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immortalbarnes · 4 years

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A Cabin For Two | Chapter 3: You’ll Never Know

Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: Sam visits for dinner, and you tell the story of how you and Bucky met.

warnings: SMUT! (you can skip it without missing anything), mild swearing and violence

A/N: sorry this is so late, but this is a pretty long one

***bold italicized indicates flashback

masterlist

Sam came over for dinner tonight, and brought an amazing potato salad. You and Bucky tried out a new chicken pot pie recipe, and even though you may have left it in the oven for a little too long because you were dancing to your Dick Haymes vinyl record, it was spectacular. The three of you, and Alpine when he jumped on the table, conversed for the night, then retired to your leather couch with some glasses of wine. The alcohol has no effect on you and your lover, but the feeling of normalcy made you happy enough.

“You know what I just realized,” Sam suddenly changes the subject, “I’ve never heard the story of how you two met. I mean I know it was during the war overseas, but I never got the details. Was Bucky a player back in the day?” His head bobs from left to right as he says player.

“He was!” You laugh.

“No way!” Sam leans forward in surprise, “Bucky had game?”

“I did,” Bucky chuckles, his arm resting behind you on the back of your leather sectional, “Before I got drafted, I was always dragging Steve on a double date. I thought the same charm would work on Y/N.”

“But it didn’t.” You interject, causing Sam to snort.

“Okay, okay, please start from the beginning.” Sam practically begs.

“Okay, well, we met overseas when I was working under Cap for the Howling Commandos.”

…

“Thank you for your hard work, Agent Y/N. Get some rest, you deserve it.” The general thanked you at the end of your meeting. You were a spy working for the Allies, and had just finished a mission gathering intel in a small town housing Hydra soldiers. You were in a camp stationed somewhere in Austria.

“Thank you, General, though I must admit I never get much sleep in those tents.” You joke.

“Well maybe you’d enjoy visiting with our special guests, The Howling Commandos.”

“Captain America’s boys? To what do we owe the pleasure of their visit to?”

“Well, Agent, your mission helped us gather intel on the whereabouts of Zola, so they’ll be staying with us for the next week until a train carrying the man comes through the mountains.”

“Glad to know my mission was to help such a cause,” You smile, and at that the general leaves to attend to more work. As for you, you had free time until your next mission, so you travel to the medical tent to visit one of the nurses you’ve befriended at this camp, Linda.

“Well, looky here! Agent Y/N is back! I was starting to think those Hydra fat-heads actually gotcha this time!” Linda exclaims as you enter the large awning.

“Good to see you too, Linda,” You laugh, “How’s it going?”

“Pretty swell until those Howling Commandos came in the other night. That Bucky fella won’t stop flirting with my ladies.”

“The nerve on him! As a soldier, he should know he shouldn’t be flirting with the staff.”

“Nevermind about him, tell me about your mission!”

You and Linda sat on a cot and you began to tell her everything you were allowed to, from the small village you stayed in to the base you infiltrated, even mentioning a part where you almost got captured, but thankfully you were able to charm your way out of that.

Just as you were finishing your story, a man and a nurse walked into the tent. The man, tall and muscular with clean cut brunette hair, had his arm around the girl’s waist and she was giggling at something he must’ve said.

“Mary! You’re late to your shift!” Linda snapped as she saw the duo walk in.

“Oh, Linda, don’t snap your cap! The tent’s empty!” Mary replied.

“Sorry for keeping her, ma’am, it won’t happen again.” The man apologized half-heartedly.

“Zip it, Barnes, I don’t care if you’re Captain America’s right hand man, you need to quit sneaking around with my girls! We got enough diseases flying through this camp, we don’t need you spreading something new.”

The man, who you now realized was the infamous Bucky Barnes, rolled his eyes with a smirk, kissed Mary on the cheek, and left the tent. Mary began to speak, but was quickly silenced by Linda’s harsh tone.

“I don’t want to hear it! You got tools to clean, so you better get to it!” She ordered, Mary meekly nodded and rushed to work, “What a creep, that must be the third girl he’s run off with, and they haven’t been here half a week!”

“Men like that make me wanna chuck.” You agreed.

…

“Damn, Buck, you were a tiger!” Sam laughed as you finished recalling your first encounter with your now lover.

You look over at Bucky, who was as red as a tomato, “I think she’s exaggerating a little.” He muttered.

“I remember every detail like the back of my hand.” You smirked, taking a sip of the ineffective alcohol.

…

Later that same night, you were in the mess hall, eating whatever muck the cooks said was dinner. At every camp you’ve been shipped to, you’ve always found friends among the soldiers. Even though you had your fair share of whistles and catcalls, there seemed to always be a nice group of men who saw you as their equal. Here it was Richard, David, and Charles. Richard and David were brothers, and Charles was their friend from school; they all enlisted together as soon as David, the youngest, turned 18.

Charles was in the middle of retelling the other night when Richard got too drunk off Astrian alcohol and got his tongue stuck on the flagpole in the middle of camp when a fifth person joined the group directly to your right. All heads at the table turned to see one Bucky Barnes.

“Sergeant, to what do we owe this honor to?” Charles said mockingly, while the Howling Commandos were national heroes, most soldiers just saw them as overrated.

“Couldn’t help but notice the dame sitting with you boys,” He said, turning to you, “Why aren’t you sitting with the other nurses, pretty lady?”

“Because she’s not a nurse,” David spoke up, even though he was the youngest of the bunch, he had no trouble defending any of you, “She’s a spy, and way out of your league.”

“I apologize for my assumptions,” Bucky says with a smirk, “Why don’t you let me make it up to you in my tent tonight.”

David was about to speak up again, but you butted in, “Sorry, Sergeant, but I’m not another one of your call-girls. So, you can knock off now.”

Bucky then leans his elbow on the wooden table, resting his head on his knuckle, and pouts, “You’re a tough one, Miss…”

“Agent L/N,” you correct, at this point there’s steam coming out of you, “Thank you, Barnes, but I’m not interested. I’m too focused on getting in and out of Hydra bases, as for you, you needed America’s Golden Boy to rescue you from one, so my friend here is right when he said I’m out of your league.” Tired of his harassment, you begin to stand and walk away, but he quickly follows suit and grabs your wrist pulling you around. Instinctively, you ball up your fist and hit him square on the jaw. Startled by the sudden action, he stumbles back and falls on the table.

At this point, everyone in the area is staring. Calmly you flip your hair behind your shoulder and turn to leave the mess hall. Exiting, you see none other than the Captain himself running over to check on his best friend, mouthing a sorry as he sees you.

…

“You PUNCHED him!?” Sam injects once more as you retell, “How did you even make eye contact with her after she knocked you INTO A TABLE!”

“Let’s just say that you don’t treat women anything like you did back then.” Bucky says, ashamed of his past self.

“Don’t worry, Sam, he made it up to me later that night.” You smirk.

…

Long after the incident, you were in your tent trying to fall asleep. Being the only non-nurse in the camp at the moment, you were blessed to have one to yourself, but as you mentioned before you always had trouble resting.

Trying to clear your head, you decide to exit the tent and take a walk in the chilly Austrian night. You immediately smell smoke and turn to see the faint glow of a fire not too far away. In search of the warmth, and maybe some company, you sneak your way to the source of the heat. Once you approach the fire, you are met with the back of Bucky Barnes once again.

“Can’t sleep either?” You inquire, slightly startling the man.

“Always been a light sleeper, and I can’t stop thinking about how rude I was to you earlier. Sorry about that, ma’am. I wanted to find you and apologize, but Steve advised that you needed to be alone.”

“Apology accepted, Barnes,” You sit down next to him and take in the warmth of the fire, “But I have to ask why you thought that was appropriate.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how else to approach a woman. Especially someone way out of my league, like your buddy said.”

“You didn’t leave a good impression in the first place when you walked in the med tent with your third nurse of the week adorning your side.”

“You were there!?” He says, shocked, “Oh, hell, Y/N, I didn’t know that was you with Linda! I’m so sorry! I thought you were still on your mission.”

“My mission? How’d you know about that?”

“Peggy Carter told us about your mission finding Zola, and when she showed me and the boys your picture, I swear I’ve never seen a prettier lady in all my life.” He admitted, throwing you off guard.

“Wow, Bucky, I’m flattered, but your plan was to sleep around with the nurses until I returned? Not a good first impression?”

His eyes went wide. “Sleep around? No, no, Y/N, I swear I haven’t done anything with those ladies! They’re the ones chasing me!” He pauses for a moment, “but I guess that’s the reputation I’ve been building for myself. But the truth is, Y/N, ever since Peggy told us about you, I haven’t even looked at another woman. You’re my dream gal.”

You stare intently in his blue eyes looking for any hint of charm. Maybe this was just a game to get in your skirt? As the crackling fire reflected in his eyes, all you could see was the truth.

…

“That is so cute!!” Sam interrupts, “Please tell me this is when you two fell in love.”

“Let me finish!” You scold playfully.

…

“Bucky… You’ve been waiting for me?” You say, finally taking in all his breathtaking features: his strong jaw, broad shoulders, perfect pink lips.

“How could I not be? You’re strong, independent, gorgeous, and don’t fall at my feet like any other girl. What else could I want?”

Speechless, you just stare at him in awe, his baby blues returning the gesture. You stay like this for what feels like light years, until he finally speaks up again,

“May I kiss you, Y/N?”

“Please.”

And just like that, his lips are on yours. It’s passionate and hungry, like he’s been starved for days. You quickly return the emotions, melting in his touch. The fire was burning out, but you still felt sparks fly through you as your lips mend together. His large hands embrace you, his left on your cheek, the warm sensation of his skin on yours, and his right on your hip. Your arms snake around his neck and you feel his short hair prick at your wrists.

Out of air, you both pull back and rest your foreheads on one another, breathing hard as you notice there’s a huge smile plastered on his face when you sit back.

“You are the most dynamite gal I’ve ever met.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, Barnes.” You say through heavy breaths. He chuckles at your snark.

“Totally worth the knuckle sandwich I got earlier.” he jokes.

“Sorry about that.”

“Nah, I deserved it.”

“How about you let me make it up to ya?” You wink.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking we put out this fire and go back to my tent.”

Hurriedly, you put out the remaining embers and lead him to your secluded tent. After making sure your neighbors were sound asleep, you practically ripped open your tent trying to get in, Bucky following suit.

As soon as he entered, he was on top of you, his lips claiming yours once more, and his arms on either side of you. Like before, this kiss was deep and passionate, but you felt something else within. Lust, perhaps?

“Wait, Bucky,” You suddenly tense up, pushing him off of you, “How do I know any of this is real? How do I know I’m not just another skirt?”

“Y/N, darling, for the past month since I first heard about ya, every girl that’s even talked to me made me wish it was you. You’re everything I want and more, doll, let me prove it to ya.” There’s a sadness in his eyes, like he’s hurt that you’d even think that. That look is everything you need to believe him.

With that reassurance, you climb up and straddle his lap, your hands going to his hair as you lean down and kiss him once more. His warm hands travel straight to your hips as he deepens the kiss, asking permission into your mouth, to which you eagerly accept.

His tongue explores your mouth with a passion, and you moan into it. Suddenly, you’re gasping for air once more and pull back. He practically growls at the sight of you, lipstick smeared and blouse wrinkled.

“Please doll, let me make love to ya, I’m begging ya.” His brooklyn accent peaking out as he talks in a low tone.

“Please do, Sergeant.” You pant.

As soon as those words leave your mouth, his eyes practically go black. He carefully lays you down and begins to undo the latches on his royal blue uniform jacket. As soon as his toned chest is revealed, he begins to work the buttons of your blouse, separating the front to expose your nude bra; next to go is your skirt, and you’re in nothing but your undergarments.

“Golly, doll, you are perfection.” He whispers in awe, he leans down to kiss your cleavage and begins to move lower and lower towards your underwear before going back up to his starting point between your breasts. Your hands reach down and start to fumble with the belt of his uniform pants. Noticing your struggle, he sits up to start to work the buckles undone and shimmies out of his muted green cargo pants and underwear

You had only an instant to take him in, thick thighs, toned calves, and a thick cock. Suddenly he was hovering over you once more, his hands expertly undoing your bra latches.

“You must have had practice.” You mock, receiving a shy chuckle from him.

He discards your bra, and you decide to handle your bottoms, quickly sliding them off and having them join the rest of your clothes. Now it’s his turn to admire you.

“Just when I thought this couldn’t get any better. Y/N Y/L/N, you are a goddess.” He praises you, a small blush reddening your cheeks. You just now noticed the slickness between your legs.

“Buc-”

“James, that’s my real name.”

“James, please take me.”

“Anything for you, doll.”

He lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes in, making eye contact with you the entire time, his warm hands cradling your face. Your lips form a small ‘O’ as you feel him fill you up.

“J-James…” You quietly moan.

“Oh, Y/N, babydoll.” He whispers, slowly moving in and out of you. You’ve been with your fair share of men, but nothing could even come close to comparing to the feeling of James inside you.

He begins to pick up the pace, and his left hand travels down and instantly finds your clit. He begins to rub soft circles in time with the rhythm he is slamming into you. You’re on cloud nine. Eyes never leaving each other, his blue orbs leaving you in a daze.

Suddenly, you’re snapped out by the coil in your lower stomach tightening, signalling that you’re close to release.

“God, James, I’m so close.” And with that he picks up the pace, harshly slamming in and out while adding more pressure to your nub to bring out your orgasm.

“C’mon, doll, let it go for me.”

And with that, a wave of electricity, nothing like you’ve ever felt before, rushes through you. He continues to move within you to help you ride out your orgasm, both of you heavily panting.

Next thing you know, you feel him release inside of you. His hot white coating your insides.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry.” He stutters, pulling out, “I couldn’t help my-”

“It’s fine,” you interject, “Thank you. Th-that was amazing, James.” You never saw yourself having kids, but now you could only see yourself starting a family with him.

All of a sudden, you were overwhelmed with the feeling of harsh cold, for coming out of your sexual haze, you realize that you’re stark naked with only a thin tent protecting you from the Austrian winter. You begin to shiver, and Bucky instinctively rushes to get you back into clothing and under a blanket. After you’re both dressed once more, he begins to get up and leave.

“Ja- uhm, Bucky, where are you going?”

“Back to my tent?”

“Stay please.”

“I never thought you’d say that.”

You invite him under your blanket and rest your head on his chest, his muscular arms enveloping you in even more warmth.

“Is it too early to say I love you?” He asks after a moment of silence.

“Not after all of that.” You joke.

“Well, Y/N, I love you.”

“I love you too, James.”

You always had trouble sleeping in tents, but that night you fell asleep instantly.

…

“You said I love you after you fucked in a tent!?” Sam pipes up, shocked, “That fast?”

“Well it was the 40’s, Sam, there wasn’t a ton of dating and getting to know each other. It was more like settle down quickly and start a family.” Bucky explains, “And that night, there was an unexplainable feeling there. I think we both felt it.” He looks intently at you, locking eyes, and you nod in agreement.

“How long did this go on?” Sam asks, even more interested.

“About a week,” You sigh, “We snuck around without most of the soldiers knowing. The only people we told were Steve, Linda, Richard, David, and Charles. My friends were a little iffy about it after those first couple of incidences, but when they saw us together they quickly supported it.”

“Steve knew how obsessed with her I was, so he was there for us from the beginning.” Bucky adds.

“About a week later, The Howling Commandos were sent on the train mission, the one I gathered intel for, and that was when Bucky fell and got captured by Hydra again. Steve and the guys returned and broke the news to me, and I lost it…”

…

It wasn’t too long until the group returned from the train. You didn’t care much about the outcome of the mission, for Bucky was your main concern.

Once you heard the news of their return, you ventured into the main tent to see the Commandos and the generals… but no Bucky.

You made eye contact with Steve, and his face instantly dropped, scaring you.

“Steve? How did the mission go? Where’s Bucky?”

He grabs your shoulder and pulls you outside back into the freezing cold,

“We failed the mission. On the train we were ambushed by a soldier with major blasters, and he shot Bucky off the train. He fell into a ravine, and we couldn’t find his body… So we can only assume he died.”

No, it can’t be true. Pain hit your entire body as your eyes began to water, and suddenly, you were gasping for air. Steve grabbed you to keep you steady.

“No, Steve, please tell me you’re joking, please, PLEASE.” You were practically begging,

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Sergeant Barnes is dead.”

“NO! NO HE’S NOT! NOT MY BUCKY!” You screamed between jagged breaths.

“What’s going on here!?” A general demands as he exits the tent.

“He’s… gone…” You say quietly, trying to gather yourself.

“Agent Y/L/N? Did you and Sergeant Barnes have a fling?” The general asks.

“He was the love of my life!” You wretch, “We were supposed to start a family!”

“Y/N, you’ll be okay… We can get through this… He was my best friend.” Steve tries to calm you down.

“No, Steve, you don’t understand!” You grab his broad shoulders as your wild eyes meet his, “I’m pregnant.”

#bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes smut #smut #fluff #fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky Barnes fluff #40s!bucky #40s!bucky x reader #a cabin for two #Bucky Barnes fic #Bucky Barnes imagine

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concussed-to-pieces · 5 years

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I Want It All

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

Pairing: Jean Pierre Polnareff/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M

AN: Hello my broskis, and welcome back to more of my indulgence! This takes place during the Stardust Crusaders arc (and also is an 'everyone lives' AU because I am nothing if not an indulgent bastard.) Enjoy, and thank you for reading!

[!WARNING!: For my attempts at French, it has been...many years since my lessons. Forgive my lingual sins.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For canon-typical gore, blood and violence. Stay safe!]

...

"I am only speaking the truth!" Polnareff protested, blue eyes wide in feigned hurt.

"You, Jean Pierre Polnareff, couldn't speak the truth if your life depended on it!" You shot back, halfway between laughter and fury. "You expect me to believe everything that comes out of your mouth? I wasn't born yesterday, big fella'."

"But it's true! Your eyes light up so wonderfully when you're annoyed or put out--just like they are right now!" The Frenchman was obviously trying hard to butter you up. "You and Jotaro both have such expressive eyes, it's tres bien to see the two of you hot under the collar."

"What the hell did you just say?" Jotaro growled. "You tryin' to tell me you've been this obnoxious because you like how it makes people look? You're such a damn handful Polnareff."

"I agree!" You huffed, crossing your arms and glaring at the menace in front of you.

Polnareff just laughed it off, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "You are so lovely when you're upset."

"You're just as lovely when you're being obnoxious, you gravy-sucking--"

"Ah ah, such language!" Jean interrupted, tilting his chin pointedly in Anne's direction. "Little ears don't need to hear rough speech."

"You've gotta' be joking, she could probably teach you some new curse words!" You teased, laughing outright when Anne nodded enthusiastically and started rambling down a list of incredibly colorful phrases.

Amidst Polnareff's wailing about how unladylike it was that Anne had an impressive repertoire, you felt his eyes on you. Ever since you had collapsed it had been this way, Jean Pierre hovering like a nervous parent. It was infuriating! You weren't some helpless child. Your Stand may consume your energy at an exponential rate, but it made up for the increased strain with impressive damage output. You didn't need anyone coddling you, and you did your best to make sure that the group knew that. Joseph was the only one who seemed to 'forget' aside from Polnareff; he was also a parent and prone to worrying so you tried to let it slide.

It was certainly a bunch of misfits you had taken up with. You had your own reasons for wanting to beat Dio's face in, noble or otherwise, and it seemed like your best chance to get close was to engage in the Joestar's crusade. Though the Strength Stand was a bit of a wakeup call.

You had only passed out twice in the span that you had been fighting alongside the Crusaders. You had grown leaps and bounds as a Stand user, able to keep your Stand active for longer and longer periods of time. Sure, your Stand was no Star Platinum, but you were far from the weakling you had been.

To let Jean Pierre hold you back felt like admitting defeat, and so you railed against his supposed 'well-meaning' concern with all your might. It led to heated disagreements between you, the Frenchman insisting on keeping you behind the bulk of his body and Silver Chariot's defensive saber during battles.

He nicknamed you Le Canon De Verre, The Glass Cannon, after one such tangle with enemy Stand users. "Destructive, beautiful when the sunlight hits you just right, and entirely reckless!" The backhanded compliment had only served to infuriate you further, as had his jovial laughter after the fact. You nearly dislocated his shoulder with your Stand's punch, startling him into silence.

"You're so-!" You bit your tongue, unwilling to get yourself thrown out of the group because you couldn't take his teasing. "Mean, Polnareff, that's what you are!" You had snapped finally. "You can't just say things like that to me, okay? I'm trying so hard! Stop making fun of me already!"

"I'm not...I-I apologize, I did not intend to hurt your feelings. In this group we tend to go at one another for sport. I assumed you would join in." The large man had continued to hold his shoulder, grimacing. "I thought you wanted to, anyway."

"I don't want to be hazed or initiated, if that's what you're getting at. I'd rather be an outlier if I'm going to have to engage in a dick-waving contest." You had replied firmly.

Polnareff looked thoughtful, which was rare. "I understand. I will ah, 'ease up'. Can you forgive me?"

"Will you stop pouting if I do?"

"Perhaps. Unless, of course, you find me more attractive when I pout?"

"No." His crestfallen expression had made you laugh harder than you wanted to admit.

...

Finding out Jean Pierre Polnareff had a penchant for dirty talk in the bedroom was like finding out that the sky was the same shade of blue as the previous day.

Utterly unsurprising.

He loved to hear himself talk so damn much you were fairly certain that he got off on it, whether his partners did or not.

Joseph laughed boisterously when Polnareff proudly stated his enjoyment of such activities during a rowdy night of drinking, the older man slapping him on the back. "I'll drink to that, my chatty friend! I feel your pain. I remember when Caesar and I were training, I had to wear a mask to regulate my breathing and…" Joseph paused, the sparkle in his green eyes dimming. "He was a wonderful friend, was Caesar." He murmured instead of continuing his story.

Jotaro looked about as interested as you had ever seen him, the stoic teen studying his grandfather. "Was he now."

"A phenomenal fighter and a total pain in the ass. Always trying to one-up me." Joseph dashed away a tear. You shifted closer to him beside the fire, touching your shoulder to his. On his other side Polnareff did the same, effectively sandwiching the older man between the two of you. "He was incredibly brave and incredibly dumb, almost as dumb as I was." Joseph dug around in one of the pockets on his cargo pants, drawing out a thin strip of cloth with a triangular pattern on it. "This is all that I have to remember him by."

Avdol shook his head, resting his hands on Joseph's shoulders from his place behind him. "You have the many, many memories of the two of you as well, Mr. Joestar."

"True! I'm sorry kids, I get so melancholic around campfires. I doubt the drinking helps." Joseph wound the strip of cloth between the fingers of his mechanical hand absentmindedly, the fabric frayed like he had done it many times before.

"Mr. Joestar, would you tell us some stories about Caesar?" Kakyoin requested softly. "You shouldn't have to shoulder the burden of his memory alone."

Jotaro grunted in affirmation, getting up and moving across the clearing to slouch beside his grandfather. "Spare us no detail, old man. I want to know about the guy that could kick your ass."

"He couldn't-! That's an awful lot to assume, Jotaro!" Joseph huffed indignantly, his bleak mood seeming to vanish once his pride was poked at. "He used Hamon to trap me in a bubble! Can you even imagine being that insecure?!"

You caught Jean looking at you over the top of Joseph's head as he rambled (no small feat considering the size of the elder Joestar). Polnareff glanced at Joseph, then back at you. Both of you nodded after a moment, coming to a silent agreement.

Jean Pierre would take a step back in battle to allow you a step forward, and you would be more cautious.

...

From that point on, things smoothed out a little between the two of you. You didn't feel so stifled, like every move was watched. Chariot was ready and willing to work together with your Stand, the rapier-wielding chevalier helping to increase your own admittedly-lacking range. It was surreal how well you and Jean could control the battlefield now that you weren't at each other's throats.

Jean's motions when he was fighting were one with Chariot's. Often it was difficult to tell where Stand ended and man began, Chariot a literal extension of his own body. He moved with a savage finesse that was a treat to watch, something you hadn't been able to appreciate when he was trapping you behind him. Now that you could operate on even footing however, it was a different story. There was ample time to watch him fight, ample time to hear him taunt the enemy in both French and English, or a jumbled mess of the two. Perhaps a little too much time, if you were being honest. Jean Pierre was an incorrigible show off.

Somewhere along the way you had also gained a new nickname.

"Did you see that, mon coeur?" The silver-haired young man would often exclaim after you two managed to do something impressive, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "They didn't stand a chance!"

You wanted to hate yourself for enjoying his enthusiasm when it came to fighting. After all, you were on a very important quest. Now wasn't the time to be entertaining such thoughts, like fun and what will happen after all of this? Now wasn't the time to wonder about Polnareff's multitude of lovers, the wistful wife no doubt waiting for him at home in France.

"What will you do?" You asked him the night after his agonizing encounter with the copies of Avdol and his dearly departed sister. "When all of this is over, I mean."

"I...I don't really know." He had been in a thoughtful mood the entire day, more forlorn than you had ever seen him. It broke your heart, just a little. "I'd like to see more of the world, I think." His voice was so soft, as if he didn't want to say anything at all.

"What places do you want to visit?"

"I'd like to see Niagara Falls." You knew you had him then, watching his body perk up ever so slightly. "I've heard so much about Canada. I have distant relations there as well. And then, I want to go to Florida!" Jean gushed. "No wait, perhaps Mexico or South America first, trek the Amazon and then make my way up the East Coast. Yes, that will do. But California, the vineyards, I must...how will I decide?!"

You were so thrilled at the return of his dramatic nature that you laughed aloud and threw your arms around his neck. "There you are. Thought I'd lost you for a minute." You murmured against Polnareff's jaw, the gesture oddly intimate for you. You heard Jean swallow convulsively and then he embraced you, holding you to his chest.

"Your friendship is such a precious gift, mon coeur." The large man whispered, his voice sounding slightly choked. "Whatever comes of us, know that this crusade will not be the end. I, Jean Pierre Polnareff, promise you that. We will see the world as it should be."

"A promise of such weight demands the proper gesture." You pulled back slightly and hooked your left pinky around his own. "The pinky promise of Polnareff shall not be broken easily, I warn you. If we don't travel the world, there will be hell to pay."

You didn't exactly have confidence in the fact that you would be returning from the tangle with Dio, so the promise was both simple and hard for you to make. Jean's smile in reply warmed you from head to toe, the sensation strange but not unwelcome. "I would have it no other way." He swore sincerely.

…

Your Stand vanished under the blow and you clutched the heavily-bleeding stump of your left wrist, all that was left where your hand had once been. You dimly heard Jean Pierre screaming (in what was hopefully rage, it was difficult to tell sometimes).

Despite he and Avdol's insistence that this fight was every man for himself, you couldn't just stand by and let Jean die to gain an opening at Dio. It was better this way, you reasoned while your Stand had flung Polnareff out of the range of the fiendish Cream Stand and into the range of Iggy's Stand. Polnareff has a better chance at getting Dio than I do, so I should make this count.

Your eyes had met Jean's seconds before Cream's void reached him, and you shot the tall man a shaky, battered smile. It'll be okay, you wanted to tell him, it'll all be fine. Iggy's Stand enveloped him, sand barely holding together as the small dog draped over your arm struggled to breathe.

Cream's void touch obliterated your Stand's left hand and you felt the pain down to your soul, dropping to your knees and almost immediately emptying the contents of your stomach.

Consciousness didn't stick around for much longer, the blood loss too rapid for you to staunch effectively on your own. You prayed that you had been useful even as your senses dimmed.

...

You didn't really expect to wake up, so realizing that sunlight was beating down on your eyelids was bizarre.

You tried to open your eyes, but gave up after a few moments and simply basked in the warm haze. This is actually kind of nice.

Your brow furrowed as you tried to recall what led to this. You were drawing a blank. Unconcerned, you hummed out a breath and shifted slightly on the soft surface you rested upon. Your left hand felt odd, heavier than you remembered and sluggish. But then again, your whole body felt heavy and sluggish. I wonder where I am, you mused, not exactly motivated to find out. It was as though thinking was a struggle.

A deep voice reached your ears, the words incomprehensible but soothing all the same. Someone seemed to be speaking in an area adjacent to your own. Were you in a hospital?

Curiosity started to penetrate the haze, and with it came the thrum of distant pain and a soft, insistent beeping. Maybe you had been in an accident of some kind, you must be in a hospital. That mystery solved, you tried to open your eyes again. You flexed your hands, first left, then right. Your left hand was definitely slower.

After a final, Herculean effort, you pried your eyes open and immediately summoned your Stand. It looked gaunt and frail when it appeared, as though a gust of wind might blow it away. The relief you felt at the familiar sight was short-lived as your gaze trailed down to the Stand's left hand. Or rather, where it had been. It seemed wrong, twisted in a strange way.

Egypt. Dio. The Joestar Crusade. Recollections poured back into your mind like a torrent, making your whole body go stiff. Your Stand touched their forehead to your own, making their customary sound as if to reassure you that they were alright.

"Where's…" Your words were muffled by the oxygen mask you wore. Where is everyone?

Your Stand, appearing thrilled to be out and about once again, practically lunged towards the door of your room. You had to close your eyes to fight the nausea at the abrupt motion, biting the inside of your cheek to choke back the bile.

You felt when your Stand reached the edge of your range and then, something careened past it heading in your direction. You sensed the displacement of the air and the door to your room suddenly burst open.

"Oh my God, you finally woke up!" It was none other than Joseph Joestar, his eyes brimming with tears. "We weren't sure if you were...I'm so happy!" He bolted towards the bed with the vigor of a man a quarter of his age, nearly crushing you in a tight hug. "The others need to know, I have to-"

The door to the room was having quite a busy day as two more bodies made their way through it. Both Kakyoin and Jotaro looked somewhat worse for wear (Kakyoin was so covered in bandages he bore a striking resemblance to a mummy) but at the familiar irate grunt of "Good grief," from the taller young man currently pushing the redhead's wheelchair, you got the feeling that they would be just fine.

Avdol sauntered in with Iggy slung over one shoulder, the black and white dog glancing at you and then yawning widely as if to say, "my work here is done."

"You're okay." Your voice was barely a whisper, tears welling up in your eyes. "B-But Avdol, I thought…am I dead? Did we all die?"

"I mean, the old man tried pretty hard to die on me but I wasn't going to let him get away with that shit." Jotaro growled.

"It is a bit of a miracle, the survival of Iggy and myself. All thanks to you and Polnareff, my friend. Due to your quick intervention, Jean Pierre managed to land the killing blow on Vanilla Ice and drag most of my body back from the abyss of his Stand." Avdol held up his gloved hands, showing you his arms bandaged to the shoulder. "My body has yet to reject the prosthetics, so with some luck I'll make a full recovery."

"Where is Jean Pierre?" You asked faintly, your strength waning. As if to answer, there was a loud crash from the hallway and someone was abruptly swearing a blue streak in French.

"He's not entirely used to the crutches, but he refused our help." Kakyoin explained hastily. "He should be here any second now."

"Speaking of prosthetics, how does your hand feel?" Joseph asked curiously. "Any pain? My hand took some getting used to."

"It's totally gone, isn't it." At the older man's nod you giggled, a little hysterical. "I'm scared to look. I don't want to see how much I've changed. My poor Stand…"

Polnareff interrupted your rambling by all but flopping through the doorway, half-supported by a weakened-looking Chariot. Both Stand and man lit up upon seeing you awake, Chariot waving wildly, and without thinking you raised your left hand to wave back.

You caught sight of smooth metal fingers responding jerkily to your brain's stimulus and that was all it took to make you go gray at the edges.

Does a pinky promise still count if the pinky that you promised it with is gone?

"Mon coeur, open your eyes! Please, I promise it's not so bad!" Polnareff's imploring words met your ears when you regained consciousness moments later.

"Five more minutes, have mercy on me." You groaned, not opening your eyes just yet. "Fuck. How long has it been since the fight?"

"Almost three weeks."

"Fuck. Did we win at least?"

"Holly is going to make a full recovery." Joseph said. You could hear the smile in his words and that gave you the courage you needed to open your eyes and finally look down at your hand.

"Fuck that's sore." You winced, the pain vibrant now as you moved your fingers individually. "I think I liked being out cold better."

"You were the last to wake up. We've all been so worried!" Kakyoin said, sounding relieved.

"Even Jotaro?" You teased, laughing when the aforementioned boy grumbled something in reply and Star Platinum appeared to loudly Ora!, as if contradicting the stone-faced teen.

Jean Pierre slotted himself into the space between your bed and the wall, his large frame almost too big to fit. Chariot chirruped at you while their user reached out slowly, so slowly to cradle your new hand in his own. For all his size and strength he was surprisingly delicate, his fingers feeling strangely warm to your overly-sensitive appendage. "As you may recall," He began quietly, glancing up at you before ducking his head again. "I made a promise. Once you are entirely well, we will...we have a lot of traveling to do if you would accompany me."

"I don't know if that promise still counts." You said before you could think, more than a little shocked that he had even remembered that promise. You wiggled your fingers haphazardly.

"We can make a new one if you wish." Polnareff was as serious as you had ever seen him, those blue eyes boring into your own. He raised your hand to his lips and kissed your bandaged wrist, the look on his face daring you to stop him.

You extended your metal pinky with a wince, letting him be the one to loop his finger around your own this time. The feeling of metal on metal startled you momentarily, but you recalled that he had lost two fingers to Cream himself. "I pinky promise. It'll give me something to look forward to while we're all recovering."

Recover you did, with a speed that you attributed to spite against Dio. The sooner you were healed, the sooner you would be able to leave that vampiric fiend in the dust he had become.

The sooner you would be able to journey with Polnareff, your brain felt the need to chime in gleefully. It made you flush more often than not, the idea of being legitimately alone with the large man. You couldn't recall a time during the entire adventure that the two of you had been alone, and you weren't certain why but it filled you with an odd trepidation.

Jean Pierre was not one to let simple things like the doctor said you need to be careful get in his way, the large man determined to recover as quickly as he could. His hand and thigh were healing up well it seemed, but his foot was slower going. They had been traumatic injuries and you tried to reason with him that it was expected, though it didn't seem to penetrate his thick skull. The doctors of the Speedwagon Foundation clearly had the patience of Job.

Polnareff lavishly praised your own recovery progress; his thrilled exclamation of Magnifique! when you managed to open a jar during physical therapy almost made all the pain and frustration worth it. You could only imagine how obnoxious it must be for someone as self-sufficient as Jean to be unable to walk without help, so you did your best to be just as encouraging to him when he seemed weary. Your terrible rendition of Hail The Conquering Hero never failed to put a smile on his face even while he slouched in a chair at your bedside.

"The worst part is how bone-tired I am." He admitted one evening. "All my energy is going towards healing and learning how to redistribute my weight and it is...difficult to stay positive when I truly feel how heavy my body is." Jean gave you a half-smile. "Who would have thought being the tallest and most muscular of the group would be detrimental to me in the long run, eh mon coeur?"

"Hey at least you've got that going for you. It took me a good week to be able to flex my hand enough to flip someone off again!" You complained, trying to get him to laugh. Jean took your metal hand, his expression unreadable. The doctors had been fine tuning the receptors in your fingers and palm, so his touch was no longer scorching. You wished that your face had gotten the memo.

"Don't think that I'll ever forget what you did for me." Jean's voice was soft, yet firm. It added a strange weight to the conversation. "I know you wanted to kill Dio as much as the rest of us, and you gave up your chance...no, your damn hand, to save me instead. I owe a debt I doubt I can repay and I will never forget that, mon coeur." He sighed, "So many debts to focus on! First Avdol, then Iggy, and now you. My life is forfeit I suppose."

"W-What does that mean?" You stammered, blurting out the first thing you could think of.

"What does what mean?"

"What you call me, mon kyar or something. I assume it's French?"

"It is."

"So...what does it mean?" You pressed after he was silent for several seconds. "You gonna' tell me?"

A knock on the doorframe interrupted the conversation, the nurse with your usual tray of food arriving right on time as ever. Jean Pierre was in such a hurry to leave he nearly bowled the poor man over, mumbling an apology as he hobbled past.

What the hell was that all about? You wondered as you ate your meal. If he believed he could avoid your question like that, he was dumber than you thought. What if it was a swear or an insult? You froze, thinking back to your original glass cannon nickname. The fork in your metal hand was bent nearly in half before you could stop yourself, and you spent several panicky seconds trying to flatten it back out.

…

Niagara Falls was first on the list of attractions. It was a poorly-designed list, of course, but you were still excited to see more of the world.

You supposed you were a hopeless optimist for believing that nothing untoward would happen to the two of you while embarking on your grand tour.

"Pose by the railing! I want to take your picture with that backdrop of the falls." Jean urged, laughing when you stuck your tongue out and curved your back into a weird-looking, hunched stance.

"How's this?" You asked, striking an even stranger pose afterwards and laughing along when his composure entirely dissolved. He staggered over to lean on your shoulder, still cackling, then his fingers wrapped around your non-metallic wrist.

"I need you to move with me." The mirth was abruptly gone from Jean's face though his smile stayed; his broad shoulders tensed like he was bracing for impact. "Don't make a scene. We're taking two steps back from the railing."

You giggled to keep up the illusion that the two of you were just sharing an intimate chat, nodding once and waiting for him to give you the go ahead.

A hulking, metallic Stand suddenly appeared overhead and plummeted downwards. Jean summoned Chariot without so much as blinking, your own Stand not far behind. The two of you sidestepped the enemy Stand's crushing attempt and launched yourselves back into the crowd of tourists, your smaller size allowing you to more easily make your way through throngs of people. Jean struggled to keep up and you grabbed onto his hand, no worry for propriety on your mind while you wove between the sightseers.

Someone's outstretched leg was almost your downfall but Jean heaved you bodily up into his arms and kept moving, setting you back on your feet without so much as breaking stride.

"I imagine they're still following us." He hissed, seeming annoyed. It had been overcast all day but now it started to drizzle. The crowd began to thin and you could feel Jean getting more and more anxious, trying to stick with groups that kept dwindling. He started swearing under his breath, his eyes darting around as he tried to locate the enemy Stand user.

Your own eyes landed on a corridor that led back into the visitor's center, and just inside the mouth of the corridor was a door beside a pay phone. No doubt it led to a maintenance closet or area of some kind, but it was cover all the same.

You opened your mouth to tell Jean your plan but before you could utter a word he grabbed your shoulder, ripping you backwards. The enemy Stand slammed into the ground where you had been standing, whirring loudly as it attempted to free itself from the cement.

Polnareff was actually shaking, the large man maintaining a death grip on your hand and making a mad dash for the door you had noticed. Chariot's blade nimbly took care of the lock.

The space was entirely too small.

Jean Pierre's chest heaved against yours, the Frenchman still panting for air from your headlong dash. Overhead Silver Chariot made sounds of distress, pressing their helm to your forehead while your Stand hovered worriedly.

"Ch-Chariot!" Polnareff scolded, waving his Stand back. "Non, Chariot."

His arms wrapped around you suddenly at the sound of running footsteps outside the door, and you felt the muscles of his thighs tense in preparation to flee. Your metal fingers dug into his shoulder and he winced, letting out a strangled noise.

"Sorry, sorry." You hissed, sure that you had accidentally left a bruise. Who would have expected Stand users to attack you even after the defeat of Dio?!

The footsteps paused outside the door and Jean Pierre's hold tightened even further, threatening to crush the breath out of your lungs. Whoever they were, the person appeared to be making a phone call with the pay phone on the wall by the closet.

"I don't know where they went. It's like them and their Stands turned the corner and disappeared into the rain." The individual said, sounding dejected. "Yeah, I'll head back."

Jean cautiously slid you down his body to rest on the floor, then pointed silently at the doorknob. The handle jiggled as the person on the other side began turning it, no doubt trying to be thorough before returning to whatever hole they crawled out of.

They didn't expect the enormous silver-haired Stand user to be the one behind the door, as evidenced by their horrified yelp. Polnareff slapped a hand over the man's mouth and dragged him into the closet, where both of your Stands were eagerly waiting to dispose of him.

...

Your damp clothes stuck to your body like they were vacuum sealed and you groaned, fidgeting with your jeans. Jean Pierre was in the same boat, soaked to the skin and doing his best to try and wring out his already-tight tank top. "It's no use, mon coeur. Let's find a hotel and see about getting dry." He said with a defeated sigh, offering you his arm.

It served you right for trying to do some sightseeing during a peak tourist season. Not a hotel in the entire damn city had a double room available, or even a twin and sleeper sofa combo! You wanted to scold Jean for his lackadaisical planning, but you figured from his deflated expression that he hadn't taken into account the fact that everyone else in the world was also on vacation.

"The best I can do for you is a room with one queen. I'm really sorry, sir, but with the summer traffic-"

"Non, do not apologize!" Jean hastily interrupted the woman behind the counter. "My companion and I appreciate whatever hospitality you can extend to us, and we thank you for your time. The fact that you found us a room at all is more than enough." He shook her hand while she went bright red and you barely choked back your giggle. Jean Pierre was a handful normally so he was entirely outrageous when he laid the charm on thick.

The room was small but the bed was clean, and that was really all that mattered to you. Polnareff began rummaging through his bag for a dry change of clothes and you took the opportunity to bolt for the shower. The air conditioning in the hotel lobby, while pleasant at first, ended up chilling you through your wet clothes. A nice hot shower would rectify that.

"Bath or shower?" Jean called through the door. In response, you turned on the showerhead.

You emerged ten minutes later, warm and sleepy from the long and strenuous day. Jean Pierre was waiting beside the bed, clothes neatly folded on the floor.

"You look radiant, mon coeur!" He teased, getting to his feet and chucking you under the chin. "Can you tuck yourself in? You seem ready to sleep standing up."

"Oh hush." You grumbled, batting his hand away and trotting over to your own bag. He laughed softly and you heard the bathroom door close behind you. You quickly dropped your towel and rummaged through your bag for a loose shirt and some clean panties, struggling into the garments as sleep dragged at your limbs. The bed felt heavenly when you finally stripped back the covers and climbed in, and even with the lamp on in the room your eyes grew heavy.

You snuggled a pillow to your chest and drifted off, stirring when you felt someone lay down beside you. Lips touched your forehead and Jean Pierre murmured, "only me, mon coeur. Go back to sleep."

You abandoned your pillow and slotted yourself into his arms, mumbling some gibberish while you buried your face in his chest. He was wonderfully shirtless and you took advantage of your drowsy, carefree state, uncharacteristically bold in your cuddling.

You felt more than heard his breath hitch, and then he was urging your chin up so that you would make eye contact. "Are you awake?" He whispered. "You are acting strange." You whined in reply and a breathless little chuckle left his lips. "So sulky! I will not deprive you of any more rest. Sleep well, mon coeur."

You dropped your head back onto his chest, his heartbeat thudding loudly in your ear. It was almost loud enough to drown him out when he spoke next.

"I could have lost you today, mon coeur." Jean breathed. "That Stand...it would have left you as a stain on the pavement. What a terrible thought." His arms wrapped around you and his chest expanded with a heartfelt sigh. "Unbearable, even. My heart stopped for just that second. I wasn't sure I would be able to move you in time. I wished for Jotaro's power then! What a ridiculous thing to do in the heat of the moment, no?"

Jean's hands were shaking, fingers rubbing light circles on your back.

"I couldn't breathe. I was trembling. Me! The idea of me fearing anything is preposterous. But I did. I...I feared for your life. I feared that I would lose you." He chuckled, the noise a little ragged. "What selfish fears I have, mon coeur."

…

After that, it was easier to find accommodations. The two of you could share more than a battlefield without killing each other, it seemed. It was only slightly mortifying to disentangle yourself from his grasp in the morning, seeing as you were always the first one awake. But it did offer you ample time to study his face all flushed and relaxed, so you decided that you could live with the embarrassment of knowing that you cuddled up to him in your sleep.

Or maybe it was vice versa? You usually went to sleep on the far side of the bed, and yet you always woke up with him holding you in his arms. As if he was seeking out your body heat in his sleep. It was almost enough to make you suspicious if you didn't secretly relish the lazy mornings before you were fully awake, just luxuriating in being held.

Jean Pierre was an enthusiastic if not entirely capable tour guide no matter where you went, though half the time he could be caught with notes written in Kakyoin's hand detailing the areas you were visiting. It would seem that the younger man had been essentially everywhere and had whipped up a few cheat sheets for Polnareff.

So the two of you saw all the sights you could cram in and then some, resulting in long days and sleeping like the dead.

Until one night. A fateful night, like the stories always said.

Your metal hand had been acting up through the day due to a changing weather system and it left you tense and anxious, unable to relax. You were plagued with the fear that you might have already broken your new hardware. The idea of having to cut your trip short due to your appendage not 'playing nice' soured your mood even further.

Jean Pierre seemed to sense your discomfort but not the source, the large man cautiously asking over dinner at a local cafe whether he had done something to upset you.

"Mon coeur, your eyes have lost that mischievous shine. Was it something I said?" He queried with a fair amount of concern. From their spot beside him Chariot reached out their saber, as if to also inquire. The Stand's mannerisms never ceased to be charming to you; they displayed a blunt inquisitiveness that was such an obvious facet of Jean Pierre it made you want to tease him. Their rapier rested delicately on the table, just to the left of your fingers.

"I just want things to keep working." You couldn't keep the annoyance out of your voice. Your hand twitched involuntarily, bumping Chariot's rapier, and you swore under your breath.

Jean Pierre definitely noticed that. "Your hand as well? My foot and hand have been ah, cantankerous all day. I thought I was the only one." He laughed a little self-consciously, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know you can tell me about things like that, right?"

"I don't want to bug you." You grumbled, startled when his finger hooked under your chin and tilted your face up. He looked oddly serious.

"We've been traveling together long enough for you to know that you're never bugging me, mon coeur." Things had taken a strange turn. Were you blushing?!

"P-People always say stuff like that, but they never actually mean it." You floundered to answer him, the retort devoid of your usual wit.

"I mean it."

"Well I uh, I guess you're the exception to the rule, Polnareff. And the logical height restriction for hair, as always." Jean's expression was unimpressed. You went on to insist, "Look, it's not fair that you should have to listen to me whine just because you made a pinky promise."

"The only thing I've heard is genuine concerns. Perhaps it is your assumptions that need to change, mon coeur." Jean suggested, leaning forward just a little. "Who else have you engaged with? Who made you so willing to shoulder the burden of your fears and wave off help from anyone else?"

"No one, that's just how I've always been. I don't like bothering anyone."

"Bother me, I dare you."

"What if my hand never gets back to full speed? What if I'm stuck with a fidgety hunk of metal like Joseph, what if I can't fight anymore?!" You exploded, slamming your left fist down on the table. "What if I'm useless, Jean? What then?"

"Is that your chief grievance?" He was weirdly calm. Normally he was the one to get worked up and you were the one to rationalize him back down to Earth. You shook your head and Jean got to his feet, taking your metal hand after he paid the bill for the evening. "Come with me, mon coeur."

...

Once the two of you were back in your hotel room, Jean Pierre left you to sit on the bed and disappeared into the bathroom for a short period of time. When he reemerged, he urged you into the smaller room and you were faced with a bathtub full of bubbles.

"Get in, get comfortable, and call me once you're settled." His demands brooked no argument and you grudgingly stripped to get into the tub once he exited the bathroom. The bubbles were actually thick enough that they kept you from feeling too exposed and you blinked back tears at the realization that he had planned it that way.

"You can come back in, I'm decent." You announced after climbing into the small mountain of bubbles.

Jean returned with one of the folding chairs from beside the bed. He sat down, rested his chin in his palm, and fixed you with a stern look. "Speak."

"Just like that?" You huffed. Jean inclined his head, raising an eyebrow and simply waiting. "I'm scared, okay? I'm a big, scared, useless baby. I'm tired and I'm scared."

"What are you scared of?"

"The future, I guess. Nothing will be the same. A lot of times I wish I could go back…" You paused. "You would think after everything that we went through, I wouldn't be scared anymore. But I still am." You curled up with your knees to your chest. "I almost miss the Crusader tunnel vision, y'know? We didn't have the luxury to focus on anything besides Dio."

Jean sighed heavily. "If you had said something sooner, I...we all feel that way, you know that, yes? The rest of us were conscious and recovering while you were still wrestling with Morpheus. I would say we got a bit of a head start. Though Kakyoin and myself in particular struggled immensely, mon coeur. Kakyoin did not believe he was going to survive the battle with Dio. His wounds were...devastating." Polnareff glanced up at you, his eyes a troubled, stormy blue. "I, on the other hand, did not want to continue living with my survival built upon the sacrifice of my friends."

"Jean..."

"Avdol's arms. Iggy and Kakyoin's entire bodies, mangled and broken. Your hand. These were all prices I consider too high to pay and yet each one of you did what you needed to do without a second thought. It is...humbling." Jean chuckled mirthlessly. "Jotaro spoke with me at length about stopping his own heart in order to trick Dio into thinking he was dead."

"He did what?!"

"He had Star Platinum literally grab hold of his heart and stop it." Jean Pierre shook his head. "He's insane. Listen, the point is that we're all scared of the future. I didn't even think that I would have one, didn't dare to hope for one! I've been struggling adrift, trying to decide what I wish to do with my life now that the length of it stretches before me like so many miles of untread country road. Granted, the generous patronage of the Joestars and their Speedwagon Foundation has eased the difficulty somewhat. None of us will want for anything in this transitional period, I'm sure."

"Jean, I...I guess I got so into my own head I didn't think that anyone else could be having the same problems as me." You didn't apologize, and he didn't seem to expect you to.

"We were selfish as well, mon coeur, you cannot take the blame. I assumed Joseph would discuss things with you in private, but he must have been preoccupied with Holly's recovery." Jean's hands now rested on his thighs and you watched his metal pinky and ring finger jitter independently for several silent minutes.

"Thanks, Jean. For everything." You finally said quietly. Chariot appeared with a sound of glee, the Stand's deadly rapier raised in front of them in a perfect salute. "You too Chariot, of course!" You continued, laughing when the Stand began to preen. "I would never leave you out."

Polnareff had gone bright red at the enthusiastic antics of his Silver Chariot, the poor man sputtering in a way that was far too endearing, "Chariot, please!"

"Are you actually embarrassed, Jean Pierre? I never thought I would see the day." You teased. "You look dashing in red, I have to admit."

"You are so cruel!" He whined.

"Ha! After your little kink reveal during our quest, it's so funny to see you lose your cool over something this inconsequential."

"Kink?! Dirty talk is just...it's standard procedure in the bedroom! I hardly count it as a kink-"

"Surprise, you nerd, it's a kink." You carried on ribbing him, a massive grin on your face. "Not every kink has to be super weird or niche, you know. As long as it gets you off, it can be anything."

"How on Earth-" Jean Pierre began heatedly, his hands fisting in the fabric of his pants as he shifted forwards into 'debate position'.

"I mean, some people like when people dirty talk to them, but could never do it themselves. Or vice versa. People love that filthy stream-of-consciousness ramble. You've got the added bonus of being bilingual, so you could say a whole bunch of random words in French and I bet your partner would still be swooning!" You pointed out, unable to stifle your giggles at the flabbergasted expression on his face. "Do you like when people talk dirty to you in reply? Or are you always the one doing the talking?"

"I...I've never had anyone talk dirty to me." Jean's voice hitched slightly. "I do not...I'm rather large. With that comes the assumptions, you know."

"Well you do have a commanding presence, for better or for worse." The shake in his words threw you off just a tad. Was he upset with you? "Hey, I'm only joking around. If I went too far, tell me and I'll stop."

"Non! No, no, I just never thought about it." He admitted. "I mean, the process is…" Jean lapsed into muttering under his breath in French and your laughter returned with a vengeance. "Hush you! Laughing while I'm in crisis!" He complained, the wry grin on his face belying his words as he gave your exposed shoulder a gentle shove.

"You're so sweet, Jean Pierre. Under all that bravado, anyway."

"Sweet?! I am not--I am precise and fierce! Deadly, even!" He jumped to his feet, Chariot at the ready as he tried to pace in the tiny area. "I am a man of great skill and charisma and-"

"And you drew a bubble bath for someone so they would talk to you. Face it, you're sweet."

"I would...whenever she had a difficult day at school, I would run Sherry a bath and then sit and listen." At the mention of his late sister, your heart squeezed in your chest. You of course knew his whole sad story, but the reverent way he spoke about her never failed to spark a sympathetic reaction. She had been incredibly dear to him and, while he had dispatched her killer, it was obvious that the pain was still there. "It's a tactic that's served me well, though getting Jotaro in the tub is easier said than done." Jean tried to joke.

"You're ridiculous." You extended your metal pinky to him and he wrapped his own around it after a moment of hesitation. "You're also a good man, Jean Pierre. I envy the person you share your heart with in the future."

He stared down at you with his brow furrowed, then looked at your joined fingers. His mouth opened as if he was going to say something, but he simply sighed after a moment. His shoulders drooped. "Yes, of course. The future." He mused thoughtfully.

After you had gotten dressed for bed, Jean beckoned you close.

"Please, just let me hold you." His voice cracked at the end of his request. "No more talking." Confused at the vulnerability he was displaying, you obediently settled yourself into his loose embrace. Nothing about how he was touching you was improper, but you still felt a flush of heat on your face. Jean Pierre stared at the space over your head in silence for what felt like hours, his eyes distant and suspiciously glassy.

You brushed your fingers against his jaw and he flinched. "Hey." You whispered, "just me."

"Oui, it always has been." He replied cryptically, placing a kiss on your forehead. "I'll be alright. Thank you for letting me hold you."

"Trust me, the pleasure's all mine."

"You like being held, mon coeur?" He sounded startled.

"Only when you do it." You yawned, snuggling closer. "Anybody else'll get their ass kicked."

His hand was trembling when he cupped the back of your head and you felt the breath leave his body in a long, shuddering exhale. "Bonne nuit, mon coeur."

…

You woke before him, as ever, but this time you didn't leave Jean's arms. You just studied him from your vantage point, taking in every tiny detail. So involved were you in the play of shadows on his collarbone, it took him clearing his throat to realize that you too were being watched.

His eyes were barely open, still heavy with sleep, and you prayed that he wouldn't remember catching you ogling him. Jean didn't say anything, instead resituating you in his arms to better press your body to his own and burying his face in your neck. One powerful thigh slid between your legs and you were startled by the rush of heat you felt from such an innocuous motion.

That was nothing compared to when he groaned, his voice deeper than usual with sleep, "Tu es si jolie mon coeur." Large hands carded through your hair blindly. "Tu es si précieux pour moi."

"Jean?" You murmured.

There was a sharp inhale right next to your ear and then he drew back, looking befuddled. "I...what?" He asked drowsily. "G'morning, 'allo."

"Good morning. How do you feel?"

"Warm. Still tired." He tucked his face back into your neck, sighing. "Shh. Sleep."

"Jean, I-"

His body shifted as he stretched, pressing the rigid muscle of his thigh up in between your legs. You squeaked and that definitely got his attention. Blue eyes met your own, confusion evident on his face. Those eyes traveled down to the sheet over the two of you, and then they widened in comprehension. His own undignified yelp made you start to laugh hysterically, burying your face in his chest in a losing effort to contain your mirth.

After several tense seconds he started laughing too, peppering your cheeks and nose with playful kisses. "What a wake up call! I could get used to that." He chuckled, leaning in to kiss your nose again.

You tilted your chin at the last second and Jean's mouth landed on your own. He gasped against your lips, obviously startled but not recoiling. Hope flickered in your chest as his mouth stayed where it was, like he was frozen.

"If you want me to stop, tell me." He breathed finally. "I would like to give you a real kiss. I'm going to do so unless you tell me to stop."

"Why would I tell you to stop?" You whispered.

Jean's hands cupped your face, one thumb rubbing your cheek while he searched your eyes. You glared back at him defiantly and he looked torn between laughter and tears, finally closing the distance once more.

His 'real kiss' left you reeling, gripping his upper arms for support while he ravaged you with his mouth. Jean Pierre Polnareff always gave his all in everything he did, so you shouldn't have been so surprised. It was different when it was focused on you, though. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, mon coeur." He murmured after he decided it was time for you to breathe again. "Feeling your body react to me is...it's incredible. Intoxicating."

"Holy shit," You said weakly in reply, "I guess you aren't all talk."

"The talk is the best part of me, mon coeur." His mouth brushed over your ear, making your whole body break out in goosebumps. "Everything else is just window dressing." You snorted and you felt him smile against your neck. "I love it when you do that."

"What, when I mock your attempts at being suave?"

"Non, can you really still call it nothing but an attempt when I can feel how your heart pounds in your chest?" Jean teased you, making you smile broadly and giggle with more than a touch of nerves. "I meant when you smile or laugh at something I've said. It makes me happy, knowing that I did this." He continued sincerely, brushing his index finger over your lips. "Knowing that I put this enchanting expression on your face...there's no greater prize for me, mon coeur."

You ducked your face into his chest, thoroughly flustered and mumbling denials. Jean pressed light, tender kisses to the crown of your head, letting you work up some resolve. Quickly, so that you wouldn't have time to panic and rethink your bold move, you darted up and planted a kiss squarely on his lips. Jean made a delighted noise, his fingers back to combing through your hair while the two of you shared a heated exchange.

"I feel like the luckiest man in the world." Polnareff's voice was nothing but a heartfelt sigh, his forehead touching your own. His smile was so wide it looked like it hurt, his joy barely contained. You smiled shyly up at him, your metal fingers curled into a loose fist on his chest. "Stay with me, mon coeur? I cannot guarantee you an easy or safe life, this much you know. I am selfish and headstrong and entirely full of myself, but I will do everything in my power to make sure that the burden of the power we share is a light one." He promised solemnly, his thumb rubbing over the knuckles of your metal hand.

You bit your lip in thought, looking down at your joined hands. His metal pinky hooked around your own in a sort of playful, teasing gesture. Remember when, it seemed to say. It made you smile again and you felt the tension go out of his body when you tipped your face back up and kissed the underside of his jaw. "I guess I could be persuaded to stick around for a little while." You allowed.

"Only a little while? Isn't there anything I could do to get your...attention for just a touch longer?" Jean asked hopefully, his hands starting to wander a little lower on your body.

You straddled his hips and sat up, cupping his face to keep his eyes focused on your own. "What does mon coeur mean, Jean Pierre?" You queried, your tone saccharine-sweet.

The large man actually squirmed, his face going bright red as you put him on the spot. It was quite possibly the cutest thing you had ever seen. "It is, er...it's a term of endearment." He choked out finally.

"Yes, but what does it mean?"

"I...It means…listen, I don't know if it's too early to be saying these kinds of things. Are you positive you want to…?" Jean's question seemed to die in his throat at the rapid nod of your head and the man heaved a long sigh, dramatically covering his face with his hands so you couldn't see his expression. "It means 'my heart'. Because I...I have loved you for a very long time. You have my heart--non, you are my heart. It is so silly, but I-"

"Oh thank God!" You erupted, probably startling him judging from his incredulous look. "I've been so worried it was another shitty nickname like Le Canon De Verre, you have no idea."

"Merde, of course not! I learned my lesson. You are...you are not upset that I have been calling you my heart, are you?" Jean mumbled awkwardly. "It is a common term, I can come up with something el-"

"Shut up. It's perfect." You took a deep, bracing breath. "I love you too, Jean."

"Are...you are serious, yes? If you are not, you don't need to say it back. I am a grown man, I can handle a little rejection." He insisted bravely.

"Yes, I mean it. God Jean." His embrace crushed the air from your lungs and you wheezed out a chuckle, smacking his shoulder. "Easy on the goods, Pol." Jean ran his fingers through your hair, tears in his eyes. "Don't cry Jean, c'mon." You chided with a grin.

"I can't help it! This is the happiest moment of my life!" He announced tearfully. "I love you so much! I have loved you since before you got angry with me! Maybe it was love at first sight?!"

"Maybe for you. Weirdo." You teased, rumpling his hair (much to his indignation).

…

He danced around the topic of being physically intimate for what felt like months. If the kissing sessions got too hot and heavy, Jean was always the one to calm things back down. At first it was mildly entertaining to be soothed and cooled off by such an irreconcilable flirt, but soon you began to wonder.

Does he actually love me or was that a bunch of talk? Does he regret the choice? Is he just trying to let me down easy? Does he feel indebted to me?

You would get your answer in due time. As with all things related to Jean Pierre, he demanded the perfect setup.

"I've been thinking." You started carefully one evening. "About us."

Jean immediately glanced up from his guidebook, looking almost guilty. Almost. "Yes?"

"I...Jean, you do love me, right?" All your tact went out the window, your confidence soon following. You just stood there, twisting the hem of your sleeping shirt while you tried to stop your lower lip from quivering and your words kept pouring out, "I just wanted to know whether you...um. Whether you want me. As in...well, sexually, I guess. We kiss and hold each other a lot but it seems like every time we would be getting to that point, you put the brakes on." Your fingers threatened to tear a hole in the thin cloth of your shirt. "I mean, it's okay if you don't! It's okay if you want to go back to the way things were. I promise I'll get over it. I don't want to lose you, even if it's only as a friend."

Jean snapped the book shut and lunged upright, his expression gone stony. With two strides he had crossed the room, opening his arms and enfolding you tightly in his embrace. "Mon coeur, my heart, my everything." He whispered into your hair as you sniffled. "I want to ravish you until I consume your every thought as you do mine." Your breath caught in your throat at his heated words. "I want to pin you down and give you everything, every last pitiful scrap of desire that I have for you. I didn't want to scare you, mon coeur, but I have such a voracious hunger for you and...and if you want me as well, you can have as much of me as you wish to take."

Jean pressed his forehead to your own and you took the liberty of mussing his hairstyle with glorious disregard, your fingers raking through his impeccably-styled tresses gleefully. "I want it all." You breathed. "The whole nine yards."

"God, I am so glad. I am so very, very glad." Jean said in reply, his voice sounding strangely thick. "I did not want to rush you. I am well aware that I have a reputation, and I do not know...how far is acceptable to you?" His hands hovered at the hem of your sleeping shirt.

Your answer was to untuck his tank top, gently easing the tight-fitting garment out of the waistband of his pants and shoving it upwards. Jean's body trembled at your touch, a sharp inhale leaving him when you boldly splayed your metal palm on his newly-bared abdomen. You stared up at him, loving how disheveled he looked with his hair askew and tank top hoisted up to his chest. "This is mine now." You said softly.

His moan and the helpless, adorable blush that accompanied his nod of confirmation was all you needed to continue urging him to shed his tank top. Jean did so hastily, clearly eager to show off more of his form. Distracted as you were by ogling him, you barely noticed his arms back around you until he lifted you up. Jean laughed aloud at your squeak, rubbing his nose against your own. "Wrap your legs around my hips, mon coeur." He purred. "Feel as much of me as you would like."

You were only too willing, greedily drawing your hands over his shoulder blades and pulling yourself as close as you dared.

Jean surged forward to close the space between you, nuzzling into your neck with an aching sweetness that was both foreign and familiar at the same time. "You are so beautiful." He said simply, making you flush and squirm a little under the attention. "I am so happy. So incredibly happy."

"Show me then." You replied with a mischievous grin, squealing a second later when he blew a raspberry against the skin of your neck.

Jean laughed again and moved to lay you on the bed, pulling away briefly to study you beneath him. "I can't believe that this is real." You wriggled out of your underwear when his fingers reached for the elastic band, already too excited to let him peel them off unaided. Jean lifted the hem of your shirt and touched it to his lips, the gesture reverent and teasing all at once. "Can I put my mouth on you, mon coeur? Will you permit me?" He asked softly.

"I am going to actually burst into flames if you don't." You admitted, getting the tall man to shoot you an unbearably cocky smirk. It was softened considerably by the wonder in his eyes, like you were the most incredible thing he had ever seen.

Jean urged your legs apart and settled between them, his smirk broadening further when he realized that your thighs were shaking slightly. You covered your face with your shirt, thoroughly embarrassed, but Jean tugged it back down. "Please, don't hide from me. Ne te cache pas de Jean, s'il te plaît." He implored you.

"You know I have no clue what you're saying." You replied breathlessly. Jean didn't bother to translate, lavishing the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs with soft kisses and nips. You buried your fingers in his hair, none-too-subtly trying to guide his mouth to where you wanted it, but Jean wasn't budging. "Jean-"

The way your voice cracked seemed to fuel his fire, Polnareff glancing up at you with a dazed expression before he attacked your drenched folds with his skilled tongue. He was methodical and brutal, thumbing lightly at your clit while your body arched into the flat press of his tongue. Jean devoured you enthusiastically, making sounds you would have been embarrassed of at any other time had you not also been making highly embarrassing sounds.

"À toi, pour toujours." Jean gasped when you came apart beneath him, reaching up to fondle one of your breasts through your shirt. "Mon coeur, je suis amoureux."

"Y-You'd better not be saying something mean--" Your threat was ruined by how hard your breath was hitching, coming in shaky bursts as you rode out your orgasm.

Jean Pierre languidly shifted his weight until he knelt over you on the bed, pressing his fingertips to his mouth and then touching your lips. "I said, I'm yours forever, my heart, I'm in love." He replied, sounding a little breathless himself. "Too much, yes?"

"I said I wanted it all, didn't I?" Your rhetorical question hung in the heated air between your bodies for barely a split second, fingers already dragging at the buckle of his belt. Jean groaned low in his throat when you opened his zipper, revealing his cock trapped against his stomach by the waistband of his boxers.

"It seems to always be like this when I'm around you." He confessed, unable to meet your eyes and instead focusing on your hand rubbing him through his boxers. "Sleeping in particular is so difficult, mon coeur. Your body, warm and pressed against mine…but I am not some spoiled boy without an ounce of self-control. So I prayed for the dawn like a damned man. Prayed for the courage to tell you, the patience to wait." He chuckled ruefully. "To think you would outstrip me all the same."

"I think we've both waited long enough." You pointed out, feeling him rock down into your waiting palm.

Jean flushed a little, biting his lip as you slid his boxers out of the way and freed his cock. "Will you let me?"

"I keep telling you I want it all. I'm greedy for you, Jean, c'mon." You chided him, startled when he shook his head.

"It's not enough to say it."

"I guess I'll just show you I mean it then." Jean raised an eyebrow at your tone. You lunged up to kiss him, clinging to his waist as you ground your aching pussy against his cock. Jean actually growled, the sound reverberating in his chest while he eagerly reciprocated your grinding motion. "I want you, Jean. I want everything you can give me."

"Since you asked so nicely." Jean Pierre palmed your thighs and dragged you even closer to him, kissing you fiercely. His mouth dominated your own easily, your legs falling open for him as you welcomed him into your body.

Jean buried his face in your neck, panting for breath while you adjusted around him. Your calves quivered and jumped noticeably when he cupped them, shoving your knees up and over his shoulders to leave you entirely at his mercy. You whimpered helplessly, covering your face with your hands again.

"Mon coeur, my love, my everything, please don't hide from me." Jean begged, his voice ragged with desire. "Let me see you, let me know you."

"It's so good, I feel so embarrassed." You replied through your fingers, shaking your head.

"Why be embarrassed?"

"I...I don't know, really. I guess it's the way you look at me. Kind of like I'm being examined under a microscope." You mumbled.

Jean rolled his hips, settling his cock even deeper than it had been previously. Your lips popped open without your input, eyelids fluttering closed. "Do you want me to stop?" He whispered.

"You're so mean." You managed to sputter. "No, I definitely don't want you to stop."

"Are you not enjoying what I'm doing?"

"Oh my God, Jean-"

"There is nothing to be embarrassed about if you like what I'm doing, so what could it be?" Jean's smirk could have given the cat that ate the canary a run for its money, your continued pitiful attempts at indifference doing nothing but bolster his confidence. "Is it maybe...that you like what I'm doing, but you think you like it too much?"

"Polnareff-"

"My last name in bed, how formal of you!" He teased, coaxing an exasperated half-giggle out of you. "I have encountered this before, of course. I will tell you a secret." His lips barely touched your ear, eliciting a shiver. "No one else is here but us, mon coeur. Which means you are as free to enjoy me as I am to enjoy you. I understand that some moron before me has given you the impression that you should be silent or not enjoy this...delicious intimacy. Whoever they were, they were an inconsiderate, selfish liar."

"You are the first person to put your mouth on me. D-down there." You confessed.

He straightened up, looking absolutely scandalised and shrugging your legs off of his shoulders. "But you came so easily for me! Surely someone...no? No one?"

"Nope, not a one."

"Vile, inconsiderate selfish pigs." Jean lapsed back into French, grumbling under his breath and rolling his eyes. He then slid his arms beneath your shoulders, his large form effectively looming over you. You yelped when he picked you up bodily, hurrying to wrap your legs around his waist like you had earlier. "Relax, mon coeur. I won't let you fall." Jean promised, sounding amused. His cock twitched inside you, making you whine. "Oh, that's a lovely noise."

"You can't say stuff like th-at!" You tried to protest but your voice pitched higher as he settled you onto his hips, sheathing his cock to the hilt. He raised you slightly, then lowered you back down again. His careful, even pace was tortuous, your pubic mound pressed firmly to his abdomen while he slowly fucked his cock in and out of you.

"I will not go any faster unless you tell me how you would like it." Jean didn't even seem like he was struggling for breath. You, on the other hand, were gasping out with every thrust, your fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. "You have to tell me, mon coeur." You buried your face in his neck and he shuddered all over, laughing a little. "Is it too much? You are clinging to me so tightly."

"You are absolutely terrible." You muttered, taking a handful of his hair and roughly tugging his head to the side so you could mouth over his ear. Jean's breathing hitched when you finally bit his earlobe and shakily murmured, "please fuck me."

"Oh," Jean sighed, "I would love nothing more." When you arched against him he made a wrecked sound in the back of his throat, thrusting up to meet you halfway. "How could I ever not want you, mon coeur? Now that I've had a taste, I am drunk on you." He said it like it was normal, regular. Maybe to him it was. Maybe things like that came naturally to him.

You cupped his face, suddenly seized by a fierce tenderness that demanded to be expressed. "You're amazing." You choked out bluntly. Jean's eyebrows rose and he seemed genuinely surprised. "You're perfect. You make me feel incredible and you're so, so wonderful to me-"

Jean sputtered, now clearly bewildered. His flush reached the tips of his ears. He cradled you to his chest, helping you ride his cock even while he continued to silently color. "These things you are saying to me…" he breathed, sounding shattered. "You believe them?"

"Jean-!" You cried, resting your forehead against his. That appeared to be what he had been waiting for. You watched as his eyes narrowed and he bit his lip so hard the pink skin faded to white.

"You want it all? It's yours." Jean rutted up into you, stealing the breath from your body with the ferocity of his motions. "Every inch--every breath, every feeling I have, is yours. It's yours." His grip on your hips tightened when one of your legs slid down, the rough press of the large scar on his thigh grounding you.

"Thank you…" You barely had the presence of mind to speak, your brain hazy with ecstacy, but you forced the words out anyway. You laced your fingers through his hair and cried out again as the ache in your body blossomed, trying to come to fruition. "God Jean, I'm so close, please-!"

His laughter was a ragged, broken noise and he buried his face in your neck once more, feverishly pistoning his hips to bring you to climax. You raked your nails down his back when you finally came and Jean clumsily rushed to pull out, barely able to do so before he reached his own orgasm. Thick spurts of come landed on your abdomen, the large man's entire body trembling violently.

The two of you were all but gasping for breath, staring at each other while he tensed up and tried to stop shaking. "So…" you drawled after several awkward seconds. "That was phenomenal."

Jean lit up like a firework, quickly laying you down on the bed so he could lavish you with kisses. "Truly?!" He asked excitedly. "You're not just saying that, right? My feelings will not be hurt if I have room to improve, you understa-"

"Jean, I don't think I can move. My legs feel like I went on a hundred mile hike." You clapped a hand over the scar on his thigh. He was still trembling. "Are you okay? I know that must have been a lot of effort."

"I will be alright. I don't think I've ever come that hard." Jean admitted, grimacing as he slid a finger through the coating of his release on your stomach. "I'm afraid I've made a mess of…" He trailed off when you licked the substance from his index, his eyes darkening. "You accuse moi of teasing, mon coeur?"

"Well yeah, you're ridiculous." You stuck your tongue out at him, blowing a raspberry. Jean rolled his eyes and flopped down on top of you, making you wheeze for air. "Jean wait, you'll kill me-"

He raised himself back up on his elbows, one finger tracing a careful line down the bridge of your nose. "We should shower, no?" He suggested softly.

"We should shower, yes." You agreed.

"Come then, let's get cleaned up. And then we can sleep together. Wake up together." Jean's smile was beaming. "Like we should have been all these months, yes?"

You teared up a little at his sincerity, smiling back at him. "You got it, big fella'."

He didn't make a move to get off you though, continuing to study you. "You are so beautiful like this." It was almost as if he was talking to himself, his expression blissfully content. "I am truly the happiest man alive, even with my heart living outside of my chest."

"You are outrageous-"

"I cannot wait to outrage you every day for the rest of our lives, then. Though I may have to take it down a notch or two, at least until we've grown accustomed to one another." He kissed you, laughing into your mouth. "Your eyes are sparkling again, mon coeur. Are you exasperated with me?"

"Every second of every damn day." You huffed, trying and failing to fight your own smile.

"Wonderful. I would have it no other way."

#jean pierre polnareff #jean pierre polnareff/reader #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Stardust Crusaders #holy cow #this got so long #I had a lot of fun #behold my indulgence #I love one (1) giant french man #title taken from Queen because shit it's JOJO I have to #everyone lives au #I'm barely on episode ten of Golden Wind and I'm having a great time #I love JoJo so much #stardust crusaders spoilers

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kanwriteseverything · 4 years

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Iron Bullet Legacy: Chapter 4

Drunk and Stupid

Torryn’s POV

Day two on the wrong side of the veil, venturing around the fay streets alone. I thought about putting my mask on, but I try to avoid doing so unless I’m pursuing a target. There are plenty of humans on the enchanted side anyway, so I don’t think I stand out in particular.

The sun is on its way to set. I’ve passed a few portals labeled with outposts I recognize, but I’m hoping to find a waypoint that puts me near Yaling, which is where I was heading before the ambush. Travel on the enchanted side equates to double the distance beyond the veil, since this side is multiplanar, connected largely by portals and tears. As I travel further into North Haven, I should be heading South on the other side.

That’s what Lennox told me, anyway.

The younger fairy woke me up by accident yesterday morning, stubbing her toe on the door. She yelped something about rosemary in her distress, and I groggily breached consciousness, calling her the wrong name by mistake.

“Can I ask who Fiona is?” she later asked as we shared morning coffee.

I tore my hair out of its ponytail to comb my fingers through it. “My younger sister. When I lived at home, she came into my room a lot in the middle of the night.” She’s plagued by this recurring nightmare that often used to keep her from sleeping. I’d take her for a walk by the river to calm her down. “Sometimes she’d bump into my nightstand on accident and wake me up.”

“Is that where you were headed on your journey? Home?”

“No, I was looking for a city I’ve never been before. Yaling.”

That’s when she gave me a hybrid map for both sides of the veil, and showed me how the cardinal directions exist opposite one another. According to it now, I won’t make it to the right waypoint by nightfall. I should probably post up somewhere until morning. There’s an inn marked a few streets away. I can make my way there.

I hate being in places I don’t know. Well, I love it and I hate it. I hate having to watch my own six, mainly because I get so distracted and end up lost, but I love seeing all the places and people different from home. Fay tend to collapse their wings on the other side to blend in with humans, but here, there are so many fairies in one spot, sparkling in a way they only do beyond the veil, using their wings to hover above the ground. It all looks magical… which makes sense, since their bodies rely on magick to function.

Magick…

“You there!” a street merchant calls out to me. “Would it be you’re lost?”

What was my tell? The map, or me walking by his stand three times now? I guess I’m an open book. “Looking for somewhere to spend the night, actually. Headed to outpost 37 south.”

“37 south? That's a ways more to go. Aye, you’d best take up a room at the inn the ‘round the corner there, on your left.”

I was this close... Well, I’d surely have found it eventually.

“There’s a cracking bar next door there, too, if you fancy yourself a bevvy.”

It’d do me no good to get tanked in a city I’ve never been, on the wrong side of the veil, but a little alcohol sounds like a good means of taking the edge of the last week’s chaos.

The inn has a bright, lit-up sign even a foolish mortal could spot if he’d walked down the right street. The receptionist is a young fay by the name of Quillan, so says his name plate. He sets me up with a room for the night before I even get the chance to tell him that it’s Torryn with a y, not an i.

Quillan also recommends the bar next door. It’s bustling with less-than-passionate older couples, more-than-passionate en-sports fans, and moderately-passionate drunkards, humans and fay alike. I order some roast beast sliders and a half pint of ale, able to secure a seat at a little table near the door I came in. The TVs are covering competitions for exerwing and celerwing, which are almost comparable to human gymnastics and cross country... but with flying. I guess it’s a bit like the pub back home, in that they both serve alcohol.

I don’t know that I’ll be back in these parts anytime soon.

“Oh, come on! Tell him he can visit,” Lennox urged Sitara when I left.

Her mouth twisted to the side. “I’d prefer not to. Human doctors are much more equipped to manage human wounds.”

She wasn’t wrong, but I had to laugh. Doctors on my side always badger me about my profession when I need to be seen. I try to avoid it, if possible. With injuries notably fay related, some have refused to me entirely. Sitara though? She wouldn’t even accept payment from me after everything, since I was technically… well, entirely… brought in against my will. I still left behind some mortal and enchanted kroner, because I wasn’t too sure what they’d prefer. One of them has probably found the sachets I hid beneath a bunch of herbs.

The mage looked at me with a small smile. The roots of her hair were starting to turn black when I last saw her.

Will I see her again?

No. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back in these parts.

A wine-soaked voice cuts through my personal space as a woman takes the seat in front of me. “Hey there, cowboy!” Co… cowboy? Oh, right. Fay use that as a term of endearment for human men, don’t they? “Haven’t seen yous ‘round here before!” Her slender hand walks onto my thigh.

She's bold, that’s for sure, but her makeup is quite nice. Much better than Fiona’s has ever been, though she is sixteen and half blind. Last time I was home, she used me as a practice mannequin.

“I’m just passing through.” I put as much space between us as the tight corner allows. “Got a name, stranger?”

“I’m Torryn. What about yo—”

“Torry! Hi there!” My mom’s the only one who still calls me that at twenty-five. Unless you count Willem, who calls me Dowwy, since he’s not yet three and doesn’t exactly grasp how letters work. “My, we don’t get too many handsome fella around here!” She draws her syllables out twofold, playing with the ends of her blonde hair.

This is one of those encounters, isn’t it? Where a man is sitting by himself, and it makes him vulnerable, an easy target, and a kind lady seduces him, because she has such a charitable soft spot for lonely men, only to wake up next to him at dawn and make off with whatever he has that’ll turn a quick kroner. Totally haven’t been kicked by that pony before.

It’s either that, or this fay is just… remarkably way off the mark.

“Do you live in New Haven?” I prepare a swift retreat to my room.

“Just a bit west, actually.” She nods, pointing east. “I’ve got a little place of my own.”

“Ah, well, this is my first time here. I just rented a room next door.”

“Oooh, neats!” She leans in close enough to lodge her noxious perfume between my sinuses. “Well then, what do you say, cowboy? Why don’t we hurry up and take this some place private?”

“Sorry, miss...” She traces my hand. “I’ve got to head out early tomorrow. Best to get some rest. Nice talking with you. Enjoy your evening.”

My room back at the inn is peaceful. The bed is a bed, and the room is a room, but it’s peaceful. What in the fiddle was that fairy on about? She didn’t even tell me her name! I pull the pillow over my face as I collapse onto the mattress and shake off the lingering exchange. How exhausting. If I were five years younger, I probably would’ve stayed to talk. Maybe we would’ve gotten drunk and stupid together, but that’s just not fun for me anymore.

It used to be my scene, when I was young, and just getting used to new legs, as I’d recently joined the Enchanted Forces Unit. Bounty hunting has never been naturally conducive to long term commitments and, between my shiny new soldier status and prior experience traveling solo, I wasn’t a stranger to one-night stands. An EFU assignment I got a few months into the gig brought me to the east side of a rural town called Caphia. I met a girl at a tavern, which is where I would meet most girls. Her name was Ananke. She was gorgeous, and witty, and good at cards. Very good at cards. Maybe I should’ve taken the five lost games in a row as a red flag.

Even though I wasn’t a stranger to one-night stands, that’s not what we were. I let her call me Torry, and “I was the only one” who called her Nan. She wore my shirts, and spent every night with me in my hotel room in Caphia… and Itagus, and so on. A number of our evenings were spent getting drunk and stupid, and it was fun.

Then I was tasked with taking down a trio of rogue fay in a big city. It was a case of human children trafficking that required I set up in Acadon for a month. I used most of my monthly EFU allowance to rent us an apartment from a sweet old man who ran a pharmacy down the street, throwing in extra kroner for the inconvenience, since we weren’t staying long. It was tough job, because it reminded me of Fiona’s accident.

Ananke was the type of girl who liked taverns and cards and drinking games so much she hardly ever left. She always seemed to be between jobs. When she needed money, she could find it, but we always gambled with mine.

I quickly discovered I wasn’t built for her lifestyle. I didn’t take kindly to being hungover, and I liked remembering the night before in the morning. More than that, though, I felt guilty about the example I was setting for my siblings, even if they weren’t around to see it. That’s when it started, I guess. The beginning of the end, for me, anyway. She’d get drunk on her own more often, while I ate three trays too many of nachos or mozzarella sticks or fried pickles.

The closer I got to taking out the trio, the faster they started working. The disappearance rate was climbing, and I was losing my sanity. Fiona. This could’ve been Fiona, I kept thinking. This could’ve been my family. But Ananke didn’t get along with her family, who lived in whatever town she never told me the name of. She gave advice about my stress as good as a brick wall, though I bet the wall wouldn’t have told me that family is just a toxic, patriarchal construct, and I should go AWOL, and just have a beer already, Torry… but I wasn’t talking to many brick walls back then.

I killed the traffickers, and found a dozen terrified kids with them. After desperate mothers and fathers hugged me, thanking me for bringing back their children, I threw up outside the Caphia sheriff’s department. Missing posters with photos of tiny faces had to remain around town still. Too many for me to stomach.

That night? I wanted to drink.

So I sauntered into the tavern with a bit of pocket kroner, travelling light because of the mission, and the girl who liked taverns and cards and drinking games wasn’t there. I took a bottle back to my room, found the note, and got drunk. I was already stupid... had been the whole time.

All’s fair in love and war, she wrote.

She took a military issued blaster I was reamed for losing, a watch my parents had gifted me, and all the money from my bag, not to mention the cast iron skillet Fiona saved her chore money up to get me for my birthday the year before. Strange child, asking me to carry around a whole pan when I traveled, but I’d have said yes even if it were a whole trunk of them.

Would Ananke have taken it if she was sober enough to hear me that time I told her it was from my little sister?

I try not to wonder.

There aren’t too many people I’d share a drink with now. Hmm... maybe… no. Best bet is Fiona when she turns twenty-one, though she insists she doesn’t care about “that kind of stuff.”

Although, maybe Sitara.

Sitara…?

Fiddle, where’s that coming from?

Can I ask what happened?

I’m sure the explanation you come up with will be better than the truth.

The fairy mage…

Something about her isn’t adding up.

I’ve never heard of a fairy getting sick from a lack of magick. Why so many candles, then? Why the cherry blossom tree?

She said she was fine. The tree is magickal enough to sustain fay without the candles. Well, their magick is regenerative! A normal fay wouldn’t need to rely heavily on either! Let alone a fairy mage...

I don’t understand.

I mean, her hand has a bunch of rods attached to it, and wires leading beneath her skin. She somehow recognized the F3. Tons of fairy mages fought in the war… just… not many fought on our side.

I only knew her for two days.

But there’s something about her laugh… Maybe…

Makes me want to get drunk with her.

Someday.

#writing #writer #story #fantasy #short story #iron bullet legacy #kan writes stories

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captainjetrocketboy · 5 years

Text

I’m Tryna Understand These Days ~ 2

Also on Ao3.

Chapter 2: Can’t Regret the Things I Don’t Try

Turned out Callum’s braver than he thought.

Or at least, he was foolish enough to admit to Whitney what’s got him so on edge. He wasn’t that bold quite yet, so he opted for a sort of half-truth. He confessed that he wasn’t worthy of being married to a woman like her. She was wonderful, smart, and deserving of only the best. Callum told her that he couldn’t give her what she really needed; a man that would treat her right and love her unconditionally.

Thing is, Callum left out what was probably the most important part of his confession. Whitney was, to be expected, very upset at what he was telling her. She had tears welling up in her eyes, and her arms were waving about as she demanded why. While there was hurt and pain conveyed through her voice, Callum thought he could hear traces of concern.

Of course Whitney would still be worried about his own troubles, despite her husband-to-be wanting to call their marriage off. She really was something else entirely. Something he wished to strive for someday.

But he couldn’t give a reason. It’s not that he didn’t have one. He knew exactly what—or rather, who—made him reconsider his decisions. Their name was only three little letters long, but Callum didn’t have it in him to say it out loud. It wasn’t anyone else’s fault but his, so he wanted to keep all the blame on him. Even though the other man played a large part in his epiphany, it was Callum who so stupidly waited until the last minute to finally do something about it.

So instead, he simply told her that there was no reason. It was just what he felt in his heart. He truly did love her, and he hadn’t been lying when he would say as much. But he couldn’t love her in the way that she would want. In the way that either of them wanted.

As Whitney calmed down a bit, it looked like she was really trying to get her head around what he’s just admitted. Eventually, she told him that his explanation was good enough for now. It was apparently more than she expected Callum to tell her, considering she knew how he could get at times.

He didn’t know if it was right to feel relieved, but it was what Callum felt as he watched Whitney take off the engagement ring he had given her. She handled the piece of jewelry with care, and she had shut her eyes closed as she slowly placed it atop the nightstand. The purple gem inside glinted in the setting sun’s light.

Callum could only stand back, leaning on the door, as he watched Whitney pack up her things through his own tears. She said she was going to stay with Tiffany for a while. Didn’t say how long, but he knew this was it for them. She would come back eventually for more answers, though they both agreed that they could use the space to put things into perspective.

He helped her carry her things downstairs up until they reached the front door of the parlour. He set the bags down at her feet, and they just stood there for a moment. Frozen in place, as if neither wanted to let the other person go. Callum might not have wanted to marry Whitney, but she was still an amazing friend. He hoped he made her happy. It was the least he could do in return after all she’s done to make him happy.

They said their goodbyes, and after what felt like an eternity, Whitney made her leave.

As he watched her go, he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. His entire body was shaking, and once he closed the door, he slid down to the floor with his back to it, he legs suddenly weak.

It was done. The wedding was off.

Even though Callum couldn’t say everything he really wanted to say, he’ll take this one tiny step as a big victory for the future. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy that feeling of being a bit closer to freedom. He could take pride in his moment of bravery. It gave him hope that, someday, he’ll be able to live a life that’s worth living. One where he can be genuinely happy. One where he doesn’t have to lie to anyone about who he is.

As he sat there recollecting himself, his mind wandered to a certain someone. No doubt Ben would be proud of him for finally taking a step in the right direction. For finally standing up for himself. That thought alone made his heart start to race again. It was the good kind, though. The kind that was accompanied by the butterflies. The kind that got him excited with want and need for the other man.

He was about to head back upstairs to grab his phone. He wanted to tell Ben the news, and to have him be the first one to know.

But that was when he remembered.

Callum had pushed Ben away. For good.

Back was the crushing guilt that weighed on his whole being. He recalled how cruel—how vicious—he was to Ben that night. Ben, who had only wanted what was best for Callum. Ben, who had confessed his love. Ben, who Callum had loved back with all his heart.

That was the same Ben who Callum had told to never come back.

It had been probably five or six days since then. He really didn’t want to be counting the days, but his mind unconsciously kept track of how much time had passed by. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or disappointed that Ben had actually listened to what Callum had spat out. Of all the things he had to abide by, it just had to be Callum’s rejection.

He wasn’t really sure if Ben even wanted to hear what he had to say.

There was that doubt again. The part of him that doubted any and all affection directed towards him. Surely, his brain was just tricking him into thinking that Ben would really just drop Callum like that. He was respecting Callum’s decision, even if it was a downright terrible one, and he should be appreciating that.

It didn’t mean that Ben wanted nothing to do with Callum anymore, though. Hell, the man had disclosed his love for him. There was no way those feelings could vanish at the snap of a finger.

The sun had made its descent, and the parlour had been cloaked in shadow. Callum wasn’t aware of how fast the day went by, seeing as how his conversation with Whitney seemed to last ages. But even if their relationship had to end, Callum was now that much closer to having one that meant so much more. A relationship where he could be himself.

He stood up, and steadily made his way back up to the now empty flat. He took another deep breath, and told himself that this was for the best. He undressed and collapsed on the bed. It seemed too big for a single person, but hopefully it won’t stay that way much longer.

If Ben wanted to talk to Callum, then he’d let him know. For now, Callum decided to let things settle down first. He needed to prepare for the inevitable talks with everyone else.

- - -

Some weeks later, Callum woke up to his alarm, along with the pitter-patter of rain outside the windows, his eyes fluttering open. It still didn’t feel quite real at that moment. Whitney was gone, he wasn’t getting married, and most importantly, after all this time, he had the opportunity to give Ben and him a proper chance.

For the most part, the people who knew about the wedding were somewhat supportive of their choices, though he did receive some choice words from the obvious persons.

Still, he hadn’t heard from Ben at all since that one night. But Callum’s done waiting. He’d truly be a fool if he didn’t go for it soon.

But first things first, he had to apologize to Ben for their awful encounter. He just hoped Ben was still looking for an apology. That he could say sorry and, just like that, they’d be okay. Of course he knew it wouldn’t be that simple, but he was willing to go to great lengths to make Ben forgive him.

He was glad today was his day off from work. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to explain to Jay what was going on in his head. At least this way, he had an excuse to go out and see Ben, wherever he was. He thinks of all people, he deserved to be told by Callum personally, instead of him finding out from some stranger. He just hopes he hasn’t found out yet.

Callum swiftly got dressed in a simple button-down and dark jeans, but as he looked out the window to see the mild storm, he put on his military jacket over top. Looking around for his phone, he spotted it haphazardly thrown to the bedside table. He tried not to pay too much attention to the ring that still sat there next to the lamp.

He shook his head, refocusing on the task at hand. He made his way down and out the building, opting to stand under the small awning that hung right outside the parlour as he stared down at his phone. His thumb lingered over Ben’s number, suddenly hesitating. He was so sure about this, though, and he wasn’t about to waste this chance.

But does Ben want to talk right now? What if he’s busy? Or out in the town with some other bloke?

Callum groaned in frustration at his own thoughts. He tried to tell himself to get it together, and just call him.

As he struggled with his inner self, Callum noticed someone hastily sprint towards him out of the corner of his eye. The bloke was probably just looking for shelter from the rain, if his pulled-up hoodie and downturned head was anything to go by.

Callum took a step back, and leaned his shoulder against the wall next to the door. The fella stopped to take a breather, obviously thankful for the bit of roof above him. He started to pat the leather jacket he had on top, trying his best to dry himself off.

Wait a minute… That jacket looked suspiciously similar to one that belonged to a certain someone. Come to think of it, the guy’s whole figure seemed familiar. His height, build, all of it. Could it really be him?

Callum’s questions were answered as the other man flipped his hoodie off, and he was greeted with a sight he’ll never get tired of. Ben Mitchell, and all of his beautiful features, was standing to the right of Callum. His face had a couple new scars, and all he wanted to do was kiss them away. He was actually here... What were the chances?

“B-Ben!” Callum accidentally let out, still shocked at the coincidence. Maybe the universe was finally working in his favor. “How have, uh... how’ve ya been?”

Ben didn’t turn to face Callum. Instead, his gaze was overseeing the square, not quite focused on anything in particular. Either Ben was ignoring him, or he honestly didn’t hear his stuttering somehow. Callum went with the latter and tried again.

“Ben? You alright? I haven’t seen ya in a while,” Callum spoke, this time with more confidence.

Ben's eyes were still wandering, but they caught a glimpse of Callum, and he finally turned to face him. At least he got Ben’s attention now. He gulped, that confidence quickly trickling away.

“Ya talkin’ to me?” Ben questioned as he continued to try to wipe himself dry.

Callum started to blush, not quite knowing why he was getting flustered. Seems the other man just has that kind of effect on him.

“Yeah, Ben. I was just comin’ to see ya. I wanted to—”

Ben held up a single hand, interrupting Callum. “Sorry, uh, but do I know ya?”

What the hell?

Callum’s mouth twitched upward. Was this some kind of prank? “C-Course you do, Ben. What’re ya playin’ at?”

As he pushed off the wall and met Ben’s eyes, he noticed something that was… missing. Something that he yearned for all day and all night. That feeling of desire that was always expressed whenever Ben was with Callum was just… not there anymore. His heart was really starting to beat fast now.

“I ain’t playin’ at anything.” Ben shook his head as he frowned. “But you seem to know me. Who are ya anyway? Were you a hookup, or were ya like a mate?”

Callum felt his stomach drop into a deep abyss. Why the hell was Ben doing this to him? Sure, he probably deserved some mean words from him, but this wasn’t what he was expecting. It was almost as if Ben genuinely didn’t know who Callum was. But that can’t be possible, right? How could he forget the man he loves in such a short time?

“No! Ben, I—”

Suddenly, a phone blared through the tense air between them. Ben reached into his pocket and fished out the device. His face was unreadable.

“Sorry mate, but that’s my cue to leave. Booty calls, as I like to say. Though, ya not bad yourself. Maybe I’ll see ya around.”

Ben gave one small wink as he sprinted back out into the rain. Before he could replace his hood over his head, Callum noticed a new scar along the back of his head. It was much larger than anything he’d seen on Ben.

So there Callum was left, all confused, hurt, and dumbstruck at the same time.

Something was definitely up with Ben, and Callum was going to get to the bottom of it. There was no way in hell that he was going to let Ben walk away this time.

If there was ever a time Callum wanted to brave, it would be now.

#eastenders #ballum #ben x callum #ben mitchell #callum highway

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agent-nova · 5 years

Text

starry eyes: cinderella au.

starry eyes: cinderella au. he knew he’d only get one chance to dance with the princess. just one. and he’d tried to hide his arm, but his fairy godfather, well–“no, no. ye don’t hide this. this is a testament to who ye’ve become.” and with the flick of his hand, he christened it, made it shine like stardust. charlie–couldn’t quite place his accent. “be back by midnight. but go, hurry now–time’s a-wastin’!”

(hope this lives up to your expectations! @the-roanoke-society )

“The fields won’t sow themselves, boy.”

Charlie rolled his eyes as he gathered what he needed for the day. A constant, dull ache at his shoulder meant it would soon be pouring rain. If only he could be free of this place.

“That’s no business of mine. It was what you married my mother for, eh? This plot of land?” Charlie turned to face the man standing at the top of the stairs. “Besides, I’m sure your sons would be far better equipped than I.” He gestured to his empty side. Seeing the contempt grow in his stepfather’s eyes left Charlie more than satisfied.

“That’s weakness,” his stepfather spat.

Charlie didn’t take it to heart. He’s known crueler men, but none more cowardly.

“You can fend for yourselves for dinner,” he called out before pushing open the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?!”

Charlie continued across the muddy front yard, remembering how it used to be a swarm of colorful blooms. He stopped just outside the stable, where his horse waited. A quiet huff greeted him as he patted the dappled grey neck.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you!” Charlie turned to face Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, his Stepfather’s sons.

“Yes?”

“Get out there and work,” James ordered.

Charlie returned his attention to the horse, getting it ready for the day’s trip.

“You’re not above us, you need to get out there and earn your keep—”

“I really don’t,” he interrupted.

“And why not?”

“How about you ask your father?” Charlie got onto the horse, steering it around them with a grin before galloping off.

***

“Now when are you gonna settle down, find a wife? Surely a man like you is in great need of a woman to look after him,” Gary grinned.

Charlie smiled, his cheeks getting warm. It wasn’t a terrible idea, but in all the time since he’s been back home, since getting the injury…he hasn’t found anyone he could see himself with.

“I don’t know how I feel about burdening someone with this,” Charlie admitted, gesturing down to the missing arm.

“Oh please, you do more with one arm than most men accomplish with two. You wouldn’t be burdening anyone.” Charlie received a playful shove to his side. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, send any wayward maidens your way.”

The two of them laughed.

“Charlie, my boy, I’ve got a great favor to ask of you.” The two of them turned around to see the old tinkerer standing there, a parcel wrapped carefully in his arms.

“What sort of favor?” Charlie had an idea of what it could be. A delivery. He seemed to remember seeing Drake lingering at a certain bakery stall that afternoon…

“This package is of utmost importance. It must arrive at the castle today, but I’ve not been able to find Drake in all this commotion—”

“I know where he is,” Gary smirked.

“Do you?” The old man turned to Gary with genuine interest.

“I’ll take it for you,” Charlie interrupted, taking the package from him.

“Oh, wonderful!” He patted Charlie on the shoulder. “When you get through, why don’t you stop by my shop? I’ve been working on something for you.”

Charlie couldn’t imagine what it could be. “Alright. I will.”

***

The forest was dense, trees growing closer together the further along to the castle he got. Not wanting to be an easy target by taking the main road up, Charlie wove through the trees, keeping a slow pace on his horse to avoid getting unseated by a low branch. He checked for the fifth time that the package was still tucked away in one of the saddlebags before a sharp whistle sounded from behind him.

He didn’t have enough time to turn around before a ring of men closed in on all sides, spooking the horse.

He was thrown off, and he could hear a few of the men crying out as the horse fled, probably assuming correctly that any money to be gained fled with it. He tried to get to his feet but a firm kick knocked him back down. Hands pulled at him, hauling him to his feet only to deposit him against the trunk of a tree, probably shredding his back in the process.

“Well what do we have here, fellas? On your way to the palace, my friend?”

Charlie did his best to sit up, but couldn’t move much as they pulled his arm high above his head and looped a rope around his wrist. He couldn’t see where it was tied off, but he felt as though he was being stretched apart.

“That’s a tough hand you’ve been dealt,” he commented, gesturing to the vacant spot at Charlie’s right side. His fake sympathy was layered with amusement at his little joke. Charlie rolled his eyes.

“We operate on donations. Got anything for us?” A hand gripped Charlie’s chin, forcing him to look up.

“You scared my horse off, that’s your fault,” Charlie grunted, trying to pull himself free. “I don’t have anything for you, or your band of merry misfits.”

“You’ve got far too much energy for someone so...worn. Why don’t we knock him down a few rungs, eh?”

Before the man could pull away to deliver a first punch, an arrow struck the man’s hand. Charlie could see the wound in graphic detail as the man cried out, shortly before he fell back into a pile of leaves, injured hand held high. The thought that it could’ve been his head did appear, but it was brushed aside as a second arrow struck someone else in the shoulder. The men left in a frantic group, staying low as they disappeared through the trees. Charlie pulled at his arm, to no avail. He tried to get to his feet but the rope kept him firmly against the trunk of the large tree.

What a mess the day had become.

Though it was better that it was him, rather than Drake. He could only imagine the trouble the young man would’ve found himself in. And how he probably wouldn’t have found his way out of it. Annabelle didn’t deserve news like that. Besides, Charlie didn’t have anyone to wait on him, and he probably never would at this rate—

“Stuck?”

He could detect a high level of amusement in her voice, and he wondered briefly just how ridiculous he looked, his arm pulled up and off to the side. A pathetic display. So much for first impressions.

As she stepped into view, he recognized her boots as extremely well-made, not anything someone around here would own. She wore trousers, something he wasn’t personally opposed to, but it was definitely unconventional. Though...they grew on him the further up his eyes traveled. He stopped on the bow. It was of extremely high quality.

His words died in his throat as he locked eyes with her. “Are you alright?” She asked.

The Princess?!

He was briefly taken back to the day he’d been presented with his medals, a day he hardly remembered, but he recognized her immediately.

His eyes widened and he looked down at himself. How could this happen to him? He looked a mess. Not the best moment for an encounter with royalty.

He looked up at her again.

Pretty royalty.

He swallowed.

“I...they tried to rob me, I guess I have you to thank for…” he felt his face get warm. “getting me out of this...bind.”

She smiled, stopping in front of him. She was close enough that if he moved his legs he could touch her. He knew that she was in complete control as she slung her bow over her head. Effortless.

She couldn’t know the thoughts in his mind.

“I suppose I can help,” she grinned, pulling a knife out of her boot. She knelt down in front of him, but paused before cutting through the rope wrapped tightly around him. “But are you worth helping? Promise you’re not a thief yourself?”

He had many quick-witted responses on the tip of his tongue but he settled for shaking his head.

“I suppose I’ll just have to trust you,” she shrugged, cutting through the first ring of rope.

He watched her as she worked at slicing through his bonds, studying each curl in her soft hair, noticing the way her eyebrows knitted together in concentration as she did her best to avoid cutting him open.

“Men are cruel,” she muttered, standing up to free his lone arm. “You lose a horse too? I intercepted it on my way home,” she explained.

As his arm fell to his side, the ache of the overextended joints kept him off his feet for a moment longer. “Yes, I did. There’s an important package tucked in one of the bags that I have to take to the castle.”

He knew she would be headed the same way, but he didn’t want to let on that he knew who she was.

She grinned. “I’ve been eagerly awaiting such a package. I’ll gladly take it off your hands...or, hand, sorry,” she pressed a palm to her forehead. Was she blushing?

Wishful thinking.

“Uh, well…” He wanted desperately to prolong this encounter somehow. He wracked his brain to try to come up with an excuse. “I would hate to hear about a lovely young woman befalling a similar fate shortly after I left her alone in the woods…”

“Are you asking to walk me home?” she raised an eyebrow.

“I...guess so?”

Her smile spread wide and he felt his own lips move to match.

“Alright then, let’s get going. I’d hate for you to be stuck out here at night,” she commented, glancing up at the sky. “Though it’ll be a pretty one.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking.

They walked side by side, his hand holding the reins and leading his horse, her hands tucked around the bow string across her chest, making light conversation as they walked up the road. He learned a great deal about the personal preferences of the kingdom’s Princess.

She didn’t let on to who she was and he assumed that was intentional. It must be tiring for people to know who you are, and to have them expect certain things from you as a result. He didn’t bring it up because for now he was content getting to know ‘Ellie,’ as he’d been asked to call her.

The more they talked, the more at ease he felt. She didn’t look at him like he was missing anything. She seemed genuinely interested in him, their walk slowing to a snail’s pace to prolong their time together. But soon enough they ran out of road.

“I think here is good. They wouldn’t let you past the gate anyway,” she confessed, coming to a stop in the middle of the road. “You have a package for me, good sir?”

He couldn’t keep a smile off his face to save his life. Good sir. “I hope it’s useful to you, whatever it is,” he commented, pulling the parcel free from the saddlebag.

“It’s going to help me look at the stars,” she smiled, glancing up. He looked up with her, seeing the beginnings of the tiny pinpricks of light above as the sun dropped further.

After a few moments he returned his attention to her, catching the blissful look on her face. She finally looked back down at him with an embarrassed smile. He set the package gently in her waiting arms. “Thank you, again. It’s not every day I can say I was saved by—”

“You don’t need to thank me, I was glad to. It was...nice talking with you.” She admitted, looking up at him. The butterflies in his stomach increased in intensity. If he could just lean down and…

“Your Highness!” He heard the voice from much further up the road. A man stood waiting, hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. “You should not be out!”

Ellie quickly turned to Charlie, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “Thank you, maybe I’ll see you again soon?” Before he could answer and explain just how much he hoped so, she was gone, marching up the gravel path to the large iron gates that guarded the castle.

The impossible logistics of falling for a Princess were not lost on him. He just couldn’t help himself. Wait until Gary gets a load of this.

***

“Gone all day? What on earth are you thinking, going out alone? How many times must I tell you—”

“I can handle myself, there’s no need for me to be scared of everything just because you are,” Ellie interrupted. Her father looked across the table at her in frustration.

“Just because you think you’re untouchable doesn’t mean you truly are. All it would take is one person knowing who you are, where you go, and we’d be paying a King’s ransom to get you back, if we ever got you back at all.”

“No one would want to steal me away, I’d make it hell for them if they did.”

“You can’t answer everything with a bow. You need to behave like a proper Princess, no more of this running around as if rules don’t apply to you. I need you to attend these meetings, it’s very important that you understand the politics behind every decision that is made. You need more structure, you need a husband—”

“I truly don’t, I’m perfectly fine on my own and I can do whatever I need to alone, I’m not a child—”

Ellie stopped as she watched her father motion someone over.

“I want an invitation sent out to every eligible man in the kingdom. In two weeks time we are going to host a ball, where Eleanor will choose a husband. Seeing as she’s so sure she can do it all herself, the aptitude of her future spouse shouldn’t factor.”

Ellie’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. “You can’t do that! I don’t want this garish spectacle, if you want me married so badly why can’t I go about it normally, like anyone else?”

“Because as you’ve so clearly been dead-set on illustrating to all of us, you aren’t anyone else. If you’re going to disavow convention, then so am I.”

Ellie left the table, unable to put into words the betrayal and frustration she felt. A ball. What a joke. He couldn’t be serious. It had to be all for show.

***

“A ball?”

Charlie closed the invitation, a weightless sensation settling on his shoulders. It didn’t matter that he was standing beside his two stepbrothers, covered in mud, finishing their work for them. His smile grew tenfold.

“Don’t know what you’re smiling about, she’s not about to choose you for a husband,” James commented. The jab fell off Charlie as if he never heard it. “Especially not with that clockwork disaster for an arm,” he added as Charlie walked away.

The tinkerer had made good on his promise. The strange apparatus strapped to his shoulder did well enough for simple things. He couldn’t begin to explain how it worked, but he wasn’t about to complain. Though it did make it terribly obvious that he was lacking.

His brief elation wore away as he dug the pitchfork into the muck. Why would she be interested in him? It’s not as if he had anything to offer. The house was his, but the land wasn’t. He’d have to fight a war to settle that. He wasn’t whole. He had to admit she could do a lot better than him.

He worked until he couldn’t feel his hand.

***

“Charlie Hesketh, you must be joking.”

Charlie shook his head, cheeks warm and bright, a wide grin on his face. He took another sip of his ale.

“The Princess? Really?” Gary got a nod. “Well, what was she like?”

“Hmm...lovely. Scary good with a bow,” he shrugged. “She’s easy to talk to. She doesn’t seem like a royal. Not into rules, I don’t think.”

“You sound absolutely smitten.”

Charlie bit back his deeper insecurities. “I don’t know.”

“Well you have to go to that ball now. You sound like you’re the only one with a stake in this,” Gary laughed.

“Can you imagine me at a ball, trying to convince this poor girl to choose me over everyone else on offer? It’ll be a disaster.”

“You don’t know unless you try,” Gary suggested, amusement quickly replaced with a more sympathetic tone. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t put yourself on the same level as everyone else. It sounds like she does.”

“Ever since getting the invitation, I’ve just been walking around with this feeling of dread hovering over me. Heaven forbid one of my stepbrothers catch her eye,” Charlie complained, taking a large sip.

“What, the demon spawn? Oh, no I think she’d see their crazy from a mile away,” Gary laughed. Charlie finally brightened up again.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he confessed.

“You won’t. Don’t even worry about it.”

***

“I was wondering if you might be able to help me? I’m looking for a man about your height, your...build…?”

Charlie turned away from the horse he was tending to so he could greet the woman in question. He was shocked to see a familiar face.

“Ellie!”

He felt a bit caught off guard, again not at his best. He brushed his hand off on the formerly white shirt he had on. So much for a chance to show his worth.

Gary walked out of the stable, eyes widening once he saw who was visiting.

“So this is where you work? Is this the same horse from the other day?” Ellie asked, walking over to pet its jaw.

“It is,” Charlie answered. He watched her, wondering how he could possibly bring up her impending marriage without sounding like a lunatic.

“Something about you felt very familiar the other day, and I think I finally figured it out,” she announced, turning a bit to look at him over her shoulder.

“Oh yeah?”

“A medal ceremony, I’m almost certain you were there, though you looked a bit younger, less...rugged?”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

She bit her lip but didn’t give him an answer.

After a few minutes she finally approached Charlie, her hands twisting together as she kept her eyes on the ground. “So, I’m sure you heard already, but…”

“The ball,” he finished for her.

She nodded. As she stepped away from the stables, he found himself following her. She clearly wanted to talk.

“It wasn’t my idea, but my father doesn’t seem to want to trust me with my own future. He’s convinced that only a man can set me straight, whatever that means.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

She looked up at him. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? It’s all so…”

“Unnecessary?”

“Yes, and somehow…inevitable.”

Charlie didn’t know what to make of this encounter. She sought him out, brought up the ball, would he be wrong in asking her about what she was considering?

“And are you really going to marry someone as a result of it?”

He found it hard to look at her now that he’d asked.

“I honestly can’t tell how serious he is. Maybe in a day or two he’ll call the whole thing off, I don’t know…” She looked like she did know. And she didn’t like it.

“I don’t know why he’d want to force you to do something like that, with so little time to get to know someone…”

She looked up at him, a grim smile on her face. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” A few minutes passed with an uncomfortable silence. Charlie didn’t know what else to say to her. He didn’t know how he could possibly hope to comfort her, especially when he held a personal interest in the outcome.

“Charlie?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for listening to me talk.” She took a step closer, glancing down at the new apparatus at his side. He moved to hide it. One of her hands patted against his chest gently, something he definitely wasn’t expecting her to do. He wondered if she could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her hand. “I’d like for you to be there, if all this does have to happen. It would be nice to have one familiar face around.”

“Ellie, are you—”

“Just be there, okay? I’ll see you.”

She left, avoiding town entirely and instead turning back for the castle. He let out a nervous sigh.

“Charlie, man, what was that?” Gary asked, eyebrows raised, a grin on his face.

“Just...a visit.”

“I don’t see anyone else getting royal visits, you ought to be excited! Why do you look so glum?”

“It’s making her unhappy,” he answered simply. “And I don’t blame her.”

***

“I’m too busy with this ball,” Drake complained. “Everyone needs me for something, and all of it at the last minute. I’ve got to deliver this cake today—”

“I’ll take it,” Charlie interrupted. Drake and Gary looked at him like he was crazy. “I mean...if no one else...wants to?”

Gary had a knowing look in his eye. “No, by all means, you deliver it to the castle. Maybe you’ll run into that archer friend of yours on the way?”

“What archer friend?” Drake asked, leaning against the counter, a smug look on his face.

“Yes, what archer?” Gary asked conspiratorially.

Charlie sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Gary replied, turning to Drake. “He had a run-in with the Princess herself. Found him strung up to a tree, and she cut him loose.” Before anyone at the stall had time to react, Gary continued. “And then to top it off, shortly after this ball was announced, guess who paid Charlie boy a visit at the stables?”

“Who?” Drake asked.

Gary shot him a look. A very firm tap to Drake’s shoulder got him to turn around and face Annabelle. She signed very quickly something along the lines of “the Princess, you dummy!”

Charlie could hardly contain his laughter. Annabelle quickly turned back to the cake, placing some finishing touches in the form of very elaborate floral decorations.

Something close to a wedding cake, if he wasn’t mistaken. He felt ill all over again.

***

The delivery went off without a hitch, but he didn’t get to see Ellie again. Whether she was avoiding everyone as the ball loomed closer or she was off exploring on her own, he didn’t know. The castle seemed to be buzzing with people running errands, preparing for the big event.

If this ball was to proceed, Charlie had to go. At the very least, he needed to make sure she knew he was there in support. So he got out his old formal uniform, a relic from before he lost most of what mattered to him. His medals were still tucked away safely, and he spent a good amount of time studying those, remembering how angry he used to be. When all his wounds were still so fresh.

He found the old storybooks his mother used to read to him, wrapped up tightly and hidden from the others in the house, out of fear that they’d destroy them. He could remember his mother reading to him, even when he was far too old for fairytales.

If there was any magic still left in the world, as his mother so fervently believed, he hoped he could touch on it just a little. He needed all the help he could get.

***

“Where do you think you’re going?” Charlie hadn’t made it halfway out of his bedroom door before his stepfather stopped him.

“I-I’ve got to—”

“What you’ve got to do is go out and round up the pigs,” he interrupted. “Fence is broken. That’ll need fixing too so they don’t manage to find their way out again. And don’t go anywhere until it’s done—”

“Get one of them to do it, I have to be somewhere.”

“They’re already on their way to the ball, don’t be foolish. Now get out there and take care of it,” he spat. Charlie felt whatever hope he’d mustered up disappear.

“You can’t be serious!” he shouted as his stepfather retreated down the stairs.

“Get it done!” he called out before shutting the door. Charlie sat on the top step and held his head in his hands, mind moving at a mile a minute to try to figure it all out. For all he knew, if he skipped out on the work he’d return to find the house burned down, and all of his memories with it.

He finally stood, a heavy weight in his chest. He didn’t bother to change out of the uniform as he went outside to assess the damage.

***

The dress redefined ‘uncomfortable’ as Ellie stood stiffly near the bottom of the staircase leading to the ballroom. Her cheeks hurt from each fake smile she’d given to the arrivals. She wanted a chance to be alone even if only for a few minutes. For the moment, she had to squeeze in stealing sips from a concealed champagne glass on the ledge nearby in between greeting guests.

“Has anyone else had to do such a ridiculous thing?” she asked, turning to the guard at her side. He raised a hand to hide his laugh.

“No, your Highness.”

She couldn’t wrap her mind around what her father was thinking. As if this was a way for her to find a husband. There was no way on earth that an introduction would endear her to them enough for her to propose marriage.

As if living an independent life was somehow worse than death.

Most days she wished she’d never been born a princess. She’d make a much better hunter—

“I’m sorry, your Highness. I don’t see him yet.” She nodded to the guard who approached from the stairs. He returned to the front gates.

He wasn’t going to come. The one hope she had wasn’t going to save her the embarrassment of all this. She let out a sigh, her shoulders sagging briefly before another well-meaning suitor marched down the steps toward her.

Fake smile plastered on, she greeted him as he bowed.

Charlie never bowed. He always treated her like she was anyone else.

Where was he?

***

Hopelessly muddied, Charlie finally was able to hammer in the last board. The darkness of the sky above almost made him laugh. He studied the shining stars and wondered what Ellie was doing at that moment. Did she notice he wasn’t there? Full of frustration, he carelessly tossed the hammer on a nearby workbench as he walked around to the back of the house, where the water pump was.

Catching his reflection in the water basin, he sighed. “I look like such a fool.”

“Quite,” a deep voice agreed. Charlie whipped around, looking for the stranger. He spotted a tall, lanky man standing just off to the side of a large tree. “Ye’ve no’ gotten dressed at all, you’ll be late—”

“Who are you?”

“Well don’t be daft, boy, I’m yer fairy-godfather, now go get ready, we’ve no time to waste!”

Charlie stood still for a moment, wondering if he’d passed out in the pigpen.

“I’m not going.”

“Nonsense, sure ye are. She’s waitin’ for ye. Now where’s the invitation?”

Charlie sat down on the low fence, holding his chin in his hand. “There’s no time. It’s all ruined.”

“Do you normally give up so easily, boy? I’m startin’ to think they made a mistake, matching me up with you. If you keep carryin’ on like this...” the man joked. When it was clear Charlie wasn’t in the mood for jokes, he took a seat beside him. “Listen, ye’ve got as much a chance as any of those people up at the castle right now. In fact, ye’ve got more of a chance. So don’t waste it when ye don’t need to.”

Before Charlie could argue further, his invitation materialized in his lap.

“Now get goin’, son. She’s waiting.”

Charlie blinked and in an instant his clothes were no longer covered in mud. In fact, they were much finer than before. As he pulled at the coat to inspect it, he noticed the apparatus at his right side. It looked horribly out of place. He tried pulling the sleeve down to cover more of the metal.

“No, no.” Charlie looked up at him. “Ye don’t hide this. This is a testament to who ye’ve become.”

He gestured towards the false arm and it suddenly started to shine, like nothing he’d ever seen. All gold and elaborate filigree. Charlie didn’t have ample time to take it all in as he was pushed towards his horse.

“Magic is magic, it has its limits…” Charlie turned around. “Ye’ve got to be back by midnight, or you’ll find yerself standing in the middle of the palace ballroom the way you were before—but go, hurry now—time’s a-wastin’!”

Charlie moved to step closer to the stranger, his supposed fairy-godfather. “Thank you—”

“No need to thank me if ye miss it all, now get on that horse and go find her!” Charlie did as he was told, heading along the country road at a full gallop.

***

He didn’t break pace as he dismounted from his horse, tossing the reins onto a post. Judging by the number of carriages lined up, he might’ve been the only one who’d arrived so...plainly. It was a social competition he wasn’t interested in.

“Invitation?”

Charlie looked up abruptly, a moment of panic filling him until he remembered tucking it into the pocket of his new coat. He provided it and the guard scanned it quickly before waving him on through. Charlie stepped in through the huge gated walkway, reaching the inside of the main hall. A massive staircase led up a few floors before dropping down into a room full of people.

He knew he didn’t have much time, so he began by looking for Ellie. He couldn’t see any sign of her from the top of the stairs, but she had to be somewhere. As he stepped down, he scanned some of the people milling around near where her father was seated. He spotted his stepbrothers lingering in front, though his stepfather was absent.

Before he could make his way through the gathered invitees, he was roughly pinned against a column, out of sight of most of the guests.

“I thought I told you not to—”

“It’s finished,” Charlie managed, pushing against his stepfather’s forearm. “I’ve done all of it, there’s no reason why I can’t be here—”

“If you do anything to ruin their chances, I swear I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“What chances?” Charlie asked sarcastically.

“I know all about your little encounter with the Princess,” his stepfather spat. “If you think you’ve got any sort of advantage over them, you’re gravely mistaken. You forget that I have connections.”

Charlie didn’t care about what loopholes his stepfather may be able to exploit, or who he knew, he just wanted to find Ellie. He pushed his stepfather back and straightened his coat before walking away. There was a great chime from somewhere above, and Charlie froze in place. He counted each one and started to panic the closer it got to twelve. Eleven. Eleven chimes. He didn’t have much time.

The spectacle of it all, the bright lights, the music, the talking, the noise, it was all too much, too quick for him. He grabbed a drink with his good hand, heading for a quiet spot to try to relax. His desperation to find Ellie and the impending deadline was causing him to panic a bit. He found a balcony and strode over to the edge. He took in a deep breath and set the glass down once he realized his hand was shaking a bit.

“It was a terrible idea, coming here,” he muttered to himself. “I should just go home—”

“Hey!” Charlie glanced to his left, the source of the voice. There Ellie sat, tucked away in the corner out of view. Relief washed over him. “You came,” she grinned. “I was starting to worry—”

“I had a bit of an issue that needed dealing with, but...by some magical miracle I’m here.”

She stood, taking the space beside him against the railing. The two of them were quiet for a moment, staring out at the kingdom below.

“This feels like my worst nightmare,” she confessed. “All these people. People I don’t know, all thinking they’ve got some sort of claim to me…”

“They don’t,” Charlie insisted. He offered his glass to her, having not taken a sip yet. She took it gladly.

“Thank you,” she smiled, bringing it to her lips. “So tell me about this delay,” she asked.

Charlie nodded, looking up at the stars, reliving that brief moment of defeat before meeting her curious eyes. “Somehow, at the exact moment I was to leave, all the pigs got loose. I had to…”

“Wrestle them back into the pen?” she grinned.

“Well, yes and no. They respond well enough. They’re actually pretty smart creatures, when given a chance. They knew where they needed to be, they were just intentionally set free.”

“Ah, so I take it you don’t live alone?”

“...No. Unfortunately.”

“Who would sabotage you coming to see me?” she asked, pulling at his collar. He swallowed. She had a way of surprising him by entering his personal space and putting him on edge. It was always so innocent, but there wasn’t anyone else getting that close to him. He wasn’t used to it.

“Uh, my stepfather. He actually confronted me back there,” he confessed, pointing to the ballroom. “He thinks his sons have a better chance than me, on account of…” he glanced down at his arm.

She grinned. “Charlie, do you intend to prove them wrong?” His eyes widened as he realized his slip-up and he started to apologize. A finger pressing against his lips stopped him. “It’s okay, it’s why I asked you to be here…” She turned away suddenly and he could see the barest hint of a pink tint to her cheeks. She finished the bubbly drink and set the glass on the railing.

Her confession had him buzzing with unspent energy.

“I don’t know what’s going to come of all this, but I know you’re the only person I feel like I can talk to, and that’s pretty important, right?” She looked up at him, clearly nervous. He glanced down as she reached for the metal hand, the gold shining in the bright moonlight. He wanted to pull away from her, to hide it, but his fairy-godfather’s words echoed in his head. “It all feels so rushed, so crazy to me—”

“Don’t feel pressured, this is your life, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—”

“Your Highness, your father, the King, is looking for you,” the guard interrupted. Ellie nodded, returning her attention to Charlie as he left.

“I don’t think he’d force you to do this, no matter…”

“No matter what?” she asked.

Charlie took in a deep breath. “No matter how honored I’d be.” It was the closest he’d get to a confession.

Ellie couldn’t come up with a response and instead left Charlie there on the balcony. He watched her go, turning to pick up the glass she’d left behind once she was out of sight, twirling the stem between his fingers.

***

“You were looking for me?” Ellie approached her father. He seemed in good-enough spirits for the moment. The usual hangers-on were hovering around where he sat, like sharks waiting for a chance to ask a favor of their King while he was so...pliable.

“Yes, yes! Come, let me introduce you to some fine men, of good stock!”

Ellie barely suppressed her grimace. She was pulled away from a very important conversation to evaluate breeding stock? She wanted to leave.

“Before that, can I talk to you about something?” she asked, laying a gentle hand on her father’s arm.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he announced loudly.

“In private?”

He frowned. “Surely that’s not necessary—”

“Please?”

“E-Excuse me, your Highness, may I introduce you to my sons?” She couldn’t know it was Charlie’s stepfather interrupting her.

Her father fixed her with a stern look. “Eleanor,” he scolded. “You’re trying my patience.” Ellie turned away from her father with as much of a fake smile as she could muster.

“Hello,” she greeted. Her important decision would have to wait.

***

Charlie didn’t leave the balcony, hoping Ellie would be back soon enough. He worried that if he left, he might not find her again. A chime ringing through the great hall sent a wave of nausea through him.

He wouldn’t get to say goodbye, not if he didn’t want to make an absolute fool of himself. He had to get out.

He set the glass down on the railing in front of him and started moving towards the main doors, threading through the party-goers as quickly as possible. Another chime.

He made it through the main doors and over to his horse with hardly a second to spare. He could feel the dampness of the mud seeping into his clothes again as he rode away from the lively castle, a deep sigh leaving his chest as he struggled to keep himself in check. He could vividly imagine the disappointment on her face once she realized he’d abandoned her there after being so late in the first place.

He burst through the front door of his home, dumping his worn uniform, medals and all, onto the floor as he changed. He could feel the chill seeping into his bones from the quick ride home. He couldn’t think of how things could’ve gone any better, but it still felt like it wasn’t enough.

***

“You have to meet him, he’s right over here,” Ellie explained, dragging her reluctant father over to the secluded balcony. She stood off to the side to allow her father to pass in front of her, but he quickly turned around.

“Eleanor, if this is some sort of joke, it’s in extremely poor taste and I don’t—”

“No, no, it’s not, I…” As she stepped around her father, she realized Charlie was gone. She stared at the empty glass resting on the center of the stone railing as she fought off the lump forming in her throat.

“Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be. Go. Socialize. Find someone tolerable. No one marries for love.” He sighed. “I need an answer, and they’ll be expecting one.”

Ellie couldn’t bring herself to turn and look at him. Instead of listening to him, she retreated up a side staircase and on to her room, far away from the gathering.

She’d convinced herself that this was it, that Charlie was her best option. She genuinely liked him, and he was completely unlike the desperate people downstairs. But he left. She had to know why.

Wiping at her face, she left her bedroom and went off in search of her father’s right-hand-man.

***

“I’ve thought long and hard about what to do with you.”

Charlie struggled to free himself from his stepbrothers’ hold, but they had him successfully pinned against the wooden floor. He was still sleeping when he was hauled out of bed and into the hallway.

“I got this urgent letter earlier. It might interest you.” Charlie tried to twist his torso enough to break free but the knee in his back was driven down further. “A friend of mine says the Princess is asking around about you.” Charlie watched as his stepfather dropped the letter onto the floor in front of him. “We’ll just have to make sure you’re hidden away when she arrives. She can’t marry what she can’t find. And who knows, she might be persuaded to give up her search if I tell her how quickly you fled town.”

“You can’t,” Charlie pleaded. He pushed off on the floor, trying again to break their hold. They twisted his arm behind his back painfully.

“Oh, but I can. And when her hope is gone, I’m sure her father and I can come to an arrangement.” He looked up at his two sons as he got to his feet. “Throw him in the cellar. And lock it. Barricade it if you have to, just make sure he’s not getting out.”

Charlie struggled against them, his yell transforming into a whimper as his arm was forced higher up behind his back, risking dislocation, or worse. They pulled him to his feet.

“She won’t believe you!” he roared, shoving one of the brothers against the wall as they attempted to walk him down the hall. It was easy enough for them to regain control, bringing him to his knees.

“That’s where you’re wrong, boy,” he snarled, hand gripping Charlie’s chin firmly. “I have tolerated your presence here for long enough. It’s about time this house’s ownership changed hands.”

The implied threat normally wouldn’t have bothered Charlie, but there was something about it now that seemed especially menacing.

He did everything he could as they dragged him around to the back of the house. He held onto the edge of the cellar doors for a moment before he was knocked down the stairs and onto the dirt floor, all the air forced out of his lungs. He turned over, struggling to breathe.

“You did this to yourself,” James said, standing at the top of the steps. “And now you get to watch it all fall apart.”

***

“I’m looking for someone, maybe you know him? His name is Charlie?” Ellie squinted up at the tall man as he leaned against the handle of the pitchfork propping up his folded arms.

The sun was high in the sky and Ellie could feel herself starting to sweat. Her visit to the stables only gave her the information that Charlie lived in a modest house near the edge of town, with his stepfather and two stepbrothers.

This was the third farmhouse she’d stopped at, after passing a few others who didn’t seem to have pigs.

She really wanted to find him.

“Well, anythin’ distinctive about him?” The man raised an eyebrow, sweat dotting the top of his bare head.

“Uh…” Ellie didn’t want to be disrespectful. “He’s suffered an injury.”

“So have lots of people ‘round here, Your Highness. The war,” he shrugged. “These are hard times for us down here. Not that ye’d know anythin’ about that, high up in yer tower,” he replied.

It hurt, but it was meant to. She did her best not to react. She noticed a different look in his eye when she didn’t waver.

“You’ll have t’ be more specific, Princess,” he finally conceded.

“He’s got bright blue eyes…” Ellie trailed off as she tried to come up with other features she remembered about him without sounding like a lovesick teenager, everything rose-colored. “He’s almost as tall as you, and he’s…”

“Missing an arm?” He asked, standing up a bit straighter.

She nodded frantically.

“Why are you looking for this man, exactly?” The man looked very interested in her response.

“I…” She didn’t know how to put it in words. Magnets were forcing the two of them together? She couldn’t do anything without him popping up in the back of her mind? She desperately missed him? “I...think I’m in love with him,” she finally confessed.

“Hamish, what on earth are you doing, scrutinizing the Princess?! My Lady, I am so sorry for his intimidation. I believe you’re looking for Mr. Hesketh, he’s just up the road.”

Ellie breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, so much.”

Ellie got back into the carriage, the one requirement laid down by her father when she explained she was going out to find Charlie. He’d let up a lot, actually, since the ball. He seemed to sense a level of worry and sadness in her that he probably assumed was because of the event itself when in fact, she just thought she might’ve scared Charlie off after the spectacle her father made of marrying her off.

The couple watched her go.

“Were we believable, M?” Hamish asked.

“Of course,” she smiled, leaning into him. “Now go, hurry,” she urged, poking at the tall man’s cheek. “I want them to find each other,” she explained. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Say no more.”

He disappeared. She caught the pitchfork handle before it fell.

***

The doors were closed and padlocked shut. Charlie could hear the chains being looped through the handles. Once he recovered enough, he got to his feet and began throwing his weight into the wooden doors. He pushed up against them with his hand when the bones near his shoulder felt very near to broken.

With a yell he sat down on the steps, resigned to the thought that Ellie would think he abandoned her. Before the weight of his hopelessness could hit him too hard, a familiar voice sounded from the darkness.

“I thought we had this conversation already, son? I’ll not have ye givin’ up again.”

Charlie’s anger and frustration bubbled over. “What am I supposed to do?!”

“Use yer head, look around ye,” Hamish appealed. “There’s a way out of here, and ye know it.”

“What I know is I’m locked in a cellar and who knows if they’ll ever let me out. From the sound of it, I’m due to starve down here.”

“She’s comin’ up the road, Charlie.”

He started pacing, hand holding his shoulder protectively as it ached constantly now.

“What about tha’? By the doors?” Hamish crossed his arms over his chest, watching Charlie’s movements.

The light hit the axe blade perfectly where it rested in the dirt. Charlie knew it hadn’t been there before, but he wasn’t looking his gift...fairy-godfather in the mouth. He lifted it, taking a moment to get used to the heft of it as he adjusted his grip.

Charlie glanced at the tall man from over his shoulder. “You don’t think you could just magic this open? Or perhaps give me a hand?”

Hamish just smiled. “Go on, then.” He gestured towards the cellar doors.

Charlie got the tip of the blade through the wooden door on the first swing. It was harder than it looked, swinging an axe up, and with one less arm to secure it with. But he had no choice.

***

Ellie stepped out of the carriage, butterflies in her stomach. Finally, she’d get to see Charlie and talk to him about her future...plans.

Though it wasn’t Charlie who was waiting to greet her. It was Charlie’s stepfamily. She recognized them from the ball.

They must’ve watched her approach from a good distance away. The land was flat and sparsely wooded enough for that, though they looked oddly well-prepared and well-dressed, as if they were expecting her.

Something smelled rotten.

“Your Highness, what a surprise!” The man nearest to the carriage bowed low, glancing up at her before righting himself. The stepfather.

“A surprise, it isn’t,” she mumbled, looking around for any sign of Charlie. “I’m here on business, is Charlie in?”

“Ah, no, it seems he left in a great hurry. I don’t know that he’ll be back, either,” he lied. Ellie glanced around as a pit formed in her stomach. Her eyes settled on a familiar spotted grey horse and she frowned at the man standing in front of her.

“That’s his horse, is it not?”

He looked over and a nervous smile appeared. “Well certainly he must’ve joined up with a group of travelers, in something not unlike this,” he explained gesturing to the carriage behind her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I find it hard to believe—”

“Believe it, your Highness.”

Ellie knew there was more to this. She couldn’t let herself get discouraged, not now.

“But while you are here, can we make you a cup of tea, discuss some...other options?”

“What other options? What are you talking about?”

The man chuckled nervously to himself before stepping off to the side and gesturing to his sons. “We know your business is to do with the ball everyone attended, but with your first choice gone...might you consider my wonderful sons?”

Not a chance.

“I’m so sorry, but—”

A loud crack came from the back of the house, making her pause.

She moved to investigate, but the man held up his arms. “Your Highness, let them have a look first. We’ve seen some wolves in the area, and I’d hate for you—”

“Wolves?”

Before he could attempt to further his lie, Charlie stepped into view. Ellie grinned. As he started walking briskly toward her, he dropped the axe to the ground, his own lips curving up into a smile too.

“You will not—!” Charlie was shoved into the side of the house, but it took nothing for him to get out of his stepfather’s grip and press his forearm to the man’s throat. His stepbrothers looked on with little reaction.

“You ruined my mother’s life, and you’ve been quite good at making sure you end up ruining mine, but this will continue no longer. Your game is over.” Charlie was breathing heavily, aggression radiating off of him in waves. Ellie walked over, ignoring the concerned look from one of her guards.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, avoiding where the skin was raw, bright red. “It’s okay,” she soothed. He seemed to relax, letting his stepfather go. The man stayed pressed back against the house, a bit rattled. “Come with me,” she said, voice calm and quiet. She could see the anger in him, and from the looks of things it was absolutely well-founded. But he didn’t need it anymore, not if he accepted her offer.

As he looked down at her, Ellie started to get nervous. What she was asking of him was a lot. “I wanted to start off by saying I know this is less than ideal, but—”

His hand tilted her chin up just enough for him to press his lips against hers, breathing into her as his eyes fell closed.

As they parted, his mouth moving to her forehead, she gripped his shirt tightly and held him close.

“You disappeared,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, I know. I didn’t want to. But I’m not going anywhere now,” he promised.

Ellie sucked in a deep breath, glancing up at him for a moment, her nerves almost getting the better of her. “I still have to ask you something, and like I said, it’s not ideal, or...normal, but…”

“Whatever it is, yes,” he answered.

“I haven’t even—”

“You don’t have to.”

“For this, I kind of have to,” she insisted. He waited, watching her. She glanced around, noticing for the first time that everyone gathered, her guards included, were watching the two of them intently.

“Want to go somewhere else?” he whispered in her ear.

She nodded quickly. “That would be...great.”

***

The forest looked the same, though there wasn’t any sign of bandits or any other type of danger. As Charlie walked beside her, he studied how at ease she seemed to be now, as opposed to before, in front of everyone. He felt like nothing else that could possibly happen would be able to dampen his spirits, not after this. But he needed to hear it from her.

“You had to ask me something,” he spoke, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“I’m sure you already know what it is,” she sighed, wringing her hands together. He reached out and covered them with his own, much larger hand. Before she could reassure him, or herself even, he got down on his knees. She looked more uneasy than before.

“Will it make it easier if I tell you my answer first?” he asked.

She laughed, taking a half-step back before returning to her former position, her hands still tucked inside his grip. “I don’t know why this is so—okay, correction, I do know why this is so hard to say, but—”

“I will marry you. I will marry you and everything that comes with it because I know you’re a package deal, but I don’t need any of that. I won’t pretend to know anything about ruling a kingdom, but I’ll be there when you’re tired, and I’ll be there when you’re—”

His declaration was cut short as he was tackled into the dry leaves. After a few minutes of laughter and stolen kisses, he turned to face her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“I know you didn’t want this for yourself, but…”

“I’m glad I saved you—”

“—I’m glad you saved me.”

#starry eyes #agent nova #agent zenith #charlie hesketh #cinderella au #the roanoke society #possibly #in another timeline #featuring #agent annabelle #agent seraphim #merlin #agent galahad #technical officer drake #hope this isn't a mess #thanks for reading this wayyyy too long thing!

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johnny-depplyloveyou · 7 years

Text

Johnny’s foreword for “In the Name of the Son: The Gerry Conlon Story”

Johnny with Joe Cashman, Terry O'Neill and Gerry Conlon in 1993

Upon Thinking of My Long-Lost Brother, Gerry …

20.8.17

I first met Gerry Conlon, by absolute chance, in the hallway of a talent agency in Los Angeles, somewhere around 1990, I believe. It was a rare occurrence for me to visit the place, which made the moment with Gerry all the more charmed.

I had pressed the button and was en route to my destination floor. Upon arriving, the doors opened. As I exited, I spooked a couple of guys to my left, who looked, as did I, sorely out of place. The guts of this heinous, monolithic terrarium of steel, glass and dubious “art”, sparsely shaming those ghastly “modern” walls, was not a typical setting for folk such as myself, or gents of this breed, who, in my personal and moderately professional estimation, were satisfactorily saturated and teetering along the same invisible ledge, as though they’d been out on the prowl, for an especially impressive stretch. Indeed, they looked just like the depraved, miscreant, unhinged maniacs I always tended to hang out with. One of them possessed the squinty scrutinising eyes of the streets, and was as skinny as a dried lizard. He also seemed to have been divined with a prevailing lack of residents in the tooth department. The questionable few choppers that had not been evicted, were lonely, jagged and rotting. His stringy, straight hair – greasy to his shoulders. This was Joey Cashman. A hilariously clever and quick-witted Irishman, from just outside Dublin. He was the manager of one of my favourite humans of all time, the infamously tattered genius of lyric and song, Shane MacGowan, from the Pogues. Joey was a lovely man, who held strong to those he loved. Devoted and solid. I would later survive many adventures with this man, and to this very day, I have been informed of Joey’s tragic and “sudden” demise, and miraculous resurrection, at least fourteen times. The other fella was from heavier stock. He laid a big, beautiful, slightly crazed Cheshire Cat smile on me, which showed that this man had at least met a dentist once in his life. But it was his eyes that got me. Eyes that simultaneously exuded wisdom and a childlike purity; a desire to live and love. There was no question that these powerful eyes had seen and experienced much. This was Gerry Conlon. He approached me and introduced himself and his mate Joey, with the exuberance of a man who held nothing back. He gave of himself freely. His eyes sparkled like ten thousand stars had just given birth to ten thousand more …

Gerry Conlon had first gotten my attention when he stomped out of the Old Bailey in London in October 1989, fists raised high and declared to the world that he was an innocent man who had spent fifteen years in jail. The authorities had tried to shove him out the back door, in order to avoid the inevitable media frenzy, but he had refused, instead imparting something along the lines of “Fuck you, I’m a free man, youse fuckin brought me in the back door, I’m going out the front!” My curiosity had then been further fired when I’d learnt that he’d witnessed his father, Giuseppe, another innocent man, die in a British prison. And now here he was, Gerry himself, stood right before me, in this, the most incongruous of places possible. Fortunately, to prevent matters from being overtly one-sided, he recognized me from something or other and lunch was duly arranged.

Gerry was altogether an articulate, personable, funny, self-deprecating and fierce humanitarian. He was an absolute gentleman, who possessed all the knowledge of law in the streets of Belfast. Chivalrous, loyal and highly sensitive to any injustice, no matter how large, or minute. If he loved you, you were blessed to be invited into his circle, where there existed no edits with him. Gerry said what he felt and meant what he said. He had no difficulty in getting his point across. Ever. He had grown so used to having his prison clique around him that those of us who spent significant amounts of time with him became a newfangled version of just that. He was a 100% trusted friend and brother, to the very end.

During lunch, he broached the subject of my playing him in the film that was to be produced about his life during his unfathomably unjust arrest and incarceration. More than touched at this profoundly personal invitation from this man, I was already on the deck wiping away tears (as was he), when he gave me the first details of his abduction and torture by the British authorities. During this, our first proper encounter, he spoke more of his experiences in prison. Despite the hardship that had been visited on him, I came away with the impression that here was a character whose passion for life had been in no way diminished. He was starving for it. As much as he could get ahold of.

Later, during the summer of 1991, I found myself fortunate enough to be invited on holiday with Gerry and his family. Despite being more of a grape man, the only flavours I recall from that trip are Black Bush, Jameson’s, Irish Coffee and of course, the Guinness. The Conlons were lovely people, one and all, but I had a special place in my heart for Gerry’s mother, Sarah, and his sister, Ann. These were sweet, strong and kind folk whose lives had been torn asunder and putting them back together wasn’t going to be easy. But, if my experiences with these wonderful people told me anything, it was that their humour remained perfectly intact. In fact, I specifically remember some sloppy conversation with both Gerry and I employing words and sentences that our mouths were shamefully unfit to speak, as our eyes began to see double. At some point Gerry decided that we must go to Dingle to see Fungie, the dolphin. Very important. Gerry had no need to convince me, of course I was going to say yes. Who wouldn’t want to go to a place called Dingle to see a dolphin named Fungie? Gerry proceeded to inform me that his cousin, David, would be coming down that night to Dublin from Belfast, and would drive us to Dingle in the morning. And indeed, as promised, later that evening, David appeared in the door of the bar, screaming, “Gerry, ya fucken cunt!” I turned to see a big, thick and angry-looking brute, with ginger hair and pincers for arms. We were introduced. I shook one of his metallic claws and looked him squarely in the eye. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said. He replied with what may have been an eleven-syllable fuck-off. I still don’t know. The man was utterly pickled. If worry was going to come into the picture it would have done so at exactly that moment. We sat down to have a drink. And drink we did. What seemed like an instant later, it was brought to our attention that we were fast approaching 8.30 a.m. It was time to go. Worry never seemed to enter the picture. We had merely forgotten to sleep. But, whilst not feeling all that bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we remained determined to make our rendezvous with this mysterious dolphin called Fungie. Fungus. I felt like fungus. Gerry looked like fungus, and David was immune to fungus. Of course, I was chosen to ride in the front seat with David. His co-pilot, as it were. It is potentially the only time I have put a seatbelt on without hesitation. Or actually thought about one for that matter. But David, it turns out, was a fantastic driver. His claws were quite handy for storing pints of Guinness, but it didn’t matter, because his feet were steering. So, as I also clutched two pints of Guinness, similar to Gerry in the back seat, I thought that if we were to die, it would be the most interesting trio of obituaries. Anyways, we soldiered onward towards Dingle, but at some point there came the inevitable need to replenish our glasses. The next road sign informed us that Limerick, also known as Stab City, lay just ahead. We would find a pub, have a bite, and get back on our way with enough Guinness to carry us through to Dingle. Wrong. Our brief pitstop in Limerick proved to be one of the most chaotic nights that I can ever remember, and/or, kind of not remember. Suffice to say, we conquered Stab City. The three of us took over a pub, all in the name of Gerry Conlon. He was a hero to these people and it was a joy to bear witness. Courtesy of his devilish charm, he owned the place. It was a riotous celebration. The following morning, I awoke in an unfamiliar room, in what appeared to be an old hotel. Complete with red-eyes and full-on throbbing gristle somewhere within whatever had been spared of my brain, I somehow managed to contact Gerry in the adjoining room. “Where is the Lord Mayor of Limerick?” I asked, referring to David, who had been bestowed the honor the night previous. “He’s taking a shower” Gerry said, in a pained drawl. Apparently he woke up with some chick. He didn’t know where he was, let alone who she was. Gerry went on to tell me that David had said good morning and asked the girl very simply, “Did we fuck?” “I’m not sure,” came the reply from the sweet lady to the armless thalidomide, whose pincer claws had been hurled across the room. David thought for a moment, before calmly stating, “Well, we had better make sure …”

After picking myself up off the floor, we again made for Dingle, where we finally met Fungie. The three of us were in no state to do anything whatsoever, let alone get in a fucking boat with a bunch of tourists. I can recall us being looked down upon by our fellow shipmates, especially the children, for some reason. I felt dirty. But Gerry was as excited as an eight-year-old, as we clipped through the water watching out for the dolphin to occasionally rear a head and deign us with its glory on this most joyous of grey days that I can ever recall. Gerry always possessed the magical ability to ensure such miracles.

The pain of losing his father never left Gerry. He blamed himself for Giuseppe’s death and nothing I, or anyone else, could say to him would shift that blame. In quieter moments, he would tell me of his pain, of how troubled he was at having confessed to the Guildford pub bombing. In his mind, if he hadn’t confessed, his father might still be alive and the Maguire family, who were also wrongfully convicted of the pub bombings, would never have been sent to prison. He might have been dealt the torturous methods employed by the authorities to haul out the counterfeit admissions, but in his rush to self-condemnation, he set that aside. He could not forgive himself.

Gerry Conlon was a leader who became the central figure in the struggle to have the Birmingham Six released from prison, even addressing a Congressional Committee on the matter. Gerry was also an international human rights activist and he highlighted the harsh treatment meted out to the Australian aborigines and Native Americans. His activism didn’t stop there: he protested capital punishment wherever it reared its ugly head. For prisoners around the world, many of whom had been wrongfully convicted, Gerry Conlon was their only hope.

Yet, by his own admission, this man was a flawed character, as so many of us are. He often told reporters that he took drugs to ward off his demons. In 1998 he took the decision to go clean, but what followed was a six-year struggle, during which he repeatedly goaded himself to commit suicide. But he beat the monster; he got off his knees and he beat the monster.

This book is a tour de force, a warts-and-all depiction of the life of Gerry Conlon from the minute he walked out of the Old Bailey. Knowing him as I did, he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. On every page, the colourful characters that inhabited Gerry’s life reach their hands out to the reader and invite them into a world rich in pathos, humour and irony. This is not a sad story. No, far from it. This is a chronicle of the triumph of the human spirit over extreme adversity. It is a story of hope. It is the story of a man I loved and would have taken a bullet for, as I know he would have done for me and all his loved ones. It was an honor to have known Gerry Conlon and to call him my friend.

Once we’d just left a bookstore in Dublin. Me with a handful of Brendan Behan’s books, and Gerry with a present – a beautifully handworked leather wallet, with one word etched onto it … “Saoirse”, meaning Freedom. It’s in my pocket as I write these words.

Johnny Depp Vancouver August 2017

#Johnny Depp #WeAreWithYouJohnnyDepp #Gerry Conlon #In the Name of the Son: The Gerry Conlon Story

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ask-the-evermore-syndicate · 7 years

Text

Arc 1 - Chp 5 - Fallen Star (Part 2)

It did not take long at all for Teiden and company to reach. Serenade was able to easily teleport all of them, Jack, Teiden, and Traizey as well as himself, to Seika’s team near instantly without much hassle. When they got to the other team’s camp, they were in for quite the sight. Seika, Mesa, and Refi were all huddled around Stellon’s side. Seika looked to be quite annoyed about what happened, Mesa seemed a bit confused, but Refi was the most concerned however, the zoroark really was hoping he could have done something for his boss.

“So... tell me what happened.” Said Teiden as he approached the four, causing them all except for Stellon to give him attention (As he was just aimlessly looking around confused.)

“Well, we encountered your old pal Alexandrite. The weavile got him right in the face with that weird paint.” Seika explained, holding her hands behind her back. “I feel stupid not going out with him, I should have figured out that the Gang Leader was going to be in the area. Now looks like he’s going to be confused for awhile...”

“So what do we do now Teiden?” Jack asked, moving over to get a closer look at the Hawlucha and his messed up stained face. Serenade moved in closer as well, lightly pushing Mesa and Refi aside so he could examine Stellon’s condition.

“I agree with Jack this time Pops, if we know where that creep is what are we doing still stickin’ in teams eh?” Trailblazer questioned, pacing around a bit sorta nervously. Teiden stopped her however by placing a hand on her shoulder to attempt to reassure the vixen of what was going on.

“Well, It’s a bit dangerous to be all alone, Seika i think you should always be together when searching these those marks out.” The blue bisharp reminded the taller one. “Why on earth would you send him out to do this alone hmmm?” He was looking at her quite sternly with his hands behind his back, Seika was never that thoughtless enough to send a lone man out to search out these marks on their own, so he was honestly rather curious as to why Stellon was out doing that by himself without at least taking Mesa or Refi along.

“Teiden, Stellon insisted that he go out on his own. Saying he needed some time to think about performances? I don’t know why but he just walked off before i could say anything.” The tall woman responded with a light sigh under her breath. “I should have done more yeah...” That thought REALLY made her disappointed in herself.

“...Its alright, at least you got there when you did.” Teiden reassured Seika, before walking past her to check on Stellon. “Doc, how’s he doing?”

“...Well he’s not dying, those wounds are pretty bad, but with a bit of care here he should be able to walk it off in a few days. However he appears to be stuck in some sort of trance, likely induced from inhaling that paint... this is like what happened with Minuet.” The Gallade explained. “The best we can do is let him rest it off and hopefully. He’ll be babbling on for awhile and might try to get up... I wouldn’t try to keep him in bed, but I would be mindful of what he’s doing while he’s in this state. Unfortunately that means we’re going to have to make sure he keeps up with some of the necessities while he’s like this.”

“So making sure he eats and drinks?” Mesa chimed in, looking at the other mon with a concerned look.

“Preetty much yeah.” Serenade said, taking the wrapped coat off of stellon and replacing it with actual bandages. “There...” He finished wrapping him in bandages around the wounded area, but not before putting some medicine on those wounds.

“Alright, I need to think of what to do next.” Teiden announced starting to walk a bit. “Why don’t you all talk about plans maybe while I think about what to do next. Its been awhile since all of us Alphas have been around and I’m sure Mesa and Refi would love to speak with some of you as well.” With that last thing, Teiden walked away.

Night fell rather fast upon the forest, despite the shakeup with Stellon it was quite peaceful, until Teiden arrived back and announced a pretty big change that was about to occur.

“What?!?!?!?!?”

The same word rang throughout the six others. Stellon was asleep when this happened

“I think It’d be best to merge our teams. From what happened to Stellon today it had me thinking. Maybe we aren’t even safe in groups of four. It would be much better to stick as one large squad and split up temporarily when the time comes.” Teiden explained to the group, his hands in his lab coat’s pockets once again as he looked out among everyone there. “To add to it, we also have the concern of Stellon now, who we might need to keep an eye on as we travel until he returns to his senses... Stellon is strong but I don’t feel very comfortable leaving this guy alone for the time being. From tonight onward we travel all together and search for Xander and his gang, destroying marks as we pick up the trail.”

“...That’s a plan I guess I can get behind.” Jack shrugged, looking up to the starry sky through the trees.

“But what if he’s moved on, Dad?” Traizey brought up, sort of concerned. “He could have left the area today.”

“That might not be true though Traizey, which is why we move in a larger group and split up to search a larger area. Now that we know where he is... we can finally begin closing in on the truth.” Teiden responded, starting to pace a little bit. “This event shook me too, so we need to stay vigilant and tenacious to these guys. I understand all of you are super concerned that we’ll miss some marks, but the faster we snag that spiky haired guy, the quicker this will stop happening. Now... enough questions fellas, we have to get some rest, everything is all set up?” He looked around the camp and nodded. seeing everyone’s sleeping bags all set up as well as some small tents.

“Good... now get some rest all of you. We got work to do tomorrow.” Teiden concluded, smiling a bit at everyone.

((They groups have merged, now anyone may show up durring another’s ask)) ((Stellon has been drugged and may not respond very intelligently when asked a question))

#arc 1 #plotpost #teidenthebisharp #serenadethegallade #trailblazerthedelphox #jacktheriolu #seikathebisharp #stellonthehawlucha #reficulthezoroark #mesathemarowak

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jeffdgary · 5 years

Text

Misfits

I tend to get sentimental this time of the year. I’d like to think most of us do.

Of course, many people also struggle this time of year. They think of a lost love or multiple lost loved ones. Or maybe they pine for the days of yore. Other folks get lonely or they are just plain loners. In a sad sort of way, they remind me of those located on the island of misfit toys.,,you know from the holiday classic, Rudolph.

The other day, as I stared at our glistening tree, I thought of a few of these folks I have encountered on life’s journey. I think about how I met them, how I knew them and how they tended to have a hard time this time of year. I said a quick prayer.

I prayed for the fella who I once worked with. He lived here, in town, but he was from another state. He was disconnected from all his family (including his estranged daughter). Once, he mentioned he wouldn’t be celebrating much as he really didn’t have anyone to celebrate with.

With Lisa’s blessing, I invited him to join us that year for the family gathering we hosted. I like to think being with people that year might’ve cushioned the blow of being alone as the holiday arrived. I’m not sure about his current whereabouts. I hope he has reconnected with family or started a new one. Prayers rising for him this season.

And my prayers also rising for the young man—not so young now—who once showed up at our house on Christmas Eve carrying an extra large bottle of Pepto. Every now and then, he’d take a sip from the bottle.

His stomach was raw and his nerves shot because of an ill-timed break-up the night before. He thought they were in it for the long haul; she stuck it out just long enough to open all the presents—which she kept—before delivering the blow. And as he told the story, almost in poetic fashion, he’d punctuate every line with “Merry Effin’ Christmas, right?”

He didn’t say “effin’.”

Prayers rising for him this Christmas. I pray he was able to move beyond the sting of that break-up and find true love from someone not so interested in what was inside the shiny package but, rather, the good inside of him.

I was also thinking of my former high school friend who, some years later, battled mental illness.

The last time I saw him—when the ones were tiny tots—I could see in his wild-eyed look that something was amiss. He confided some thoughts that clearly betrayed severe mental illness. He added that he had chosen to stop taking medication because, after all, what good was that?

I counseled him that he needed to make an appointment with his physician right away and that he really needed to follow the doctor’s instructions. That was the last conversation I had with him as he skipped away into the darkness.

My prayers, for him, that he sought (and received) the help he needed and that he was able to get back on the path to healing.

Speaking of high school, I also thought of a young lady I met in social studies. She was sad because she had just moved to a new town, and a new school, halfway through her junior year of high school.

She told me how much she missed her friends back home and how she feared she wouldn’t received a Christmas present from a friend that year.

I dipped into my piggy bank and purchased a gift for her, which I wrapped and took to school the day before the Christmas break. She smiled as she took the gift. And then she never spoke to me again. When we came back from the holidays, in fact, she made a point of making it quite clear she wouldn’t speak to me again.

I’ve often wondered if she was offended by the gift. Or was she playing a mean game to see if she could coersce a purchase out of a good-natured classmate? Maybe she just didn’t know what to say.

My prayers, for her, that whatever was driving her activity, she found happiness. And also the ability to receive a gift, any gift, and honor the gesture.

And for all the other misfits who grapple with difficult emotions this season, my prayers rising for hope and happiness as the big day moves ever closer.

Editor’s Note - Please be sure to tune in tomorrow for our annual two-parter. Its the year-end wrap-up/Top 10 Stories of 2018 If you’re a long-time follower or the blog or a first timer here at #CoachJeff, it’s one of the highlights of the year. Don’t Miss it!

#Christmas #family #lonely #friends

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ironzombes · 6 years

Text

Honest encounters, by Teller.

“Write on that sticky note, rip that sticky note, stick that sticky note, mhm, mhm!” Teller followed her own tune and wrote positive messages on sheets of blue, pink and green paper. The chair squeaked with every movement of her hips but she simply incorporated it into her melody.

There was a lot of surface area. Most of it she couldn’t obscure, but she did her best with what she had.

‘Work hard, play hard.’

‘School is the best!’

‘Best port pilot.’

‘Get that promotion, baby!!!’

Just a few of the messages she left herself in case she ever felt discouraged. Next she stuck a picture of herself and her two best friends on her window. “Whoo, Teller, you go girl.” she imitated a voice and snorted. “Thanks, I’m so proud.” she spoke back to herself and leaned back on her chair, happy with her creation. The controls weren’t old but they were awfully boring, grey, dead. The little bit of color she put in made her corner of the room stand out.

It was her first day on the job. She shared a room with two other port pilots but there were twenty of them in that tower alone. She had briefly met Cyrill in the hallway as he rushed over for an order. The other one was probably out there, helping some poor sod navigate the port.

Regular pilots often took too much credit. They were the heros of their craft and put them into an empty space, they would all manage wonderfully executed take offs and landings. But ports were different. There was so much going on all the time, so many ships and parts to navigate through, it was difficult to find the right platforms and it was more so difficult to land on narrow spaces. That was their jobs. They got called whenever needed and they would take care of the hard parts.

After her training she knew the port like the back of her hand. This was bound to be easy.

The door opened behind her and she turned around in her chair with an excited look on her face. The man that walked in was short and stocky and the moment they made eye contact the purest most childlike smile spread on his lips, hidden only by a thick, dark brown beard.

“Teller?” he asked, unsure.

“That’s me alright. You must be Toberin. Am- sorry, am I saying that right?”

“Auf, yes. Toberin.” his mouth barely moved as he spoke. It was eerie, like a ventriloquist. He wasn’t from around these parts, his mother tongue was that odd language that had to be spoken with as little movement as possible. It seemed to be difficult for him to shed the habit.

“Really nice to meet you.” she walked over and shook hands with him. What an unpleasant feeling.

“Sorry! It’s so hot out there.” he wiped the sweat off his hands against his chest. “I see you’re making yourself at home.” he nodded to all the sticky notes.

“Oh, yeah. Thought it would look nice.”

“Let’s see… promotion, huh? You’ve barely just started, though.” he didn’t mean to bring her down but he sound a bit unsure of her now.

“That well, sort of? Hah, don’t get me wrong. I’m excited to be here.”

“No judgement!” he laughed it off and sat down at his own desk, to her left.

She stood there a moment longer, then sat down and was unsure of what to say. “So, you’ve worked here long?”

“Oh yeah, best job I ever landed.” he laughed, everything about him seemed so joyous in such a packed body.

“Aha!” she laughed at the pun, though she had heard it more times than she cared to admit so far. It still didn’t really answer her question.

He grabbed a cloth from a drawer and wiped his face with it, then turned on a fan and basked in the cool air. She scratched her arm and took it for as long as possible before she decided to put her jacket back on. He either didn’t care or didn’t notice but Teller was understanding. It was hot out there. Maybe she should have brought a fan of her own for later.

Over the next several moments Toberin was busy cooling himself down while Teller tried to get in a comfortable position away from the cold gushes of air.

“Look at that idiot, auf… Trying to do it on his own, who does he think he is?” he laughed as a ship came into view quite a way away, swaying a bit, struggling not to hit equipment.

“Oh, hah… yeah that’s not good.” she snickered, wondering if sometimes pilots were too stubborn to ask for help.

He didn’t reply, just watched as hundreds of tons of metal struggled to keep in balance. It was a lot like waiting for a disaster. She grew more and more uncomfortable at the sight. Maybe regular pilots were idiotic after all…

Finally a green light appeared on her panel and she stiffened up. A green light meant she was being called for. Then a string of lights lit up the window right in front of her with directions to the ship and she found that it was the exact same ship they had been watching for a few solid minutes. She got up.

“Wait, wait a minute.”

“Uh…”

“Let him struggle for a bit longer.” Toberin laughed and gave her a wink. “It’ll teach him, I swear to you. Next time he comes through here he won’t be so macho.”

There was a conflict inside her. On one hand she wanted to go help, it was her job. On the other hand Toberin had to have known what he was talking about. She stood there, feeling the pressure of each passing second. “He’s holding up other pilots.” was the excuse she used and left. Toberin clicked his tongue and watched her go without another protest.

---

After about two weeks Teller began feeling a bit more comfortable in the office. She knew what to expect from the other two men. Cyrill was always hungry and liked to talk about shows or plays he saw in addition to always carrying a notebook with him to write down ideas for a book.

Toberin often spoke to himself, but Teller had learned to tune him out. She still wasn’t perfectly sure whenever she was supposed to talk back but she thought she was getting the hang of it. She had also learned to always bring a jacket with her in the office because the fan was always on, but she knew it was also necessary. It was so damn hot out there working in such close proximity to so many machines and ships.

The two men often got into debates about a show or a character she had never heard of, but just listening to them was hilarious. They all laughed well and hard and despite her not being into series she found herself agreeing to watch something called Vanity Ville. It was a cool concept. The same story about five different neighbors was tackled in very different ways. At the beginning of the week they’d air the comedy side of the show and people would swarm the internet debating how the same concept would be tackled in a much darker rendition at the end of the week.

Two months into her job and she was debating with the guys, feeling at home at her new job.

She was one of those port pilots that never gave her jobs to anyone else. Whenever dispatch sent her somewhere she was right on it. She worked extra shifts and covered anyone who needed help. Her promotion sticky note was always on show.

Today was a good day. The three of them had worked long into the night to help large shipments to come through and they were well exhausted by the time the last ship ported.

Cyrill was the first one to stand, popping all of his joints. “Ugh… dinner’s on me, fellas.” he smirked at the other two, noticing their exhausted faces.

“Can’t we just sleep?” she protested jokingly, then her stomach protested her protest with a loud grunt. “Guess not…”

“Your wallet better be ready cause I’m starving.” Toberin didn’t sound too happy. They were all exhausted, but they walked out together and headed to the restaurant down the road.

It was a cheap place that had major discounts for port pilots. They stuffed their plates with food and sat down on the less than comfortable chairs.

“You’re still going to take that day off?” Tobering asked her.

“Hm, dunno? My friend isn’t sure she could get time off herself to visit me.” she examined a particularly succulent piece of meat and dug her teeth in. “If she does, I’ll take the day off. It’ll be nice to catch a break.”

“We’ve introduced you to our friends.” Cyrill pointed out. “Why don’t you introduce us?”

“Ugh, dude! You don’t even have to ask. I was already planning it.” she grinned.

“Is she single?” Toberin laughed, feeling better from eating.

“She is very, very gay.” Teller smirked.

“Ohhhh, is there a story behind that?”

“What, being gay?”

“No, I meant with her and yourself, duh.” Toberin nudged her elbow.

“No, we’re just good friends.” she sounded indifferent.

“Well alright. Introduce us anyway.” Cyrill smiled.

The week went by without a hitch. On the day, however, Teller was nowhere to be seen at work. At first the guys thought it was strange for her to be late, but upon checking the logs they could clearly see she wasn’t registered to work that day.

---

The next morning was the same as usual. Teller drove in, found a parking spot that wasn’t to her liking but she parked anyway, nearly jogged towards the entrance. Keycard, security check, another keycard, saying hello to the security, taking a three minute bullet train ride to her area of the port, going up a flight of stairs, crossing a glass bridge, going up another flight of stairs, crossing the employee lounge, crossing a long hallway before she reached her office.

She stepped inside and saw the two already at their desks. “Morning, sorry I’m la-”

The office was fairly small, which was only compensated by the wall window they stared at all day and the employee lounge which was too big for comfort. It had always been Toberin on the left, her in the middle and Cyrill on the right. She clutched her purse a bit tighter and frowned. None of her sticky notes were up.

“Woah, what happened here?” she walked over slowly. Toberin looked over his shoulder at her while Cyrill stuffed his face with his second breakfast.

“What do you mean?”

“My sticky notes…” she pulled her chair back but didn’t sit down. She surveyed the room.

“Those… well, they were distracting.”

“Wait, who took them down?” she looked at the two suspiciously.

Cyrill looked at her, then nodded towards Toberin.

“Uh, not cool man…” she couldn’t really understand, but she eventually sat down. “I mean, I’m sorry. You should have told me.”

“You weren’t here.” he pointed at the clock.

It was weird to say the least but what could she do? If they were distracting the maybe he was right. But she could tell the atmosphere was off. “Did I miss anything?” she asked. They had since picked up the habit of filling in whoever was late on the stupidity of some pilots.

“Nope.” Toberin shook his head.

That was normal. She didn’t expect every morning to be eventful.

Cyrill tried to jump start a conversation about the show and Teller took it gladly. Toberin was more quiet than usual but she chose not to put him on the spot. Obviously something was bothering him and he didn’t want to talk about it.

Luckily it had been a busy day so she focused on work most of all.

---

The following day she did better. She made sure to wake up early and pack her breakfast with her so she wouldn’t be late again. Teller genuinely thought Cyrill was onto something about bringing his meals at work and when she noticed how early she got there she decided she was going to follow the same pattern from there on.

The door opened up behind her ten minutes later and she lifted her hand to make a peace sign over her head. “Yo!” she called out, mouth stuffed.

“Morning.” Toberin replied in a flat tone.

“Hey man, good morning?” she asked and turned her chair a little to talk to him.

He immediately sighed. “You brought food in?”

“Yeah, I decided never to be late again.” she sounded proud of herself.

“You know I hate the smell of food…” he dropped his bag next to his chair and sat, rubbing his eyes.

She stared at him dumbfounded. “You never said that.”

“All the time, Teller, all the time.”

“Wh- well… I’ve never heard you say it. Cyrill eats in here all the time.”

“Whatever, could you eat in the lounge from now on?” he gave her a tired look.

After a moment of contemplating she smiled at him. Clearly something was wrong, something had happened. She wasn’t going to push his buttons. They were friends. “I started my shift, but I’ll eat in the lounge from now on.”

Before he could answer Cyrill walked in. “Heya.” he was the same as usual, not too cheerful, not to remote. He sat down and gave both of them a smile. “Man, that looks good.” he leaned in closer to look at her dish. She brought it closer to him and offered him a bite, which he eagerly took.

After he got comfortable he of course took out his breakfast as well. Teller rushed to finish hers and expected Toberin to complain but the man just whipped out a tablet and started typing away on it instead.

“Mh, have you seen the news yesterday?”

“With the fire station?” Teller asked, so glad that Cyrill was breaking the silence. “I did, that was horrifying.”

“Yeah well… I heard that they’re gonna do a sweep virtually every building in the city, check for fire hazards.”

“It’s crazy. Like, after yesterday I think it’s necessary but do we really live in that sort of world?” she rubbed her temples.

“A fuckig fire station blew up. I think it’s safe to say we do.” Toberin added roughly.

Both Cyrill and Teller looked at him, agreeing. It was hard to admit that they weren’t advanced enough to prevent such disasters but they needed to be sure.

“Makes you think twice about this place.” Cyrill twitched nervously. “It’s so fucking hot out there. Too hot. It makes my skin crawl…”

Teller didn’t want to think about it. “No, that’s nothing you should worry about. It is hot but all the ships are safe. We’re safe.” she reached out and touched his shoulder, watching him calm down a bit.

The day went on as normal as it could with Toberin still moody and Cyrill trying not to think about fires.

---

A couple of days later Teller walked with a particularly happy stride towards the office. She had gotten her hair cut bob style with the strands that framed her cheeks a bit longer than the rest and a cute little fringe that she could easily swipe to the side. Along the way she had gotten compliments from everyone she had gotten to know and was particularly happy about her choice.

She got to the office and waited for the boys. Since Toberin had asked she had stopped eating next to him.

Cyrill was the first to show up.

“Oh damn, you… look so different!” he said quite happily, impressed by her hair. “Looks good. Kind of reminds me of Vele.” he referenced the show again.

“Thanks!” she chipped and ran a hand though the smooth strands. It was odd to feel it so short.

“You look happy.”

“Today is a happy day!” she swiveled in her seat.

Toberin came in later than usual. He said his monotonous hello and sat down, only giving Teller a weird sideways glance. “Big change.”

“Thanks.” she replied on instinct.

“Sure…” he had not meant it as a compliment.

All three of them were called nearly simultaneously to port ships not too long after their shifts started. They headed out, did what they had to do as on any other day and came back ready with stories about the pilots. Most of them were obnoxious people that couldn’t stand handing over control. Some were clueless but some were nice too.

Teller walked in the room later than the boys and sat down with a huff. “Happy to report my pilot was very sweet. It was her first time here.” she said happily.

“Mine was an idiot. Nothing’s changed.” Toberin added.

She kept looking over her shoulder every now and again, expecting something. When a knock on their door came she resisted the urge to jump up and check it. The worker who knocked let himself in cautiously. “Hey is there a…” he looked at the envelope in his hand. “Teller?”

“That’s me.” she got up, both nervous and happy.

He checked the envelope again, then smiled at her before handing it over. “Congrats.”

“What, really!? No way!” she took it and forgot to even thank the poor guy before he walked on to the next office.

The other two turned in their seats to check on her. “What’s that, now?” asked Cyrill.

She turned the bright purple envelope in her hand a number of times. She could feel something hard inside it, a thin piece of plastic. “Oh, sorry. I, I enrolled in this pharmaceutical course. I just got accepted!” she walked over with the envelope. The congratulatory words were printed on the outside. She didn’t bother to open it there, she’d do it at home.

“Pharmaceuticals?” Toberin scoffed. “What’s that for?”

“It’s just something I’ve been meaning to do. I love this stuff.”

“Don’t tell me. You didn’t get into a good medical school?” he crossed his arms over his chest.

Both her and Cyrill looked at him shocked and hurt by his words.

“No… Nothing like that. I just wanted to take this course.”

“Yeah, right… Keep telling yourself that.”

“What the fuck, man?” Cyrill asked, just as surprised to hear his dismissive voice.

“What? I’m just looking at all the evidence here, alright?”

“What sort of evidence is that?” she was so thrown by his comments.

“It’s pretty fucking obvious, Teller. You’re en overachiever but you’re not one of the smart ones.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Okay, uhm, let’s see.” he turned to face them again. “My guess is you’ve always wanted to be a pilot. That’s why you were going for a promotion. You must have sucked at the academy or something. I mean, you did go to a proper piloting academy, not the sort of thing me and Cyrill went to, right? One of the big ones? But you failed and now you’re stuck working here hauling ships left and right, not ever really touching the sky. But before that you wanted to be a doctor, hm? Couldn’t do that either. So you’re settling for second best but aaaalways looking for the top. The bullshit pharmacy course, this.” his voice was cold and pressing as he gestured to the whole room.

She stared at him. “Okay, I don’t know what your problem is but fuck you! I happen to really like this. And so what? Wouldn’t you want a fucking promotion? You wanna work in this damn box all your life?”

“Woah, guys, come on. There’s no need for that…”

“You hear that, Cyrill? This damn box. You know what, I’m pretty fucking over your sour attitude.” he waved a hand to try and shut her up.

She bit her lip and stopped herself from saying or doing anything stupid. It felt like a long time coming, considering Toberin’s attitude lately but she had never expected this. She shook her head at Cyrill and went to work. It had been a terrible day but she focused on what was right in front of her.

---

A week later her and Toberin were still not talking to each other. Cyrill tried to help out but whenever he tried to include them both in a discussion either one of them refused to take it further. She was nicer about it because she knew he was just trying to help.

After a particularly long and painful port she came back exhausted, sweating all over. She sat down on her chair and tapped a button on her console that send a message to dispatch, asking for a ten minute break before her next port. That button felt like a little piece of heaven.

“Bad port?” Cyrill asked.

“Yeah… the pilot was alright. It was just, his ship was fucking massive. I reported it to inspection.”

“Something fishy about it?”

“The weight of it didn’t make sense.” she shrugged. Inspection officers would look over it more thoroughly. It was no longer her problem.

She sat for a few minutes in silence, just trying to relax. She was sweaty as all hell, her hair was sticking to her face and neck. Looking over she noticed Toberin’s fan pointing straight at her, making her skin cold and even stickier. It was at twice the power it was set to normally. “Do you mind turning that down?”

“It’s hot in here.”

“Well I don’t want to get sick.”

“Put your sweater on.”

“That… no. I’m sweaty, it’s gross. Just turn it off for five minutes.”

“I don’t wanna smell your sweat.”

“You’re such a fucking child.” she got up and couldn’t take it anymore, slamming her hand down on the device to turn it off.

“Like fucking hell you will!” Toberin got up and yanked the portable fan out of her hands.

“Just turn it off for five minutes, jackass!”

“Guys don’t! Come on. Toberin just turn it off. It’s cold and uncomfortable!”

“Get lost, Cyrill.”

The man stared at the struggle for a bit, then noticed the green light on his own screen. He ignored it. “Stop it, now! This is ridiculous.” he got up and yanked the fan from them both. “Five minutes without this shit, alright? I have to work. You both better behave.” he thought about putting the fan down but he feared they both might have a go at it again so he simply stepped out of the room with it in hand, ignoring Toberins’s curses.

“You’re fucked in the head.” Teller spat. “What’s your problem?”

“You are!” he stormed out of the room to put some space between the two of them.

Teller sat down and raked her hands through her hair. She tried not to let it get to her but she couldn’t stop but wonder what had happened, why all of a sudden the guy was so pissed off with her. All they did was talk anyway.

---

The days dragged on like that. The atmosphere in the room changed dramatically. Cyrill tried his hardest to either talk or not talk depending on the situation. Teller and Toberin stopped exchanging greetings.

She started seeing it more like just a work environment. Her and him didn’t have to be friends, so they kept a distance from each other. She busied herself with her courses and learning new things, taking up classes whenever she could like first aid or fire hazard courses. Despite the setbacks at work she thought she was growing a lot. Eventually the sticky notes came back and that time around Toberin didn’t take them down. Just in case she had an entire stack at the ready anyway.

Her and Cyrill avoided going out to eat together. He didn’t want to be more friendly towards either of them so he became more quiet as time progressed.

For the longest time it seemed they were at a standstill. But that was fine by her too, since she was increasingly more busy, bringing books at work and trying to incorporate as much stuff into her breaks as possible.

---

Night shift. She had been silly a few months back to even think that the night shifts were any easier. If anything, they were the worst. Pilots were cranky, the crews were hard to deal with, piloting took a lot longer due to other slow moving ships. She hated them but signed up for them regularly in order to get some more cash, they were better paid than standard days.

Cyrill stayed at home during night shifts and a few times she had bumped into Toberin but that night was entirely different. He was slow, he denied most requests to port and he kept bouncing his leg up and down, almost incessantly.

She refused to even so much as look at him as she read and sat on her phone, waiting for the next call.

Once more he turned the fan at full speed and made sure the majority of the gush hit her right in the face. Teller took it for as long as possible before a headache started taking over. “Please… I don’t want to fight. Turn it off, I’m getting a headache.”

“Pull your hoodie on?” he arched a brow at her and noticed her jacket was on the armrest.

“Then can you at least move it so it doesn’t freaking blast me?”

“I feel very comfortable.”

“Yeah, because you’re aiming it at me.”

“Oh shut up. I’ve just about had it with you.”

“I’m asking you nicely…” she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t take orders from whores.”

She stared. How could she not? Never in her life had she assumed Toberin to seep that low. “What… the fuck?”

He turned in his chair, finally snapping. “Yeah, you heard me! I don’t take orders from whores!”

“How dare you!?” she slammed her hand on the console. Thankfully it didn’t send anything flying.

“Yeah you act like you’re all that, but I know you! I’ve been nothing but nice to you ever since you came here and started taking up space with your stupid post it notes and your passive aggressiveness, acting like you’re always cold, trying to get me and Cyrill’s attention. All you do, you do it for attention!”

“How can you even say that, how… I- what’s even going through your head? Cause of some sticky notes?”

“No, it’s not just the sticky notes! Like you’re always wearing your jacket instead of talking like a normal person!”

She felt like she was going to lose her mind. “I did just fucking ask you to turn the fan away from me!”

For a split second it looked like he was about to get up from his chair and do something dangerous, but he forced himself back down. “That was before you started acting like you don’t even know us!”

“How did I ever do that? We fucking work together…”

“Act like you don’t know, go ahead.”

“I really do. Not. Know. Stop being so whiny and tell me, fuck… This is ridiculous.”

“Oh yeah? Me and Cyrill did everything, everything to make you feel welcome, but all you do is lie. Like that one time you promised to introduce us to your friend like we introduced you to ours and then you ditch us! I bet everything else about you is a lie too.”

Teller took a long time to make the connection, but it made sense in the timeline. Her and her friend had met up without calling the other two guys, it was true. But she hadn’t thought about it evolving into this much hatred. By then she just wondered if Cyrill was feeling the same.

“That’s it!? Me and my friend spent a day together without you cause we haven’t seen each other in months and that’s why you’re angry at me?”

“It’s not just that… it’s everything you do. You could have just told me you’re gay, for example.”

“I’m not gay? I’m not! And even if I were what’s that to do with anything?”

“Girls like you do this all the time. I’m nice to you, I can see you’re lonely and sad and try to make friends with you, talk to you, get Cyrill to talk to you more and you don’t even have the guts to tell me you’re gay. That’s very manipulative of you.”

“You’re delusional…” Teller shook her head and got up, grabbing her jacket. “Fucking insane.”

He grabbed her wrist.”You better let go of me right now!”

“Is that how you treat all men? You disgust me, you whore!”

“Let go!” she tried to pull back, but he was easily three times bigger than her and getting angrier.

“Nice guys like me, we try to be nice to you and all you do is go around behind our backs. You’re disgusting!”

“Let go of me you psycho!” she finally broke loose from his grip. When she stormed out of the room she never looked back.

She was shaken. Never in her life had she thought that what seemed like a normal working environment would turn into this. It was ridiculous and she knew it. All of his cruel words and accusations came back to her one by one as she walked into the employee lounge, thankful to be left alone.

The truth was she always knew how to stand up to herself, but this had all taken her by surprise. Looking around the room she felt her skin crawl like the whole building was suddenly tainted.

She thought back to all of the times her own friends had complained about work and how many times they stuck through it all. She had always thought that was a stupid thing to do. It was insane to have to put up with toxic people when they had to work with them on the daily.

Teller was not going to let herself beat down like that.

#ironwill #characters #teller

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