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apiratewhopines · 3 years

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This one is a gift for @teamhook because she is one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.

Thanks to @jrob64 for giving me advice on artwork and to ultraluckycatnd for reading over this chapter

Midnight

Chapter 1 — The Prince

Summary: In which our heroine meets cute

Chapter 1 of 7 on AO3

“But don’t forget folks,

That’s what you get folks

For makin’ whoopee”

-Makin’ Whoopee, Eddie Cantor

Emma Swan had been in some tight spots, but she’d never been in a run out of gas on a deserted highway with a dying cell phone battery and a stomach as empty as her bank account kind of situation before. In truth, she blamed this unfortunate situation on the same person she blamed all the misfortunes of her adulthood. Neal Cassidy.

There was a time a few short months ago she would have done anything for the man responsible for her current circumstances. Neal had been too good to be true. A real Prince Charming, down to the supposed trust fund and a smile that made her believe in happy endings.

She’d been a sucker. She heard one was born every minute, she just never thought her time would come. After all, one of the few things she learned in the foster system was how to spot bullshit from a mile away. But he looked at her with his soulful eyes and whispered promises in his smoky voice and she fell for it. More than once, actually, and all she had to show for the wasted years was a voicemail box full of collection calls and a wolf at the door.

Because Neal Cassidy didn’t just leave her. He stole her identity, maxed out her credit cards, and took out half a dozen loans in her name. Then he proceeded to use the money to wine and dine a wide assortment of women, the sheer number of which would make Casanova blush. All the while professing his undying love and spending his days eating all her food and watching television from his favorite seat on the couch.

Seriously, you could still see the faint outline of his backside on the cushion.

As countless victims of his schemes started showing up at her door looking for the man who made them feel alive while killing them one dollar at a time, she listened to tears and rants and misery with ill-disguised impatience. How had she become the counselor to the trail of broken girls he left in his wake? When was it going to be her turn to moan and groan and swear she’d never love again?

Well, she did get around to the swearing to never love again part. Some mistakes don’t bear repeating.

The final straw happened two months ago. Neal had disappeared after their final fight. His righteous indignation at being called on his crap and inability to find a plausible excuse for the stack of overdue bills and statements she found stuffed in the back of his gym bag made it difficult to share the same space. She wanted him gone even as her hands itched to touch him one more time.

Unfortunately, leaving her drowning in debt with the knowledge he cheated on her for the majority of their relationship wasn’t enough for him. He decided to do some collateral damage on his way out of town.

He did the unforgivable. He went after Granny.

His target was meant to wound her. While he lied and schemed the entire time they were together, she had been an open book for the first time in her life so he knew Granny was the sole connection she formed as a foster. Her brief stay with the woman before she aged out of the system was a time of peace and healing. Granny was responsible for helping her get on her feet and the two maintained a friendship years later.

Emma received the frantic call from Ruby explaining her grandmother had been tricked into giving Neal a blank check so he could do her grocery run. Hours later, she received a notification from her bank saying her checking account had been wiped out. At that point, the tenuous control Emma had on her emotions disappeared. She sat on the kitchen floor of the apartment she was about to lose, staring at empty walls that still echoed with his laughter in her weaker moments, and she broke into a million pieces.

So it was no wonder she vowed to have her vengeance. To do anything and everything to make him pay. Luckily, since he skipped out on a court date, catching him would also get her paid.

Tracking him had taken more time than she liked to admit. She was good; even penniless and running out of options, she recognized her worth and knew she possessed hard to find skill sets. But she had a sinking sensation that he might be better.

Now she was stranded on the side of the road with nothing except her most uncomfortable shoes to keep her company. But damn did they make her legs look good and with everything else in her life collapsing around her, somehow that seemed important.

Squaring her shoulders, she climbed out of the car and pondered her next course of action. She was unfamiliar with the state road connecting the two small towns on the Maine coast, so she had no idea what the odds were that a good samaritan would happen along. She had just enough juice in her battery and lettuce in her account to call for an Uber to take her to the seedy nightclub where Neal was last seen. Or she could walk the rest of the way in her mile-high heels knowing she never looked better, even though she would probably not be able to move the next day without a significant amount of pain.

What she would do if she found him or where she would stay if she didn’t weren’t questions she was ready to entertain.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and with a huff of frustration opened her app. Pleading with whatever powers that be to let her last long enough to see herself through to the other side of this, she leaned against her beaten down yellow Bug and waited for the black sedan to show.

Of course, her phone died immediately after she booked her ride, finally giving up the ghost even though she didn’t get a chance to see the name or license plate of her hired car. Getting more anxious by the minute, she paced along the shoulder, careful to keep on the pavement since the ground was soft from recent rain. After what seemed like forever, but had probably not been more than half an hour, the headlights of a lone car crested a nearby hill.

“About time,” she muttered. To make sure the driver knew she was not pleased with the delay or the prodding pace he maintained despite the fact the sky seemed ready to open at any moment, she moved out into the middle of the lane and placed her hand on her hips. Pride kept her from squinting even though the bright high beams made her eyes water as the car approached.

Slowing from a crawl to a stop, the driver put the car in park and jumped out. It was dark and the man was dressed all in black, but as he moved around to the front of the car, she got the impression of blue eyes and a stubble-covered jaw that could probably cut glass. Great, just what she needed. A sexy Uber driver.

“Alright there, love?”

With a British accent. He probably smelled like bacon, too.

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting all night.”

Moving closer, he smiled with a hint of confusion. “Had I known you were waiting for me, I would have been along sooner. Tell me, do you always accost strange men in the dead of night on empty roads?”

“Only when I’m paying them to take me where I need to go,” she grumbled, walking toward the back door on the passenger side. She pulled it open as he protested, and glared at him over the top of the car.

“Love, I think there may be a bit of a mix-up—“

“It’s fine. I won’t give you a bad rating for being late as long as you don’t talk to me. I’ve been driving for hours to get here and I need to think.”

She heard him sigh and saw the flash of his teeth as he smiled at her again. “Very well. Would you like me to get your bags?”

“You’d have to go to a pawn shop in Boston to accomplish that,” she joked, dropping into the leather seat and noticing for the first time the expensive luxury of her rented carriage. She supposed if she was going to spend her last dime on a ride, she could have done far worse.

She resisted the urge to use the low ambient lighting of the dashboard to get a better look at her temporary chauffeur. The glimpse she got outside was more than enough to know she needed to keep her distance. It didn’t stop her from feeling the weight of his stare as he peeked over his shoulder while clicking on his seatbelt. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw his tongue flicker slowly over his bottom lip before he turned his attention back to the road.

“Nice dress. Where are we heading this fine night, Miss…?”

“You’re really terrible at this. Is it your first time being a driver for hire?”

“What gave it away, love? It’s quite an unexpected development that came about just this evening. But you know what they say, you never forget your first.”

It was everything she could do not to laugh. She had a feeling it would only encourage him and if she was heading into battle, she needed her wits about her. “The Snakehole Lounge.”

“At the risk of sounding cliche, why would a nice girl like you want to go to a place like that?”

“I’m not a nice girl,” Emma informed him without a hint of irony or bravado. “And your rating is going down with each syllable out of your mouth.”

“Tough lass,” he murmured. “But do yourself a favor. Stay away from the Snake Juice.”

Little did he know that even if she wanted to have a drink, and boy did she ever, she used the last of her meager funds to get to this backwater place and she wasn’t sure where her next meal would come from. “I’ll do my best.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. She spent the time looking out the window at the trees flying by and trying to ignore how every time she looked away, her eyes caught his in the rearview mirror.

Honestly, it was probably a good thing they were the only people for miles around or he would have gotten them both killed.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of a shabby nightclub. Even the multitude of neon lights flashing “Girls! Girls! Girls!” and “Half-Price Beer Buckets” did little to enliven the dingy exterior. They didn’t bother with a bouncer, probably because no one actually wanted to get in.

Before she could say anything, her driver was out of the car and rounding his way to her door. She didn’t have a chance to object as he opened it and looked at her with avid curiosity. She had to admit she was impressed he didn’t give into it and ask any questions.

“Since we’re out of the car, am I allowed to speak again?”

Perhaps she had been too hasty in her internal praise. “Thanks for the ride. I hope your next passengers are more chatty since that’s what you’re into...overall, a solid three stars.”

“Three stars? I’d be surprised, but I had a feeling you were warming up to me between the baleful stares and eye-rolling.”

Gifting him with another of the said eye rolls, she adjusted the hem of her skirt to show a little more leg and walked away. She knew if she stayed a second longer she would give in to the almost magnetic pull of him and say something foolish like, ‘What’s your name?’

—

The inside of the establishment was every bit as horrible as the outside. The low lighting obscured the grime and wear that would be glaringly obvious otherwise. She wasn’t surprised. It seemed like the kind of place Neal would gravitate to since he was a dirty little rat.

Music heavy with bass pumped out a rhythm entirely too fast for the energy of the place. The few patrons who persevered this far into the night looked anemic as tired dancers did their best to act like they wanted to be there. Pulling her ID from the scrap of a bra she wore under her dress, she flashed it at the lone employee who manned the entrance and the bar. He gave it a cursory glance and turned back to his phone.

Snapping her fingers under his nose to get his attention, she pulled out a grainy photo of her quarry from the same location and asked, “Have you seen this man recently?”

“I’ve never seen anyone. Ever.” The man grumbled, not interested in the slightest. She wondered if he would stop her if she walked behind the counter and helped herself to a drink. She was leaning toward no and tempted to try.

“Tell you what buddy, take a good look at this picture. Then look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t seen him and we’ll end the night without any trouble.”

Something in her tone must have penetrated his disillusionment and he gazed at her with more interest than he’d probably shown anything in years. She waited as he glanced at the photo for a few seconds. “No, sorry. If he’s been here, it wasn’t during any of my shifts. Is he your husband or something?”

“He’s something alright,” she muttered. Defeated, she turned around without another word. She used the last of her resources to fund a wild goose chase, but at least it got her into town. Only thing left to do was find a park or quiet bench somewhere safe to sleep for a few hours and then she would tackle whatever came next. It wouldn’t be the first time she roughed it, although she had never attempted it in formal wear before.

Pushing the door open with unnecessary force, she immediately froze. Her three star driver was waiting at the curb as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and she hadn’t given him the brush off.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yes, especially since I’m pretty sure our business is done,” she replied, walking past him and wishing the man could be a tiny bit less handsome. Now that the streetlights of the small town were there to illuminate their interactions, she couldn’t deny he was ridiculously attractive and exactly her type, complete with a black leather jacket and messy hair begging to be pulled. And, heaven help her, he was determined to extend their acquaintance apparently.

“It’s just good sense, love. I figured you’d be in need of transportation again, so why waste the gas to leave when I’d have to turn around after you called for your next ride.” He matched his stride to hers as she did her best to increase her pace.

Sighing, she stopped at the corner and looked at him. “Listen, I could tell you my phone is dead and I need to make a few more stops, that I’d pay you when you drop me off at my place at the end of the night, but it would be a lie. I’m chasing down a bounty. I need the money to pay for a ride and I need a ride to make the money. A smart man like you can see the problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She turned away again but felt him leap into action behind her. He moved to cut off her escape and said, “Double or nothing.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Double or nothing, sweetheart. I take you to wherever you need to go tonight and when you collect your fee, you pay me double whatever the normal fare is for jaunts like these.”

“What if I don’t find him?”

“That’s where the nothing comes in, lass. A smart woman like you can see the benefit of such an arrangement.”

She studied him, hoping to find some ulterior motive in his seemingly selfless offer, but all she saw in his expression was an earnestness bordering on being painful and a thirst for adventure barely contained. Perhaps this was how he got his kicks in an isolated town. He propositioned strangers and gambled on fate. “No strings? No funny business?”

“This whole business is funny, but I’ll behave myself if you will. We’ll have much less satisfaction that way, but I’ll do my best to rally my spirits and overcome my disappointment.”

With a rueful shake of her head, she stuck out her hand and introduced herself. “I guess we’re doing this. I’m Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones, driver extraordinaire and captain of this fine vessel, at your service. Where’s our next stop?”

“I need to go to every seedy bar and filthy dive in the area so you tell me, Captain.”

—

She wasn’t sure what it said about her newfound companion that he was able to rattle off several places in a matter of seconds, but as the night stretched on and the miles racked up, she found she rather liked her tour guide. Which was probably a good thing since at this rate, she would be splitting the bounty fifty-fifty with him. Who knew the twin cities of Storybrooke and Misthaven had so many sleazy places to hang out?

“I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of the line, Swan. Are you sure he’s in the area, because every traveler worth his salt makes a point to stop by Moe’s Tavern while visiting our fair city.”

“I can see why. The thrift-store ambience is delightful and the watered down drinks are to die for,” she murmured as she rested against the side of his car. She was tired and weak from hunger and as much as she wanted to curl up in the back seat and sleep, she was scared she’d get used to the comfort he was offering and do something she might regret later.

She was trying to figure out how to cut and run without seeming ungrateful when her stomach growled loudly.

In a playful tone belaying the concern in his eyes, he asked, “Was that your stomach? Bloody hell, am I in danger? Are you going to try to eat me to satisfy the beast within?”

Feeling a blush color her face, she avoided his gaze as she said, “Sorry, I...um, I skipped dinner.” And breakfast and lunch for that matter.

Taking up a position next to her, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Tell the truth, when was the last time you ate something, lass?”

“Hmm, what day is it again?”

“As I suspected. Come on, I know just the spot.” Pushing off from the car, he gently moved her and opened the door to the backseat.

She wanted to fight, to tell him she could take care of herself. She would have too, if she had any energy at all. Meeting his eyes for the first time, she joked, “You lost a gamble, Captain. That doesn’t mean you have to feed it.”

“I consider it an act of self-preservation. I figured you for a man-eater the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I’m afraid you might prove me right in unexpected ways if we don’t get some food in you soon.”

“As long as eyes are all you plan on laying on me, I accept your gracious offer,” she replied with a narrowed stare. Before Neal, she trusted her instincts. She would have insisted they were infallible, but he had shaken her confidence. She couldn’t risk being wrong about Killian Jones of the electric eyes and perpetual helpfulness.

“No strings. No funny business, Swan. Those are the rules. Get in, your chariot and dinner awaits.”

He stood a few feet from her, urging her into the car and she wasn’t sure what drove her to say it, but before she could change her mind, the words were out. “I’d rather ride in the front this time if that’s okay with you.”

His smile could have melted metal, tempted angels to fall, and inspired devils to repent. It was probably lack of rest and food causing her stomach to do flip flops. Or at least that was what she was going to tell herself.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have…” He closed the back door with a firm finality that echoed through the night and somehow felt momentous in the thick air of summer. When he opened the passenger door, the light seemed warmer and it bathed him in softness and shadows. He waited patiently as if he knew something had shifted between them and he didn’t want any sudden movements to break the odd spell.

Then her stomach growled again, angry at the promise of food being delayed while she gawked at the man who was determined to rescue her in every imaginable way.

“And dinner, of course.”

“Of course,” she whispered, taking care not to make contact with his body as she slid into the seat. She was glad the door was already closed when she left out a huff of air. Good thing she had sworn off love or she may be in some danger.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

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couchpotatoaniki · 3 years

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One Year ❣︎ Two: Plotting and Planning

Chapter Summary: You finally arrive at Jeju Island, but there’s trouble in paradise between you and Dominic.

Pairing: Mafia!San x Fem!Reader Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, angst, eventual smut, lotta crack and stupid shit ngl Chapter warnings: swearing, stalking, cheating Word count: 2.7k+ A 365 Days parody

Previous: Chapter One For the rest of the series, click here

Speech in bold means they’re talking in Korean

Speech in italics is whatever the reader wants their native langue to be that’s not Korean or English

Speech without either means they’re talking in English

You wanted to punch him square in the face.

Dominic was pushing your buttons beyond what you could handle, and you had no idea what had gotten into him. Never this bad when it came to his attention. Never did he make you feel this annoyed.

Jeju was a nice place--just as beautiful as you had imagined--but the flight was fairly long so none of you went sight seeing the day you landed. Skipped off to the hotel room for some much needed rest, you most of all.

Though you had a weird sense, chills running up your spine occasionally and funny feelings at the back of your head, you tried to shove it aside. Work was not meant to make it’s way while you were all on your holiday.

Not to mention, your boyfriend was talking once again to his colleagues and friends, not paying mind to you as you hauled the rest of the luggage around the large airport and hotel.

You were tired. You felt not normal. He was being a dick.

So it all had started off on the wrong foot. Still time left to change it around, right?

Then Dominic decided it would be great to take up most of the hotel bed--probably because it was so comfy, whereas he only had half of the bed back at home.

Eventually, you were too tired to put up with this behaviour so you got up and walked to Seonghwa’s and Yeosang’s room.

“The fuck, why are you here?” Yeosang mumbled, half-asleep himself.

Caught the rapid pitter-patters of water running in the background, which must’ve been Seonghwa. “How long’s he been in the shower?” You asked since he generally takes quite a long time.

“Just got in,” he answered, moving aside as you pushed through the doorway with a lazy glare resting on your face.

“Good. Stealin’ his bed,” was all you said before flopping onto the nearest double bed--still as comfortable as the king sized you were supposed to share--and knocking out right there on the spot.

Yeosang ruffled his silvery-grey hair, sighing. “His bed was the other one...”

The next day was a little more manageable.

The sleep definitely helped your patience level, though Seonghwa was a little annoyed that he had to share the night with Yeosang.

Granted, when you explained everything in the morning over some food from the breakfast buffet, he understood.

You were like a little sister to him. Sure, he took you under his wing a little less than five years ago, taught you his trade, polished you up to be the best of the best, he still grew fond of you.

An older brother you never had, and acting as such, he was highly sceptical when you brought a boy to the dinner table. Dominic, you had introduced.

Never liked him since. Sucked it up only for you, but his patience too was tested often by comments that were made and outlandish behaviour that was presented. No, Seonghwa didn’t like him one bit.

“Well,” he began, taking a bite of a golden, buttered croissant, “if you start feeling uncomfortable again, just pop over to our room and I’ll kick Yeosang out.”

You chuckled at the thought. “He’ll rip him to shreds.”

“Who? Yeosang or Dom?” Threw a pointed look in his direction, as if to ask him if he actually did just say that. “Okay, okay,” Seonghwa laughed as he almost spat out his orange juice, “I knew you meant Yeosang.”

“Happy birthday, dipshit!” Mingi’s voice boomed from behind, as the rest began to join the two of you. His long arms wrapped around your shoulders as he squeezed you in a bone-crushing hug.

“Happy birthday to you too, douchebag,” you squeaked out. The other boys had settled down, wishing you both a happy birthday--Dominic giving you a little kiss too.

Tried to hold back the smirk fighting its way onto your lips as you saw Seonghwa openly grimacing in your peripheral. “Where were you last night, babe?”

You never particularly liked it, that nickname. ‘Babe’...

“You’re asking that now?” Playfully teasing, though there was a slight hint of venom. None of which he picked up on. “I was with Seonghwa and Yeosang.”

“Really?” Dominic’s brow lifted, the judgement of you spending a night in two other men’s room clearly written in his expression.

“Yes, really,” you replied, less playful since he should have known by now that all of you were strictly friends. Neither passion nor romance was held for either the black-haired clean-freak and the grumpy introvert.

Has never been since you were all like family.

“Okay then,” he sighed, sitting beside you with his plate of a heavy breakfast.

The boys stayed quiet throughout the exchange, noticing everything going on but not saying a word. Knew that you could handle it better on your own.

San, on the other hand, was fuming. Although he was not close enough to hear a word any of you said--not that it would matter since he couldn’t understand it anyway--the boy could see the feelings of annoyance brew in your mind.

Hongjoong had his hand on his friend’s shoulder, preventing him from walking up and doing something he would regret. “Look, you don’t know what’s being said, so just give it a rest and enjoy your toast.”

“Joong, I can’t enjoy my toast, especially if he’s said something that makes her upset. I’ll floor the fucker, I swear--”

“San,” the blur-haired boy warned in a low tone, “eat your toast.”

One of his strengths would be that San knew when to back off. Sure, it came to a much bigger challenge when you were involved, apparently, but he still had listened to his second-in-command. “Fine. I’ll eat it, but I won’t like it.”

Hongjoong had not said another word to him, still pissed off about what his boss had pulled last night. Flying over had drained energy out of him, no matter how many times he did it, so all he wanted to do was to go to the villa, greet Jongho and Wooyoung, and then go to sleep.

That was it.

But no. San decided he had to chase you to this hotel. This hotel which was less luxurious than the villa and the food was sub-par at best. Not to mention he kept pacing about the room that was supposed to be opposite yours and your boyfriend’s, worried how you left the room and went into a different one.

Hongjoong had to stop him from bugging the rooms or even go pounding the door so hard it knocked down.

Seeing his boss and friend like this had him beyond concerned, since this was the first time it’s ever gotten to this degree.

In fact, he was so concerned, he had to update the two other boys about it--without San’s knowledge.

Wooyoung had told him to bring San to the villa as soon as possible--by tomorrow night, no matter what--but the man in question appeared to have other plans.

Throughout the day, San became more calculated in his movements (particularly when it seemed that you were on alert of some strange presence by the side glances you gave in their general direction). “We're going back to the villa tomorrow night.”

To hear that was a bit of a shock, especially when he had planned for the same thing. “What are you gonna do?”

“Sweep her off her feet, of course,” San smirked, devious little cogs in his head turning.

Ruffling his hair as he looked over at you and your friends--sat down in the tent lounge for your celebratory dinner--Hongjoong shuddered slightly at the ominous tone.

Clinking of a fork against glass, Dominic grabbed the attention of everyone, including the bystanders around him. Clearing his throat, he pulled out a piece of of paper with words scribbled on.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, surprisingly in Korean rather than the language you all communicated in--though it wasn’t perfect, he was still trying. San was glad, now able to understand what was being said.

“Today is a special day, because it is the birthday of two very special people. One of which is my lovely girlfriend. So I would like to embarrass her by preparing this speech, to let everyone know this wonderful woman is mine.”

The mafia boss didn’t like that. He didn’t like that one bit.

“I’m so glad you were born, because life wouldn’t have been as fun without you, and you’re certainly very special in not only my heart, but the rest of the boys as well.”

It wasn’t only San who was unhappy about this speech. This wasn’t just your birthday, it was Mingi’s as well, yet he was written off. So, before Dominic could conclude his speech, you stood up, interjecting him.

“Thank you, for that nice speech. But I also want to congratulate my childhood friend, for it’s his birthday today too.” You lifted your glass to cheer the giant. “If it weren’t for you, God knows where I would be, if I would even be alive. You’ve saved my ass more times than I can count and for that, I’ll forever be eternally grateful.”

Hearing you speak such good Korean had--for some bizarre reason--made San’s heart skip a beat of two. Even as your accent shone, the pronunciation was close to flawless.

Yet Dominic was not feeling so proud. Yes, it was Mingi’s birthday too, but that speech was for you. Interrupting him was almost as if you were putting Mingi before him. Before your boyfriend.

As the chocolate cake topped with sparklers was brought out by the staff and people around you started to sing ‘happy birthday’ in Korean (your friends being the loudest), you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were being watched again. But what was worse, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Dominic was going to do something dumb tonight.

“Excuse me,” you said as you stood up in the middle of dinner, when everything went back to normal.

“And where are you going, little missy?” Yunho asked as he moved his long legs to let you get past.

“Bathroom,” was all you said as you went by, needing to freshen up after feeling so... odd. Confined under the eyes of people you didn’t know.

The night had brought itself a particularly cold wind, rushing past your black chiffon dress. “Crap,” you cursed, “should’ve brought a thicker coat.”

Each turn you made, you became increasingly confused as to where you were. This place was like a damn maze. “Should’ve probably asked for directions too.”

“Are you lost, babygirl?” a deep voice asked you in English, cocky tone evident in the way the words rolled off his tongue. You turned to see the man who had just dared to call you that, ready to thump him in the face with a nearby plant pot, but when you saw his face, a sense of familiarity washed over you.

This was the guy. He's eyes were following you since you came off the plane--you could feel it in your bones.

“No thanks, you replied back in English, “I’m perfectly fine.”

And you turned around, not capturing the devilish smirk growing across San’s face as he watched you powerfully walk off in some random direction, not knowing if it was towards the bathroom.

But he didn’t need to know that, did he?

“Where’s Dom?” Mingi pondered as he looked around, realising it was oddly peaceful in the area.

“Not a clue,” you shrugged, “he’s been gone all night. Disappeared after dinner.”

While Yeosang, Yunho, and Seonghwa went swimming in the hotel pool, hearing their yells of ‘Marco!’ and ‘Polo!’, you and your childhood friend opted for sunbathing on colourful lounge chairs.

“Since when the fuck do you not have a clue? Plus, we all saw how that dickhead was eyefucking that random hoe at the dinner.”

“I really don’t wanna think about it. After all, it’s our birthday and I don’t wanna ruin the mood by thinking of the things he’s probably doing.”

Propping himself on his elbows, he took off his sunglasses to look at you. “Bastard’s cheating on you and you’re not gonna do anything?”

“Oh no, I’m definitely going to bring pain upon his ass like never before, but right now is not the time. Besides, it’s not as if we ever loved each other. And I finally got a good night’s sleep.” You placed your hand over his in a reassuring way, but it did nothing much.

Your response had Mingi biting his bottom lip, worried. “Hearing you talk like that scares me sometimes, ya know?”

“After everything I went through, you still think I’m going to be who I was?” You opened your eyes, peering over at him with eyes so cold that there was only one situation he would see them. “Do you still fucking think with all the shit that the five of us do, I’d still be a person who believes in mercy or love?”

Sighing, he lay back down with his sunglasses covering his eyes once more. “You’re right, it’s dampening the mood. What are you planning to do between now and dinner? Any particular place you wanna visit?”

Contemplating, you hummed as you thought of what to do next. “Maybe visit the stone park? Looked beautiful enough in the pictures,” you sighed, “What do you think? Your birthday too, ya know?”

The tall man shot a boyish grin your way. “Sounds great--”

“Hey!” The two of you turned your head to look at Dominic, who had trudged towards you in flip-flops. When he bent down to peck your cheek, you made no move whatsoever, internally cringing at the feel of his dirtied lips against your skin.

“And where were you?” you inquired, clearly not pleased with this. He hadn’t even bothered to hide the lingering scent of fruity perfume of the random woman he spent the night with.

Though there was something very much off about him since this isn’t something he would do, you will never excuse his disloyal behaviour.

“Oh, I went to Hallim Park. You seemed busy with the rest of the boys so I decided to leave you in peace.”

You took your glasses off, pretending to be pissed off about him going to a place he didn’t actually visit when it was actually about the secret he was trying to hide from you. “Are you shitting me right now? You promised we’d go there together.”

“I know, but I just needed to clear my head for a bit.” He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, no longer looking you in the eye.

“For the entire night?”

“Yes, for the entire night,” he snapped, instantly irking you even more because how fucking dare he?

Sighing, you got out of the lounge chair you were in, licking you lips to calm you down just a fraction before you stab him in the eye. “You know what?”

Each step you took towards him, he took backwards until he was right at the edge of the pool.

You brought you lips right next to his ear, the faint scent of pineapple lingering on your tongue, spotting the hickey hidden under his neck. You whispered, “fuck you,” before pushing him with ease into the pool to create a massive splash.

With steam coming out of your ears, you stormed away back into the hotel as Mingi lay there, laughing.

“That’s my girl,” San chuckled as he watched the scene unfold. He could tell from the feeling of the argument that you were unhappy about your boyfriend not being home that night.

In fact, when the mafia boss first noticed the way Dominic couldn’t peel his eyes away from one of the other women in the lounge last night, he decided to keep tabs on his movements--and thank god he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have found the great evidence that could pull you two apart and thrust you into his arms.

Hongjoong however, was actually somewhat terrified. “That man was twice the size of her.”

“I know. Feisty little lady.”

The blue-haired man looked at him with so much disgust, watching how he was so enamoured by you and a little turned on. No matter how open San was about what he liked in ‘bedroom matters’ both verbally and (unfortunately) physically, he still couldn’t help how grossed out he was.

“Jesus, keep it in your pants,” he grunted.

“Chin up, Joong,” San sighed, strangely gleeful, “we won’t have to stalk around much longer.”

“No?”

“No,” he smiled, “because she’s back with us to the villa. Tonight.”

☕︎ Tag list: @little-precious-baby , @sparklychangbin ,

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alarawriting · 3 years

Text

52 Project #42: Lineage

The air outside Jiangpao International Airport was hot and humid. Karula had always found her home too cold except in midsummer, so it felt good to her, the hot air against her skin making her finally feel almost warm enough. Taxi drivers called out to her urgently, aggressively marketing their services.

“Lady! I can take you to Jiangpao, very cheaply! I have the best rates of anyone here!”

“Younger sister, I’ve got a luxury car! I can take you to Jiangpao in the greatest comfort! You want to hire me!”

“My car’s the fastest, lady!”

One of the taxi drivers – a young man, maybe her own age, maybe even younger – with a mop of unruly black hair, slightly overlong for Senchai men’s fashion, came over to her and gestured at her large, heavy suitcase. “Elder sister, can I take your bag? All these drivers yelling at you probably don’t realize you want some peace and quiet after your long flight.”

Karula smiled. “I’m not going to Jiangpao, though. I’m headed to Nandijao.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I can take you there, sure,” he said. “My rates are very good.”

“Well, you’re the only one who decided not to yell at me from your car, so sure. Take my bag.”

“Your Senchai’sho is very good,” he said as he loaded the suitcase in the trunk of his taxi. “I can barely tell you have an accent. Where are you from?”

“Foirais,” Karula said, “but both my mother and father came from here.”

“Ah. I think everyone seeing a woman who looks Senchai’in, dressed in Southern clothing and too young to be a business executive, probably assumed you were from the South; that’s why they were yelling. But most of them probably thought you were one of the Given-Away Girls, not your mother.”

“Is that what you’re calling them over here?” She dug the disused seat belt out of the crevice of the taxi’s seat. “Given-Away Girls?”

“Well, they were given away,” the taxi driver said apologetically. “It’s not a slur or anything like that.”

He pulled out of the taxi roundabout and gently followed the flow of traffic toward the highway. “So what brings you to Senchai?”

“I’m researching my past, and I’m an anthropology student doing graduate work on Senchai’a folklore,” she said. “So I’ll be going to the Great Library.”

“Oh!” The taxi driver glanced back at her, sounding genuinely impressed. “You got your approval papers? They don’t usually let foreigners into the Great Library.”

“Of course.” She’d hardly have flown all the way from Foirais if she didn’t have all her permits in order to do what she’d come to do. “My cousin is a physics professor at Nandijao University, so she pulled some strings.”

“But you said you were researching your past?”

“My mother’s heritage,” Karula said. “My father—” was a philosophy student at the University who became a dissident, and had to flee to Foirais to stay out of prison—“grew up in Nandijao. But my mother was, as you say, a Given-Away Girl, so we don’t have any idea who her relatives are. All we know is what town she was born in.”

“Well, if it’s a small town and you know her birthdate, the records at the Great Library might help you narrow it down, but I don’t envy you. It’s got to be like looking for a single worm in an entire barrel of rice.”

It would be. The Given-Away Girls – she’d never heard the term before, but it seemed so perfect, she wondered why not – had birth certificates that showed their actual town of birth and birth date, but their parents’ names had been replaced by their adoptive parents. Girls had traditionally been seen as a burden in Senchai – parents had to raise a dowry for them, and then the girls ended up caring for their in-laws once they were elderly, not their own parents. When demographics in the wealthy nations of the South, like Foirais, had shifted so that there were far fewer children available for adoption, parents in Senchai had learned that if they gave away their daughters at birth, they would receive large sums of money.

Fueled by the promise of riches and the desire to send their daughters to a place where girls were valuable enough that adoptive parents would pay large sums to have a daughter, a place where their girls might grow up to be wealthy and secure, many, many parents gave up their daughters for adoption… to the point where the female population dropped low enough that the government of Senchai outlawed dowry, and made such adoptions require permits that were rarely given. But by the time the government took action, over a hundred thousand daughters of Senchai had been adopted out to other nations, the history of the families they came from lost to them forever.

With a father who had family back in Senchai, Karula Lefaire – her mother’s name, which was traditional in Foirais for women – had more resources to research the issue than most of the Given-Away Girls or their children did. And she also had more reason to.

“It’ll be difficult, but I’ll enjoy the challenge,” Karula said. “And it gives me a good excuse to do research for my thesis.”

***

From Jiangpao International Airport, it was an hour and a half to her cousin Ren Seiri’s house. Small talk with the taxi driver passed some of the time, but Karula was very relieved when she arrived. She was by nature too solitary to truly enjoy being locked in a small metal box with another person for an hour unless they were a good friend.

Ren Seiri greeted her at the door. “Younger cousin! Come in, come in! I’ll have my son take your bag—”

“Don’t trouble him, I can carry it. I’m stronger than I look.”

“Nonsense, you’re a guest and you’re family from a long way away. Jai! Come help our cousin with her bag!”

Jai, who more or less bounced into the room, turned out to be around 14, taller than Karula but skinnier, and she was herself a thin woman. “Elder cousin, no, don’t burden your son! I can carry it!”

“No, no, elder cousin!” Jai said. “I’ve been lifting weights! Look!” He grunted as he lifted the suitcase over his head. It had wheels, but plainly he didn’t want to use them on the lacquered bamboo floor.

“Oh, well, that is impressive,” Karula said.

“Let me show you to your room, and then you must come have some tea. Perhaps some sweet bean buns. Or some real food. I have barbeque pork rolls and cold eel dumplings.” Seiri’s doctorate and professorship apparently didn’t stop her from behaving exactly like any stereotypical Senchai’in mother.

Ren Seiri was the daughter of Karula’s father’s significantly older brother. She was not quite twice Karula’s age, but she was plainly getting there. She was wearing a dress of Southern styling, but beautiful silk dyed in a very Senchai’a pattern, and elegant soft house slippers. Karula replaced her own shoes with house slippers before following Seiri and her son.

She finally got some time to herself by insisting she needed a shower and a change of clothes. It was an excuse, but a good one. Most people would, in fact, need a shower and change of clothes after so much time in the Senchai’a heat. Karula, unlike most people, hadn’t sweated into her clothes at all, and she found the air conditioning oppressive enough that she turned it off in her bedroom and then opened all the windows, letting the heat in. She ran her shower as hot as she could stand it, and pinned her long hair up while it was still fairly wet because the wet hair was chilly on her neck. The traditional Senchai’a gown and robe she dressed in were silk, but heavy enough to keep the heat in… not generally something a Senchai’in, or in fact anybody, would wear in high summer, but it would keep the bugs off, and it looked lighter and cooler than it was.

After her shower, her cousin insisted on feeding her tea, hot pork buns, cold eel dumplings, and pastries full of warm bean custard, plainly purchased fresh at a bakery less than an hour ago. Seiri had probably ordered them while Karula was in the shower. Karula didn’t eat the dumplings. Seiri said that it made sense that a woman raised in Foirais wouldn’t have a taste for eel, and Karula didn’t correct her.

Then Seiri bustled around the kitchen, making dinner, continuing to bring Karula cups of tea and prattle on about family members Karula had obviously never met, telling stories about Karula’s father’s childhood that she’d heard from her own grandparents. Karula appreciated the hospitality but this was driving her insane. This was much too much social interaction, but she couldn’t politely extricate herself from it. She eventually managed to turn the conversation to teaching Jai some Foiraisse and telling him about the city she grew up in.

Dinner was Seiri, Jai, Seiri’s husband Shaon, Seiri’s sister Leirin, and Leirin’s boyfriend, who was apparently only allowed to see Leirin when Leirin was at Seiri’s house because their parents disapproved of him and it would be absolutely scandalous for her to be alone with her boyfriend without being chaperoned by family. Seiri assured Karula that she would be meeting her grandparents tomorrow, but they had to travel from Jiangpao. She said this in a slightly derisive tone, not the mockery of a person looking down on a lower status person, but the mockery of a person who believes someone of the same status is putting on airs. So apparently living in Jiangpao was considered higher status, at least for well-to-do people, than living in a college town, and Seiri disapproved of this. Then they all spent the entire meal continuing to tell Karula all about the lives of people she’d never met.

Afterward Seiri showed Karula the photo album. She was very interested in the pictures her father had sent back to his family of himself, his wife and daughter; Karula had almost no pictures of her mother as an adult, as everything her parents had owned when her mother had been alive had burned in the fire. It was astonishing how much her mother had looked like her. They could be twins, if they hadn’t been a generation apart. But then Seiri insisted on showing her all the other pictures, of the cousins, and the cousins’ cousins, and the great-grandparents, and everyone’s in-laws, and by the time she was done with just one photo album Karula’s eyes were glazed over and she had to plead exhaustion in order to escape to her room.

Karula’s long-lost family were so friendly, so welcoming. Such nice people.

She was so looking forward to spending tomorrow in the Great Library’s archive, not talking to anyone at all.

***

Senchai was famous – or perhaps infamous – for its bureaucracy and record-keeping. The country had started keeping detailed records of its citizens on papyrus, nearly three thousand years ago, when the country had only been the city of Jiangpao and the immediate province around it. Twenty-four hundred years ago, the empire had expanded to the point where local provinces were storing all of their own records. Emperor Nan had decreed that every record should have two copies made, and the second copy should be stored in an archive in the newly founded city of Nandijao, “Nan’s Treasure”.

Since then, through dynasties, foreign occupations, and revolutions, through the expansion and contraction of Senchai as wars moved the borders this way and that, every citizen of Senchai had had all of their important records – birth, marriage, any certificates they’d earned for the right to practice certain professions like medicine or accounting, and death – stored as copies in the Archives. The Great Library of Nandijao had grown up around the Archives, and the University of Nandijao, Senchai’s greatest and most nationally renowned university, had been founded there for proximity to the Great Library.

A famous story was told of conquerors who’d come in and tried to burn the Archives, who had been driven back by librarians, professors, and students from the University, wielding nothing but sticks and their own belts with rocks or heavy bars of soap tied to the end. This story was held in some skepticism by many scholars, since the only records of the incident were held in the Archives, and the librarians were no more immune than anyone else to self-aggrandizing stories. On the other hand, it was also true that, had it happened, it wasn’t likely that records about it would have gone anywhere but the Archives. It was, after all, where copies of all records in the nation ended up; it sent records nowhere itself.

There was currently a major project underway to digitize the Archives. The digitization had gotten back only two hundred fifty years so far, but that was probably far enough for Karula’s needs. Probably. So she didn’t spend any time sifting through papers centuries old; she spent the day scrolling through digitized documents. It was still as quiet and undisturbed as she’d hoped. If only she could do this outside where it was warm, rather than in the air conditioning, it would be ideal.

It was lengthy work. There was a difference between a record of birth and a birth certificate. The record of birth stated that a certain mother had given live birth within a certain week, and the gender of the baby, but the father’s name and the child’s name were not recorded. It was done for the census, not to track the lives of citizens. The birth certificates were amended on adoption, and if the original certificate still existed in the Archives anywhere, it was probably in a file cabinet for inactive documents, older documents that had revised versions. So there was no record of Karula’s mother, specifically, but there were records of all the women who had given birth in the city of Chofu, in that week. Unfortunately, Chofu, while nowhere near the size of Jiangpao or even Nandijao, was still large enough to support thirty-one births of girls in the week of Karula’s mother’s birthday. And Chofu, being a port town, had been a major destination for pregnant women who planned to sell any daughter they might have to pale-skinned Southerners. Ten of the women who were recorded as giving birth that week did not appear on any birth certificates, and ten of the birth certificates were girls with Southerner names for parents.

This meant Karula had to trace back the family histories and origin provinces of ten women, any of whom might have been her grandmother. And then track back their families, though thankfully that went back to before the era of Given-Away Girls. And then compare to records of birth to make sure no daughters were adopted out to other families, because the fact that they’d have names in Senchai’sho would make it non-obvious that an adoption had happened. And then cross correlate that to whatever news had made it on paper to the Archives… because news was not a governmental record and there was no guarantee a newspaper would have been sent to the Archives in the first place.

She’d spend the first half of her days doing her genealogical research in the Archives, and the other half in the Library proper, reading folklore accounts, particularly the stories told in various regions. During the Revolution at the beginning of the century, the new leadership of Senchai had decided that folklore was ancient superstition that needed to be discarded as Senchai entered the New Century, but fortunately that had only lasted until the original dictator had died. The new government had decided instead that folklore was part of the rich cultural history of Senchai and should definitely be preserved, and they’d even sent people around to record the stories the locals would tell, and then take them back to the Library. It had been a spasm of nationalism that had resulted in Senchai joining in on the wrong side of a terrible war, but the effect, the attempt to preserve Senchai’s ancient culture, had continued onward even after the war.

After her work, she’d go walking in Nandijao. Senchai was the first place she’d ever been where everyone looked like her. In Foirais, where most of the citizens were pale people with round eyes and a wild variety of hair colors, Karula had had very few people she could look to who were similar to her. Here in Senchai, her accent made her an outsider, but she at least looked like the folks here. Mostly. There was the fact that they all had black or brown eyes, and hers were only brown at a distance; when she looked closely in a mirror, they appeared a tawny amber. But since she hadn’t run around looking deep into most people’s eyes here in Senchai, she assumed it was a normal variation.

It was a little bit sad that no matter where she went, she was an outsider. In Foirais, her eyes and skin marked her as “not Foiraise” to many of her fellow citizens even though she’d grown up there. In Senchai, she looked like the people, but the moment she opened her mouth, she revealed herself as foreign. So she tried to get by in talking as little as possible. It felt better, somehow, to be thought of a mute or selectively non-verbal Senchai’in than a foreigner. She explored the city, bought food, newspapers, occasionally tiny memorabilia – nothing large enough that it wouldn’t fit in her suitcase.

And then she’d go to her aunt’s house and spend the evening having to listen to her cousin and her husband talk, endlessly. At one point she’d gotten her cousin onto the topic of physics, in desperation. Cousin Seiri had been happy to talk about her own research, but then had drifted into the topic of her own doctorate, and then her college days, and then she’d monopolized the conversation talking about her youth for an hour. Finally, Karula had taken to cultivating a relationship with Jai, in self defense. He let her get a word in edgewise sometimes, and Cousin Seiri wouldn’t interrupt Karula and tell her about people she had never met and never would.

He was a good kid. Karula had always had a soft spot for kids. He liked playing football – the challenge of never using your hands, the excitement of making your body into the thing to hit the ball with rather than a stick or the parts of your body designed to hit things with – and he enjoyed making and flying kites. His father, also a physics professor, had taught him about aerodynamics when he was young, and they used to make kites together. He was also willing to talk for long periods of time about his favorite comic books, and science fiction, and he thought her researches into folklore were cool. Especially the part about creatures who appeared in many, many different countries’ legends. Dragons, phoenixes, the qilin and its resemblance to Southern unicorns, the different types of undead around the world.

She tried to pull her own weight by helping around the house – sweeping, washing dishes, cleaning the kitchen counter. At first Seiri insisted that she shouldn’t do any such thing, because she was a guest, but Karula had responded by pointing out that she was family, and she wanted to feel like family. After that, Seiri let her do chores… as long as they didn’t involve going near the burner on the stove.

The first time she’d done that, and the only, had been when she’d tried to put on hot water for tea. At home in Foirais, she’d had an electric stove, and in her dorm at university, there had been no stove at all – you used the cafeteria, or you heated food in a microwave. Cousin Seiri’s stove had a gas range. Karula had turned on the burner… and then stared, mesmerized, at the flames, the tea kettle still in her hand. Slowly she’d reached toward the flame with her free hand.

Seiri had seen her do it and pulled her away as she was about to touch the beautiful flame. “Oh, no, no! You can’t be doing things with fire!” She’d put the kettle on the burner herself and then pulled Karula away from the stove entirely by both hands, walking backwards, pulling Karula toward the family dining table. “I’m so sorry. After what happened to your mother…! I didn’t even think! Of course you shouldn’t have to do anything with fire!”

That night Karula dreamed. In real life, Father had held her, both of them screaming, begging for Mother to stop, as Mother had run back into their burning house, and Karula had struggled in Father’s arms to follow her, to pull her back. In the dream, Father wasn’t even there, and Karula ran through the burning hallways, opening doors into rooms her house had not actually had, looking for Mother. And then she’d found her, wreathed in fire, her eyes golden and glowing… and Karula had walked toward the fire, intent on immolating herself as well.

She didn’t normally remember her dreams, but she woke the moment she touched the flame, shaken, tears on her face.

***

After twenty-three days of running into the dead end of “there are no records of this at the Archives”, Karula decided to go to Chofu for herself.

“You make sure to get a good hotel,” Cousin Seiri insisted. “If I were you I’d get a Southern-style hotel. I know there’s a Hillain and a Morenta in Chofu, and they get good reviews.”

“I can stay in a Southern-style hotel anywhere near home,” Karula said. “I’m looking for something Senchai’a, but nice. Do you know any?”

“Oh, of course! But the truth is, Chofu’s just a small town in comparison to Nandijao, so I don’t know how many options you’ll have.”

The truth was, Cousin Seiri had never been to Chofu and needed time to contact her network of friends and family to find out what was good there. Karula trusted Cousin Seiri’s network better than she trusted official reviews, so she waited, and eventually booked a room in a Chofu inn called the Soaring Fish. It was a traditional inn, so a dinner buffet was served nightly, large platters of fried rice and stir-fried meats in various sauces, and the guests were expected to take whatever portions they wanted. Karula, arriving on a late train, was grateful. It was the first time she had stayed at a traditional Senchai’a inn; she’d stayed in many Southern-style hotels with restaurants attached, and in many of them the hotel served breakfast, but she’d never before been somewhere that the hotel itself served dinner. She was always happy to warm up with a hot meal.

The next day she went to Chofu’s Children’s Peace and Health Center… a euphemism for the place where parents could abandon children, no questions asked. Since the revolution Senchai had been torn between the modern ways they wanted to adopt and the traditional mores most of the country held. In past times, the traditions demanded total obedience from children to their parents, but nowadays children had rights, and parents had obligations to them. It was also a tradition for parents in dire poverty to sell their daughters as servants, but nowadays that meant the sex trade, so it was extremely illegal. The society’s safety valve was the Children’s Peace and Health Center, where runaways would be sheltered, and children even as old as adolescents could be dropped off by parents.

Orphans were sent there as well. Some of those were adopted out quickly; the Children’s Peace and Health Centers mediated almost all the adoptions in Senchai. Those who weren’t ended up in orphanages, but the Peace and Health Center that had brought them in would continue to look for adoptive or foster parents for them.

Karula had visited the center in Nandijao; it was elaborately hidden. A shrubbery maze, a basement level of tunnels, and a network of walkways above formed a labyrinth with many, many exits – at a park for children, at an office building for doctors, at a shopping center… and the Children’s Peace and Health Center. This ensured that it was almost impossible to tell whether a given person with a child was taking the child to the Center, or to a doctor’s appointment, or a play date.

Chofu wasn’t nearly so wealthy a city, nor nearly as invested in appearances. The Children’s Peace and Health Center was simply there, on a street near one of the bus stops. It was a Southern-style rectangular blocky building, built back when Senchai perceived the South as more medically advanced and progressive. Thus it was out of place, and very ugly. On her way to the front door, Karula passed a strange version of a revolving door. It was only half a person’s height, and instead of being a glass door, it was a crib and an opaque partition. Experimentally, Karula pushed the empty crib slightly, noting where it would enter the building.

It was at this Center that her mother had been presented to her future parents, had been adopted and taken away from her homeland. Had her biological grandmother laid her mother down in that crib and spun it to push her baby into the Center, to be taken by employees, never to be seen by Karula’s grandmother anymore?

Inside, it looked just like a Southern-style medical office, with a receptionist behind a clear partition. “Hello!” the receptionist said. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to research my mother’s history.”

“Oh, well, you must understand that we keep very little information on birth parents.”

“That’s all right,” Karula said. “I’ll take what I can get. How would I look her up?”

“Do you have the names of your open-hearted grandparents?”

Karula blinked. “Open-hearted?”

“Oh, we don’t like to use the term ‘adoptive parent’ here. It sounds like they’re lesser than birth parents somehow. Anyone who’d take a child into their heart and adopt them is open-hearted and generous, so we call them ‘open-hearted parents’.”

Ah. A euphemism. “I do. My mother’s mother was Charlée Lefaire, and her husband was Gantoise Lefaire.”

“And your name is?”

“Karula Lefaire.”

The receptionist’s eyebrow went up. “Your mother didn’t marry?”

“In Foirais, children take the mother’s family name, not the father’s.”

“Oh! Of course! Pardon me for prying, I’ve never met anyone from Foirais before. Most of the Given-Away Girls or their families come from Anacrisia or Southland.”

“Well, I’ve never been to Senchai before, so now we’re matched.” Karula smiled at her. “Do you have any record of either of my open-hearted grandparents?”

The receptionist typed, her long lacquered nails clacking against her keyboard. “Yes. Charlée Lefaire, and there’s Gantoise Lefaire. Oh, interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“Your mother would have been Jirène Lefaire?”

“Yes. Do you have any record of her birth name?”

“No, we don’t keep that. But she was adopted at 16 months, not infancy. And this says she entered the center only two weeks before her adoption. So she wasn’t an infant surrender.” More clacking. “I might be able to get some more detail. Prospective parents like to know if there was any family history of violence or drug abuse or anything like that which they might need to know about their new child.”

Karula suspected that children with problems like that in their past were probably the last to be adopted. Or second last, after disabled children. “So what kind of information would be kept?”

“It’ll tell me if she was a legal surrender – meaning, she was taken away from incompetent birth parents for legal reasons – or… oh. Oh, that’s different. I don’t see that often.”

“What are you seeing?”

“She was surrendered by the fire department. That only happens if the child is rescued from a fire and the parents are dead or can’t be found, usually. Fire department personnel do general rescues, so it could have been a flood or an earthquake…”

“No,” Karula said. “Fire does sound likely.”

“Did she have burn scars?”

“Nothing like that, but she had a… strange relationship with fire.” She didn’t want to talk about that. “The birth date on her birth certificate is 13 Sanwa. Is that the birth date you have also?”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

“But you don’t have her birth name?”

“No. As I said, we don’t keep that.”

What she’d said was that information wasn’t kept on the birth parents, but Karula said nothing. “Do you have her adoption date?”

“22 Ren.”

“That gives me a lot to go on. Thanks.”

***

The Archives back in Nandijao didn’t have perfect records of newspapers… but the Library itself kept copies of newspapers going back sixty years, all the way back to the Revolution. Karula’s mother would have been 45 now, and Chofu was a large enough city that newspapers would probably be kept from it.

On 4 Ren that year, a house fire claimed the lives of Bai Ji-Wen, 25 years old, and her husband, Bai Sanli, 30. They were survived by their infant child, who wasn’t named, but Karula could guess. Named after her mother, perhaps, Ji-Wen, or maybe Ji-Len. “Songbird”, and if it had changed to Ji-Len, “Little Bird.” Ji-Wen or Ji-Len becoming the Foiraise name Jirène made perfect sense.

Bai Sanli, born 30 years earlier, had married Tenra Ji-Wen when he was 26, whereupon she’d taken his family name. Tenra Ji-Wen, who’d have been 21 at the time, had been born in a fishing town thirty kilometers up the coast from Chofu, called Bangji. That was Karula’s next destination.

“Where are you going to stay?” Cousin Seiri was, in Karula’s opinion, overly worried about this. “That’s so far away! You’ll be out in the middle of nowhere!”

“It’s all right,” Karula reassured her. “I’m good at finding my own way.”

“But you’ll be a young woman all alone! Don’t you know what can happen to young women in the forest when nobody’s around?”

“I’ll be fine, Elder Cousin,” Karula said. “I’ll call and let you know how I’m doing.”

“But will they even have service out there?”

Karula raised an eyebrow. “Elder Cousin… the entire country was wired for land lines a generation ago. If I have no cell signal, I’ll just call from one of those.”

In addition to landlines and electricity, the government a generation ago had made certain there were train lines all over Senchai, so Karula didn’t have too much difficulty getting to Bangji. Once she got there, there was exactly one taxi at the train station, and the very bored taxi driver seemed very surprised to see her. “Oh! You’re a visitor!”

“I guess you don’t get many in Bangji?”

“I come out here every day and wait at the train station,” the old man said. “I’m supposed to be retired, but who can live off the government stipend? So I drive my taxi. But only two or three times a week am I needed, and usually it’s university students coming home to visit. Who are you here to see?”

“I’m a researcher from Foirais,” Karula said. “I’m here to collect stories from people. Is there anywhere I can stay?”

“Well, the Wangs run a bed and breakfast, but I don’t know if their room is available. I haven’t picked anyone up at the train station, though, so… probably.”

***

Mrs. Wang was also elderly, a small woman whose white hair was collected in a traditional Senchai’a bun. Karula had wondered how Bangji could support even one bed and breakfast, if they had so few visitors. Presumably the Wangs were also on retirement stipend. Strictly speaking, retirees on the stipend weren’t supposed to work; in theory, the government could reduce their stipend by the amount they made from side jobs. In practice, the government might possibly care about people in a retirement community, or in some areas of big cities where a lot of government ministers lived, but no one was ever going to come to Bangji and find out that old people had side businesses.

“Mr. Jo tells me you’re looking for a place to stay?” Mrs. Wang had come out to speak to the taxi driver, and then went around to the passenger side to talk to Karula. “I do have a room if you’d like!”

“That would be wonderful,” Karula said.

The room turned out to be small but very clean, decorated with rustic wooden sculptures of sea dragons, turtles whose shells glittered with stars, and giant fish-birds. This was perfect. It was legends of creatures like that that had brought Karula to Senchai, and out here to Bangji. A mandala made of sea shells decorated the wall above the bed, which was a mattress on the floor, covered in sheets in the traditional dark blues and purples of the squid ink the locals harvested and sold for textile pigment. A feather-filled silk comforter in a paler blue color was folded at the foot of the bed. The walls were thin bamboo, but solid enough for her purposes. There was one long, low piece of furniture with drawers running alongside one wall.

“This is beautiful. I would be pleased to rent from you.”

Mrs. Wang nodded. “We make our own breakfast at 6 am, but if you come down to the kitchen before 9 am, I’ll make you something. Typically our breakfast is rice porridge with smoked fish and fried dough twists, but if there’s something specific you want, I could make you anything. I used to be a cook at a local restaurant, before I retired.”

“Whatever you’re making for yourself is fine, as long as it’s hot. I can come down early.” Karula usually woke at sunrise, or just before it, the imminent appearance of the sun filling her with restless energy.

“Early is best,” Mrs. Wang agreed. “Our daughter sleeps late, and it’s best not to be at breakfast at the same time she is. So much energy!” She smiled.

“I don’t mind children, or their energy, but if you prefer that I avoid your daughter—”

“No, no! If she approaches you, feel free to be Elder Sister or Auntie, as you please. There aren’t a lot of children in Bangji… not anymore, anyway.”

“Because most of the town has become venerable, I imagine?”

“That, yes, but… well, there have been some tragedies. Several children have disappeared. The police weren’t able to find any common factor, and every home here’s been searched thoroughly, and there are no strangers in Bangji most of the time. So we think perhaps they were taken by wild animals, but no one’s found animal spoor, either.”

“That’s terrible!”

“We try to watch over Lai-Mei all the time, but she’s so young and energetic, and she behaves as if there’s no danger at all. We try to tell her, but she doesn’t always listen.”

“Well, if I run into her, I will surely try to caution her. Perhaps I can use my youth and energy to counter hers, and keep her safe.”

***

Mr. Wang was equally friendly and equally garrulous, talking to Karula about his garden, which was indeed beautiful.

“In my younger days I traveled all over Senchai,” he said. “I gathered up plants from all sorts of places. Back then we didn’t really think about things like invasive species.” He smiled wryly. “Nowadays I try to grow local plants only, but some of these are just too beautiful to do without even if they came from halfway across the country. Like these.” He showed her flowers with purple and pink bells. Another had clusters of tiny orange and red flowers making patterns that looked like larger flowers.

“You’ve lived here a long time,” Karula said. “I’m trying to track down my mother’s family. Do you remember anything about a family named Tenra?”

“Tenra? Can’t say I do. Mrs. Wang might know, though. As I said, I traveled, but she’s lived here her whole life.”

***

Karula spent the day gathering stories from people about legends in the area. People in Bangji were full of such stories, and they all claimed that this had really happened, to a friend of a friend. Stories of dragons who almost managed to barbeque the friend of a friend. Stories of the great bird-fish surfacing less than an hour’s sail away from the shore. Qilin in the forest at the base of the mountain to the west of Bangji. Malevolent demons. Witches who had certainly cast baleful spells and hexes on innocent people, oh, around 30 years ago.

She asked several people about the Tenra family. No one remembered them. This seemed strange to Karula; Tenra Ji-Wen had married at the age of 21, 50 years ago. Had she had no family by then? Had her family been transplants from somewhere else? Had they moved on? Surely one of the elderly residents of Bangji would remember. But none did.

When she returned to the Wangs’ bed and breakfast, she almost tripped over a little girl, perhaps 9 or so. “Well, hello.”

The girl looked her up and down, an almost insolent expression on her face. “Where did you come from?”

“Foirais, but my mother was born in Chofu, and her mother was born in Bangji, according to the records. Are you Wang Lai-Mei?”

“That isn’t a real person,” the girl said. “I’m Lun Lai-Mei.”

A child old enough to keep her original family name when she was adopted was probably one of the Thrown-Away Girls, a darker and sadder term for the abandoned girls who were surrendered to the Children’s Center as toddlers or older. “Ah. Well, Lun Lai-Mei, I’m Karula Lefaire.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Lai-Mei said. “I’ll just call you Elder Sister anyway.”

“Yes, but it’s polite to share my name with you, since you shared yours. I’m staying with your parents while I research my family.”

“I figured that. You definitely aren’t from Senchai, so why would you be here unless you’re a guest?”

“My accent makes it that obvious?”

“I could just look at your face, Elder Sister. You don’t look Senchai’in.”

Karula blinked. Both her parents were Senchai’in born in Senchai; how could she look anything else? “Why not?”

Lai-Mei smiled. “You’re too tall.”

Karula was a little on the tall side for a Senchai’in woman, but not to the point where she stood out. “I’ve met many Senchai’in women who are taller than me.”

“Well, it’s something,” Lai-Mei said. “I don’t know what.”

Lai-Mei herself didn’t quite look fully Senchai’in. She was beautiful, tiny for her apparent age, long straight hair pinned up with hairpins in the back that had seashells on them. In all respects but one she was the perfect picture of a Senchai’in girl… but her eyes were bright, vivid green. Perhaps her mother had had an affair with a foreigner, and that was why she’d been given away. Or perhaps it was a natural variation. Karula hadn’t met any Senchai’in with eye colors other than black or brown, aside from herself… and her own eye color was subtle enough that neither Cousin Seiri, nor Jai, nor anyone else who’d seen her up close in good lighting had remarked on it. But there were a billion people in Senchai, and many distinct ethnic groups, so perhaps green eyes was a rare but known phenomenon. Like red-haired people in Foirais.

“Lai-Mei!” Mrs. Wang called from the door. “Don’t bother the honored guest!”

“She’s not bothering me!” Karula called back. To Lai-Mei she said, “I might see you tomorrow if I’m not too tired when I come home.”

“This isn’t home for you, though, Elder Sister,” Lai-Mei said.

“This is my current base of operations, and that’s good enough.”

By Senchai’a standards, the child was extremely rude, but Karula found it a refreshing change, actually. All the children she’d met so far had had mostly perfect manners – Seiri might think Jai’s desire to monopolize a conversation talking about his interests was a flaw, but Karula, here to learn from Senchai’in people, didn’t see it that way. Lai-Mei was blunt. By Foiraise standards, she was actually fairly normal. Children were children all around the world, after all.

***

Elderly Mrs. Jin, 98 years old, was mentioned in a discussion in town of who might remember the Tenra family. So Karula went to her house. It was in better repair than she expected for a 98-year-old woman, and Karula could see why; two shirtless young men were working on the property, one clipping the hedges and one repairing a shutter.

“Is Mrs. Jin home?” she asked one of them.

The young man laughed. “Grandmother never goes anywhere anymore. What you want to ask is, is Mrs. Jin awake, and the answer is, probably not but she loves visitors, so go in and wake her up if you like.”

Inside, a middle-aged woman was pureeing rice and some sort of vegetable in a blender. “Hello! Are you here to see Grandmother?”

The term was a generic one of respect for the elderly, but Karula thought perhaps this woman was really Mrs. Jin’s granddaughter. “I’m doing some research to track down my mother’s family,” she said, “and Mrs. Jin was referred to me as someone who might remember my grandmother here as a child.”

“Oh, she loves it when people want to ask her about the past! Let me go see if she wants to wake up to see you.”

She ducked behind a sliding bamboo partition, and was gone for a couple of minutes. When she returned she said, “Come this way. Grandmother would be happy to talk with you!”

The old woman was reclining on a couch that was absolutely drowning in pillows. “This is the guest, Grandmother!” the woman yelled. “She’s staying at the Wangs’ bed and breakfast!”

“Glad to see they’ve got some custom,” Mrs. Jin said in a surprisingly strong voice for such an old woman. She was very small, with gray hair cropped in a modern short haircut, and Karula would have guessed her to be in her 70’s or 80’s. Then again, Karula had hardly met enough nonagenarians to have any idea how to tell a 90-something from a younger but still elderly person. “Come close, girl, and sit down on these floor pillows. Neither my eyesight nor my hearing’s the best anymore.”

“We keep trying to get her to go to the doctor to be fitted for hearing aids,” the middle-aged woman said.

“And I keep saying no! Because at my age, why should I travel? If the doctor wants my money, he should come here.”

“The national health ministry would pay the doctor, not you,” the woman sighed.

Karula took the offered seat, right in front of the old woman. “My mother was a Given-Away girl, but I managed to track down the identity of her mother. A woman named Tenra Ji-Wen was born here… maybe around 70 years ago?”

“Oh. Oh, I remember that. The Tenra family. Such a shame what happened to them.”

“What happened to them?”

“The father was in logging, if I remember right. Cut down trees, bring them to the city to sell to the middlemen who make logs into wood for carpenters. There’s a lot of forest around here, but in those days there was almost nothing else; you could barely get to Bangji except by water. There was a road, but it was packed dirt and full of ruts from the carts. Well, you know how it is. Every time it rained the whole thing turned into mud and we were trapped here.” Mrs. Jin nodded slightly to herself, her eyes – focused and bright a moment ago, unfocusing. Karula wondered if she was falling asleep, but it seemed she was just collecting her thoughts.

“I think it was… 40 years ago they paved the road? They were having a revolution, outside of Bangji, but it never came here. They came from the government to tell us how to run our lives, and we smiled and nodded and did just what we pleased as soon as they were gone. Found out later, they’d never returned! Bandits or wild animals or something. They disappeared without a trace. We didn’t learn until two or three groups from the government came through and then left. They were all vanishing. So the soldiers came, you know, because they thought we were killing these people, but we told them our protector spirit must be getting overly aggressive, and we hadn’t known it was killing. We laid down a lovely large tuna at the shrine and prayed for the protector not to kill the government workers anymore, and that did the trick. Soldiers were still suspicious, though. They quartered here for a few years, but eventually they realized, Bangji may hold to a lot of the old ways, but a lot of the newfangled stuff they wanted to bring in? We were already doing it.”

This was fascinating but had nothing to do with the Tenra family that Karula could see. For a moment impatience warred with her scholar’s curiosity. The scholar won. “Your protector spirit? Can you tell me about that?”

“No one who has ill intent toward Bangji can come here, and anyone who develops ill intent while they’re here, they never leave. The government people wanted to take away everyone’s land and make it the property of the state and then give it back to us to work on it. Well, that’s just stupid. We already live as a community; everyone takes care of everyone else. You know, everyone in the town calls me Grandmother and they all come by to take care of me, feed me, help me to the bathroom… I can’t walk on my own anymore. It bothered me at first, that everyone came, because I always used to do for myself. I took care of my kids and all their friends, and all my grandkids, and all their friends, and I was the one who did for people, and it was hard to get my head around being the one they were doing for, but you know what? I thought about it, and I earned it. I worked hard to take care of all those kids and now they all take care of me, and that’s the way life’s supposed to be, right?”

“What is the protector spirit?” Karula asked again.

Mrs. Jin cackled. “A dragon, of course! A sea dragon, what else would a fishing town have? We’re not large enough for the fish-bird to honor us with its presence, nor holy enough for qilins, but there’s so many dragons. The sea is full of them. The land too.” Her eyes went unfocused again. “It’s the land dragons you have to watch out for. So many of them died in the purges out there. So many. The children don’t even know who they are.”

“What’s the difference between a land dragon and a sea dragon?”

“Well, what do you think? One lives on the earth and one lives in the water! Land dragons have earth and fire and air in their souls. A lot of them breathe fire like the Southern ones. Sea dragons have water and air, no fire or earth, but they’re more magical.”

“And what is the protector spirit?”

Mrs. Jin went unfocused again. “I wish I knew anymore, young lady. Back in those days the protector was definitely a sea dragon, but the soldiers… I worry about the soldiers. For a while it was gone. Then it came back, but I’ve never seen it, so I don’t know if it’s the same one. I don’t know if the price is worth paying anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t the price be worth paying?”

Mrs. Jin shrugged. “You didn’t come here to listen to me ramble about everything and anything, though. You said Tenra Ji-Wen?”

“Yes.”

“I could tell,” Mrs. Jin nodded. “You look exactly like her. Exactly. We weren’t close; I didn’t have kids yet when she was born. She must have left, what, maybe she was seventeen? eighteen? How old are you, granddaughter?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Close enough. I knew her but we were out of sync; she was too young to be my playmate and too old to be my kids’ friend. But we all knew her. So hard she worked, since she was so small. She couldn’t even go to school. Someone had to take care of her father. She cooked and cleaned for him.”

“Wait, what happened to her mother?”

“Oh, I didn’t say? Such a tragedy, she burned. Whole house went up in flames when Ji-Wen was little. 2, 3? Something like that. The father was out, he was a logger. I mentioned that, right?”

Karula held herself very still, showing nothing of her reaction on her face. “You certainly did, Grandmother.”

“It was a miracle. Something preserved that little girl. They found her in the ashes, crying. Her mother must have gotten her into a cellar or something so the fire wouldn’t get her.”

“She didn’t have any siblings?”

“No, she was her mother’s first, and her poor mother never lived long enough to have another. The father didn’t even remarry until she was, I don’t know, 14 or 15? And the stepmother was respectful to the daughter, of course, we wouldn’t have stood for it otherwise, but Ji-Wen wanted to get away anyway. I think she probably wanted to get away the whole time, but she needed to take care of her father. So she left, a few years later. We never saw her again. Whatever did happen to her?”

“I’m not sure,” Karula lied. “I need to do some more research. I believe she’s dead, but the details…?” She shrugged. “It’ll come together from my research, eventually. Do you know where her mother came from? The one who died?”

“No. Sad to say I wasn’t the gossip back then that I became! Oh, I cared so much about what the kids my own age were doing, but nothing about the old people. That’s the problem with humans, you know. The young ones don’t think the old ones are people.”

“I certainly think older people are people,” Karula said, startled.

“I don’t exactly mean that. Like… we’re just here. We have our own lives, but the kids don’t care. Whereas we care about the kids, because we remember being them, but they don’t remember us unless they can remember past lives!” She chuckled. “You’re different, though. Most people who come to me with a question, they don’t have any patience for how my mind wanders. It’s been doing that since my 50’s, you know. Amazing when you think about it, I’ve been old for almost as long as I was young. If you count 50 as old. Most of the 50 year olds don’t, but the young ones like you do.”

“Your stories are fascinating. But I’m a student of folklore, and to a lesser extent history, and it amazes me to talk to someone as venerable as you, Grandmother. To be alive from before the revolution! The things you must have seen… Is there anyone coming to you to write down these stories?”

“Write them down?”

“Someone should, if no one is. Would you mind if scholars from Nandijao came here to write down the story of your life? You could tell them anything you’d like. Grandmother, you are living history and we should all learn from you.” Karula stood up. “I must go now, if there’s nothing you’d like me to do for you, but I would love to come back soon.”

“Yes, you do that! I’ll have Izhen make you tea. We still do it the old way, you know. I’ve got one of those new-fangled gas stoves for heating water, but we do it in the fireplace, just like when I was a girl.” She gestured at the fireplace, which, thankfully, was dark at the moment.

Karula bowed hastily, dragging her eyes away. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be back!”

Her hands didn’t shake until she was back in her room, safe from anyone’s eyes. The Wangs’ house also had a fireplace. But they hadn’t lit it since she’d arrived. It was summertime; they didn’t need to.

Karula had planned to take this trip on summer break because it made the most sense with her schedule. She was beginning to realize there was another reason why it had been a very good idea to do it now, as well.

***

No one but Mrs. Jin even remembered the Tenra family… which made sense, if they’d kept to themselves after tragedy struck. Mrs. Jin would have been a young woman when it had happened, but most of the town elderly were in their 70’s or 80’s; they’d have been children. It didn’t seem that there was anyone as old as Mrs. Jin, or even close.

If she wanted more detail on Ji-Wen’s mother and father—particularly mother – she’d have to go back to the Archives. But she wasn’t lying to flatter the old woman; Mrs. Jin’s stories were a national treasure and should be preserved at all cost. She wanted to stay here and listen to more of them. And she wanted to know more about this protector spirit. Would she be able to find independent corroboration in the death records of the government agents disappearing? That too was a question for the Archives, but to ask it, Karula needed more of the details.

***

Mrs. Wang wasn’t originally from Bangji, and Mr. Wang waxed garrulous about all the things he’d seen in his travels, but wasn’t nearly as talkative about anything local. It took conversing with six retired people before she found someone who could give her more information about the protector spirit.

Mr. Sho was in his 70’s, but still quite vigorous. “It’s all the fish!” he boasted. “Here in Bangji, we eat nothing but fish, and it keeps us healthy and strong!”

“I can see that,” Karula said. “I’m surprised no one but Mrs. Wang seems to be in their 90’s. All of you retired people seem so healthy!”

“Good health is a treasure,” Mr. Sho agreed. “But we do our duty. Jin Tai-Lee is the town grandmother, you know. We all love her.”

“Yes, she seems so.”

“So we don’t let her go to the temple. Better we go, before our health starts to fail us.”

Karula blinked. When had they gotten onto the subject of attending the temple? “Which temple?”

“There’s only one,” Mr. Sho said. “The shrine of the protector spirit. Where we sacrifice part of what we catch. Large fish, when we bring them in. Many fish, when we can’t get a big one. One time we gave a bucket of crabs!” He laughed.

“And the elder people in the village do this?”

Mr. Sho nodded. “Sometimes the protector doesn’t like the offering. Well, gods and spirits and demons, they all must get bored with the same food every day.”

“What happens if the protector doesn’t like the offering?”

Mr. Sho leaned forward, his expression very serious. “It’s absolutely vital to do, you know. No one comes to Bangji anymore. There used to be bandits and pirates, and the protector spirit would save us. Then there were people from the government, who wanted us to live the way they were trying to force the rest of the country. But nowadays there’s nobody. We drive trucks full of fish down the road, now it’s paved, and we drive on back. No one for the spirit to protect us from.”

“So without anyone for the spirit to protect you from, I guess you’re afraid it’ll be angry and bored if you don’t give it good offerings?”

“If it doesn’t like the offering… it would be very bad for it to come back to the village to find one it prefers,” Mr. Sho said somberly. “So we old people bring it, and that way, if it doesn’t like the offering we provided, well…”

“Wait. Are you telling me the protector spirit – the protector spirit takes elderly people as a sacrifice?”

Mr. Sho nodded. Karula couldn’t see any sign on his face or in his voice that he was joking.

“Is there a specific time it’s done? Would it be safe for me to go up to the shrine, or would the spirit assume I’m a sacrifice?”

“Nobody knows anymore,” Mr. Sho said, sadly. “We do what we can, but the spirit… well, we don’t speak ill of it. It might be listening.”

“It’s not protecting you?”

“We don’t know if it is or not,” Mr. Sho said. “All we know is what we have lost.”

***

“I’m probably going to return to the Archives for a while,” Karula said, as Mrs. Wang served dinner. It was a bed-and-breakfast, not a bed-and-breakfast-and-dinner, but Mrs. Wang was treating Karula more like an actual houseguest than a paying guest. “But I’ll be back.”

“I wanted you to play with me!” Lai-Mei said angrily. “You’ve only been here a few days!”

Karula smiled indulgently. “Maybe I could find time to play with you tomorrow. My train won’t leave until afternoon.”

“Lai-Mei, this is a guest. Behave yourself!” Mrs. Wang scolded.

“It’s all right,” Karula said.

“There aren’t any children around here for her to play with,” Mr. Wang said apologetically.

Karula remembered Mrs. Wang telling her that there weren’t many children here because some of them had disappeared, possibly taken by wild animals. She’d wondered, then, why the police hadn’t been called, why there hadn’t been extensive searches. Yes, this was far out into the countryside, but how could anyone do nothing when children were disappearing?

But Mr. Sho had implied, very strongly, that the protector spirit needed to be appeased with the lives of the elderly citizens who brought the sacrifices, from time to time. And that if they didn’t, the spirit would come to the village to find something to take.

Modern Senchai’a scholarship followed the same line as the South. There was no such thing as spirits. Nothing supernatural in the world. No dragons, no fish-birds, no qilin. Everything could be explained as fossils that ancient people had found and speculated on, or mistakes humans had made long in the past that had been carried forward in legend. Karula hadn’t truly expected to find any evidence that any of the stories she collected had any reality to them.

And yet… it didn’t surprise her. Somehow. She considered it a genuinely reasonable theory that a protector spirit turned malevolent might have taken children – to eat? What did the protector spirit do with the sacrifices? – because it wasn’t pleased with the quality of what had been provided to it.

Was she being too credulous? Probably. Was this most likely the nonsense of peasants without any modern education? That could well be. But what if it was real?

She needed to see the death certificates. She needed to see how many children had been born here, and how many had died. She needed to return to the Archives.

But first, she wanted to see the shrine.

***

The sun had just come up the next morning when, fortified with one of Mrs. Wang’s hot breakfasts, Karula headed for the cliff where the shrine to the protector was.

Bangji was a tiny bump of a peninsula, bounded on one side by the start of the Mingshen Mountains and on the other side by thick forest, which climbed up the mountains to the extent that it could. The shrine looked out over the cliffside that faced the ocean, looking toward the east and the sunrise. There was a winding path up the side of the cliff, with steps.

It took her an hour to make it all the way up. She was young and healthy, her legs strong; she wondered how long it took elderly people to get up here, carrying a big fish. How did they get a tuna up these steps? A large tuna would need two people to carry it at the best of times. She tried to imagine two old men, trying to tandem-carry a gigantic slippery fish, up a mountainside staircase that took a young healthy person an hour. Then she imagined that those two old men knew that if their protector spirit didn’t like the tuna, they themselves might be eaten.

After all that, the shrine itself was an anticlimax. Throughout most of Senchai, temples were large, elaborate things, or at least as large and elaborate as poverty-stricken locals had been able to build. During the revolution many of them had been destroyed, but when the new leadership came in after the revolutionary leader had died, their push to restore Senchai’s lost traditions in the name of nationalism had gotten most of those rebuilt with modern materials and architecture. They were also, generally, shrines to ancestors. The spirit worship thing was more like you’d find in Niyong, to the east. Which was not that shocking; much of Senchai’s eastern coast had a lot of Niyong’s culture, customs and food intermixed with their own. And with Bangji being relatively isolated from the mainland, it was even more likely.

But Karula had never seen any evidence that Niyong’s spirits were real, let alone that they’d travel to Senchai for worship.

An actual Niyong shrine would generally be made of wood. Bangji’s was made of stone instead; there was plenty of easily accessible stone nearby, as the cliff face was a plateau, with another cliff a short distance inland, on top of it. It was a simple rectangular building with terra cotta tiles for a roof and white and gray stones mortared together for its walls. Inside, a candle burned in front of a tapestry showing Bangji, from the perspective of the shrine on the cliff, so the individual buildings were embroidered too small to make out much detail about them. There was no representation of the protector spirit itself anywhere, but there were some smashed pieces of terra cotta that might have once been statues.

Outside, facing the ocean, there was a very large stone circle with a very small stone wall ringed around it, and a pedestal about twice as high as the tiny wall in its center. Stains on the pedestal and a slightly fishy smell suggested that here was the place they sacrificed to their protector.

There was no evidence of a real protector spirit here. There was no evidence of human blood, but there was probably a lot more fish sacrificed than people, so that proved little. None of it told Karula anything except that Bangji had borrowed some customs from Niyong, which was hardly a surprise.

Two-thirds of the way down the steps, she was met by Lai-Mei. “Elder Sister! I thought you’d gone back to Nandijao and forgotten your promise!” the little girl said indignantly.

There was either a protector spirit, a wild animal, or an evil human being taking children from the town and killing or kidnapping them. Karula felt cold. Had the Wangs never told Lai-Mei the danger, or was she just that headstrong and self-confident? “Why aren’t you home? Don’t you know it’s dangerous out here?”

“I wanted to find you. I was afraid you left.”

“I told you I wasn’t leaving until afternoon, and it’s dangerous out here. Lai-Mei, the reason you don’t have playmates your own age is that children have died. Or vanished. It’s not safe for you.”

“But it’s safe for you?”

“I haven’t heard of young adults disappearing.”

“It happens sometimes,” Lai-Mei said vaguely. “But we can be careful. I want to play a game of hide and seek with you!”

“I was going to go back to the house and change clothes. I’ve been up the mountain and I’m all sweaty.”

“What’s the point to that? If you play with me you’ll just get sweaty again, right?”

The child had a fair point. “…all right. But why don’t we go down to the base of the cliff? I don’t feel like this is a safe place for hide-and-seek.”

“Okay!” Lai-Mei began skipping down the stairs. Even with longer legs, Karula had to rush to keep up. She smiled indulgently. She could see where the Wangs’ complaint about Lai-Mei’s energy levels came from.

The base of the staircase was an area Karula had explored fairly extensively since coming to Bangji, though obviously she couldn’t know it as well as a child who’d lived here for years. Lai-Mei turned and looked up at her as Karula stepped off the stairs. "Now let’s play Hide-and-Seek," she said, a bright smile on her face. "And if I find you and catch you, I'll turn into a dragon and eat you up."

Karula grinned. Children's sense of the fantastic always delighted her. "And after you eat me up, then I'll chase you?"

She laughed. "You won't be doing anything. You'll be eaten."

"Oh, of course," Karula said, still smiling. "All right, I'll go and hide, and you count to a hundred."

"To ten."

"Oh, no, it has to be a hundred. I'm a stranger to this area-- you need to give me time to find a good hiding spot." Karula took games very seriously, and had no intention of losing to Lai-Mei. She thought it was wrong, in general, to throw competitions to make kids feel better; adults who deliberately lost to children gave them an inflated sense of their own ability. And in some senses, her mother’s death by fire when she was a young child had aged her, made her too burdened to easily make friends with the carefree innocents most children were. She had missed out on a lot of this kind of simple play when she’d been a child herself. Maybe she was enough of a child to want to win the game for its own sake.

"That's fair. To a hundred, then." Her smile showed tiny white teeth.

Lai-Mei covered her face with her hands to count. Karula ran through the woods. She could think of several places she’d found in her explorations that would make good hiding places.

It was a forest. At the base of a cliff. There were plenty of large rocks jutting out of the ground, and plenty of tree coverage and brush. Karula found a spot behind one of the large rocks, where a scrubby bush had grown because a tree couldn’t take root near such a large rock. She was able to climb over the rock and carefully lower herself into the spot where the bush met the rock, shoving parts of it out of the way. Lai-Mei would be too short to see that the top had been disturbed, and from the front of the bush, there’d be no disturbance visible.

She was alone with her breathing for all of two minutes. Then a shriek split the air. “Found you!”

Karula looked up, expecting to congratulate the girl on her expert finding skills.

Lai-Mei was standing on the rock… looming. There was no other way to describe it. Like a tiny nine-year-old girl suddenly had enormous invisible mass, ready to reach down and crush. And her pupils had turned to slits, like a cat’s.

"I see you," Lai-Mei caroled. "And now I'm going to eat you up."

It made no sense why Karula suddenly felt fear. This was still a nine year old girl. Lai-Mei’s smile was full of sharp teeth now, tearing carnivore teeth, and her pupils were slits, but she was a child. Still, Karula rolled herself sideways along the rock to get out of the brush, and started running as soon as she was out.

Lai-Mei leapt down from the rock, over the bush, which should not have been possible for a child her age, and landed. Karula knew this, not because she was watching – her eyes were focused in front because she was running – but because she heard the thump of the child’s landing, a short distance behind her, and no sound of rustling branches or leaves. She glanced behind herself, once, very quickly. Lai-Mei was there, grinning hugely now, her mouth all teeth, and her skin had started to take on the mottled pattern of scales.

Karula kept running.

Around trees, rocks, bushes. Through all kinds of cover. Dodging this way and that. And behind her, Lai-Mei never faltered, never stumbled. She laughed, the high-pitched laugh of a little girl playing a fun game, as she chased after Karula, and the sound of the laughter was never cut off by heavy breathing. This was easy for her. Fun. She was playing cat and mouse, dragging out the game.

“Do the Wangs know?” Karula screamed back over her shoulder when Lai-Mei was entirely too close.

That sobered the girl slightly. She stopped shrieking and giggling. “No, they don’t, and I don’t want them to. They’re my parents! I’m here to keep them safe.” Then she giggled again. “I get really hungry, though…”

Karula was rapidly running out of breath herself. She used her adult height to grab a tree branch that was too tall for Lai-Mei – too tall for herself, really, but amazing how high a person can jump when their life depends on it – and pulled herself, with arm strength and then support from her legs walking up the tree, onto the branch. Lai-Mei looked up at her. “Do you think that’s going to stop me?” she giggled.

“I want to know why,” Karula said. “Why me?”

“You’re an outsider. I can’t eat any more children. People with children are moving out of the town. They’ve been here, their families, for hundreds of years and they’re running away because of me. I have to protect Bangji, and that means I can’t have people just running away and moving out. If they keep doing that there won’t be a town.”

“Have you considered maybe eating the fish they bring you?”

Lai-Mei made a face. “I ate fish. I ate a lot of fish. Fish is boring all the time! And the old people who bring it are crunchy, like I burned them. They don’t taste burnt, but they haven’t got any more juice in them than if I did. I want prey who’ll run away from me and get their blood pumping, and I don’t want it to be anyone who lives in Bangji. That means you.”

“You’re not the original protector spirit, are you. What happened to it?” The longer she could keep the girl talking, the more of her breath and strength she could get back. Also, the scholar in her wanted to know, even if she was about to die.

Lai-Mei shrugged. “Dunno. Probably got killed in the revolution or the purges or something. A lot of dragons died that way. My parents probably did too. I didn’t even know I was a dragon until I came here and went to school and then I saw pictures.”

“You’re a fire-breather? So, a land dragon?”

“I don’t know. I just told you, all I know about dragons is what I’ve read! It’s not like anyone ever came along to take me to dragon school or something.”

Dragons taking human form. The massive upheavals of the revolution, and the rebellions, the counter-revolutions, the purges. A quarter century or more of violence. Things in Senchai were peaceful now, but hadn’t been as little as ten years ago. Nandijao and Jiangpao had been peaceful enough, civilized, calm, but her father had had to flee or else he’d have been taken in the night like his friends were, and out in the countryside, government officials had still been bringing down soldiers on the heads of small towns like Bangji, because they weren’t “modernizing” fast enough. Maybe they still were.

Karula thought of a dragon in human form killed by gunfire, or a bomb, a level of violence that even a fantastic, magical creature had never evolved to deal with. She thought of an egg left behind, of a baby born able to shapeshift, and humans taking in a wandering child. Senchai’a dragons were supposed to be ancient and wise, but how would you ever get to be ancient and wise if you were young, and untaught by any of your own kind? “Why do you have a last name, then?”

Lai-Mei giggled. “Haven’t you figured it out?” She traced a character in the air with her finger. “Lun!” And the character she traced, the word she spoke, was the word they’d both just been using. Dragon.

“The Children’s Center taught me how to read and write when I was very little, and I learned to hide myself. I could only eat the other children if it was safe to. I wanted to go someplace where there would be more to eat, so I ran away and I found the Wangs, and Bangji. I found that they feed dragons here, as long as the dragon protects them. So I told them my name was Lun Lai-Mei. But I never told them the characters.” She sketched her true name in the air. Dragon Pursue Fierce.

“You have the order wrong,” Karula said. “You should have been Lun Mei-Lai. ‘The fierce dragon is coming?’ The way you have it, it sounds like ‘the dragon pursues ferocity’.”

“I’m going to kill and eat you, and you’re correcting my grammar? I was three! Or four, I don’t remember exactly.”

She changed, unfolding from a girl-child to a small dragon. A land dragon, with the serpentine body of a Senchai’a dragon, and wings, and nostrils that snorted puffs of sulfur. She was no bigger than a minivan and no longer than a hearse, and her head was just slightly larger than an adult’s proportions would be, but she was definitely a dragon.

"You see, Elder Sister?" she laughed. "I've caught you now, and become a dragon. And now I'll eat you up."

I’m going to die here, Karula thought. She could jump out of the tree and keep running, but she had no advantages against Lai-Mei anymore; the dragon was bigger than her, and could fly, and her serpentine body could probably twist through the trees. There was no way she was going to get out of this one.

Not like this. Not without… not without the fire.

It had started when she was a teenager. A candle, a gas burner, a fireplace… any fire mesmerized her, and she’d had intrusive thoughts about self-immolation. Like her mother, who’d run back into their burning home. As she’d gotten older it had only gotten worse. Her food had to be hot, but she couldn’t cook it herself if there was a flame involved, or she’d put her hand in it, try to immolate herself. She’d come here hoping to find out why, if there was a connection of some kind between the things she felt and the way her mother had died… and she’d found evidence that her grandmother and her great-grandmother had died the same way.

She’d wanted to find something to save herself. But if she was going to die anyway… she wanted to taste the fire.

“Are you sure you’re a dragon there?” Karula taunted her. “You look to me more like a big dog.”

“…What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.” Karula grinned, as insolently as she could manage. “You call yourself a dragon? Maybe a lion.”

Lai-Mei lunged at her with a shriek, but Karula dropped to the ground, dodging the large mouth. “Oh, yes, use your teeth!” she yelled mockingly. “Dragons are supposed to be ancient and wise, not brute beasts! But sure, you’re totally a dragon!”

“Nothing you say will matter when I tear you apart!” Lai-Mei growled.

“Oh, but you’ll remember it. You want to think of yourself as a big strong dragon because you managed to terrorize some children and some superstitious old people, but I know the truth! If you were a dragon, you’d be able to flame me to death, but you haven’t even tried! You don’t even have any flame!”

“I’ll show you flame!” Lai-Mei snarled, and breathed a blast at Karula.

Karula screamed.

It burned, it was agony, but it was a cleansing agony, like the feeling of ripping off a scab or drenching a cut in rubbing alcohol, times a thousand. It was agony, but it felt right, it felt like she had been waiting for this all her life. She fell backward into light so blinding and red it was the same as darkness, as her flesh charred away. But her scream never stopped, growing higher in pitch and harsher, more tinny, and wings unfolded from somewhere as their prison of human flesh burned away, and her scream was the shriek of a giant bird. And her eyes opened.

Lai-Mei slithered backward a few steps and reared her head back, startled. “What—”

And Karula knew, now.

The memories of her mother, her grandmother, her great-grandmother, ancestor after ancestor going back thousands of years. Give birth to an egg and set yourself aflame so the baby bird will carry all your memories, all that you are. Learn to take human form. Branch out, have more children. Boys who will carry the trait into the human population, so there will be more of your kind, eventually, more lineages. Girls who will become you as soon as they die in fire.

Karula was the Phoenix, and had always been, as her mother before her, and her mother’s mother, and backward to the dawn of time. And the Phoenix didn’t die in the flames. The flames burned and purified, took away the human shell if the Phoenix was born in one. The ancients had had it wrong. There was more than one Phoenix and there had been for thousands of years, but within a single lineage, the daughters all carried the memories of the mothers and all the ancestors backward through time.

She spread her wings and shrieked again.

Lai-Mei screamed. "What-- what are you? You-- you were human--!!"

"No more human than you, little dragon," Karula called to her, with a voice that was the song of a bird. "I am the Phoenix. I was your guest, and you tried to kill me."

She rose into the air, wings flapping, and then dove at the dragon with a predatory screech. Lai-Mei breathed another blast of fire at Karula, but the flames that seared her strengthened her, so soon after her rebirth. She raked at the dragon’s eyes with her talons.

Screaming, Lai-Mei took wing herself, flying like an awkward chick. She wasn’t used to flight, not combat flight, not against an equal opponent. Karula was smaller than the dragon, but not by much; the part of her that was still Karula the human scholar wondered how she could possibly be flying at the size she was, and how Lai-Mei could possibly be flying, when both of them were far too large for their wingspans. The part of her that was the immortal Phoenix knew that the physics of the human world didn’t apply here. Karula flew ahead of her, almost effortlessly, still mocking her. She had never flown before, but she was the Phoenix and had flown a thousand thousand times, and in that she had far more experience than the nine-year-old dragon.

Though Lai-Mei ripped at Karula and blasted flame, the bird’s greater knowledge of flight made her more maneuverable. She dodged each time, easily, taunting the dragon-child with challenges that were fierce bird cries. Karula’s beak and talons were less deadly-- she scored the dragon many times, drawing blood, but there was no hope of defeating her that way. Instead, she maddened the child, so that when Karula winged away from her, Lai-Mei followed, coming after her as the name she’d chosen suggested.

Karula flew and flew, and Lai-Mei followed and followed, always to the east. They closed with each other more than once, Lai-Mei’s teeth closing on fiery feathers, Karula’s talons slicing a leathery wing – but Karula would always break free, climb and head east, and Lai-Mei followed in her rage. And thenthey were over the deep ocean.

Karula climbed steeply, straight toward the sun. As the sunbird, the Phoenix, the bird of fire, she could look straight into the sun without penalty. It was not the same for the dragon. Land dragons were creatures of caves and mountains, with no more resistance to the light of the sun than a human would have. Lai-Mei tried to pursue upward, but was blinded. She leveled off, looking around herself for the phoenix, glancing upward sometimes… but never far enough upward. It wasn’t noon yet, but it was close enough that aiming straight at the sun brought Karula almost directly to the top of the sky.

She dove then, landing hard at the scruff of the dragon’s neck, and dug in with her talons, pinching off the nerves to the wings and paralyzing them, as her weight drove them both downward. Lai-Mei screamed and struggled, her wings beating feebly and erratically. The pressure points to fully paralyze her wings weren’t accessible to a phoenix’s talons, but near-paralysis and weakness would do the job as well. She twisted her serpentine body and tried to bite Karula, but the bird was in exactly the position that the dragon couldn’t reach her from, and Karula’s enormous wings drove both of them down toward the ocean.

When Lai-Mei hit the ocean, she sizzled and steamed. The sea dragon who’d been Bangji’s protector spirit, long before Lai-Mei’s birth, would have thrived in the ocean… but that dragon wouldn’t have breathed fire. And wouldn’t have eaten the children in the town she was supposedly protecting.

Karula took care not to touch the water herself as she submerged the thrashing baby dragon, and with the power of her wings she held her there, Lai-Mei’s head thrust down by the bite of Karula’s talons in just the right places, until her struggles weakened.

She turned into a human girl again, causing Karula to reflexively let go of her as the feeling of thick scale under her talons changed to soft human flesh. Lai-Mei bobbed to the surface, gasping, and looked up at Karula pleadingly through the waves. "I'll be good!" she wheezed, struggling to stay afloat and to get enough air. "Please, let me go, Karula! I'll never hurt anyone ever again!"

Karula hesitated. Could the little dragon truly be blamed for knowing nothing of what it meant to be a dragon, of having the morality of a beast, when she had lost her dragon parents and mentors before she even hatched? And it would break the Wangs’ heart when Lai-Mei never returned.

As it had broken the hearts of the parents of Bangji when their own children had never come home.

There was no blame here. No moral culpability. Lai-Mei had become a monster. It didn’t matter whose fault it was that she had done so. It was tragic how the dragons had failed her, how the people of Senchai and their violence had failed the dragons. But she had eaten human flesh. The human Karula Lefaire might have wanted to take pity on a little girl… but the Phoenix knew that, to protect the dragons and the phoenixes, all the wild magical creatures of the world, and to protect the humans as well, a magical beast who’d eaten human flesh couldn’t be allowed to live.

She landed on the child, letting her weight push the girl underwater. Lai-Mei thrashed and struggled, and tried to pull Karula down into the water with her, where her own magic would fizzle and be extinguished. But Karula had wings, and they were stronger than anything a human child’s strength could bring to bear.

In the water, a human could live longer than a land dragon, whose fire was part of their life force. But humans couldn’t breathe water either. Karula held Lai-Mei under until she stopped moving and air stopped bubbling out of her mouth.

The “protector” of Bangji was dead. She had never been an adequate protector – the price she’d taken from the village for her protection had been far, far too high. But the village expected a protector, and in a nation where bureaucratic zeal was fond of stomping out dissidence, variance, and any deviance from the One True Approved Way, a tiny village that held to the old ways in so many things was in danger, without a protector.

Karula climbed toward the sun again, and then banked, turning toward the village. Someday perhaps she would be human again; someday she might bear a daughter to be the Phoenix after her. And having already undergone her transformation and mastered her relationship with fire, she wouldn’t be compelled to immolate herself before the daughter was old enough to understand. She’d be able to teach her child before once again becoming the bird of fire. Someday. Perhaps.

But right now, there was a village whose only protection from a harsh central government that demanded obedience and order… was floating dead in the waves, with the marks of Karula’s talons in her flesh. And that meant Karula had an obligation.

She swept over the town, once, her fiery wings making a contrail in the air as she passed. The villagers looked up at her in amazement. And then she turned, and climbed again, and landed at the shrine.

On the land she could hunt for herself, but she could not dive into the sea to catch fish. There were no large wild animals around here, and people needed their goats and pigs to survive. She would not take from humans what they needed to live any more than she would take their lives.

But she hoped they would bring the next offering soon. She was hungry. And she hoped it would be hot.

***

Sorry, apparently 11 am on Monday is the new best time for posting my 52 Project fics? Still gonna try to get the next one out by Friday, though.

#52 project #fantasy #china but not really

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ninjakitty15 · 3 years

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Chapter 19: Good Impressions (Loki x OFC Pairing)

I looked in the mirror and couldn't help but grin widely, baring my teeth even as a sense of giddiness filled me. It was very rarely I ever actually dressed up or even really did much to prepare for an upcoming battle beyond gathering power, planning and making sure I had all my war ducks in a row, this was extra but it was the good kind in my opinion.

"You know...I read that the Spartans, the fiercest ancient warriors our world had at one point, would pretty themselves up before battle and spies from enemy lines that caught them doing that would overestimate them. Apparently real men don't wear makeup into a war," I told Loki who walked up behind me, watching me check myself out. "Funny thing is in this country and probably a lot of other countries today have this thing called war paint which might not make them look fabulous like a Spartan but it might as well be makeup as it's primarily worn on their face."

"I remember the Spartans, Odin was impressed by their tactics and way of life, especially their stand against the Persians, the odds weren't in their favor and yet somehow they gave them hell before defeat," Loki recalled.

"Quality over quantity," I added. "Those people were literally born to be warriors, only the strong babies survived the first of many tests they were forced into." I combed a hand through my hair, considered messing it but decided against it. "I used to be more of a silk or velvet kinda girl but I gotta tell ya, I'm really digging the leather. It's fashionable, it's sexy even, and it's pretty decent armor, I mean it's no breastplate or Kevlar vest but those are a bit too obvious and that's the last thing we want right now." I took a few swaggering steps, glancing at my backside curiously to see how it all fit together.

"You're enjoying this entirely too much," he mused.

"I know it hasn't been that long since we met, but are you really surprised at this point?"

"No, not really. How long are you gonna fawn over yourself in the mirror before we actually put this plan into motion?"

"Relax, I got this. I just gotta get a few things down pat before we jump head first into this oncoming shit storm." I grinned again. "What's the hurry?"

He watched me, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he shook his head at my antics. "You got the smile right and I'm not sure how you were able to copy my walk so quickly but the humor needs to change if you insist on chattering before things get started."

"But...humor is why I'm still kicking," I protested. "And it's a far cry from your own, which mind you I'm glad you have any at all, some other gods can't seem to grasp that concept despite being eons old. Still, it's a lot more...eloquent than I'm used to."

"Then perhaps don't say anything at all."

"And leave you to do all the talking, hell to the no, spank you very much."

"What's wrong with me doing the talking for once?" he crossed his arms in challenge and arched an eyebrow, daring me to answer.

I gave the god an unapologetic and unamused look. "I'm not the only one that's been muzzled here, maybe your brother was onto something when he did it to you."

"How dare you? You take that back right now!"

"Or what? Whatcha gonna do, huh? Take your shot, green boy, you got me deadbang."

The sound of someone clearing their throat loudly interrupted our usual bickering match and we both turned to see a half amused half arachnid smirking at us with his unnaturally muscular arms crossed as well. "You know this is technically playing with yourself, right? I mean if that's the case, could you get a room that isn't the only bathroom in the apartment, please?"

"How long since this plan was in motion did you wanna use that joke?" I teased the kid.

Peter shrugged and pretended to look bashful but now that he too was throwing in dirty jokes, the facade of him being an innocent kid was now out the window. "You sure I can't tag along?"

"Kid, you got your own enemies to fight and this might be a bit above your skillset which means if you tag along theres much less chance of you coming back."

"But you could just bring me back yourself, right?"

I scowled at his optimism. "Doesn't work that way, I only bring back the ones that can't pass on on their own and want another chance at tying up loose ends, and you better not be one of those people, you're a kid, which goes against my personal code of bringing back zombie kids, that's just fucking depressing having an army of rotting midgets."

Peter sighed in despair and slumped his shoulders. "I never get to do anything fun."

I rolled my eyes at his whining. "I'd also be held responsible for letting you come with and I kinda don't want to be hunted down by a team of go getters and fancyass technology, no spank you. I already have Hydra for the latter. So do me a favor, sit your five dollar ass down, before I make change."

Peter scoffed at my implied threat but stopped bugging me, it might have been his plan that could get the odds in our favor but it sure as hell wasn't his fight and I had no intention of dragging another cute super powered person into my personal vendetta. "Aunt May says you can come back anytime, just give one of us a heads up next time...and maybe something that gets black bloodstains off any surface just in case."

I would've blanched if I wasn't pale already. "Oh no, did I ruin something, I can pay for that."

"No no, just, I think she thinks you'd only come here if you're in trouble like you were this time and she's worried you might miss a spot next time if that's the case, normal blood you can just use hydrogen peroxide, but I'm not too sure it works on corpse blood."

"Noted and tell her thanks for everything, same goes for you of course since you were the one to let us in before she agreed to it. And also not informing the A team, that's important...you didn't tell them right?"

"Not like they take me all that seriously or even answer my calls if I did," Peter muttered. "You're all good there, promise."

"Excellent! You stay sharp and cute, the second either of that fails, you're fucked."

"Thanks, I think."

"Right then." I turned to Loki with another smirk. "How's this for a first impression?" I asked in smooth sorta British sorta something else accent.

He scowled at me but couldn't complain it seemed. "I'm getting the sense you've been working on that before this came to pass."

"Anyone can do an Avenger impression, hell anyone can wear their costumes, right Peter? But I'm not about the hero life, so why waste time on them when I've been giving it all to you?"

Loki was silent at this and it was Peter that actually responded to me. "That was actually really sweet."

"You say that like it's a surprise, physically dead here, not emotionally dead, thank you. My heart hadn't reached that stage where it becomes calcified like a fetus that won't leave its womb."

"You always have the oddest choice of metaphors," muttered Loki. "So you have the walk, the voice, the smile even though I'm not sure that's even necessary at this point."

"When are you going to prepare for the plan then?" I challenged. "Go on, see how well you know your part."

"Don't you worry about my side of the plan, I've been doing this sort of thing for the sheer fun of it long before you decided to do it out of sheer boredom."

I snorted and rolled my eyes at him. "Yes, we're all very aware of your old age, you don't have to remind us like we have to remind you, old man."

"Ye of little faith," he mocked, earning a bar of soap flying at his face he was lucky enough to duck. "Your aim needs improvement."

"I'm sorry, did you actually want to be hit in the head by something solid and hard and not a pillow, because I missed on purpose, you cotton headed ninny-muggins."

"Seriously, is all you two do bicker at each other?" asked Peter.

"Well I mean you wouldn't let us have any real adult fun while we crashed here so we gotta get that pent up energy out somehow, right?" I reasoned.

"She's not wrong," Loki agreed.

"Besides, no one's getting hurt from it, I'm convinced this is our own special way of showing we love each other without being a bunch of saps. I'm 99 things but a sap ain't one."

"What's wrong with being affectionate?" asked Peter, almost sounding offended.

"That implies I have more emotions than I'm willing to admit to anyone including myself, I'm generally not ok with having that much feels." I grinned, slicked back my hair again before doing a little dance for funsies.

"I'd refrain from doing that little jig when the plan's in full swing," warned Loki though he was still smiling in amusement.

"Oh but I like this," I purred with the accent again.

The smirk on his own face twisted, like I said something that somehow offended him and all his ancestors and pissed him off or deeply upset him. "Don't make me take it away from you till right before the fight starts."

"Oh come on, maybe you just need to hug it out and join the fun, bring it in, big guy." I opened my arms wide for emphasis. "There's no better love than self love."

He rolled his eyes at my stellar pun and green magic rolled over him as he changed into character. "I bet you were just dying to make that joke."

I stared at him and it was my turn to glare. "Was that your attempt at a dead joke? Oh hun, you gotta do better than that to fit the bill."

"Don't patronize me, woman, I wasn't even trying then."

I walked over and patted his cheek just to mess with him. "Sure you weren't. Do me a favor and work on that but also turn around for me."

"Why?"

"Just...do it."

He did begrudgingly and I frowned upon studying his form thoroughly before he faced me again. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, you got it right, it's just...I didn't realize it looked like that and now I'm suddenly an insecure teenager. Peter, is this how you feel all the time because, dude, this really sucks and I feel for ya."

"You say that like you were never one yourself," Peter noted.

"I know I was but like, I don't remember what it was like then, I couldn't tell you what I was like as a teen."

"Why not?"

"No memory of it, at all."

"You mean like it was so long ago that you can't remember that far back or lots of stuff happened during it so fast that it's all a blur."

"I mean it's not even accessible, it's gone from my mind completely."

Peter frowned, probably trying to understand what I was getting at. "Amnesia?"

"Mindwipe."

"Like Bucky Barnes?"

"No, that's brainwashed...wait, those do sound synonymous, damn, hadn't even thought about that. Brainwashed is basically having your mind overridden and reprogrammed, there's memories there but they're not real ones. Mindwiped is just nothing there to reprogram at all."

"Did Hydra do that too?"

"No, Hydra can't touch this, something they need to have programmed in their heads for all the times they tried and failed any of their aims when they had me. I can't tell you the who, but I can tell you it was painless and done willingly and without regret."

"You chose to have memories taken from you?"

I nodded simply, unable to elaborate as per the deal.

Loki, knowing there was some things I couldn't talk about for reasons he wouldn't know until hopefully later, chose to cut in then. "I think that's enough curiosity for now, we should get going and finish the plan you concocted for us."

I smiled thankfully at Loki and nodded in agreement. "Yes, of course. Parker, if I don't make it back by tomorrow...just wait longer."

"Stop teasing the child, Nell, you could be really testing his patience with your antics and we wouldn't be welcomed back."

"You wouldn't, I would because I'm a delight to be around." I strutted after him anyway and he shook his head and beckoned me out of the bathroom and unfortunately out of the apartment.

"The Hydra agents and people that turned on you would say otherwise."

"The Hydra agents don't even know what joy is, the only time they're smiling is when they think they're about to take over the world and people are dying around them...the traitors are just pussies which means it doesn't take much to make em weep."

"Again with the metaphors."

"Maybe you should start taking some notes, eh? Give you a head start seeing as I'm all caught up on my end, unless you got something to add there?"

"Well you still haven't proven you can get the mannerisms right and mannerisms maketh men."

"But we are not men..."

"No, we're immortals."

#loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki romance #avengers #zombies #necromancy #necromancer #loki x oc #loki x original female character #nell the necromancer #loki x nell

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heartofsnark · 3 years

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This Is Love (Chapter Ten): The Snakes We Don’t See

Notes: Kinda been sitting on the two most recent chapters, since I like started to write some cyberpunk 2077 stuff. So, thats why its been a while, but given how short the prologue for that fic is, I decided to go ahead and update this this month as well.

Word Count: 13277

Chapter Warnings: Child Abuse (excerpts from the book of joseph), Suicide (non-graphic but still), A body horror dream (my favorite) with some symbolism/implications of sexual assault, discussion of religion, and really really way too blunt on the nose foreshadowing

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

The church and compound look beautiful in the moonlight, Dahlia can’t help but note as she drives Cassie towards it. The modest white buildings and the silver gate work looking beautiful beneath a blanket of stars. It’s not a steady bustle of activity like it was last time, thanks in large part to the late hour, she’s sure. But there’s a few church members meandering around the outside of the church, beyond the gate. Which, to her dismay is being watched by Theodore. It had to be one of the two members who hate her, didn’t it? Because life can’t just kick her in the teeth once and call it done, no, it has to throw in a few extra hits for good measure. The towering man is glaring at her as she comes to a slowed down stop before the gate.

“Though I doubt it’s why you’re here, service is over, so save me a headache and scram.”

“No can do, I gotta talk to Joseph.”

“Pfff,” he scoffs at her, “you arrest me, ruin service, and then come around demanding an audience with The Father. Gotta hand it to you, nothing else, you got balls.”

“Technically, Hudson arrested you, I wasn’t hired yet.”

“You think that helps?”

“Come on man, this ain’t about me.”

He looks past her to Cassie, still holding onto Dahlia’s back, face ducked down to hide away from his amber gaze. Dahlia can see gears turning in his head and he sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, you can come through, but only ‘cause The Father likes you.”

“Thanks,” Dahlia parks her bike, Cassie handing her back her helmet before the pair walk into the compound.

“That guy at the gate is kind of…a lot.”

“Eh, he doesn’t like me much, but he’s not that bad. Lonny’s probably the biggest d-bag I’ve met here, Jacob and his…friends, if you can call ‘em that, are a bit rough. But, even then, I’m seen more friendly faces than I’ve seen cruel ones.”

A few people recognize Dahlia from the barbecue, giving her a kind smile and a friendly wave as she passes by in search of Joseph. She returns the kind gestures but stays focused on her goal. Dahlia isn’t quite sure she’s ready to fulfill her promise of stepping foot into the church just yet, but if they’re freshly done with service, that’d be where she’d find him.

“Deputy,” a soft angelic voice speaks out, Faith walking through the compound yard towards them, her hair is done up in plaits with flowers twisted in them, “is everything okay?”

“Uh, not really? I was hoping to talk to Joseph? If he’s around.” Of course he’s around, she’s not sure why she’s acting like there’s a chance he’s not here.

“Sure, I’ll go get him right away.”

She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees him, walking out of the church with Faith beside him, she’s never been happier to see a preacher in her entire life. Dahlia looks over at Cassie and sees the raised eyebrow, which is understandable. Joseph is Joseph, strange and weird, shirtless with a myriad of sins and tattoos etched into his skin, and yellow aviators on despite the silver moonlight that covers them all. But at the moment, that moonlight gives him a halo, a saving grace for a shitty night.

“Deputy, I’m surprised to see you so soon,” Josephs greets her,

“Yeah, I’m sorry to bug you, but I…we,” Dahlia looks back at the still timid Cassie, duffle bag held out in front of her lap, “need some help. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“Of course, if there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”

“Well, Joseph, Faith, this is my friend Cassie, Cassie this is Joseph and Faith,” Dahlia first introduces them

“Hi…” Cassie gives an awkward nod of her head.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Joseph responds with a warm smile, “though I feel there’s more to this than friendly introductions.”

His gaze lingers on Dahlia’s knuckles, still stained with Liam’s blood.

“Okay, so, Cassie’s home life is,” Dahlia pauses and looks to Cassie, searching for words that she might be comfortable with the deputy using, “bad, she’s not safe there. That’s all I’ll say. So, I was letting her stay with me but….recent events mean it ain’t too safe there either.”

“I’m so sorry, I’m sure this has been difficult on the two of you.”

“Difficult is a word for it; but more importantly, I hear Eden’s Gate takes folks in.”

“Deputy…”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, I know it’s short notice, and I-“

A large warm hand grasps her shoulder and she doesn’t flinch, not this time.

“I’m honored you’d come to me for help.”

And she feels his sincerity in his touch, hears it in every word, and sees it in his eyes. It’s hard to believe how much she distrusted him at first, she curses her past for coloring her view. He’s strange certainly, but he’s good.

“So, I take it you can help?”

“Of course, my child.”

“We have plenty of space at the convent,” Faith chimes in with a soft smile, looking from Joseph to Cassie.

“Thank you, thank you, seriously, thank you so much,” Cassie gushes, relief swimming in her dark eyes.

“We can get you settled in tonight.”

“That’s so sweet, I can’t thank you enough.”

“We’re happy to help,” then Joseph’s eyes turn to Dahlia, “will you be alright though, deputy?”

Joseph suddenly catches her hand in his own, brushing his fingers over her bloodied knuckles, no sign of hesitation at the rough sight. Brows furrowed in concern.

“Oh yeah, it’s not mine, don’t worry, uh,” she catches herself, “that sounds bad, but like dude was gonna torch my trailer so, it was like okay to punch him, I think.”

“Wait, what?” Cassie’s eyes go wide as she looks to Dahlia, she must not have seen Liam with the lighter, only Dahlia striking him.

“Yeah, dude was gonna fuckin’ torch the place, so I blacked his eye. More than fair, if you ask me.”

“Okay, first,” Cassie starts and Dahlia smiles as a bit of the girl’s personality peeks through her fear, “I didn’t know it was that bad. Secondly, I don’t think you’re suppose to talk like that in front of a church and it’s preacher.”

“I also shouldn’t have worn a shirt that said ‘hail satan’ to their sermon.”

“You what?”

“Look, in my defense,” Cassie is covering her mouth and laughing, a welcomed sight, “I don’t think, okay, you think I think and I just don’t alright.”

Dahlia is laughing through her own words, face flushed red at being the butt of the joke, but if it can bring a smile to Cassie’s face right now she’d make a thousand more mistakes like it. Faith’s little melodic giggles ring out behind her own hand. Joseph doesn’t laugh but he does smile. With the tension of Cassie’s housing eased, everyone seems in a brighter mood.

“And despite all that, you still like her?” Cassie asks, looking up at Joseph and Faith.

“I’d get mad but like, fair fuckin’ question.”

“I’ve forgiven sins and transgressions far greater than yours, deputy,” Joseph says and his eyes are intense, kind, but the word sins makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It’s not a fun word, but most religions have a ‘everyone’s born a sinner’ mentality. So, surely she can’t be too upset.

“Your patience is both staggering and appreciated, I assure you,” Dahlia tells him, her smile a bit more forced than it was a moment ago. If he can tell he doesn’t say anything.

“Come on Cassie, I’ll introduce you to everyone and we’ll get you settled, okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Faith grabs Cassie’s hand and leads her away with a giggle, the sigh of the flower adorned woman leading her away in the night reminds Dahlia of her odd dream before. The draw of Faith, the siren pulling someone away in the moonlight. But that’s silly, Dahlia tells herself, they’re climbing into a pickup truck drove by another church member, yelling goodbyes to Joseph and Dahlia with smiles on their face. Yet the image of a siren dragging a victim into the sea pricks at her mind, despite how asinine it may be.

Dahlia shakes her head, wondering why her nerves have suddenly ticked up. She’s over this, isn’t she? Eden’s Gate is good, she reminds herself, one of the few good things in this county that’s actually helping people instead of letting them drift into the cracks. Despite everything she’s heard, they’re good. Her personal issues is just fucking with her, that has to be it.

“Are you certain you’ll be okay, Deputy?” Joseph asks as the truck rolls down the curves of the road, disappearing over the horizon, Cassie gone with it.

“Uh, yeah, gave the guy a hell of a shiner so he should cut the shit for a while. Should be fine.”

“Is it?”

“Fuck if I know, but what am I gonna do, sit around and cry about it?”

“I certainly wouldn’t expect you to, but if something does happen, you know you can come to me.”

“Yeah, uh, it means a lot,” Dahlia scratches at the back of her neck, his gaze too intense again, “and thanks again for helping out Cassie. It means a lot, I really don’t know if I can thank you enough.”

“You could always attend church, if you wanted to show thanks.”

“Patient but persistent, I see, but, uh, not quite ready to cash in that promise yet.”

“I understand but, I’d be remiss if I didn’t caution you. My patience may be staggering, but the world is not so kind. Time is finite and you window for finding salvation may be closing quicker than you know.” His voice is fevered and impassioned, hints of a southern accent peeking through as his intensity rises, awash in moonlight the glow of it around turns from a halo to an eerie glow.

“Okay, not holding back, are you?” Dahlia tries to laugh it off, religious folks are just like this sometimes, aren’t they?

“I would be doing you a disservice if I did.”

“So…you think the worlds ending?” She asks, trying to keep her tone light, the only other interpretation of her window closing is Joseph’s convinced she’ll die soon.

“You don’t?” He questions, brows furrowed, as if the idea of the world not ending is ridiculous. And…she kind of gets that.

“I didn’t say that,” she moves to lean her back against the church building, standing next to Joseph instead of before him, looking at the stars, “I mean eventually humans are gonna destroy the planet, climate change, corporate pollution, not to mention us just trying to kill each other half the time. And even if we don’t fuck it up, eventually time will, sun’s going to go to the next stage and destroy the earth. So…”

“You sense it coming, too..” He presses his back against the wood next to her, no longer focusing his stare on her but the moon, maybe he sense her unease with his gaze…

“Yeah…I guess, don’t know when or how, but eventually…”

The itch of nerves under her skin is too strong, she digs a cigarette from it’s pack and lights it, smoking against the church building. John warned her it’s forbidden by Eden’s Gate, that Joseph wouldn’t like such an act, but he doesn’t stop her in the moment. Whether it’s another moment of him showing her kindness or just consideration for her not being apart of the church, she doesn’t know.

“Yet, you still put off salvation.”

“Okay,” she exhales a plume of smoke, “I’ll bite, what’d that fix?”

“When the world collapses those who’ve followed the path to Eden, confessed their sins, atoned, and made their sacrifice will be the ones who walk into the garden, into New Eden. A world cleansed of sin and turmoil. The world will be pure again, free of pain.”

New Eden sounds like their heaven, essentially, to Dahlia. So, nothing truly new by any religious standards. Almost every Christian religion has a doomsday, revelation, apocalypse, end of the world and those who do what god wants get to be super happy in some magic paradise, while everyone else burns. Same stuff, new label.

“Well, as much as your concern for my immortal soul is appreciated, I’m gonna have to pass.”

“You’ll come to understand eventually… I just hope it’s not too late.”

She scratches at the back of her neck again, his words leaving a bad taste in her mouth that mingles with the nicotine, it feels dismissive of her… Like he claims to know her feelings and where they’ll end up better than she does. There’s a habit among those older than her to assume they know how the world works more than she does, she chalks it up to an old man thing, and lets it roll off her back. He still helped her, despite his faults.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree, but I do appreciate everything, I’ll have to when I get a chance call Cassie and see how she’s settles in.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be so simple.”

“What?” She turns to look at Joseph now, raising an eyebrow, why wouldn’t she be able to call Cassie?

“While Cassie is staying with us, we do expect her to abide by our rules. There are no cellphones permitted in the convent, I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh,” Dahlia blinks, “guess that explains why not a single person was on their phone at the barbecue.”

“Smartphones and social media have eroded people’s values, they’re more concerned with it than they are their own family.”

“Okay, okay, I get it; the convent have a landline or Satan manage to get through that too?” His expression hardens, unimpressed by her quip, though she can’t help but smile. After a moment, he sighs.

“There is a landline available there, but it’s typically reserved for church matters. If you wish to check on her, visiting and writing letters would be ideal.”

“Got it, I’ll keep that in mind,” she moves from her spot against the church exterior, “thanks again, Joseph. I’ll talk to you, later.”

“Have a nice night, Deputy.”

“You too.”

Dahlia stubs out her cigarette once she’s outside the compound’s gates, climbing onto her motorcycle. She didn’t realize how isolated Cassie might be there, if she’s not even allowed to call her friend. It just doesn’t sit right. But, Joseph’s far from the only old religious man to claim technology is bad. And if Cassie is living with them, it’s natural to expect her to follow the same guidelines as everyone else. It was already asking a lot for them to house her, it’d be unthinkable to expect special treatment as well.

The trailer park is far calmer when she rides through, damage already done, Dahlia sighs at the sight of all the havoc they caused. It’s already well past midnight, but her night is far from done. There’s glass to be cleaned up and windows to be covered until she can get supplies to fix them properly. She could care less about the spray paint and if needed she can sleep through the chill, but she’d at least like to not sleep on broken glass.

She’s parked and locked up her bike, walking up her porch when she hears the crush of steps, someone clearing their throat. Liam stands, hands in his pockets and a mottle of bruises across his eye. His blues eyes look anywhere but her.

“Dude, seriously, just go. I-”

“I’m sorry…,” he mumbles, clearing his throat again, searching for words, “I didn’t know she was in there, I really didn’t. Clyde said she left out and he hadn’t seen her come back, we thought the place was empty and-”

“And? You could have killed her, ignorance don’t cure third degree burns!” She’s taken steps towards him, nearly yelling in his face now, she can see hurt in his face. He may not have meant to take a life, but in one dumb moment he nearly did and he damn well needs to know that.

“I know, I know, I just…no one got hurt, she, she ain’t hurt, right?”

“No, thank fuck, but that doesn’t make it okay? Even if you didn’t hurt you, you scared the fuck out of her, this was suppose to be a safe place for her and you destroyed that!”

“I’m sorry, okay, I… I can’t fuckin’ say sorry enough and I mean it. I just we were drinking and thought we’d see if we could run ya out of here, it got out of hand.”

“You hate cops, I get that, I do and quite frankly you wanna give me hell, have at it. There ain’t anything you can do to me that hasn’t already been done. But shit like that doesn’t just affect me, hell, you could of set the whole damn place on fire.”

“Yeah, I, fuck I nearly pulled a Sharky.”

“I’m…not sure what you mean by that, ‘cause last thing I saw that man do was…very different. But, uh, if you’re doing that too you should stop.” Her stomach churns at the reminder of Boshaw in his jeep, she really was hoping she repressed that.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Liam shakes his head, “but I am sorry about Cassie…I’d like to apologize to her, if she’s around.”

“Fat chance of that man, I found her another place to stay, she’s somewhere safe and far away from your ass.” The convent isn’t particularly far away, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I deserve that.”

“Fuck yeah, you do.”

“Well, I said my piece, I assume I’ll be seeing the inside of a cell tomorrow?”

She chews her lip for a moment, he strikes her as genuine, in both his remorse and ignorance. He wasn’t trying to become a murderer, he only mean to run her out of the trailer park. And at the end of it all, Cassie is safe.

“Nah man, it’ll be fine, so long as you don’t pull this shit again. You do and I’ll be in jail for killing your ass.”

“Gotcha…thanks…I think.”

“Now, fuck off, I got a mess to clean. Unless you care enough to help?”

“Hell no, have fun, narc,” Liam scoffs at the idea and leaves, clear his remorse was only ever for Cassie’s sake. Asshole. She watches him vanish into his own trailer before finally walking into her own to start on her night of work.

That night and next day are monotonous, mess cleaned up and windows covered just as the sun starts to rise over the horizon. Muscles aching and a damp sweat clinging to her skin, she showers and catches a few hours of sleep. When she wakes up she’s off to the local hardware store and buying what she needs to fix the windows, as well as some damage done inside the trailer.

The sun is setting on the next day by the time all the damage is attended to, well everything but the graffiti of PIG across the outside of the trailer. But, she doesn’t have the energy to wash it away. Lounging around her living room after another shower, Dahlia finds her mind drawn back to Cassie and The Seeds.

No phone calls, only letter writing. It seems so unnecessarily archaic in the modern age, though she may mostly be whining because her handwriting is completely illegible. It’s too late to drop in on the convent, plus she doesn’t particularly want to move. After last night, she likes the idea of a lazy night. And with her long at time hard to predict workdays, it may not be possible to swing by for more than a moment until the weekend.

She doesn’t have to write her letter, at least not by hand, she decides as she opens her laptop. She’ll type it up and print it out at the station, then she can send it like a proper letter, to appease Joseph’s hatred of tech.

“Hey, Cassie, Deputy whatever (did I tell you my last name, legit can’t remember?) here. Joseph said you guys can’t like call? I guess? But you can get letters, so given my handwriting, typing it instead. I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re settling in. Maybe this weekend I can visit? I’ll treat you to lunch.”

That sounds alright, she decides, saving the typed letter. She drums her fingers against the table, searching for something else to maintain her attention. The Book of Joseph with her drawing tucked inside of it is still nearby, Joseph’s lecture of last night coming to mind. Maybe, she could write him a thank you letter? He seems like the kind of guy who’d appreciate that, she opens another document.

“Dear Joseph,

That’s how you format a letter, right? Sorry, social media has “eroded” my soul and the art of letter writing is lost on my generation. That’s a joke, I hope it’s somewhat funny, if not sorry. My handwriting is atrocious, so I hope a typed letter still fits into your beliefs, since I’m trying here. I just wanted to thank you in some small way, despite some of our different beliefs, you’ve been incredibly kind to me and my friend. I read somewhere that drawings can be like gifts? So, I drew something for you. I hope it’s a nice gesture and not creepy, but it can’t be as creepy as the portrait in your book and creepy is kind of your thing, so. Also a joke, I promise I’m trying to be funny not mean… I’ll end this now, thanks again, Me, Cassie, and my eroded damned soul appreciate it. “

Dahlia saves the letter to Joseph, it’s messy and awkward, but so is she. She’ll print and mail them both out tomorrow. Hopefully, she won’t have to put her proper name on an envelope to send it. The idea of no one knowing her name is fun, she wants to play into it. The mysterious deputy who no one knows, sounds way cooler than she is.

She stretches her arms out and puts her laptop aside, grabbing the Book of Joseph, the conversation with Joseph has renewed her interest in learning more about his beliefs. Even if they don’t align, even if she’ll never believe in god, the least she can do is try to understand. She made harsh initial judgments and still struggles with her past effecting her thoughts, making what could be nothing into red flags, this is a way to make amends. Even if Joseph isn’t able to see her efforts, it means something to her, growing as a person.

“Not ice cream trucks, not social services cars, not even police patrols.

In any case. In these parts, people kept their noses out of other people's business, even when that business took place on a porch out in the open.

The father thrashed his arms furiously while the boy, young Joseph Seed stood with his head bowed, contrite and seemingly fixated on the floorboards. If he had looked up, he would have seen the kaleidoscopic colors of an old issue of Spiderman flashing by, alternating with the smooth black leather of his father's Bible and the ruddy face of the father himself. He would have seen the grey teeth-few and far between-of Old Man Seed, as the locals called him, or Old Man Seed behind his back, as Josephs big brother Jacob had snickered to him. Dental care was not a priority in the Seed household. The money was needed for other things. So, his father's teeth always reminded Joseph of the rocky crags that pirate ships washed up on in picture books at the library.”

She tries to see them, a young Joseph and Jacob on their porch. It’s both easy and difficult all at once. A part of her can easily see in her mind, the two young boys with freckled faces and bright blue eyes, one ginger and the other brunette. But, connecting that to who she knows to be Joseph and Jacob Seed is more difficult. It’s always weird to imagine old people when they were young, old to her she should specify. To imagine the mountain that is Jacob Seed as a young boy, laughing behind his abusive father’s back. To see Joseph as a little boy reading comic books and pirate stories. The images seem so far removed from the tall intense older men she knows now.

The life they’ve lived is one she knows well, no media beyond the bible, and beatings for breaking rules. But, her own abuser was more hidden, pretending to be a pillar of the community with his wonderful little church while beating her black and blue behind closed doors. Behind a church following service was the most brazen he ever became; it’s hard to imagine a man bold enough to beat his children in broad daylight on his porch. Though, she has no doubt what she reads is true. She’s seen Joseph’s back, his distaste for shirts making every scar a public display, she knows the lash marks well. Her own back marred with them as well.

It makes her wonder, how they could be so different in their takeaways… Joseph if anything has turned to religion, leading his own church and group, taking issue with the sinfulness of modern media. Though, by no means an abuser, it’s hard to debate that he now shares qualities with his father, if only regarding religiosity.

Dahlia once heard that people grow up to be their parents, particularly their same sex parents. Which is an all at once terrifying prospect for most people, but especially for people like her and the Seeds. The prospect she could be anything like her mother, watching passively as her own child is abused, bending to the will of a man and losing herself completely; is downright terrifying. Dahlia is determined to not let that happen, but it’s still a fear. She can see ways they match; both physically and in certain traits. Dahlia wonders if Joseph sees the way he matches his father and if those qualities scare him too. If he worries his faith has turned him into that same monster. She wonders too about Jacob, if his surliness is a part of that, if he sees any of his father in himself.

“The priority in the Seed household, as everyone in the neighborhood knew, was cheap whiskey, which the father drank from dawn 'til dusk. The more whiskey that went in, the more Bible verses that came out -and the more often his children felt the switch.

The cause of the paternal fury was simple: comics were forbidden in the home - comics and books, records, magazines, radio, and television. Only the Bible was allowed.

Once, when the entire elementary school went to see Gone with the Wind at an old theatre in town, Joseph's father had leapt up in rage like a drunken jack-in-the-box, and before stunned teachers and students, launched into a rambling sermon condemning the sins of Hollywood, insisting this Babylon had long perverted the most fragile of minds and was responsible for the downfall of all of America, with Joseph under one arm and Jacob under the other, he stormed out of the room still hurling curses.”

Dahlia doesn’t have many blessings to count, but Monroe never dragged her from school with a sermon. Only making her withdraw and begin homeschooling the moment he learned the public school had the nerve to provide even shoddy sex education. But she’d take a quiet withdrawal from the system over being physically dragged out before everyone.

“This time, when they arrived home, he beat Jacob only, because he was the eldest and thus responsible for his younger brother. At least the brothers had had time to see Atlanta burn. Thus, when Old Man Seed stood on the porch and began sliding off his belt, the child simply removed his T-shirt, folded it carefully, and bent over to offer his pale, delicate back to the worn-out strap of leather.

Joseph's head was turned toward the well maintained- at least by local standards - house of a quiet, gentle widow. He considered it a blessing, if a small one. Facing the other way, he would have had to look at the other neighbor's house, which even by local standards was so run-down as to be hideous to the eye. When they were younger, the widow used to bake them cakes, probably out of pity for them. The children's mother wasn't exactly an impressive chef. She wasn't exactly a loving mother either. But the widow didn't bake much of anything anymore now that she was dying of cancer. Instead, she spent her days in her porch rocking chair, rain or shine, tottering gently. Jacob and Joseph argued over whether the groaning came from the wooden rocking chair or the old women.”

Dahlia closes the book, marking the page at that point, she can’t deny the intensity of the content and the impact it has on her. She can only stomach so much at a time, trauma too close to her own. Talks of a lackluster mother and the kindness of strangers only adding to it all. Maybe one day she’ll talk to Joseph about this, how he can bless those who hurt him in such a way, how he has managed to be so open about it. It all seems to be a level of maturity she can’t imagine reaching, how much work and growth does it take to accomplish that?

She falls asleep that night thinking of just how much work she has left to do, just how far she has to go as a person. How long will it take her to be okay with her past? Thoughts fade to black as she succumbs to her heavy eyelids.

The sun is bright and high in the bright blue sky, deceptively cherry for what her and Pratt are being called out to. Despite shifting opinions on Joseph, she can’t deny that the statue still creeps her the fuck out. As they drive further upward, the sheer scale of the cement monument takes her breath away. How much time and work went into that? Joseph doesn’t seem to have an ego, but to an outsider this downright makes him look like a narcissist. They don’t go fully up the mountain, where the trail forms stone circular steps and rings around the base of the statue. From where they park, she can see gazebos with flowers woven into them that line the open space around it.

There’s a small crowd waiting for them at the base of the mountainside the statue is built on, a section of it just beneath the stone Joseph’s hand is carved slightly down. Ledges with spots to grapple along comes down to the ground. The statue blocks out the sun when they stand beneath it, the visage of Joseph towering over them like a kaiju is both terrifying and hilarious to the young deputy.

The ambulance is already there, body bag being brought inside of it, sparing the deputies from seeing what remained of the person after they jumped. Rocky ground where the man would have hit is painted with a white Eden’s Gate symbol, blood now staining the dark rock and white paint.

Faith and a few Eden’s Gate members are nearby. The youngest Seed sits on a stone, adorned in one of her delicate white dresses, her blonde hair pulls back in a soft ponytail today. Her feet are still bare, as if someone’s blood isn’t mere inches from her, as if a body bag isn’t being rolled into an ambulance. Faith leans back on her hands, humming softly, kicking her feet gently in tune to her little song. Does this even faze her?

“Not much to do here,” the EMT tells Pratt and Dahlia, “another suicide, guy hit his head off the cliff before he even reached the ground, dead on arrival.”

“This happen a lot?” Dahlia asks, looking between Pratt and the EMT. They talked as if this happens every day.

“Kinda, “ Pratt admits, “I mean, it’s easy to access and tall as fuck, people have been jumping off to die since the peggies finished building it.”

“Hope County’s version of The Golden Gate Bridge.”

“That’s…fucked.”

“We gotta get to the morgue, call the next of kin, don’t know if there’s much else for you all to handle.”

“Alright, thanks for the help.”

Pratt and Dahlia wave off the EMT as the ambulance drives away; leaving the deputies with Faith and the Eden’s Gate members. It’s only natural to ask the owners of the statue a few questions, if they saw or heard anything. Faith seems to know this, given her soft smile as she waits for them, this really must be a normal occurrence.

“Hello, deputies,” she greets them as they wander off, “it’s a shame really, that a symbol of hope is used by the hopeless to end their own suffering.”

“I’m sure your heart is breaking, but, don’t suppose there’s any chance you saw anything?’

“No, I’m afraid no one was here this morning or late last night.”

“Of course,” Pratt says, more annoyed than anything and if this is the typical, Dahlia can understand why. There’s not much they can really do, it’s a tragedy, but unless there was another party involved it’s not really a police matter.

But, Dahlia wonders why the statue is so enticing a spot for suicide? It’s tall of course, the fall is a certain death. But, there are so many bridges around as well, not that she’s in that mental state at the moment but she imagines falling into water to die would be more enticing than hitting rock. And it’s odd as well, that the impact spot is marked with their symbol.

“Why is the ground painted?”

“Hmm?” Faith hums out an inquisitive noise, blinking at the deputy’s sudden question.

“The ground here, your church symbol is on it, I was just wondering why? Doesn’t seem like you can or would do much in this exact spot?”

Dahlia’s reminded of a bible passage, one of many she recalls from her childhood. The story of Satan trying to tempt Jesus to jump from a high cliff in Jerusalem, that if he’s truly the child of god he’d be safe, to give a leap of faith. It sticks in the back of her mind, nagging at her, surely that wouldn’t be a thing?

“Oh, I know it’s silly, but we like to put our symbol of hope and faith wherever we can, even in the smallest of places.”

“Uh, this isn’t like a thing, is it?” Dahlia asks before she can stop herself.

“Rook,” Pratt scolds her for the accusatory question. But Faith giggles.

“You really have a vivid imagination, don’t you, Rook? I don’t imagine we’d keep many members if we were pushing them off a statue.”

“Yeah, sorry,” that was dumb, Dahlia realizes the second she hears it out loud, “I think I’ve been watching too many horror movies.”

“Next, you’ll be accusing us of drugging our members,” Faith says, giggling with a soft smile on her face and Dahlia laughs along, yeah, she’s being ridiculous.

“Okay, well with that out of the way, we’ll get out of your hair,” Pratt speaks up, ready to go back to the station, not that there was much for them to do.

“Uh, actually, I did wanna ask you something, real quick, about Cassie,” Dahlia pipes up, before they leave. Pratt raises an eyebrow, looking at Dahlia.

“She’s settling in really well, she already feels like a part of the family, I assure you.” Faith squeezes Dahlia’s shoulder, warm in it’s reassurance.

“Thanks, I’m hoping I can visit before too long.”

“Oh, that’d be wonderful!” Faith captures both of Dahlia’s hands this time, grinning and stepping into the deputy’s personal space. Her and Joseph are both so touchy, it catches her off guard.

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you Faith, but we really need to be headed back now, c’mon, Rook.”

“Coming,” Dahlia calls out following behind a fast walking Pratt, one final wave goodbye to Faith.

Dahlia is fastening her seat belt in the cruiser, Pratt starting up the engine and taking them back down that winding road. There’s a palpable tension that eases with every step away from that statue. Whoever at Eden’s Gate approved it is ridiculous.

“Didn’t know you and Faith were so close.”

“We get along alright, her and Joseph helped me out this weekend.”

“What, you ditch the barbecue to hang out with peggies?”

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “my friend Cassie was staying with me, some shit happened at the Moonflower, they offered to help her out.”

“Since when do you have friends?”

“Hahaha, hilarious. Look, it’s not like I planned for shit to go sideways, why do you even care?”

“I don’t.”

“Sure seems like you do.”

“I don’t, you wanna run around with peggies, that’s your business, but it’s not gonna do you any favors around here.”

“Oh no, are the popular girls not gonna like me if I sit with the peggies?” Dahlia says with mock worry, pressing her hand to her chest. What kind of high school bullshit is this?

“Shut up, I’m fuckin’ serious, the only people who like peggies are peggies. Since when do you like that shit anyway?”

“I don’t like it, I’m not into religion, you know that. Just, I don’t know, doesn’t mean they aren’t chill.”

“Eden’s Gate is not fuckin’ chill, they’re weird and a pain in the ass.”

“They’re definitely weird, you know social media has eroded my soul?”

“What they find out you shared John’s shitty commercial on Twitter?”

“Huh, no? How’d you know that?” Dahlia’s careful to keep herself hard to identify online, her Twitter has no name, job, or location. Though, unless Eden’s Gate is broadcasting their cheesy crap all over the nation, that’d be easy for a Hope County Native too figure out.

“Petunia’s your icon on there.”

“I didn’t realize you could tell the difference in opossums.” In Dahlia’s defense, Petunia looked adorable eating her lunch that day and again, she assumed anyone would just think it was a random opossum picture.

“I know Petunia when I see her, give me some credit,” he rolls his eyes, “you know John’s gonna kill you if he does find out.”

“Well, it’s a damn good thing Eden’s Gate doesn’t use social media then.”

“Ah, yes, because as we all know no one ever disobeys their religion. I for one am still a picture perfect altar boy.”

“Loo-you’re Catholic?” The realization hits her and she looks bewildered at her partner’s profile. Granted, she rarely thinks about anyone’s religion, but for Pratt it seems all the more confusing. He hardly seems religious by any standard.

“I was raised Catholic,” he specifies and she nods her head, “Joey was too.”

“Neither of you are anymore?”

“I really can’t be bothered to give a fuck about it anymore, it is what it is, pretty sure Joey completely gave up on any of it.”

“There’s not a lot of practicing Catholics in this area, is there?” She’s pretty sure Montana is mostly protestants.

“No, the church in Falls End is Hope’s Catholic church, and it’s always been small. Me and Joey were damn near the only kids even.”

Dahlia can’t help but smile, thinking of Hudson and Pratt as kids. She always had the feeling they’d known each other for a long while, both talking about Hope County like they’ve been here all their lives. Hudson is a little older, but not much, so it just makes sense that in this small a place they’d known each other as children.

“How long have you guys known each other?”

“We playing fifty questions or something?”

“I’m curious!”

“No, your turn asshole. You wanna grill me on religion and shit, you get it back.”

“You already know how I feel about religion.”

“I know you didn’t wanna go to church and were a weirdo about it, that’s it.”

“Uhh,” she breathes, he’s right that it’s only fair to answer the same questions he answered for her, “my actual dad was Catholic, my mom was Jewish, then she remarried a fundie Preacher, Pentecostal, so that’s how I was raised, unfortunately.”

“So, you were zigzagged all over as far as that goes.”

“Eh, I mean, before she remarried, neither my mother or dad were like devout or felt they had to raise me a certain way. Like, I think I vaguely remember getting both Christmas and Hannukah when I was three?” She tries to pull up the fuzzy memory of when her mother, back when she was a true mother, helped her light a menorah and her dad hoisted her up to put a star on a modest Christmas tree.

“You believe in anything nowadays.”

“I consider myself an atheist at best.”

“At worst?”

“Well, if god does exist, he’s an asshole and I’d like to break his nose.”

That gets a laugh out of Pratt and Dahlia grins, she knows it sounds silly, but it’s true. How she genuinely feels, she doesn’t think anyone is watching over them, no singular or multiple gods, but if any creator can watch idly by as everyone suffers… Not someone she’d want to be worshipping, quite frankly.

The day winds down with little else for the deputies to do. Beyond the station windows the sky starts to turn pink, sun setting on another workday. Dahlia is fiddling with her phone, walking out of the station.

“You coming to The Spread Eagle tonight,” Hudson asks her, “I know you haven’t really been since that asshole gave you a hard time.”

“Oh uh, yeah, I could tag along.” Dahlia scratches at the back of her neck, feeling the heat climb up her face. She can see concern in Hudson’s olive-green eyes, which isn’t helping the blush across the young deputy’s face.

“C’mon then, probie,” Pratt calls out, giving Dahlia a playful smack on the shoulder as he passes by.

It’s the usual sight as Stray walks into The Spread Eagle; rock-folk music on the Jukebox tonight, couples dancing or sharing drinks, workers in flannels and dirty boots grabbing a drink after a long day. They slide into their usual seats, the youngest deputy between her two superiors, there’s a warmth to the low lights and wood interior. Mary May’s soft smile greeting them as she serves the rest of the patrons.

“I don't care if it rains!

Let's all go to the bar!

I don't care if there's a hurricane!

Let's all go to the bar!”

“I’ve been stuck on desk duty all day,” Hudson speaks over the music, starting the evening conversation with a groan, “so please tell me you two had something interesting happen.”

“Suicide out at Joseph’s statue, that’s about it.” Dahlia shrugs, nothing else really of note.

“Ugh, if I was near that statue I’d kill myself too.”

“It gives my heebie jeebies the heebie jeebies, not gonna lie.”

“Really, Rook, but Joseph’s your new best friend, remember?” Pratt cuts in to taunt the Junior Deputy.

“I have a finger for you.”

“You aren’t buddying up with the Seeds, are you deputy?” Mary May’s voice rings out as she sets drinks and food in front of the three officers, they hadn’t even ordered yet. Dahlia’s seen her do it with Hudson and Pratt, knowing the two deputy’s order inherently after years of routine. But it’s the first time she’s done it for Dahlia, knowing the youngest deputy’s favorite burger and soda. It’s nice and she’d love to spend a moment appreciating the coziness of it, but the weight of the bartender’s question hangs in the air.

“No,” Dahlia assures her, though a part of her feels guilty, as if she’s compromising loyalties, “they helped me and a friend out, that’s all.”

“Eden’s Gate doesn’t help anyone without expecting something in return, I know you’re new around here, deputy, but you need to be careful around them. They’ll do anything to have another cop wrapped around their finger.”

“Woah woah,” Dahlia holds her hands up in mock surrender, “it was just a little favor, nothing big I promise.”

“You don’t get it, that fami-“

“I think Merle is trying to flag you down for another beer,” Pratt interjects, saving Dahlia from the rest of the lecture.

“Yeah, uh, just be careful, deputy.” With that Mary May leaves them to serve Merle, some man with a mullet, another beer.

“Sorry about that,” Pratt says, “forgot how weird she gets about the Seeds.”

“Can’t blame her for it though, John Seed’s had it out for her family since they came here.”

“I would like to change the subject.”

“Pfft,” Pratt stifles a laugh at her blunt declaration, “alright, we can do that.”

“Well, okay, how’d your break go?”

“Mostly boring, other than when Pratt took me flying.”

“You took her up in the helicopter?” Hudson asks, raising an eyebrow at the male deputy over Dahlia’s shoulder.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“You seriously pulled that move on her?”

“Shut up.”

“Move?”

“Pratt has a habit of bringing girls up in the helicopter, don’t you?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know it was fun, though.” Dahlia shrugs, she doesn’t really care if he brings other people up in the helicopter. She’s not really sure how it’s relevant or what Hudson means by it being a move; she had fun with her friend and he cheered her up.

“Hear that, Joey, it was fun. Don’t put weird ideas in Rookie’s head. “

“Oh yeah, blame me.”

“So, anything interesting happen at the station while I was gone?”

“Well,” Hudson smirks, mischief in her eyes as she glances at Pratt again.

“She doesn’t need to know about that.”

“I think she does, the day after you went on leave-”

“I’d like to change the subject,” Pratt cuts Hudson off, mimicking Dahlia from earlier.

“I don’t even know what the subject is yet!” The youngest deputy objects, laughing.

“Well, a certain someone’s mom felt the need to come down to the station and let Whitehorse know just how wrong he is to put her precious son in harm’s way.”

“Oh my god,” Dahlia says, unable to resist smiling, while Pratt’s buried his head in his hands, “your mom came to the station?”

“Yes, yes, laugh it up.”

“You call me a child and you have your mommy checking in on you at work?”

“I didn’t invite her!”

Pratt’s face is flushed bright red while Hudson and Dahlia laugh at his expense, but despite the embarrassing aspect, Dahlia can’t help but think it’s a little endearing. His mom must really love him.

“She worry about you a lot?” Dahlia asks, core aching from laughing.

“Ugh, that’s a fuckin’ understatement.”

“Mama Pratt’s always been a little too worried about her baby boy,” Hudson taunts, reaching over the table to pinch at Pratt’s cheek, only for him to smack her hands away.

“I’m sure that went over great when you went into law enforcement.”

“She still gets furious at Whitehorse for putting us in danger.”

“Us?”

“She wasn’t very happy about me becoming a cop either,” Hudson admits and that makes sense, given what Pratt’s told Dahlia about them being close as kids, surely she’d be close to his mother.

“And if she meets you, she’ll be in Whitehorse’s ear again.”

“Huh?”

“I can hear it now, ‘how could you put that little girl in danger, what’s wrong with you?’” Hudson tries her best to mimic Pratt’s mother, grinning at the ridiculousness of it, and despite herself…the idea of his mom doting on her the way she would Hudson. As if Dahlia could be as close to either of them, even if the idea of being seen as a vulnerable little girl is a bit patronizing.

“Not gonna lie, I really want to meet your mom now.”

“No.”

“C’mon!”

“No, not in a million years, I get enough hell from Joey and Beau, I don’t need it from you too.”

Their conversation continues late into the evening as it so often does, just a few hours shy of staying until closing, early mornings the only thing that keeps them from staying later. Around the same time as they have every other night, they leave and say their goodbyes. Pratt and Hudson heading back to the small set of apartment housing that resides in the little town, while the youngest deputy rides back to the trailer park.

She stops at the mailboxes, in the registration building, rows of them with their lot numbers associated with them. The printed letters for Cassie and Joseph heavy in her pocket. A part of her does feel guilty, mostly to Mary May, but it’s not as if they’re close friends and the bartender can’t expect Dahlia to avoid an entire family because of hearsay. And it’s not as if she’s joining up or spending every moment with them. She shakes her head, stupid feelings, it’s not as if she has to choose sides. She can be thankful for the Seed’s help and still get along with Mary May. She tucks the letters inside her mailbox to be sent out then heads into her trailer, throwing herself down on her couch to sleep for the night.

Hands on her, groping and prodding on Dahlia’s bare body. She screams and fights against them, unable to see whom they belong to, a mystery hidden by the logic of a dream. They feel different, but she sees no difference, each pair ink black as if monsters reaching from the void to defile her. They claw and grab; scratching over her ribs, locking fingers around her throat, squeezing at her thighs, and pressing over her mouth. The hands are everywhere and they smear black across her skin, smears and filth, reminders of their violation. They stain her skin, mark her flesh, and leave the aftermath of their violence on her body.

And she fights. She kicks and she pulls, but it only spurs them to grab her more. Dahlia lashes out at the void that touches her, but it does not retreat. She bites at the ink fingers that push into her tongue, but the digits only press deeper in, sliding into her throat.

She can’t be sure if she breaks away or they let her go, but their touch is gone, Dahlia dropping to her knees as if they were the only thing supporting her. Inky black slick across her skin where they touched her, heavy even on her tongue, finger prints within them.

And she wretches as flowers bloom from the stains they’d left on her. Small blue flowers blossom forth bursting through the flesh of her tongue, sprouting from her throat and gagging her, soft petals falling from her lips. Those same vibrant blue flowers burst forth from her throat where she was choked.

Red flowers bloom out from the flesh of her ribs, stacked blossoms along a single stem cutting through the tender skin, like blades. They follow the curve of the bones within her, just long beneath her breast where rough hands had torn at her skin.

White petals, the most familiar as they recur so often and are a constant sight within the county. They grow through the plush of her thighs, not even blood or black tarnishing them as they push through her skin. They wind and weave as they come through like petal ropes around her .

And her heart staggers a beat as a sunflower grows within it, then through her chest, a vivid yellow. Her eye burns, a pressure behind it as another great yellow bloom grows behind it, piercing the fragile membrane, blood falling from her socket, vision in the eye obscured from the flower that’s taken it’s place.

She’s awash of yellows, blues, whites, and reds. Turned into a cruel art piece, body aching as her skin is open, her lungs choked, her heart stuttering to beat, and body protesting in agony.

And she snaps awake, not jolting from her couch but twisting with a heavy cough, phantom tickles within her throat. She gags on something that doesn’t exist, heartbeat thundering and lungs burning. Dahlia takes a moment to gather herself, a cold sweat still clinging to her skin. Her clock informs her it’s four in the morning.

She pushes back the hair that’s fallen into her face and lights up a cigarette, inhaling nicotine to ease her shaky body and frayed nerves. These dreams have only been getting more frequent and they’re starting to fuck with her. She can’t live with having a heart attack every other night and barely getting sleep.

Once she’s filled her lungs with smoke, let the burning cigarette nearly singe her fingers before she tosses it out. Dahlia throws on the lights, blinking through the way it blinds her after so long of darkness, but she ignores the sleep heavy in her eyes as she grabs her drawing pad, sitting at her coffee table on the floor letting her mind lead her hand.

Sunflowers she knows, the flower iconic enough in identity for her to know it and with the white flowers being so around the county, she could easily be able to figure out what they are. She thinks they’re called moonflowers, given the name of the trailer park and that a field of them surround them. But she sketches them out, along with the other flowers she saw. Four types of flowers on the page. She needs to get them on paper while they’re fresh in her mind. And then in the crux of them all, she draws out the layered ones from her previous dreams.

She plans on looking them up, flowers have significance and meaning, she’s heard that before that people can plan bouquets to communicate messages. She’s never cared about flowers in her entire life, so she has no idea why on earth they’d such a recurring theme in her dreams be.

Dahlia feels more relaxed now that she’s smoked and gotten the images of the flowers on paper. She’ll search for her answers later, after she’s gotten more sleep. Nerves and body relaxed, she curls back up on her couch, letting herself fall into a dreamless sleep.

It’s a few hours past noon the next day, a slow day of just tickets, the young deputy’s head is against her own seatbelt. Her eyes are starting to close despite the amount of energy drinks she’s consumed. She managed to salvage a few hours of restful sleep, but not nearly enough to keep her awake through an already boring day. Her eyelids are impossibly heavy, each blink growing longer and longer.

“Rook!”

“I’m awake!” Dahlia says with a jolt, Pratt’s voice and a shake of her shoulder waking her back up.

“Are you?” Pratt asks while laughing and she pinches at the bridge of her nose, a headache coming on.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“What were doing?”

“Wasn’t doing nothing; just bad dream,” she tells him, shrugging.

“Units near the Orchard please respond,” Nancy from dispatch’s voice crackles over their radio, they’re still in the Valley and maybe five minutes from the giant orchard.

“Deputy Pratt responding.”

“Debbie and Doug called in a robbery, suspect has fled the scene, but they’re still requesting an officer to file a report.”

“We’ll be there shortly,” he hangs up the receiver, “wake up, Rookie, we have to actually work today.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he admits, acknowledging that it’ll likely just be an hour of talking, writing down a report, and then leaving.

They drive past the pumpkin farm, Dahlia unable to resist smiling when she sees Boomer playing with his owners, weaving through the gourds. She’s reminded of her first day, stopping to pet the dog to dispel her own nerves. Then the apple trees filter in, bright red and shining in the light. Each tree is overflowing, a few crates out fill with the fruit, apples that have fallen on the ground.

Pratt pulls up to the orchard’s packing facility past the market stall that advertises cider tasting. There’s a man and woman standing in front of the large open packing facility; the building painted red with green roofing, the open doors showing the crates and machines. The smell of crisp apples hits Dahlia as she gets out of the cruiser, mixing with the fresh air, she feels more awake than she was before. Rarely, but sometimes, the beauty of the county manages to lift her spirits.

“What’s going on?” Pratt asks the couple.

“Someone,” Debbie gives a pointed look at her husband Doug, arms crossed, “left the office key in the stall again, next thing we know, someone cleared out our safe.”

“Hey, don’t blame me.”

“Well who the fuck am I suppose to blame?”

“That fuckin’ church would be a goddamn start.”

The tension is palpable as the couple argues, body language tight and wrought with frustration. Stray can’t tell if Debbie is about to cry or scream, maybe both. Doug looks as if he’d like to rip the earth up and bury himself beneath it.

“Everybody calm down, did anyone see anything suspicious?”

“John fuckin’ Seed and his band of goons were here earlier, no one saw him grab the key, but no one else would have. Son of a bitch has it out for us.”

“Alright, you wanna take me back to the office, I’ll have a look around,” Pratt asks Doug.

“Yeah, no problem.”

“You mind staying out here and talking to me, Debbie?” Dahlia offers, she’s not the most comforting person in the world, but the older woman clearly needs to get some stuff off her chest.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

Doug and Pratt go back to the office within the packing facility, leaving Dahlia alone with Debbie.

“Lets find a place to sit down and just breathe for a minute, alright?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Debbie agree and Dahlia places what she hopes to be a comforting hand on the woman’s back, guiding her into the market stall where she saw benches.

She settles in across from Debbie, who wrings her hands together.

“No pressure and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but if you need an ear, I’m willing to listen.”

“Don’t even know where to start, ever since John Seed set his sights on the orchard, it’s been a nightmare.”

“He been making life hard for you?”

“That’s the understatement of the god damn century, that church has been buying up properties since they got here. The railyard, the old summer camp, the veterans center, the conservatory; list goes on…I use to wonder why everyone sold out to them, but I fuckin’ get it now.”

“They’re persistent?”

“They’re fucking heartless. Me and Doug built this place from the ground up; John Seed made an offer and we said no. Next thing we know; roads are blocked so our shipments can’t go out, they buy up the fertilizer plant and we can’t use it to help the new crops, cargo trucks are toting away product in the dead of night, and now this shit. We’ve been hemorrhaging cash ever since he set his sights on us. Got an attorney involved and all they did was charge us.”

“I’m so fucking sorry, I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you.”

“We had a good year for crops, thought we’d break even if nothing else, then what little we got was taken. I can’t even pay my god damn workers, we’ve had to let go of folks who’ve been here for years because they couldn’t keep working for free cider.”

The woman lets out a breath, body deflating as she finally gets everything off her chest, but her blue eyes are brimming with tears. Dahlia offers her a tissue from her pocket, not sure what else she can do, watching the woman dab at her eyes. Despite the help Joseph and his church has given to Dahlia and Cassie, this sort of behavior can’t be enabled. Theodore was stealing booze from The Spread Eagle, on the order of John Seed, when she first came here. Lonny hasn’t exactly been shy about insinuating he should just be allowed to take her motorcycle. So, it’s not far fetched to imagine them getting greedy. As ironic as it is to attach a sin to church goers.

“They can’t do that shit.”

“But they do, no evidence though, nothing can be done. If the cops even bother to show up, no offense, but a lot of your station ain’t doing their fucking jobs.”

“No offense taken, I’m not gonna sit here and tell you every cops here for the right reasons. But, uh, if there’s something I can do to help, I want to.”

“Short of a miracle, I don’t think there’s much we can do. Take John’s next offer, try to fuckin’ survive.”

“There has to be a way for you guys to keep the orchard,” Dahlia murmurs more to herself than Debbie, at the end of it all the young deputy doesn’t have a dog in the fight. But, her heart does break for the couple and she wants to find some way to help.

“I’m willing to try anything at this point.”

“Ever think of doing any kind of apple festival or something? I mean people do that, sounds nicer than one for testicles.”

“Pssh,” she laughs a little at the way Dahlia wrinkles her nose, “it’d take a lot of work to get something like that set up.”

“I mean, do you really think the rest of the county won’t come together to help, you can do stands, have food, games, charge some money. I mean, it’s an idea.”

“We got stands for the market, don’t know if I can cook for a whole county though, if they even show.”

“Do you think Casey or Chad would help out?” Dahlia brings up the cooks from the Spread Eagle and Grill Steak. Small communities are suppose to come together in times of crisis, that’s the hope at least. Lloyd always told her that’s what he loved about Hope County and Reinette, everyone’s willing to pitch in.

“Maybe… Casey knows the runners of the Testy Festy too, he could help up get vendors and games set up, I…ya think we can actually do this?”

“Way I see it, best case scenario, it gets you through the rough spot, sticks it to John Seed, and you could do it every year for an income boost. Worst case scenario, you go down swinging, having some fun, and with friends by your side,” Dahlia tells her honestly with a shrug, she doesn’t want to give false hope, but even in worst case scenario, it’s worth it to go down swinging.

“That’s,” she smiles, tears clearing, she looks hopeful finally, “that’s hard to argue with, you gonna help?”

“Of course, I can see about talking to Casey tonight even.”

“Deb?” Doug’s voice calls out and the women leave the market stall, Doug and Pratt have come back from the office Pratt raises an eyebrow, eye drifting from the now happy Debbie, to Dahlia. Silently asking her what the hell happened.

“There wasn’t anything that can pin it on anyone, no security footage or prints, sorry,” Pratt tells her.

“I figured… Doug, me and Deputy….” she searches for Dahlia’s name only to realize she doesn’t know it, “…her have been talking, what do you think about throwing together a festival?”

“A festival?”

“Yeah, we could get the county together, might just be what saves this place. I…just…I don’t wanna give up yet. She said she’d help, I think, I think we can do this.”

“We’d need to move fast and a festival take a lot of time to set up.”

“I mean, we get enough people on board, I can’t see why we can have it ready to go by, next Friday, the 10th?” Dahlia cuts in to help, that’d give them a little over a week, short notice but not impossible.

“You planning on helping?”

“Of course,”Dahlia beams, but no reason she can’t volunteer some more help, she throws an arm over Pratt’s shoulder, “we’d both be happy to help anyway we can.”

“What?” Pratt asks blankly and she just gives him a friendly smack on the chest, if he can force her into a church barbecue, she can damn well rope him into helping a local business.

“Well then, I think next Friday could work,” Doug admits.

“We could hold it Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. An entire weekend for everyone to come together, have some fun and maybe save this place,” Debbie tells him, smiling wide.

“Okay, lets do it.”

“Hell yeah.” Dahlia grins, the formerly frustrated and desperate couple are now smiling bright as can be. Warmth is burning in the rookie deputy’s chest, proud that she can help them get those smiles back.

“Yeah…well, guess I can help,” Pratt admits, still glaring at Dahlia in his peripheral, she’s just amazed he hasn’t pushed her off of him yet.

“I’ll try to talk to Casey tonight, if the bars too busy, I’ll try tomorrow. Then I’ll get in touch with Chad, ask around about music, games, anything we could need.”

“Gotta find a way to advertise it.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Dahlia tells them, confident she can put it together, “you guys worry about getting the orchard set up, getting food, cider, prices, and all that figured out. And if you need anything just call down to the station and ask for Rook.”

“Thank you, seriously, both of you.”

“No problem,” Pratt says, though there’s a sigh in his voice, “our probie here just loves to help people.”

“Well, it is my job, speaking of which, you said the church is blocking the roads?”

“Yeah, our trucks can’t even get a shipment out.”

“Do you know where they’re set up?”

“Yeah, the road that leads from Holland valley out to Missoula, if you follow it far enough, why?”

“Public roads legally can’t be blocked,” Pratt explains for her.

“So, we’re gonna pay them a quick visit.”

“Thanks again, we’ll be in touch, Deputy.”

They wave off the couple, saying their goodbyes as they climb back into the cruiser. A beat of silence passes without Pratt starting the engine.

“What the fuck, Rook?”

“What?”

“You know your getting yourself into deep shit, right? Pissing off the church right after they helped you out?”

“Them helping me out ain’t a free pass to do whatever they want. I can get along with someone and still hold them accountable for their bullshit. They have no right trying to railroad Debbie and Doug like that.”

“And you have no right dragging me into it.”

“You volunteered me for the fuckin’ church barbecue.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“We were off the clock, not work hours.”

“What about trying to pressure me into going to the Rye barbecue, while at Redlers, technically on the clock.”

“That was also different.”

“How?”

“’Cause you’re the rookie and I’m allowed to be mean to you.”

“No, that is not how that works!”

“Is too, the entire point of hiring rookie cops is to hassle them, you don’t get to hassle back.”

“Well, too bad, fucker we’re throwing an apple festival.”

“Jesus christ.”

“It’ll be fun.”

“It’ll be a pain in my ass,” he says, grumbling as he starts the engine, taking off out of the orchard.

Dahlia sticks her tongue out at him as they wind through the roads. Apple trees become the usual firs and pines, road signs starting to indicate they’re in route to Missoula. The young deputy watches the woods pass by, where the trees meet the blue sky, farmland occasionally breaking the landscape with cows meandering around.

It’s not long before they come to a stop and sure enough, large slabs of concrete are across the roadway. White trucks bearing the Eden’s Gate symbol are slotted behind them, black flags with the symbol in white stream from the back, and sturdier white vans are nearby as well. Members of the church are gathered there, woman with overgrown hair and men with hairy faces, a few she recognizes. All looking at the stopped cruiser with some measure of anger or worry.

“Hey, deputy,” it’s Waylon who greets Dahlia, smiling at her, “what seems to be the issue?”

“Your blocking public roads,” Pratt is the one to answer.

“Oh, see the thing if, the church is having some property worked on nearby. So, we really can’t have anyone driving through here, it’s temporary of course.”

“You can’t do that, though,” Dahlia explains, “if you need to fence off private property, you need to do it along the property line. Unless you have permission from the state, you cannot block public road access.”

“Deputy please, surely you understand.”

“Waylon,” she puts a hand on his shoulder, “you know we get along and I don’t have anything against the church, but blocking the road affects everyone else. If you really need roads blocked off, you need to contact the right people and get permits first, okay?”

“Understood.”

“Okay, then, just clear out and everything will be fine.”

He doesn’t seem happy, none of the church members do, but that’s the rules. She can’t even understand why’d they ever need to block the roads, if she didn’t know any better she’d think they were trying to keep people from leaving.

They drive the trucks and vans away; Dahlia and Pratt even helping move the concrete blockades off the road. Why do they even have those?

There’s still a sour note in the air once the block is cleared and the deputies have pulled away. She hates this weird back and forth; the church helping her but then doing something that gives her reason to doubt them. Wanting to be their friend but needing to put her foot down; wanting them and both the people who hate them to like her. Torn between the two as well as her child; like an unfortunate child in the midst of their parent’s divorce and she’s being forced to choose one.

It’s getting close to evening, when they pull up to the station to put in the report. The usual folks are in the bullpen, Hudson working at her computer with a mug of coffee and Brennan at his desk as well. The faces she’s come to know the best outside of Pratt. He plops himself down into his chair at his desk and Dahlia decides to grab another energy drink from the kitchen first.

She’s managed to rummage through the collection of tana cola bottle to find it, cracking it open with a yawn as she leaves the kitchen.

“…it wouldn’t have been so bad if Rook didn’t volunteer me for some bullshit.”

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic.”

“Jesus fuck,” Pratt jolts in his chair, nearly toppling it over, “that’s it, we’re getting you a god damn bell!”

“Didn’t know you were into that, Staci,” Brennan says with a snicker.

“Shut up.”

“Oh, please, no one’s buying it,” Hudson says, rolling her eyes.

“There’s nothing to buy, Rook is an annoying shit, who just grabbed me and volunteered me for bullshit.”

“You’re such a baby.”

Dahlia reaches out and flicks his ear, laughing when Pratt grabs her hand, fingers intertwining as he tries to push her back. She brings her other hand up, trying to reach out and flick him with her other hand. But he grabs it in the same way, the two pushing against each other, both grinning like children. She’s not even sure what the goal is and Pratt probably doesn’t either. But then his office chair wheels slide back from the force and she’s found a goal, pushing Pratt across the room. No particular reason for it other than the idea of watching him sail across the bullpen makes her giggle. But he won’t let go of her hands enough that she can push him without him dragging her too.

“The hell are you two doing?” Whitehorse’s voice booms out when he walks in to see the two deputies horsing around.

“Being idiots.”

“I don’t know, looks like flirting to me.”

Hudson’s insult and Brennan’s teasing makes red flush up the two bickering deputy’s cheeks. They’re technically holding hands and leaning into each other’s personal space, Dahlia realizes. Pratt suddenly drops her hands, jolting away as if her skin has burnt his, and pushing his chair away from her. Nearly toppling over a trashcan in his haste.

“Yeah why the hell you holding my hand, Rookie?”

“You grabbed my hand first, asshole!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You did.”

“You absolutely did.”

Hudson and Brennan agree with Dahlia, Pratt’s face going from pink to scarlet. Whitehorse rolls his eyes, no doubt questioning his hiring decisions. How any of them still have jobs is a mystery, except Hudson.

“How’d things go at the orchard?” The sheriff asks, adjusting his cowboy hat. He really does look like such a stereotype.

“We couldn’t find any evidence of who broke into the office, they grabbed the key, so I told Doug he should look into changing the locks and investing in some security cameras. They’re dead set on it being John or someone with the church though,” Pratt explains, rolling his chair back up to his desk.

“You know it was,” Brennan scoff, “damn church is destroying the whole county.”

“Now, now, you can’t go making accusations without evidence, I just hope Debbie and Doug can bounce back.”

Dahlia doesn’t miss the roll of Brennan’s eyes and the sneer on his lips, he doesn’t like Eden’s Gate or Whitehorse’s attitude towards them it seems. She’s rarely seen the officer without a smile, but lips curled and leg bouncing, he seems a moment away from flipping the desk in front of him.

“Well, if Rook’s plan works, they’ll do fine.”

“Your plan?” Whitehorse looks at her with a raised eyebrow; her fellow deputies and Brennan all look at her expectantly as well. She scratches at the back of her neck, skin prickling at the attention.

“Oh, uh…well, I figured they could do like an apple festival, be fun for the county and help raise some money for ‘em.”

“That the plan you were bitching about, Pratt?” Brennan raises an eyebrow at him.

“It’s a pain in the ass and the Seed family is gonna be pissed.”

“So, apple pie and pissing off the Seeds, I’m fuckin’ sold,” Brennan sticks his fist out to Dahlia and she bumps her knuckles to his, grinning, “anything I can help with, just say the word.”

“Seriously, see why can’t you be my partner?”

“Hey, rude.”

“’Cause we’d never get Pratt to stop whining about it.”

“What the hell, you’re suppose to be on my side, Beau.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“I’m willing to help out too if I can,” Hudson cuts in between the banter, eyes soft, “I still remember going apple picking there with my family, I don’t wanna see Doug and Debbie lose that place.”

“Yeah…that place has a lot of memories for everyone,” Pratt admits, hazel eyes deepening with nostalgia.

“Still remember the first year you came with us,” Hudson grins, “Mark tried to lift you up to grab an apple and you just started sobbing.”

“Your brother was trying to kill me and I stand by that,” Pratt smiles as he pretends to defend himself.

“When are Deb and Doug planning on having the festival?” Whitehorse asks Dahlia.

“Aiming for the next Friday, the 10th, they wanna see if they can do it the whole weekend too.”

“Lot of work to get done if that’s gonna happen.”

“I know, I’m planning on talking to Casey as soon as I can. See if he’ll help cook and if there’s any testy festy supplies or vendors he can help with.”

“Mary May has a live band that plays once a week, they might be willing to play,” Hudson offers.

“Think they’d work cheap or free? I’d hate to stiff anyone and I’ll pay whatever I have too out of my own pocket, but the last thing we want is the festival costing more than it makes,” Dahlia explains, leaning against the wall as she talks it out.

“If they’re not willing to work any or all of it, we could always talk to Wheaty too.”

“Wheaty?”

“Kid who lives up North,” Brennan points in the general North direction, “he’s been obsessed with starting a radio station for years, he’ll basically DJ anything for free just to show off his vinyl collection.”

“That could work too.”

“Addie would probably help with money for it, honestly, just throw some advertisements up for the Marina.”

“Hell, if me and Staci ask her, she’d probably do it anyway,” Brennan gives a wide toothy smile.

“Gross, but true.”

“Didn’t Grace use to do those shooting competitions at fairs and shit, letting people pay to try and outshoot her?”

“Yeah,” Hudson nods to Pratt’s suggestion, “she hates the attention, but if it’s for a good cause I’m sure she’d do it.”

“I don’t think the Fowler brothers would bring Cheeseburger, since they gotta watch what he eats, but they might be willing to bring down some animals for people to see.”

“Hell, if we could convince Rae Rae to bring Boomer; people will show up just get a picture of him.”

“Pie eating contest would draw people in too.”

“Lorna would probably make pasties for it if we asked.”

Dahlia can’t help but grin at all the ideas and suggestions; a fire seemingly ignited in everyone. There’s a warmth in her chest and a swelling sense of pride that she could get everyone on board. The orchard means a lot to the county, not just Debbie and Doug. And she may actually be able to save it.

“Woah woah, hold on now,” Whitehorse calls out and Dahlia stiffens, this technically isn’t police work, “is anyone writing all this down? Not gonna do anyone a lick of good if we forget something.”

He smiles, blue eyes soft as Hudson grabs a piece of paper, writing down the ideas that’ve been said so far. Whitehorse is giving his stamp of approval and that pride in her chest only swells bigger, thumping against her ribs and making her smile widen.

“Rook.”

“Yes, sheriff?”

“As long as you keep an ear to your radio, don’t see any reason you can’t work on some of this during work, alright?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Good, Debbie and Doug deserve the best and we’re damn well gonna give it to ‘em, that’s an order.”

The sheriff ruffles her hair before he leaves and her face hurts from smiling so much. She pulls up a chair to the desk, sitting with Hudson, Pratt, and Brennan as they keep working on ideas. All four stay past their shift hours; scribbling down all possible ideas, who they should reach out to and who should be the one to talk to them. Dahlia smiling the entire time as they talk late into the evening.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #this is love #joseph seed #faith seed #staci pratt

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fics-kats-procrastination · 4 years

Text

Elevators and Disneyland (Chris Evans x Reader)

Word Count: 2.5k

Requested: No

A/N: I’ve thought about making a second part to this depicting their day in Disneyland, so let me know if y’all would want that! (: Also, GIF not mine. Credit to whoever made it.

It’s common knowledge that everyone is born with a soulmark that leads a person to their other half. Their perfect someone. A human being with a soul crafted entirely with the intention to complete someone else. Soulmarks are an outline of a hand or finger, placed precisely where a person’s soulmate will touch them for the first time. Once the soulmates have touched, the outline fills in with the soulmate’s favorite color. Unfortunately, your soulmark is still just an outline of a handprint on the right side of your waist. The palm resting above your right hip while the fingers press against the soft skin of your lower back.

As a child, the story of how your parents met was used to lull you to sleep. It was your favorite bedtime story. Although you never worried much about meeting your soulmate during the stress-free years of elementary school, the thought of meeting your significant other ran rampant in your mind once you reached your teenage years. Growing up in a small town meant that 97% of people met their soulmate during high school; however, you weren’t one of those people. You graduated from high school with a black outline while the rest of your senior class graduated with a variety of colors painting their skins and massive grins etching their lips. Knowing that your significant other didn’t live in your town, you left home and headed upstate for university. After completing two years and still majoring in undecided, the enticement of a gap year made itself known, leading you to where you are now.

You and your best friend, Y/F/N, are currently soaking in the last rays of California’s setting sun by the hotel pool. A vacation to Disneyland was sure to kick a gap year off right and hopefully help you narrow down what career path to take. Y/F/N is lying on her front, eyes closed as she listens to whatever song is on her playlist. Her feet lightly bobbing in time to the music. Meanwhile, you are sitting up in a sun lounger, attention divided between relaxing in the heat or ignoring text messages from your family. While you believe taking a year off from schooling is in your best interest, your parents and siblings feel as though it’s a reckless move. They have no problem making you aware of their dissatisfaction either.

A muffled vibration from your hand causes one of your eyelids to drift open so you can lazily peek at your phone screen. Instead of another text message, like you had expected, a tweet from one of your favorite actors popped up in your notifications. You make a mental note to read it later before you casually shove Y/F/N’s shoulder. Y/F/N’s head lifts languidly from her arms and she pulls out an earbud to talk to you. “Are you ready to head back up to the room?” You ask, noticing that the sun is barely visible between the many hotels surrounding your own. Y/F/N nods, sits up, and stretches her arms over her head before grabbing her towel to wrap it firmly around her body.

“Do you have the room key?” Y/F/N wonders. “I didn’t bring mine, so I hope that you remembered to grab yours otherwise we’re locked out.” A cheeky smile accompanies the teasing words she throws at you. Rolling your eyes, you stand up and copy Y/F/N’s earlier actions, wrapping the towel around your body to hold in all of the warmth you gained from California’s hot sun. The pair of you pad over to the outside door where you swipe your keycard with an obnoxious grin directed at Y/F/N. The flashing green lights signal that the door unlocked, so Y/F/N tugs the door open, allowing you both to waddle inside.

Cool air from the hotel’s air conditioner greets you causing goosebumps to rise along your exposed legs. You silently curse at the temperature change while hurrying over to the elevator. Y/F/N follows closely behind, grumbling to herself. Repeatedly pressing the call button for the elevator, you tug your towel tighter around your frame. “Why is it always so cold in hotels?” You rhetorically mutter as the elevator dings. “Thank the lord!” Y/F/N and yourself enter the, thankfully empty, metal box; you press the button for floor 17 on the control panel as Y/F/N presses herself into the corner in a half-hearted attempt to gain more heat. “Okay,” you begin once the elevator has started it’s ascent, “what’s tomorrow’s Disney action plan?”

Immediately Y/F/N begins gushing about what rides she wishes to go on first tomorrow and which rides could be saved for a later day on your trip; however, you’re only half-listening because the elevator stops on floor 9 to pick up three new male passengers, all of them fit, attractive, and wearing ball-caps as well as sunglasses. There’s something about the blue NASA hat that catches your eye. You squint, studying the cap more intently until you notice the wearer of it flashing you a timid smile, fidgeting with his long fingers. You offer him an apologetic smile for the obvious discomfort you caused him and allow yourself to tune back into Y/F/N’s rambling. “-Mountain needs to be done first thing though!”

“Of course!” You agree, trying to appear excited about the following day, although you’re not sure if you caught anything she said. The elevator steadily climbs, reaching around floor 15 before the lights flicker followed by an unusual rumble. A pit forms in your stomach while all of the elevator’s occupants glance unsurely at one another. Your anxiety climbs when the elevator screeches to a halt, causing you to drop the towel and be thrown into the arms of Mr. NASA. His right arm wraps around your waist to catch you and press you firmly to his steady frame. One of your hands land on his bicep while the other presses against his pec in an attempt to steady your own frame. Heart pounding as you right yourself and push your hair out of your eyes with shaking hands, you spare a quick glance around the elevator before asking, “Is everyone alright?”

Y/F/N pulls herself up from the ground with help from one of the other men on board. A gasp settles in your throat, but doesn’t escape, when you recognize the person aiding your best friend. Although his hair is cropped shorter than previous press junkets and he has more color in his cheeks, you’re positive that you’re standing in the same elevator as Sebastian Stan. His hat and sunglasses lay askew on the floor. “Wait, Y/N!” Y/F/N shouts once she’s fully standing again. Her eyes grow wide, and she crosses the elevator in two long strides before she’s gripping your arm to force you into turning more towards Mr. NASA. His hands automatically find your hips when you stumble a bit from your friend’s enthusiastic push. “Holy…” She trails off and you feel her touch, lighter than air, drawing on the bare skin of you back, visible thanks to your swimsuit’s cutout.

“No way!” A deeper voice joins in on Y/F/N’s speculation. A shiver runs down your spine when her touch raises goosebumps on your flesh but your attention is focused on the new speaker. He’s got a slight accent that you're able to connect to Louisiana, New Orleans to be specific. He reaches up to put his sunglasses over the bill of his hat. You notice his eyes trailing along the spot Y/F/N’s still softly tracing-a corner of your mind makes note that Y/F/N’s fingers are doodling the empty, colorless space of your soulmark-before they trail up your arm and Mr. NASA’s arm, settling on Mr. NASA’s broad, strong chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me, bro! Take off your shirt. Take it off,” he bugs NASA.

NASA lightly steps away from you with a scoff, exasperation coloring his tone. “I’m not just gonna take my shirt off, Mackie!” Anthony Mackie rolls his eyes at the answer and steps closer to the other male. Anthony reaches for the hem of NASA’s shirt, resulting in NASA swatting at the offending appendages. “Stop it, man!”

“Take it off, man or I’ll take it off you!”

“I’m not going to take it off. Stop it!”

“You made me do this!”

Soothing motions across your back tear your gaze from the small argument in front of you back to Y/F/N. “Could you please stop that?” You question, goosebumps still littering your skin when she finally stops the constant, moving pressure. Sebastian’s head cocks toward you as you turn to face Y/F/N again instead of NASA. About to thank her for ceasing, your eye catches on a new color in the reflective surface of the elevator’s wall.

A small noise of confusion leaves your lips as you twist and turn your hips in an attempt to better stare at the skin there. One last wriggle before the reflection is clear, heart beginning to race faster than a horse at the Kentucky Derby. Your mouth drops open while your eyebrows furrow, hands trying futilely to pull your skin closer to your own eyes. “Judging from your reaction, I’m assuming that hasn’t always been like that?” Sebastian’s inquiry takes you by surprise because...no, it HASN’T always been like this. It’s never looked like this before now! Where a thick black outline of a handprint used to rest, blooming drops of navy blue have filled the entirety of the space. There wasn’t a spot left within the border that your skin was visible thru.

Your gaze snaps up to meet Y/F/N’s own ecstatic stare, your hands numbly dropping from their hold on your hips to rest by your side. “Oh...oh!” Pressing a palm to your temple, your body leans until the wall of the elevator is at your back, supporting you as you slide down it to sit. A trembling finger points accusingly at the attractive man still arguing with Anthony. “Y-you’re...you’re my soul…you’re my soulmate!”

In spite of your voice being barely louder than a kitten’s snore, both men stop talking and snap their heads towards you. A self-satisfied smirk rests on Anthony’s lips as he cockily says, “Take your shirt off, man.” Eyes slightly glazed over but filled with curiosity, you look over at NASA who takes off his hat and sunglasses then grabs the back of the neck of his shirt and tosses it over his head too quickly for you to see his face. You’re desperate to see what handsome features accompany this Adonis-like body, yet you let your eyes drop to roam over his chest and arms. A splash of Y/F/C dances along his left pec enhancing the same color being sported by his right bicep. A choked off gasp comes from your throat and your breathing becomes shallower the moment you allow yourself to see his face.

Eyes bluer than the clearest waters are framed by the thickest set of dark brown eyelashes. They’re overset by well-kept eyebrows, in a shade of hazelnut that perfectly match the messy hat hair he’s currently supporting. A nose shaped like a ski-slope sits proportionately on his face and draws attention down to a full pair of lips. His upper lip is carnation pink and slightly skinnier than the lower lip it rests against but that thought flees your mind when a shy smile causes his mouth to quirk upward while revealing two rows of shiny white teeth, straightened perfectly by years of dental work. Although there’s some light scruff dusting his cheeks and jawline that causes your cheeks to flush, you can tell he was clean shaven a few days ago and your heart lurches at the appealing thought. His tongue quickly peeks out to wet his lower lip while he tries to come up with words to explain the unneeded tension in the atmosphere. You beat him to it.

“You’re Chris Evans.”

Chris stares at the floor, gaze resting on his feet that are gently shuffling. His hand rubs at the back of his neck, cheeks flushed with color. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage, sweetheart,” he chuckles, Bostonian accent thick on his tongue. Heat rushes to your cheeks at the familiar sound of his voice. Memories of all the times you’ve gushed with Y/F/N over how attractive Captain America is floods through your brain making the light pink color dusted on your face darken to a rosier hue. A quick glance at Y/F/N’s face assures you that she’s thinking the same thing especially when her eyes meet yours and she laughs awkwardly, cheeks rosy as well. Since he hasn’t received an answer, Chris sweetly prompts again, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/N,” you answer, a soft grin tugging at your lips that mirrors the one on Chris’ face. Although, you have to admit that the action looks much more enticing on his beautiful features. A strong lurch pushes you against the elevator wall, and soon the elevator is making its ascent once more. Floor 16 passes quickly and soon the elevator stops on your floor. Y/F/N bids goodbye to everyone with a sweet smile and a light wave while stepping out of the elevator. She pauses once outside as she notices that you haven’t followed her. “Oh, this...this is my floor…” you nervously chuckle as you reluctantly side step Chris to exit. You do so and begin to walk away before you whip around and shove your hand into the doors to stop them from closing. You’re able to catch a glimpse of Chris’ downfallen face light up. “Wait!” You exclaim, “We’re going to Disneyland tomorrow,” you motion between Y/F/N and yourself. “Would you three like to join us?”

An awkward silence follows your bombardment. The longer it stretches, the more the smile falls from your lips and the more you’re starting to feel like a fool for even asking. They probably had more important things to be doing than going to Disneyland with you guys. They’re celebrities for crying out loud. Disappointment washes over you and you nod gently while stepping back from the elevator. “Or not. That’s cool too. You’re probably really busy. So um...yeah, I’ll just see you guys another time.” You turn and give Y/F/N a grimace and a shrug. Her comforting gaze just makes you feel even worse. You both start to walk back to your room.

“No! We would love to go to Disneyland with you!” Chris proclaims, causing you to turn back to face them. He’s halfway out of the elevator and reaching toward you like he was going to stop you from leaving. “I mean, we’re free tomorrow and Disneyland sounds like a great way to spend a free day.” Matching smiles light up your faces. You can’t wait for tomorrow.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans soulmate #chris evans imagine #soulmate #chris evans blurb

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mistaeq · 4 years

Text

My first JJBA oc: Adonis

Y'all don't have to care... i just wanted to share him, since i DO care for my boy and i've been wanting to share him somewhere for some years . . . i adapted him to JJBA~

Name: Adonis Sergeyevich Lebedev-Nijimura

Age: 20

Comes from: Volgograd, Russia

Sexuality: pansexual

Pronouns: he/him

Personality: istp-a

Height: 6,5 feet

Weight: 85 kg

Hair: waist length, carrot, don't fucking touch it unless you're Okuyasu.

Eye color: purple

Blood type: B

Birthday: 1st April

Starsign: aries

Family: father [Sergey Lebedev], deceased mother [Aida Lebedeva (Protsenko as a maiden)], step mother [Dominika Lebedeva (Smirnov as a maiden)], older brother [Sascha Lebedev], younger step-brother [Nikita Lebedev], husband [Nijimura Okuyasu], adoptive daughter [Nijimura Reicho]

Stand name: Sugar Plum [Named by Rohan]

Likes: Himself, dancing, strawberry milk, he started drinking it in Morioh Cho because Okuyasu drinks it too, make up, Yukako - she's his best friend-, his hair, his ass, Okuyasu.

Dislikes: Himself, Kishibe Rohan, crowded places, giving too much affection, bugs, people touching his hair, people touching his face - apart from Okuyasu -, hot places, stinking.

Story [ TW // implied abuse and homophobia ]: Born in a rich family, all Adonis wanted was being a dancer. He studied a lot for this, he loved the environment and the air he could breathe inside a room where the space for dancing was enough. He didn't really care what type of dance. Just dance. He liked latin american dances, and how the dancers were dressed. A sweet бабушка (babushka) of his neighborhood who treated him like a grandson had gifted him a beautiful, shining suit for latin american dances for his birthday.

His father ripped it as soon as he saw it. He said only "faggots" wore that. Also, his father got mad because he had noticed his son has started using purple-ish grey makeup on his eyelids. And everyone knows what happened afterwards. His father's wife did nothing to ever help him, she just stood with what his father said. Adonis's biological mother died giving birth to him. His older brother, name's Sascha, had never forgiven him for this. But on one thing they agree: not liking their step-mother.

As soon as he became 18, he packed up his stuff, took the money he thought he deserved, and against his father's will - tbh, Sascha was quite happy - Adonis moved to a new country, in a cute, peaceful - NO - city: Morioh Cho. To be honest, Adonis didn't get much of the stuff he had back in Russia with him. But he made sure not to let in that hell the most precious friend he had. Duchess, his white cat.

Funny, how after Adonis's first steps inside the city, a golden, sharp arrow pierced his chest. That's how he met his first friends - NOT EVEN A LITTLE - who talked him into stuff like "stands", Dio, Higashikata Josuke, their father... Adonis couldn't deny the blond one was quite attractive. The black haired one looked like too many ice creams had fallen from his cone when he was a kid and his voice sounded like someone who had been smoking for 60 years.

All of this while his chest was spurting blood from every side. Pretty painful. Adonis hoped his eyeshadow was still okay. As soon as he started manifesting his stand, Nijimura Keicho understood that pretty boy couldn't do shit for his father. Adonis's stand was a delicate, orange colored, humanoid creature in white ballet shoes. It looked angelic. But its kicks were hell. They discovered this when Okuyasu tried to touch his hair. Oh boy. Adonis's stand manifested as if he was an expert already, and with a cry that sounded like "CHACHACHACHACHA", the poor guy was on the floor. His wound had healed.

"What are you, precisely?" he asked his stand, when the Nijimura brothers let him go because he was no use.

"CHA CHA!"

"Okay, nevermind." he huffed, when walking towards his new house, he saw a green haired, handsome guy, on the porch of a huge house, sketching something on a notebook. And he couldn't help but notice how that drawing guy's gaze was on him.

Rohan had never seen such a beautiful creature. Big purple eyes, pointy nose, plump lips, a perfect pale skin and beautifully straight carrot colored, long - really long, actually - hair. Broad shoulders and well toned arms, alternating with a wasp waist and right after, beautiful hips. Just by looking at him, Rohan could feel a sensat- WE'LL BE BACK AFTER A BREAK -

Curious, Adonis got closer to the mangaka.

"See something you like?" Rohan immediately understood from his accent, that he was in front of a foreigner. A foreign cutie.

"I'm pretty sure I've never seen you before, in Morioh Cho." Kishibe Rohan wasn't down for pleasantries. "Become my model or perish." a model? Was he an artist? And Adonis thought Morioh Cho was a calm city. This offer flustered him a bit.

"Yeah, I know, I'm pretty." The choice of adjective caught the mangaka's attention. In a positive way, though. Pretty. "What's in it for me, honey?" Sly, sly bitch, Adonis. Rohan held back a terrible blush. How could a random thug call him, Kishibe Rohan, honey?

"Are you serious right now? You want to know if I'll pay you? For just fucking staying still?" At this answer, Adonis raised an eyebrow, turned tail and started walking away. As soon as Rohan's eyes ran from his pale neck, to the belly his bordeaux crop top left uncovered, and imagined the legs hidden behind those kinda tight, elegant black trousers, the mangaka cleared his voice. "I'll pay you." those words fucking slipped from his mouth. Kishibe Rohan had never paid anyone for standing still.

Adonis turned around, already far from the porch of Rohan's house, but not enough to pretend he didn't hear him. "Now that's what I like, artist boy." Only a thing Adonis would have wanted. For Rohan to see him with his white coat on. The one he used in Russia, where it was quite colder than Morioh Cho. A long, white coat, decorated with candid fur - not real fur, Adonis is highly against this. -

Rohan grew possessive of his model. Adonis couldn't care less. He still paid the rent for his house - with a little help from Rohan's payment -, but most of the time was spent in the mangaka's house, moving, posing on a couch, against a wall, or even just standing. The mangaka started buying clothes for him. And even if the russian boy was good at hiding it, he was growing so fond of his artist. So stunned by his gaze lingering around his body to transfer it on paper. So enamored with his ways.

Also, Rohan named his model's stand. Sugar Plum. Like The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, from The Nutcracker. He liked how flexible his elegant body was. So beautiful. So gorgeous. So pretty.

Adonis didn't need his family anymore. He had started his adventure in Morioh Cho. He had met love... in Morioh Cho. Or so he thought. Until he started needing attention from someone else...

#jojo's bizarre adventure #oc x rohan #adonis #jjba oc

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cakep0psugar · 4 years

Text

BTS

jin: kim seok jin (김석진), stage name: jin, oldest in the group at 27 yrs, born dec 4th 1992 in anyang, gyeonggi-do south korea, sagittarius, 5′10, blood type O, he has a mom, dad, and older brother, nicknames: fake maknae, worldwide handsome, and eat jin, in 2015 jin was nicknamed car door guy from coming out the door and stunning fans with his visuals, was an exchange student in australia during his middle school year, both his middle school and high school were all-boys schools, has the longest legs in BTS, shoulders are 60 cm wide, speaks chinese (mandarin) and basic english, likes disney princesses, a very good cook, favorite number is 4, favorite color is blue, habit is blinking his left eye when hungry, can open a bag of chips with his feet, loves eating, jin and RM used to be the least skilled dancers in BTS but they improved a lot, wears really strong prescription glasses but he doesn’t like wearing them because he’ll become insecure, hes the closest to v, wakes up 2 hours earlier than the rest of the members, had a dog named JJanggu, can play the guitar and the piano, is really good at snowboarding, has a habit where if he makes eye contact with anyone for more than 3 seconds he winks at them, hates scary movies, jin and jungkook bicker a lot, likes strawberries but he doesn’t like strawberry flavored things, used to work at a strawberry farm, makes dad jokes, and is the first idol to hit 100 million hearts on a solo vlive.

suga: min yoon-gi, stage name: suga (슈가), second oldest at 27 yrs, born march 9th 1993 in buk-gu daegu south korea, pisces, 5′8, blood type O, has a mom, dad, and older brother, got his stage name from the CEO because he is pale and his smile is sweet like sugar, he’s in charge of fixing the things that RM breaks he changes the light bulbs, fixes the toilet, etc, members often call him “grandpa” because he sleeps all the time and can be cranky, he usually scolds and nags the younger members when they make a mistake, nicknames: motionless min, grandpa, and mr. appendix because he had appendicitis surgery in 2013, was an underground rapper and was in a group called D-Town, when he was an underground rapper he was known as gloss cause that’s the english translation of yoongi, suga has been making and producing music since he was 13, loves sleeping, bad at japanese and english, suga’s personality is quite straightforward, can play the piano, when he has a problem he talks to RM because their age gap is small and they also have things in common, suga said in a interview he comes from a poor family, was in a car accident and hurt his shoulder while working as a delivery boy and delivering a meal on a bike, favorite food: meat, meat, and meat, speaks with a satoori accent when he’s nervous and when he cries, for suga his charm is his eye smile, bad at drawing, and fav color is white.

j-hope: jung ho-seok (정호석), stage name: j-hope (제이홉), third oldest at 26 yrs, born feb 18th 1994 in gwangju south korea, aquarius, 5′10, blood type A, has a mom, dad, and older sister, j-hope was a part of a street dance team called NEURON, won an underground dance battle and even performed at a festivals, fav color is green, has a dog named mickey, hates exercising and working out, used to be a tennis player in elementary school, bad at drawing, when having problems or worries he would share them with rap monster or suga, when he was younger he was quite famous in the gwangju dance underground, likes if someone strokes his hair – he says it helps him to sleep, things he wants to steal from other members is jimin’s chocolate abs, rap monster’s rap skill and his good english, j-hope’s ideal date: “i love the sea, i would like to walk down to the beach and hold hands”, features in drake’s “in my feelings” MV, on march 2 2018 j-hope released his 1st mixtape “hope world” with the title track “daydream”, j-hope’s ideal type is a girl who loves him, is good at cooking, and thinks a lot, in the dorms he shares a room with jimin, 3 requirements for j-hope happiness: family, health, and love, is known for his sunny personality, j-hope is a bright guy and laughs alot, loves sprite and hamburgers.

RM: kim namjoon, stage name: RM (old stage name was rap monster), fourth oldest at 26 yrs, born sep 12th 1994 in seoul (sangdo-dong) then he moved to Ilsan gyeonggi-do south korea when he was 4, virgo, 5′11, blood type A, has a mom, dad, and younger sister, RM studied in new zealand and lived/stayed there for 6 months, he’s currently enrolled to global cyber university, pre-debut he had already been performing as an underground rapper, he’s really smart with an IQ of 148 he was previously ranked in the top 1% of the nation in his high school exams, speaks english fluently, RM’s TOEIC (the test of english for international communication) score was 900, there was a rumor among the korean fans that at the age of 15 namjoon had a heart surgery with a 30% chance of living (but that’s just a rumor), hobbies: surfing the web, walking in a park, cycling, photography, mountain climbing, good at ice-skating, hes a great supporter of the gay/lesbian’s rights, he has a younger sister the same age as jungkook but when asked if he would introduce her to him he said N.O, RM has composed/produced 100+ songs, RM’s nicknames are rap mon, leader mon because he is the leader of BTS and the destroyer bc he destroys everything he touches: sunglasses, clothes, doorknobs, bunk bed ladders, fav colors are black, pink and purple, has a dog whose name is RAP MON, is the english translator for the group when they go to america, and his fav number is 1.

jimin: park ji min (박지민), stage name: jimin (지민), fith oldest at 25 yrs, born oct 13th 1995 in busan south korea, libra, 5′8, blood type A, has a mom, dad, and younger brother, pre-debut jimin entered busan high school of arts as the top student in modern dance but later transferred to korea arts high school with V, jimin was the last member to join BTS, fav color are blue and black, fav number is 3, nickname: mochi, he used to view himself as “fat” and he was self conscious of his looks and cheeks, favorite foods are pork, duck, chicken, fruit, and kimchi jjigae, doesn’t like spinach, prefers a sunny and cool weather, known for his impressive abs, he jokingly hits his fellow members as a way of showing his affection for them, if music is playing he will start to dance no matter where he is, he is most confident in his eyes, enjoys reading comic books, according to jimin the requirements for his happiness are: love, money and stage, jimin has black belt in taekwondo, jimin is close with EXO kai, jimin usually solves his problems himself if he can’t solve it, he will share it with V and ask for his advice, jungkook is always teasing jimin about his height, things he wants to steal from other members are: rap monster’s height, V’s talent and gaze, j-hope’s cleanliness, and suga’s diverse knowledge, money is important to jimin, jimin’s ideal date: “sitting on the bench, drinking together… i would like to have a countryside date we would also walk holding hands, things he dislikes: jin, suga and V, known for his angel voice, is the shortest in the group, and his “fake love” fancam already reach 29.3 mil on youtube which is the most viewed fancam in k-pop.

V: kim tae-hyung (김태형), stage name: V (뷔), sixth oldest at 24 yrs, born dec 30th 1995 in daegu but later moved to geochang where he spent his life until he moved to seoul, capricorn, 5′10, blood type AB, has a dad, mom, younger sister and younger brother, can speak fluently japanese, fav color is grey, fav number is 10, nicknames: taetae, blank tae (bc he always has a blank expression) and CGV (since his visuals are so perfect and outstanding like the computer game character), he has been in the group for awhile but fans didn‘t know or hear of him until the time around his debut, has one single eyelid and one double eyelid, has a 4D personality, he clenches his teeth while he sleeps, he can only drink one glass of beer before he gets drunk, doesn’t like coffee but loves hot cocoa, likes anything that is unique, can dance in high heels, is the pickiest eater out of all the members, his role model is his dad he wants to be a dad like his dad someone who takes care of his children, when V has a problem he will share it with jimin and jin but he thinks is more easy to talk to jimin since they have the same age, V is one of the mood makers in BTS along with j-hope, namjoon said that taehyung is the 2nd best english speaker in BTS, loves GUCCI, he has been showing interest in photography lately if he wasn’t an idol he would probably be a photographer, has a habit of collecting ties, is in charge of the washing machine, can climb a tree but he can’t get back down, is ambidextrous he was originally left handed but he’s now ambidextrous, comes from a poor family he said, acted in the korean drama “hwarang” (2016-2017), and ranked 1st in the “top 100 most handsome faces of 2017.

jungkook: jeon jung kook (전정국), stage name: jungkook (정국), youngest member at 23 yrs, born sep 1st 1997 in busan south korea, virgo, 5′10, blood type A, has a mom, dad and older brother, jungkook attended seoul performing art high school he graduated in february 2017, favorite foods are anything with flour (pizza, bread, etc), fav color is black, loves playing games, drawing and soccer, has a weird habit where he sniffles a lot because of his rhinitis he also wriggles his fingers a lot, fav number is 1, likes shoes and makeup, dislikes tasteless things, bugs, getting hurt, and studying, speaks korean, japanese and english (basic), knows taekwondo (he has a black belt), in 10 years jungkook wants to be the owner of a duck meat restaurant or a tattooist, after randomly seeing and falling in love with future member rap monster’s rap he decided to join big hit entertainment, nicknames: jeon jungkookie (suga calls him a lot), golden maknae, kookie, jk and nochu, jungkook wants to go on trip with his lover someday, loves reading comic books, is the baby of the group, is a big fan of iron man, thinks he’s a pro gamer, can play games on two computers at once, jimin says that jungkook smiles when he swears, owns a dog named 구름/gureum (cloud), members say that jungkook’s dorm room is the messiest but jungkook denies, things that he wants to steal from other members are: rap monster’s knowledge, suga’s diverse knowledge, j-hope’s positive mind, jimin’s persistence and his effort, V’s natural talent and jin’s wide shoulders, has his own room, and is good at literally everything.

#bts

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an-actual-angel · 4 years

Text

Pretty Baby: Chapter 8 & 9

Pairing: Connor (RK800) x Reader, Collin (RK800-60) x Reader, Richard (RK900) x Reader

Summary: The year was 2082. 44 Years after the android revolution. Things have turned south for humanity. Androids now rule the world, leaving humans to be considered as mere animals. While some Androids still have a general disdain for humanity some have taken to the idea of keeping them as “family pets.”

You, born in captivity, specifically bred to be the perfect pet happen to get adopted by the RK brothers.

Chapter Description: Tension only furthers between the RK Brothers after Collin and Richard fail to inform Connor about the goings-on in Detroit.

Previous Chapter | AO3 | Next Chapter

KOFI

Chapter 8 - The Fool

Your name: submit What is this?

You eagerly watch the screen waiting and listening for more information. Nothing. They brush it off and moved on to the next story.

“Why didn’t either of you tell me about this?” Connor stands to his feet striding toward his brothers in fury. You had learned over your time staying with the brothers that they had high titles within the law enforcement in Detroit. Richard even earning the title of Commissioner.

Connor, however, had left the DPD once Hank had fallen ill. He couldn’t bring himself to work there again after that. Instead, he found himself a career working with youth and community. The youth being child android models as well as newly deviated androids. His brother’s usually kept him informed with the goings-on in the city. All of the brothers having a powerful influence and an important image in Detroit they needed to know this information.

“We barely see you anymore, Connor.” Collin retorted in his defence. “How are we supposed to tell you when you’re not around?”

Richard was absolutely lavishing in this moment, you noticed him attempting to hide his contentment. You found it strange, Richard never really smiled, he only ever smirked in a devilish manner.

Connor grabs a dark green military jacket that had been draped over the side of the couch to put it over his shoulders.

“Where are you going?” Collin sighed before moving towards Connor, in an attempt to perhaps stop him.

“I need to see Markus.” He avoided eye contact, fixing his jacket onto his body.

“I suppose we ought to come as well.” Richard slapped his hands down onto his knees before standing up to join his brother.

“No.” Connor shut him down. His gaze cutting into Richards.

Richard shrugged and sat back down. “As you wish, we can stop by later.” His hands stretching over the back of the dark sofa.

Connor snarls his upper lip at him, looking between his brothers in disgust before strutting out the door. He was absolutely livid. It would be hard to imagine that the three of them used to be close.

Collin worried that perhaps this lack of this important information could be the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. Although Collin and Connor’s relationship didn’t exactly start on the best foot, they had truly grown inseparable over time. Once they had met Richard the three of them had created somewhat of a bond, feeling like they shared some special type of understanding. They helped each other when struggling with deviancy, they worked together, fought for android rights together, Eventually even adopting one another as brothers.

Collin usually always went along with Richard’s schemes, mostly because they wanted a similar outcome. He trusted Richard, however, he wasn’t so sure about all of this. Yes, Collin thought humans to be less than androids and that Connor needed to realise this but he couldn��t help shake the feeling that Richard’s plan was only pushing Connor further away from the two.

He would never admit it but he always looked up to Connor. He was there for him when no one else was, he forgave him after the Cyberlife tower incident and he never held it against him. They used to see themselves in each other but now, Connor looked a broken shell of his former self.

“Well, I hope you're happy now.” Collin turned his back to Richard, LED spinning red.

“I know what I’m doing.” Was Richard’s reply.

---

It was late and Connor still hadn’t come home.

Collin and Richard were moving around the apartment arguing with each other, you listened in at first but after a while, their voices faded from your mind. You just stared out the window into the city night. Wondering about the events earlier.

Why were humans running through the streets? Why where they attacking androids? They were foolish to think that they could overpower or even so much as hurt one.

Eventually, Richard and Collin came to an agreement that they were going to go speak with the Mayor, Markus at City Hall.

Would he still be there this late? Apparently so. You guessed androids technically didn’t need to sleep. Some still did, well they went into stasis mode while laying down. It was a good way for an android to run diagnostics and ‘recharge’ per-say, but it wasn’t needed too frequently.

Even after the brothers came to their agreement to see the Mayor, they moved on to their next argument. Whether or not they should take you, mainly arguing over it being appropriate or not. Richard did not seem too keen on leaving you alone again.

Eventually, Richard came up to you, hands settled behind his back.

“How would you like to go for a little walk?”

Your eyes glimmered at the question. The thought of being out in the real world again excited you. You hadn’t really been giving a chance to enjoy it on your first encounter as you had been lost, alone and on the run looking for Emily. At least this time you would be given the chance to marvel at the city you never got to explore.

“I’d really love to.”

“Go put something warm on.” Richard instructed you.

You rushed to your bedroom in a paced walk, trying to hide your eagerness. Even though whatever political situation that was going on seemed serious, at least it would give you a tiny taste of the world.

When you came out of your room you felt your heart drop as you noticed Richard now standing with something in his hands. A leash and a collar.

Seriously?

“Come here.” He commanded.

You slowly approached him, hoping it was just some kind of messed up joke. “Is that really necessary?” You asked meekly.

“Well, with the commotion caused by the humans recently, I would say so.” He spoke in a cold voice. “Plus you don’t have the best track record, little pet.” Opening the black leather collar up he stretched it out, waiting for you to subserviently move closer.

“Does it really have to go around my neck?” you subconsciously place your hand around your throat and began to rub it softly “Can’t you just put it on my wrist?”

“Just be glad he doesn’t make you walk on all fours.” Collin walks past the two of you, his eyes buried in his phone. Richard shooting him a glaring look before his cold eyes snapped back to you.

“Remember your place.” He pulls the collar tightly against your neck. You gasp a little at constriction around your throat.

“Whoops.” He replies in a sneer before he continues to buckle it around your neck, clasping the leash to the collar.

Why did he have to be so harsh all of a sudden?

He gives it a slight tug and leads you out the door.

After a quick car ride and a brief walk to your destination, your androids bring youinto the city hall. You were a little disappointed you didn’t get to see more of the city but honestly more relieved at the same time, having the collar on was humiliating.

Your owners, of course, didn’t want you in their actual meeting with Markus and the other androids, so you were kept in the waiting room with a member of staff to keep watch. There was an older man who was also sat in the waiting room, he must have also been human. You could tell because androids weren’t usually made to look his age, plus he had no LED.

While some androids chose to part with their LEDs, it was usually more common to keep it as it became a part of their culture and a symbol of pride.

Since your owners had left you (yet again), you took off your collar to rub your neck. Wondering what the point was of them bringing you here.

“I wouldn’t do that” the older man who was sitting across from you warned, hinting to the fact that you had taken off the collar. Your eyes travelled up to meet his tired ones.

“First time out, huh?” His voice was rough and he spoke through a thick accent but something about it seemed almost comforting. However so, you remained quiet, not really knowing what to say.

“Who’s your master then?” He asks.

You nudge your head in the direction of Collin and Richard who you both could see from a distance entering into a conference room.

“Wow, the RK brothers. huh, must be nice.” His eyes trailed the two of them.

Something about his statement bugged you. “You know them?”

“Know of them, Big players round these parts. Politics and all that.” He explained

“They’re politicians?” You questioned the man, confused.

“No, not exactly, but they definitely play their part in how things are run around here. Big following.”

You chew on your bottom lip. You guessed that made sense, you recalled how one of the girls back at the adoption centre spoke about how they played a factor in the android revolution.

“I hope your behaving, humans ain’t looking too good at the moment.” He jokes. You take it slightly more literal.

“They’re hard to read.” You fidget in your seat, looking nervous.

“You want my advice. Keep your nose clean and do as you’re told. You’re never going to outsmart a ‘droid. Maybe if you’re lucky they’ll treat you well.”

Your mouth weakly parts.

“Look, kid, with ‘droids like them, you probably got it better than most.” He shrugs in his attempt to ‘comfort’ you.

“Suck up to them, maybe they’ll become fond of yah like mine.”

“Yours?”

“Look at me, kid. I’m in my golden years and I'm still with my ‘droids, most throw yah away when you stop being cute.”

You had never really thought about it. Did androids just get rid of their humans once they reached a certain age?

“Throw them away? Where to?”

“Beats me kid. I’m not looking to find out neither.” He rests his weathered hand against the side of his face.

A silence falls again when you don’t know what else to say.

“What about that Connor though?” The man perked up. He seemed genuinely interested. “What’s he like?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about him at all.” You replied to him in an almost apologetic way.

“That’s a Shame.” His plump face falls flat.

Before you could open your mouth to say much else, androids begin to pour out of one of the conference rooms.

“Come on, Jake.” One of them calls out in your direction, in a similar way a man would call his dog.

“Oh, looks like that’s me. See you around, kid.” The man, Jake, tilts his head to you.

“Bye…” You say quietly.

It was another while before Collin and Richard came out to collect you. You had spent your time mulling over Jake's words. Maybe you should take heed of his advice?

He didn’t seem completely miserable. Maybe you were lucky to be with your owners.

You looked down at the collar in your hands, squeezing it and sighing. You took another deep breath before clasping it around your neck again.

When Richard and Collin came back, you stood to your feet and handed your leash over to Richard to hold. He almost looked shocked at this although he didn’t really say much. He just took it and began to walk.

Arriving back at the house, Richard unclasped your collar. You just went to the living room to sit down quietly and wait for further instruction. Avoiding them didn’t work. Maybe playing your role as their little pet might.

You wondered maybe if you could earn their trust and who knows, maybe things would be easier? Or maybe it will help you to learn the best way of metaphorically stabbing them in the back to escape.

The next few days you had been compliant. You did exactly everything they asked of you, which honestly wasn’t much.

Connor finally came home after three days of Collin non-stop calling him. You tried to eavesdrop on the conversation they had but you didn’t hear much. You didn’t want to move too close and get caught, ruining the perfect image you were trying to keep up.

You briefly heard Connor mentioning he felt that androids were falling into the mistakes of the past. Collin trying his best to comfort his brother but to no avail. It wasn’t really going to be much comfort anyway when Connor knew that Collins beliefs were so different from his own and yet he still tried his best to be understanding.

Collin did, however, promise to help Connor with an event he was planning for work. A fundraiser of sorts for his youth centre. Which left you home alone with Richard.

The both of you sat in the living room, TV blaring on some Political debate you didn’t really pay much attention to. You noticed that Richard kept looking over at you, needless to say, he was confused by your willingness to play along, maybe you were finally learning your place.

Your eyes caught his, so you responded with a small smile. He furrowed his brows getting up out of his seat and moving to stand over you.

He held your chin to look up at him and brushed his thumb along the side of your cheek. You continued to smile brightly up at him in spite.

“Have we broke your spirit, little one?” he tilted his head to the side.

“No, I’ve just decided I like it here.” Your smile dangled on the corner of your mouth.

“Is that so?” His brows lifted, hand still on your chin.

“I guess I didn’t realise how lucky, I was until now.”

His hand dropped from your chin. “Bullshit.” He knelt down to examine your face more carefully.

“I have everything I need.” You shrug.

“And what about your little friend?”

You didn’t reply, you just looked down to your hands. Richard still observing your every move.

“Yes, I still miss her. That won’t change.” You eventually responded. “But I’ve learnt my lesson. No running away.”

Richard's face was blank, it was hard to tell whether or not he was buying what you had been telling him. He moved his hand back to your face to tuck a stray bit of your hair behind your ear. You don’t know what came over you but something in your head told you to kiss the inside of his palm as he did so.

He froze, as did you. Surprised you actually did it, your idiotic brain thinking affection could be a way to win him over. At least you hoped that’s why you did it and not for any other reason, it's what you would tell yourself anyway.

His jaw clenched as he stared at you, neither of you moving for a couple of seconds, His LED flashing between colours.

His hands eventually fell to your bare legs, slowly stroking them. You maintained eye contact, the silence between you deafening.

You instinctively moved your head slightly towards him. His LED flashed red, immediately standing to his feet and stumbling backwards.

Your eyes widen in shock at this usually stoic android’s awkwardness.

Before you could say anything to him, he had already left the living room, making haste back to his bedroom.

What the hell just happened?

________________________________________________________________

Chapter 9 - Pacify Her

You sat in your confusion for another short while before snapping out of it. What was your next move going to be? You probably should just go to bed and act as if nothing happened the next day.

But still, a part of you itched. Something deep down bugged you. You wanted to talk to Richard.

But was it a good idea? Would he get pissed at you, pushing you back to square one of your ‘kissing up’ or would this perhaps be good, going to check on him. Showing some care?

You wanted to take time to ponder on what to do but your feet had other ideas, leading you right outside his bedroom door.

Curiosity pulling at you again, you let your ear press against one of the matte black double doors of his room, listening intently but there was not a sound.

While your face was pressed against the one of the doors you noticed the other was slightly agape. Biting down on your lip you pushed it ever so slightly to reveal Richard’s figure sitting on the edge of his bed. Head in hands, LED still Crimson.

You took a few steps backwards, wondering what the hell you were going to do. What was going through his mind, was this because of you or where you miss reading the situation? He could just be frustrated with all of what was going on with Connor and the humans.

While your head was also spinning around you hadn’t noticed yourself walking backwards straight into the door to Connor's room.

With a slam, you fell against the door which swung open. Ouch.

Whispering a silent swear you attempted to sit up off your now tender bottom. The noise you made hitting the ground then occurred to you. You were reminded that Richard’s door was slightly open. Trying your best to scramble to your feet, you made the plan in your head to dash back to your room, or the living room, anywhere but here.

Being too slow in your thoughts and actions meant you weren’t able to accomplish this in the right amount of time. While you were only picking yourself up from the ground, Richard was already standing in his doorway.

When you were on your feet you noticed him staring down at you, arms crossed. Your face burned in shame. He didn’t say anything, he just continued his intimidating stare.

“I… I’m sorry, I was just-” You stammered trying not to fall over your own words.

He put a hand up to silence you before calling you to come over to him. Your head sunk down below your shoulders, obliging to his demand. He stood to the side and gestured you to go into his room, as you did he closed the door behind you.

“Sit.” He pointed at his bed. You complied, nervously sitting on your hands, something that you did when you felt like you were going to be in trouble.

You watched as Richard paced up and down through his room, finger pointed upon his lips as his head was at a downward angle. LED flashing between colours, it seemed that was happening a lot tonight.

You bit at your lip again, desperately wanting to know what he was thinking. Was he mad, did he know you were spying on him, did he think you were sneaking into Connor's room? Maybe he thought you were just roughhousing? You didn’t know, it could be a number of things really.

He finally looked in your direction, you felt yourself instinctively gulp.

“What am I going to do with you?” He sighs. His usual flat voice sounded slightly aggravated.

“Richard, I-” You attempted to explain yourself, but before you could say another word one of Richard’s hand was around your neck, pinning you down on his bed.

“Don’t use my name like we are friends.” He growled. “Your nothing but an animal, do you hear me?” His face was inches from yours, your noses almost touching.

You exhale quietly. Your stare caught, mesmerized by his eyes. Eyes that oftentimes felt cold and bitter, usually giving you an alienating sense of distance now felt like the hottest of blazing blue flames which engulfed around you.

Your mouth fell slightly as you fully took in his face, his touch, his presence. Somehow less frightening than usual but twice as exciting.

He took note of your subtle movements and look of awe on your face. He bit his lip back as he stared at your own. His thumb brushing the side of your neck, He allowed himself to linger as well for a brief few moments before snapping himself back to reality. He rose back to his feet, cleared his throat and fixed his shirt from the slight crumples that had been made from leaning over you.

You sat up slightly, eyes not leaving him. Watching as he turned his back to you, asking you to leave.

Wait a minute… An idea sparked in your mind.

He got his shot to experiment on you before. Maybe it’s your turn.

You shyly moved behind him, letting one of your hands move up between his shoulder blades. As he turns to question you, your other hand was placed on his jawline, enticing him to move his head closer to yours. You gently allowed your lips to meet. You noticed how surprisingly soft and warm his lips were as they gingerly pressed against yours, it wasn’t a big kiss just a delicate touch for your ‘research.’

As your faces parted you noticed his eyes still closed. It could have almost made you blush before he swiftly smacked them open. He looked furious now.

Shit. Was your only thought. What is he going to do now?

Before you could think another thought, he had grabbed your face, pulling you into a deeper kiss this time.

Oh…

This definitely is not what you expected at all.

His hungry mouth nipped at sucked at your own. You gasping in pleasure as you felt his greedy tongue entering your mouth. You couldn’t help but wrap your hands around the back of his neck as you pulled him in closer. You knew you were going to regret this later but all you could think of was now was Richard and the things you wanted him to do with you.

You whined when his lips finally parted from your own. He had you pushed up against a wall, his hands back on your throat. His head fallen down to his feet, he exhaled deeply before looking back up at you with a dark scowl.

"Get out.” He demanded you as he pushed himself off the wall, off of you.

“Richard I-”

“I said leave.” He cut you off coldly.

Your body was still leaning against the wall mostly because your brain wasn’t functioning in its usual way, your head was still spinning in thoughts, your lips still buzzing from the kiss. You opened your mouth trying to find the words to say. Maybe to apologise, you hadn’t meant to overstep any boundaries.

“Don’t you ever do what you’re told?” He complained once more before grabbing your arm and escorting you out of his bedroom.

“I don’t want to find you lingering outside my door again.” He gave you a final warning before slamming the door in your face. Leaving you alone in the dark hallway.

Left speechless you rubbed the back of your neck and let out a small huff before allowing yourself to wander back to your bedroom.

___

The next day Richard continued on as if nothing happened, only this time he avoided touching you. You were used to his 'fake' cuddles and gentle caresses when Connor was present but it suddenly all stopped. You would be lying to say you didn’t miss it.

Over the next few days, he also seemed less insistent on bringing you along with them to places. Something he had been doing a lot more of, after your trip to city hall. You still attempted to impress him with your spotless behaviour but it didn’t really seem to get his attention much more.

Had you messed this whole thing up?

On the other hand, a good thing that came out of this was, the less touchy Richard was with you the more Connor seemed to hang around. Giving you the chance to talk with him for a bit.

He jumped, slightly shocked when you first spoke to him. He hadn’t really expected it. A part of him thought that at this point Richard had you brainwashed to be a quiet little pet, he was pleasantly surprised to find out otherwise. Over the next week or so, without Richard's prying eyes, the two of you had the chance to chat to one another.

You had asked him about his interests and watched his face light up while talking about how he loved photography and going on nature walks. Something about him seemed very sincere to you.

When he asked about you, you admitted that you hadn’t really had many chances to be able to have a hobby, but you did tell him how you loved reading and how you would love to go on an adventure of your own one day. Explaining again how you never really got to see much of the outside world apart from your brief walks with his brothers. You leaving out the detail of your running away that one time, of course. The corner of his mouth lifted up as he asked if you would like to go with him next time he had the chance to go on one of his walks.

You delightfully agreed, admitting that it sounded wonderful.

“Great! Sounds like a plan.” He smiled back at you. He explained it probably wouldn't be for another while though as work and things in the city had been a little hectic but you understood and said you appreciated it none the less.

It started to look like maybe you had a friend here after all.

________________________________________________________________

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#detroit become human #Detroit: BH #detroit become human fan fic #connor x reader #rk900 x reader #dbh smut #fic: pretty baby #my fanfiction #my writing #nines x reader #sixty x reader #connor rk800 #rk800 x reader #rk800-60 x reader

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zankivich · 5 years

Text

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 5

Hiya! This is the chapter when we get to figure out a little more of why Shawn is the way that he is. I’m not interested in villains for villains sake; I’m interested in complex characters in need of healing and kindness and also to maybe fight for themselves a little bit. I think this is gonna get very interesting if the thoughts in my head are anything to go off of. Also I try not to bug y’all too often but I am very very poor at the moment so if you did want to buy me a Kofi right here. That would be life changing. Ya girl got bills. K bye.

WARNINGS: sex without a condom (gotta wrap it up folks), a mini panic attack w/o much description, and just some general softness.

*Shawn’s point of view*

He’s in the studio. It’s his happy place. He remembered being eight years old, just barely big enough to climb into the seat, but finding something magical about the sound board. His nanny used to pick him up from school and he would beg her to take him to where his dad was working. They only started letting him go once they realized he’d stop throwing temper tantrums. He thrived there. He listened quietly and he learned about how to track vocals, how to create rhythms and what actual sound waves could look like for a vocal. And then he was thirteen, and his dad brought this guy in.

He was in baggy jeans and a green sweatshirt. His guitar had a plus sign on it, and there were scratches against the body where he’d strummed too hard. The sound guy told him his name was Ed Sheeran. He was there to sing for his dad. That day changed his life forever.

He went from playing soccer every day after school, to playing guitar and creating covers. His dad happily put him in the guitar lessons and the piano lessons and the vocal lessons. It was the outlet he never knew he needed, but couldn’t live without. Shawn was always thoroughly convinced he hadn’t been destined for much. Was never smart in school, never particularly passionate about anything either. And since the day he was born, all he knew was that his dad was powerful and his dad had money, and that meant one day he would have the same. Not because of who he was or what he accomplished, but because of who his dad was. Music changed that for him.

“Hey, pull back on the reverb?” He suggested to the producer. “It’s clouding the vocal. Trust me.”

There’s a guy in the booth. His dad’s new golden star. Niall Horan. His first album had done twice the numbers they anticipated, and so after a North American tour to test the waters he quickly pulled him in to try and do it again. That’s why Shawn was there of course. To oversee the creative vision, and “provide feedback”. What it really meant was, his dad knew he could determine what was good and what was bad, so why waste his time when he could have Shawn do it. As far as his dad was concerned, he should feel lucky that he was even allowed to be a part of the process.

“Aye, this is just isn’t feeling right. I’m coming out.” Niall said from the booth in his thick irish accent.

There’s a room of writers, but it’s actually pretty organic in comparison to some of the other artists under his dad’s belt. Two of them are friends of Horan’s from home, who had followed him along for the ride. He plops down on one of the couches and reaches for a guitar. His fingers pluck absently at the strings and Shawn can’t help but glance over there instead of filling out whatever dumbass report his dad was asking him to fill out. There’s a redheaded woman on the couch who started playing alongside him. Another guy uses his lap as drums, and they just start jamming with each other.

It’s electric. It’s that thing that made his stomach lurch like he was at the top of a rollercoaster. It’s what left him more at home in his own skin than anything else ever could. The energy in the room actually shifts. He swears he can feel the music. Like actually feel every strum in his fingertips as if its his hands on the guitar. It’s authentic and real and they’re just playing for fun.

But, somewhere in there he remembers that this is all he’ll ever get. Just watching from the sidelines while everyone else gets to play. It breaks his heart. It makes him sick to his stomach. So sick that he leaves abruptly in the middle of the session crashing outside and choking desperately for air. This is what he got. A noose that always felt too tight, with the hope every day that he just might get the chance to breathe. This was it for him.

***

*Y/n’s point of view*

Shawn: I need you.

y/n: That’s gonna be a little difficult. I’m in Miami, remember? First show of the tour for Grande.

Shawn: Well when are you coming back?

y/n: I’m staying through the first week of shows to make sure all the kinks get worked out. No pun intended.

Shawn: I don’t think I can wait that long.

You were walking past the merch booth getting set up and stopped to chat with some of the people working it. You had a lot of respect for merch booth people, depending on the show--and the pop shows were always the worst--shit could get hectic and fast. They deserved tons more respect than they got, and you were happy to show them some.

You peered down at your phone and read Shawn’s text over again. It felt a little off, even for him. You had gone stretches of time without hooking up before. There were times where he needed to be in LA while you stayed behind in New York, times where you had one show in one city, while he had one in another. It hadn’t been a problem before. You always just found time when the two of you available, and went from there. Shawn hadn’t ever pushed it further than that before.

y/n: everything alright?

Shawn: my dad is satan

y/n: well retweet sis! We been knew that.

y/n: Sorry. I wish I could be there to relieve the stress. If you wanna hop on a flight and meet me in Miami feel free lol

You head for the sound check, checking in to make sure that that stage was being set up, so that meet and greet could go off without a hitch later. You nearly trip over one of Ariana’s dogs and die, but other than that it’s fine. There’s hours and hours of labor that have to go into a show before the doors ever open, before those kids every step inside to see their idol get up on the stage. It’s your job, along with a host of other incredibly talented and hard working people, to make sure that those hours seamingly don’t even exist. You don’t mind it. Back in the early days you used to go on whole tours to make sure your artists were taken care of. It wasn’t until you turned thirty that you realized slowing down a little bit was in everyone’s best interest.

When you’re not needed you set up in an office space to answer emails and check in with the office. The afternoon passes quickly, and before you know doors are opening up, and the kids begin to pile in. You’re backstage making sure the band and Ariana are good to go, when the tour manager comes up to you looking panicked and confused the way he always did.

“Hey, y/n! Sorry to bother you, but can I borrow you for a second?”

You clap hands with Ariana wishing her luck she won’t need before heading off with Mike.

“What’s up, Mike? Everything okay?”

He nodded. “Yea! It’s just that I got a call from the head of security at the back of the venue, and there’s a guest for you who doesn’t have a pass.”

“A guest for me? I don’t have any guests tonight. Did they catch a name?”

“It’s uh...It’s Manny Mendes’ kid? Shawn?”

“What?!”

Mike winced. “He uh, he told them you personally invited him. Guy must be charming, or they probably would’ve turned him away.”

Charming, your black ass. He was a nuisance is what he was.

“I didn’t personally invite him anywhere! Take me to this dumbass, please.” You groaned in frustration.

The whole walk there you’re just trying to figure out how the hell he managed to get here that fast! Who takes a back handed joke, and then actually follows through it? Shawn fucking Mendes. This man was going to be a thorn in your side for the foreseeable future. God, was he lucky his dick was big.

Sure enough, at the back of the venue at one of the stage doors, Shawn is sitting there with a couple of security guards. His hands rest easily in his pockets, and he’s telling them a fucking joke that has them laughing their asses off. Where was the justice?!

“Hey. Took you long enough.” He chuckled reaching for a duffle bag at his feet.

What was he moving in?

“Shawn what in the hell are you doing here?”

He stared at you incredulously. “You told me to come!”

“I was kidding! How in the hell did you get here that fast anyway?”

“Honey, we have a private jet. Surely that’s not surprising to you. What are you gonna turn me away at the door right now?”

Mike is still staring at you with nothing but confusion on his face. He probably had no idea you even knew Shawn Mendes, let alone enough to accidentally invite him to Miami. This was bad. This was bad, bad, bad.

Your gritted your teeth. “He is very unfortunately with me. Mike give him a pass.”

“Are you sure th--”

“Mike just given him the damn pass.” You sighed turning on your heel to disappear back inside.

Shawn keeps up with you easily with his obnoxiously long legs. Mike power walks behind the two of you ear piece and ipad still blaring.

“Mike you can run along before curtain call. I’ve got things here.”

It’s not an option. It’s a directive, and he quickly follows it leaving you alone with your headache of the day.

“You really call the shots around here, aye?”

“Little bit. Follow me.”

You lead him to the little office space you have in one of the green rooms, and quickly close the door before more people find out that the two of you are together. He takes a seat on one of the couches like he belongs. You want to pull your hair out.

“What in the hell Shawn?” You groaned. “We have rules. Very specific rules.”

“I know. Look, I know! But you offered, okay? And I couldn’t...I wasn’t gonna wait a week. I need this. I need you.”

That certainly was a little more honest than the two of you typically got with each other.

You paused to take a better look at him, and it isn’t the prettiest sight. The smile and witty laughter from outside was a thin facade to the bags beneath his eyes and the frown that’s evident now. He looks a little pale, like paler than usual, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say he hadn’t been sleeping well. You did know better. In fact you were starting to realize that maybe you knew him a little better than you gave yourself credit for.

You took a seat on the table in front of him, your legs knocking together in the small amount of space between you.

“What’s going on? And don’t say it’s just cause you’re stressed.”

He peered up at you, his fingers tapping anxiously against his thighs.

“Since when do you care? That’s not exactly within the parameters of our relationship now is it?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not all of us go through life only living based off of what we can take from others. I know it’s a wild concept to you, but some of us? Some of us can actually be decent human beings.”

“Great so I’m a piece of shit and you’re a saint, is that it?”

“Why are you trying to fight with me? Don’t be a child; stop deflecting. Just tell me what the hell is wrong, and maybe we can fix it.”

“You can’t fix it, y/n. I’m stuck. I’m always going to be stuck okay? There is no fixing me.”

He looked exhausted. And it wasn’t the hard day at work exhausted either. This looked bone deep in him. You couldn’t tell if this was something you’d just never noticed, or if he was letting down a wall for you to see behind for the first time. Whatever it was, you didn’t like it. There wasn’t time to work through why that was, or what it meant for you to care enough to want to fix it. You just knew that you didn’t like it. That’s all that mattered.

You reached forward, your fingers pushing at his knees to make more room for you to straddle his lap. His hands immediately came up to rest on your ass, and you slid your hand over his heart. It was beating like crazy. He just needed to slow down. He needed you to help him slow down. When you kissed, his fingers dug a little more deeply into the flesh of your ass. He groaned softly against your mouth and pulled you closer. It wasn’t necessarily that you didn’t kiss at all in the time that you spent together. Shawn had no problem dominating your mouth. It just so happened that in a relationship built on dominating your body there were a lot of other things you could be doing than kissing.

His lips were still heavenly though. He knew how to tug at your jaw, how to pull you in closer and run his tongue perfectly along the roof of your mouth. It was as intoxicating as all the other things he seemed to be able to do with his body. Only instead of quickly moving to the next phase the way that he usually would, he kept you there a while longer. His lips moved against yours and your arms wrapped tight around him. You could feel his shoulders release beneath your touch, could feel his hands relax against your ass. By the time he flips you to lay your body down against the couch, fingers already tugging to get his jeans down his thighs, your lips are buzzing, and you feel kind of lightheaded. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Tell me what you need.” You whispered against his lips. “Tell me how to please you.”

“Need to be in you. Right now.” He muttered reaching beneath your skirt.

His fingers found their way between the fabric of your underwear, gently nudging between your folds where you were already wet. He tugged the thing band down off of your legs and tucked them into his jean pocket.

He groaned softly plunging his middle finger inside. “You’re always wet for me. Know exactly how to be good for me.”

He curved up and to the right, rubbing quickly against your walls to get you where you needed to go. This wasn’t about foreplay. This wasn’t a scene. There was no plan here. It was frantic and a little messy. But you liked it. You liked it more than you knew what to do with.

“Are you my good girl?” He panted jerking his finger up and down to touch the thing inside of you that made you thrash.

“Yes. Yes, I am. Please, Shawn. Please?”

“The faster you cum, the faster I can get inside this pussy.”

His bicep tensed and his breath came out in harsh pants against the side of your neck. His fingers won’t stop, won’t let up, and your body gives him exactly the reaction he wants every single time. It’s like magnets. Like he knows exactly how to touch you to make you scream. And you do. Always.

His thumb rubs circles on your clit and your body practically melts. Your back arches and your moans get higher as your orgasm hits. Not one to ever be outdone unless it’s by himself, Shawn withdrew his fingers and immediately pushed his way inside of you. The stretch alone in conjunction with the weight of him pressing you down into the couch was enough to heighten your orgasm to a place it’d never been before.

“You’re so fucking tight, shit y/n.”

“I can’t fucking breathe--Shit! it’s so good!”

The arm of the couch provides a kind of leverage you couldn’t get if you prayed for it, and Shawn’s taking full advantage. There’s something different in the way that he handles you. He’s a little more desperate than you’re used to. His hips are less skilled precision and more broken lunges. But you love it just the same. Push your hips up against him chasing something similar, chasing a high that will take you both straight off that cliff together.

“I love being inside you.” He whimpered against your chest. “Nothing feels like you. Wanna give it to you so good.”

“You do. You fucking do.”

His teeth sink into the flesh of your shoulder and it drives you up a fucking wall. You dig desperately into the couch with your heels and cry out for him. It’s fast and dirty and not at all like what you’re used to. It’s just him, just him in all your senses. And you just wanted to give that back to him tenfold.

“Want you to cum for me again. Want you to come while I shoot my load in your pussy.”

“O--Okay. Okay I’ll cum, just please keep fucking me just like that. Please, just like that”

He pushes himself up onto his knees and moves your thigh up so that your knee is pressed against the arm of the couch. His dick doesn’t even make sense at this point. It’s like amnesia. Dick amnesia. But, he does this thing where he twists his hips every time he pushes his way back into you, and it makes you cum like a waterfall. And the second you’re cumming, his thrusts deteriorate into quick, rugged slaps against your sex. When he peaks, it’s euphoria for you both. Absolute Euphoria.

For a while neither of you move except for the pounding of your hearts in unison with one another. You can’t feel your toes, and it’s so sensitive to feel him inside you in this way. It’s not just good sex it’s a feeling that he gives you in wide abundance. You feel complete with him on top of you. Sated and fulfilled and taken care of.

“Wow.” He chuckled leaning down to kiss you roughly. “That was incredible.”

You giggled. “Yea. We’re good at that. Real good.”

He slides off your body and disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes. He comes back with some damp paper towels and cleans tenderly between your legs.

“It’s not my egytpian cotton, but it gets the job done.” He chuckled.

He already looks entirely different. There’s color in his cheeks and his eyes have that obnoxious sparkle shit that they do. You like him a lot better when he looks this way. And there’s a part of you that feels a sense of pride at being able to bring that out of him.

“Thank you, kind of.” You snorted softly.

You fix your skirt while he pulls his jeans back up. You can’t help but notice you managed to yank the neck of his t-shirt horribly out of place somewhere in the midst of your climax. The least you can do is grab him one of the merch shirts. It hits him in the face when you toss it, but that’s at least a few more seconds you have to calm the hell down.

“What’s this?”

“Figured we didn’t want people asking questions. Put it on, I’m sure there’s still some more of Ari’s set left.”

His eyes widened a little and he stared back at the t-shirt before looking back up at you.

“You want me to stay?”

It’s your turn for your eyes to widen and for the ground to become more interesting.

“You don’t have to obviously. You got what you came for. Ari, just puts on a really good show.” You mumbled.

“No I--I’d love to see the show. Haven’t seen her since Coachella.”

He changed quickly out of his t-shirt, sliding on a God Is A Woman shirt instead. The outfit change is a good one in your estimation.

“Great now give me my underwear back.” You murmured resituating your lanyard that got you in everywhere around your neck.

“Oh. Yea, no.”

You looked up at him and there he was leaning against the same part of the couch that he’d rammed you again not ten minutes ago. His long legs crossed in a similar fashion to his arms across his chest. That confidence was just obviously roaring in his system all over again. He was back, just like that.

“Excuse me?” You asked, eyebrow raised and pointed.

“I’m gonna keep them. Kinda want you to think about the fact that you won’t have any panties on all night, and I’ll be the only one who knows. Every time you have to yell at someone to do their job right, every time someone from the crowd bumps into you, it’ll just be you and I who know that you’re my good little girl. So I’m gonna keep them until I’m ready to give them back to you.”

And just what in the fuck does someone do with a speech like that?

“Yea….okay.”

You leave the greenroom behind in the hopes that no one will be able to tell what was done in there that night. Instinctively you reach for his hand and tug him along behind you to get the pits. It’s a sold out show, so there’s definitely a hell of a lot of people there, but you make it work nonetheless. With only the first half of the show missed anyway there’s still plenty of talent left for him to see.

At first you thought that you needed him to see what you were capable of. Ariana was all talent, all vocals, and iconicism, and magic. But, it was you that brought it all together, you who coordinated every little piece to make sure it all ran together without problem. Before you met Shawn, before ever deciding to do the little arrangement he schemed for the both of you, there had been a need to prove yourself. It came with the territory as a woman, let alone as a Black woman in a white male dominated industry.

Something happens in the middle of the show though, when the moon hangs from the ceiling, and her voice is belting out through the whole arena. You peer up at him watching the show, and there’s no ego to be had. It’s not like when other music execs come to visit shows, and they're just looking for a way to upstage you. He’s just there. Enjoying every note and letting the vibe of the crowd fill him in that way that you loved and cherished about live shows. It’s the first time outside of the bedroom that he eases the tension for you, that he gives you a sort of metaphorical pat on the back to say, “you don’t need to stand tall. Put that away for right now.”

You take a deep breath and let your head rest against his shoulder before there’s even room to think about it. Before you lose the moment, before the tension finds a way to ease back into your body, he wraps his arms around your waist from behind. Ariana keeps singing. The crowd keeps screaming. And he doesn’t let up until the lights come back on.

***

“Where are you staying tonight?” You asked, trying to pay attention to the break down of the venue happening around you.

“Wherever you’re staying I guess.”

You peered over at the way that he was leaning against one of the barricades, still dressed in his God Is A Woman shirt, with a smirk upon his lips.

“So fucking cocky, all the time.” You snorted. “I’ve got a lot of work left to do here. I’m always the last to leave from a show.”

“That’s fine. You want me to head up to the hotel, or should I wait behind for you?”

“You’re really staying huh?”

“Told my dad I’m doing research. I think he’s found a new intern to screw, so he’s not really checking in at the moment. I could use a little vacation.” He hummed. “You want me to go?”

You bit your lip and ran your fingers over your waist where his hands had touched. It was dangerous letting him in like this. You knew it. You had to know it.

“No I don’t want you to go.”

He smiled softly. “Guess I’m not going, then.”

“Guess not.”

“Besides if I left?” He murmured stepping forward to cup your hip intimately. “When would you ever get your thong back?”

Bastard.

It’s well past one in the morning before you get to leave. Your feet hurt and you really need a shower and the hotel can’t come fast enough. There’s a car around back waiting for you, and Shawn trails right along side you with his louis vuitton duffle bag that again just reeks of unnecessary indulgence, but you let him have it this time. The soft leather seats of the BMW and the gentle shake of the car is enough to lull you towards sleep. You were the queen of sleeping on cars. Touring life was perfect for you. What you weren’t used to was having someone beside you too as you made yourself comfortable.

“Are you falling asleep right now?” Shawn chuckled.

“I’m just resting my eyes.” you mumbled heading leaning back against the headrest, eyes closed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be plenty well rested for sex later.”

“Yea...Okay.”

*thirty minutes later*

“Honey, wake up.”

“Mmmm...No.”

“No?”

“No. I’m comfy, Ti. Leave me alone.” You whined snuggling deeper into her shoulder.

“As much as I have a feeling Tianna could kick my ass, I don’t think our biceps quite look alike. I am definitely not Ti.”

Your eyes popped open in shock alerting you to the fact that you wrapped your whole fucking body around this man’s arm and he had done nothing to stop you. The gal! The injustice!

“What are you doing? Why did you let me do that?” You gasped detangling yourself from his grasp.

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t ‘let’ you do anything. Your body tends to have a mind of its own. Apparently even in slumber. We’re here though, princess.”

Sure enough the hotel is there staring back at you from the window. You had really fallen asleep. And he had let you.

“Shit. Okay. Let’s go.”

The hotel room is neat and pristine. You won’t be there nearly long enough to do any damage to it. Shawn places his duffle next to yours and starts his routine that he always does at night. His watch comes off. The bracelet. The rings. And it is insane the effect that it has on your body. Your spine straightens. And he turns to look at you over his shoulder, curls extra fluffy without any product in it, and it just runs through your body like a fucking current.

He makes his way over to you and his fingers skim your chin like it’s fine. Like he’s not shirtless in front of you with a six pack and perfect wisps of chest hair. You kind of wanna ask him if the women he sleeps with ever don’t want to get undressed in front of him, but then a yawn leaves your lips and that thought gets left far behind, along with the moment.

He smiled at you softly and tapped your cheek.

“Look you’re exhausted. Why don’t we just wait for the morning. It’s no big deal.”

You wrapped your hand around his wrist to keep him with you.

“It’s fine. I swear.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s really not. Let’s go to bed.”

“Shawn--”

“I said consent at all times didn’t I?” He interrupted. “You’re too tired to consent. We’re not doing it.”

Too tired to consent. That was certainly a new one.

But the way that he settled himself into his side of the bed told you negotiation wasn’t an option. And you were fucking exhausted. So, you crawled beneath the blankets and let your body relax for only the second time that night. How odd for it to be that both of those times were because of Shawn? And what the hell did that mean?

His scent was in your sheets. It was on your skin and in your nose. He was there. This all consuming force that just seemed to fill the space around him infinitely. To the point where you barely felt like you fit in the bed beside him. And yet he sometimes looked so small that you wondered how he could ever fill any space at all. You couldn’t ignore the look on his face in the green room. The exhaustion. The smallness. What was up with that? And why were you thinking of him so damn much anyway?

“You’ve gotta shut your mind down to actually fall asleep.” Shawn mumbled from somewhere in the dark.

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you for mansplaining sleep to me.”

“I’m not--just...Look, what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. What makes you think there’s something on my mind?” You asked defensively.

“I just can hear you fucking thinking from all the other way over here. Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time?”

“I’m not stubborn!”

You had one of those out of body experiences where you actually hear yourself speak, and it subsequently proved his point. Rude.

“It’s genetic.” You murmured softly. “Sorry. I guess I uh I’m just not used to having someone else sleep in bed with me.”

“Well thank you. We fall asleep after fucking most times though?”

“Yes well there’s a difference between being fucked into a coma and just lying beside the person.”

He took a deep breath. “Do you want me to leave? I can just go get another room.”

“No it’s fine! It’s fine. I swear. I’m just...adjusting.”

“Fine. You...adjust, then. I’ll try not to breathe too much and disturb you.”

It was a long night.

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

The sun fills the room and it’s a complete and utter nuisance to him. Too early. Too bright. Too not cuddly. So he snuggles his face back into the warmth and ignores it for a little while longer. It’s the most well rested he’s felt in months. So well rested that he doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to be without this warmth that he’s never felt before. And why would he? Why would he ever want to leave this?

He opens his eyes and all that he sees in brown. Cocoa brown with deep red undertones that light up beneath the sunrays. It’s the first time he’s ever woken up before her, her mental clock seeming to always pull her out of bed before his dick is even awake let alone his mind. The fact that she’s asleep is a miracle within itself. The fact that he gets to look at her while she does it feels like maybe a little extra miracle on the side.

There’s a freckle on the divet in the small of her back that he’s never noticed before. Her bonnet to cover her hair is the same color as her nails and there’s a part of him that needs to know if it was a conscious decision or not. Knowing y/n, it could go either way. The covers had slid down her back and he’d wrapped himself around her at some point in the night. And it was somehow the best night sleep he’d had in so long. No sex. No ropes. No lube. Just sleep.

He wasn’t dumb. Something was different. Something had been different from the very beginning. His hooks up didn’t sleep over. He didn’t fly to anyone, ever. Hell, he didn’t even drive to anyone. Uber was practically part of his foreplay in life. How the fuck did he end up in miami grabing her waist while Ariana Grande scerenaded them by fucking moonlight? He didn’t do this. He didn’t grab hips if he wasn’t fucking. He didn’t tell a woman he’d rather sleep then have sex with them. He needed to end this. And fast.

However . . . she was still asleep. And the sun was still just coming up. So what was really the harm in lying there a little longer? He pressed his arm back over her waist, thumb rubbing smoothly into the skin of her tummy. He’d get up in just a minute, would end it in just a minute. For sure.

*three days later*

“I will be back in less than a week.” She says.

“It will be over in no time.” She says.

“Stop fucking biting my thighs while I’m answering work emails!” She says.

After a break full of rushing her off to different rooms with locks on them in the venues so he could get his head between her thighs, it was finally over. His dad had finally called to ask why the hell his new Director of Talent Management was nowhere to be fucking found. It was time for him to leave, which meant days before he would see her again. Which was fine. Totally fine.

“So hear me out,” He argued as they drove to the final venue, he’d get to see her out. “I just think maybe Tianna should be taking me into account when she’s making your schedule. That’s all.”

She snorted. “I am not going to ask that woman to schedule dick appointments for you.”

“They’re not for just me! I’m thinking of you here too. Had I not taken off from my busy schedule to come to Miami, you might have actually combusted.”

“Women can go longer than twelve hours without sex Shawn. It’s yall who act like the world will explode if somebody doesn’t touch your dick for two seconds.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I’m just saying it might be nice to know that you’re gonna be gone for weeks on end, ya know?”

She peered over at him from her phone where she’d been working away. She seemed to work harder and longer than anyone he’d ever met. Even more than his dad, which is explained why he couldn’t stand her.

“You could always...hook up with someone else while I’m away.” She said.

Her eyes are curious, watchful. There’s something behind the question that she’s asking, but he doesn’t know that on account of him being stupid. All he knew was that women didn’t just offer up the opportunity to sleep with other people. Even his past hook ups grew easily attached. It was his main reason for never repeating. Who was this woman?

“What makes you think I’m not, already?” He asked trying to match her eye contact.

She bit her lip. “The fact that you’re here right now.”

“Are you...hooking up with other people?”

“What if I was?”

He broke his gaze, not having it in him to keep staring at her. She was definitely stronger than him there.

“Whatever. Wouldn’t matter. ‘Snot like we’re together.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“Yea, exactly.”

The rest of the ride is silent. She was getting dropped off at her venue to continue on with Ariana through the rest of the week. He was heading back for NYC to get back to work. It would be a few more days before she flew back home. But, that was alright. He could wholeheartedly find other things to fill out his day. He didn’t need her at all.

The car pulls up to the arena and she pauses before she exits the car. She looks back at him like she’s waiting for something, like she expects him to say anything else. He doesn’t know what to say, just completely goes blank under her stare. She smiles at him.

“Goodbye, Shawn.”

“Bye, y/n.”

***

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anxiously-going · 4 years

Note

Bones- family is more than blood

It’s doesn’t really have to do with April, but I’ve had this one basically done for a while now and I feel like it fills this prompt pretty well.

A Cure for Homesickness.

Len was already half-asleep where he stood over his reports. He knew if he sat down he would lose the battle against his exhaustion. A stomach bug was working its way through the crew, and he'd been thrown up on at least twice that shift and three times the shift before. It seemed like the symptoms only lasted a 24 hour cycle, which came as a bit of a relief as it meant people were in and out of the medbay fairly quickly so overcrowding wasn't an issue.

Despite the inconveniences of the day, Len found himself grateful he was a doctor, and not a custodian. Soon enough his reports were done, and he had sent another letter of complaint to Starfleet about the artificial cheese they insisted on stocking each ship with. He was convinced the concoction was the number one cause of constipation within the crew.

That complete, all Len wanted was to sleep for twelve or fifteen hours. He made his way purposefully to his cabin, certain that anyone who stopped him would end up with a less than dignified sleeping CMO in their arms, or a black eye. As he made his way past one of the rec rooms his doctor instincts kicked in and he heard a soft sniffling noise.

Well, wasn't that just great! On top of half the crew puking their guts up he'd now have to deal with the other half sneezing their faces off all because some dimwitted crewman- the thought cut off instantly. Across the room he saw Chekov staring at him with wide puffy eyes. He'd been crying.

Bones strode deftly across the room. "Chekov, what's wrong?"

The younger man scrambled to his feet and scrubbed the corner of one eye. "Nusing, sir. I'm fine, sir."

"Son, I'm a doctor, I know what fine looks like. It looks like the exact opposite of what you do right now." Chekov's head dropped. "Let's have a look at ya." Lenoard made a show of putting his wrist to Chekov's forehead then took the boy's face in his hands, and closely examined his puffy eyes. If his youth hadn't been obvious before, it was now. "Well, lucky this is very treatable."

Chekov's eyes widened. "Vhat is it, doctor?"

"Homesickness," Dr. McCoy answered soberly.

Chekov lowered his head again. "I didn't vant anyone to know."

Bones gave a small sigh and folded his arms around Chekov's thin shoulders. The younger man froze.

"Doctor-"

"Best remedy there is for homesickness." Len answered softly. Chekov let himself relax into the hug, and let his head rest against Len’s shoulder. "Y'know what the second best is?" He questioned gently stroking the back of Chekov's head.

"No, sir." Came the muffled reply.

"Talking it out over ice cream." He kept an arm around Chekov's shoulders and they made their way to the galley. From the replicators he ordered a bowl of mint chocolate chip and a two-in-one. Chekov smiled a little as he was handed the ice cream filled cake-cone.

"Sank you, sir -"

"Ah." Bones held up his spoon. "We're off duty. No more 'sir'."

Chekov nodded, his smile growing a little. "Vhat should I call you zen?'

Bones shrugged. "You could call me 'doctor' if you really wanted to, or you could call me by my name. I usually go by Len."

"Zat would be ok?"

"Sure,” the doctor nodded. “Is it ok if I call you 'Pavel'?"

Chekov nodded eagerly. "I vould like zat."

Len smiled in return. "So, what's on your mind tonight, Pavel?"

His smile turned sad and he shook his head. "It iz nusing, si- ehm. Len."

"It didn't seem like nothin' when you were in the rec-room."

Chekov stared at his ice cream. "Tomorrow, it will be three years since I vas assigned to zhe Enterprise. It vould also be my mother's birthday."

"She'd be very proud of you."

Pavel nodded his thanks with a weak smile. "I just…I vish I could hear her say it. She died vhen I vas wery little."

"There's nothin' wrong with missing her. And there’s nothin' wrong with being homesick either."

Pavel shook his head. "Eweryone already sinks zat I am too young to be here. I don't vant to give zhem any more reason to sink zhat."

Bones set down his spoon with a sigh. "Kid, the people who think that, don't get a say, it doesn't matter. You've proven that you belong here. There's no way Jim would let you go now."

"Really?" Pavel asked hopefully.

"Really,” Len assured. “And believe me, kid, the folk on this boat that don't get homesick at all aren't anything to be jealous of."

"Vhy not?"

"Most of the time, it means we don't have a home to go to when we get back to earth, or wherever it is we're from."

Pavel cocked his head to one side. "You do not get homesick? But I sought zhat you hated space."

Bones chuckled. "I don't mind space. It's hurtling myself through it that I don't like."

"But...zhen why do you do it?" The navigator wanted to know.

"You want an honest answer?"

Pavel bit his lip. "I do not vant to intrude..."

"It's ok. I was running away when I joined the Fleet. My marriage had ended in divorce, and I had nothin’ left. So...I joined the Fleet. I met Jim and he became like a brother to me. Then we got assigned here and the rest of the crew became our family. There's nothing wrong with the crew being your family, Pavel. It's a good thing. But for a lot of us, it's because we don't have any other family."

The young ensign nodded and fiddled with his spoon. "Does it ewer go avay?"

Bones shrugged. "You learn to deal with it better. But there's always gonna be a little part of you that misses home. I mean, there's a lot of white around the ship, so it's gotta be a little bit Russia with all the snow so maybe not that." Pavel laughed a little and that. "Maybe something else. Like those huge parkas, or how cold it gets." Leonard grinned at the younger man who was still laughing. "You're a good kid, Pavel. You're a hard worker, and we're lucky to have you. Don't let people knock ya 'cause you're young. It's ok to still be homesick, it's ok to act your age off shift. If somebody doesn't like it send 'em to me."

Pavel smiled at his ice cream, his cheeks slightly colored from the doctor's praise. "Sank you, Len."

The older man smiled warmly. "Eat your ice cream before it melts."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"How did you know to order zhis?" Pavel gestured to his two-in-one.

"I may have been born in Georgia, but I've been around the block a few times, kid," he smirked as he fell into Pavel's mother tongue.

Pavel's face lit up, and he answered Len in kind, "You speak Russian!"

Leonard smirked. "I like surprising people. Plus it helps with the homesickness.”

“Your accent is terrible!” Chekov laughed.

Len feigned offence and he put a hand over his heart. “Ah! I'll have you know that I have only been studyin’ Russian for a few months,” he replied in English. “I think I'm allowed a few mistakes.”

Pavel giggled. “It does help. Sank you. Again.”

“Feelin’ better?”

“A little.”

Leonard nodded his understanding. “It's not somethin’ that goes away right away. Talk to me about it though. Or Jim, or Sulu. We're all here for you, kid. We all want the best for you.”

#leonard mccoy #pavel chekov #my writing

21 notes · View notes

beerecordings · 5 years

Note

20. “Bud, you can’t rest yet. Keep your eyes open.", writer's choice of characters and universe?

Sid ol buddy ol pal of course what an excellent prompt I may have written way too much but it is what it is and please enjoy my friend. Op definitely didn’t need to come after Marvin again but go off I guess, me

20. “Bud, you can’t rest yet. Keep your eyes open.”

They’re going to betortured.

It’s obvious. Ducttape and rope on the desk. Pliers, belts, buckets, rebar rods, and ahose beside them. A drain on the floor.

Marvin hisses lowthrough his teeth, glaring at the pane of one-way glass thatseparates him from his enemies. Chase sinks lower in his arms, hidinghis face against his shoulder, and Marvin grips him tight, running asoothing hand through his hair, guilt and fury pooling, tepid, in hisstomach.

This is his fault.He wasn’t careful enough. How long had they been tracking him for? Heshould have known. He should have seen. He should never have stoppedhis tarot card readings, never mind that they made him “edgy” or“paranoid” or “restlessly desperate to change the course of thefuture” in the words of a certain familiar doctor. He’d rather beparanoid than snatched off the street with his little brother in tow.They thought he was Jackie. It’s not fair. It’s not his fault. Marvinsets his chin on Chase’s head, his blue eyes flashing.

“Holy shit, holyshit, holy shit,” Chase is groaning through gritted teeth. There’sblood on his face from the blow that knocked him unconscious. Marvincan hardly bear how angry it makes him. He concentrates hard on thedoor, trying his best to set it on fire, but his magic is wild andundirectable without his playing cards, and apparently he’s gotnothing to give right now.

It’s just him. It’sjust him and his Chase.

“You’re going tobe okay,” he tells his little brother.

His voice is cooland clipped. He strokes his thumb across the back of Chase’s neck.

“I’m sorry I’m acoward,” Chase whispers. “I’m sorry I’m not Jackie.”

Marvin decides notto tell him that if he were Jackie they’d both be dead already.

“You’re not acoward. Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

Correction: he’sgoing to be tortured.

But not Chase.

Not Chase.

Alright.Marvin cracks his neck and growls as the door clicks open, hiscanines sharp in his mouth. Let’s do this. Not my firsttime around this track. They don’t call me magnificent for nothing.Pain’s just neurons. Torture’s just weakness made into violence. Andblood is just blood.

“I’m going to askyou one more time,” says the man with the belt.

He has a face likea rat and his eyes are the color of sludge and Marvin hates him.

“Where’s the BlueMask?”

Marvin spits bloodand draws his mouth into a smile that snarls. “Probably gettingmore of your buddies incarcerated, Markowitz. Face it, jerk-off –your organization’s crashing down around you and all it took was meand my brother running around in capes and masks to send it intodeath throes.”

The belt comes forhis face this time, and the sting is worse than any bug or needle,sending hot red agony through Marvin’s cheek, as though he’d beenbranded by iron. He can’t hold back a scream.

“Leave him thefuck alone!” screams Chase, tied to a chair in the corner. “Leavehim alone, let us go! When my brother finds you, you’re going to wishyou were never born!”

Yes, Jackie will beangry. Marvin smirks up at his captor, who returns his look with aglare to melt winters. Marvin understands that he is looking at amurderer.

“My brother’sgoing to kill you,” he announces, sing-song. “The Blue Mask iscoming, he’s coming! Oh, Mr. Markowitz, pray to your gods and settleyour debts, my brother is coming.”

Markowitz drawsback the belt and Marvin flinches, but the blow never falls. Instead,his captor leans down and reaches out, gripping Marvin’s chin tightenough to bruise and locking their gazes together.

“You are a boldthing, aren’t you, White Cat?”

He has an accentMarvin can’t place. Markowitz is one of a dozen names he goes by.They’ve been tracking him for weeks, and Marvin knows he ought to beafraid. This is a crime boss, not a late-night mugger with a shakygun, and the things Marvin knows he’s done – they aren’t pretty.

“Well, we’llfigure out a way to get what we need.”

“Fuck you,”Marvin snaps.

“Sothis is one of your brothers, huh? Twins, that’s cute. What’s yourname, kid?”

“Don’tlook at him,” snarls Marvin, watching him turn to Chase.

“Yeah,don’t look at me.” Chase is emboldened by his brother’s ferocity.Markowitz steps forward and Chase does his utmost not to tremble.

“I’mguessing you know where the Blue Mask is, don’t you, twin?”

Ittakes Chase too long to get the word “no” out. Markowitz laughs.

“You’lltell us, little man. No doubt about that.”

“I’llnever tell you anything.” Chase struggles against the ropes on hiswrists. “I’ll die first.”

He’snot stupid. He understands the consequences of telling them justfine. With the element of surprise over Jackie, they’d swarm into thehouse and kill him, and Jameson, and Henrik, and if they didn’t findJack, there’d be no one to care for him and he’d die in his sleepanyway. No, Chase needs Jackie to find them, to save them. He knowsthat he will. He trusts his big brother. He’s never let him downbefore.

Healso understands the consequences of his refusal. If he’s going to betortured – fine, torture him. He’s scared, but he’s determined.Their lives are not a fair trade for his own.

Hisbrothers are all that matters.

Markowitzstands back, looming over him like a monolith. “Nah, kiddo,” hesays, reaching into his suit jacket to get a cigarette. “You’re notgoing to die. Tell you what, twin, I promise right now I won’t lay adamn hand on you. But your brother’s not getting off that easy. I’llbeat him to shit, torture him until he’s begging me to end hismiserable life, and then we’ll see how eager the two of you are totell me where the Mask is.”

Markowitzturns to the one-way glass, lighting fire between his teeth. “Getin here and truss this little brat up like a carcass in a meatfridge. I think we’re going to have to cancel all the cat-naps fromhere on out. Hope you got a good night’s sleep, kitty. You’re notgoing to get another one ever again.”

Ah,Marvin realizes, his heart fluttering in his chest. Sleepdeprivation.

Thisis going to be fun.

Theyset up a little cot for Chase. Clear the room of their weapons andeven bring them both water and a little food when a few hours havepassed.

ButMarvin doesn’t get to be relieved.

He’stied up, hanging by his wrists from the ceiling, and fuck, these guysmust be experts, because he can tell they’ve hit specific pressurepoints just to make it as painful as possible. His whole body acheswithin five minutes of being hung up like this. After hours, it’sbecome a steady and horrible fire throughout his bones, and if hedoesn’t keep his head lifted and his toes on the ground, pain becomesexcruciation. He shakes like a shot fox, panting just to make hischest move, reciting poetry in his head to give him anything to focuson besides the hurt.

“Howare you doing?” asks Chase, softly.

He’snot allowed to touch him. They found that out pretty quickly. Forevey place where Chase tried to support his body, soothe his wounds,or give him physical comfort, there is the bright red band of thebelt striking Marvin’s body.

“Okay,”Marvin says, clearing his throat and opening his eyes. Chase sits athis feet, pale and anxious. “I’ve always wanted the full piñataexperience.”

“Wow.”Chase is trying not to laugh. Marvin’s just glad to see the blood’sbeen wiped off his face. “The sarcasm.”

“I’mnot sarcastic ever, Chase. Will you get me some more water?”

Chasehurries to his feet and brings back a paper cup full of water,lifting it to his brother’s mouth. It hurts to swallow.

“Marv?”asks Chase.

“Yes,honey.”

“Howlong do you think it will take Jackie to find us?”

Marvinswallows again and does his best to lift his head up. He smiles.

“Notlong, right? You know Jackie. Probably about to burst through thatdoor any minute now.”

Buthe doesn’t.

Thenight passes.

Marvindoes not sleep.

Marvin spits waterfrom his mouth, vomit rising up with it. His soaked hair hangs downaround his head and his whole body drizzles chilly water.

“You want to goto sleep? You want a break? Just tell me where the Mask is, kitten.”

He’s been up forwhat, about thirty-six hours? Please. Like that’s going to break him.

They spray him withthe hose again and Marvin grits his teeth down on a scream, his bodyjerking uselessly against the ropes. The pressure on the water ishigh enough to leave marks across his body, patterning his black andpurple bruises with red.

Chase has longsince given up shouting at them to stop. He sits huddled in thecorner, his hands tied up, gripping anxiously at his clothes,refusing to cry. Occasionally, Markowitz’s men turn to smile at him,to see him in distress, but all he does is glare back, his mouth setand his eyes angry.

Marvin doesn’ttalk. They fuck with him for hours. He chants Angelou to himself andrefuses to scream.

“Where’s yourbrother?” they ask.

He lifts his eyesup to them, smiling. “Did you want to see me broken?” he recitessweetly. “Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down liketeardrops, weakened by my soulful cries?”

“Shut this kidup,” groans one of the men. They come forward with duct tape.

“Does myhaughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘cause I laughlike I got gold mines – ”

They tape hismouth. He laughs beneath the gag and closes his eyes as the pressurehits him again and again, singing freedom poetry in his head.

That’s how theykeep him up the second night, the cold water striking him like fireagain and again and again. Chase tries to stay awake, as he stayedawake the first night, to give his brother some comfort, but hecollapses into unconsciousness on his little cot around four in themorning, and when he wakes up at noon, Jackie has still not come.

And Marvin hasstill not slept.

“He must not beable to find us,” Chase whimpers, pacing in front of Marvin,playing with his hands.

Marvin groans,trying to order his thoughts. It’s becoming increasingly hard tothink. He doesn’t know why they’re doing anything they’re doing. Hejust wants to go to bed. “No, he’ll find us,” he manages, tryingto set his head down, only to be reminded of the horrible pain of theropes tying him up. “This guy’s good, that’s all. But Jackie knowshis trade, he’ll find us.”

“I’ve got to dosomething.” Marvin thinks Chase is probably talking more to himselfthan to him, but he’s just grateful to listen to his voice. “Ican’t just sit here while they torture you. I’ve got to get you somesleep. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Chase,” Marvinsays. He squints his eyes, pausing. It is Chase, right? For a secondhe looked like Henrik. Fuck, he’d give anything to have Henrik hereright now, to take him down off the ropes and make all the pain stop.No, but then Henrik would have to be tortured too. Anyway, this isChase. What were they talking about?

“Can’t you usesome magic, Marv?” Chase pleads, pausing in his pacing to stepclose. He glances at the one-way glass, wishing he could see wherehis enemies were so he could sneak a few minutes of support forMarvin’s body. “Fire or mind tricks or even some plants just tofreak them out?”

Magic, right.That’s his thing. Like in Dickinson: ‘To Tomes of solid Witchcraft –Magicians be asleep – But Magic hath an Element Like Deity – tokeep – ’

“Marv!” Chasebrings him back to reality and his eyes flutter open. “Bud, yougotta stay with me. If they see you falling asleep they’ll come inhere and spray you with that fucking hose again.”

“Right,” humsMarvin, refocusing. “Sorry, man, I – I need my cards. Magic hasan element… it’s so wild without my cards, I can’t just lash out oryou’ll get hurt too.”

Marvin becomesdistantly aware that Chase is crying. Distress jolts him back toattention. “Oh, don’t cry, Little Dipper. It’s going to be okay.”

“It’s been almostthree days and you haven’t slept.” Chase’s mouth trembles. “Iwish they would give me a turn so you could have a break.”

“No, I don’t wantthat. I don’t…” Well, he would like some sleep. But not atChase’s expense.

“Maybe I couldtalk to them. Get you a break. Maybe I could – fuck, I don’t know.I’ll figure something out. I’ll – ”

Something moves inthe corner of Marvin’s vision and he jerks in his ropes, turningtowards the movement, but whatever it was has already stopped moving.Chase is still talking, but Marvin can’t even hear him over thepounding of his heart.

He could have swornthat, just for an instant, he caught a glimpse of Antisepticeye.

He can’t stay awakeeven with the ropes. He can’t stay awake even with the water. They’veslapped him, struck him, beat him, turned his legs blue from kicks, and still he is heavy, heavy, heavy. How long has he been up for? There isno light in their basement cell and time is now marked in Chasesleeping and bursts of intensity within the constant pain.

He’s given up ontrying not to scream. Sometimes he screams just when he’s alone withChase, because he’s scared and exhausted and he might be losing hismind. It makes Chase cry. He hates that, but he can’t think clearlyenough to offer him any comfort.

Markowitz comes inpersonally again on Marvin’s fifth day of consciousness. In his hand,there is a shock rod, the kind ranchers use to drive their cattle.“Hi there, boys,” he says, flicking it on and stepping close toMarvin. He hasn’t bothered to tie Chase up again, and the littlebrother stands before his friend, his eyes narrow and full of hatred.

“I hear the cat’sbeen yowling,” says Markowitz, grinning brightly. “You ready totalk, White Cat?”

Marvin swallowspainfully. His body shakes. He can’t find the right answer. He wantsto say “yes,” but then again, he’s lost track of what thequestion was to begin with.

“No?” humsMarkowitz. “You don’t know? How about you, twin? Just tell me whereBlue is and I’ll let your buddy here lay down right there on that cotand get a good night’s sleep. Won’t touch either of you again. It’llall be over.”

Jackie and Henrikand Jamie and Sean. Jackie and Henrik and Jamie and Sean. “I’llnever tell you anything,” Chase hisses, but his fury is dimmed byhis watering eyes.

Markowitz shrugs,turning on the shock rod. “You will eventually,” he says, in atone like they’re discussing a board meeting this afternoon. “Someoneget in here and tie this kid up.”

Marvin’s head keepsdrooping down, his eyes fluttering shut. Every time, he gets a shock,and every time, he screams. Chase has begun screaming with him,protest and cursing and words of comfort for his brother, but none ofit helps, none of it changes anything at all; he’s never felt sohelpless in his entire life –

Markowitz shockshis brother again and Marvin screams, blue lines of bruisingapparating where the blow falls on his bare ribs.

“No more!”Marvin screams, his eyes rolling wildly in his head. He thrashes likehe’s in his death throes, blood trickling down from his over-burdenedwrists. “No more! Please! No more! Please! No – ”

“Where’s yourbrother?” Markowitz snarls. “Tell me and I’ll end it.”

“Leave himalone!” Chase howls.

“My brother –my brother – here and there and everywhere.” Marvin groans andshakes, yanking, yanking, yanking on the ropes. “My brother –which brother, I have so many.”

“The Blue Mask,”growls Markowitz. “Where is he?”

“He – he –our little house – ” Marvin pauses, breathing low and heavy. Oncemore, he drags his proud head up, and he looks his enemy in the eye.“Where’s my brother? Don’t you know? Already on his way here,coward.”

Markowitz strikeshim so savagely that Marvin’s head snaps back and his whole bodyweight crashes onto the ropes, accompanied by a dull popping sound inhis right shoulder. Marvin’s mouth opens in an agony, his eyesburning a little bit too blue to be human, and he lets out a cry likea dog on the hunt. “Pain is just neurons!” he shrieks, and thegrass that encircles the building that holds them begins to lengthen.Dandelions shove against cold concrete, threatening to break throughthe floor. “Torture is just weakness made into violence! And bloodis just blood!”

Fire explodesacross the floor of the cell and now it is Markowitz’s turn toscream, a cry of shock at the flames come to life around him. There’shollering in the next room over and extra men dart into the room,startled into action.

With the hose inthe room, it doesn’t actually take them long to put the fire out.Markowitz is coughing and the room is full of smoke, but the onlydamage done is across Chase’s calf, where his flesh is badly burned.He toppled his chair in his panic, and he lies across the floor, histeeth gritted hard and tears leaking from his eyes.

In the middle of itall, hanging from the ceiling from blood-stained wrists and adislocated shoulder, his body contorted into an unending agony,Marvin is asleep.

Markowitz, stillspitting out curses and trying to shake off his terror, comes forwardwith the shock rod again.

“No,” criesChase hoarsely. “No.”

“All you have todo to make it stop,” Markowitz hisses out, shaking with fury. “Istell me where your brother is.”

“I can’t,”Chase sobs. “No, no, no.”

Marvin flickersback to consciousness. His dull eyes lock absently onto Chase’s, andbeneath his breath, he whispers Whitman.

“'Touch me,‘”he says, drifting. “'Touch the palm of your hand to my body as Ipass.‘”

“I’ll keep himawake,” Chase promises, looking up at Markowitz. “Just let metouch him and I’ll keep him awake.”

Markowitz regainscontrol of himself and the situation. A low smile grows dark on hismouth.

“Well, twin,”he says. “I think that sounds like a lot of fun.”

They untie Chaseand they set a bucket on a table beneath Marvin’s face. If his headfalls too far, he will drown. Chase limps over to his brother andlets his head fall against his shoulder, weeping.

“'Don’t be afraidof my body.‘” Marvin intones gently.

From then on, he ishaunted.

From then on, he ismad.

He screams andthrashes. Chase does his best to keep him calm, but there’s not muchuse.

“Stay away fromme!” he screams in his delirium, and his eyes glow but no powercomes. He’s too exhausted, too distressed, too confused. “You thinkyou get to touch me, glitch? Stay away, stay away, stay away!”

“It’s me!”Chase begs him to recognize him. “It’s me, please, Marv, it’s okay,it’s okay. Anti’s not going to hurt you. Here I am.”

He strokes his hairand brings him water and tries to keep him awake as gently as he can,but there’s no gentle options left. He’s been awake for a week and heis collapsing in on himself, shaking and moaning and crying, cryingalmost constantly. Chase doesn’t think he’s even aware of it.

“Chase, Chase,it’s just neurons!”

“Okay, buddy,okay. Come here, stay awake.”

“It’s justweakness!”

“I know. I’msorry, Marv, I’m so sorry. Bud, you can’t rest yet. Keep your eyesopen.”

“It’s just –it’s just – I want Jackie.” He bursts into sobbing. His face iswhite as a desert cloud and his eyes are shadowed so heavy in purplehe looks like someone tried to use watercolors to paint him.

“Me too,”whimpers Chase, pushing back his hair.

Marvin’s headcollapses down into the bucket and Chase yelps, rescuing his facefrom the water. His eyes are rolled back in his head and his face isslack. He keeps dropping into these deep but second-long sleeps.Chase shakes him, but he doesn’t wake.

“I’m sorry, I’msorry, I’m sorry,” Chase cries. If he doesn’t keep him awake,Markowitz will do it will water and electricity. This is the onlyway. This is the only thing he can do. Keep Marvin awake and hopethat Jackie will come.

Chase slaps Marvinhard across the face.

He’s saving Henrik.

Or was it Jack?

He’s savingsomeone. That must be it. That must be how he came to be here.Otherwise, he would never have ended up in Anti’s grip. He wouldnever have let the demon get him otherwise. He would never have letsomeone sneak up on him and steal him away. He’s a magician. He’spowerful. Anti just got lucky. Marvin just got lazy. Pain is justneurons. Torture is just weakness in violence. Blood is just –

“Stay awake,”Anti croons, low and sweet, his green eyes glittering in thedarkness. He strikes Marvin sharply, sending pain bursting throughhis face.

“Fucker,”Marvin chokes out, in a voice weak and rasping, and Anti laughs.

Oh, he reallydoesn’t feel well. He really, really doesn’t feel well. His wholebody’s on fire and his brain – why can’t he think straight? Whycan’t he think at all?

“Why don’t youjust tell me what I want to know?” Anti asks. He steps back,towards a table, and picks up a knife, big and serrated, made forhunting and skinning deer or foxes. Marvin whimpers, terror drawinghim back to consciousness. “This can all be over.”

“I don’t knowwhat you want,” Marvin says, and he realizes he is crying, heavyand pathetic, snot and tears running down his bruised, exhaustedface. “Chase knows, ask him. Please don’t hurt me. I can’t – Ican’t – Where’s Jackie?”

“I was wonderingthe same thing.” Anti shrugs, looking almost mournful. “Whydoesn’t he come? Why doesn’t he save you? Doesn’t he know I’m aboutto tear your flesh off?”

Marvin weeps.Marvin weeps. Someone touches him. Someone holds him.

“I’m right here,”whispers Chase, warm and close. “I’m right here, I’m right here,I’m right.”

“Please,”Marvin begs. He doesn’t know who he’s begging. He doesn’t know wherehe is or why this is happening. “Please, make this stop.”

“I can’t, I’m sosorry.”

“Chase,” hegroans. “Chase, tell them what they want to know.”

“No, no, pleasedon’t say that, you know that I can’t – ”

“I need you tomake this stop!” Marvin wails. “I need you, why won’t you helpme?”

Chase’s answer isdistant and incomprehensible. Reality has betrayed him. Chase hasbetrayed him.

“Bastard,” hespits out. “You’re with them, aren’t you?”

“No, no, Marv,you know I wouldn’t do that.”

“You won’t helpme. I thought we were brothers. I’ve held you through your suicidedays. I’ve loved you since the day you were created. Why are youdoing this to me? Why won’t you let me sleep? Chase, please, please.Chase, I’m begging you. Little brother. Little brother.”

“It’s all goingto be okay soon. We’re going to be okay once Jackie comes. We’regoing to be okay.”

“Fuck, I hate youso fucking much. Don’t you dare lay a goddamn finger on me. Littletraitor! Little brat!”

“No, no, please,I love you.”

“Oh, honey, isthat my little brother? Chaser, Chasey. I love you too, I love you somuch. Oh, I burned you – I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry. Where arewe, Chase? Can we go home? I’m so so tired, Little Dipper.”

Desperate, Chaserisks supporting his body for a few minutes, and Marvin makes a noiseof pure relief and falls asleep against his head. The punishment forthose short minutes comes from one of Markowitz’s workers, who comesin, shoves Chase away, and, coolly and efficiently, shocks Marvin atthe bottom of his throat until his whole collarbone is black.

And still, Jackiedoes not come.

“Thinking,tangling shadows in the deep solitude,” Marvin whispers on dayeight. “You are far away too, oh, farther than anyone.”

It’s Neruda, a poetfor love and revolution. Chase wonders if it’s better to let him stayin his head or to try and draw him out. In the end, he only standsbefore him, soft and resolute, and tells him, again and again, “I’mright here, buddy.”

“Your presence isforeign, as strange to me as a thing. The shout facing the sea, amongthe rocks, running free, mad, in the sea-spray.”

“I’m right here,Marv. I’m not going anywhere.”

“The sad rage,the shout, the solitude of the sea!” Marvin’s voice breaks and hishead drops down. Chase, eyes dripping, reaches out and lifts up hischin, brings him back to awakeness, to life.

“You have to staywith me,” Chase weeps, touching his face. “Jackie’s coming soon.”

“It collapses,crackling. Fire, fire,” says Marvin, and then finishes the poem,his blue eyes dead and unseeing: “Who are you? Who are you?”

Chase cries for along time.

“He’s coming,”he promises Marvin. He has to give him hope. He has to keep himawake. He has to trust in his brothers. “Jackie’s coming soon.Jackie’s on his way.”

He is.

He’s coming.

He’s angry.

Markowitz crashesinto the room and Chase is up, on his feet, immediately, standingprotective in front of his brother, holding up his head.

Markowitz holds agun.

“Move,” heorders shortly, flicking the gun to the side. “Now. Unless you wantto get shot too.”

Upstairs, there iscrashing and the shouting of frightened thugs. It makes Chase laugh,wild, almost hysterical. He understands that Jackie has come.

“He found you!”he cries, pressing his head against Marvin’s and letting his brothertumble into sleep against his shoulder. “We told you, didn’t we? Wetold you he’d come. We told you we’d tell you nothing. And you wantto spend your last moments of life killing somebody you’ve alreadytortured for days? Fuck, I hope God is real so he can damn you. Iguess I used to think Hell was like all that fire and brimstonebullshit, but now I know different.”

Markowitz breatheshard. His finger on the trigger. His pupils blown wide. The smell ofhis terror is delicious.

“Hell is beingkept awake,” says Chase simply, closing his eyes and listening tothe sound of Marvin breathing, slow and steady. “And you, Mr.Markowitz, are never going to sleep again.”

The gun goes offand Chase waits to die.

But the bulletnever hits its mark.

Instead, it sitssuspended in the air, unmoving, between Chase and his enemy, asthough time has stopped for the fiery piece of iron.

“What the fuck?”whispers Markowitz. He stares at the bullet, his jaw hanging open,until a small cough makes him whirl around.

Jameson stands inthe doorway of the room, looking dapper in a blood-stained suitstraight out of the 1920s. He smiles coldly, holding up his littlewatch.

Then he pulls out aknife and steps forward.

Markowitz aims thegun again. Chase laughs to see just how unimpressed his littlebrother looks. “You really should have gotten the hint about myfamily when Marvin set this fucking room on fire spontaneously,” hesnarks, reaching out towards Jameson. His little brother tosses him aspare knife obediently and Chase, with a relief so powerful it makeshis chest burn, begins to cut Marvin down. “We’re not reallynormal. And now, we’re going to make you pay.”

Jackie appears inthe door beside Jameson, dropping the body he was dragging from hishand. Behind him, face covered, Henrik holds a dripping scalpel inthe darkness.

Markowitz pays.

Chase shouldprobably feel guilty for how much he enjoys seeing him suffer, but hedoesn’t.

Marvin sleepsthrough the whole thing. Through the fight, through Jackie running tohim, through everyone circled around them, distraught and worried.Through police sirens and a hospital visit. Sleeps and sleeps andsleeps.

It’s wonderful.

He wakes up towarmth.

Warmth and comfort.

He’s back home, inhis own bed, a pack of cards lying on the table beside him, plants blooming all around him and the windows open to the summerbreeze. There’s a sticky note pressed against the wall above hishead, covered in Jackie’s messy handwriting.

“I’m right in myroom if you need anything. Henrik’s watching out for you too. You’regoing to be okay. I’m sorry I wasn’t there then. I’m here now. I loveyou.”

Marvin smiles.Memories of what happened can wait. For now, he lies in warmth andcomfort, dazed with fatigue and contentment.

Chase lies besidehim, breathing slow and steady. Safe and whole and courageous.

Marvin curls up at his side, andhe goes back to sleep.

#tw torture #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #jseegos #whump #bee writes #thanks for requesting sid!!

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