirt is flurrying as he moves. Until at last, they spin into one another, joyous. They both laugh and tremble, collapsing onto the sand, their arms stuck together in a knot. And they lay there, tied together, unflinching, undisturbed—as if being made into a knot was their one true intention all along.

And these two human strings admire each other. So much so that when rain oscillates upon them, they do not even notice. In drenched, clustering sand, they reciprocate affection, lips lancing against each other, bodies tying together, their knot tightening ever more and more, until one has to wonder if you could ever untie them apart.

Nadia giggles. She remembers how unconcerned they were with ruining their respective garments. The clumps of damp sand encrusting both of their backs like the shells on a tortoise. But their torsos were untouched—so concerned with being wrapped so close to each other, no open space was possible. And the feeling of wet lips, uncaring to rain and sand, compressing themselves dry in the heat of faucet-fusion.

Then the deluge pours over, erupting across the smooth-sides, and Nadia jumps, startling herself.

In her delighted daydream, she had let the bath overfill, now overflowing onto bathroom tile. She leaps for the octagonal handle, carved of candied glass, halting the water and ending the storm.

Now she is alone again.

Except for that faint fuse, with its spark flickering forever. Though it never reaches its destination—it only barks continually, that sound of sparkling dust. Then Nadia’s state of dazed grace concludes abruptly, as she understands there is no dynamite-stick, but a collection of disgraceful eggs, unmuted. She wishes so much she could just boil them, get it over with.

Nadia loosens the drain, ignoring the eggs, her peaceful spa now tainted and confused.

Upset, she watches the water vanish piece by piece, until all that is, is a remainder of puddled past—a shallow spit of soap caught on the edge of indented drain. Reminiscent of gunk beneath toenails. Reminding her of scattered sand memories.

And those blasted eggs, hissing and hissing and hissing…

A space Nadia must escape.

She leaves the bathroom, still drenched but entombed by a bathrobe. She strides passed the bed where her companion remains asleep, his own body beneath a crypt of blankets and sheets, resting in infinite dreams in some unhurried afterlife. Snores ensuing.

Nadia has never quite contoured to his awful snoring, so steady and surly. She assumed after a certain period of time her ears would be accustomed to it, that she would barely notice his nasal belches as if they were blank booms. But this threshold proved unreachable, and every time Nadia hears it, she can never concentrate nor slumber.

Rain casts against the window. A shame because Nadia desires to peek outside, absorb the bounty of the natural world, refreshing and ravaging all at once. Storms have an unusual pull on the heart, which in turn, has an unusual way of peeling the body—unable to hide oneself anymore, becoming a spark of nude thunder.

Replacing one insensitive sound for another, Nadia crumbles in indolence, retreating to the bathroom, considering that she cannot smother her companion with a towel to stop his bleating, but she can at least inter the eggs to divisible hum. And from there, all she has to do is plead ignorance. So, back to the bathroom.

|2|

Back in the bathroom, Nadia is given a dress.

Even though she is still wet from the rain, she cannot reject such a gracious gesture, so she glues it to her skin to prevent it from slipping off. Then she is asked to dance.

“Are you sure? I don’t think I’m any good.” Nadia blushes. But it insists. “Okay—but only if you dance with me.”

Nadia extends her hand. She is taken by a presence and together they twirl and taper across the slippery tile. At first, they are sloppy, awkwardly jutting into corners or stepping over each other’s path. But eventually they adapt, they crease together, a makeshift rhythm developing between them, motion now momentum—bodies now ballet.

They dance ellipticals across the room, channeling each other’s orbits, certain not to collide, and certainly not to disrupt the beautiful gravity they have plumed. But Nadia, without intention or reason, happens to witness her feet, and by their gross gravitas, she plummets to the floor.

No more dancing.

Nadia sighs. All the vapors have disappeared. The bathroom is cold again. Shivering, she looks around for a towel. But the only one is placed over the dreadful eggs she despises so much. It seems as if Nadia has condemned herself to a fate of lying naked on the floor forever.

“I hate these eggs!” Nadia shouts.

Nobody is disturbed. Not even her companion, who continues his hibernation uninterrupted. It is just Nadia, alone, with that menacing mumble, ceaseless yet contained, the eggs still whining even under their threaded prison.

She accepts her misfortune and adjusts her position to sitting on the toilet lid, her bottom crippling from the icy white, but she seems unbothered.

Nadia angles her legs up, her feet poised on the bathtub ledge. She grabs a complimentary sponge and starts scrubbing her feet, up and down every crevice and crack, across entire soles and ankles and toe-folds. Precise, she does not move too rapidly—she takes the time to ensure perfection on her mission of erasing every negative note from her two feet.

The procedure has become habit, and habit lends itself to repetition becoming daydream. Daydream which lends itself to becoming habit, and habit which turns into the rituals of reality that bind us to corporeal certainty, whether consciously or not.

And isn’t that such a curious thing how the brain tricks you into believing what it wants you to believe, what it thinks is best, what it thinks is real—strangely contradicting what your conscious view sees? What you truly want?

Nadia never quite comprehended how her mind could repel in two alternate directions, as if the thing inside her skull was nothing more than a mere magnet, positive and negative pulses, rippling against each other, stuck in marrow-molded bondage, forced to reconcile petty differences and levitate in static vibration; a feigned vibrancy where thought and imagination and curiosity can pretend to be things of their own, when truly they are products of electrical folly. Nervousness.

And she absolutely did not comprehend the track of time either, which seemed to have evaporated, along with a patch of her skin, as suddenly she was stabbed by a searing sensation on her foot.

Wincing, she examined the cause, seeing that in her furious daze she had rubbed too heavily with the sponge, scraping off a small surface of her foot, now catalyzed in blood. It did not bleed in a traditional way, but due to the nature of the wound, seeped out of the area in knitted dots, scarlet-putty pushing through a weave.

Nadia grabbed the towel and padded her foot, but in doing so, permitted those dastardly eggs to breathe once more, and their breaths were just as constant and corrosive as ever. All they did was hiss, hiss, hiss…

Waves.

From sound and light. Sneaking up Nadia’s skin like little spiders of clustered vibration.

Into the green she goes.

Eaten up by trees, her hair yearning to be a leaf on her head, vibrant and veiny, waving and curling in verdant wind. Along a road she goes, feet swimming across the mud, her body moving like a tidal wave against a shoreless beach. Escape.

At the zenith of her path—an overlook, decorated in tufts of earthy hair and nails, with strewn logs and sharp boulders. A view of the remaining wood, its belly lunging up and down in tectonic reflux, aligned with pine and bark and brush, each ridge and valley adorning itself in its own personal collection of green.

Nadia approaches the edge of this cliff, which oversees the forest it is a part of as if separate from it.

A table is set, draped in a pretend-petal curtain, where anxious porcelain cups hold its quiet magma, blessed of roots stripped and shaken and seared. Her companion is there, holding a bouquet, so full of rainbow passion, an assortment of flowery praise that only Aphrodite could deserve—yet it is for Nadia, of all things!

A surprise picnic at the end of the world.

Her companion offers her a seat, which she does not refuse. The sky is elaborate in shades of violet and azure, a strange suffusion of dark and bright—a peripheral sunrise stuck in perpetual sunset. But it is not a fiery sun so much as it is a sun of shadows; yet everything under it is visible and vibrant. Only in a dream.

But Nadia does not listen to such negative inclinations, her attention purely focused on her companion, who sits beside her, his arm nestling against her shoulders, warm and safe. They both grab a cup of tea, ascend to touch and tip their fortunes to each other, then lifting to their lips to swallow it to oblivion—how odd to have stomachs, our own personal abyss within our body.

It tastes like angel-bath, sweet and mentholating, warm and exasperate in faith—the faith that this feeling would last forever.

For Nadia, it might as well, because every other moment after was nothing but pale failure.

And, especially, when her companion gazes into her eyes, without breaking away, with an amount of longing and affection so deep and infusive, she finds herself trembling, even though sight is only sight.

But she stares back at him, his face crinkling together almost like a cone, pointed directly at her, as if no surrounding sensation could deter him from this view. Not the mountains; not the sky; not the dream of universe complete. Only her—Nadia—and her face, however dirty or seemingly normal it may seem to her, is a boundless source of inspiration to him. And she feels enslaved by it, put in a bondage that is pleasantly accepted—a surrender, a submission.

Then the purples fade.

And light of fairy-blood returns, swirling and maddening.

Suddenly, trees are bleeding viridian, and their natural hue strolls unto review. Back into the green again, as Nadia feels a kiss, and disappears forever in trees of passion pleased.

But something is sour.

She does not remember his kiss being so acerbic, cutting her, leaving her in bled-refrain. What sort of perverted spring is this?

It stings. She wipes his saliva from her lips, but it bubbles on her fingertips, to the point of boiling. She grimaces, wondering why there is pain. She looks up to see her lover’s eyes vanished, and alone on this precipice. Her entire jaw is sliced away, sliver by sliver, her bones crackling, her muscles spoiling. Her face falls like rotten fruit from its frame, the heaviness of mold and rot too much for romantic gravity to bear. So it drops her all the way to a tomb of disgrace. Buried beneath the earth, there is Nadia’s love—a displaced view.

Nadia awakes. Returned from the green.

She is holding one of the eggs to her lips, kissing it.

In her trance, her mind had found folly in trying to replace the imaginary with an effigy of the real. Disgusted, she flings the egg away from her face, splattering it on the bathroom mirror, its sizzling insides leaving a repulsive stain. So bitter.

Nadia immediately invokes the sink, splashing water onto her face, trying to remove the taint from her mouth, still smoldering in a sourness of demonic proportions. As she spits, there is blood—not fantastical illusion or fanciful daydream, but actual, fetid blood.

“I hate these fucking eggs!” Nadia screams, her throat convulsing in rage.

Nobody responds. Except, of course, the eggs, which hissed and hissed and hissed…

|3|

There once was a time when Nadia was loved.

The way a person should be loved. The way a foot is loved by the hand that cleans it. So thoroughly and carefully, so unpretentiously unconditional—just doing what it needs to do to make everything clear and happy again.

Whatever it takes, Nadia used to think. For the sake of clean feet.

Nadia snickered. That was not at all what she used to think. How could one remember so far away?

Those distant shores of memory, where every cleft of sand looks the same as every buried barnacle. Where is the savior ship come to rescue us from pity and pernicious regret?

Marooned on a beach of unused life, wallowing through our scorn like gulls picking through twigs, snapping and scuttling over branch and jewel, trying to find our prize, our possession of perfect scene and elation. That moment when our lives essentially defined themselves, and everything after relegated to the fade— our true revelation of this story we continue to scribe.

But Nadia, no matter how much she scoured, could not find this missing trinket, of which she thought for sure would finally unravel the mystery of Nadia.

Was it the first day of school when she threw up on the classroom floor, a nervous bile overtaking her when the teacher asked her to introduce herself?

It should have been a simple, ‘Hello, my name is Nadia.’

But instead, it was a terrible mosaic of gulp and gruel. So embarrassing.

No, surely, it was in her feet. The mark of her miraculous moment. When they were still young paws, so fresh from hatching they still had webbing on them...

Nadia wanted to be a ballerina.

One of those composed and captured creatures, ignoring the chaos of the world around them, performing a movement of perfected grace and graceful ritual. Every step a note on the composition’s line, leading a symphony of shape and swerve, never letting itself become consumed by any emotion or nonsense which would disrupt its willful path.

An offering to the gods of geometry, aligning your feet in a poise more perfect than constellation, moving in the same seasonal march of ebb and flow—repeating, repeating, repeating. This is the dance of no-dance. A motion of purpose.

Until it is over.

Until a cormorant appears, and Nadia, too far gone in her ellipsis, trips right over the flurried thing, spiraling through the air, over the side of edible stage. Now, she is drifting into the black, gravity’s charms dispersed, composer’s graciousness displeased.

Until suddenly, she emerges from the black unto the blue—a crystal shore she has seen before, the only sound being that of pant and wave. And there is the feathered imp, whose beak is whistling to her demise, as she pours onto the beach.

“If only you could fly...” the cormorant says.

Nadia scoops herself up from the sand, wincing. “Must be nice.”

The cormorant fluffs its wings then takes to flight, soaring high above the earth it mocks.

Nadia’s foot vibrates in pain, every muscle and tendon and ligament ringing a rapacious storm of ache. Before she can soothe her pain, however, Nadia’s mother comes and grabs her hand, leading her away.

Nadia cringes with every step, her left foot refusing to touch ground, her right one barely stable and straining as it is dragged along.

“Your father’s gone—not that he was ever here...”

Nadia’s mother puffs a cigarette. There are no other kids in the hospital room. Only passed and broken people. Corpses.

Nadia rubs her toes, trying to allay the bristling numbness in them. She thinks perhaps her mother should be holding her in her arms or something, nestling her into motherly bosom, patting her on the head with lips and whispering how everything will be alright and the pain will go away.

But Nadia looks up and sees her mother puffing a cigarette, watching the wall, complaining how much of a waste of time it is they have to be here. Then she looks at Nadia, scowling.

“This all your fault. You should have been paying attention—you’re never paying enough attention, Nadia!”

And maybe she was right—because Nadia suddenly realized she had been standing on the bathroom tile for far too long.

The inner scars of her feet began to flare up again, so she took a seat on the toilet and lifted her left leg, her hands desperately massaging her flesh, trying to ameliorate an old wound. The eggs watched her, and she despised how they lay witness to her weakness. Now they knew her fiercest flaw. They would probably use it against her—if they could.

But they were just eggs, right? Just eggs that only hiss and hiss and—

Nadia called for her companion but there was no response. She desired to deign him to fetch a bucket of ice for her from down the hall. Was he still sleeping?

Nadia shouted again. And again, he did not reply.

The eggs grew louder, as if trying to answer in his place, and Nadia spat at them out of spite. Then she gripped onto the sink and raised herself up, limping out into the room. But it was empty.

“Where the hell did he go?” Nadia muttered aloud. Then she sighed.

There was once a time when Nadia was loved.

When he cared enough to always be called. To be there for whatever she needed.

During a period of a particularly grisly flare-up, he would rub cooling ointment on her feet every night, his fingers unafraid to peel into every hidden spot, pushing her bones and blood to comfortable stasis. He always knew how to subside her pain—he never protested to coddling her feet either.

After he left, Nadia had to mend her own feet. Her youthful damage both unforgiving and never forgetful. No agony was greater than when her companion departed, however. A cut on the physical self is nothing compared to a rending of the heart—the unseen epicenter of all feeling and worth.

With him, she had felt like she had value. Without him, she was nothing but dirty feet. How hard it was to have herself be heartbroken by him. To find him the way he was—she stopped herself.

Nadia did not want to return to this feeling. Now that he was returned, she would do anything to keep it that way. Even if meant dealing with those ghastly eggs—that’s why she had said yes.

And Nadia exceptionally loathed those damned eggs.

She staggered through the door into a hallway, which peeked both ways in endless doors and floor, none of them unique, enslaved by pattern. She was concerned where he had gone, but she also knew her primary focus was to end the unease throbbing in her left hoof.

Nadia peered right, assuming the ice-machine was down there, because she recalled that is where the elevator had been, so other amenities must be nearby.

She leaned against the wall, wobbling along, careful not to bang into someone else’s door, for fear they would wake, that they would appear and harass her in marvelous temper. But she also took care not to apply pressure to her left foot, where the injury was sourced and had been most severe.

Her right was still strong in many ways, although its largest toe had been shattered then in her youth as well. So now she walked awkwardly so as not to upset it and reawaken its hindered might.

Altogether, Nadia looked like quite the circus clown stumbling down the hallway. Almost falling on herself every other hinge, wafting through diluted air like a dumb cloud, constantly astray. How did it come to this?

There was a time once when Nadia was loved.

When she did not have to wrestle with hallways. When the earth did not stifle beneath her feet. When lovers brought ice—when she had a lover at all. She stops, leaning against the wall with one arm. Panting. Suddenly, a familiar sound—though not a friendly one. A stretching sound. Sinister and expanding. Slithering between her legs and beneath her body. On and on until the entire hallway is swimming in it. Nadia, fearful, almost falls down. It feels like walls around her are shivering, a stinging chill. Viscous vibrations inundate her. Even the waves in the air become feverish. And then there it is—hallways hissing. Nadia, totally shattered, but saved by a flight of energy, lets her pain sprout into wings and compel her forward on its frenetic wind. She begins scrambling, wobbling in a frenzy, arm rowing against the wall and her one good leg hopping heavy steps. Edges of light behind can be seen scattering in its shadows ahead of her, silhouetted in the form of an unfathomable thing, a body of a beast so terrifying just its reflection pierces Nadia’s heart every step forward she takes. What horrible thing has hatched in this place? Suddenly, another familiar sound—the mellow notes of an ancient folk song, which Nadia happens to know the melody of. Like it is playing just for her. But the rest of the memory still clouded. She recognizes it; quickens her pace toward it. Anything to deafen out that hiss of eternal doom. That splintering of soul that follows her everywhere she goes, enveloping itself in her flesh, in her very being, until she is shrouded by it. A cloak of gore. Dissolution. There it is—that open door, pink and blue light casting out from it in the ever darker and blurrier hallway. Just like she remembers. Into it she goes—into an underworld of nostalgic void. Standing in the doorway entrance, now entered, she closes the door to the hallway. No more hissing. That gentle folk vocal weaves in. Those sweet strums of mountain love and lake calm. A natural hymn. Alluring. Nadia gazes at the pink and blue light now painting her body. Both familiar shades. She looks up to see the pane of a room, and a shadowed corner blocking her vision. Next to her, a dark and empty bathroom. This hotel room—I remember this room, Nadia thinks. Curiously wistful. The pain her foot still retaining, but fainter. She lags closer, every inch expanding her view of the room and diminishing the shadow of the corner of the wall. An oak table, three used glasses full of wine stains, beside a half-bled bottle. A chair with a cushion, assorted strips of clothing strewn about it. Then the corners of a bed, sheets sundering. Nadia inches nearer and nearer, breath draining into back of her throat as if preparing a gasp in anticipation. So, for what? Finally, she turns around the corner, and sees her horror. There he is—her loving, devoted companion—slathering over another woman, angel-faced demon of blonde desire, the both of them naked and engaged in erotic trance. Nadia screams. Her companion does not notice her, his head buried in the other woman’s tomb—but she looks up, stares at Nadia and smiles, blows a kiss while winking. Then she returns to moaning and fawning all over him, like a deer trapped underneath a boulder. A spider weaving its prey in sweaty web. Hissing in his ear. Nadia runs out of the room. Back into the hallway, ambushed by an eruption of hissing, those damn eggs blistering into her mind in inescapable flashes. She clasps her head with her hands, frantically stumbling toward her room, all her previous pain nullified by needles of adrenaline. Turning her head inside out. She can’t even hear her own screaming over the sound of this hissing. Nadia collapses into her room, shattering into the bathroom, seeing those dreadful eggs sitting there in punishing flames. Despite all the rippling nerves in her body, she grabs the basket of eggs, takes it out into the bedroom, and slings them out the bedroom window, letting gravity grasp them and crush them far down upon its immediate earth. Destroyed forever. Exploding on the concrete in a dance of denouement. Nadia unleashes the cry of a bat, shrieking. Then she falls onto the bed, whole body entangled by pain, her foot so swollen its bubbling and bursting in blood. Crying. Over now. Nothing hisses. Only the sound of her sobbing. Of heartbeat in crescendo, then descending to crippling silence. And it languishes on, for what seems like hours but is only fragments of a little time, not quite mature enough to constitute a length of being. There is Nadia—just Nadia. Breathing. Emptied of tears. Aftershocks of pain dragging but dwindling. But she doesn’t stay alone forever. After this while, she realized her mistake. What will he say when he comes back—when he sees I got rid of the eggs? How could she ever explain herself? Would he understand and forgive her? Her mind was controlled by these thoughts—panic, paranoia compulsive loathing. She had to assure herself what she just saw was only an illusion—a product of those damned eggs. He would never do that again—her companion had repented, and she had forgiven him. Devotion was all she could see! She’d do whatever it takes she told herself. Whatever he wanted—forget what she wanted. She’d give up being Nadia. There was once a time when Nadia had desires of her own, but the loneliness had scared that out of her a long time ago. And the brokenness had cursed her to obey only doom. She would never make another mistake again—he’d never have another reason to leave again. Not like last time. He could put a blade in her hand and push it up to her throat, tell her to pull it at the snap of his fingers, and she’d do that magic trick a million times over if she could. Anything to keep away the hissing. Anything to be loved. Anything to have him hold her up again, carry her every limb if he has to, and dance with her one last time—forever.

#danceofexplodingeggs #thefinishpiece #dilonzeres #prose #fiction #story #irrealism

[nomettesbizzareadventure]

CaeJose Week 2018 // “Future”

    The night after Joseph retrieves his adorable pissy nerd grandson and his purple friend from prison, he gets a phone call from Suzie. It must be early in the morning in New York- he can hear the sound of water kettle heating up and dishes clinking as Roses prepares breakfast, and he feels a sudden stab of jealousy that he’s not there with her.

    “Caesar’s on his way to you,” Suzie says, her voice uncharacteristically serious.

    “Caesar?” Joseph says. He and Caesar have always orbited each other like planets, but in the years since Holly moved to Japan their contact has been more and more infrequent, their lives stretched out between New York and England and Los Angeles and Rome. The last time Joseph saw Caesar, they were at Lisa Lisa’s funeral, shoulder to shoulder with her coffin between them. Lisa Lisa was more of a mother to Caesar than she was to him, and while Joseph didn’t resent either of them for it, it meant that he didn’t have anything to say- not to Caesar, and not to the gravestone. Afterwards, they went out and got incredibly smashed, and for about six hours Joseph felt like he was 18 again. But that was months ago, and they haven't spoken since.

    “He’s worried about this whole business with the stands,” Suzie reports.

    “He’s always worried,” Joseph complains, but he’s not really annoyed. It’s starting to look like they’ll need all the backup they can get.

    “Did he tell you about his stand?” Suzie asks, and giggles at Joseph’s obvious surprise.

    “OH MY GOD?! A stand- how- where did he- when- Suzie, what does it do?!”

    “Well, if he didn’t tell you, I don’t think I should…” Suzie says coyly.

    “Suzie, baby, angel, sweetheart, you can’t just-”

    Joseph’s conversation with Suzie is interrupted by Jotaro appearing ominously in his doorway, dressed in a Queen tank top and pajama pants and exuding ominous vibes in every direction.

    “I’m trying to sleep. Keep it down, gramps.” Joseph tries, he really does, but he fails to get any more information out of Suzie and after fifteen minutes Jotaro reappears, silently crushes the phone into dust, and then goes back to sleep. It’s hard being a genius, Joseph reflects sadly as he ticks himself into bed. No one appreciates him.

    The next day Jotaro comes home with an unconscious boy slung over his shoulder and then rescues his new friend from vampire tentacle. Joseph will give this to Jotaro- he might be a bad-tempered little brat, but at least he has the composure and skills to back up his scowls.  Of course, he immediately leaves after his rescue, probably embarrassed to have done something nice for another human being, and Joseph is left to explain to Kakyoin that he’s been under control by a sexy vampire for several weeks.

    Kakyoin takes it about as well as anyone can considering the circumstances, which is to say that he excuses himself to the bathroom and doesn’t come out for a long period of time. Joseph suspects he’s crying, or trying not to cry. Teenagers.

    Between this and that, Joseph entirely forgets about Caesar until about 7 the next morning, when someone comes careening into their driveway, motor loud enough to wake the dead, brakes squealing like a subway train, opera music playing at full blast. One last scream from the lead singer, and the car switches off. There’s the sound of a door slamming shut, and then the beep-beep of a car being locked.

    Caesar’s here, Joseph thinks, and then he’s clambering out of bed and putting his clothes on. A minute later and he’s at the door. He can see Caesar’s pink rental car through the window; it sits among the tasteful gardens of the Kujo estate like a stripper at church.

Caesar himself is waiting impatiently at the door, beautiful as ever. He’s the only bastard Joseph knows who could hop on a flight from Italy to Japan and come out looking the kind of disheveled that models spend hours in the makeup studio trying to achieve. His hair is a fine light blond, just beginning to shade to white, and he looks closer to thirty than to sixty, the wide muscle of his shoulder framed by his crop-top and elbow length gloves. At the sight of Joseph, a pink and blue humanoid flashes into existence behind him and poses, one finger pointed in Joseph’s direction.

Caesar grins real wide at Joseph’s shocked expression and throws his head back, his stand combing its fingers through his hair.

“I call it Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy,” Caesar says. His stand blows Joseph a kiss, and a pink bubble emerges from its lips and floats through the air. Curious, Joseph reaches for the bubble with his mechanical arm. It pops. A curious tingle passes through his body, and he finds that the entire left side of his body has gone numb.

“Hey,” he starts to protest, and Caesar grins and grabs Joseph in a headlock. They scuffle for a bit before Hermit Purple can finally get a grip on Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy and make it reverse the effect, which it does with a delicate kiss.

“Not dead yet, I see,” Caesar jeers. It’s a long-standing contention between them that Joseph doesn’t practice his hamon training as much as Caesar thinks he should. When Joseph’s hair first started to go white, Caesar took it as a personal insult.

    “You’re two years older than me!” Joseph responds, like he always does. Holly comes out of the house, and all the levity drains out of Caesar’s face. It’s only a moment and then his smile is plastered back on, but Joseph knows Caesar well enough to know when he’s bluffing.

    “Holly!” Caesar says, pulling her into a hug. They exchange enthusiastic greetings, but Joseph can tell something’s wrong. Caesar’s stand is hovering behind Holly, hand outstretched over her back like it wants to touch but can’t.

    “It’s been such a long time since we’ve had this much company,” Holly says, laughing. “Are you here to help Papa?”

    “I am,” Caesar says, and kisses her forehead. Holly’s eyelashes flutter, and goes limp. There’s something growing all along her back, thorns and vines, and Joseph doesn’t need to catch Caesar’s eyes to know what it is. A stand. A parasitic stand.

    “Holly,” he says, and his voice trembles in his throat.

    “This is your fault,” Caesar says quietly. The one big argument, the one that nearly brought down their house, the one that kept Ceasar from talking to Joseph for nearly a year- was about teaching Holly the ripple. Caesar wanted her to learn. He said that there were more monsters in the world than either of them knew about, and that it was an important tradition, and that Lisa Lisa would have wanted her to know, and then as the argument progressed he called Joseph negligent and lazy and selfish and, well...

    They both said a lot of things that they would regret later, but Holly never learned the ripple. Joseph wanted her to have a better life than Caesar had, a better life than Lisa Lisa had, and here she is, her life leaking out of her drip by drip by drip.

    “What’s wrong with her?” Jotaro demands. Joseph didn’t even see him appear.

    “Her stand is killing her,” Caesar says, and Jotaro’s face goes pale and furious, his stand looming behind him. After that, a lot of things happen in quick succession. The Speedwagon Foundation is called. Jotaro’s stand discovers a new talent for zoological artwork. Plane tickets are booked. Suitcases are packed.

    Caesar comes to Joseph when he’s in his room packing and shuts the door, and Joseph thinks for a moment that it’s going to be bad.

    “If you’ve come here to gloat at me over my daughter’s unconscious body I will beat the shit out of you,” he says, and means it. Caesar pauses, and then he keeps walking. He comes to a stop in front of Joseph, and then grabs him in a hug.

    “Dumbass,” he says. A lump rises in Joseph’s throat. He’s not a crybaby, whatever Caesar might accuse him of. He can hold it together for as long as he needs to, and right now it’s looking like that will be forty days and forty nights, god- the timer on his little girl’s life. Still, he lets Caesar hug him. He misses the days when they used to cuddle in the tower while insisting that they weren’t cuddling and Caesar would let Joseph fall asleep in his lap. It’s terrible, what time does to people, how far it takes you from the things you care about.

“I wish I’d been wrong,” Caesar says, and that gets a muffled laugh out of  Joseph. Caesar gives great hugs. He’s huge, solid, the feel of his body familiar even after all these years.

“You? Wrong?” Joseph says. “I’m sure that never happens, Caesar-chan.”

“I’m glad you can admit it at last,” Caesar says, pulling back from him. “We’ll do this, Joseph. Just like last time.”

“If I recall correctly, I did most of the work last time,” Joseph says, earning him a scowl from Caesar.

“That’s a failure on both our parts, then, since you hate work,” Caesar retaliates.

“You’re mean,” Joseph says, but he’s smiling. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Old Man,” Caesar says, and Joseph winces.

“Don’t say that, it makes you sound like Jotaro.”

“Oh, you don’t want me to call you Jiji? You’re right, I don’t want to imply that I respect you.” Caesar may be the last remaining ripple master and have a shiny new stand and this and that, but at the end of the day Joseph can put him in a headlock until his hair looks awful and his face is pink, and that’s what really matters.

                        Kakyoin takes the initiative to order in some food, and they all troop outside to eat by the river while the doctors set up inside the house. None of them really want to watch as Holly is hooked up to their machines. As they’re trooping over the bridge and back towards the house, Jotaro’s new tentacle friend declares his intention to come with on their trip.

    “What use are you going to be?” Caesar asks. Behind Kakyoin’s back, Jotaro’s eyebrows go up slightly. He and Caesar have always gotten along well. Before Jotaro was a punk, he was the kind of nerd that admired Caesar’s flashy clothes and sweet words, and Joseph’s always suspected that he took up smoking in imitation of his ‘cool uncle.’

    “I beg your pardon,” Kakyoin says politely, and then Caesar goes careening over the edge of the bridge and comes to a stop just shy of the water, a piece of Hierophant Green wrapped around his ankle. Joseph didn’t see Kakyoin summon it, so he can only assume it was lurking under the bridge. He reluctantly awards Kakyoin points for preparation and audacity.

“Is that all,” Caesar says, laughing. Lover Boy pries Hierophant Green’s tentacle loose from his ankle, and Caesar flips over backwards onto the pond. He lands on the surface of the water like a gymnast sticking a landing. “I asked what use you were going to be, not your stand.”

Kakyoin looks flabbergasted. Behind him, Jotaro also looks surprised, or what passes for surprised with Jotaro. He really shouldn’t be. It’s not as if Joseph hasn’t told him about the ripple.

“Kids these days are so spoiled,” Joseph says. A snap of his fingers and the water rises, in an unnatural wave, depositing Caesar back on the bridge. Caesar strikes a pose like a model on a runway, his hand braced on Joseph’s shoulder. They’re standing in pairs now, Caesar and Joseph on the right, Kakyoin and Jotaro facing them on the left. Joseph knows the next step to this dance, even if the kids don’t.

Sure enough, Caesar’s stand strikes a pose behind them, and then the air is filled with bubbles. Kakyoin tries to move, but Hermit Purple’s got him pinned to the spot- and Jotaro too. It won’t hurt Joseph’s grandson to be reminded of the advantages of experience and trickery over power and youth.  The bubbles pop, and Kakyoin and Jotaro are locked into place, unable to move. Joseph winks. It feels good to stand like this, shoulder to shoulder with Caesar, united in their quest against an unknown foe. It feels like fate, like every step he took in the last decade was bringing him here to Caesar’s side.

    “Caesar,” Joseph says. “Let’s show them how it’s done!”

Written for CaeJose week 2018, for the prompt of “Future”. I’ve always wanted to see an SDC au with Caesar in it. I think he and Jotaro would bond over their love of cigarettes and being mean to Joseph.

The name of Caesar’s stand stolen from the incredibly funny Havisham and her wonderful CaeJose fics.

A big thank-you to the organizers for putting this together! : 3

#caejose #caejose week #caesar zeppeli #Joseph Joestar #with guest appearances from 'tired teenager' jotaro kujo and his future boyfriend 'tentacle melon' #people always write caejose as disagreements over trivial things and yes that too #but i think they've also got very different ways of looking at things in a real and serious way #despite these tags this is a comedy fic please ignore me #good old fashioned lover boy launches bubbles that freeze the affected person #the effect can be undone by putting them in the dark #the brighter it is #the more powerful the bubble effect because goflb draws power from the sun shining on it #is this a gimmick absolutely