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thewhumperinwhite · 3 years

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And Then You Kill Me, Part 1

hey, it’s been a hot minute, huh?

been sorta Going Through It, so uh... Vampire Time, featuring Art and Karim from FBI AU. (Though, for the record: this is their original incarnation, hence why fbi au is Called That.)

I’m gonna tag @whumpitywhumpwhump and also @sweetheartblue bc Karim is... her oc once removed, basically, so if you like this, Thank Sweetheart

Blanket Warning For This Story: this story heavily features suicide, including multiple suicide attempts.

TW for: attempted suicide; mentioned/”threatened” murder; slight foot whump; implied vampirism; referenced parental abuse; referenced captivity; prescription drug abuse; drowning mention.

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Art doesn’t know how far he runs, or for how long, but by the time he stops the air smells like salt water, and also his feet feel like they’re filled with glass.

He hasn’t been out of his room for a full month. Or his father’s house for longer than that. There’s a sharp ache in the center of each of his calves, and muscles jumping in his thighs; he hasn’t used his legs for much of anything in weeks. He hasn’t even paced back and forth within the confines of his room like he did at first. Didn’t even stay on his feet for the entirety of his last few too-long showers.

The maid who let him out is new, at least to his wing of the house. She’s been bringing his meals for three weeks at the most, and collecting the trays after he refuses to eat it with increasingly visible discomfort.

She’s the only member of staff who broke his father’s injunction that no one should speak to him; said “You must eat something” in a soft, accented voice, looking around furtively.

He wasn’t been sure his father had actually given specific orders—thought maybe they all just hated him, or had decided among themselves that he was too much trouble to bother with—but this new girl was so clearly afraid of being caught, just speaking one sentence to him, that he knew his father must have said their jobs were on the line. For a little while he wondered why his father would bother. And then he felt stupid, for still wanting the old man to need a reason for things.

The new maid’s name is Noa. It took her a week to talk to him, and two more after before she felt brave or sympathetic enough to sneak him out.

Which means she probably didn’t know that this was always what he was going to do, the second he was out. Last time he didn’t do it fast enough, and the cops found him before he had the chance; this time he isn’t taking any chances.

Noa might feel guilty when they find his body. He thought about leaving a note—to tell her thanks, and that it wasn’t her fault—but he didn’t want to risk getting her in trouble, if she somehow managed to help him without getting caught.

Anyway, she hasn’t known him very long at all. She’ll get over it before too long.

He hasn’t been to this part of the city before. In fact he’s not sure what part of the city this is; he’s been running through a thick mental fog since he first left his father’s manicured lawn. He makes himself really look, now, blinking in the dim yellow light of the streetlamps.

He’s made it to the edge of the city, near where the river that runs through the center meets the ocean. It’s hard to believe this is the same river where his mother sips martinis and watches races between indistinguishable blinding-white boats (largely captained by indistinguishable blinding-white men, though Art doesn’t have much room to talk on that score, obviously).

Art steps out onto the dock. The wood is damp and rough, ice-cold on his bare feet, but it’s solid, and not very slippery. There’s an old railing along the edge, and he leans against it, wrapping already-numb fingers around the rough metal. The river’s wider here, the city lights on the other side further away than he’s used to. This must be where it starts to open out, stops being the river and starts being the bay.

The railing’s sturdy, but only as high as his waist. It’d be easy to climb over. The water must be freezing, maybe even cold enough to kill him on its own, before he has time to drown.

But he doesn’t know what the tides are like, here. His corpse might wash right out to sea, and then what will have been the point of any of this?

Art pries one hand off the railing—it’s already stiff with cold, and it takes more effort than it should—and puts it in his pocket, wraps his stinging pins-and-needles fingers around the reassuring shape of the pill bottle.

Art closes his eyes, and breathes in. The water smells worse, here—like industrial waste, mainly, with a hint of rotting seaweed. But it doesn’t smell like too-fancy cologne, or any of his mother’s preferred cocktails.

Art figures there are worse places to die.

He’s turning his head, looking around to see if there’s any place to sit or if he should just sit on the ground and lean against the railing—and then he spins wildly on his heel, stumbling back against the railing, his heart stuttering in his chest.

There’s a man standing at the edge of the dock, under the nearest streetlight, watching him.

The man is wearing a full suit, and Art can tell immediately that it’s been professionally tailored and that it’s at least partly silk and for a moment that’s all he can see—neatly pressed trousers and shiny black shoes, with patterns on the soles that leave bruises anyone could recognize if they wanted to, if they looked at Art’s face and throat and hands for even a second—

“—to startle you,” the man is saying, in a blessedly unfamiliar voice, and Art shakes his head, hard, to force his eyes back into focus.

The man is holding his hands up in surrender and looking slightly alarmed, presumably worried that Art is about to swoon at his feet. There’s a red silk ribbon hanging untied around the collar of the man’s shirt, and Art’s father only wears plain black ties.

The adrenaline runs out of Art’s veins in a rush, and this time his knees actually do give out on him, and he slithers down against the railing until he’s sitting on the damp wood, which is very cold through the thin fabric of his jeans.

The man blinks at him. He has big, long-lashed eyes, over-bright against his light-brown skin. His hair is bleach-blonde, glowing white-gold under the streetlamp; it’s mostly slicked back, with a few curls flopping loose over sculpted black eyebrows.

He isn’t standing on the docks themselves, but his suit—now that Art can really see, it’s pretty ostentatious, satin-shiny in the yellow glow, not something his father would wear at all—looks very out of place above the dirty concrete sidewalk, between two dingy, abandoned-looking buildings.

“You’re wearing a suit,” Art says, before he knows he’s going to say anything.

The man blinks his glow-in-the-dark eyes at him. His lashes are so long they cast visible shadows on his cheeks. He looks at Art, and then down at the suit; touches his own lapel gently with black-gloved fingers, like he’s just remembering that it’s there.

Then the man looks back up at Art, and says, “It’s Boglioli,” in a surprised sort of voice, like it’s a conditioned response.

“Ugh,” Art says, with perfect sincerity.

The man laughs, his full lips parting in a startled grin, and—

There’s something wrong with his teeth.

Art is still on the ground. There’s no sound except the river, behind him, water lapping quietly against wood. Art hasn’t slept properly in days. He’s prepared to believe he imagined it, except.

Except that the smile immediately drops off the man’s face, and his gloved hand twitches up as though in an aborted attempt to reach up and cover his mouth.

Art stares.

It was only for a second. But the man’s eyeteeth were too long, surely, poked down over his bottom lip, like they barely fit in his pretty red mouth.

Art’s ears are ringing. He feels cold, and then too warm.

The man takes a half-step back, his eyes not leaving Art’s face.

Art doesn’t move. He’s been out here in the cold for—an hour. Most of him is freezing, is almost painfully cold, but suddenly there’s heat in his cheeks and his ribcage and the palm of his hands.

He’s feeling something too big to identify. It doesn’t feel like fear.

The man is watching his face very closely.

“What’s your name?” he asks, finally. His voice is low and velvet-soft.

That does sent fear up into Art’s stomach like a knife. He shakes his head once, sharply, reaching up for the railing, ready to haul himself to his feet.

The man holds his gloved hands up again, in surrender. This time when he smiles he keeps his lips firmly together.

“No, alright, my mistake,” he says, smirking. It’s much worse than the grin; more controlled, less real. Art liked the grin better.

He liked the man’s smile better with teeth.

“I just, uh,” the man says, and he gestures toward Art’s feet, folded awkwardly underneath him. “That wood’s so dirty. Your cuts’ll get infected.”

Art’s feet do hurt. He’s run half the city with no shoes, they must be cut to shit. But he hasn’t left a trail of bloody footprints, or anything. Maybe the man can see that his feet are bare, but surely not more than that, not from where he’s standing.

When he leans over, a little, to see if his foot is a horrible bloody mess and he’s just missed it somehow, Art wobbles, and takes his hand out of his pocket to steady himself.

The bottle of pills clatters out of his pocket.

Art’s heart clenches painfully in his chest, and his head swims, and the bottle rolls easily across the wooden planks in front of him. The man takes one step forward, and it taps casually into the toe of his shiny black shoe.

The man picks the bottle up, frowning down at the label.

Art stumbles forward, onto his knees. “Give that back.”

“What is it?” the man says, voice nothing but curious. He’s reading the label. Art wants to tackle him and rip it out of his hands.

“It’s mine,” he says, and now he’s almost yelling. “Give it back!”

The man takes a step back, startled. “Huh,” he says, blinking down at Art, who is now kneeling practically at his feet. Art has no idea what kind of face he’s making.

“Really,” the man says slowly, and makes a show of squinting back down at the label. “This says… Honoria Lange, is what it says.” He raises a perfectly-sculpted brow at Art. “That’s you, is it?”

Art wants to rip this guy’s head off. “Maybe it is,” he says savagely, and reaches for the man’s hand; the man laughs and dances easily out of the way. “Give me my fucking pills back—"

“Oh, relax,” the man says, smirking again. “Seriously, what are you so desperate to—” He trails off, frowning down at the bottle. “…Huh.”

The man looks down at Art, thoughtfully.

“These are—what, sleeping pills,” he says slowly, and tips his head, like a curious dog.

Art’s stomach clenches painfully.

“Hey,” the man says. “Are you—”

Art throws himself to his feet.

This isn’t as good, Art thinks, while he swings his foot onto the lowest bar of the metal railing; they might not find his body for weeks, might not find it at all, he might die for nothing, but he won’t go back, he won’t go back to his father’s—

“Hey—Don’t!” the man yells, and he grabs Art by the hood of his sweatshirt, and yanks him backwards, off the railing.

Art gasps in a painful panicked breath and kicks out at the man with his bare, bleeding feet, aiming straight for the testicles; the man moves easily out of the way, not letting go of Art’s hoodie; Art overbalances and falls backward, just catching himself my scraping his hand bloody on the concrete at the bottom of the railing.

“Shit,” the man says, reaching for Art, and Art flails at him, wants to push him away, or to scratch out his shiny glass-marble eyes, or—

The man catches Art’s wrist easily. He’s leaning over Art, now, with one arm braced beside him, and holding Art’s arm; Art’s hand, his wrist in the man’s glove fist, is very close to the man’s face.

The heel of Art’s hand is cut open; a drop of blood trails down over his pulse point, and disappears into the fabric of the man’s glove.

The man’s pupils visibly dilate. When his lips part, his fangs are even more visible than before, like they barely fit inside his mouth.

Art feels his own lips part in response. Feels his fear—he’ll stop me he’ll call the police he’ll drag me back please no please please I’ll do anything—shift, pool lower in his belly.

The man is watching Art’s face—their faces are very close together now. He looks Art in the eye and—parts his lips slightly, so there can be no mistaking what they both know Art sees. Then he wets his lips, delicately, with an almost obscenely red tongue.

“Hey,” the man says, and his voice has gone slightly hoarse.

“No,” Art says—and his voice is hoarse, too, an embarrassing croak. His face is hot; he knows it must be red, now. “I don’t want it. Whatever you’re offering, I don’t—uh—”

Art tries to pull his arm back, as hard as he can. The man’s grip doesn’t budge a single inch. Like he could—like he could snap Art’s wrist, just by tightening his fist. Art swallows, his heart fluttering in his chest. His ribcage feels too tight. And now his pants are starting to feel that way, too.

The man studies Art’s face, very seriously. “I think,” he says, and his voice is softer, almost hesitant.

“I think,” the man says, watching closely for Art’s reaction, “that I am offering to kill you.”

#suicide tw #whump #original whump #attempted suicide #suicidal whumpee #vampire caretaker #drug abuse tw #parental abuse mention #vampires #and then you kill me

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youarejesting · 3 years

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The Bomb

[Masterlist]

Beta: @juniethebug Rating: 16+ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Genre: Mafia, enemies2lovers. Trigger Warnings: mentions of Violence, Gore, Torture, Drinking and wetting yourself in public from fear and a full bladder during a gun fight. Character death. Words: 9.4k

Summary: The leader of a mafia should be calm collected and poised. He should live meticulously and know what he needs to do. Namjoon was that man, he had rules that kept his business running smoothly and nothing can get in the way of that. Can it?

[Part 2]

Kim Namjoon, the leader of the biggest mafia in Seoul, lived his life by many rules. His first rule, a man should only cry three times in his life. The first time is when a man loses his mother, the one who raises a man to be who they are worth mourning.

The second when a man marries the love of his life and he shall weep tears of joy. The third and final time a man is allowed to cry is when he sees his first child born.

Pathetically sobbing against the dirty concrete while getting the life beaten out of you is not one of those three incidences. “I will ask you again, where is the payment I was promised?”

“He gave it to his daughter, used the money he was supposed to pay you, on his daughter; a beautiful emerald necklace. Something about it being her birthday and wanting to gift her with something as pretty as she is.” Yoongi scoffed, spinning the knife around his fingers a habit he had developed to keep his dexterous fingers busy.“Or at least that is what Hobi had to say after tailing the man all day. Just take the necklace from her pretty little neck; she doesn’t have to come with it.”

“The birthday party is tonight, a lavish affair for their daughter, every man, woman, and child from rich backgrounds were invited to the ball held at their Manor.” Jimin sighed, rolling some scotch in his glass.

“Be ready to leave in ten minutes.” Namjoon walked to the door, Jungkook opening it for him. A reminder of rule number fourteen; a powerful man never moves unnecessarily, which includes opening doors and stepping aside from someone.

Pulling on a black on black suit he fastened his Platinum Rolex to his wrist, in his classiest polished pair of dress shoes. Walking towards the front door, he stopped by the front door and Yoongi pulled open the suitcase, graced with the sight of two pistols both with a shiny custom nickel finish with gold filigree on the handle and barrel.

These were gifted to him by Taehyung, a man with an eye for the finest of arts. Just like the weapons he provided he was a beautiful young man with an innocent face. But he was a dangerous man and rule number ten. Never give the man who provides you with your weapons the chance to provide them for anyone else. Of course, naturally, that meant Namjoon hired him in an instant, not willing to let his enemies use his weapons dealer.

The boys were heading to the car; Seokjin was going to drive as he was the most sensible behind the wheel. Each piling in Namjoon looked at his watch and over the five individuals in the car.

“Should I tell Jimin to hurry up?” Taehyung said reaching for his phone, he was in the middle of texting when Namjoon placed his hand on the phone pushing it to his lap.

“No need we leave without him, he knows the rules-”

“Rule number fifteen, a man is never late,” Jungkook nodded; he lived by Namjoon’s word and his rules. Knew them better than Namjoon did himself, wrote them down, and numbered them as the leader taught him each one.

The car door was shut by Seokjin who situated himself into the driver's seat and pulled away from the house. House may be a bit of an understatement even Namjoon thought so, officially titled the Kim Manor with four stories complete with east and west wings, staff quarters, elaborate gardens, and land.

It was the picturesque home with lavish rooms headed to the front gates, a motorbike raced past and pulled up. Jimin climbed into the car with the others, grumbling about how the wind destroyed his hair.

He ran his fingers through his hair trying to return it to its former perfection, once the gates spread open they headed on their way to the party.

Each stepping out at the foot of the manor, fixing their hair and suits one last time before heading up the steps. “Your invitation, sir?”

Yoongi pulled out a gun and tapped it against the clipboard pushing it down so he could read it. “That's us there unchecked, sorry we are late, traffic is horrible at this time of the day,” the man swallowed thickly.

“Of course Mr. and Mrs. Le pomme, you don’t look French?”

“It’s Ms. Actually,” Yoongi poked the man's chest with his gun.

Namjoon turned speaking immaculate French to the young man and patted his shoulder. “Jungkook always learns a language, a man should never miss an opportunity to learn new things.”

Jungkook was writing the new rule down following behind them, Yoongi pushed the gun into his waistband and the group entered the manor. Walking the floor as a small unit they began analyzing the ballroom.

Jimin had disappeared and Jungkook smiled gesturing to the young woman who was mingling a beautiful emerald necklace delicately nestled against her decolletage. Namjoon looked her over. She was stunning with her smooth skin and gentle curls.

She was nothing like he expected, Namjoon thought she would have a dark tan and bleach blonde hair, with extensions and the latest trending nails and jewelry and shoes.

But this woman. This gorgeous woman had pale skin with sun-kissed freckles, her lips were a soft velvety crimson. She wore a simple black dress but somehow managed to still be the most beautiful person in the room. He could gaze at her forever and never get tired.

You smiled feeling proud of your outfit, it was such an elegant and complicated piece, a sweetheart bodice with off the shoulder lace straps it was a thin and long dress that fell to your ankles showing off a pair of thin heels.

It wasn’t a famous brand designer, no, you made this yourself there were many little fun hidden details. You were speaking with your friends when he approached.

He was handsome, his profile was strong one you would remember easily he had a small scar on his eyebrow but it added so much character to his image.

“Ladies,” he greeted the small group with a short bow, his eyes flicking up and meeting yours full of confidence and you gave a small friendly smile back.

“Shall we dance?” He asked, and you, never to be overdone, agreed. You had never been asked to dance before. Especially not by someone this handsome.

“My name is y/n. You?”

“You may call me Namjoon,” he smiled and you blushed, looking at his dimples, he was so charming and cute. But there was something about him he took the lead and guided you through a slow waltz. Something you couldn’t put a nail on. Something… sinister..?

You gasped clutching his bicep gently. He saw the emerald necklace secure around your delicate neck. Your breasts strained against your dress with every breath.

“You seem to be out of breath miss y/n?” His fingertips brushing gently across your décolletage. He too was breathing heavily from the physical activity of dancing.

“A testament to your dance skills,” you tried to laugh back.

“Perhaps we should get something to drink,” he took your hand and weaved it so your arm wrapped around his, “we can chat while you relax but I do apologize for being too enthusiastic.”

“No, really, it is okay,” you protested, not wanting to seem too affected honestly it was embarrassing to get tired after one vigorous dance.

“Indulge me,” Namjoon’s raspy voice reverberated so low you could have almost mistaken it for a purr, “I would very much like to steal a few extra moments with you”

“Well then, I shan’t protest,” you gestured towards the refreshment table where he handed you a champagne flute. The two of you drank slowly his eyes locked on yours.

“Sir,” a voice called politely, you were both pulled from your intense eye contact to see Your father flanked by two young and very handsome men.

“Thank you for inviting me to your party tonight, sir.” Namjoon shook his hand firmly, his voice made you shiver, it wasn’t as light as it had been before, there was something clipped in his tone. Your former suspicions returned to you. Hard.

“Ah, Mr. Kim, I am glad you could make it, I didn’t think you would come to such a small affair?” Your father smiled, he was sweating a sign he was nervous but trying to hold his cool.

“Dad is everything okay?” You took your father's pocket-handkerchief and dabbed his forehead.

“Darling I would like for you to get some pictures with your mother. It is your birthday after all,” you looked at him curiously and almost yielded to his request when a firm hand caught your wrist.

“Just a moment I would like to give you your birthday gift,” Namjoon smiled reaching into his pocket, his next statement seemed to cause the young man beside your father to scribble in a notebook. “A man must never come to a party empty-handed, especially not a birthday party.”

“Oh it’s okay, I don’t usually get presents anyway,” you were flustered by the prospect you always requested not to get presents to spare people the trouble of spending their money on material things.

“That is a shame a pretty young lady like yourself should be spoiled daily,” a hot flush pinked your skin and it crept up your neck.

He handed you a box wrapped in a small ribbon. She opened it to reveal an emerald bracelet just like the necklace she wore and he helped secure it to the wrist and smiled.

“Emerald looks brilliant on you?”

Namjoon looked your father directly in the eyes watching the man sweat. Would he sell out his own daughter for his own safety? “Well darling, mister Kim and I are just going to do a quick spot of business”

“Okay,” you nodded, Namjoon looked over his shoulder and made a gesture to Jungkook and Yoongi to keep an eye on you. While following your weasel-like father to his study.

“I know why you are here and I am sorry, I had the money ready to give you but it was my daughter’s birthday and I couldn’t turn up empty-handed,” Your father said “I will get you the money by the end of the week.”

“You will as I will have collateral just in case your daughter will leave with me.” Namjoon threatened before adding an afterthought “tonight”.

“Please don’t hurt her, I will get you the money, I promise. Please.” He pleaded, dropping onto his knees. Namjoon felt his eye twitch in disgust.

“You will give me the money, otherwise you will never see your daughter again.”

You were feeling kind of awkward, the two young men accompanying you weren’t awful company, they just weren’t very talkative.

“So you work with Namjoon?” you asked

“Mmm…” one so graciously grunted in response

“What do you do?” you swayed from foot to foot trying to strike up some sort of conversation.

“Mister Kim is an entrepreneur,” The taller man said excitedly. You nodded; he very obviously liked his boss.

“You seem to enjoy working for him then,” You asked happily and the two nodded going back to standing around.

“Ah, you must be the birthday girl?” A sweet voice called your attention, “Wah, You are so beautiful miss y/n?”

“Have we met?” Already knowing you hadn’t met any of these men they were way too handsome for you to just forget. He had long legs accentuated by his high waisted trousers, his feet moved one in front of the other with all the grace and caution like a model in a field of landmines. He scooped your hand into his grasp and kissed your knuckle’s eyes searching your person and the room. “Park Jimin.”

Beside him was a taller young man who was boyish with big rounded ears that added so much youth to his face. “I do not believe we have ma’am and that is a shame” He also kissed your knuckles politely and threw you a grin. “Kim Taehyung at your service.”

“Tell me, miss Y/n. Do you like Painting?” Taehyung asked with a grin and you nodded

“Though I am not good at it, yes.” You sighed while playing with your lace sleeve, you were currently surrounded by these very tall and intimidating men. “Do you like painting?”

“I enjoy it greatly my dear, would you be interested in painting with me?” He smiled brightly and you grinned feeling more relaxed.

“I would love to,” you grinned and they all got a text to their apple watches that they read and quickly dismissed from view.

“Miss y/n, we would like to hold a toast,” Jimin grinned, handing you a champagne flute. You nodded and Jimin led a toast celebrating your birthday, ending his short speech with. “You have to all drink it in one shot for the best of wishes for the birthday girl”

You drank heartedly watching them all drink as well, the conversation continued and you were happily chatting about all different things when you started to feel rather drowsy. “I think I drank too much.” You giggled, feeling tired, a warm coat was draped over your shoulders it was super roomy and you felt yourself drift off.

There were strange sounds and lights passing over you periodically, though it stirred you it wasn’t enough to wake you fully. Only when your body had fought the immense fatigue did you wake.

Everything was stale, the air, the room, life, for a moment you didn’t move. Your body was heavy and your head clouded. Taking a deep breath you sat up the lush blankets in their covers making noise against the soft satin sheet.

The room wasn’t yours, the furniture was all a dark almost black lacquered wood, the bedding was also all black. It was a dark room with thick heavy curtains.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed you gripped the fourposter frame and stood upright nursing a slight ache behind your temples.

The floor was a white marble, searingly cold against your feet. You looked down at the sweet emerald négligée, your jewellery was placed on the bedside table.

Where you saw a glass of water, taking the glass you took a few sips quenching your thirst and pushing the bile rising in your throat back down.

Crossing the room, trying to find a bathroom you opened the first set of double doors and found a walk-in wardrobe. There were many suits inside and a door caught your eye, perhaps it led to the bathroom.

Opening the door you saw for the first time in your life real guns and weapons on display, wherever you are it mustn’t be safe. You picked up a small handgun like the ones you had seen in movies.

You moved on to the bathroom, your bladder was urgently requesting relief.

Opening the next doors you came across a bathroom like no other. It was all the same white marble, the feature was a round shower located in the middle of the room. With two curved sliding doors one on either side of the shower.

Between curved glass panels were stone pillars one which had been carved into as to create shelves with built-in product dispensers.

You saw a control panel on the outside of the shower and you wondered where the water came from but looking up at the hanging gold shower head that was almost as wide as the shower.

You could imagine how it would feel, like warm rain falling against your skin. On your right as you stepped in was a beautiful counter with his and her basins in front of a finely detailed gold framed mirror.

On the opposite wall to your left were shelves of fresh towels and a few cabinets and a seated area with a lady might do her makeup

Walking around the shower along the walls of towels you saw the toilet the door was made of frosted glass and you at this point didn’t care if you were quick you wouldn’t be seen.

You flushed and paused waiting for any signs of people coming to get you but you heard nothing.

You stepped out and circled the shower the back wall had a brilliant window and four short steps to a lifted square seating area with a cushioned window seat that lined the three of the square walls.

There was a small coffee table in the middle and continuing on the last corner of the room just between the sitting areas and the counter was a square bath fit for perhaps four people.

“Shit, where is she?” The sound made your pulse skyrocket, you needed to hide. You stood behind one of the big thick pillars on the outside of the shower. Hoping they would glance over the room.

You froze the gun behind your back and you waited. “Is she in here?” A voice said, “doesn’t look like it,” another said

“Where is she?” A raspy voice spoke.

“We don’t know, sir, Yoongi was posted outside and swears she didn’t leave so she has to be in here.”

“Y/n?” He called, “are you okay, you are a guest here I promise.”

You snorted, “that’s funny, I don’t remember being invited.”

“You don’t remember what happened last night do you?” He asked and you saw movement in the mirror. You grabbed the shower door and opened it stepping inside and pressing your back against a pillar.

The problem was opening one door opened both, you used your free hand to reach beside you and slowly close the glass door.

He smirked, grabbing the opposite glass door with his hand, stopping it from closing and pulling the door back open. “You won’t shoot me, baby, you are too gentle, hand it over and we can talk.”

You took a few heavy breaths psyching yourself up before pulling the trigger. Eyes squeezed shut only to hear a click, “shit!”

“You got some guts, I will give you that. I am proud, the weak don’t survive” He grinned, reaching outside the shower to the control panel and grinned “but you didn’t put a magazine in your gun, I could show you how?”

He pressed a button and cold water poured down, jolting you awake. You tried to avoid the water but you were soaked, he stepped inside and shut the door with his men standing guard either side.

“When you shoot a gun don’t close your eyes, baby otherwise how will you aim?” His chest pressed against yours and he grinned, taking your hand. “Now let’s get you dressed, and we can have a late breakfast.”

You struggled to pull your hand free, “why am I here?”

“Because your father borrowed five hundred thousand dollars from me and didn’t pay it back in time,” he gently tucked your wet hair behind your ear frowning at how it stuck to your neck, how the small négligée clung to your skin and how your body reacted to the cold. “So I took you as collateral for my money. How very gentlemanly of you.”

He took the gun from your hand and grinned, “you are spirited and I like that, but do not worry my only intentions are my money no harm will come to you, you are actually really interesting I would like to get to know you more.”

“Come let’s have breakfast baby,” he said over his shoulder

You followed him obediently your goal was to play your way out, cooperation until they let their guard down. Stepping out of the Taehyung standing there with a grin, and he held up a bag, “Hoseok and I bought you clothes?”

You nodded while taking the bag pondering a recurring thought, “who changed me last night?”

“I did, love but do not fret, I am a doctor and I assure you I did nothing inappropriate, while you were asleep. I would never, it’s too much work?” the short black-haired man spoke twirling a knife around his fingers.

“Seriously, I don’t think Yoongi is human, we have taken him to so many brothels and he doesn’t get turned on at all,” you made eye contact with Yoongi who looked away causing you to crease your eyebrows.

“I respect women and their professions?” Yoongi sighed, and you nodded thoughtfully walking into the bathroom and staring in the mirror. Eventually getting out of the wet garment and into a beautiful sundress.

Processing your thoughts meticulously. He said you were here until your father paid his debt. He said he wouldn’t harm you. You had many unanswered questions but you felt a little reassured by these factors. You were still scared out of your wits but

When you stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed you felt much better. The room was empty except Yoongi and you sighed looking at him. “I really didn’t do anything.”

“I believe you, do not stress,” you patted his shoulder and with a deep breath in, you puffed up your chest, square your shoulders, and strode forward to the door with a firm nod. Yoongi navigated you through the halls behind you trying to keep up but you didn’t slow down.

“Through to the end room two double doors,” he panted as you lost him down the hall, throwing the doors open, guns were drawn and all your new found confidence dwindled.

“Ah, my apologies we usually knock.” Namjoon smiled holding his hands out to his men to stand down, “it’s polite.”

“Is kidnapping me polite?” You scoffed stomping towards him. “You said I am here till my father pays his debt and then I am free to leave correct?”

“Yes, that is—”

“So am I a prisoner?”

“You are a guest,” he said.

“So I can leave?”

“No.”

“Do you happen to know the definition of prisoner?”

“I believe you are referring to the noun of a person captured and kept confined by an enemy or criminal” he sighed “listen would you like to see a real prisoner? I can guarantee you are treated better than some of our other guests in this house”

Taken back by his words you looked away and sighed slumping into the empty seat at the other end of the table “who are you really?”

“I am Kim Namjoon, also known as RM,” he looked down the table at you. You were silent while eating, pondering this information biding your time before you could ask some more.

“Now for business?” Namjoon gestured for his men to start talking.

“Uh about mister Lee, I have successfully um… spoken?” The word came out as more of a question as Seokjin side-eyed you, “with him and he told me where we can find the um...”

“Hey, whatever it is you can say it, I’m not going to be scared by mere words.” You scoffed, stabbing a piece of cantaloupe. Namjoon nodded, approving Seokjin to talk freely.

“I interrogated him and we found the children he was trafficking returned them to their families,” Seokjin said “He is seriously sick in the head”

“You are sure he has told you everything?” Namjoon ate his eggs and toast watching them over his cup of coffee.

“I think so but to make sure I might cut off his remaining fingers and see what he has to say,” Seokjin nodded, “if he says no more well then I guess he is finished.”

“Hoseok what do you know?” Namjoon prompted the next man to speak.

“I know that Mr. y/l/n is accumulating stocks and seems to be on the way to paying his debt,” Hoseok said, your head snapped to him at the mention of your father and he cleared his throat with an awkward twitch of his head. “In other news, there is a young man named David from America is here to discuss a transaction on weapons”

“Anything else?” Namjoon pressed on, studying the man's reactions.

“A few minor gossip aspects from last nights party” you blinked turning to Hoseok who continued, “nothing serious but I will file it away for possible use in the future”

“I took out Mr Roth last night at the party.” Jimin threw the paper down and Namjoon picked it up. “Easily fooled as always.”

“Was there any complications?” Namjoon asked placing the paper down on the table and you walked around picking it up standing beside Namjoon as you read the information on the front page.

Mob Merrymaking

On the evening of the 13th of July, Y/N was celebrating her 21st Birthday. The night was full of dancing, gifts and esteemed guests. The night which was intended to be a beautiful celebration turned sour when a Local Gang drugged and abducted the young woman. Mr Roth a nobleman of 45 had been found in the bathroom, his death was determined as substance abuse.

Mr. L/n stated “She will be fine wherever she is, she is a smart girl and too pure to get herself hurt” He further implied “...I also have no ill will towards any gangs that would warrant my daughter being taken or our family getting hurt. She is a beautiful woman and I think he must have taken a liking to her which leaves me to believe he won’t hurt her.”

Kim Industries which deals with Construction, real estate, property investments, restaurants bars and even Casinos are implied to be the gang in question. Kim Namjoon, as the owner of Kim Industries, was happy to oblige to the police investigation allowing his home to be thoroughly searched by police for the missing young woman. The residence came up empty of any incriminating evidence.

Where did the young woman go? Who is she with? If you have any information contact the police.

You were told to wait in the house while they all went to meet this American man named David, you refused saying if they left you alone you would either run away or set the place on fire.

Namjoon grabbed you by the upper arm, “You are a young lady, start acting like one, we have treated you well and you have done nothing but act like a spoilt child.”

You had never been reprimanded so directly and harshly before, you were somewhat sheltered and sensitive to anger. You turned your head away from him as a few tears slipped.

“Sir, would you like me to stay behind with her?” Jungkook asked, watching his leader take out a pocket-handkerchief and take the young woman's chin firmly between his thumb and crooked finger tilting it up.

“She will come along, she must learn the severity of one's actions and the business we dabble in, to know the true weight of her actions,” He sighed, wiping your eyes. “Always carry a handkerchief Jungkook, women cry.”

“Of course! This way Miss,” Jungkook smiled softly, taking out his notebook to write the newest rule as he walked, “Namjoon is never late for a meeting.”

Escorted to the car as they all checked their weapons discussing their plan of attack, the trip took longer than you expected and at least an hour and a half had passed. The large juice you had at breakfast was making itself known.

“Uh, I have to pee?” You whispered to Yoongi who frowned patting your knee in consolidation.

“Namjoon doesn’t stop for anyone,” he sighed, “You will have to hold it,”

“What is it?” Namjoon commanded, not liking the whispering you were doing with his doctor.

“Y/n said she has to pee,” Yoongi said, “and I told her she will have to hold it.”

Namjoon nodded unphased “You should have gone before we left. Always pee before leaving the house.”

“I am not a child,” You hissed “I know when I need to pee and when I don’t, I wasn’t told the duration of this trip, to know whether I should go to the bathroom, and if I remember correctly I was ushered to the car before I had a chance to question it.”

“Keep your emotions out of your argument, you really are starting to sound like a child,” Namjoon said turning back to the conversation, there was nothing you could do.

The car pulled up, at a small furniture store, the men walked in lead by Namjoon and you were to stay outside with Yoongi and Seokjin.

It was supposed to be a peaceful meeting, but you really had to go to the toilet. The two men were leaning on the back of the car, Yoongi smoking slowly and Seokjin complaining that it was bad for his looks to be near smoke.

“Then fuck off,” Yoongi growled blowing large wisps of smoke purposefully at the other. The two bickered like a father of three and his bratty child.

You really needed to go, to the point that you were eyeing a couple of bushes and hedges in the area. You, a high-class lady were contemplating urinating in public, that’s how serious this was.

You looked at the two bickering again, Yoongi smirked, blowing more smoke at Seokjin who started coughing open-mouthed at Yoongi not bothering to cover his mouth.

“You're nasty!” Yoongi grumbled, you rolled your eyes and snuck into the shop, there had to be an employee bathroom.

You found a door but when you opened it you were met with men and guns, you immediately froze, all the muscles in your body tensing up.“Darling come here,” Namjoon said, gesturing you over to his side, and slipping you under his arm. “What are you doing here? I told you to wait by the car?”

“I have to pee,” you whimpered.

“Calm your expression,” he held your cheek and brought your eyes to his, “by my side, you don’t need to be scared, no one can hurt you?”

“That’s right darling we are just having a discussion, do you want to wait outside again we don’t want anything to happen to a pretty girl like you?”

You don’t know who said what but shots we fired and Namjoon pushed you across the room behind some big cabinets. When your back hit the tall boy you felt your bladder relax and you looked down warmth spreading down the inseams of your jeans.

You were shaking in fear as the shots rang around the room, some hitting the furniture near where you hid. But worse than all that you were embarrassed and shocked never in your teen and adult life had you ever wet yourself.

You stood sobbing, standing in a puddle of your own liquids. You took off your sneakers throwing them aside and you looked at your clothes.

“Namjoon, we can’t find Miss Y/n?” Seokjin shouted ducking bullets, and brandishing his own gun. The distraction allowed their enemy to escape.

“She is here you idiots, I asked you to do one job and you couldn’t even do that?” Namjoon said “Jimin, good shooting, David won’t make it home”

“That’s my job,” Jimin said proudly and you had to pluck up the courage to talk to them, but it was easier to hide climbing into a cupboard.

“Miss Y/n, are you hurt?” Yoongi asked “huh?”

“What is it?” Namjoon said

“Oh no darling, I am so sorry?” Yoongi’s voice was solemn.

“If she is dead I am killing you both,” Namjoon growled his boots hitting the cement as he stomped over.

“Stay there,” Yoongi said with authority, the footsteps stopped “Jimin take off your pants?”

“What why?” Jimin asked confused as to why the conversation shifted to him and his trousers.

“Just do it?” Yoongi growled snapping his fingers.

“None of you will step foot over here until I say so, if you do I will happily sedate you all and turn you into eunuchs, and that includes you Namjoon.”

“I am your leader?”

“And I am your elder, go wait outside, all of you?” They all stepped outside and Yoongi sighed walking to the cupboard holding Jimin’s trousers.

“Come here darling,” he said, taking your hand and guiding you to the bathroom he told you to strip everything off except your bra. you sobbed. “Don’t worry I got more enjoyment out of seeing Jimin undress than redressing you last night, if you understand what I am saying.”

You realized and wiped your eyes, he pushed you to sit on the bench and he washed your legs in the sink and asked you to wash everything else yourself.

You felt better, he apologized for not having any underwear for you and you slipped on Jimin's pants and fastened the belt. The last thing you would need is to expose everything and Yoongi gave you his undershirt.

He walked you out and Namjoon looked relieved when he saw you emerge. “Are you okay?”

“No I am horrified, I was in the middle of a shoot out and I quite literally pissed myself,” you shouted. Your eyes stung from the crying you had done, “Never in my coherent life have I disgraced myself like that.”

“I apologize,” he said, holding his shoulder you saw blood seeping through his fingers, you immediately felt bad for yelling and making it about you when he was in pain.

Jimin stood in just his boxer briefs. “I have nothing against the no-pants but can we go home?”

The only rational thing to do after the incident at the furniture store and warehouse was to seclude yourself in your room away from everyone else. Namjoon often visited and brought you your meals talking to you about things with no real substance. Mostly about his loathing of check ups, it seemed he was hiding in your room from Yoongi.

This happened for a number of days until Hoseok got bored, he wanted to gossip with you and Taehyung came along with paints in hand. His excuse was that you had promised him you two could paint together.

Forcibly removed from your one-person pity party you sat outside painting and chatting about random topics.

Hoseok wanted to know if you had any suitors and who they were, he asked what type of guy you liked and you hummed.

“Someone kind and generous who gives back to others” you gushed about your tall dark and handsome and they laughed.

That night Namjoon knocked on your door and requested you come down for dinner, you agreed much to his surprise. He stammered obviously not expecting you to consent to his plan for dinner, he nodded curtly and walked off down the hall. Tripping in his haste on a small lump in the hall carpet and catching himself on the wall.

Wearing a pretty emerald green halter dress the skirts swished as you walked and your modest heels clicked on the timber. You heard hushed talking and slowed down, being so confined the past few days you were almost starved for conversation.

“He is having dinner tonight, they will all be in the dining hall which will leave his office free, once I get the information I will get out of here before they find out.” The man had a weird moustache and a mole above his eyebrow.

You tiptoed past holding your skirts from ruffling and keeping your heels from clicking you headed downstairs.

Pushing open the doors a multitude of guns were pointed at you, “Miss Y/n I was told you were from a moderately high-class family you should know how to knock.”

You raced over to Namjoon and cupped your hand around your mouth leaning down. “I heard someone talking about breaking into your office, to steal information”

“Jimin” Namjoon beckoned him over, he whispered to Jimin who nodded and went out the back door.

“Where is he going?” You asked and Namjoon stood up and walked you to the other end of the table and you frowned, “I don’t like this?”

“Sit relax, it is time for us to enjoy dinner.”

You sat for the briefest of moments watching Namjoon cross the room and sit at the opposite end of the table before taking your chair and dragging it across the floor slowly.

You saw his eyebrow twitch as you did so and stopped beside him. “I would prefer not to shout across the table,” you smiled softly

“You are both a blessing and a curse,” Namjoon said, “dinner is now a minute late”

Dinner was unlike anything you had ever had before, you smiled and ate happily, “this is delicious”

“You should try the steak?” Namjoon smiled, you nodded, cutting some of your chicken and stabbed it with a fork.

“Alright, I will try some of your steak if you try some of this chicken?” You held it out to him and his eyes were wide “it’s a fair trade”

He leaned forward and ate the small piece off your fork and he cut you a piece of steak and held it out to you.

You leaned forward and took a bite chewing slowly, your eyes going wide. “That is delicious”

Namjoon leaned over wiping your chin with a napkin his thumb, your eyes were locked in a fierce gaze and he gave you a dimpled smile.

“Jin, try some of my chicken?” Taehyung asked, holding out his fork.

“No, thank you?” Seokjin said, continuing to eat his steak ignoring the pouting young man.

“But they shared?” He whined. This made you aware of how intimate your action was, your cheeks flushing dark at your forwardness.

After dinner you were being escorted back to your room. Namjoon was quiet the whole time, not for lack of trying. The amount of times you saw him open and close his mouth, as if he was trying to strike up something to say.

Standing at your door he paused looking at you searching for something, you laughed opening the door, “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

He seemed grateful for the excuse to stay in your company, after a drink of two you started talking about your most embarrassing stories. He was actually super clumsy for someone in the mafia and a complete goofball.

“And that was my first kiss, I haven’t really had many kisses after that and the few I can remember were just as bad” Your laughter was cut off by Namjoon who had leaned over on the small couch and pressed his lips to yours. Just as you felt your heart flutter he pulled away.

“It is getting late you should sleep” He stood up and placed down the glass, you walked him to the door and he froze. “Was that okay? I hope I didn’t overstep any boundaries, did I?”

“No it was nice really nice, you can do that-” He pressed his lips to yours once more and smiled whispering good night before walking off down the hall. With a sigh you added “Anytime you like.”

You didn’t hear anything strange from anyone or see anyone but you hoped everything worked out and the man who wanted to steal information ran away.

You were trying to find Namjoon the next day and travelled downstairs looking in random doors.

You reached the end of the hallway and found a door you heard screaming and knocked hesitantly on the wood, Yoongi stepped out covered in blood and gun in hand.

“Oh, y/n now isn’t a good time?” Yoongi said, stepping out and shutting the door. “What are you doing down here?”

“I was looking for Namjoon, is everything okay? What are you doing?” You asked, concerned by the amount of blood on Yoongi’s clothes.

“We are okay, Seokjin and I are just interrogating the mole, hey good spotting by the way no one knew they had snuck in,” your stomach dropped, this blood was from that man and it was all because of you.

“Namjoon is in his office on the third floor from the ground west wing double doors on the left-right at the end of the corridor.”

You nodded, froze in place and Yoongi sighed “I have to go back in,” he went to pat your shoulder but saw his stained gloves and sighed ripping them off.

He turned punching in numbers into the code lock. 7276. He slipped inside and you heard screaming, which was silenced immediately as the door sealed shut, you quickly ran feeling sick.

Racing up the stairs and bumping into Jungkook and almost falling, thankfully he caught you, “hey hey, slow down what’s wrong?”

You were wide-eyed and scared and he frowned. “Did you go downstairs?”

You nodded and he led you down the hall, “you are scared and helpless, but the way to feel better is to get stronger. You won’t feel as scared if you're not so helpless.” Jungkook opened the doors to the gym.

“Let me teach you how to fight,” Jungkook began teaching the basics and at another point, Jimin entered the two gave you pointers, their fighting styles. Jungkook was all power and strength and Jimin’s was survival.

“Look all you got to know is how to break free so you can run away,” Jimin instructed. “Even someone like Yoongi can break out of Jungkook's grasp.”

“That was one time and he refused to give me a rematch,” Jungkook wined.

You were learning so much, and it was in a sense a little empowering. The two guys were good at what they did and the more you learnt the more you wanted to learn.

Learning to fight gave you something to take your mind off what you had seen at least for the first two weeks but when you heard them relay information at breakfast you felt sick once more.

“He refuses to speak,” Seokjin said

“He will eventually,” Namjoon didn’t bat an eyelash. Two weeks of torture because you outed him.

This was all your fault. He was suffering because of you. You left the dining hall unable to stomach the thought of food.

Heading down the stairs you opened the door with the code 7276, you almost vomited, he sat there unrestrained and unconscious. His fingernails were removed and his face broken beyond repair.

“Hello, sir are you alive?” You asked, he groaned struggling to move his head, coughing up some blood at the effort it took to move.

“Who are you?”

“I am no one sir,” you breathed, “I can help you.”

He lunged hands gripping your throat and you fell back under the weight of him, you were struggling against him in panic. “Die you bitch, I know who you are, you're that monster's whore. He has never tried to protect anyone in his life and yet his soft spot is you. They are coming to kill you all.”

You struggled less hearing Jimin’s words in your head, “don’t panic” his voice would smooth as he held you in this position. “You want to panic but relax and fight back”

You did what he said, “your legs are your strongest so kick them in the chest” Jungkook would coach from the side, following their instructions you kicked the man off and ducked out the door pulling it closed.

You were gasping and you ran up the stairs and into the dining hall gasping. Namjoon flew to his seat and scooped you up, sitting you on the side of the table.

“Yoongi.” He commanded, he gently brushed his fingers over your neck, he looked upset, angry and sad all at once. The emotions were so strong it shocked you. Grabbing his gun, you pressed it into Namjoon's hands.

“Kill him,” You wheezed, “slowly.”

“You went back down there didn’t you?” Jungkook sighed and before Yoongi could stop him Namjoon cocked the gun and stormed off. Seokjin followed after him and they all watched you trying to help.

“Your throat will sting for a few days try not to talk it will help it heal,” Yoongi sighed

“You just don’t want to hear me talk,” you joked, wincing at the pain. “Got it, no talking.”

Namjoon threw the man into the dining hall and dragged him by his hair across the floor, “the lady has requested you die and slowly.”

Namjoon shot him six times in both legs, one in each foot, calf and thigh, the blood was pooling everywhere. You felt queasy, you wanted this but you weren’t sure you could stomach it.

“If you can make it back to your people with these wounds I will let you go?” Namjoon put his gun away and the man tried to crawl away, losing strength as he streaked blood across the ground.

The man was making horrible noises and you didn’t like it, covering your ears and Yoongi warned Namjoon who shot the mole in the back of the head as he reached for the door handle.

Again the only thing you deemed appropriate after witnessing that sort of horrific event was to seclude yourself in your room. Yoongi visited bringing you soups to soothe your sore throat and his persistence and gentle nature was the only thing that got you to drink some of it.

You laid there alone when it started to rain. You loved the rain, but what surprised you was your new fear of the thunder rumbling in the distance sinister as if it was coming after you.

You had never been afraid of storms you used to stand out on the patio undercover with your father and watch the lights flash and feel the electricity in the air. But now each flash had shadows in your window and was accompanied by gunshots that shook the ground.

You were a whimpering mess and you wanted to get out, you ran from your room and raced down the stairs and out the front door. You were in the rain running down the long estate driveway and you expected to be followed by Namjoons henchmen and dragged back and punished for what you didn’t expect was for Namjoon to be running after you.

He grabbed you and pulled you to his chest hugging you gently and he started to sing in your ear, his voice was low and soothing. You found yourself easing into his chest and your erratic sobbing calmed some.

Forever Rain, Forever Rain, Forever Rain, Forever Rain, Forever Rain,

He repeated this phrase slowly singing into your ear holding you desperately and before you knew it, you passed out in his arms.

Namjoon was sweet, you woke up beside him, you were dressed in a button-up and nothing more and he was in his trousers that looked damp, he was sleeping above the blankets holding your hand as if he hadn’t intended to fall asleep beside you but to watch over you.

You brushed his hair off of his face and covered him with a blanket before heading to his closet, taking out some sweatpants and a plain white shirt. He stirred awake when you emerged from the walk-in closet.

“Good morning,” You said softly

“You haven’t obtained any of my weapons while I was sleeping have you?” He asked, making you laugh behind your hand.

“No, someone hasn’t taught me how to use a gun properly, something about a magazine?” you said, trying to play coy. Namjoon laughed getting out of bed and taking your hand, dragging you into the closet and he began explaining all about guns and you listened he had all these amazing facts from when they were made to how they were made and how they fired and how far.

He demonstrated how to put ammunition into the magazine and the magazine into the gun. He taught you how to take the safety on and off and how to hold the gun being new so as not to accidentally shoot anyone.

He led you to the balcony and smiled telling you to hold the gun and he corrected your stance and hold and he told you to aim at a tree and you did.

“Now shoot?” He smiled encouragingly. You turned to him shocked, starting to protest that you weren’t ready.

“You are just scared I promise nothing will happen?” He smiled talking you through it all again.

He didn’t rush you and he didn’t laugh, he spoke the whole time about what you would like for breakfast. You fired a shot and bumped into Namjoon, he chuckled, “that was a good start. Did you close your eyes? Try again.”

It took a few goes and the boys busting in the room before you were comfortable with the weapon. Each had pointers and you felt empowered once more.

“I can make you a pretty handgun,” Taehyung smiled and the group went to breakfast.

“We have a meeting today, so dress pretty, it’s a good meeting, nothing scary, I think you will like it.” Namjoon smiled, making you nod and run off to get dressed.

“Something Christmassy!” Taehyung shouted.

This wasn’t what you expected when you heard mafia, usually you would think things like guns and drugs and women and violence and sure some of those things were true.

But giving Christmas presents to an orphanage full of children wasn’t what you had in mind. You took a present and handed it out, “are you mister Kim’s wife now?”

You giggled at the children’s naive question and began thinking about what it would be like if you really were Namjoon’s wife.

“Well, he hasn’t asked me so, no,” you laughed with the children some of the teens heard and began teasing Namjoon.

“Why haven’t you asked her yet she is so pretty?” They said, “I would ask her.”

“Namjoon is shy, underneath the suit he is just a boy with dimples” Jimin teased earning a wad of wrapping paper at his head from the man in question. You had stepped outside into the snow watching it fall around you, Namjoon was eyeing you through the small glass window.

Excusing himself Namjoon left the children and headed out into the snowy garden, he shrugged off his jacket as he approached and slipped it over your shoulders. Clearing his throat “you shouldn’t be out here, you might catch a cold”

“Not with you here” You elbowed him playfully, he chuckled allowing you to lean against him, he didn’t tell you he was cold but dutifully stood there and kept you company.

“Thank you so much,” The woman said, as you all stepped out the front door, the boys all headed to the car and you were left beside Namjoon who had left his arm around your waist leading you to the car. “For the presents and the donation, the children and I truly appreciate it.”

“Y/n?” Namjoon said as you walked into the dining room to find it empty, the food was set and there were candles. “I wanted to speak with you privately.”

“Okay, what did you want to talk about?” You asked curiously, what was so important that his men whom he confided everything in were not present.

“Since I met you, I have broken so many of my rules, I have been late, I have forgotten what I have wanted to say, I have spoken without purpose, I have even broken the rule to keep speeches short and sweet.” He laughed rubbing the back of the neck. “I have enjoyed your company greatly and you have made me a better man because of it. Ever since I met you, I was enraptured by your brains and beauty. You are fiery and sassy and kind and real.”

“Thank you, I haven’t done that much though.” You weren’t being modest, you hadn’t done anything special to warrant his compliments.

“I wanted to ask if you would do me the greatest honour of marrying me?” He said, “I will keep you safe, you will never go hungry or cold, I will cherish you with every fibre of my being.”

“Yes,” You said in shock, you liked him of course, you had for a while now but the fact that he could get anyone and he chose you. That was what shocked you, you weren’t on the same status level. He was very high class and you were scrapping the lower end of high class.

The celebration was to be held at the grand hotel, the hall was booked and looking spectacular you were announcing your engagement. It was a real lavish affair and you were in the most expensive gown you had ever seen, feeling like a million dollars and wearing a million and a half.

It was all real, the shoes, jewelry, hotel, engagement and you couldn’t believe it. “Is this a dream?” the stylist shook her head.

You were trying to wonder where it had all come together; it was little gestures and actions. When the two of you met and he was charming and poise when dancing with you. The more you got to know him he was meticulous and sassy and strict, he didn’t miss a chance to correct and reprimand you.

Somewhere along your journey he started to enjoy your company, he became more clumsy, and open to new ideas. He took a chance and started approaching you with his feelings and what blossomed between you was love.

“My lady, if you are ready follow us to take some photos with your fiance on the rooftop.” You were shaken out of your daydream and guided to the elevator headed for the rooftop, the two men were talking into headsets, “Everything is secure” The man said straight-faced, and the other man helped you hold the small train of your dress.

When you stepped out the men guided you across the rooftop and told you to sit in the chair while the cameraman finished setting up. You sat drinking, you only got a short way through it before you fell asleep.

Waking it was dark, you were strapped to the chair and there was something heavy and bulky on your chest. Eyes adjusting to see the glowing numbers on your chest. You started to cry, something was wrong and almost an hour went by before, you heard someone shouting your name.

“Y/N!” it was Jimin.

“Jimin!” You shouted and he raced over to the door but you heard the clanking of chains. You were locked in.

“Wait here, I will get the others and something to get you out.” He was gone before you could tell him.

You heard more voices and Namjoon came over, you had ten minutes written on the digital clock on your chest, the numbers flickering down consistently. “Y/N?” Namjoon said, “Don’t worry, we will get you out?”

“Namjoon,” You cried from the seat, sobs breaking through your words, “There is a bomb.”

“Where is the bomb?” Namjoon said

“It’s here,” Hot tears falling from your eyes stinging, “It’s on me, there is only nine minutes left.”

He swore, “Break this door down now, find another way in?”

They all began struggling and trying their best, but you knew it was useless. Namjoon, go, take everyone and go, there isn’t enough time?”

“No!” Namjoon growled smashing his fists on the door and throwing his shoulder into it, “I will get you out of it.”

“Namjoon, send the boys away don’t get them hurt because of me?” You whispered, “Go!”

“Leave us,” Namjoon said, his voice defeated.

“We won’t leave without you both?” Jungkook said, the timer said three minutes and you wanted to scream at them to go but the sobs took everything out of you.

“A man will follow orders to the letter Jungkook.” Namjoon said, sending the younger man away, “Get out of here.”

“Yeah rule number twenty-two, but what about number thirty-three take a challenge or thirty-nine finish what you start.”

“Jungkook, leave now before I shoot you, your orders are to get everyone out of the building, we will be down soon.”

Jungkook hesitated before running off. You called out to Namjoon begging him to leave but he refused continuing to try to break down the door blinking away the blur in your eyes from the tears you saw the time had only a minute left.

“Namjoon, there is only a minute left, please leave.” You pleaded and you could hear him on the other side of the door.

“I am not leaving you,” He sniffed, voice watery and shaking with the sounds of his sobs. He broke the number one rule.

[Part 2]

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be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Text

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 8

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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[Hermione]

Hermione resists the urge to look back to her table as she exits the bar. She really doesn't need to see Lavender in Ron's lap, her fingers in his hair… they broke up, and she has no right to attach herself to him like that. She tries to focus on what Lavender said — Ginny needs her. It is probably some wedding-related anxiety and Hermione can surely help with that… but why can't Lavender? With a groan, she forces the image of Lavender and Ron to the back of her mind and continues on her way to Ginny's hotel room.

Ginny's door opens after one knock, and an unexpectedly cheery bride emerges.

"Hermione? Hi!"

"Hi," says Hermione. "What's wrong?"

Looking confused, Ginny cracks the door wider to allow Hermione entry. "Nothing, why?"

"Nothing's wrong?" Flushing with anger, she takes a seat on Ginny's unmade bed. "Lavender just said you need me, and that it's urgent."

Ginny laughs. "Oh, you must have been with my brother."

"Well, yeah," stammers Hermione. "But only because we were working on wedding logistics and—"

"Relax, Hermione," says Ginny, laughing. "What else would you be doing? I'm just saying, Lavender probably said that so you'd leave her alone with Ron. Nothing to worry about."

"Oh, of course," says Hermione, her heart pounding. Nothing to worry about. "What did she want to talk to Ron about?" she asks, her voice taking an uncharacteristically high tone.

Ginny shrugs. "Dunno, probably trying to seduce him," her words trail off as she patters to the bathroom with her makeup bag. "She has this elaborate plan to get him to take her back before the wedding."

"Oh," says Hermione softly, hoping Ginny can't hear the dejection of her voice from the bathroom.

"Yeah," says Ginny, poking her head back into the bedroom. Her eyes are twinkling with the opportunity for gossip. "You're coming to the bar tonight, right? We're keeping it pretty low-key. Don't want to overdo it before the hen party tomorrow."

"Uh yeah, I guess I am," says Hermione, immediately wondering if Ron… or Lavender will be there.

"Lavender probably won't be around tonight, if that gets you more excited to come," adds Ginny, aware of the hesitation in Hermione's voice. "She's gonna cling to my brother all night. She's so paranoid that he's sleeping with someone else."

"Someone else?" said Hermione, a little too shrilly. "They still sleep together?"

"Look at you, gossiping! I must be rubbing off on you," says Ginny proudly. "But yeah, they still sleep together all the time. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he took her back. He doesn't exactly have a lot of game," she pauses, contorting her face to apply a coat of mascara. "He's a good guy, don't get me wrong, but it's really just a confidence issue. Lavender makes him feel good about himself."

Hermione's breath hitches and her hands cramp, drawing her awareness to her vicious grip on Ginny's comforter. She releases her fingers, leaving sweaty palm prints on the blanket. Cute.

Her panic is still growing. Ron and Lavender still sleep together, and now she's with him at the bar. She's probably still in his lap with her mischievous fingers in his hair, and is he going to be able to resist her advances?

A knot in her stomach reminds Hermione that unfortunately, he has no good reason to turn her down. They said just as much at the bar: Ron and Hermione are married without the benefits. He's only human if he wants to find those benefits elsewhere.

She knows she could offer up some benefits, but there's one problem: Hermione's not one to have sex with someone she barely knows — regardless of what may or may not have happened the previous night. She can't just set aside that precedent simply to prevent someone else from sleeping with Ron. She has self-respect.

She closes her eyes and recalls Ron's hand gripping her lower back when he pressed his lips against hers. That kiss on the bridge was epically perfect, and the idea of Lavender getting to experience it regularly makes her sick.

According to Ginny, 'Lavender makes him feel good about himself.' She can make him feel good about himself too...

"What's up? You look like you've seen a ghost," says Ginny, emerging from the bathroom with a perfectly made-up face, and a sexy black skirt and crop top combination that could make Harry a target of some lonely boy's jealous rage. Seriously, with that outfit, Harry should hire a security detail.

Hermione shakes her head to erase any telling expressions from her face. "When's the last time they slept together?"

"Um," says Ginny, stopping in her tracks. She looks confused and slightly suspicious. "I think they did the night we arrived in Vegas, but I'm not sure. I know Harry thought so. He keeps telling him to stop sleeping with her because he's just leading her on, but he's not exactly hard to convince, you know? He takes what he can get."

Hermione averts her eyes, which are now stinging with tears. "Do you think they'll get back together?" she asks, her voice cracking.

"Maybe. If they do, I don't think it'll be for long. It never is." Ginny takes one more scan of her outfit, adjusting her top in the mirror. "I'm ready to go! Are you?"

"Do you have any more clothes like that?" asks Hermione.

Ginny whips around to face her, a wide grin on her face. "Why, yes I do!"

"I just want to look good, you know," Hermione replies, unsure why she feels the need to justify it.

Ginny skips to her bag and fishes out a black minidress with lace accents and a deep, revealing v-neck — normally a little much for Hermione, but tonight, fuck it. "This one will surely get you some male attention, if that's what you want," she says giddily.

"Thanks, Gin," says Hermione, taking the dress from her. She holds it up against her body, wondering how much of her backside it'll actually cover. "That is what I want tonight."

Specifically from your brother, she adds to herself on her way to the bathroom to change.

Hermione follows closely behind Ginny, unable to mimic her confident strut as they clatter down the stairs. She keeps reaching for the hem of her dress and tugging it down, only for it to pop back up again, revealing more thigh than she's willingly exposed in quite some time.

"You look great. Stop adjusting your dress," says Ginny.

"It's just so short—"

"Yeah. That's why you look great," Ginny reiterates with a cheeky smile. "I bet I won't be the only one who thinks so."

Hopefully, Ginny's right, and there will be lots of men at the bar distracted by Hermione's legs. Maybe — and it's a big maybe — Ron and Lavender will still be at their bar table, and Hermione will get to witness the look on Lavender's face when Ron does a double-take.

By the time they arrive at the bar, it has been fully transformed into a nightclub. The lights are dimmer, meaning the poor souls who chose to wear white now glow like bleach in blacklight. The music has shifted from ambient folk to pop hits remixed with a heavy bass, and half the tables have been cleared to make room for a dance floor.

Hermione feels a surge of anxiety in the new atmosphere — nightclubs aren't really her scene. She glances toward the corner of the bar where she had most recently been sitting with Ron, and her heart sinks. It's now occupied by another couple, unrecognizable by their pressed-together faces and empty cocktail glasses that obscure them from a clear view.

She scans the rest of the club, wishing another tuft of red hair would stand out to her, but aside from Ginny, there's no one.

"Hey Ginny! Hermione!" Demelza calls from a table across the dance floor. Hermione crosses the center of the room, ignoring the prickling paranoia that she's being watched — she feels so exposed walking through the open space in Ginny's black mini-dress.

Her heart flutters for a moment when she catches a glimpse of Demelza at the table, because she's surrounded by the boys. At least some of them — Harry, Neville and Dean are there, but unfortunately, no Ron.

Lavender is nowhere to be seen either, a realization that sits like a brick in Hermione's stomach.

"Gin, I forgot my I.D. in my room, I'll be a moment," she says, tugging her hand away from Ginny's.

"Alright, catch ya later," says Ginny, skipping off to meet Demelza.

Hermione turns on her heel and shuffles out of the bar, trying not to cry. She has no reason to be upset — Ron's not hers to lay claim on. Unfortunately, that fact only reminds her that he's not Lavender's either, yet they're together, even though Hermione has every right to be in Ron's bed as Lavender does.

She brushes right past her floor — she didn't actually leave her I.D. behind — and makes a beeline for Ron's room, completely forgetting to prepare an excuse for barging in on him. Hermione just wants information, and with an unexpected entrance, she's bound to get some.

But she doesn't interrupt anything. It's too late for that. Her heart sinks when she rounds the corner and sees Lavender slipping out of Ron's room. Lavender locks eyes with Hermione as the door closes softly behind her, and she makes a show of fastening up the remaining buttons on her blouse.

"Looking for Ron?" Her tone of false innocence makes Hermione's blood boil.

Hermione opens her mouth to respond, but she can't think of a retort. Her dumbstruck silence brings a smug smile to Lavender's face.

"Give him a chance to get dressed first," Lavender says as she trots past Hermione down the hallway.

Fuming, Hermione storms toward Ron's door, her fist raised to knock, but something stops her. What will she say? She has no plan.

Hermione imagines Ron opening the door and seeing her puffy, red face, shiny with tears. She doesn't exactly look cute, and by no stretch of her imagination would her current appearance cause Ron to wish she was the one trotting down the hallway with a half-buttoned blouse. Not only that — she managed to make it through the entire afternoon without admitting her crush, but her current state of deranged jealousy is a dead giveaway.

If he sees her now, he'll know just how meaningful for her that kiss on the bridge was. He might suspect that her quiet distraction on the journey back had less to do with the sweltering heat, and more to do with her salacious imagination. He'd be right, but he doesn't need to know that. He doesn't need to discover that her nonchalant attitude at the bar was just an act — an embarrassing attempt to play it coy. Turns out her effort to keep him guessing was all for nothing; there's no point in playing hard-to-get with someone who's not even interested.

Clearly, his affection for her is platonic at best, nonexistent at worst. He brought Lavender up to his bedroom minutes after she rudely interrupted their conversation. If Lavender's his type, Hermione most likely isn't, and a confrontation would only confirm one thing: he's rejected her.

Why give him the satisfaction?

Frustrated, Hermione jerks her hand from the door, and backs away. There's another option here, and at the moment, it's a lot more appealing. She wipes her eyes and turns her back to Ron's door, now determined to show him that she doesn't care if he wastes his time on Lavender Brown. She doesn't care one bit.

But she might need to stop by her room first, if only to splash cold water over her face.

Moments later, Hermione shuffles down the hotel stairs on her way back to the bar. A glimpse of her newly made-up face in the mirror fills her with a new appreciation for foundation and eyeliner. Asinine as it might be, it's quite effective at hiding evidence of tears. And now that she looks like someone else, it won't be much of a leap to act like someone else either.

She pauses at the bar's entrance and takes a deep breath, hesitant to enter. In her absence, the lights have gotten dimmer, the music louder, and the dance floor busier. She has considered sticking with a tried-and-true method of wallowing — hibernating in her hotel room with some snacks and a cheesy movie, and projecting her tragic love life into the tropes of a romantic comedy. Clubs aren't normally her scene, anyway.

But unfortunately, tonight is not a normal night, and her life is definitely not a romantic comedy, so Hermione forces herself to pass into the thick wall of steamy club-air to reunite with the one Weasley that actually matters to her.

It doesn't take long for her to find Ginny on the dance floor — her glowing complexion and elegant red mane stand out in the crowd. It helps that she's accompanied by Luna, whose neon dress and platinum hair give her the appearance of a yellow highlighter.

Watching them dance, Hermione can't help but crack a smile. Ginny's in her element, singing along to a remix of some pop song and radiating with a self-assuredness that's contagious. And Luna has no worries in the world, no concern for the judgmental looks of passers-by as she bounces and waves eccentrically, convulsing to the beat of the music. Her wild movements remind Hermione of an inflatable tube man, dancing in the wind beside the highway.

Luna's a lot, but tonight, the effect is quite pleasant. It's comforting to know that by comparison, Hermione might even look cool in this club.

Ginny spots Hermione and squeals in excitement as she rushes to hug her. "Hey, did you get your I.D.?"

"Yep," says Hermione sharply. "And now I need a drink."

"I'm getting the next round, Hermione," says a male voice from the table. Neville — bless his heart — is smiling and waving at her. "What'll you have?"

"Surprise me, but make it strong!" She tosses her bag to him and he catches it, but not without a fumble.

"Anything?" he clarifies, fishing for her I.D.

"Anything." She doesn't even care if it comes with a straw.

"Attagirl," says Ginny, interlacing their hands, and tugging her toward the thickening crowd of the dance floor.

She obliges, following Ginny's lead, and is once again aware that she's being watched. Normally, it would creep her out to catch a man's eyes lingering on her body, but again, tonight is no longer a normal night, and it's nice to be noticed. Hermione feels appreciated, and not in a platonic marriage-with-no-benefits kind of way.

At the thought of Ron, she glances back to the bar's entrance, scanning the mass of incomers for his flaming hair. Hermione doesn't even want to see his stupid freckled face in the crowd, but for some reason, his absence leaves her more disappointed than relieved. She internally curses that ginger devil; how can someone so undeserving of her attention occupy so much of her mental space?

To the best of her ability, she powers through her disappointment and turns her focus back to Ginny and Luna, right as a dancing Demelza staggers up to them. A few whistles and whoops from the growing crowd bring a blush to Hermione's cheeks. Fuck it — she's in Vegas, she looks hot as hell, and she could have anyone she wants.

Maybe someone else will catch her eye tonight.

#Ron Weasley #Ron and Hermione #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #hp fanfiction #hpromione #muggle AU #Hermione Granger #ron x hermione #ronweasley #hermionegranger

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shiny-jr · 4 years

Text

❝ 𝒴𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝓇 𝒴𝑒𝓈 ❞

Yandere!Hunter x Reader - Dante Senguri

The plot of this one shot is from an old series of mine, it is based off of a small story called "The Most Dangerous Game.” Dante Senguri is my own character!

“Yes or yes?”

"Just a bit longer, and you'll be back in the wild." You purred to the young striped tiger that lazed at your feet, stroking the predator's cheek and tracing your fingers to his ear where you scratched gently. Listening to the content purrs of the large cat.

This large feline friend was Tony. A tiger that had been merely a cub shot by hunters in the jungles and left to perish and die. But before he could bleed to death, you and your crew discovered the poor creature in a pool of his own blood. Sedating the young predator until he passed out, you and your crew began to get to work in order to patch up the tiger temporarily at least until he could be treated properly. He was taken to a larger metropolis where more could help him. There he resided at the zoo for a good while with you as his caretaker. But after he had fully healed and he was now old enough to live on his own, it was time to release him back into the wild where he belonged. Which is why you were currently on a boat to the jungle where he had been found, you currently sat in the lowest deck with Tony.

Tony perked up when the sound of sliding metal could be heard. You stood as did Tony as well, stepping out as you watched the tiger remain fixated on a contraption that taught him how to capture his meal. The large piece of meat swung back and fourth on the hook, all around the room just as Tony took off to pounce.

Bolting the iron door shut behind you so no poor wandering sailor would stumble upon Tony. You walked away and made your way up the flight of stairs onto the main deck. Once there your fingers trailed across the railings as you watched the seemingly endless vast waves of the ocean drift in the dark of the night underneath the stars that dotted the sky above. In your hand you examined the pocket knife you had recieved from the zookeepers where Tony had stayed at. The handle was a normal steel but shiny gold colored carvings were engraved in it, depicting the faces of many different animals. From prey to predators, lions to birds, wolves to deer, etc.

It was a sweet parting gift from the kind people there. One gift you would not give up to anyone.

When the loud blasting horn from the ship you were on signaling dinner rang out, it startled you and caused you to released your grip on the pocket knife. You lunged for it. A short quiet cry emitted from your lips when you realized you had reached too far out and lost your balance. Your cry was drowned out by the horn and you tumbled into the crashing waves.

Struggling and paddling to the surface, you gasped for breath and desperately tried to call out for help. But you were slapped in the face with a wave of salty water from the moving boat, pushing you down under for a few precious moments. The taste of the waves left you gagging, but you tried swiminging towards the moving boat. Further and further away, the chance was slim of you even reaching the swift boat or even being heard over the waves and horn. Still you yelled as loud as you could, keeping yourself afloat. But no one heard you. Quickly the boat's lights receded into the darkness of the night, until they were bleached out entirely into a night as dark as ink.

You were stranded. Stranded in the middle of the ocean. With nothing. No food, no water, no mode of transportation. Just the clothes you wore and a pocket knife. You remained afloat in silence, terrified of what was to come. Until you heard a sound. A familar sound that brought a wave of relief washing over you. The sound of far away waves crashing onto a surface, a shore of some kind. You heard it, distant but it was still there. So you swam towards the sound, not quick and panicked but slow and carefully strokes to save your energy for whatever awaited you.

Slowly but surely you approached the island, and saw the silhouettes of the land. Trees, jagged rocks, and other plants. Reaching the shore, you coughed and sat up. Looking all around you for any signs of civilization, but there was none you could spot.

Then there was a cry. A cry and scream of terror and anguish, complete pain and horror. It came from deep in the darkness. It frightened you, sending a shiver down your spine. Some kind of predator must've captured another animal. You did not recognize the cry, but you did not wish to at the moment. It would be best to avoid whatever it came from.

BAM!

The echo of a shotgun rang through the land. You weren't alone.

Your exhausted form stumbled up, sand falling from your skin back to the ground. If you took one step the sands would be gone and be replaced with the thick vegetation of the dense jungles. It was not safe to stay on the shores, you could easily be spotted. So you forced yourself into the jungle past the trees.

The gunshot meant there were people around. People meant there was food bound to be around. But the people. What kind of people would reside here? Where were you? On the shores of an island or bigger piece of land?

Cautiously you walked along between the jungle and shore, watching everything with each step you took. The plants were difficult to recognize but after only a couple of minutes, you stopped in your tracks after spotting something peculiar.

It was evident that a large creature had been in some trouble. Some of the plant life was crushed and trampled, while one patch of weeds were blotched with crimson. There were deep tracks in the damp earth, leading in the direction of the jungle. The glint of a shiny object reflecting the light of the moon caught your eye. Reaching down, you plucked it from the ground. An empty cartridge. This proved there was someone here and judging by what you have just seen, it wasn’t too long ago when they stood where you are currently standing.

The shell of the cartridge was rather small compared to the large tracks of the creature that had struggled here. Whoever had the gun tried to shot a fairly large creature with a small gun. You were puzzled and concerned. What exactly happened here?

Upon closer examination, you noticed a foot print. The print of some kind of boot most likely. The print pointed towards the jungle again. You had hope now, and a good reason to enter the depths of the jungle. Eagerly you hurried along, gripping the pocket knife in case anything came at you. Occasionally stumbling over a stray log or stone popping out of the earth. But making process as an edge of the sky began to turn lavender and the sun’s rays of light peaked out ever so slightly.

Yet after walking for who knows how long, against the fading darkness you spotted a glimmer of light. Those lights multiplied as you began to jog towards them. Closer and closer you got. At first it looked like a small village, but as you stepped closer you realized it wasn’t a village but a large estate. A mansion. A giant mansion situated on top of a large precipice with cliffs surrounding most of it, the cliffs dropping down on the shores and crashing waves with jagged rocks below.

Mirage. It must’ve been a mirage! Who in their right mind would build this mansion in a jungle island in the middle of the ocean?

Yet when you reached out to touch the gate, you felt the cold steel against your fingertips. It was real. This was no mirage. Slowly tugging on the gate, the steel door creaked open and you squeezed in. The cobblestone path led you to an elevated patio, cautiously you continued until you reached the towering doors. Reluctantly you tapped at the doors, waiting for someone to answer while placing away your pocket knife.

Your ears perked up, hearing footsteps on the other side. But the door remained closed. Again you knocked twice. Only then did the door fly open and you were nearly blinded by the bright golden lights. Additionally you were met face to face with a blonde middle aged made holding a revolver pointed directly at your forehead.

"U-Uh..." You gulped before slowly raising your hands, showing you had nothing. "I don't mean to intrude, but I fell off the boat I was traveling in. I ended up here...My name is (Y/n) (L/n) from (home country)."

The man's peircing menacing gaze did not change, never allowing the revolver to falter. He had heard you, but there were many threats on this island and who knew if you were trying to trick him or not?

"Allow them in, Joe. Don't keep them standing out there in the cold!"

A young man stepped down the last remaining steps from where he had stood to listen to you introduce yourself to the man names Joe. If you had stumbled inside this mansion and spotted the man before you, you would've mistaken him for a ghost or vampire. His skin tone and hair color was a white as snow, his strange eyes were a soft pink that was the same color as his plump lips. The man dressed in a fancy attire with a white ironed shirt, tailored black pants that reached to his ankle, and brown leather shoes of high quality.

Joe lowered the revolver and stepped to the side, opening the door wide open for you. The albino man walked away from the stairs and welcomed you inside. "It's such an honor to meet you, (Miss/Mister) (L/n)!" He took your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your backhand. "I've been a fan of your work for years. Oh, where are my manners? I've yet to introduce myself. I am Dante Senguri." Dante waved off Joe who closed the door shut and walked off to the side while the albino returned his attention back on you. "I'm sorry if Joe frightened you. He's not the brightest but is the strongest, he's my guard and assistant. He's also mute. Again, sorry if he offended you in anyway."

"I see..."

"Here, I'm sure you must be fatigued after I heard what you've been through. You are just on time. Now I have you for company at dinner." The charming man smiled gently before requesting, "Joe, will you go get some extra clothes?"

Joe silently exited the room to go fulfil Dante's request. Leaving you and the albino alone for the meantime.

"They might be a tad bit large but it'll be better than your soaked clothing." Dante assured, escorting you to the giant dining hall.

The dining hall was stunning. The walls were lined and framed with antiques and portraits while a large chandelier hung from above. A fire place held the crackling flames that engulfed the pieces of wood. One side of the wall was nearly entirely stain glass with the moonlight reflecting through. In the middle of the room was a large oval shaped table surrounded by wooden chairs carved elequently and decorated with plush pillows. The table was clothed with a white linen and porcelein china was arranged neatly. Yet one thing caught your eye when you sat down on one seat and Dante pushed you in to the table.

High up on the wall above the antiques were a line of "decorations." Mounted heads of dozens of animals. Bears, buffalo, caribou, deer, lions, moose, rams, rhinoceros, tigers, wolves, etc. You scrunched up your nose in disgust and your eyes traveled further to the ivory of rhinocerous, skins and bones of tigers, tusks of elephants. All previously stated objects from animals were illegal to sell and own.

"You don't like them?" Dante inquired innocently, tilting his head in a way that matched a curious dog's mannerisms and habits.

Before you could answer, Joe walked in the room. With one hand he set down folded clothes onto a nearby chair for you to change into later. In his other hand he held a tray that carried rare and exquisite range of drinks that include wine, beer, champange, tea, coffee, etc.

"(Y/n), which drink do you prefer?" The albino questioned so Joe could serve you what you would want.

You responded with your prefered drink, and you recieved it much to your surprise. Next, you were served plates of multiple different kinds of foods. Appetizers, side dishes, the main dish, and a wide aray of desserts. Dante wasted no time in beginning his dinner, encouraging you to do the same. "Don't worry, (Y/n). Here at my home, we only eat the best. We feast like kings here. So go ahead, try something. Anything."

Hesitantly, you did. You spooned a few items onto your plate. Not able to help it, since you were starving and fatigued. As you began to dine, Dante kept the conversation going smoothly.

"Well, isn't it all divine?"

"Yes, actually. Better than anything I've ever tasted." You replied after slurping the bowl of soup you had and continuing to the other plates. Dante seemed to be a generally nice and welcoming man, yet there was one thing off about him. Whenever you happened to look up, you always found Dante gazing at you intensely...as if he was a predator and you were prey.

"Good to hear." The albino smiled, flashing his pearly teeth that were practically as white as his hair. When he finally looked away, he forked a piece of well-cooked meat and placed it on his tongue. Savoring the flavor and devouring it before he finally spoke again, "I've had something on my mind as of late, since I saw you at my door step. You must be curious about how I know you, yes? Well, ever since I was young I was fascinated with animals just as you are. Often I read your publications, articles, and books. Your work led me to my one true passion, (Y/n) (L/n), and that is hunting."

Right. Hunting. That explained all the severed animal heads and body parts decorating the walls. It took much not to utter something rude. "Of course. What a...an intriguing collection you have..." Again your eyes traveled over to the heads of the animals. One caught your eye and that was the head of an abnormally large American Bison. "That's quite a bison. I don't think I've ever seen one that large."

"Oh, that creature! Yes, he was a monster of a bison." Dante seemed pleased that you were curious in his oddities, delighted to tell you more of them. "It was nothing, that beast. Yes, it did fracture one of my bones but I took it down without anymore trouble." He smiled charmingly. He was trying to impress you, wasn't he? "The American Bison is child's play compared to other larger game. But! Here on this island, I challenge myself everday to hunt the most dangerous game of all." A glint shined in his eyes, reflecting his eagerness at the words he proclaimed to you.

The most dangerous game? What would that be? Obviously not the American Bison as stated before. Was it the large Grizzly Bears of the north? White Polar Bears of the poles? The African Rhinos with their sharp horns? Crocodiles with their wide jaws and sharp teeth? Could it be the Cape Buffalo which was widely known as the Black Death throughout Africa? Or the swift spotted Leopard? The wild maned Lion, the supposed king of the jungle? Maybe a massive and heavy hippo? The giant intelligent elephants? The common feral hog or wild boars of North America?

“The most dangerous game? So there are threatening creatures on this island?” You inquired curiously. If there actually were treacherous animals present on the land, you must have been lucky as to not run into any of them.

“The most vicious.” Dante nodded, taking a sip of the cocktail in his hand. “Only for the most prestige hunter.” Grinning confidently, referring to himself in such a boisterous manner. “Of course, I have to gather them and bring them here for the fun to begin.”

“What is it that you bring here?” Your interest was peaked. Maybe if you found out where the animals he got were from, you can prevent any more of the poor creatures being sent to this island to the slaughter. “Lions?”

Dante smiled, “No,” he said. “Lions ceases to interest me some time ago. There was no fun in hunting the felines anymore. They became predictable and repeatable, leaving me bored out of my mind. There was no thrill, no fun in it anymore. (Y/n), I live to fulfil my desires, and those desires include finding the perfect source for thrill and fun.”

It was when dinner was finished did Dante Senguri lead you through the hallways of his elaborate mansion. Allowing you to first change into something similar to what he wore, before showing you everything he had to offer. Presenting you the exhibit of rare items and objects he owned, while chatting to you.

“I invite you to join me on my hunt. It’s always been a dream of mine to have such delightful...company for the game.”

”But what is it that you-“

You were cut off by Dante who interjected, knowing full well what you were going to ask. “I’ll tell you, my fox, and only you.” Shushing you while placing a single finger in front of your lips while chirping in a cheerful and eager tone of voice, “You will be amazed, astonished even! I invented the most special and difficult way for the game of the hunt. A new sensation that sends thrills through me each time, a prey that will never get boring to hunt!”

”Alright...” You watched the albino man with suspicion and caution. Where exactly was this conversation going?

”Some men are creative. Born to be poets, authors, artists! There are some born in the luxurious life of comfort or the dirtiest slums for the beggars. Me? I was created to be the best hunter of all!” Dante exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he continued to proclaim, “When I was young, around the age of five, I was given a slingshot for my birthday. My parents expected me to shoot mockingbirds or canaries but I took down large pelicans, swans, and turkeys. They weren’t mad, they were amazed at my excellent accuracy. Then when I was only eight years old I killed my first crocodile. When I was drafted into the military it was such a boring experience, there were no animals to hunt. Yet it made me realize something later in life. I have hunted every animal known to man.”

Dante placed aside the empty glass cup, continuing to walk as he brought you along. Squeezing your shoulder lightly.

”After I got out of the army, I continued to hunt. Grizzlies in the east Rockies, Crocodiles along Africa’s rivers, Lions in the Savanna. All boring, boring, boring. I collected my belongings and left to the jungles in search of Jaguars, Ocelots, Pumas, Anacondas. Supposedly some of the most cunning and dangerous animals that reside in the Amazon. Boring. Even the newest animals were boring.” The albino sighed, “None of them stood a chance. They were no match for a hunter like me. My wits and strength was much more compared to them. It was a disappointment. I lied in my tent after hunting the puma for the fifth time, before I realized with terror that hunting was beginning to bore me! Hunting had been my life, so how was I supposed to live without the thrill of it? I did not want to break down and become a hollow version of my former self, if I lost my one passion. Don’t you feel the same?”

You thought about it for a moment. Losing your one true passion, and never getting a replacement. Losing your passion for caring and helping animals, and never getting it back. You didn’t even want to imagine that. So yes, you felt the same way. Nodding slowly in response.

Dante smiled down at you, twisting a strand of your hair between his fingers. “I have no desire to become hollow and dull. So I just had to figure out a way to spice up the hunt, there had to be a way. And there was. So I asked myself, why was the game no longer interesting? No longer thrilling or exhilarating? My fox, can you guess the answer?”

”No...I have no clue.”

”Hunting had ceased to be a challenge. It was too easy, and I always caught my prey. There is nothing more boring than perfection. No animal could provide that excitement anymore. That’s not my ego talking, that is fact. Animals have nothing but their limbs and instincts. Instinct can not compare to reason. When I realized this, I was devastated.”

You stopped in your tracks just as Dante had. Looking up at the albino, waiting for him to finish. What was his solution to his problems?

“The memories of my army days inspired me. It helped my passion to live on.”

”What was it? What in those memories inspired you?”

Dante Senguri smiled, as if overcoming the most troubling obstacles of all time and reaching his desired success. “There was one option. I had to invent a new game to hunt.”

You were absolutely baffled. A new animal? Was he insane? No one can just create a new animal! “You’re joking."

“You’re expression in amusing, my fox. But I have to tell you, I never joke about hunting. I needed a new animal. I found one. So I built this abode on the island I bought. This island is perfect with its array of jungle mazes, sloping hills, mosquito infested swamps-“

“What about the animal?”

”Oh, it provides me with the most excellent hunting in the world! No other game can compare to it. Everyday I hunt in the evenings, and I never grow bored. Because this game can match my wits and abilities.”

You blinked. No. He couldn’t be talking about...

”I aimed for the ideal game and I achieved it. Courage. Cunning. Reason. The game has it all and more to keep me entertained.”

“No animals reasons.” You interjected immediately, trying to distance yourself from the albino who simply pulled you closer.

“My precious fox, there is one that can.” He smiled at you and gently traced a finger along your cheek.

”You can’t-“

”Why not?”

”This is some sick joke.” You remarked. There was no way Dante was being serious.

“This is no joke. I am serious. It’s hunting-“

”That’s not hunting, what you’re doing is murder!” Immediately you pushed him away, you had to stay away from this murderous psychopath.

Dante laughed at your words before once again speaking to you, “I don’t wish to believe that a person as wonderful and ideal as you believes that human life is truly valuable. Surely your experiences in the wild-“

”Did not make me an insane murder with no proper logic,” You finished stiffly, standing your ground against Dante.

Dante continued to laugh, “How adorable! You really are endearing!” He gripped your shoulders, “You’re so experienced yet naive at the same time. So brave, so adventurous, so unique...You’re a diamond in the rough, a jewel among jewels! You’ll change your mind if you join me, my fox.”

”Thanks but no thanks, I’m not a murderer or a hunter, I’m a conservationist.”

”How rude.” Dante sighed sadly like a dejected child. “You turn down my generous offer and refer to me with that unappealing title. Life is for the strong, the weak are meant to perish. Weak are meant to give the strong pleasure. I am strong. I will use my gift. I will hunt anyone who washes up on my shores: Men, women, adults, children, American Natives, Asians, Africans, Hispanics, Whites...Now tell me, my treasured fox, are you the strong or the weak?”

You ignored the question and asked one of your own, “They’re humans. Have you no pity? No mercy?”

”It is precisely because they are humans. That is why I use them. They provide me thrill, fun, and pleasure. They can reason, they put up a fight, they are clever, they are dangerous.”

You had to get out of here. Aiming to knee the albino in his weakest spot, he caught your knee and scolded you. “Please, be civilized. This isn’t a bar fight, have some class.”

You stumbled back and glared at the man. “Civilized? Class? And you shoot down innocent people for fun?”

”So determined, so virtuous, so amusing~...I assure you, my fox, I treat my guests with the utmost of care and respect until their time comes. That would be horrible of me if I didn’t do so. Trust me, they receive good food and exercise until they’re in perfect game condition. You’ll see.”

”What do you mean...?”

”Tomorrow I’ll take you there. I’ll show you that they’re all right. But they’re not the most entertaining bunch. Just a few dozen, a crew mixed with Polynesians and Spanish men. Their ship crashed on my shores. Unfortunately, they’re a lesser lot. Most of them more accustomed to the decks of a boat out on the sea than compared to the green jungles. Except for a few, that is.

It’s a game. I suggest to them that we hunt. I give the prey a sack of food, a canteen of water, and a hunting knife. Then I allow them three hours to a head start while I prepare. I have only a small pistol. So if the game manages to avoid me and survive for three days, they win respectfully. But if I find them.” Dante smiled, “I win.”

”And if they refuse to participate in your ‘game’?”

“Of course I let them chose! What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t allow my guests to chose? But everyone chooses the game! No one wants to be handed over to Joe. He’s a savage that has his own ideas of fun.”

”What if they win?”

Dante smirked confidently as he mused, “Well, no one has ever bested me.” Then he added swiftly, “Don’t think me rude or cocky. I’m simply sure none of the previous prey could have won in anyway they tried. There was one man who almost won. But I had to use the hounds to secure my victory.”

He gestured to the wall, showing you a picture of the hounds. In the picture he stood in the back, in front of him sitting in a line was a large pack of dogs. Labrador Retrievers, Beagles, American Foxhounds, Pointers, English Setters, Dobermans, Rottweilers. So so many dogs that helped Dante track down his victims.

"Now I wouldn't think of taking a step outside the house, my fox. My hounds are allowed the roam at night and often drag runaways back to my doorstep." The albino man hummed and glanced at you, "Next, I'd like to show you my new collection of heads. Would you join me to the east wing?"

"Would you please excuse me for tonight, Mr. Senguri. I'm not feeling too well, and I'm exhausted."

"Ah, true..." Dante sighed as he mused, "It's only natural after you made it here. You'll need a good long sleep, and by tomorrow I hope you will feel good as new." The albino man smiled eagerly as a thought returned to his mind, "I nearly forgot to ask for your permission! I will make this simple for you. (Y/n) (L/n), you have two choices. Yes or yes? I'm terribely sorry but you, I won't allow you to have the option of Joe. I need to hunt you, you've been the object of my curiousity and admiration for years. So choose only one of the two: yes or yes?"

You gulped at the close proximity of the murderer in front of you. He smiled down at you, silently urging and pressuring you to hurry and chose.

"Come, my fox, make your choice. Yes or yes?"

Never would you say yes to his proposal! But since he refused to allow Joe to have his fun with you, maybe there would be something else you could do if you said no. Just maybe.

"Since when was I so selfish? Did I ever want something this eagerly...? Hah, you should hear that things those people say to me before the games begin. They insult me, beg for their lives, try to bribe me. Everyone is surprised at how shameless I am." Dante scratched your head ever so carefully as urged, "Go on. Come on and tell me yes. You see everything I created here? My scenario has become more daring than I thought. I'd say this plan is perfect for my objectives. Now, I don't care what others may say about me. But you better tell me yes."

"What if-"

"No. I'll stop you there." Again he shushed you by placing a finger in front of your lips. "I don't want to hear it unless you are accepting. I have decided yes. Now it's time to hear your answer. I want you to mean it, don't guess. Be serious about your reply, don't ask a question. Don'e give me that unsure side-to-side, I want that confident up-and-down. There shouldn't be any n's or o's in your response. I'll erase them from today, so there's no need to think for too long, my precious fox. The answer is, repeat after me: yes."

Slowly you lowered your hands, slowly reaching into your pocket behind your back so Dante would not see what you were holding. "Alright..." You sighed out, staring up at the albino's surprised but delighted expression.

"Alright, what?~" Dante cooed, "Let me hear a clear answer, my fox."

"Alright...I refuse!" Slipping the knife into your hands you aim the knife at his heart, about to plunge the weapon into his heart. Yet his quick reflexes and surperior strength caught the knife in his hands.

Never did Dante Senguri stop smiling as he plucked the knife out of your grip and examined it, "What a pretty weapon you have here..." His eyes trailed back to you, "I'll give it back to you at a later time." With that said he slipped the knife into his pocket. "You know, (Y/n), you inspired me and puzzled me when I first began reading your works. You bring out my hidden selfishness, I didn't even know I had until you showed up. Your eyes and my curiosity about you, make my heart burn up. My heart is burning burning burning with passion and desire. So you better hurry, my little fox, I'm beginning to get impatient."

The loud chiming and ticking of the grandfather clock caught both your and Dante's attention. It told the time, displaying XII. Meaning it was midnight.

”To make it simple, whatever you choose, you will be with me.” Dante said simply, without a moment’s hesitation. He smiled before adding, “I just want your consent, it would be ungentlemen like of me if I didn’t. I’ll wait as long as it takes, I’ll keep you until you accept. It may seem a bit absurd, and you might say I’m insisting you. But you won’t regret it if you accept...Here, go on and rest now. It’s late and you need your beauty sleep, I suppose it’ll give you time to overthink my proposal, my precious fox.”

”I...I bid you goodnight.” You immediately took off, trying to ignore Dante’s raised accented voice behind you growing distant with each step you took.

”It saddens me you can’t join tonight.” Called out the albino man. “I’m expecting an interesting game this night—a big and strong Polynesian native. He appears capable and clever!—Good night, my fox, I hope you dream of your thrilling future here.”

Retreating to the room and as soon as you were inside, you closed the doors shut. You were exhausted so you did the only thing you could do, rest. Changing into silk pajamas left behind, you then lied on the plush bed. Twisting and turning, over and over, your eyes wide open. You couldn’t get a wink of sleep out of fear and anxiousness. When you heard footsteps out of your guest room followed by a clicking, you stealthily made your way to the door. Twisting the knob, it refused to open. You went to the window and looked out past the glass panes, realizing you were on the second floor. Maybe you could get down to the ground safely, if it wasn’t for a pair of Dante’s hounds gazing up at you expectantly. Slowly you went back and lied down, curling up under the sheets as you hugged yourself. Again and again you tried to achieve some sleep, yet just when it seemed as if you would finally catch a few z’s, the sound of a pistol rang out faintly from the dense jungles.

That next day, Dante Senguri did not make his appearance until late that evening. He dressed himself in an ironed black shirt, with a blue coat over that, black tailored pants, and polished brown shoes. Immediately the albino man found himself concerned with your well being.

“Oh, my night? Well to put it simply, it was terrible.” Dante sighed as he sat beside you in the dining hall, “I’m troubled, my fox. Last night I was beginning to get the slightest feeling of boredom.” Then he smiled at you, “But you can chase all those unwanted stultifying feelings for me.” While taking a second serving of waffles he continued explaining his troubles of last night. “You see, last night’s game was not as good as I originally had hoped. The man lost his head. He left a boring trail in his wake that offered no challenges, trying to confuse me by going in circles, the imbecile! The thing is, those too long on a ship lose their sense when it comes to land navigation. They preform repeating and common tactics that are most annoying!”

He really was annoyed by that...

Dante glanced at you before kindly offering, “Would you like another serving, my fox?”

”Mr. Senguri, I’d like to leave this island at once.”

The hunter sighed, seemingly hurt by your words. “Why would I ever let you go? You’ve been the best company I’ve ever had. Beside, my precious fox, you’ve only just arrived yesterday. You haven’t even gone with me to hun-“

“I want to leave today. I have important business, sir.” You seethed, staring into Dante’s red eyes filling with irritation before that emotion was suddenly gone and replaced with some positive feeling but twisted thought.

At first he remained silent as he placed another serving onto your plate. A smile curled at his lips. “Tonight,” said the hunter, “we will hunt, you and I, my precious fox.”

You shook your head no. “No, sir. I will not hunt.”

"I am not sure what you’ll choose, so I prepared these options. You may choose only one of the two: Yes or Yes? I am not sure what you want, so I prepared those options. Make your choice, my fox, come on. Yes or yes?" The man mused as he admired you, "Maybe not, maybe yes, make it more clearly. Show me how you feel, dear. Open your ears. Don’t you hear it? Its simple. Like stated previously, you will only be my game. None other’s. I am always serious when it comes to the matter of hunting. You really are an inspiration. I drink to you, (Y/n) (L/n), my precious fox, to an opponent finally worthy of my skill--at last!" Dante raised a glass in the air, but you merely sat and stared at him. "Trust me, dear, you'll find this game well worth playing." He smiled eagerly as he continued, "You against me, skillful versus skillful. Your brain against mine. Your strength against mine. Think of it as an extreme game of outdoor chess. And the stakes will be high, wouldn't you say?"

"And if I win-"

"I'll finally acknowledge a defeat, the first one in my books. That is, if you can stay alive until midnight on the third night." Placing the glass down, "IF you do happen to win, Joe will escort you to a mainland port." He saw the doubt clouding your eyes, "Fret not, my fox, I always keep my word. Always. Respectfully, if you lose you will stay here on this island. Do we have a deal?"

"...No-"

"Too bad! I've already decided for you!" He turned to glance at his assistant, "Joe, will supply you with the proper outfit, food, and...oh, I nearly forgot." Fishing the knife out of his pocket, he placed it in your hands, curling your fingers around the weapon and gently tapping your knuckles. "Your knife, my fox. Mustn't forget that. Oh, another thing!" He stood straight as he warned you with a sad frown, "I advise you avoid the swamps of the southeast. There's quicksand there. One imbecile tried to cross and got stuck along with one of my hounds named Max. You can only imagine my feelings, dear. Max was my most beloved and prized hound...Well, pardon me, my fox. I always take a nap after my lunch, I would love if you joined me but I imagine you'd want to begin your head start. Don't worry, I won't follow until dusk. Hunting is much more exciting at night than the day, don't you think?" Dante Senguri smiled and bowed to you before taking his leave, "Good luck, my fox. Don't disappoint me~"

From another door entered Joe carrying a set of simple black clothing and a sack of food.

You fought your way through the dense jungle and underbrush until the sun began to set, leaving the sky shifting to a dark colored palette. You had to think of something! Some way to help your survive! Yes, you had created a complicated trail, it wouldn't be enough to throw of that murder. You knew that much, at least. At first a wave of panic and horror hit you as the gates closed behind you and you were left alone. But know, you were beginning to gain courage as you devised up tactical plans to best Dante Senguri. Surely if you continued straight, you run in with the sea. That wouldn't help. So you continued with leaving behind confusing tracks, much like foxes did.

When night overcame the island, you had scratches and bruises but you continued on. Eventually, you stopped. It would be insane to continue in the dark while Dante was probably beginning his sick little game. Plus, now you needed to rest after leaving those twists and turns of trails behind. "I've played the fox, now I-I...need to act as the cat." You concluded that as the best option as you discovered a large tree nearby.

With its thick base and multiple large branches spread out covered with leaves, it would be sure to provide temporary cover. So you climbed the large tree and took the opportunity to stretch out and rest on the large branches.

Even that damned hunter Dante Senguri could not track you here, surely. Only a demon, the devil himself, could follow such a complicated trial through the brush after dark.

...

A quiet night rested on the island but sleep refused to grace you. Hours passed when the sky began changing to a gray hue, you nearly fell off the limb of the tree when the frightened squaking of a bird startled you. It came from some steps away on your left. Something was coming, slowly but cautiously, coming the same way you had come from. You stuck to the large branch, flatening yourself to the surface and through the ticket of leaves, you watched intensely...And that figure of something approaching was of a man.

It was Dante Senguri. He made his way along, utmost concentrated on the ground before him as he stepped forward. Suddenly he halted his steps almost right underneath the branch you lied on, dropping to his knees and studying the ground. You wanted to pounce on him like a panther, but you retrained youself once you saw the automatic pistol in his pale hands.

As if puzzled, the albino man shook his head. He stood and straightened his posture, while you held your breath and remained as still as possible. Inch by inch, Dante's red eyes traveled up the tree. Searching for an obvious sign. His sharp eyes stopped before they reached your branch, a smile spread over his lips. Almost deliberately he mused, "What a cunning little fox..." He turned his back on the tree and carelessly walked away, back along the trail he had come from. The crushing of plant life underneath his boots grew fainter and fainter until you could no longer hear him at all.

You finally breathed, allowing all the pent up air to go out as soon as you could no longer hear him. The first thought that came to your mind made you feel sick and extremely concerned. Dante could follow a trail through the woods at night, much like a hound. Secondly, you did not want to believe that Dante was so good and so confident when it came to hunting, that the man knew he was there on the tree...The albino was playing around with you! The thought made you shudder. Why else had Dante smiled and said those words? Why else would he turn back? The evidence was there and the truth was clear.

When the sun's rays pushed throught the morning mist, you realized that Dante was saving you for more entertainment for another day. He wanted his fun, he did not wish to be disappointed. The albino was the predator, you were the prey. It was then that you experienced the true meaning of terror.

"I can't lose, I can't...I still have so much I want to do, I can't die or stay here."

Sliding down from the tree, you resumed the chase and headed towards the woods. Your mind was set and you forced the machinery of your mind to function. A few hundred yards away you stopped at a large dead tree leaning on a smaller living one. Placing the sack of food to the side, you unsheathed your knife and began to get to work.

When the job was done, you rested behind a fallen log about a hundred feet away or so. Close enough to see yet at the same time far enough to let you bolt in the worse case scenario. You did not have to wait long for the predator returned to find and play with the prey.

Coming up the trail with the sureness of a bloodhound came Dante Senguri. Nothing escaped those piercing red eyes, no crushed blade of grass, no bent twig, no mark no matter how faint. So dedicated was the albino to his stalking that he was upon the contraption you made before he noted it. His foot touched the protruding bough that was the trigger. Even as he touched it, the man sensed the danger and leaped back with swift agility. But he was not quick enough, for the dead tree which had been delicately adjusted on the cut living one collapsed onto the albino. Striking him with a blow on the shoulder, but if it weren't for his caution or swiftness he would have been crushed underneath the contraption you created. He staggered but did not fall, continuing to grip on the pistol in hand. He stood there, rubbing his now injured shoulder as a grin creeped onto his features.

The man laughed loudly. "(Y/n)!" He called out, looking around for any sign of you as he continued to grin. "Very nice! Very very nice! I applaud your attempt, it was wonderfully done! If it weren't for the knowledge I have and my wits, you would have caught me! You are proving much much more interesting than I originally imagined, my fox! Please, do keep it up! I'll be gone only but a moment to have my wound treated, it'll be a moment. I'll return, my dear. I'll come back for you."

When the albino man had took his leave, you resumed the chase once again. The contraption remained collapsed on the dirt ground. You stared at it before continuing. If it weren't for Cleo, a jaguar who had nearly been crushed by the same contraption a few years ago, you may have been at a dead end. The feline was severely injured and you were tasked with caring for her after the incident, there you had examined the trap that had harmed her. The Malay Mancatcher, a trap used mainly in Southeast Asia. The same trap you used against Dante Senguri.

You continued the trail for hours until darkness came. But you still continued on. The ground gew softer, the vegetation grew denser, and the insects bit constantly. Then as you took another step forward, your foot sank in some ooze. When you tried to wrech it back, the muck stuck like glue keeping your foot in place. With violent effort you got your foot loose, now knowing that you were in the swamp Dante had warned you about.

You looked down, the softness of the earth had bestowed an idea upon you. Stepping back about a dozen feet or so from the quicksand, you began to dig into the damp earth. Digging digging diggning until the hole reached well above your shoulders, you climed out and searched for pieces of wood. You gathered them and sharpened them like knives to fine points, carving them into stakes. Carefully you slid back into the hole and planted the stakes inside with the points sticking up before climbing out. With nimble fingers you wove a carpet of weeds, branches, and blades of grass that would cover the mouth of the pit. Finally, sweat covered and tired, you rested behind a lightening charred tree.

You knew well that Dante Senguri was approaching, you could hear the padding of his feet on the soft ground and you detected the scent of his perfume wafting through the air. Yet somthing was off. He was coming faster with unusual swiftness, no longer looking to the trails for guidance. You waited and waited, you could not see them...Finally when you heard the sharp crackle of the breaking branches as the cover of the pit gave away, hearing the sharp scream of pain as the stakes found their mark. You wanted to leap for joy, but you stayed put. When you peeked past the tree, you reeled back only to see Dante holding a lanturn above the pit.

The Burmese tiger pit. Another trap introduced to you in unfortunate circumstances. Tigger the tiger was an older feline who had been trapped in the Burmese tiger pit. The poor creature fell in and was forgotten, nearly bleeding to death because of the stake stuck in his side. You were there when he had to be sedated and pulled out, you were there to see the pit and hear how it was bulit. Another trap you used against Dante Senguri.

"You've amazed me yet again, my clever fox. But must you have done this to one of my favorite pets?" He sighed softly, "Poor Bailey, fallen into a Burmese tiger pit...That's unfortunate. Again, my dear, you score.........Hm...I wonder how you will stand against my entire pack? I'm going home for a rest now. Thank you for the most amusing evening."

At daybreak you began to stir awake, you found yourself lying against the truck of the charred tree not far from the Burmese tiger pit. But what made you wake was a sound. A sound that made you learn that you had new things to learn about fear. It was a distant sound, faint but definitely there, and you recognized what it was. It was the baying of a pack of hounds.

You had two choices. You could stay where you were and try to fight back, which was basically suicide. Or you could flee which would only postpone the danger. For a moment you stood there, allowing the ideas to flow through until one wild dangerous idea crossed your mind. Hesitantly you gripped your belt and made your way away from the swamp.

The barking of the hounds drew nearer and nearer with each passing minute, giving you less time to think. Climbing a tall tree, you looked out to see a far away figure of Dante alongside the tall and big build of Joe holding the leashes of all the hounds.

They would discover you any minute now. Your mind worked quickly as you thought up a native trick you learned in Uganda. On your way sliding down a tree, you snatched a branch and fastened it to your knife. With the blade pointing down the trail, with a bit of vines you tied the branch back. Then you ran. Running as fast as you can. The hounds barked louder once they detected he fresh scent. You now know how a hunted animal feels.

You had to stop to breath, using your arm on a tree to support your weight. Yet the hounds stopped abruptly, and your heart stopped too. They must have reached the knife...

Eagerly you climbed the nearest tree to see what the results were. Looking back through the leaves, you saw that there was no movement. They had stopped. Yet your soared hopes had plummeted and crashed once you saw the figure of Dante Senguri still standing. But Joe was not. Joe was not as fortunate. The knife, driven by the recoil of the branch had not hit its intended target but plunged into another man.

The hounds sniffed the body of the large man, pressing their snouts against the corpse. Dante snatched up the leashes and clapped, “Well done! Magnificent! Possibly even superb! You truly are the perfect game!! So much trill, so much fun, so much adrenaline rush!”

You hardly tumbled to the ground when the pack of hounds began to howl and bark again, resuming the chase.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You panted, dashing through a blue gap between two trees dead ahead. Ever nearer drew the hounds. Past the trees was the shore of the sea. Twenty feet below the sea rumbled and hissed, crashing against the jagged rocks. You hesitated, jump or stay. The sound of the hounds encouraged you to jump, and you did-before the jaw of a pointer had locked onto your ankle. Your scream of pain and frantic cries were nothing to the hounds who pulled you away from the edge with their teeth.

A sharp whistle cut them off, making them unhinge their canines from your skin and sit patiently with wagging tails. You were dragged away from the ledge, far enough so you couldn’t run and jump. When you looked up you met the confident and pleased gaze of Dante Senguri.

“Checkmate.” A smirk formed at his lips as he pointed a gun at you. “I must say, very well played, (Y/n). You’ve gifted me with the best time of my life.”

Choose only one of the two: Yes or yes?

”I’ve never felt so alive...! You have not a single clue how delighted I am at this very moment.”

Make your choice. Come on, my darling fox. Yes or yes?

”I’ll most definitely keep you around. Our conversations, your company, your skill, has provided me with far greater pleasure to me than anything else in the world!”

Take your pick, the choice is up to you.

”I will say no to your no, is it me or us?” He pressed the pistol against your heart, “I respect your choice but reject your rejection. There is only one answer, the choice is up to you. It’s all up to you, my precious fox.” Giving you a gentle smile as he caressed your cheek with his free hand, “Make your choice~ Come on, yes or yes?”

#yandere #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere guy #yandere male #yandere hunter #yandere author #yandere scenario #yandere oneshot #yandere writing #yandere imagines #yancore #shiny-jr

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virgil-is-a-cutie · 4 years

Text

My Brother the Vampire: Fangtastic

Updates will be reblogs tbh

Summary: Patton is a vegetarian. Virgil is a vampire. And they're twins?!

Ever since Patton Abbott discovered that his long lost twin brother, Virgil Vega is a vampire, he's been soaking up everything Virgil will tell him about Franklin Grove's vampire community. It's all top secret, and Patton's sworn that he'll never tell another soul. But now, nosy tabloid reporter Serena Star is snooping around. As she gets closer and closer to the truth, it's up to Virgil and Patton to throw her off track. This is one fangtastic news story that can't get out!

Virgil Vega trudged sleepily into the breakfast room already dressed for school. He had on a black ripped skinny jeans, a violet long sleeved shirt underneath a black short sleeved shirt that had a quote from one of Edgar Allen Poe’s face on it with his thick combat boots. He had a black Panic! At The Disco necklace that had the symbol from the music video LA Devotee accompanied with his green emerald necklace. He slid into his chair, and rested his head on his palms wishing for more sleep. Mondays were just so boring.

"Good morning, sleepybones," his father, Declan Vega said, placing a plate next to his head.

"Shh," Virgil murmured, his eyes closed, "I like quietness before eating."

"It's your favorite," his father coaxed gently. "Blood sausages with scrambled eggs and toast with some Crofters jam on it as well as bacon," he says smiling.

Virgil peered at the place and giggles as it was plated to look like a smiley face. The blood sausages semi dripping of blood since it was semi raw like he liked it. "Thanks," he mumbled softly.

His father, already dressed for work in black chinos and a black pin-striped shirt with French cuffs and a yellow bowtie, sipped his tea and picked up the remote control. "There is nothing better than lazy morning shows as on Mondays," he said smiling.

He flipped through the weather and some talk shows before settling on The Morning Star.

"Oh god please no," Virgil protested, "just looking at Serena Star's smile gives me sunburn gives my skin the hives."

Serena Star, WowTV's best celebrity reporter, had impossibly bright, bleached blond hair and eyes that looked as if they'd been surgically enhanced to be permanently wide open in either adoration or shock. Lately she'd been trying to cast herself as a serious journalist on her own morning news show, The Morning Star. Just the other day, Virgil had turned the TV off in exasperation after Serena had said, "Tell me, Mr. Senator, how does it feel to have a law named after you?"

This morning, Serena Star was standing with her back to a small crowd of people, talking into her microphone. She was wearing a tiny blue suede miniskirt under a knee-length trench coat, and the look in her wide eyes said "shock!" She was in what seemed to be a graveyard. A scruffy, black-clad teenager stood beside her...

Declan flipped the channel.

"Turn it back!" Virgil blurted.

"But you said-"

"I know. Turn it back!" he repeated.

Virgil could not believe his eyes in what he was seeing. The boy standing next to Serena Star was none other than Garrick Stephens, one of the lamest vampires at school. He and his bonehead friends, which everyone called them the Beasts, were always pulling dumb stunts, like seeing which one of them could eat the most garlic croutons without getting seriously ill. They weren't nearly as scary as they smelled, but they'd been annoying since forever. It didn't help that whenever Virgil brought his food that had garlic they'd make a show of gagging in the cafeteria.

Virgil frowns and begins to eat his breakfast while watching the news wondering why Garrick was on the news.

"Oh dear I do believe that's the local cemetery," his dad said.

Virgil realized he was right, meaning that this was being filmed less than five blocks from their home.

The camera panned over to an empty grave, and Virgil's dad turned up the volume.

"....yesterday's small town funeral went horribly wrong," Serena Star was saying off screen.

"Local deceased man, Mr. Alan Koontz, was scheduled for burial here at the Franklin Grove Memorial Cemetery. As Mr. Koontz was being lowered into the ground, eyewitnesses say that his casket creaked open." The camera zoomed in on a shiny midnight-blue coffin lying open next to the grave. "In a bizarre turn of events, out climbed an allegedly live person!" Serena continued. "Mr. Koontz's widow immediately fainted and was rushed to Franklin Grove General Hospital for treatment after the event occured."

Serena Star's frowning face reappeared on the screen, "friends of the family say that the person who emerged bore no resemblance to Mr. Koontz and was, in fact, a teenage boy."

The camera pulled back to reveal Garrick, who was licking his palm and then using it to slick back his greasy gross hair.

Virgil was frowning now too, since Garrick and his friends didn't know the meaning of the word "discreet." They probably couldn't even spell it. Ever since they were little kids, Virgil had always been amazed and dumbfounded at how close the Beasts routinely came to breaking the First Law of the Night.

Which was that vampires are never supposed to reveal their true selves to an outsider.

Thinking about that made Virgil feel uncomfortable. After all, he'd recently broken the First Law himself. But who could really blame him? He'd had no choice, though, he couldn't possibly keep the fact that he was a vampire secret from his identical twin, Patton, even if Patton himself was human. Didn’t help that Patton had seen Virgil’s palm heal from when he fell onto the thorn bush in his backyard.

The two had met once Patton arrived to school and after one day they realized the truth of them being twins. Which was a shocker to the two of them.

Virgil sighs, he may have broken the rule, but at least it wasn't on national TV.

Serena Star looked squarely at the camera. "I, Serena Star, now bring you an exclusive interview with the thirteen year old boy who was almost buried alive. I think you'll agree it's a story that's truly... INDEADIBLE!" A graphic with the word "INDEADIBLE!" materialized on the screen over Garrick's head, and Virgil rolled his eyes. Serena was always making up lame words for her on-screen headlines.

"Awesome!" Garrick Stephens grinned.

Virgil's head began to ache because how in the underworld, were they going to cover up a vampire popping out of a coffin in the middle of a funeral?

"Mr. Stephens...." Serena Star turned to face her subject, "... how do you feel?"

"I feel great!" Garrick said with a small shrug.

"Amazing!" Serena commented, with a slight frown. She had clearly been expecting Garrick to be upset. "How long were you in that coffin?"

"Like seven, eight hours I think. I really can't say."

"That must have been very unsettling," Serena Star prompted sympathetically.

"Only when those pallbearer guys carried it around and woke me up," Garrick said, shooting a peeved look off camera.

"Are you saying you were asleep in there?" asked Serena Star, her wide eyes widening even further.

"Yeah," Garrick answered before raising an eyebrow, "what would I be doing in there for... 8 hours? I woke up once I felt the casket being moved."

Virgil winced as Serena Star shook her head in disbelief. "You almost sound like you enjoyed yourself."

Garrick shrugged.

"Mr. Stephens," Serena Star said, a hint of disapproval in her voice, "what kind of person sleeps in a coffin?"

"It wasn't my idea." Garrick shrugged.

"Oh?" said Serena Star. "Whose idea was it?"

Garrick was about to answer, but then he seemed to think better of it. He then crossed his arms tilting his head, "you know that one episode of Mike and Molly where Molly was at her sister's job at the morge and they got high and got in the casket? That happened except for the weed and morgue part."

"Are you saying that you were just goofing around?" Serena Star asked with a slight frown as if she had became uninterested.

"Yep," Garrick replied, wrinkling his nose and scratching chin which Virgil and any other vampire in town knew he was lying since that was his social tick that showed he was lying.

"You mean..."

"I was messing around with my fellow kings of Franklin Grove Middle School!" Garrick cried out smirking and wildly waving, "yo, Kyle, Ricky, Dylan! I'm on TV!"

'What a moron,' Virgil thought.

"What exactly did your friends have in mind?" Serena Star probed.

"It looked comfortable so I climbed in," Garrick explained, his eyes glinting mischievously. "That's why I did it."

Virgil sighs knowing he was throwing a lame reason why he did it to avoid revealing any vampire secrets.

Like the fact that they slept in coffins. Still, it was a pretty semi lame alibi, especially because he kept going on about how it was really comfortable. At least he wasn't saying how it was the best sleep ever.

"The Interna 3 is a pretty comfortable casket," he said shrugging before leaning towards the microphone. "When they say `rest in peace,' they mean it!"

"Mr. Stephens, please," Serena interrupted. "That still doesn't explain how you ended up at Mr. Koontz's funeral."

"Uh... simple. The funeral home got the coffins mixed up. Did you know the Interna 3 is the best comfortable coffin?"

Serena Star yanked the microphone away, "are we to believe that this was really just an innocent student messing?" she said to Garrick, who shrugged again looking away in boredom.

"Or," she continued, turning slowly to the camera, "is there something more sinister at work?"

"She's looking for blood," Virgil mumbles softly.

"Clearly, a gruesome obsession with death," Serena went on as the camera zoomed in for a close-up of her shocked face, "nearly cost this misguided young misfit his life!"

"Who are you calling misguided?" Garrick's voice whined offscreen.

"And he isn't alone," Serena said, ignoring Garrick. "One look around this sleepy town reveals a dark obsession consuming the minds of its children." The live feed cut briefly to footage of the mall, showing a group of Goth sixth-graders.

"Are the youth of America next?" Serena asked ominously, as she reappeared on-screen. Then she frowned with determination, "I, Serena Star, will not rest until I find out the evil truth behind what's happening here."

Virgil grimaces knowing what comes next.

"Because the Star of truth must shine!" Serena Star declared dramatically, pumping her micro- phone in the air. It really was the worst journalis- tic sign-off Ivy had ever heard. "This is Serena Star. Wake up, America!"

A commercial came on, Declan shut off the TV. He turned around to look at his son and points to him, "you must promise me," he said, "that if you are ever on television, you will make a better impression than that boy Garrick Stephens."

"It's not funny, Dad," Virgil said with a frown on his pale face. "If Serena Star starts seriously investigating Goths in Franklin Grove, you know what she might find. What if she scoops the existence of vampires? None of us will ever be safe again!" Virgil rambles on as he began to quickly hyperventilate.

His father put down his tea quickly before helping his son calm down before he had an anxiety attack. "Virgil," he began to say gently, "we are talking about a woman best known for her special expose on the footwear of the rich and famous! I very much doubt she's capable of finding any real proof. Besides, the moment there's always bound to be a new bit of Hollywood gossip, Serena Star will forget all about Franklin Grove."

Virgil sighed once he had finally calmed down, "I hope you're right," he said, standing up to take his plate to the kitchen, "because if not, it's going to be really hard to get blood sausages around here."

-----

As they pulled up in front of Franklin Grove Middle School on Monday morning, Patton Abbott was applying his light pink lipstick in the visor mirror when he heard his papa gasp. He frowns and flipped up the visor to see the front steps of the school packed with people and a string of TV news vans lining the curb.

"Holy moly," Patton said breathlessly.

Remy Abbott, Patton's papa, double-parked and started to get out of the car as curiosity hit him.

Patton’s eyes widened before he quickly got out of the car and rushed to block Remy from opening the door further grabbed his papa's arm and squeaks out, "where are you going?"

"I want to see what all the commotion's about," his papa replied as he pulled down his sunglasses.

Patton immediately shook his head, "you can't come with me into school."

"Why not?" Remy asked with a pout.

"Because I'm in eighth grade," Patton explained with a frown.

Patton's papa smiled and shook his head and sighs before pouting, "well, okay," he said with a sigh.

"It's not you," Patton reassured him, "It's all parents. It's like a rule. I'll call you," Patton said reassuringly before he pecked his papa on the cheek, climbed out of the car, and squeezed between two news vans.

Patton frowns and walked towards the steps, careful to not step on any of the crews things. He looked up and noticed the bounce of soft blonde curls.

"Camilla!" he called out and his only human friend, Camilla Edmundson, turned around waved at him.

Patton made his way over to her and Camilla smiled, "hey. This is so wild," she said gesturing to the whole scene.

Patton frowns, "did something happen?"

Camilla raised an eyebrow before telling him about what had happened and dread slowly filled his stomach as he realized what Serena may stumble upon if she investigated.

Boy did he hope vampires were fiction, but nope! They were real and his twin, which he was still surprised about really I mean an identical twin! His own twin brother was a vampire as well! It just basically made them much more completely opposite yet identical twins.

Virgil had broken the first rule of Vampiredom, which was to never tell am outsider the secret.

And now Serena Star was here because of a stupid stunt Garrick Stephens did? Patton really wanted to yell at the stupid boy. For his brother's sake.

He really should look for Virgil.

"Come on let's go inside."

As he and Camilla moved the the crowd so as to make their way to the front doors of the school when he hears it. He heard a familiar high-pitched voice call out his name. He tried to ignore it and keep walking, but the voice shrieked even louder, "PATTON!"

Patton winced and told Camilla to go on without him before he reluctantly turned to see Charlotte Brown, his cheerleading captain, who was gesturing for Patton to join her in a circle of cameras.

Ever since Patton, with Virgil doing try outs for him, had made the squad a few weeks ago, Charlotte had acted as if she had forgotten that she'd tried to sabotage Patton, who was actually Virgil at tryouts. As well as if forgetting that Virgil, who was disguised as his twin, had caused her to be late to try outs and stole her role of Cheer Captain. Which must have soured her mood even though Patton turned down the role. In fact, Charlotte and her friends Katie and Allison all treated Patton like he was their BFF.

'At least it keeps the squad cheering as a team,' Patton thought to himself as he made his way over to the three girls.

"Tell them, Patton!" Charlotte said, grabbing his arm and pulling him in front of the cameras. "You know... what it's like as a new student here. How frightening it is with all the bad influences around this school."

Patton frowns before shaking his head quickly before yelping as a reporter in a rumpled suit stuck a microphone in front of Patton's face. "Have you ever slept in a coffin?"

"No," Patton said after blinking in confusion.

A woman holding a tape recorder asked, "Are you familiar with a street gang known as the Beasts?"

“...Street Gang is such a such a strong word for them,” Patton said raising an eyebrow remembering how Virgil had described them to him.

A short, determined looking woman in a tight, bright orange suit muscled in between the others, her blond hair shining in the sun. Patton’s eyes widened and he softly gasped. It was Serena Star herself! She looked much shorter than she did on TV.

"Have you ever..." Serena Star said, thrusting her microphone under Patton's chin, "... felt threatened by everyone around you wearing black?"

"Uh... not really since both my papa and pops wear almost all black. Since when is there anything wrong with wearing black?" Patton asked raising an eyebrow. He didn’t notice the looks Charlotte gave her friends.

Charlotte quickly leaped in front of him and nods hurriedly causing her blonde hair to bounce, "yes, Ms. Star, I totally have!" she cried, clearly overexcited to be talking to a celebrity reporter like Serena. "Once," she said, flipping her hair dramatically, "I was in the girls' bathroom, re-applying gloss, when two Goth girls came in. They were dressed from head to toe in black rags, and their nails were covered in black nail polish. And guess what they did. They growled at me!"

"Growled at you?" Serena Star repeated with wide eyes.

"Absolutely," Charlotte nodded seriously. "I was so scared I ran out without even doing my mascara!"

“You had a perm last year and you looked like a poodle,” a student pops up beside Serena said in the microphone. A girl steps beside them and smirked, “that growl was more of a bark dumbass,” both giggled as they rushed up the steps cackling as Charlotte gave them a glare before looking back at Serena with a strained smile.

"So you think it's a problem," Serena Star pressed, "that so many Franklin Grove students are obsessed with darkness?"

"Totally!" Charlotte agreed, "black is so last season." She gestured toward Serena Star's turquoise stiletto heels. "I absolutely love your shoes, by the way. Are they from Hollywood?"

Patton sighs, but takes the moment to sneak away and make his way inside the building so he can find Virgil.

As he walked down the hallway he saw Virgil with his new boyfriend, Logan Daniels, who surprisingly has yet to have noticed how identical Patton and Virgil looked. Virgil was playing with his emerald ring that was attached to the necklace that he had around his neck.

The same ring identical to Patton’s that helped the two realize who they were and the only things from their birth parents.

“See you later,” Logan said with a smile before giving Virgil a kiss on his forehead to which caused Virgil to blush a light pink.

Virgil twirled the emerald ring on the chain around his neck, "okay," he said softly with a shy smile. His brother was so smitten. Patton thought it was super cute.

As Patton waited for Logan to leave he yelps as his shoulder was lightly gripped and looked to see that Roman was dragging him towards his brother. Virgil blinks and gasps as his best friend grabs his wrist and drags both twins to an empty boys bathroom. Roman quickly checked the stalls before turning to look at the twins.

“He was window shopping,” he said and from the questioning look he got from Patton the two friends explained how they changed coffins like they changed phones. As the two vampires began to worry about Serena Star, Patton tilts his head.

“Why don't we pretend and say werewolves are real to throw her off her trail,” he offered with a raised eyebrow.

The two exchanged a look and Patton’s eyes widened, “wait are you for-” he’s cut off by the bell ringing and his worries didn't ease as they didn't respond to him.

----

As 3rd Period finished, Virgil made his way to his locker when Roman grabs his wrist again.

“Hey what’s wrong?” Virgil asked with a frown and raised an eyebrow as Roman pulled out a tube of dark red lipstick and applied it, “Serena Star got the principle to call a meeting with The Scribe,” his friend said and Virgil frowns.

“When’s the meeting?” Virgil asked curiously.

“In 5 minutes, let’s go,” Roman said as he dragged his friend towards the meeting, "you know we're the only vamps on staff, right?" Roman whispered to his friend. “So we have to get on her good side alright?”

They noticed they were the last to arrive as they noticed everyone was seated around the big editorial table where Serena Star stood in the far end with their principle.

Both goths turned to find themselves face-to-face with a WowTV camera lens. They both hadn't noticed the cameraman squeezed into the corner by the door. For a moment, Virgil felt as if he'd been turned to stone, he hated being in front of cameras, crowds, and tape recorders.

With a gulp, Virgil looked right at Serena and smiled as brightly as he could, "as the senior writer of the Franklin Grove Scribe, allow me to say what an honor it is to meet a journalist of your, uh, standing, Ms. Star. I'm sure we all have a great deal to learn from you.” No matter what he had to get in her good side

Serena Star smiles and nods, "thank you," she says clearly flattered by the praise. She gestured to the boy sitting closest to her. "This young man just said that as well,” she said as she gestured to Toby Decker.

The bunny whom Patton told him was brought by The Beasts to his home when it was the day of the ball. He was also one of the best reporters on staff.

Both vampires sat beside Camilla and that was when Serena officiously placed her palms on the table. "I called you here, fellow reporters, because I need your help."

“Whatever it is, we can do our best,” Toby said eagerly as every member of The Scribe nodded.

“Good," said Serena, "because I'd like one of you to work with me on my nationally covered story about life here in Franklin Grove."

"You mean, be your assistant?" asked Will Kerrell, a 7thgrader who usually covered sports. "Exactly,” Serena Star said as she nodded. She paused to let the information sink in. "I'm holding a audition, and the person who wins gets to be my assistant." "How exciting!" Principal Whitehead said approvingly. Virgil tilted his head a little wondering what she was up to. Serena Star looked around the table with her wide eyes, "to audition, you have to get out there and get me a quote about Garrick Stephens and his coffin." "What kind of quote?"

"Something juicy," replied Serena Star, "something that will make the American public sit up and take notice. And the person who gets the best quote will get to help me, WowTV's Serena Star, with my story," she finished, her eyes sparkling.

‘She’s using teens to get what no adult can,’ Virgil thought to himself.

Virgil cleared his throat before nervously fidgeting, "does the quote have to be about Garrick Stephens's stunt at the cemetery?" he asked raising an eyebrow. "I mean, that was just a lame practical joke, right?" "I think there's more to the story," Serena said meaningfully, "and a good reporter will find out what."

Virgil cursed under his breath at that.

Camilla raised her hand, looking a little bored, "does everyone need to get a quote? I mean, I'm more of a critic than a reporter," she explained.

"Only those with investigative reporting experience need apply," Serena answered.

Virgil raised an eyebrow seeing as Roman grinned at Camilla and whisper, "Looks like you and me are off the hook!" "Well, for those of you who do audition, I can- not imagine a greater opportunity than working with a journalist as respected as Serena Star," Principal Whitehead said.

If Serena Star noticed, she didn't show it. She flashed her trademark smile at the staffers around the table. "You have twenty-four hours to get your quotes. May the best reporter win!" she declared. "Thank you, Ms. Star," Toby Decker said professionally. With that, the Scribe staff started to file out of the room, chattering about their high profile assignment. Roman started to leave, too, but Virgil put a hand on her arm. They had to talk to Serena first. "See you," Camilla said to Roman and Virgil before heading toward the door. However, before she reached it, though, Virgil saw her do a double take and walk over to the cameraman. "That's the Sign of the Cyborg!" Camilla said, pointing to a symbol on the guy's T-shirt. "You're a Coal Knightley fan?" he responded before they were deep in conversation about Coal Knightley's books which Virgil chuckled at. Meanwhile, Virgil and Roman went over to talk to Serena, which was when the reporter grabbed Virgil's hand and shook it. As she did, she peered down at hi's fingers. "Interesting choice of nail polish," she said, raising her other hand and signaling her cameraman to come closer. He was too busy talking to Camilla to notice, so Serena smiled at Ivy in a plastic way and waved her free hand more frantically. Finally she snapped, "Martin!"

"Sorry!" Martin the cameraman said, rushing over as Camilla left the room. Serena huffed and let go of Virgil’s hand at last. She looked at him and Roman intensely. "You two must be friends with Garrick Stephens."

Virgil let out a loud deep sigh, “is this because we wear black clothes?” he asked with a strained smile.

Serena Star nodded. "Exactly."

"You mean you agree with stereotypes?" Virgil asked with a frown and a curious little tilt of his head blinking owilishly like Patton had shown him.

"What?" Serena Star spluttered, ”no! Of course not." "Thank goodness," Virgil said, "because Principal Whitehead always says that a great reporter is never swayed by prejudice." He finished with a half smile at the principal over Serena Star's shoulder. "That I do!" Principal Whitehead confirmed cheerfully. "I couldn't agree more," Serena said stiffly, glancing uncomfortably toward the camera. She changed the subject. "So where do you kids hang out?" "The diner," Roman told her with a shrug as he pulled out a mirror and played with his hair.

"Which diner?" Serena Star asked immediately.

"We like the Meat & Greet," Virgil replied.

"Is that the one that's decorated like a meat locker?" Serena Star said.

Virgil fidgets and hums, “I like Mister Smoothie,” he lies.

"Me, too," Roman chimed in quickly.

Serena Star paused. "So you two don't know Garrick Stephens?"

Roman and Virgil didn't say anything.

"And you don't know anything about him or his friends?" Serena pressed on.

"Everyone calls them the Beasts," Toby piped up from a few feet away. Virgil hadn't even realized he was still there and mentally cursed at not checking the room first.

Serena Star nodded at him encouragingly, and Toby went on. "They're always playing practical jokes and things. Several weeks ago, they dragged me to a party at Virgil's house, even though they knew I wasn't invited. Although, I don't think they were invited either, but I wasn't sure.”

Virgil’s eyes widened before he cringed. Serena turned to look at him,"you invited Garrick Stephens to a party?"

"Lots of people were invited, I can’t remember who was invited really,” Virgil said with a small nervous smile.

"But not Toby, who you work with closely on the school paper?" Serena said pointedly with a raised eyebrow at the goth boy.

Virgil shrugged helplessly.

Serena Star turned back to Toby. "What else can you tell me about Garrick and his friends?"

"I think they're into heavy metal," Toby said, "although that might just be their T-shirts. And they're always saying weird things, like `bloodsucker' this and `bloodsucker' that."

Virgil's mouth went dry and his stomach felt as if there were bats fluttering around it.

"Bloodsucker?" Serena's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Toby replied.

Virgil wanted to really scream and beat up Garrick Stephens so bad.

1/?

Tag: @gothfoxx

#jenny writes #sanders sides #sanders sides au #sanders sides fic #my sister the vampire!sanders sides au #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #vampire!virgil sanders au

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bnhavibes · 4 years

Text

Dark Paradise

Chapter 3: Disquiet

Ao3

Mafia AU!

“I want,” Shigaraki leaned in, all fingers but one curling around Kai’s bicep, “the girl.” His minatory gaze was trained on Kai’s, daring him to step out of line. Kai took a shaky inhale, eyes flicking over to the young woman on the couch.

“Will you do that for me, Kai?” Shigaraki’s four fingers gripped tighter around Kai’s tense arm; a stern reminder that he didn’t have a choice. “If you don’t, I trust it’s not necessary to say what will happen to you.”

Art from this post, FOLLOW THEM THEIR ART IS AMAZING!!

Word Count: ~4k

Your sparkly princess shoe kicked the rock playfully and watched as it rolled along the sidewalk, giggling to yourself all the while. Dainty fingers trailed along the bottom of well-trimmed hedges. Through the green, you saw the off-white bleached brick of your house come into view and skipped the rest of the way there. You couldn’t wait to show the picture you had drawn at school today.

You kicked the welcome mat up to find the key to the towering red front door and you quickly replaced it before eagerly shuffling inside, ready for the delicious smell of homemade chocolate chip cookies to grace your nose. It was Wednesday, and every week your mom made cookies to celebrate a week half over. They were always ready for when you got home from school. Your older sister would help make them because her middle school got out earlier.

But it didn’t smell like cookies. You felt the bright hopefulness that adorned your face earlier sink, a pouty frown replacing it. Clumsily, you kicked off your shoes and socks, padding over to the couch to toss your backpack down.

“Mommy? Skye?” There was no answer. Maybe they were playing in the backyard? Yeah, they were probably playing and going to make cookies later. Your mom always kept saying that one of these days you were going to have to start helping them bake. With great effort, you pulled the sliding door open to the expansive backyard, and your head tilted as you tried to process what was in front of you.

“Mommy?” She was lying prone on the ground, her neck was turned towards the door so you could see her face. It was blank, vacant. Her jaw was slack, and her arms were twisted strangely at her sides. You had dropped to your knees on the soft grass at the sight, so you crawled over to your mom and shook her arm. You were sad to feel she wasn’t as warm as usual; her embrace was the most comforting thing in the world. You kept calling out to her and telling her this game wasn’t funny. Why would she play a game like this? You wondered. You took in the sight of her. Maybe she is sleeping? Your small arms wrapped around her shoulders to pull her up. Her neck made a dull thunk! as her head hung in the air and lolled around. You shook her again, horrified at how her head rolled lifelessly.

“Mommy? Mommy!”

Water clogged up your vision so that when you looked around the yard, you could just barely make out your sister several meters away. She lay there, limbs askew and back bent unnaturally.

“Mommy, whats wrong with Skye?” You couldn’t take your eyes off the way your sister’s body lay uncomfortably. A deep cracking noise turned your attention back to your mother. Your eyes widened impossibly as you listened to the horrifying snaps and crunching of bone as your mom’s neck wrenched back around to face you. You couldn’t stare at anything except her completely vacant eyes.

“You weren’t here. We died alone.” Her arms started twisting in ways they shouldn’t, shattering the bones as she crawled towards you, dragging her bottom half behind her. Her strained gasps rang out in the yard. You stumbled backwards and a broken scream erupted from your throat.

Your eyes shot open. There was a loud noise in your somber bedroom, and you realized with horror that it was your own forceful breathing and heart pounding dangerously fast against its confines. Your throat felt raw and dry. You must have been actually screaming. Bringing one trembling hand to your face as tears dropped from your eyes, you tried to control your breathing. Panic enveloped your entire being, those ever-present tons of rocks making their home on your ribcage, crushing your chest. Is this what Giles Corey felt like? You couldn’t get a full breath in no matter how hungrily, greedily you sucked in air.

You sat up and pushed your back firmly against the headboard. Shoving your hand over your mouth again, you covered your nostrils to stop your hyperventilation. Dry lips and fingers went numb, pinprick pains raining under your skin, and your body felt heavy. Unable to do anything else, you stared emptily at the blank walls of your room. You had lived here for four years, and still hadn’t ever bothered to make it look like a home. The excuse you always used was that you didn’t value material possessions. Honestly, it was because decorating was commitment, and it would make this broken down place a more permanent thing in your life, which you didn’t want to think about.

By now you knew how to deal with the panic attacks that your recurring nightmare brought about. It had happened when you were in fifth grade. Your childhood house’s neighbour was a reckless young hero. He had been trying to show off his wind-based quirk for a news camera, not thinking of the consequences of using it in a residential area, and accidentally sent a strong gust of wind whipping towards your mother and sister.

It snapped your mother’s neck, and the autopsy showed that your sister had died from a subarachnoid hemorrhage from the trauma of the hit. Even after so many years it still occasionally came back to haunt you in your dreams, but with a new horrifying twist each time. This one was especially bad. Sero had suggested therapy many times, but therapy wasn’t meant for people like you. What wisdom could a complete stranger give you? If you opened up to a therapist about your past you would have to leave it all out in the open, including your killing people. You supposed you could omit that part, but what good would that do? The thought of baring yourself completely to anyone, much less a random person, terrified you. Talking about emotions had never been your strong suit.

You leaned over and grabbed your phone to see the time. Squinting your eyes violently as your face was bathed in wretched artificial light, you barely made out the numbers. 4:27am. You sighed and lay back. Thoughts of the League of Villains filled your head. Could they really change the world so things like that wouldn’t happen?

After you absently tossed and turned for a while, you drifted back to sleep, chest feeling so sorrowfully hollow.

You woke to the sound of your alarm. You had 15 minutes to get ready before Sero came to pick you up. Sliding out of bed, you put on a sufficiently decent outfit for walking. The exercise pants accentuated your thighs and calves nicely. You glanced disapprovingly at the bags under your eyes that were considerably darker this morning. Skin blanched, you looked sickly, and it seemed like you could do with a few hundred years more sleep. You could already see Sero’s face contorting in that way it does when he’s worried about you. Though you detested the idea of a person who cared about you seeing you like this, you needed to talk things through to process. Also, it was just so crazy that you could still barely wrap your head around it. You could work for the League of Villains!

When Sero’s inked knuckles rapped on your front door, you opened it and took your time drinking in his appearance. Admiring the way his fitted white T-shirt stretched across the subtle muscles of his chest. His tattoos peeked out the top of his shirt, traveling up his neck and cascading down both arms. His dark ripped jeans complimented his shirt perfectly. His black plugs were paired with two silver cartilage piercings on his left ear, and a barbell in his right eyebrow. His short black hair was a bit longer than usual. Finally, your eyes landed on his left shoulder where a...sloth was clinging to him. You felt a rush of affection for Sero, and you pulled him into a long hug, carefully avoiding the sloth. You could already feel yourself healing.

“So the sloth is… different. Any other new tattoos I should know about?” Your voice was muffled against his chest. He pulled back before responding.

“Nah, but here! I didn’t forget.” You watched as the tattoo on his left forearm of a cat with shiny stygian fur stretched and yawned before it hopped off his arm and became a real cat.

“Hey Biscuit! Good to see you buddy.” You definitely needed some kitty therapy. You cooed at the small cat and bent over to scoop him up into your arms. After a few scratches behind the ears, he started purring and nuzzled into your neck.

Your mother and father had had cats when you were little, but they were long gone and you hadn’t been able to afford a pet while living in this house. Of course, you could have afforded cats if you agreed to take more money from the Deku gang or the Shie Hassaikai, like they kept pressuring you to do. You speculated this is why Sero had gotten the tattoo in the first place, but he had never admitted that to you. Certainly he wanted companionship like anyone else, but Sero was more of a dog person, considering he was pretty much the human version of a puppy.

With one last check to ensure the back porch light was off, the two of you went off on your way to the restaurant where you were planning to stuff your face with hopefully a somewhat nutritious meal. Better than the crap you’ve been daring to call nourishment.

Locking the door behind you, the two of you stepped out into the breezy summer air. If you closed your eyes you could imagine yourself on a beach. Anywhere but here.

Before you got into all of your problems you couldn’t get off your mind, you asked Sero how his work was going. He owned his own small tattoo parlor in the next part of town that was significantly less ramshackle than your zip code. It was no rich people haven by any means, but still nicer.

“Work is...good! Hey, when are you going to come to my shop and get a tattoo? I’ll make sure to give you the best-person-in-the-world discount!” His silly lopsided grin made giggles erupt from your throat, no matter how you tried to hold them in. The breakfast place he suggested was suspiciously close to said tattoo shop, and you had laughed when he first sent you the address. Always a businessman first.

“Sorry ink-man, no tattoos for me today.”

“Alright, alright, fine. It has been busier than usual, I think sending my card to those gangs like you suggested really paid off! They’re a little terrifying, but hey, they pay me. Oh and you wouldn’t believe what happened the other day.” He launched into a story about how a client had come into his shop for a consultation on a tattoo, whipped out a picture of her boyfriend completely naked and demanded he tattoo the entire thing across her back.

“What? No way.” You let your head fall back as you laughed at the ridiculousness of some people. It was nice to hear about something screwed up, but not heavy. A story that made you laugh and forget about the betrayal you felt.

“Well, anyway, and most importantly, how are you?” He smiled at you expectantly. Your heart sank a bit as you were again forced back into your thoughts.

“Uh, pretty good I guess.” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief so you continued. “Okay not really. I’ve gotten a surge of trauma patients recently and I lost one last night.” Though it was never easy, Sero knew losing a patient was nothing new for you, so that couldn’t be why you had called. He nodded sympathetically and put a hand on your shoulder.

After a moment he offered you a bright smile, “at least you’ve got me!”

You smiled back, “yeah, I do.”

The sunlight beamed in through the tree branches and leaves above you, casting spots of golden light onto Sero’s form. The wind whipped through your hair and you enjoyed the smell of summer coming in as you heard the birds chirping blithely around you. As if to keep you from truly enjoying any distraction, the image of your mother’s head twisting around flooded into your head and made you flinch, and you wrenched your eyes shut as if to lessen the impact. But there was no running away from the image plastered on the back of your eyelids.

“I had the nightmare again.” You couldn’t bring yourself to meet Sero’s eyes as you said it, electing to stare at the dirt-caked sidewalk instead.

“Oh. I’m sorry. It was a bad one this time, huh?” A tattooed arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you snuggled closer, tugging your arm around his back, curling your fingers into his side. He let that fact hang in the air for a bit, leaving room for you to share more if you wanted. You both walked in comfortable silence for a bit, and you breathed in his scent. Soaking up his warmth and support, you tried not to cry as you felt your throat closing up.

After a moment, Sero startled you by yelling and pointing his finger. He had felt the need to point out two birds in a tree “going at it” and you broke into a relieved laugh.

From that point on, you chatted idly about everything and nothing while on your way to the restaurant. His laugh was the funniest part of any dumb joke he told. Though, you thought he was funny without even trying.

The steaming food was set down in front of you, and Sero decided it was time to forgo the small talk.

“So. What’s really going on? I know you love seeing me, of course, but I can tell when something else is on your mind.” His playful grin reminded you that no matter what you said he wouldn’t judge you. So you decided to cut right to the issue, as he bent to take a sip of his iced caramel coffee.

“The League of Villains wants me to be their on-call nurse.” Sero started choking on his drink, and his sloth placed a few gentle pats on his back. He was still able to breathe, so you continued.

“I have to live with them, but they’ll pay me for my time. And I don’t have to pay rent.” You paused for a bit, and your tone must have lacked finality because Sero stayed silent, sensing there was more you wanted to say. But he was also still in the middle of his coughing fit.

“They have made a big difference in the world, for the better, and it would be nice to be part of something bigger. I won’t go on missions with them or anything so my safety shouldn’t be compromised.” You sighed, staring pensively at your food and absently picking at it with your fork. There was another detail that was still bothering you.

“They somehow know about my mom and sister. They’ve done their research and think I would fit in well there.” You warmed at the thought of finally fitting in somewhere. It had been so hard to be somewhat morally grey as a nurse and always walk that line of never fully agreeing with the heroes or villains. Sero had recovered from inhaling his coffee, so he finally spoke.

“What, that’s crazy! Honestly, if it gets you out of that crappy neighborhood, I’ll be glad. I know you’re not happy there, and it sounds like you want to join them. So what’s stopping you?” You were thoughtful for a moment.

“I don’t know. It’s sort of a big change. I just need time to think it over. It seems like the perfect way to safely get out of those deals with the gangs. I wanted to talk it out with you first. You’re my go-to for advice,” you chuckled. He gave you a wide grin.

“Of course I am! I give only the best advice for the best of people. Look, it sounds like this could be really good for you. I mean, we both know your clinic was a lot more stressful than you expected and there’s no opportunities there. I want to see you happy. And maybe you’ll meet a hot villain guy to fu-“

“Ugh, Sero you always have to go there don’t you?” Dabi’s face played in your mind, and you felt the blush creeping up your neck, flicking your eyes to the sidewalk at the base of the outdoor table.

“There’s already a hot villain guy, isn’t there? Isn’t there?!” You blushed more and choked out an embarrassed laugh. Sero’s Cheshire grin went ear-to-ear as he continued.

“Oh there definitely is,” he waggled his eyebrows, “tell me about him. I was wondering how you heard from the League.” You sighed in defeat.

“There was this guy, Dabi, that came to my house and told me they’ve been watching me, whatever the hell that means. He said they could use someone like me.” Sero looked at you expectantly and flailed his arms.

“And?” You sighed again.

“And he has lots of piercings, blue eyes, and he’s kind of an asshole,” you begrudgingly admitted.

“Just your type, then.”

“I guess.” Dabi did check all your boxes. Somehow.

Sero had been your best friend through all of your tumultuous relationships and your complete weakness for “bad boys” that never treated you right. Dabi definitely fit this category, especially with him being a villain. If you had to psychoanalyze yourself and guess, it must be some self-destructive tendency as a result of your dad’s abuse being the only kind of love you had known after the fifth grade. Therapy might be good. Or maybe you really had embraced your dark side like Midoriya had said. The cliché was almost laughable, but you certainly weren’t going to resist your interest in the scarred man.

“But he also told me that I should watch my back, and he basically admitted that he got information about me from one of the mobs I make deals with. I mean, what else could he mean by that?” Sero hummed and his face twisted slightly with concern.

He didn’t say it, what you both knew, and what you had been trying to avoid thinking about. The possibility that your Uncle could be the one selling information about you to the League. What could be worth it? More money than they already had? Protection? Supplies? What was worth selling you out for after you had saved so many of their men’s lives? You were blood.

As much as you could tell yourself it was another gang who did it, the one detail remained inconsistent: how Dabi knew about your family. You were certain you hadn’t told a soul who didn’t already know because they were directly involved. The city had to cover up the story, sweep it under the rug and not give details about it to keep your story confidential. It would have looked bad for the well-known hero agency of which he was a member. Of course, the hero had gotten off on some bullshit jail time that wasn’t long enough for the murder (though accidental, it was still murder) he committed. So it wasn’t like anyone could look you up and figure out your entire life story. Or certainly not about that incident.

You had done years of intensive, paranoid searching to find the story buried somewhere. You never found it. No one was interested in telling the stories of people like you. They would much prefer you stay unknown and unheard.

The only way to figure it out was an inside perspective. You supposed there were the gangsters close to your uncle that could possibly know. Certainly Chisaki, but would Tommy really have told his underlings? No, that seemed unlikely. So, the only people who realistically knew about it were Sero, Tommy, and Chisaki. You thought to the other gangs. In your numerous calculated conversations with Izuku, you were certain you had never slipped up and betrayed any details of your personal life, much less of your childhood trauma. That was a hard line you never crossed with the crime lord, even when he tried to poke around.

It certainly couldn’t be Keigo. He didn’t seem to care enough about you, or any other than himself, to send people to spy on you. Even if a gangster was spying on you, it still didn’t explain how they knew. Maybe you had talked about it out in the open with Sero? You shook your head, beginning to feel a pounding at the base of your skull from overthinking. You needed a distraction.

“What’s his name?” You gestured your fork at the sloth that was now languidly picking through Sero’s hair. Maybe that’s why it looked more frizzy than usual.

“Frank. Maybe.” You looked at him incredulously and laughed. It was a funny name, but he had to have thought of something better. “Oh what are you laughing about?”

“Frank is an absolutely unacceptable name for a sloth. It would have to be something like….Morgan. Yeah, I can see that.”

“I can’t! How is Morgan any better than Frank? They’re both people names. And what else do you name sloths? Fluffy?”

The rest of the meal was spent arguing over names from his new companion. Except when you occasionally interjected with new realizations about your predicament. Sero played along whenever you derailed the conversation with blurting your thoughts out loud, and gave you reassurance when you needed it. Thank the Gods for his endless patience.

After you both were done eating and paid for the food—the pink-skinned waitress with black pits for eyes was smitten and gave Sero a fuck me please discount—you both started walking back to your house, since Sero had to start up his tattoo shop for the day. You plotted activities for the next time you would come over to his apartment.

Once you returned to your doorstep, Sero pulled you into his arms.

“Just know that whatever you choose, I’m here to support you. I love you, okay? Get some more rest then call them and negotiate. They’re only getting you on your terms.” He gazed at you with fondness and a rare seriousness that differed from his normally felicitous demeanor. “And feel around to see who could possibly be telling the League that stuff. Whoever it is, it’ll be okay.”

“I will, and yeah I still need to think about it more, but you’re right. It’s on my terms,” you punched him on the shoulder, “love you too, weirdo.” You reached up to hesitantly stroke the sloth’s head, unsure if that’s what you did with pet sloths. “Bye, Frank.”

It was a cute name, and you didn’t actually have a problem with it, you just liked messing with Sero. As you watched him walk away you wondered how you lucked out to have someone as great as Sero in your life. He made you laugh with his near-constant levity, but was still serious when you needed it. He had been your rock since high school, and you didn’t want to imagine how your life would be without him.

You sighed. Now it was time to sit down and do some research.

#brit #bnha #mha #sero hanta #dabi #chisaki kai #bnha reader insert #mafia au #eventual smut #dabi x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #Todoroki shouto x reader #I know only two people are actually reading this and that's okay

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dracoignisworld · 4 years

Note

72 please. ❤️

Thank you for the prompt!

A place called home

The moment Jon locked the door, Daenerys dragged off her hairnet, flung herself onto the counter, and loudly exclaimed: “I am so done with this place!”

It was Friday night. The empty parking lot was glistening with rain. Jon listened to the drops hammering against the windows as he trudged back toward the fryers. “At least we have a job,” he reminded his colleague, causing her to roll her eyes dramatically.

“Oh, dear me, what was I thinking!” she mocked with a wrinkled nose. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned - I did not take pleasure in my twelve hour shift at McJoffrey’s. Now, what is my penance?” She folded her hands in her lap and swung her legs over the edge of the counter, perfectly seating herself in the way of Jon.

He stopped before her and shrugged, his eyes focused on her white sneakers. “Well, it’s true.”

“You know what else is true? I’ve flipped more burgers than that little cun-”

“Please.”

“-t, and still he’s up there and I’m not.” Daenerys pointed toward the end wall where a framed photo titled ‘EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH’ was hanging.

Jon didn’t have to turn and look to know who had once again been awarded the prize. “Ramsay’s father is friends with the Lannisters,” he sighed. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks and only slowly dragged his eyes from the sneakers to Daenerys’ eyes. Her face was perfectly unimpressed as he spoke: “What did you expect? Of course he’s employee of the month.”

“Every month.”

Jon pushed himself up to sit next to Daenerys, his own feet swinging at the same height as hers. His sneakers were black and covered in grease. “How do you keep yours so clean?” he asked and nodded at them. “Even the laces are shiny.”

“I’m not lazy. I clean mine every day.”

“Must be nice to have so much spare time,” Jon mused, but before Daenerys could tell him off, he added: “I’m joking, of course.”

“Of course.” Daenerys sighed and peeled a soggy fry off her apron. “I mean it, though. I am so done with this place. I’ve been applying to university everywhere.”

Jon sent her a little smile. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

Daenerys smiled too, but there was a hint of sadness to her eyes. “No, Jon,” she said, “I mean it - everywhere. I’ve started looking abroad.”

“What, are the local classes in law not good enough for you?”

“Apparently I’m not good enough for them!” Daenerys shook her head, causing her silver locks to dance around her shoulders. Against the maroon of the uniform, the hair-colour stood out nicely, Jon thought. He’d always thought it looked like streams of water reflecting the moon. “I can’t grow old here, Jon. Not in Winterfell. I don’t belong.”

“That’s not true,” Jon said. As Daenerys quieted and started playing with her worn hairnet, he reached out and grabbed one of her hands. “Hey,” he spoke softly, making her glance toward him. “You know that’s not true.”

“Yet you know it is,” Daenerys mumbled. She threw the net aside and sighed, allowing Jon’s fingers to close around her smaller hand. His tips were rough against her soft palm. When he leaned in, he could smell the fryer on her. In a peculiar way, he enjoyed it - it made her seem more real than she looked.

“Is this about what those lads said?” Jon asked, and Daenerys pulled a grimace.

“Men say a lot of things about me,” she deflected the question.

“That’s true,” Jon agreed, “but most of the time it’s about your, eh, assets-”

Daenerys smirked: “So you’ve noticed?”

“-rather than your heritage,” he finished flushed. He turned her hand, glancing at the pearl ring on her finger.

Daenerys followed his look and smiled. “Mother’s ring,” she spoke. “It’s all I have left.”

“What they said-... well, it was rubbish. You know that.”

“They told me to go back to where I came from.”

“Rubbish,” Jon repeated.

Daenerys raised her hand and watched as the band of the ring shone in the fluorescent light falling from above. “They said I’m stealing their jobs.”

“Don’t they know we’re hiring?”

“They said-” Daenerys paused.

Jon shook his head. “Look, you don’t have to repeat it,” he urged, but she pressed on:

“They said the only thing I’m good for is lying horizontal, and even that might be too big a requirement for a girl like me.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the store was from the buzzing of the fridge behind them. After a pause, Daenerys jumped down from the counter, grabbed two paper cups, and filled them with hot coffee from the machine. As he watched her press buttons, her back turned on him, Jon felt a pain in his stomach. Like a snake twirling around his intestines.

I hate the way the world makes her feel, he thought. He noticed her shoulders; how small they were, how they quivered when she breathed in. How much weight could one lonely country-town put on a girl before she would inevitably break? If he’d been in her shiny sneakers, they would be covered with blood from punching at people at their insults.

But she’s above violence, he knew, and he forced a smile on his face as she returned and offered him the black americano. Unless it’s to protect someone else.

“Cheers to another night in Hell!” Daenerys said and pushed her cup to his, and Jon laughed:

“Cheers to you making it out of here.”

The moment Jon locked the door, he pressed his forehead against the cool glass, closed his eyes, and let go of a long breath as he sighed: “I am so done with this place.”

In the quiet space, only the sound of the fridge buzzing could be heard. It was as if the noise echoed between the bare walls, throwing itself around him like a persistent fly. Jon dragged himself away from the door and back toward the fryers, throwing a glance across the empty counter. It was sticky with spilled soda. Ramsay promised he would clean it up before heading out. Fucking shocker, Jon thought, eyeing the ‘EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH’ picture of the lad, - he didn’t.

In a way, Jon enjoyed closing up the place by himself. He had his routine; wiping the counters, checking the stock, washing out the oil, sweeping the floor, drawing a penis on the back of Ramsay’s picture (he’d collected nineteen this month alone), bleaching the toilets. There was comfort to be found in the routine. At least it meant he didn’t have to go home.

On his way toward the freezers, Jon pulled off his apron and reached for some gloves, but it was the drive through camera that caught his attention. There, as a pixelated blob on the screen, was a car. It was parked right next to the speakers. I’m sure Ramsay said he’d put out the cones, Jon thought, but he wasn’t sure why he’d assume the guy capable of doing anything at all. Instead, he popped on the headset and turned on the microphone.

“Welcome to McJoffrey’s,” he spoke, doing his best to put on a robotic-sounding voice, “the drive through is now closed. Our opening hours are-”

“Yes, hello, I’d like a coffee, please.”

Jon paused as he stared at the camera, the vehicle not moving an inch. He cleared his throat. “Our opening hours are seven am until-”

“Just black,” the person on the other end continued undeterred.

Jon narrowed his eyes and smacked his lips. “We are closed,” he said.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I’m cleaning.”

“Then you’re not closed.”

Jon gritted his teeth together. If it wasn’t for the fact that his stepmother Catelyn had recently started demanding rent, he’d tear into the unnamed customer. But I need the job, he reminded himself and calmed his heart before continuing: “I am here to clean and close, ma’am. We are not currently serving-”

“It’s Miss.”

“What?”

The person on the other end sighed and slowed their voice as if speaking to a child: “Ma’am is something you say to a married woman. I am not a married woman. Therefore, I am Miss.”

“I am Miss too,” Jon heard himself blabber before he could stop, “as in miss-ing the point. We are closed, woman.” Calm yourself, Jon scolded himself quietly, but the damage was done - the vehicle started moving, but it stopped right outside the drive through window.

Jon paused and glanced toward the shut window. Through the glass, he could see the shape of the car, but he made no move to walk over. Instead, he remained standing, slowly pulling off the headset as he waited to see if perhaps the driver would take off. A minute passed. Then two. Then five.

Finally, Jon corrected his cap, pulled his nametag off the shirt, and walked briskly to the window. He put on a customer-service smile, opened the shutter, and said: “I’m sorry, Miss, but I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding-”

“Indeed! You’ve never turned down a coffee before.”

Jon gawked as his eyes met with the driver’s. There was a ghost from his past - Daenerys Targaryen herself. Silver hair braided back into a perfect bun, her body no longer hidden under an oversized uniform but nicely dressed in a slick blue pantsuit. Jon had to stop himself from staring at her. “Dany?” he said, almost in disbelief.

Daenerys laughed and leaned out of the driver side window to get a better look at him. “Jon,” she replied with a smile, “fancy seeing you here. It’s been, what, six years?”

Jon nodded absentmindedly. Then, he felt his cheeks heat. “Six years,” he said and pulled off his cap, allowing his black curls to fall down his face. “And you’re looking like a snack whilst I’m still covered in grease.”

“Some people snack on grease,” Daenerys pointed out softly. She rested her chin in her hand as she took him in, her violet eyes glimmering in the light falling out from behind him. “Sorry to keep you behind. I just had to see you.”

“Don’t tell me you drove all the way out here to catch me sweep the floors,” Jon said.

“Would you think less of me if I said I did?” She cocked her head to the side, but before he could answer her smile fell. “I heard about Ned,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

Jon shrugged and glanced down at the cap in his hands. “Oh, yeah,” he mumbled. “Thanks.”

“Was it two years ago now?”

“Two years, three months, and seventeen days.” Jon paused. “More or less. I don’t keep count.”

“Of course.”

Jon licked his lips as he glanced back out at her. “Well, this is odd,” he admitted after a pause, and Daenerys nodded.

“It is a bit.”

“So I see you’re doing well for yourself?” Jon gestured at the car. Truth be told, he couldn’t tell a Mercedes from a BMW, but he did notice that the paint looked fresh. Just like her sneakers.

Daenerys’ nails tapped down the steering wheel. “I’m doing okay,” she admitted. “I got a part-time job at a lawyer’s office. It’s just admin work whilst I study, but it’s experience.”

“I got employee of the month once,” Jon returned the bragging.

Daenerys gasped at him as if he’d announced he’d won the Nobel prize. “No way!”

“Ramsay vomited into a fryer in front of Tywin. Guess even he couldn’t defend that.” Jon chuckled as he spoke, but he felt his face go warm in the same. Don’t be an idiot, he thought. She’d laugh at that once, but she’s in a different world now. True - when he glanced at her, she was sending him a small smile only, and it made his toes curl in embarrassment. “I have to pay rent,” he said.

“You don’t have anything to explain,” Daenerys promised.

Jon shrugged. “I feel like I do.”

“Is the coffee machine really shut off?” she asked, and Jon blinked surprised.

“You actually want coffee?”

“For old time’s sake,” Daenerys said. She opened the door and stepped out of her car. “If it’s not an issue?”

“I’ll bring it-” Jon started, but before he could make a move, Daenerys grabbed onto the side of the window and jumped inside. She landed perfectly on the floor next to him, stood up and brushed her hands off in her pantsuit.

“No need,” she said briskly as if she’d not just climbed half a wall. She smiled at him brightly. “Find a seat - I’ll bring it.”

Jon sat quietly and watched Daenerys’ back as she pressed buttons. Her shoulders seemed perfect in the fluttering blue fabric. If her silver hair had looked like streams of water against the maroon, it now looked like moonlight cascading down a dark starry sky. He’d never before wanted so badly to touch it.

“So they treat you well?” he asked and scooted closer to the edge of the counter.

Daenerys nodded and threw him a look over her shoulder. “My classmates are really great. We help each other with everything. I live with one of them - Missandei is her name. We cook together, watch Netflix, talk crap about celebrities.” She shrugged. “We’re like family.”

“I wonder what that’s like,” Jon muttered. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but once it hung in the air, it was hard to ignore. He sensed a pain he hadn’t for a long time - like a snake biting at his intestines.

Daenerys turned and offered him a cup of coffee. He took it and watched as she settled next to him. It was only then, as she swung her feet in the air, that he noticed the bright white sneakers on her feet.

“Some things never change,” he smiled.

Daenerys turned and smiled at him too. “Like how I feel when I’m with you.”

Jon blinked. “What?”

Daenerys returned the stare. “What?”

“That was surprising,” Jon muttered, his body still in a bit of shock. His brain was buzzing as it tried to process what she’d just said, but Daenerys merely shrugged.

“Have I not always been honest?”

“You have,” he agreed.

Daenerys looked down at her cup of coffee. She gently swung the brown liquid around the cup. “Do you remember what we talked about, that last time we worked together?”

Jon nodded solemnly. “You not belonging.”

“All this time, I’ve been chasing for a home. It’s gotten better. I mean, it got a whole lot worse first,” Daenerys said and shook her head. “I was out of a place to live for ages. I sofa-surfed, you know? Like a teenager! But I was just so desperate to make something of myself, find a place where I could find peace - so I stuck with it.”

“And look where it got you,” Jon said.

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “Oh, ha-ha,” she laughed sarcastically, “because I’m back here, right?”

“It actually wasn’t a joke,” Jon muttered, feeling his heart sink. “I mean it - look at you. You look…”

“Successful?” Daenerys offered.

Jon glanced into her violet eyes as he quietly spoke: “Happy.”

Daenerys held her breath for a second as she returned his glance. Her cheeks were looking warm. Her pupils shivered. When she looked away, Jon did too. For a moment, they were both quiet, just sipping their watered down americanos. Then, Daenerys reached out and closed her hand around his.

“The thing is,” she said slowly, as if she was choosing every word with utmost care, “what I really found was home.”

Jon felt as if a hundred snakes had started gnawing away at him at once. He took in a shivering breath as he forced himself to say: “Oh, that’s good. I am happy for you.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Daenerys said, but Jon shook his head.

“No, I do - and I am happy for you. You deserve it.”

“Jon-” Daenerys squeezed his hand, making him look back into her eyes. Once he did, he could not look away - there was something to her, a sense of gravity to the way she spoke as she said: “You’re my home.”

Jon swallowed. “What?”

“All this time I searched, and I realised - I’ve never felt as much at home as I have with you. I have a better job, and better clothes, and more friends, and more money, but-” Daenerys paused.

“But-?” Jon asked breathlessly.

“Home is not a place you stay, but a feeling you have. When I’m with you, I have that feeling.” Daenerys leaned in a bit, smiling at him softly as she asked: “Does that make sense?”

There were a lot of things that didn’t make sense to Jon. Like the fact that he’d spent over six years flipping burgers for Joffrey, a man who could barely dress himself without getting the buttons mixed up. But one thing he’d known all along - that he was Daenerys’ harbour, and that’s why he had to let her set sail.

A ship is made for crossing seas, not remaining anchored, he reminded himself. “I will not hold you back,” he said, his voice quieter than he had intended. “I cannot do that to you.”

“Do you think you could make me do anything I don’t want to?” she shot back at him, causing him to blink.

“No,” he admitted after a moment’s thought, “I do not.”

“I am not moving back to Winterfell,” Daenerys said. She put her coffee aside as she grabbed both of Jon’s hands in hers. “But I am asking you to move with me to the Free Cities.”

“Dany, I-”

“Just say yes,” Daenerys urged. She clenched his hands so tightly he thought she could pull them off. In her eyes, he saw only hope. Yet, when he spoke, he heard himself say:

“I can’t.”

The glimmer to her violet seemed to die out. For a moment longer, she held onto him, and only when he repeated:

“I really can’t,” did she let go.

“I won’t ask you to tell me why,” she said as she picked her coffee back up. She turned the cup between her hands. “But would you?”

“I don’t know who I am,” Jon admitted. He glanced down his dirty uniform and let go of a scoff. “I mean, look at me.”

“Work doesn’t make a man,” Daenerys pointed out.

“That’s easy to say when you’ve tried something new. I’ve been in Winterfell all my life.” Jon sighed and shrugged, and he glanced around the small shop as he said: “This is all I’ve known for years. When I leave these four walls, I barely know who I am.”

“When I still worked here, people thought I was stupid, or a whore, or someone useless. But that’s not who I was,” Daenerys reminded him. “That’s just who I was to them.”

“I know, it’s just-” Jon shook his head. He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes. In the darkness, he found comfort. Like a child going to sleep at night to forget about anything that happened that day. “It’s just all I’ve ever known.”

He heard her slip off the counter. He heard footsteps. He knew she was leaving, climbing through the window, disappearing into the night in the car. I should go after her, he thought, I should follow. I should-

Her lips on his were soft. They were warm. They tasted like watered down coffee and lipstick and chewing gum.

“When you’re ready to come home,” Daenerys whispered, her face so close that he could feel her eyelashes brushing against his skin, “then find me.” She pressed a piece of paper into his hand, and then she was gone.

By the time he opened his eyes, the shop was empty, and there was no car on the security camera anymore. All he had was a note with a phone number. He clenched it to his cheek and felt the paper wetten.

Jon was tired as he stumbled past the gates. Their yellow warning of ‘NO RETURN’ barely stood out to him. His hand on the suitcase handle was going numb. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent eleven hours on a flight.

But he could remember the last time he saw her.

As the doors swung open to reveal the arrivals hall, her face stood out amongst the crowd. Violet eyes. Silver hair. A smile as bright as the sun. “Jon!” she called, and Jon hurried his steps to meet her at the fence, leaning in over the metal railing to place a kiss on her lips.

Daenerys’ hands slipped through his hair. He felt his bun come undone as the curls danced to his shoulders. “I brought you something,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t care about that,” she mumbled to his lips, kissing him again and again until the people standing next to them started groaning in discomfort. She finally pulled away, looking into his eyes with a gentle smile as she said: “I am just so glad you came.”

“Here,” Jon said, holding out his hand to reveal a cup of coffee. It was lukewarm in his hand, and Daenerys let go of a confused chuckle as she grabbed it.

“From duty free?” she asked. “You know they sell alcohol?”

“I wanted to buy you a coffee,” he said, “for old time’s sake.”

Daenerys smiled and leaned the cup against the railing. “You’re something else, Mr Snow.”

“Who else would wait this long to come home?”

They joined hands over the metal gate, and they hold onto each other all the way down the passageway until they could finally hug freely. As they stood there, in the airport, people scurrying past them, and cold coffee carelessly spilling down the back of Jon’s jacket, he buried his nose into her hair and thought:

It takes courage to break free. He pressed a kiss to her hair and added: But the reward is worth the risk.

Ten years apart. Ten years too many. But home is home. Always.

#jonerys #writing #writings #fanfiction #sorry not proof-read or edited because i am a lazy boy

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chogiwrites · 3 years

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300 Yuan To Love || Lay

Summary: The road to hell is paved with good intentions and, in this case, some rice cakes along the way. Or: Yixing makes a dumb bet but even when he wins, he loses.

Lenght: 5.4k

Genre: Humour/Fluff/mild Angst

Like with all shitty things in life, at least from a masculine standpoint, it begins with the desire to take a cute girl out on a date.

It’s hot and humid in Hangzhou, as is typical for the summer cycle in this part of China, and Zhang Yixing bikes up to Wang Xun’s cake stand with his balls tucked neatly in his wicker basket. This was his grandma’s doing, really. She knew Yixing needed a job and whilst she was wandering the neighborhood one afternoon, she ran into him.

Had it been anybody else, had it even been written in the Constitution of the People’s Republic of China, then Yixing would’ve immediately said no. But, it just so happens that Yixing is weak for his granny. So, when she returned from her walk, staggering with a fabric trolley full of leeks and other proteins, with a shiny look in her eyes, Zhang Yixing was honor-bound to accept.

Glutinous rice cakes are Zhang Yixing’s worst nightmare, and he starts work the next day

Just the smell is enough to give him a thick sense of nausea. Wang Xun knows this, and Yixing is about ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that he’s banking off of that. So, what’s it about it all, that has Yixing bike towards there, on a road so quintessential that you could practically hear the 80’s pop music behind him?

Well, he needs a new haircut, that’s what. That, and he wants the opportunity to take his best friend, you, out someplace nice. It’s the latter mostly. Especially the latter.

You both entered Uni not too long ago but only one entered the prestigious option. Spoiler alert, it wasn’t Yixing. It doesn’t bother him much though, because he never intends to be a fancy businessman anyway. He applied to a local college to learn dance, and music theory, which he’s passionate about. On top of that, even though it sees him lose more money than it ever does see him gain it— Yixing enjoys posting his amateur attempts at rapping over on Weibo, which garners some positive feedback.

Meanwhile, there’s you. You’ve been friends with him since the first grade but you’re about as different from him as a banana to a pineapple. You set out to enter business, much like the rest of your family, and Yixing often catches you nowadays during your coffee not-dates in pressed blouses and pencil skirts. Your fierce makeup gives you an air of exclusivity, which makes Yixing’s breezy noncommittal to looking posh, nearly garish.

His idea of having a sense of style is often eclectic and vintage, in conflicting patterns and textures. He got into krumping, and this saw him, in turn, get into wearing blaze red tracksuits and little braids in his hair. It also saw him bleach his hair to the point of no return, which you made fun of him for relentlessly.

The consequence of having such an outlandish appearance—though at this point, he has his hair an ugly, faded red— came one day, full force, during one of your bi-weekly coffee not-dates.

You two were in the midst of a serious conversation when some yuppie mistook your frown as being caused by Yixing’s presence. So, he did what any overbearing yuppie does. He tried to forcibly remove Yixing from the situation with the same technique you use to swat away a pigeon that wants your Kentucky Fried Chicken.

It was embarrassing for all three of you and this is where it does bother Yixing, who’s become notorious for being blissfully unaware of any and everything. For one, he doesn’t see you as often as he wants to, and secondly, a part of him worries he’s slowly sinking beneath you.

Sure, this was a lifelong thing. You’d always come from the better and wealthier family whilst Yixing grew up with his grandparents in a relatively small, rickety house. But you don’t feel these things when you’re ten and frog hunting in the mud, you don’t feel these things when you hold your best friend’s dirty hand at the bus stop to ‘see what it’s like’ on your way to the arcade.

Admittedly, Yixing isn’t super certain as to why he feels the way he feels. He’ll figure this out by the end of the day but he doesn’t know that yet. His pretty face earns him a lot of kind-hearted Jiejies who’re happy to pay for his lunches out of pity. Usually, he’ll open up his phone and add a reminder in his notes to pay them back when he can, and this tends to be the end of his guilt. But, he doesn’t ponder on it too long either.

It’s not exactly in Yixing’s nature to delve too deeply into his own psyche, it’s that naive streak of his. He’s simple-minded and he knows that he is. It keeps him happy and he has that mindset from what he likes, all the way down to what he dislikes.

So, when he finally parks by the stall, over-grown bangs tied in a silly looking bun and testicles in tow, he resolves to approach this in the same way Zhang Yixing approaches all areas of his life:

He’ll just have to do his very best.

“Yixing!” Wang Xun says cheerfully, greeting Yixing with a tight hug after he locks his bike up to an iron fence. “Wow! So handsome!” He beams, pinching at those devastatingly high cheekbones as Yixing’s face quickly goes flush.

“Thank you, Gege.” He replies with a small, polite bow. Yixing’s humble and appreciative demeanor is broken as soon as he glances over at the thick, fragrant slabs of cake, just waiting to be touched, fondled and sold. His skin takes on a greenish hue.

Catching this, Xun thinks now would be a good time to have a little bit of fun with his new employee.

See, this job is often a dull one and last night, his wife, bless her memory, accidentally made double the usual quantity. Even on the busiest day, there’s always at least a bit of leftovers. This usually isn’t much of an issue because there’s a homeless shelter nearby. The only problem? They were quickly becoming tired of being constantly fed leftover rice cakes. Wang Xun hates waste, so he has a plan.

Diddling his fingers, he begins, “I heard from your granny that you want to earn some extra money. I know this doesn’t pay so well, but… How would you like to place a wager?”

Yixing turns to him with a look that is simultaneously hopeful and apprehensive. Wang Xun thinks that, oh yes, this will be fun. Very fun indeed. Unfortunately thouh, the road to hell is paved with good intentions and, in this case, some rice cakes along the way.

For you, whom summer often means being able to forget your studies and instead, focus on your friends and family, this one is already shaping up to be a massive disappointment. Some of your friends went back to their hometowns, whilst others went abroad. The most important contestant though, Zhang Yixing, your closest friend, your secret beloved, had gotten a job.

Your shoulders fell right down to your ankles when you got the news over the phone a night ago. But he sounded so excited that you couldn’t bare to complain. After all, you weren’t his girlfriend. Did Yixing even have a girlfriend? You don’t think you’ve ever heard him talk about any girls, even though he always has at least one woman around him. Maybe he was gay?

You sighed, lying on your back with your phone across your chest.

You only become concerned for Yixing and his mental state, when you find out what his job is, and the strange bet that succeeds it. You receive that text at ten am sharp.

«(Y/N)! Me and Xun-Ge (Do you remember him? He says hi! ^^) Made a bet for three hundred yuan to see who can sell the most rice cakes. The catch is that if we aren’t exact in our measurements, we must eat the surplus. I hope you’ll come and support me!!»

You reply instantly, wondering if all of this is some sick prank but that’s not in his character. Of course you remember Wang Xun, he runs that cake stand near the city square. You like his wife’s cakes but with that you also know…

«Yixing… You hate rice cakes???»

«I know, this means I’ll be even more motivated to win! Please come and support me!»

And this is how you end up on a plastic pull-out chair, watching your best friend torture himself for three hundred yuan, under the hot sun. “Are you ready, Yixing?” Wang Xun asks him and his grin is devilish. You can tell he completely expects Yixing to tank the whole competition.

“I was born ready, Gege! May the best man win!” Yixing grins and throws a little glance over his shoulder, hoping that you think he’s cool.

In that silly ‘Zhang Yixing’ way, he does look pretty cool, especially when he lifts the hem of his neon t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his browbone. The sad thing is that you would put money down the fact that Yixing will lose the three hundred yuan.

Truthfully, he can win this competition on sex appeal alone, if only he was aware of his own pull to begin with. Yixing isn’t though. He never was. He has the habit of presenting himself as a perfect image of self-control. You reckon the only correlation he’s made thus far is that the less clothes he wears, the more the female sex tends to smile around him. It’s a bit silly because Yixing, even now, will still walk around you in nothing but his boxers, as if he doesn’t look like he belongs in a Calvin Klein ad.

Needless to say, you, who has known him since a young age, rarely get to see him eschew from that respectability— sans his semi-nudist tendencies, that is.

Well, that’s until he begins losing the bet. Make no mistake though, Yixing tanks the bet before it can even begin.

“Ahhh, just 0.75? Why not make it a full KG?” Yixing whines at the customer, an older woman with a cold and mysterious look to her. “You don’t need to worry about your diet, Jiejie, you’re beautiful just the way you are. Eat the full kilo, your heart will thank you.”

Wang Xun chortles in the background as No-Name Jiejie rips him a new one. Somewhat offended yourself, you instinctively cross your arms across your soft middle and bite your lip. The next customer is another female, this one about high school aged. She orders a meager 0.25 KG and you try not to look at her with too much jealousy.

As she leaves, she turns to say: “Gege, you’re very handsome, but you shouldn’t make comments about a woman’s body like this. I think it’d be better if you found her and apologized for wounding her pride. Have a nice day~”

She waves before turning on her heels and Yixing looks at you in desperation, not understanding where his sales tactics are failing him. Your response is to cock a brow.

Even before his embarrassing comments, which you can only attribute as being brought on by a semester spent in South Korea, where he held a part time job as the person advertising Gangnam PS on the train, you were already slowly becoming annoyed with him. Why did you even bother to come out here in the first place?

It was unbearably hot and all you’re doing is watching the sweat stain on his back grow and grow while your thighs become welted from the plastic straps on the chair. Your leg skin is ruddy and bumped from shaving the night before and even though you like rice cakes, that and the smell of humid, mowed grass is threatens to make you sick.

Plus, it’s not as if you enjoy watching Yixing lose a dumb bet he should’ve already known he’d never win. By the time the sun is at it’s peak, around one-ish, you confront him behind the pagoda, where he gags in his fist.

“Yixing, I want to go home.” You say with your arms crossed, leaning against a ridged wall as you stare down at the dirt between you two. Yixing instantly looks up— churning stomach be damned. His eyes are wide and his face is a sweaty mess, but despite that, the disappointment is evident.

“You can’t go!” His voice comes out more frantically than it perhaps should. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, trying not to seem too upset with him. Rather, you wish to simply look like you’re not feeling well. The snap to your tone betrays you though. It always does.

“This is ridiculous. It’s too hot outside and you’re making a goddamn fool out of yourself. What was the point of even having me here?” Yixing’s lips press into a thin line.

“We haven’t hung out in a while so—”

“So you think having me watch you make yourself sick is fun?” Normally, you would dislike the mean edge in your laugh, whenever you got the least bit annoyed with him. It might be the oppressive heat making your adrenaline run higher. Or, maybe, just maybe, Yixing’s lack of negative aspect gets on your nerves a lot more than you’d like to admit. Maybe, a deep, dark part of you wants to see Yixing get annoyed with you too, show you a face more offended than just one of mild hurt.

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, Yixing shoves his palms down his back pockets and rocks on his heels. Exhaling through his nose, Yixing opens his mouth to speak but closes up, pouting in a way which makes his lips look even pinker than they already are. It’s aggro, plain and simple.

“Aiyo! All this for an extra three hundred yuan you won’t win anyway?” You scoff, “If you need it so badly, ask me. I’ll lend it to you.”

Finally, his facade cracks and you’re not sure you like what you see. “Three hundred yuan may not mean much to you but it means a lot to others! Not everybody is wealthy like you!” His voice raises an octave, tone turning nasally and thick.

“You’re right. It means jack shit to me.” To prove your point, you reach into your daisy-shaped purse and pull out a few crumpled notes. “That’s why you should just relieve me of my burden and take the fucking yuan.”

Yixing, with his face as red as a chili pepper, gently pushes your hand back towards you. “You’re not treating me like a man.” He says.

Stomping your foot against the grass, you cry out: “Because you aren’t a man, Zhang Yixing!”

With that comes a steady, harsh silence. Yixing looks at you with an expression which you can’t decipher, as it’s not one you’ve ever seen on him. Once the guilt hits, and it hits fast, you let out a choked, “I’m going home. I’ll text you later.”

Just like that, you leave him there, before you lose control of your emotions in an entirely new way. After all, if Yixing never wanted to kiss you before, he certainly isn’t going to want to kiss you now, after what you just said to him.

Throwing your leg across the body of your bike, you push yourself until your knees hurt and Yixing is but a speck in the distance.

Things don’t get any better for Yixing after you leave, if anything, they become even worse, which is saying something. The idea of winning this bet begins to seem more and more fantastical, especially with the strange feeling holding onto his heart.

Whether it’s due to your hurtful words, or an impending heart attack, remains uncertain but one thing is for sure. Yixing has brain cells, and those brain cells are rapidly depleting.

“Ahh!” He screams, in Xiang, out at the neighboring lake and all the people paddle-boating. They stop and look at him like he’s an insane chipmunk. “It’s such a beautiful day!”

Yixing waves his fists around before cramming more baked shame down his gullet. Whilst singing an obscure folk song, he nearly falls over the stony ledge whilst doing a jaunty little dance.

Wang Xun, who has greatly overestimated his own mathematical prowess, as well as his abilities as a businessman, is the one who stops Yixing from meeting his soggy demise.

He places two sobering hands on Yixing’s shoulders. “We still have more cakes to sell.” When he speaks, passerbys can see his soul leave from his lips. Much like Yixing, Wang Xun has consumed so much goddamn cake that he fears he’ll wake up a rice cake. He reconsiders his line of work, but its much too late for that quitter mentality. He and Yixing are in it to the death.

Yixing, gaunt-cheeked, turns around with a rattle. “Gege… I want to give up.” He utters miserably. Xun considers calling the bet off himself but, the sun is setting, twilight is nearly upon them. He’s already lost so much money that unless he returns home victorious, there was a big chance he wouldn’t see the next day as a married man.

He laughs so hard the button holding his jeans together pops and hits Yixing right in the big toe.

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Once you get home, the first thing you do is kick off your sweaty sandals before lying belly-first across your bed. Your eyes prickle as you shake your head to yourself. This is so stupid, you’re not really about to cry over Yixing again, are you?

Your fingers twist in your bed sheets as a few tears manage to squeeze their way out of your eyes. It seems like you are.

Flipping over so that your nose is in the air, you try to blink away the wetness. Throwing your arm across your face, your thoughts go to how stupid Yixing is. How stupid you are. Anybody with half a functional brain cell could see that you have a crush on him, one which spanned nearly the entirety of your friendship.

In elementary school, it was strange, because you never felt this way about anybody, not even the handsome actors you saw on TV. The only thing you had a full grasp on was that you liked this strange, chubby boy, who was also your close friend— a lot.

He had a sweet penchant for taking care of cats, none of which he could remember to name and whenever you were sad, he would lift his shirt and jiggled his belly.

His grandma also made delicious, albeit very spicy food, and they spoke in a dialect of Chinese which you couldn’t understand but found amusing to listen to. Afterwards, Yixing would let you rest your ear against his soft middle to hear the way his food digested, and all those gurgles and pops.

Your first experience with unrequited love must have been that. When you began wanting to nudge your head, so that your lips could press tender, butterfly kisses between his fleshy, brown rib cage. Instinctively, you knew not to.

High school was bearable, but only because for the majority of it, you were more popular than Yixing.

It was during the second to last year were his height shot and he became taller than most of the other boys. Suddenly, girls started to look at him with the same eyes as you. Suddenly, girls began to notice how handsome he was, how kind he was. It leaves you as you are now, supine on your mattress, unsure where to go from this point on.

With your pride majorly wounded, you stand up and waddle your way across the hall. Rarely are you ever desperate enough to ask your older sister, Mei, for advice. You knock on her door.

“What do you want?” She snaps, sliding off her headset. You take this as the okay to sit on her bed and divulge, and she eyes you with suspicion every step. “It’s just,” You sigh, smacking your lips as your legs cross beneath you. “Do you remember Yixing?”

Her face falls instantly. “Oh no. No. No. Not him again!” She grabs a small My Melody plush from her desk and chucks it towards your head. “Get out. I’m not listening to any of this Yixing shit. If I wanted a Korean drama, I’d go look on Tencent.”

You grabbed the toy and threw it back at her, whining, “I’m serious!!”

Mei kicks your knee with her manicured, cream toes. “Listen!” She cries in exasperation, throwing out her hands. “How many times will you bitch about this? If Zhang Yixing liked you back, he would’ve made a move by now. It’s as simple as that!” Conceding yourself to the understanding that, yes, Yixing doesn’t see you the way you see him, you look down at the small floral decals over her nailbed and begin to pick with a puffed cheek. “I understand that, Jiejie… But I may have said something mean to him.”

Seeing the sad look on your face makes Mei relent. “Then apologize to him, dummy.” She sighs as you lay across your side, clutching her foot to you as you try to hold back tears. She pushes herself closer, replacing her foot with a hand in yours, using the spare to push some wet strands from your face.

“Look,” She rolls her eyes, though she’s taken on a gentler tone. “Zhang Yixing sees you as a friend. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have stuck by your side for all of these years. If you said something mean to him, just tell him you weren’t feeling well and that you’re sorry. He seems like a nice guy, I’m sure he’ll forgive you easily. But before that, I think you need to forgive him for not being able to return your feelings, (Y/N). You’re always getting into these petty arguments, it seems to me like you’ve become bitter over your unrequited feelings. You need to make peace with the fact that you’re his friend and nothing but, or else the day will come where Zhang Yixing will no longer feel like accepting your apologies.” You nod, but why does it hurt so much to let go of this love, even if it’s hopeless?

Eventually, after you calm yourself down and rinse off your face, you begin to feel more and more uncomfortable with the way you’ve treated him. It grows and it grows until you can’t take it anymore. You set off to try and find him and, hopefully, make things right again.

“I lost, didn’t I?” Yixing breathes, sitting on the stone steps as Wang Xun begins to pack up for the day. With an apologetic smile, the older man replies, “Yes, but barely.”

“Ahhh,” He sighs, looking up at the stars. Today has been a real nightmare. It seems like nothing he set out has accomplish. He’s offended people for no reason, rocks live in his stomach and worst of all, you’ve become upset with him. Yixing swallows thickly.

“(Y/N)’s become rather feisty since I’ve last seen her.” Xun points out. “She has.” There’s a silence before Yixing adds, “Gege, I don’t know if there’s room for me in her life anymore. The more I think of it, the more I feel I don’t belong by her side. We used to laugh and smile together but nowadays, whenever I call her out, she’s tense. We never used to fight this much, I think she thinks I’m beneath her, and is only trying to spare my emotions.”

Wang Xun takes a seat next to him, stretching out his legs before glancing up at the sky as well. “All this because of what she said?” Yixing doesn’t respond, which is confirmation enough.

“Women— No, not just women, people will often say things they don’t mean when they feel as though they’ve been hurt.” He says, “I think the same is true for her. She’ll apologize soon enough, so don’t take her words to heart.” Pause. “And if she doesn’t? There are so many more women out there for you to pine after. Eventually, you’ll find the one who doesn’t break your heart.”

Neither of them speak after this, not until something, or rather somebody, catches Yixing’s eye. It’s the Jiejie from earlier. Excusing himself, Yixing jogs up to her.

She stops the moment she sees him and scowls. “What do you want?” She snaps, her dog running off into the bushes. Her expression is so fierce, it reminds him a bit of yours.

Though he freezes up, he pushes past it and she jumps back when he bows so deeply, there’s a crack to his spine.

“I wanted to say that I’m really sorry if I offended you earlier today,” Yixing blushes, “You see, I had a bet with that man over there.” He points over to Wang Xun, who’s in the process of cleaning his ear out with his pinkie. “And I’m afraid in my attempt to earn a bit of extra pocket money, I’ve said and done some things I normally wouldn’t say or do. I hope you can forgive me.”

The woman stood there stunned and Yixing is afraid that might not be enough. She thinks of his apology for a second before shaking it off. “I see,” She nods pensively. “I take it, this was all for your girlfriend’s sake?” Yixing stands up straight, blinking a few times for clarity.

“What girlfriend?”

“The girl that sat behind you, she wasn’t your girlfriend?” Yixing shakes his head. “Christ…” She mumbles, instantly grateful that she’s already lived through the ‘stupid love’ phase. She sighs.

“I forgive you. We all have lapses in our judgment and as long as you understand that, and think before you speak next time, I don’t see a reason to hold it against you.”

“Thank you, Jiejie!” Yixing says with a big, happy grin, bowing deeply once more. His heart clears itself a tiny bit.

Unfortunately for his cardiovascular health, at this moment, you bike up next to him and Yixing’s heart is back to feeling like it’s about to burst. Shit.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” You ask, much to the woman’s amusement. “No. Me and your ‘friend’ over here were just touching base. I need to go home anyway.” She says, tugging the leash so that her puppy comes running back at her ankles.

As she turns around, she makes sure to tack on a “Good luck!” It’s for both of your sakes.

You park your bike up by the tree trunk, feeling the awkwardness finally hit. It’s already nightfall and the air has cooled off significantly, but you’re so ashamed that your cheeks are blazing and hot.

“Did you apologize to her for earlier?” You ask despite its redundancy. Yixing nods and you can see it from the illumination caused by the lampposts. “I did.”

“That’s good!” You hum, trying to keep your voice steady as you fish a green, rectangular bottle out of your purse. “I got you a probiotic drink to help you with… y’know. Here. Catch.”

It lands in his hands and Yixing beams brighter than the stars. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” You furrow your eyebrows. “Because you came back.”

Saying it outloud only has Yixing smile wider and it eats up at his eyes in the most charming of ways. You feel your heart throb.

Clearing your throat, you stutter out. “Right! About that…” You will yourself not to mask your true emotions with the air of nonchalance but you meet his eyes and, fuck, you might as well do that or just start crying.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I didn’t mean any of it. It was wrong and I regret ever treating you this way.” You expect Yixing to hold a more serious stance, but he laughs, opening his arms.

“Aw, it’s alright. Come here and give me a hug.”

Slowly, you take steps towards him before burrowing into his chest, hands fisting against his shirt as tears begin to prickle in your eyes. Yixing smells too sweet and sweaty but past that, you can feel the warmth of his skin. His body is solid yet comforting and you want to be in his arms all day and all night.

“Why are you crying?” Yixing asks, feeling the moisture through his shirt. and you laugh dryly. He sways you side to side before pulling at your face. “If you cry, I might start crying too.”

Yixing’s fingers release from your skin and instead, move to hold you. “So, no crying, alright?” The touch makes you breathless.

“Yixing, I…” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them. He tilts his head, smiling softly in anticipation. Should you confess to him? You already know you have to let this go. Will it make your shoulders lighter if he knows how you feel? You shake your head at yourself.

No. Yixing is too delicate of a person to treat you the same knowing you’ve fallen for him. Seeing your knees buckle, Yixing leads you to the bench. Swallowing your heart, you resolve for the next best truth.

“Yixing, I’ve missed you a lot.” “Oh! I’ve missed you too.” Yixing responds with an annoying ease, uncapping the pribiotic before taking a sip. He grimaces at the bitter taste, making you giggle at his cute reaction. As you laugh, Yixing’s heart does a somersault and suddenly, there’s not enough air in the world. It’s an emotion that only you cause in him. Not even the prettiest girls give him this type of feeling and it puts him on edge, but in the most tender way.

“Why did you accept this bet anyway?” You ask, gazing at the lake, which is now devoid of people. Steady and dark, with the reflection of the moon.

Yixing considers it. “I think I did it to feel better about myself.” He leans back and caps the bottle, fingers almost touching yours as he holds the bottle between his knees.

He stares up at the silver moon.

You turn to look at him in surprise, gazing at his profile. Yixing catches you in his peripheral and nods with a sheepish smile. “Yeah.”

He swallows and then adds, “My hair needs fixing and…” He considers closely the next thing he’s about to say, but throughout the past several hours, this is the only conclusion he can draw. The more he says the words in his head, the righter they feel. “And I wanted to take you out on a date.”

Your eyes widen and Yixing grabs your hand, too afraid that you’ll run from him again. “But I lost the bet, so there’s that.” He mumbles.

With the air squeezed from your lungs, you whisper, “We don’t need money to—”

“I know we don’t, but I wanted it anyway. It was selfish and vain of me, I know. But, I thought… Maybe if I had more money, you’d be more inclined to see me as a man… As somebody you can actually date.”

Taking the leap of faith, you lace your fingers through his. Yixing squeezes tight and you close your eyes, reveling in the warmth of his hand. Years. It’s been years since he’s done this.

You’ve waited so long, since that day at the bus stop, to feel his hand on yours again and for it not be just to see what it feels like. Finally, you feel like you can breathe. It fits as perfectly against yours as it did back then.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I do think of you as a man. I’m sorry that I’m bitter and dramatic. I’ve taken these emotions out on you without realizing it, all because I’m bothered that you don’t see me the way I’ve seen you throughout all these years. I hope you can forgive me, I’ve been a bad friend.”

“When you speak with such a voice,” Yixing laughs, “It’s impossible for me not to. I’m scared of what you could do to me.”

There’s a silence and you bring his knuckles up to your lips. Yixing’s eyes flutter shut with a lazy grin.

There’s never been such a perfect moment in his life.

“I like you just the way you are.” You whisper, the feeling is just about the same for you too. “Thank you.”

“And I’ll wait patiently for you to take me on the date you feel we deserve.” “Thank you.”

He repeats as you two lean against each other and enjoy the serenity of an empty park. If this is what all these years have been working towards, then it must all be worth it in the end. It may not be a crescendo of epic proportions, a searing, tear-filled kiss in the rain, a loud, emotional ‘I love you’ shouted in the middle of a crowded airport, but this is perfect.

Zhang Yixing can turn the mundane into something extraordinary, this is what’s most beautiful about him to you. For a moment, it’s all quiet and that’s just fine.

Until he gets sick all over a bundle of Lotus roots, that is.

#lay exo #exo x reader #exo x you #zhang yixing #lay fluff #yixing x reader #yixing #Lay

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maluminspace · 4 years

Text

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Michael Clifford/Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Dedicated to: My sisterwife @h0tsos

Trigger Warnings: strong language

A/N: This is one of many Michael fics I have planned for my fave Mikey hoes… This ss meant to be just a cute little fluff before y’all get bombarded with filthy smut! I hope you enjoy this, my lovely steff!

***

Unlike most of your co-workers, you love working on Saturdays. Sure, it’s the busiest day of the week and therefore you get more than your fair share of asshole customers. Most of the shit you have to put up with is worth it, though.

Saturdays are just usually great for your very favourite part of your job at the music store: helping kids pick out their first instrument. Nothing beats the excitement on a child’s face when they’re allowed to choose a musical instrument to play.

Today was turning out to be a slight disappointment, though. An unexpected rainstorm had swept over the city and kept most of your would-be-customers at home.

It’s fast approaching lunchtime and you should be reaching your peak selling time, but the shop remains mostly empty. You lean on the polished countertop, sighing with boredom as you watch your co-worker help a middle- aged lady pick out a new case for her beloved violin.

After a moment your attention drifts to the rain-splattered window. The street outside is pretty much deserted. A couple of people run from the cafe across the street to the bus stop a little further down the road. You watch them distractedly for a few moments, huddling together under the metal shelter until the bus pulls up and obscures your view, snapping you back to reality.

Just to give yourself something to do, you head into the back room to change the music, determined to put on something a little happier to lighten your mood. Pulling up the playlist on the computer, you queue up a few of your old favourite tunes that always help to bring a smile to your face. Once you’re all done you head back into the front of the store. As you take your place back behind the counter you notice a new customer has appeared during your short absence. A guy with a couple of kids are standing with their backs to you, looking at the selection of junior guitars you have on display on the front wall.

Knowing that new customers usually like to just browse for a while before being asked if they need help, you leave them to it, busying yourself with tidying the display of plectrums on the countertop.

When you look up again a moment later, you notice the smallest kid isn’t standing with the man and his other child anymore. Confused, you glance around the room until you see him heading over to your display of speakers and amps. Kids have tried to climb and sit on them many times before, but you’re not about to let this kid scuff up your perfect display.

As your co-worker is still busy with the violin lady, you realise very quickly that the job of controlling this child falls to you. You head out from behind the counter, making your way over to the little boy. “Hey, buddy!” You chime, keeping your tone light and friendly. “Where’re you heading off to!”

The child turns around, his bright green eyes wide and startled like he’d already been caught doing something wrong. He stares up at you silently for a moment, seemingly thinking of the best way to reply so that he doesn’t get into trouble. He looks extremely adorable, his dark blonde hair is fluffy and in disarray, like he’d recently taken off a hat or hood. His shiny red raincoat is still damp as are the bottom half of the dungarees he’s wearing and his Star Wars themed wellies are flecked with mud.

“It’s okay.” You reassure him, smiling brightly. “You haven’t done anything wrong, I just don’t want you to get lost, this is a big store y’know.”

The little boy glances over to the man and the other child that he’d come into the shop with. “Is that your daddy and big sister over there?” You ask kindly, trying to make comfortable conversation.

The boy nods, nervously stuffing his tiny hands into the pockets of his coat.

“Are you all here to buy a guitar?” You ask, determined to get this kid to relax a bit, he seems incredibly shy.

“For Cordi.” He replies quietly. “It’s her eighth birthday.” His face lights up as though talking about his big sister is one of his very favourite pastimes.

You can’t help but mirror his large smile. “Wow, that’s fun! Guitars are my favourite, shall we go and see if your daddy and Cordi need any help?”

The child nods again before scurrying off back towards his family. You follow him, feeling pleased to finally have something productive to do.

“Hey, dude.” The dad chuckles, picking up his son. “Cordi can’t decide which one she wants. We might be here a while, but I promise we’ll go and get some food after, yeah?”

The little family seem adorable and you’re looking forward to helping them out as you step a little closer to them. “Hi there, welcome to RockBeat, can I help you at all?”

For the first time, the father turns to face you and you have to fight not to blush. It’s instantly clear where your new little buddy got his pretty eyes from and the rest of the man in front of you is equally as perfect. His bleached blonde hair is damp from the downpour, and his cheeks are a bit flushed, but he’s by far the most beautiful man you’ve laid eye on in a long time. “Yeah, please.” He replies, smiling shyly. “I’m looking for a junior guitar for my daughter, do you have any recommendations?”

“Sure…” You reply just about managing to tear your eyes away from the angelic man to look at the young girl holding his hand. Just like her little brother and her dad, Cordi has the prettiest green eyes, surrounded by thick golden lashes. Her hair is tied in two long, dark blond pleats with a red ribbon at the end of each. “A little birdy told me it was your birthday.” You smile, hoping to give off a friendly vibe as the girl shifts closer to her father until she’s half hidden behind his leg. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you, birthday girl.”

Glancing back up at her dad, you feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment when you notice the puzzled look on his face. Goodness knows how freaked out he must be that a complete stranger knows it’s his kid’s birthday.

“Oh, your little boy told me!” You explain hastily.

The stranger glances at his youngest child, still nestled contentedly in his arms. “What have you been up to, Mr? You weren’t wondering off again, were you?”

The little boy buries his face in his dad’s shoulder, apparently feeling shy.

“Why do you have to be such an ass, Caleb!” Cordi huffs, rolling her eyes as she turns back towards the wall of guitars.

“Cordelia Karen!” The father gasps, his cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. “Don’t call your brother that, it’s not too late for me to change my mind about your birthday present, you know.”

Cordelia pouts, folding her little arms across her chest as she stares up her father pleadingly. “I’m sorry, daddy…”

The beautiful man in front of you immediately softens at his daughter’s apology. “Okay, just don’t do it again.” He kisses his son’s cheek before placing him down on the ground and taking his hand.

It’s obvious that the father feels a little awkward now and you’re eager to help him relax. You glance over at the counter where your coworker is checking out the violin lady. “I’ll be right back.” You tell the little family before scurrying over to the counter. By the time you reach it, the only other customer in the shop is already heading off towards the exit. “Hey Gina.” You smile brightly, “I’m just helping this customer over here and it’s the little girl’s birthday, do we have any of those lollipops left?”

Gina nods as she brings out the pot of sweet treats from under the counter. They used to be left next to the till so that customers could help themselves, until a group of stupid teenagers used them as missiles, throwing them at each other across the shop. After that, your boss made it clear that the sweets and lollipops were for special customers only.

You thank Gina and head back to your customers with the little pot. “We save these under the counter for our most important customers.” You explain in a faux serious voice, looking between all three of their faces. “I definitely think that a birthday girl and her family qualify as that.” You offer the pot to Cordelia who examines the contents for a moment before picking out a strawberry flavoured lolly. She offers her dad a questioning glance to ensure that she’s allowed to take it. He nods, rolling his eyes fondly.

“And what about you, lil buddy?” You ask, offering the pot to little Caleb, who’s still clinging to his father’s leg. “What’s your favourite flavour?”

Caleb surveys his options before pointing at a cherry flavoured lollipop.

“Nice choice!” You commend, picking out the boy’s chosen lolly and handing it to him. “There are some seats over there, if you want to sit down while your sister decides what guitar she wants.

The little boy nods before looking up at his dad. “Can I play games on your phone?”

The father takes out his iPhone and unlocks it before handing it to his son, “stick to the ones that are already on there please, I don’t want any nasty surprises on my bill this time, young man!”

Caleb giggles cheekily as he scurries off towards the little seating area and clambers onto a chair before unwrapping his lollipop.

“He’s gonna get my phone all sticky…” The dad groans. “I really need to buy him one of those kid’s tablets or something.”

“Yeah, all of my friends with kids have said those things are a blessing” you laugh, sounding a bit nervous because you still can’t get over how beautiful this man is.

The blonde man returns a tiny giggle. “I wish that more of my friends had kids, maybe I’d make a lot less mistakes with my own, if I had people to give me advice.”

Your smile slips from your lips as the man in front of you suddenly becomes quiet and vulnerable. It takes all of your effort not to reach out and touch his arm. You’ve only known him for a couple of minutes and that would be a much too familiar gesture. Instead, you adopt an optimistic tone. “My friends make mistakes too, like every single day! I think that being a parent teaches the adults as much as the kids.”

The stranger gives a tiny huff of laughter. “You’re definitely right there…”

There’s a sadness in the blonde man’s eyes that you desperately wish you could take away. You want to at least give him the opportunity to talk things out, it seems as though he keeps these particular emotions buried. You’ve known enough people like him to recognise the signs: the fake smiles, the worry lines on his forehead and the few premature grey hairs lurking at the dark roots of his bleached hair. “I’m sure you’re doing an amazing job… Your children both seem happy and they’re so polite! You wouldn’t believe some of the horrors we see in here sometimes.”

The blonde brightens up a little at your words and places a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, as though he’s trying to display how proud of her he is. “Thank you, that’s nice to hear. It’s easy to feel like a failure as a single dad sometimes.”

Cordelia huffs indignantly as she cuddles into his side. “You’re the best daddy in the whole world.” She declares, her pretty green eyes sparkling as though she might start crying. Her father appears to be just as emotionally affected by the words and the thought of either of them shedding so much as a single tear, breaks your heart.

In an attempt to lighten the mood you paint a bright smile on your face and lean down to the little girl’s level. “I just realised that we haven’t all been properly introduced yet.” You hold out your hand to her as you tell her your name and she shakes it shyly as she tells you hers. You glance up hopefully at her dad, still smiling brightly. “And I’d love to know the name of the best daddy in the whole world.” You prompt, straightening up to your full height.

The blonde man blushes a little as he shakes your hand. “I’m Michael.” He mumbles, shifting his weight awkwardly. “I’m not sure I really deserve that title, though.”

“Well I’m pretty sure that Cordelia said you are, and I trust her, she definitely wouldn’t lie to me.” You insist, your cheeks aching at how much you’re smiling now. There’s definitely something between the two of you, a connection of some kind. You sort of wish you’d met this guy in a bar or club or somewhere else that you could flirt with him openly and not have to worry about being judged by his children. “Anyway, we better get the birthday girl her big present!” You announce, finally letting go of Michael’s hand that you just realised you’re still holding.

Cordelia’s face lights up in a bright smile. “I’m gonna learn to play even better than daddy!” She exclaims, her pigtails bouncing as she jumps up and down on the spot.

“I don’t think that’d be too difficult.” Michael chuckles, tearing his eyes away from you to glance down at his little girl. “It’s been years since I even picked up a guitar...”

You scoff loudly. “Once you’ve mastered a musical instrument, the skill never leaves you.” You reassure the beautiful man in front of you. “Even if it gets a little rusty, it’s not hard to polish off. Maybe a new audience would help build your confidence back up.”

“Yes!” Cordelia grins excitedly. “All of my friends would love it if you played to us like you used to.”

Michael bristles uncomfortably and you feel guilty for suggesting something he’s clearly not okay with. “Well I’m sure they’ll love it even more when you play for them!” You chuckle to Cordelia, hoping to redirect the conversation. “Let’s take a look at all these junior guitars and see which one’s worthy enough to be your first one!” You gesture toward the wall in front of them. “Are we looking for an acoustic or an electric?”

“I think acoustic to begin with.” Michael replies, surveying the options you have displayed on the wall. “I promised her she can have an electric one next year if she keeps up with her lessons until then.” He adds, shooting you a sideways glance, almost as though he’s seeking your approval for this parenting method.

Nodding, you offer him an encouraging smile. “That sounds like a good deal to me! I think Cordelia is definitely right about who the best dad in the world is.”

Michael’s blush deepens a bit, but he keeps his eyes trained on the small guitars in front of him. “I’m still not sure about that.”

Cordelia huffs and folds her arms across her chest like an angry teacher. “I’m gonna tell uncle Ashton that you’re being silly again.” She threatens. “He’s told you a million times that you’re great and that it’s not your fault that mama left…”

The blonde man gasps in horror at his daughter’s words as he cuts her off with a frantic wave of his hands. “Okay, Cordi, I get it. I’m sorry.”

Seemingly pleased with herself, Cordelia goes back to surveying the guitars on the wall.

“I’m sorry about that.” Michael mumbles. “I know your job must be difficult enough without hearing our life story.”

Resisting the need to hold back this time, you reach out and place a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “You don’t need to apologise. If there’s one thing I know about, it’s heartache.” You assure him, although your pained tone only seems to make him sadder. “I guess that’s just musicians for you, huh?” You add, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

To your surprise, Michael doesn’t try to shrug your hand away, he simply raises his eyebrow curiously. “What do you play?” He enquires, seemingly genuinely interested in that area of your life.

“I play guitar and sing, mostly.” You reply. “I’ve recently been trying to teach myself to play piano too. I’m not very good at that yet, though.”

Michael opens his mouth to reply but is cut off by Cordelia making an impatient noise.

“I’m sorry birthday girl!” You giggle. “Do you see anything that takes your fancy?”

Cordelia grins, pointing at a bright red acoustic guitar with a decorative design around the middle. “That one’s really pretty!”

You nod thoughtfully, reaching up to take her chosen instrument from the wall. “Red’s my favourite colour, so this is the one I’d have suggested, too. Do you want to hold it?”

The little girl looks up at her dad for permission and awaits his confirmation before holding out her hands eagerly. “Yes please!”

It’s hard to tell who looks more excited and emotional in the moment when Cordelia takes the guitar from you. The little girl is obviously delighted but her father looks so proud and you’re sure that you notice him wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. Not wanting to draw his daughter’s attention to it, you call for your co-worker. “Gina, this is Cordelia, it’s her birthday today! That means she gets a free strap to go with her new guitar. Will you show her what options we have please?”

Gina agrees easily and beckons the little girl over to the stand with the children’s guitar straps. Cordelia looks thrilled as she hands you the guitar back to you, before skipping over to your co-worker.

“This is a big day for you, huh?” You ask Michael gently. “Your little girl getting her first guitar, that’s a huge deal!”

Michael sniffles, trying to hide his face behind his hand so that you can’t see the fresh tears that escape from the corner of his eyes. “When she told me she wanted to learn to play an instrument, I expected her to say she wanted drumming lessons. She’s super close to my friend that used to be our band’s drummer, so I really expected her to want to be like him.” His voice is thick with emotion as he continues. “But when I asked her about it, she said she wanted to learn guitar so that she could be like her favourite person in the world. I thought she was going to follow that up by telling me about some band I’ve never heard of that her friends listen to or something. Instead, she said that her favourite person in the world was me and I…”

When his voice breaks fully, you throw caution to the wind yet again and place both hands on his shoulders, not feeling quite brave enough to go in for a full hug. “Of course you are! I’ve known you all for like five minutes and I can tell that you’re a hero to both your kids. It’s obvious how much they love and look up to and from what I’ve seen, it’s well deserved.”

Michael offers you a watery smile. “I don’t feel like I deserve it all. If it wasn’t for my amazing friends and my wonderful parents, I don’t know I’d cope. I definitely couldn’t do this entirely alone.”

It feels slightly awkward because you want to know more about his life and how you can help make it better but it feels strange to think that when you’ve only just met him. “Well, from an outside perspective, I think you’re doing a brilliant job. It’s adorable that your little girl wants to be like you. She’s made a good choice if you ask me.” You smile all-too-fondly.

Michael seems to really appreciate your words. He hastily wipes his eyes and forces a brighter smile onto his face. “Anyway, I better go and see how much this fancy guitar is gonna cost me…” He chuckles. “Kids never seem to pick the least expensive option for anything.”

“Well today must be your lucky day because, this is in our lower price range and you qualify for the birthday discount, of course.” You give him a friendly wink before heading over to the counter.

“Is that a real thing?” Michael asks sceptically. “I’m happy to pay whatever the real price is, I don’t want you to get into trouble…”

You wave your hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s a discount I’m allowed to give I promise.” You reassure him. “It also comes with a free case. So she’s really let you off lightly.”

Michael doesn’t seem convinced that he’s entitled to all that you’re offering but he doesn’t argue as you enter the product code into the till. You add the ‘birthday discount’ which is really your staff discount that you should use for friends and family only, but you see it as helping to secure a future friend, which is just as important as existing ones in your opinion. His face brightens as he sees how much the price is reduced and it makes your heart feel full. “Are you sure that’s right?” He questions disbelievingly.

“Yeah, that’s right.” You confirm, ringing through the transaction.

Before Michael can question you further, Cordelia bounces over to the counter brandishing a bright rainbow coloured guitar strap. “Can I have this one, daddy?” She asks hopefully and squeals with delight when Michael nods.

The father still seems taken aback by your kindness when he slides his card into the machine and types in his pin number.

“I’ll just go and grab the free case.” You offer, before heading into the store room. You wish that you could give Michael and his kids even more free stuff just make them smile but you really would get into trouble if you gave them anything else. Once you locate the plain black fabric case for Cordelia’s chosen guitar, you pull it from the shelf and head back into the shop where the little family are gathered near the counter. “Do you want me to put the guitar in here for you?” You ask, unzipping the case.

“Yes please.” Cordelia replies. “Thank you for all my free extras!”

You grin widely as you place the guitar and the strap into the case and hand it to the little girl. “You’re more than welcome! Just remember to always ask for me when you come back here and I’ll always make sure I give you the best deals.”

“About that…” Michael mumbles awkwardly as he picks up a sleepy looking Caleb. “It’s been a long time since I played guitar, I could do with a refresher on how to change strings and tune it up, would you be able to help me with that?”

“Sure.” You nod, hoping for the first time ever that a string breaks on the new guitar sooner rather than later so that you get to see Michael again. “If you’re passing before that, though, I wouldn’t say no to a piece of birthday cake.”

Cordelia giggles at your cheeky wink and then tugs at her father’s coat sleeve. “We can bring some tomorrow, can’t we?” She asks excitedly.

“I don’t see why not.” Michael agrees before turning his gaze back to you. “As long as you’ll be here.”

“I will be.” You confirm. “I can’t wait to see you all again.”

Michael reiterates that he’ll be back tomorrow before thanking you once again and turning towards the exit.

You can hear Cordelia chatting excitedly all the way out of the shop and your heart sinks as they step out into the rain.

“What the fuck are you still standing here for?” Gina chuckles, startling you out of your thoughts. “Go give him your number!”

You shake your head, watching through the large window at the front of the shop as Michael places Caleb down on the pavement and takes the guitar from Cordelia. “I can’t do that, he’d laugh at me…”

“He made it clear that he was single and the tension between the two of you was un-fucking-barable.” Gina groans, rolling her eyes impatiently. “Either go and give him your number or I will!”

Trying not to overthink it, you scribble your phone number onto a scrap of paper and hurry out of the shop. Michael and his children are still standing in front of the window and look up at you in surprise when you jog over to them. “I wanted to give you this.” You smile, fully aware of how much you’re blushing. “Just in case you have a broken string emergency or anything before tomorrow.”

Michael glances down at you number before meeting your gaze, his green eyes sparkling softly. “Is it okay to use this for a general chat as well?” He asks, the nerves in his voice barely disguised. “It’s been a long time since I made any new friends”

“Of course… And I’d love to see a photo of what Cordelia’s cake looks like before she brings me a slice of it tomorrow!”

The blonde man smiles softly. “General chats and cake photos are the least we can do to thank you.”

After saying goodbye once again, you head back into the shop to dry off, feeling proud of yourself for being brave for once. You head into the kitchen to make yourself and Gina a warm drink, still not quite believing that your risk had paid off. When you return to the counter, you are rewarded by a text message pinging through to your phone. When you open the message from the unknown number, you smile to yourself at the simple words that suddenly mean so much to you.

Thanks again for today. You’ve made Cordelia’s birthday so much more special and we can’t wait to see you again tomorrow!

It’s strange how quickly you’ve developed a fondness for Michael and his little family. You’re fully aware that nothing may come of this, but you have a feeling that you’ve gained a new friend at the very least.

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colehasapen · 4 years

Text

(ONE SHOT) solus STAR WARS

Warning: non-explicit implied non-con, referenced suicide attempt

Tup survives the extraction of his chip. He doesn’t know how, because he had been sure that he’d be marching on the next time that he opened his eyes, sure that the nightmares and the fighting was finally over. He’d been sad, of course, that he was leaving his brothers behind - leaving Fives behind in particular, because they’d latched onto each other after he’d transferred into Torrent, and Tup didn’t want him to be alone again. He doesn’t want to be alone again.

He had been a Corrie before he joined the 501st; he and his batch had been young, too young really, but some of the best - good enough to catch the attention of the Chancellor, and be assigned to Commander Fox himself. They’d served on Coruscant with pride, because they had known that the Coruscant Guards were the best of the best and they’d been so kriffing proud of that - until they’d gotten to see what being a Coruscant Guard was actually like. It meant painful, cruel touches from people they couldn’t say no to, and lost time and missing memories that they couldn’t talk to anyone but Commander Fox about or risk being labelled as defective. He had lost his batchmates on Coruscant, and the being who had murdered them got away with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and a fine for damaging Republic property.

Tup could still remember the sadness in Commander Fox’s eyes when he offered to have Tup - alone and hurting and unable to sleep without the images of his squad’s deaths swimming to the surface - transferred to another garrison off of Coruscant. Tup could never thank his first Commander enough for seeing what Tup couldn’t say and getting him far away from the planet that had killed the rest of his batch. Commander Fox had always been good to them - not gentle, he couldn’t afford to be gentle with his men, but always good . He had tried to shield them from the worst treatments, often enduring them himself, and Tup would always be grateful, even if he was no longer one of Commander Fox’s boys.

He had stayed in contact with his former commander after transferring, updating him on his progress and the bonds he had been forging. He told him about the 501st and Torrent, about General Skywalker and Commander Tano. He told him about Dogma - fresh from a penal battalion for not following orders and an anxious mess of a brother who just wanted to do good - and Kix, Jesse, and Hardcase - three batchmates who had somehow managed to stay together as the War progressed, and how torn up Kix and Jesse had been after Hardcase’s death - and Captain Rex, who reminded Tup so much of Commander Fox; overworked and exhausted and just doing what he could to pull as many troopers through to the next engagement as he could.

He tells him about Fives. Fives who was fresh off the mission that had killed his last squadmate and was floundering. Fives who kept looking over his shoulder for someone who was no longer there, and who no longer had someone watching his back. He was one half of an ARC pair and didn’t know how to fill that gap once his partner was gone.

At first, Tup had only seen him from a distance - he was only a fresh-faced transfer off of the Core, after all, and Fives was an ARC - but that changed the moment Fives had found him during a bad night. Tup had folded himself into a dark corner of the armoury, a blaster gripped desperately in his shaking hands and pressed against his chin. He still saw his brothers’ broken bodies and the sickening grin on their killer’s face in his dreams, and the face would twist and distort into a sickenly sweet smile and heavy touches he couldn’t escape - he wanted to escape, he had to get away, but there was nowhere to run .

Tup had been seconds away from pulling the trigger when Fives had walked in, looking to end the nightmares, but Fives had torn the blaster from his hands and gathered him into a tight hug. He had let Tup sob and scream into his shoulder, and sat with him until he was calm enough to fall asleep. He had woken up hours later, well-rested for the first time in a long time, and still curled up in Fives’ arms. He hadn’t known it then, but Tup had saved Fives that day, just as much as Fives had saved him, and they had been nearly inseparable since then. They ate together, washed together, slept together, and they carefully kept each other from those darker thoughts. They recovered together after bad missions - missions like Umbara that haunted everyone in the 501st - and they made sure the other was never alone.

Tup had realized, the moment everything was slipping away from him, that he was leaving Fives alone, and it hurt . He would march on and Fives would be alone again. He could only hope that his ori’vod would find someone new to fill that hole in his life. He hoped that Fives would live on, even if Tup couldn’t be there with him.

He hadn’t had the chance to tell Fives this before he died.

But then he had woken up - had he woken up?

He’s tied down, his head shaved, and all he can hear is the beeping of the machines he had been hooked up to while he was unconscious. The light above his head is blinding, and everything is a harsh white that makes it hurt to open his eyes.

He’s alone.

He panics. Machines shriek as Tup fights desperately against the restraints and the wires, looking desperately for someone to help him as he tries to squirm away from the mask over his mouth. His breath comes out in harsh pants, his heart pounding in his ears as his skin crawls and his eyes roll. He’s alone. He doesn’t want to be alone -

- and then he’s asleep.

Tup drifts, disconnected from his body and almost unaware of the world around him. He’s barely aware of the beings moving around him, rarely feels their poking and prodding or hears their voices talking above him as he blinks in and out of consciousness. He drifts, and he dreams.

In his dreams, Tup can’t escape from his memories; he sees his squad’s bodies, and smells the overwhelming perfume. He feels their touches and hears their laughter, and everywhere he turns he sees his squadmates, riddled by the blaster holes that killed them and they stare at him, accusing him for abandoning them. He sees Dogma, pale-faced and standing over Krell’s body before being dragged away into the shadows by bleached hands - he must have been reconditioned, this far into the War it would have been too expensive to decommission him, and he’d already proven that a penal battalion wouldn’t ‘fix him’. He sees his fellow troopers dying in droves on Umbara and on every planet they’ve been on since. He sees the explosion that killed Hardcase, and it blends with the one that took Echo away from Fives. He hears Fives begging him not to go, not to abandon him, but Tup can’t fight back the gray wave that’s dragging him under-

- “Tup!” -

He feels warm hands on him, and he fights against them, begging to be let go. He won’t tell anyone, they wouldn’t believe him, but he doesn’t want to do this again -

- “Kriff, don’t touch him.”

“Tup, wake up! You’re safe!” -

“You know,” Fives says, hands brushing gently through Tup’s long hair as he braids it, “Echo always wanted to grow their hair out - would have done it too if they weren’t so anxious about breaking regs.” His fingers snag, and Fives’ hands are replaced by someone else’s, pulling harshly until Tup drops to his knees and -

Tup wakes up with a sob, water blurring his vision, and gentle hands catch his face. Callused thumbs brush away the hot tears that tumble down his cheeks. They trace the tattoo under his eye as another hand moves to gently toy with his shaved hair. A familiar face leans over him, head shaved, but distinctive tattoo and goatee still there.

“As bald as a shiny.” Fives says wetly - like a complete hypocrite - a small, shaky smile on his face, and Tup stares at him, desperate.

“Fives?”

His older brother chuckles, leaning forward to kiss his brow then tap their foreheads together. “Yeah, Tup’ika - it’s me.”

Tup’s eyes burn, and he swallows around the cotton in his throat, heart fluttering a hopeful tune. “You’re here?” He reaches forward, tangles his fingers in the gap of Fives’ armour and he pulls him close, afraid that if he lets go, he’ll be alone again.

“‘Course I am, kid.” Fives promises, voice choked. “You’re safe. I’m not leaving you ever again.”

Overwhelmed, Tup sobs and holds his brother tighter.

#star wars #fanfiction #cole writes #tup lives #clone trooper tup #arc trooper fives #whumptober 2020 #no.8 where did everybody go?#buirkan-verse

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melbee · 3 years

Text

Electric Love

Chapter 4

David Lee Roth Fanfiction

Have you seen her? So fine and pretty Fooled me with her style and ease

- dance the night away

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We had finally pulled up to one of the most Bougie apartment buildings I had ever seen.

“Well this is definitely not something you see in Arizona.” Holly said as she pulled into the parking lot, and parked, shutting off the ignition.

Suddenly I fell a wave of nervousness hit me as I began gulping for air. I was panicking. Up and through the entire trip I was able to distract myself with the new sights, sounds and smells, along with Holly’s incessant talking, but now that I was finally face to face with the music I didn’t know what to do. I was literally scared shitless.

“Oh no no no.. I know that look.” Holly said as she shook her grabbing my hand almost as to keep me glued in case I would try and book it out of the car and away from my problems.

I gave her an innocent look. “Maybe we should go get food first? Or maybe he isn’t home, we should try tomo-“

“Hell no. You are going to stomp that cute butt of yours up there. And I’m going to grab some of your luggage, and I’ll meet you up there. Scream really loud if something happens.” Holly said as she reached over to my side of the door and pulled the door opener and pushed me out of the car before I could even say a word.

“Ouch!” I yelled as I tripped on my way down, almost landing butt first to the gravel. I gave her a dirty look, grabbing my bag before standing frozen still.

Holly gave me a pointed look as she pointed her finger toward the apartment, making scrunched up finger tips, and other weird and confusing gestures. Unfortunately I knew what everyone one of them meant.

Get your ass up there.

I made a full 180, as I looked up to the stairs which sat to the left side of a large door where I presumed would be a lobby. I watched as people in suits, cashmere, leather, crop tops, and bold colors make there way in and out of the complex. What an odd mix of people. I rolled my shoulders before taking a deep breath.

Go time.

I began my ascent toward the main office, which showcased large glass doors which mirrored the freshly cut lawn behind me. I opened the door to see a quaint and modern look that reminded me of a resort lobby on vacation.

There was a large relaxing area with plush chairs and a small room that showcased a little game room, and a mail desk sat adjacent to it.

I looked over to my left to see a smaller looking desk with a woman in a tall ponytail and thick glasses, handling something on the phone.

I began walking over to her, placing my sweaty palms onto the hard laminate tops, as I stared down at the shiny pearl like color, making out almost a visible reflection of myself.

“Can I help you?” I suddenly hear a small faint cry come from in front of me. I flick my pupils up to see the lady from before now handling the phone to her side, a confused look written on her face. She scrunched her eyebrows as she looked at me from head to toe.

I immediately placed my hands back down to my sides as I tried my best to give her a small smile. “Hi, I need help looking for a suite number.”

Recognition appeared within her eyes, as she motioned with a slender finger to hold for a second as she went back to the phone. “Sorry Hun, I gotta call you later.” She placed the phone back, as a mega watt smile graced her face, making her thick glasses rise up. “You must be Rosie.”

A look of surprise etched my complexion as I nodded my head swiftly, with a slight tilt of the head. “Yes.. Yes I am. How do you know me?”

“Lewis told me all about you. We’ve been friends for so long, he mentioned that he was hiring new work, but he didn’t tell me how adorable they were going to be!” She squealed.

I felt my cheeks heat up as my gaze started to drift around the other places surrounding me.

Okay... so it wasn’t like I knew I wasn’t attractive or even remotely pretty. Ive been told my entire life I had a face of such “surprising quality” —or at least my Aunt always said to me. I just didn’t take it to heart, nor do much about it.

“Oh so sweet. I’m sure you’re just so lovely. I’m Marianne, but you can call me Mari.” She said as she thrusted her small hand towards me. I raised mine and slowly shook it as a smile graced my features.

A curious look appeared on her features as she again surveyed my appearance. “You’re not from around here are you?”

I laughed a little as a pushed a piece of my hair back behind my ear as I shook my head. “Is that obvious? I’m from a small town in Arizona near Winslow.”

She laughed loudly at my statement, “And let me guess, you have a flat bed ford?” It dawned on me she was quoting a lyric from the Eagles and I smiled.

“Yeah well were borrowing it for now until I get my things packed. But good one!” I laughed. I felt myself starting to ease up toward Mari. What can I say, her laughter was contagious.

“Well if you have any involvement with Lewis, I’m sure you’ll fit in just fine. So you’re going to be his big help huh?” She said as she turned around and shuffled through some papers, before getting a key from a small drawer in a file cabinet.

“Yeah I guess, not sure how much I’m going to be of help. I’m kind of new to all of this.”

She gave me a knowing look before giving me the piece of paper, placing the copper key bright and shiny in the middle. “Trust me on this one, Lewis doesn’t just go around hiring anyone. He sees potential in very little believe it or not. He’s got a keen eye, and I’m rather surprised he found someone so quick and under acute circumstances. But nevertheless I’m sure you’ll be just fine. Welcome to California!”

I smiled, “Thanks so much.” I grabbed a pen as I signed the piece of paper going over a few rules and guidelines before handing it back to her and picking up the key. “Have a good one.” I started to turn my way back and out the door to help Holly before I heard Mari’s voice

“Word of advice.” She said, as I turned my head around. She smiled so quietly then, as if she knew what she was about to say was very integral. “Lewis deals with celebrities. Many of the music quality.”

I nodded my head as she paused, before opening her mouth to speak again. “Rockstars are notorious for being very clever, be careful.” She frowned, a glazed look within her eye before she slapped her hand onto the top of the table that echoed across the room. “DONT fall in love. They will ruin you.”

My eyebrows furrowed at her insinuation and her words of caution. What the hell does she mean rockstars are clever? Don’t fall in love? There is no way in hell I would stand a chance either way. I just bit my lip and nodded my head, “Okay, Thanks.” As I headed out the door.

All the while, not realizing the full weight of her words, or how my heart had already made up their mind not to listen to a word she said.

Like all good things to come.

I would first, have to fall.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“Okay, I-I think I got it.” I said as I somehow managed three bags of heavy weight boxes and suitcases up the elevator with a friend in toll with equal amount of weight.

“Are you sure? We could just make a second trip.” Holly said, as I grumbled at her words.

“I thought you said if we made a second trip we were delaying the inevitable, and that I would manage to talk my way out of going up here to meet him.” I said as we set our boxes at the door I presumed was Lewis’s.

“Well, I think this is it.” I said as I got my crinkled up paper out of my jean pocket and checked the room number. “403b’’

“Whos a?” Holly asked as she heaved over after dropping the boxes down. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

I laughed at her overdramatics as I looked up at the door. Oak wood, gold letterings, peep hole. I wonder if he’s looking out at us..

“Hello!” A voice cried as the door whizzed open to our surprise as both Holly and I jumped out in fright.

A man in a beige painters jumpsuit, and beautiful dark skin greeted us at the doorway. He wore something similar to platforms, chains across his neck, and his hair was comfortoably shaven down with slight bleached bits at the end. “Well, if it isn’t who I think it is.”

I smiled, as Holly jumped and waved. “Hi! I remember you from the wedding! I was Vinny’s cousin.” She said as she took her hand out.

He had a curious look on his face before his eyes lit up, “Oh yeah the one in that adorable blue dress. Gorgeous, I would recommend a more greener tint however, matches the hair a bit better.” He grabbed her in a bone crushing hug, as I stood there akward as ever.

Lewis suddenly paused as he was giving his greetings as he looked over at me. His eyes widened as he took in my form. “Oh my heavens.”

I smiled shyly as I extended my hands, and to my surprise he took it and spinned me around. “Oof!”

“Well aren’t you such a beautiful being! Wow your hair! SO gorgeous.” He said as he touched my hair. “Oh my word, and your body is PERFECT for my designs.”

I turned around and faced him rather abruptly. “Oh?”

He looked at my concerned face and his eyes went frantic. “Oh no darling. Don’t worry about that. You will primarily be doing other things. But just in the spirit of the moment I might have you try some things. Its just.. your body type is perfect fit for my clothes. I’m always looking for models.”

Holly laughed, “Wow, can I be one?” She said jokingly.

Lewis giggled before going all serious, “In the best way possible, no. Your chest is too flat.”

Holly frowned, before biting her lip containing a smile forming her lips. I giggled as I suddenly felt a wave of nervousness.

Lewis understood the emotions as he beckoned us to come inside, grabbing some of the things we had dropped out of exhaustion.

“Okay, my wonderful ladies welcome to mi casa..” He said as he thrusted his hand out for us to gape at the spectacle of his apartment.

“Wow...” I heard a whisper from Holly as she too was dumbstruck.

The entire apartment from eyes view was filled with explosions of colors. Magazines littered the tables, fancy pottery and sculptures hung around every corner. We made our way into the living room to see a gigantic life sized portrait of a woman dressed in a Brazilian swirl of colors and feathers, reminding me of the parades in Rio. Lewis giggled at our gaping.

“Do you like? Oh I hope you do! I tried my very best with some of it, however I’m only renting and it’s quite a bit messy because I’ve been working on some projects..”

I smiled brightly and nodded my head enthusiastically, “I think it’s beautiful.. where did you get these fabrics!” I gasped as I made my way to a circular table that laid beautiful silk like colors of greens and aqua blues.

Lewis laughed as he grabbed my shoulder in playfulness, “Honey, in the world of stars.. it’s all about connections. This one happened to be a spectacular woman from Asia! Which reminds me I’ll have to show you some of her artwork.. she does this amazing hodge podge with these encrusted jewels..-“ He said as he begun to wander off into a hallway.

I gave Holly a funny look, laughing as she simply smiled and beckoned me to follow him. I grinned as I made fast paces toward the hallway and followed Lewis into a room that held a beautiful plush bed, a desk, and a half finished stenciled painting that looked as if it was stopped from finishing.

Lewis saw me eyeing the painting as he gave me a grin, “I thought that this would be good for you. You know the whole half finished art thing.. signifying your start towards finishing something of your own. Oh dear, I know you’ll fit in just fine here.”

I bit my lip as I set all of my suitcases down, hearing Holly’s footsteps come in and her placing a few boxes down on the ground.

I felt the wave of emotions come in, realizing this was now my life for a while.

I gave Holly a glance before walking over to Lewis and hugging him tightly, “Thank you so much, Lewis. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

I felt his smile as he stroked my hair, “That’s what friends are for, chica.”

I blushed, pulling my hair between my ear, as I stood back looking over to Holly who up until now seemed very distant, and quiet. She had this look on her face that reminded me of the time right after graduation.

“Don’t make me cry you shithead...” I said as I pulled on her hair, as she laughed punching me in the shoulder.

“I just can’t believe my best friend is doing this..” she said as she smiled. I didn’t miss the way her eyes shined with tears, as she brought me in for a large hug.

“God, Rosie... you’re going to do incredible things... I just know it.” She said as she grabbed my cheeks that now stained red.

“I’ll always remember who pushed me to start in the first place!” I laughed as I felt the emotions pour into me.

“Oh Rosie it’s all you.” She said as she grabbed my hands.

“Just promise me one thing.” Holly said as a strong look came over her face, “Kiss one of those hotshot rockstars at least once for me.”

I gasped as my cheeks burned, before I heard a laugh come from Lewis behind me as he grabbed us all in a hug. “If it’s rockstars you’re worried about, trust me they’ll kiss you first.”

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thepilgrimofwar · 4 years

Text

Of Dirt and Gold

He waited until all the important people had quit the chambers, until the warplanning and the debates and the logistics were hammered out, until the words were chewed over in his mind. It was all the same, he’d thought-- these plannings were just shoving forces here and there, shoring up edges and pressing advantages. It was the most boring part of war; tactics and strategy that did not survive the first encounter.

Now, though, he waited outside Stenden’s office, waiting for the young Lord to return. He did not pace, instead leaning with booths shoulders to the wall, finger tapping out the tune for Goodember’s Fall on his elbows.

Vissehn did not wait long as Stenden came marching up the spiral staircase. He was exhausted and somewhat flustered from the affairs he just had to deal with. Though it had ended amicably, he felt that he was this close to insubordination if he had not come to a compromise with Lirelle. He was glad for Thanidiel’s presence and suggestion- And Vissehn’s support, the one thing he could always count on.

Seeing his friend at his door, he managed a tired smile. “Hey Viss,” he said, the shortened name he had coined on the rooftops seemed to stick. “I think that went well, all things considered.”

“Ey, Sten.” He tried out the shortening of the name, finding it worked better than he could have hoped. “It sure went.” Vissehn pushed away from the doorframe and stepped into the office first, showing his back to Stenden as he gathered… what he could of his thoughts.

Once they were in the room, Vissehn perched himself on the edge of Stenden’s desk and levelled eyes at the youth, one brow cocked. “You and the dead woman sure have a lot of thoughts on people whomst neither of you come from. Those soldiers might be your people by law of these lands, an’ she might see their blood as just the war’s due, but unless they’re dead set to dying for one Lord over another, there’s always more there. Least the militia.”

His voice was carefully neutral, despite the words, and he bounced one leg.

“Do you think I made the right choice?” Stenden’s tone is filled with exasperation. There was no answer to this question of course. Everyone had an answer that was right to them. “I have thoughts of them for sure, but as far as I’m concerned, they are not tools- To be used, expended, until they are of no use to me- That was Mereded’s way, and I’m trying so hard not to repeat his mistakes.”

The anger in the youth abated some at the genuine frustration and consideration Stenden put into the fate of the captured. “It’s a sight better than outright ordering their deaths.” He offered softer, and ran a hand through his golden thatch of hair. “I think yer trying, and that’s more’n I can say for most nobility I’ve come across.” He glanced sidelong, lips pulling into a tight furl. “They’re men an’ women just like us.”

He glanced to Stenden again, taking the measure of the boy once more. That red hair, the fine-boned face that was so like his lady mother’s, the set of jaw that was somewhere between father and uncle. He would grow tall-- as tall as Sederis, in all likelihood, if not taller. Intelligence lit those green eyes, and emotion that was raw and mortal.

“Sten, yer gandsire made his mistakes in thinkin’ oceans of blood would buy lasting peace. There’s no thing as lasting peace-- there’s spans of time where shit isn’t as raw a deal, but it always ends.” He sighed. “If you remember that an’ keep the price of violence low, yer ahead.”

His thoughts swam; Stenden had spent his whole life sheltered in these and the Dawnveils’ walls. He’d never been so hungry his body wasted, never know a violence so far above him he couldn’t retaliate. He wasn’t a cruel or unjust lad-- he was so used to the life of a Lord he knew nothing else.

Finally, he stood up. “After this next engagement, I want ye to set aside some time for yer pal Fish. Not much-- the span of a few days. Leave th’paperwork for yer father for a spell.” He closed the distance and laid a hand on Stenden’s shoulder, forcing his lips to pull the roguish smile that had predicated their trip to the roof. “Ye trust me?”

“I do, of course I do,” Stenden responded with a tired smile of his own, though it would never be as roguish, never be as wide. It was true of course, that he had lived a sheltered life. Never starved. Never struggled for warmth on a cold winter’s night. “It may be difficult, but I’ll make time for you.”

“And I know they are just men and women like you and me, but there are so many voices Viss, so many. From both the living and the dead,” he ran his hands over his face and through his hair, undoing his tie and letting the locks fall across his shoulders. “My father speaks about them as leverage. Mother speaks about them as means to vengeance. Lirelle speaks of tools to war. Sederis speaks- spoke- of them as children. His duty- my duty, to protect them, from the abuses of power- even- especially the ones from myself.”

“That way, I will never be like Mereded. He may have had two hundred years of peace, but the cost of that is one we are paying for now. Because you’re right. Peace never lasts. Nothing ever lasts.” Vissehn didn’t know what the boy was referring to exactly. But neither did Stenden. In a span of two weeks, which felt like an eternity, everything for the boy had changed. He had changed.

The cascade of red hair was so familiar it ached in Vissehn’s throat. If he could have prevented the death of Sederis, he would have-- his regret, as it was for many, from the Phoenix Wars. He could have saved a friend, and saved a youth from a weight far too much for one to carry so young.

“It’s hard, to just see people as people. That’s all they are, though.” He shrugged. “Sederis was a good man but he was blinded by his guilt an’ what his father tried to make of him. Yer mother’s been a pawn in so many politics… I figure, she’s burnin’ herself up to reclaim somethin’ robbed from her and she’d take all of the Emberglades down wiv her if it means getting her pound of flesh. Women don’t get it easy, no matter their place in the world.” His voice is soft on that, something almost bitter and longing in the words. “Yer father sees numbers an’ can’t tell a man from a scarecrow.” His voice becomes a sneer, and his lips curl away from his teeth. “Thinks yer lineage is what sets a man apart. Huh.”He suppressed the urge to spit.

Taking a breath, he closed the distance and placed a hand on Stenden’s shoulder. “Hey.” Again his voice went low with an urgent earnestness. “Yer doing what you can, right? Just keep trying. Keep making th’choices that no one wants to hear, for the sake of people who may not like or respect ye. You’re more than decent, Sten. I got faith in your choices. I’m here fer advising and helping where I can, but the reason I’m here is ‘cause I got faith in you. I wouldn’t have signed on wiv Solendis, an’ I didn’t become Sederis’ anything but friend, yeah? Ye said you were the Lord of the Emberglades, an’ it weren’t a title-- well, I ain’t signing on with a title, I’m signing on wiv you.”

He speaks with a conviction that he wills to fill his friend, to flow from the place his hand connects. His thumb brushes the place where collar meets skin and he grins roguishly. “I’m here to listen if ye got summat else to tussle with. Or if ye just need some sense beat into yer arse.”

Stenden makes a chuckle, the first today. “I appreciate it, I really do,” he looks up at his friend. “You have to believe me Viss, when I say that I’m trying my best. That if I make a bad choice, it isn’t out of callousness, or that I’ve forgotten that people like you are just that: People.” And at the same moment of confession and a promise not to be callous, he mentioned that very line that got under his skin. Not so much that he said it, but the manner in which it was said. Like it was a matter of fact that there was something that set them apart at the core- and that it was normal

The hand drops. He wants to say it; wants to remind Stenden that they both bleed red, that their bones both bleach white in the sun, that their graves will be no more than stone and earth encompassing decay. Vissehn works the words over like tough hide in the jaws of his thoughts, and no matter how he grinds against it he finds no blood in the meat.

“So long as I have yer trust, we’ll be just fine, won’t we?” His voice is light, grin wide as he throws himself over the chair that faces Stenden’s desk. Words will not make a concept into a man; he cannot break a lifetime of Soldenis lectures with anger or debate or fighting until they’re bleeding, even if his belly screams for it, even if he would feel better by slamming someone with that noble blood hard enough against the stone to see it wash over his hands.

Lying to survive was given to him in the cradle with milk; lies are the currency of the Unwelcomed, and Vissehn was wealthy beyond measure.

Swinging his long, lean legs, Vissehn whistled. “So! Got an uprising to settle, an’ then those… men in the ground who think we’re still fightin’ the Big Blue Lion, huh?”

“Yes,” he was glad for the redirection to the company of Men of the Black Banner who were somehow still operational in the troll tunnels that line the borders of the Emberglades. “I hear they’ve been stealing from peasants all along the mountain range, occasionally burning crops. Must think that the Alliance won and we’re all just sympathizers providing for the enemy now.”

Stenden wondered if the Civil War breaking out had anything to do with their sudden resurgence, or if they had always been there since the end of the war and Zarannis had been observant enough to pick them out.

Vissehn snorted. “Well, it’s a good thing I ain’t goin’ to that lil shindig.” He drew his hands under his eyes and batted his lashes at Stenden prettily. “These lookers would make ‘em shit bricks an’ shoot first, ask questions later.” His blue-gray eyes were certainly not the common Sin’dorei fare, shiny like metal and without the glow most considered inherent in the elves of the north.

“Seems a real shite deal, though. Best of luck to them that are gonna try an’ pry them from their foxholes. Must be hard thinkin’ the world ended.” He whistled softly, but there’s no sympathy in his words; his fey mood has returned, masking the bubbling rage that boiled in his center.

Stenden laughed when his friend batted his eyelashes at him. “I’m sure they would. Hopefully father giving Zarannis their banner would at least make them pause for thought,” he said, shaking his head for his own benefit. “Just like the Shalemarchers. We’ll deal with them the best we can, and if we can get them home- All the better.” The boy failed to appreciate that if they had a home, it was likely gone in Lord Tar’saren’s scorched earth policy he employed against Everliegh. Stopping her advance dead in its tracks. The Bulwark functioning as its namesake.

Still sprawled like a kitten, Vissehn laughed, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ll wish ‘em well an be glad I ain’t joinin’. I’ll take a revolt over men who think it’s all over, anyday. A man whose got kin an’ babes an’ land can be reasoned with. A man without shite? Hoo.” He mimed wiping sweat from his brow.

Propping himself up on elbows, he let his grin reach his eyes. “Speakin’ of…” His tongue passed over his teeth as he weighed the capricious desire in him with the anger he struggled to hold at bay. In the end, he was no match for his own baser thoughts.

“Hows about we don some cloaks an’ slip off to somewhere they’re singin’ the good songs, all bawdy and blue.” He lifted his brows invitingly. “Or we can see if’n there’s some trouble to suss up with yon merchants in town. Somethin’ to get us out of this prison of a castle! Tel’dorei don’t do well in stone walls.” He drawled the last, a helpless and teasing whine.

“I really shouldn’t,” Stenden replied, and felt the weight of his station bear down upon him. But, he had already done his duty had he not? Put his foot down on what he could not accept, and what would be damaging to the realm that he had to put back together. The war meetings were over and it was all he was good for. Tomorrow’s reports could wait. His father was handling the amnesty proclamations. Drafting reconciliation clauses had a deadline that lay far into the future for now. All he would be losing was sleep, and with the war no longer in such a precarious state, he reckoned he could afford it.

“But yeah, why not?” He said with a grin.

Vissehn’s grin was slow and languid, and he pushed up on the chair to rise, slinging his arm over Stenden’s shoulders as she all but pushed the youth out the door to the office and towards the guest wing. “I got a few spare cloaks an’ a ratty tunic that’d suit ye, let’s get gussed down an’ have ourselves a night.” This he whispered into Stenden’s ear, the anger metamorphizing into something capricious and fey; he couldn’t fight Stenden, not right now, so he’d do the damage his father had warned Vissehn against.

He’d make a mortal of the Lord, if it killed the both of them.

They made their way through the mostly-empty halls to Vissehn’s suite, and the youth threw the lock as soon as they were inside. “Now, come on, off with that fancy embroidered doily you got on an’ we’ll be out th’window an’ in a tavern afore the maids can gossip to yer father that you were seen walkin’ to my rooms.”

Led by the impeteous youth, Stenden tries his best to be silent as he makes his way to the guest wing. The beating of his heart rises, for the thrill and fears of being caught. Either by his father or the House Guards who would no doubt repeat what they saw to him. “Right then,” he says taking off his shirt of blues and golds and looking to Vissehn to provide him with something… Less telling of his station. “I doubt the patrons at the tavern would recognize me. I’ve hardly shown my face to the people until the last few months.”

“They’ll not think yer anything but maybe a byblow once I’m done wiv ye.” Vissehn’s brows arched high as he dug in his wardrobe, pulling and discarding clothing like mad. He’d earned hazard pay from his stint spying, and a sizable portion must have been blown on the clothing he now tossed wildly-- it was a flurry of linen and cotton. Finally, he found what he sought, and wadded it up before chucking it straight at Stenden’s head.

The tunic proved to be well made, if simple; geometric embroidery around the collar and hems were all it sported by way of ornament, the natural colors of the fibers making it seem of poorer make than it was. “I got that in… I think it was th’humans camp?” He whistled. “Smuggled it on’ to look th’part, but it was Eversong made, the man musta taken it off someones washline.” He snorted. “It’s too big for my scrawny bones but mayhap it’ll fit those growin’ young shoulders of yours.”

For his part, he simply pulled on a tight ocher vest, lacing it over his chest with a skill and speed that seemed uncanny. “Now, out the window we go!” His laughter was wild and bright as he flung himself to the sil and tossed the shutters wide. Without waiting, he was hopping onto the tiles, thoughts already halfway drowning in a bottle.

Stenden caught the wadded shirt as it rushed towards his face and chuckled. Then he gestured at the mess of clothes that had seemed to fountain out of Vissehn’s wardrobe. “I should have expected it but I’m really amazed at all this. You must have an outfit for every occasion.” The boy of the Emberglades pulled the tunic over his head, checked if it fit but tugging on the shoulder edges.

Then, as his friend pulled himself out the window, Stenden smiled inwardly and followed him out. “So do you know where we’re going?” He asked as he pulled himself onto the tiles after Vissehn.

“It’s all part of bein’ a spy, a soldier AND the best damn singer in Eversong.” He grinned as his friend caught up, footing sure on this part of the roof. He’d explored it the first day he’d arrived-- he knew its cracks and shifts better than he knew the path to the front door. “I have to look the part!”

Unsaid was that he’d grown up in the same tunic for a decade, rehemmed and patched until almost nothing remained of the original fabric. When he got his first payment from the Sunguard, he’d been so stunned that the cheque had nearly been caught by a breeze. When the gold was in his hands, he’d spent it all on nothing-- pastries he’d never eaten, amusement and novelties, clothing. His innate vanity had overcome him and he’d been so pleased with the purchases.

It took him longer to realize how he was going to earn the coin; now he kept it out of vanity but the gilt had flaked from the lily.

When their boots hit the cobbles, Vissehn jerked his chin towards the common parts of the expanse. “There’s a spot what I was told about by the cook, I think-- no one will much care who you are so long as you aren’t an Emberheart, so we’ll just have to pass you off as a bastard if someone gets too nosey.” He flicks Stenden’s nose as they walk, his arm finding its way around the young lord’s shoulders once more.

“A bastard huh?” Stenden folded his arms as they made their way down the cobbled streets towards the nearby township. “Shall we pick an emergency name? Reddy Redwheat?” He gives Vissehn a grin and a terrible, terrible suggestion that he thought- for whatever reason- was a good one.

“Oh, and should I put on an accent as well? I doubt I speak like a peasant.” Stenden cleared his throat to attempt a voice, but realized he had no idea what they sounded like. It humbled him somewhat, and his smile faded into thoughtfulness. “Why are we really going to the tavern Viss?”

Vissehn laughed at the assumed name. “Just say yer name is…” He tapped a finger to his chin. “Ah! Say yer Alya.” He snickered. “Her get won’t be round here, the Bears aren’t fond of anyplace without trolls.” he let the words hang enigmatically, still drawing on Stenden’s arm.

“We’re gonna get piss drunk.” His response was easy. “I’m gonna learn you a bit, after the next fight, but I want you to remember how good it is to drink somewhere where noone cares who yer father or mother are, where yer just another nameless cock amongst the roost. Yer accents fine, plenty of lads from the south get good educations, an’ tonight, yer my friend from the south!” He clapped Stenden’s back.

“Alya,” he raised an eyebrow at his friend. “A girl's name?” He brushes off the engenderment, it didn’t matter too much to him compared to other boys his age. Likely a side-effect of growing up around Dawnveil girls who were valued no less than the boys were.

The smile returns to his face when he gets clapped on the back. “Well no worries then, it even sounds like a spot of fun!” An anxiety spread up from the pits of his stomach but he ignored it. It was likely the first time he’d be regarded without his title hanging above his head. Would people hate him, not knowing who he was? Would he truly be just like everyone else? Only time would tell.

“Alya is a boy’s name where I’m from! Right up there with Ilya, Ivan an’ Ares.” He repeated his cousins names by rote. It was strange; he hadn’t seen them in most of his life, but he remembered their names and their faces and how they’d died. “Now, Alyashun, that’s a Matriarch’s name, an’ so I gave you the name of one of her sons. He’s got red hair an’ long ears cause she got him with a nobleman.” His brows wriggled. “Some of the southern lords got Deals with the Mama’s of the clans.”

It didn’t take long, even on foot, to reach the bar. It was less a tavern than most-- meant to service the soldiers passing through and not the locals. So, when Stenden and Vissehn entered, nobody looked up from their tables or glasses. It was all loud voices and laughter-- they were winning, afterall. The atmosphere was light without being riotous, and it seemed the perfect place for a pair of young roustabouts to get a drink.

Vissehn guides them towards the bar itself, and one of the bartenders behind the wood calls out above the din. “What’ll it be?”

“Two of whatevers cheap, my friend!” He slaps his silver down, turning to listen to the motley men and woman having their grand times. The conversations are as expected; the front, the pay, what came next. However, a small group of men next to the pair of youths were speaking of other things-- the camp followers, and their lovers back home.

Stenden listens in on the men. Though most of their conversation continues about lust and desire there are subtle and occasional reaffirmations of fidelity. So despite Mereded’s best efforts to forge perfect soldiers from his people: Drilling children into trained men and women, praising a warrior ethos that found value in being expendable. The people continued to live, continued to love, and outside the laws they lived under- life continued as normal. It made him wonder if he had it in him to change things. Because if this was proof that was all a tyrant like his grandfather could do, what chance did he have?

But he pushes that away as two mugs of the cheapest ale slide across the table to them. “Victory is on everyone’s lips- Victory and what to do with it,” Stenden says with a smile. From Solendis’ propaganda papers that were being published out of a converted farmstead, winning was only a matter of time now.

They outnumbered their enemies three to one. Between House Swiftquiver’s new orders against a new enemy, and Amnesty Offers forging new companies of men. All they needed to do was march up to the last stand of Westheath at the Illithian fortress-home. But of course, the papers did not speak of the sheer disorganization of it all. Army units were spread throughout the Emberglades, some marching towards Kearn, others assisting with law and order in Shalemarch. Worse still, it did not mention that it could be over- Right now- if the Illithians that remained weren’t prepared to fight to the death.

The boy listened to the men nearby them for a moment longer before asking his friend a question. “No one special, no camp followers that struck your fancy or girls where you’re from?” Stenden did not know of course, of his friend’s people. Only that they were different.

“Well, the best of the Sunguard, this war weren’t gonna last long.” He takes a glug of the ale and his brows shoot up. “Cor, even yer piss ale is better out here. I don’t regret slowin’ myself down here for a space.” His gaze slides over the room, but it keeps latching onto the youth next to him. The warm glow of the candlelight seemed to make him older, show the man he would become.

These men and women would serve Stenden; they would live their lives in service, but at least they lived. It was a comfort, that the nature of living never changed. If there were no lords tomorrow, if the whole system was gone, people would still drink. They would still laugh, and fuck, and cry and die. No matter what, people could thrive. If he could, he’d make it easier on them-- use his place and words to pave a path forwards for the people.

No one should have to starve; no one should fight for their right to live. He’d born it, but he remembered the whispered truths from his mothers lips. He knew the promise of the Tel’dorei.

Freedom.

The question startles him out of the reverie, and he looks to Stenden with a half choked laugh. “Me?!” He snorted and shook his head. “Ha! I’m not th’kind to take a long shine. A pretty girl-- or handsome lad-- for a summer’s hour, lips locked with mine and hands a-wandering-- that’s certainly a pleasant waste of time. But I got too many places to rove for more’n that.” He chuckles. “A tumble, sweet parting words, that’s all it’s gotta be for a lad like me.”

The lies flow easily. It’s not hard; it’s not as if the relationships between individuals were kept from him. He knows the mechanics of intimacy-- has given others pleasure. But the charm he summons is as much armor as it is invitation, and when he leaves he knows his paramores sing his praises without knowing the secret of his frame.

“They got a pretty Lady on the line for ye? Kissed an’ cuddled a gal from the Dawnveil’s lands?” He adds, willing to court danger for awhile with the conversation. He leans forward, so their noses nearly brush. “Don’t tell me my friend hasn’t had such a pleasant diversion.” His words come out low, teasing, those pretty blue eyes lidded with mischief.

Stenden takes a big swig of ale before continuing, hoping to dull the heavier thoughts that seemed to be dampening the evening. “Of course I’ve had… Pleasant diversions,” he paused and stressed the last words taken from his friend. “There’s a girl from Dawnveil, niece of one of the maidservants who was staying with the Dawnbrooks for the summer- Least, what passes for summers on the Isle.” A blush seems to rise on the boy’s cheeks. It was nothing serious of course, just a kiss and bit of clumsy exploration before their time was interrupted by a dinner bell. But the thoughts still fired up something within him when he thought of it.

“Sheri,” he said wistfully. “But she isn’t on the line no- Lowborn- and all that,” Stenden waved his hand as if chasing something off in mock annoyance. “In either case, I didn't see her the following year, or this one. So I doubt anything will come of it: To my father’s relief if he ever knew about it.”

Then as the ale started to sink in he narrowed his eyes at his friend, “or handsome lads?” That seemed to resound in his memory.

Vissehn snorts. “Yer father likely had somethin’ to do with her not bein’ there the followin’ year, friend.” He shakes his head, the memory of his conversation with the steward not one he would forget, despite the liquor and attempts to drown out the derision and disdain the man had for the people he considered his lessers. “But that’s a start, my friend!” He pats Stenden’s shoulder, in the way the wise do for the uninitiated; congratulatory and yet condescending.

He does not let his thoughts linger on how ephemeral Stenden’s attentions are; his own are flighty as well, save that he sees the common and the noble with the same lack of permanence.

When his friends eyes narrow, Vissehn giggles wickedly. “C’mon now, you have a good education an’ spent time wiv the Dawnbrooks. You can’t be so sheltered as all that!” He leans in, the ale thick in his breath, and drags a finger under Stenden’s chin-- from throat to the very tip, where he catches the boy quick, thumb at the point of his face.

“I’ve kissed the Jessamine of th’ Rosewinds an’ made her flush so prettily ye could say I placed the flowers in her cheeks; I courted th’lord of Voidsunder so well he gave me a blade fit for a king... all for the price of my lips.” He runs his tongue over those selfsame lips, slow and deliberate. “Had plenty of pretty lordlings an’ handsome lasses. May be a Fish outa water, but they know me by my honeyed tongue, and aren’t liable to forget what I can do with it, either.” His grin widens and he lets a brow rise, conspiratorial and mocking all at once.

Stenden turns red, half from the alcohol, and half from the embarrassment before pulling away from Vissehn’s hand. “I know! I’m not sheltered it’s just that-” he leaned back and gestured at his friend from head to toe. “You’re Vissehn! I wouldn’t have figured-” the boy quickly went back to his drink to shut himself up. His friend was a man’s man. Loud, boisterous, boastful. But he supposed he was pretty enough to draw the turn the heads of many-a-Lord.

Then, after a moment of alcohol mired thought, he gave Vissehn a look. “Were these courting of the Lords and Ladies intentional or incidental?” He asked a not so subtle loaded question.

Vissehn’s laugh is uproarious, and he grips the bar to catch himself from falling off his seat. “Cor, the look on you!” He slaps the counter and takes a long drink, finishing his flagon. Dropping more silver, he chuckles even after the moment of pure, chaotic mirth is spent. “Ahhh… I forget how young you are sometimes, friend!” He reaches up to ruffle Stenden’s hair. “Hoo. I should be kinder,” though his tone is not promising.

At the pointed question, Vissehn snorts, eyes flicking from Stenden to the barkeep who was pouring him more. “People get drawn in by someone who smiles and has a good time. Half th’time I just grin an’ giggle and they line themselves up neat like-- common an’ not.” He pauses. “I tell you this; I’ve taken a gift or so for my charm, but I’m no whore.” He says it without rancor or shame. “I don’t seek coin, or power, or nothin’. I’d be a mighty fool of a strumpet if’n I turned down your offer back when you asked if I’d join on.” He lifted his brow meaningfully.

When the mug was filled, Vissehn nodded to the man behind the counter; he knew the kind, and he knew that the fellow was not a fool. Stenden would be known here, for all Vissehn’s posturing, and that he had come to drink-- and not cause trouble-- would be known as well. What happened with the information, well… he knew an ear or three to whisper in. He’d make this a good thing for the boy-lord, and not one for ill.

Solendis might think making a man of an idea made it lose value; Vissehn knew better. Heroes were made from people, lifted high. You weren’t born a god; the best heroes had a little of the godliness in the blood, and fought-- bled-- wept for the rest.

He shrugged then. “When I was just a sprout, I was popular with my set. Got myself good at talking, and listening, and it did me well. When I joined up with the Sunguard, well-- the good folks there were more noble than not. Myself, Captain Sunshard, The Oracle… who else.” He taps his chin. “Dawnstalker, yeah. He’s common. Highdawn is akin to it. You see how hard it is to name even two hands worth of commborn?” He lifted his newly filled mug for a drink, and then clinked it against Stenden’s. “I’m a simple man; I like diversions. New things, fun things, fun people. I’ll make friends with those around me, easy, and if they want more, well-- if they’re interesting, I don’t see the harm.”

Stenden got a refill for himself as he listened to his friend. “Power flows upwards,” he made the shape of a pyramid with his hands. “Peasants & commonfolk to landowners & merchants, landowners & merchants to their barons, barons to dukes, then dukes to the king- Well Lord Regent in our case.” The boy tried to explain what he knew of the system he was in.

“Commonfolk are good folks, but in the places that make the world, they rarely have the power to stand the others.” He gave a thoughtful pause. “The Glades, we value merit as much as we do birthright. Take Lady Swiftquiver or Lord Tar’saren for instance. Raised to their stations from action- Not whose loins they sprung forth from!”

The boy had forgotten his cover, and began speaking all Lord-like. Not drawing that much attention in the lively tavern but enough for the man behind the counter and some nearby to really take notice. But to Vissehn’s relief, they liked what they heard and made no mention of it.

“I don’t give a lick about power.” Vissehn offered back with a laugh. “I’ve been poor as they come an’ I’ve lead troops, all the same, and power is just another thing they try’n sell ye. I’d rather be fightin’ on my own. Now, I’ll take it-- when needs must, or when it suits-- but that’s not for me.” He waves a hand, noting that the shift in conversation is far easier for his friend to stomach. Well, that was fair-- he was a sheltered lad, and hadn’t lived the kind of life Vissehn had. And well. Vissehn was luckier than his aunties and girl-cousins; he’d at least had the veneer of protection, and choice with his pursuits, brief and limited as they were. He’d never been faced with the ultimatums or the pressure. He’d been a boy long enough for it to benefit him.

“I got a passel of thoughts on things here but this ain’t my home, so I’m gonna listen more than I talk.” He shrugs. “All I know is, pretty face an’ a way with words-- that gets me in a lot of doors. Noble, merchant, common-- we all wanna feel special an’ get that attention from someone who seems interested. When that don’t work, Hawkin’ mail, or th’Sunguard sign would do the rest. Now, I’ma have to find me other sure ways of finding mischief.” He wiggled both his brows.

The boy nods, it was never about power for Vissehn. Stenden remembered their first meeting, how he had casually turned down his offer for power. As meager as something as a cottage and a small stint of land. But perhaps, he thought, it was more about freedom than any particular distaste for power.

He chuckles and raises his mug for his friend, “to mischief then!” Stenden cheers and slips deeper into inhibition. But through his ale muddled thoughts he finds a thread that he picked up earlier but discarded at the time. His smile mellows somewhat as he stares into his mug. “Speaking of mischief- What did you mean my father had something to do with her not being there? Sheri, I mean.”

The pair raise their glasses in the call for mischief, and it's as good an oath as Vissehn has ever given. He drains the flagon again, the quality of the ale just beginning to affect him. Everything has a gloss to it that he associates with the edge of inebriation, and it's a pleasant one-- with pleasant company to boot, even if Stenden is just a lad with more nobility than sense.

The other youth snorts as he puts down the empty mug. "Yee father got some notions about how you ought to spending your time. Which include less of me altogether." He twirls a finger in the air dismissively. "Not the first fucker to tell me I'm a bad influence, first one to say it was cause he'd set his--" Vissehn cuts off, and scowls. "Well, he had his ideas and I got mine. I got the feeling though weren't the first time he's warned someone off of ye, he had the words ready to cut to the quick; we're all just lucky I'm a bastard with no honor to protect from, yeah?" He rubs at the back of his neck. "If he got wind of somethin as sordid as a lordling pawing at a servants girl, well. Seems he's the type to tuck that away and get it gone afore anyone else is the wiser. Hope he just sent her and her auntie packin, an' no worse."

Emotions churn through him, they cut, wash away, and swirl. Like a storm on the alabester wall that was Stenden. He did not know what to do with any of it. "I had my suspicions," his voice hardens, swinging away from the mirth it held just moments ago. "And he must have said the same to you." He gestures for the barkeep to give him a refill.

"To protect me? Did he say what from? From you?"

"Fuck, Sten, I was piss drunk. I'm proud I didn't hit him in the jaw, cause I was that mad but I don't recall all he slung at me. Just that I'd be ruinin' yer future, and he was protectin' your credibility." He will not say he has a much better memory than he lets on; that Solendis knows he is Unwelcomed and Tel'dorei and a lower form of low than even the commoners at this bar, in these lands. Stenden can wring that from his father if he wishes; he can fight the power of his ancestry on his own, without the need to defend the honor of his friend who has none.

There is a quality to the hardness in Stenden that reminds Vissehn of the last days of Sederis rule as Lord in these lands, and it more than the reminder of his own fractured history that sobers the lad. Here was another who would not care to be controlled; sees his father's warning as protection, unnecessary for him, rather than protection of the way of life. He drops silver as a tip, and slings an arm around Stendens shoulders.

"Let's get th'fuck out of here, howl in the hills for a spell. Yer father can't rid you of me; yer the only one who can send my ass to pasture." He offers it consolingly, guiding Stenden to the door.

“Part of me wishes you punched him- But consequ- conse- That’d have been bad,” Stenden slurred minorly.

But as Vissehn slung his arm around his shoulder, the boy rises to his feet and gets guided to the door. “That’s good,” he says, “because I never will.” With one final gesture to the barkeep, he swallowed both his ale and his anger down in one go.

He did not say it, but there was a tension in his heart. Being treated like a houseplant. Put in a box as his father did the gatekeeping. With that information now in the open, he began to wonder how many friends he had lost. Or if that girl from Dawnveil actually did feel the same way he did for her- he had assumed she never came back because he hadn’t mattered that much to her. He had been Solendis’ offering to the Emberglades, except Solendis had never asked if he was willing or not- because the offering was finally beginning to think for himself. Like mother, like son.

Image by Jason Manley.

@retributionpriest @stormandozone @thanidiel

#Epilogue #Stenden #Visshen

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roman-writing · 4 years

Text

A Study in Hospitality (2/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses / Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Marianne von Edmund

Rating: T

Wordcount: 7,886

Summary: There’s a new student at camp half-blood. Hilda, daughter of Aphrodite, has been tasked with showing her around. A Percy Jackson and the Olympians AU

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

"I heard about your little 'weed killer' accident." Claude made air quotes with his fingers. "Is that really the best you could do? Weed killer?"

Hilda was in the armoury. She was sharpening her favourite axe, which -- she had to admit -- was a brave moment for Claude to approach her. She slapped the power button to stop the wheel that spun the belt grinder, and tested the edge of the curved blade against the hair on her forearm.

The hair didn't cut. The blade wasn't quite ready yet.

Lifting her personalised pink safety goggles away from her face, Hilda glanced over at Claude. "You know, it's funny you should ask about that, actually."

"Oh?" Claude leaned forward a bit. His eyes held a hungry gleam, the same he always got when he was curious about something that refused to immediately provide all its secrets.

"Yeah. I was just thinking about how it was none of your damn business."

Hilda slammed the goggles back into place, and flipped the switch to start the belt grinder again. Sparks flew as she expertly angled the blade of her axe against the grinder, making Claude jump back a step or risk singing his clothes.

Claude raised his voice slightly to be heard over the sound of grinding metal. “Oh, c’mon, Hilda! Weed killer? You really expect me to buy that?”

“Yup!”

“You have got to tell me. Not knowing is killing me.”

“And you came to cry on my shoulder? Wow. You must really be desperate.”

“Well, where is she now?”

Hilda shrugged. She paused to dip the axe’s blade in water before continuing to grind. “No idea. I haven’t seen her for a few days.”

“I thought Seteth had arranged your schedules so that you two shared everything together.”

“Yeah, and she’s just bailed on the back end of this week. And you know what? I respect that.” Hilda stopped the belt grinder again. She tested the blade, and deemed it suitably sharp for hacking off monster limbs.

Claude was leaning against a nearby wooden pillar. He played with an arrow from one of the legion of quivers that lined the walls. The shaft twirled easily between his fingers. “Won’t you even tell me about what exactly Seteth told you to do.”

With a much put-upon sigh, Hilda perched the safety goggles atop her head. She turned the axe over so that the head was firmly on the ground, and she rested her elbow against the pommel. “Fine. Since you’re being such a pain. I’m supposed to be hospitable, or whatever.”

“Sure, sure.” He used the arrow to gesture towards the surrounding armoury. “Which is why you’re here. Leaving her all alone. Makes sense.”

Her mouth opened, but every witty retort died on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes narrowed. “Hang on. Did Seteth send you?”

Claude gave her one of his signature lopsided grins, and held up his hands in surrender. The arrow dangled between his fingers. “You caught me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“He wants you to prep Marianne for next week’s lessons.”

“Did he at least say where she was?”

At that, Claude shrugged.

Groaning dramatically, Hilda tossed her gloves and protective glasses onto the nearby work bench. She then hefted the axe in one hand. A press of her fingers against key points in the long engraved handle made the axe fold into itself until it had turned into a pair of pink sunglasses, which she then perched atop her nose.

When she turned to leave, she paused. Claude was still watching her as she glanced over her shoulder. “Hey, Claude. Have you ever known a Demeter kid whose magic kills flowers? By accident, I mean.”

His expression did not change a whit, but something keen flashed in his eyes. He feigned thoughtful contemplation, then answered, “No."

“Yeah,” Hilda began striding away. “That’s what I thought, too.”

Of course, Marianne wasn't in Demeter Cabin. Hilda was beginning to think that Marianne never actually spent any time in her own damn cabin. Almost like she didn't feel at home there. It couldn't have been that the other Demeter kids were mean to her. They couldn't be mean to a fly. The idea that they could bully anyone, when they felt bad about saying something mean to plants -- like, really? plants? -- was laughable.

But still. Regardless of why Marianne was never in Demeter Cabin, it was a pain in the ass. Hilda groaned, and stomped away. She checked the woods, the only place she had actually seen Marianne go to by choice. Which was weird in and of itself, because nobody liked the woods. They were dark, and damp, and literally crawling with monsters. Thankfully though, Marianne was not to be found there either. At least, not along the edges of it.

And so it was that Hilda started the arduous task of working her way through every major site in camp half-blood. She interrogated the pegasi for a good ten minutes. Minty was particularly unhelpful, and told her that he had never heard of Marianne, which was clearly false.

He did remember the carrots, though. Crystal clear memory of that. And did Hilda happen to have brought more perchance?

Fucking pegasi. Typical.

As she was storming from one of the rear stalls however, a pair of quiet voices gave her pause. Quickly Hilda backpedalled, and hid behind the stall door.

“Did you bring the carrots I asked for?” Minty asked, sticking his head into her space.

“Fuck off,” Hilda hissed.

“Wow. Rude. And in my own stall, too.”

She pushed his head away, and tried to listen to the voices drifting over from near the coach house, where the pegasi were draped in tack to carry chariots. When she peeked out to see if she could catch a glimpse, Hilda could just make out the slope of Seteth’s profile as he spoke to Marianne.

“You are still struggling with your new environment, I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

Seteth sighed, “I know your childhood was sheltered. Your father enrolled you here because he wished you to understand what it was like to live among others. He tasked me with ensuring not just your safety and instruction, but also your personal development.”

Marianne continued to hold her silence.

Seteth waited, then said, “I am talking about making friends.”

“I -” Hilda could hear Marianne swallow past an obstruction in her throat before she could speak. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Oh, come on. Even after Hilda had thrown her a friendship bone and everything? What more did a girl have to do? Write it out in a binding legal contract?

For a moment Seteth made no reply. Then he asked very softly, “Has anyone been -” he seemed to mull over the right word, “- inhospitable towards you?”

At that, Hilda bristled with indignation. He may have not mentioned her by name, but he didn’t have to; she could tell from his tone alone that he was referring to her.

Inhospitable? As if!!

Marianne shook her head. “No. Everyone has been very kind.”

Hilda nodded along enthusiastically from her hiding spot, even though neither of them could see her.

“Hmm.” Seteth sounded like he did not believe her. “But if they weren’t, you would tell me?”

Silence.

“Marianne?”

“Yes,” Marianne said.

“Good. That’s all I ask. Now, I shall leave you to your own devices. Remember to come to dinner this time, please. It is not good to skip meals, even for one such as yourself.”

Marianne gave no reply, but she must have given some indication -- Hilda could not see if she nodded from this angle -- for Seteth strode off in the direction of the armoury. He had to walk past her hiding spot, and she plastered herself against the wall. When she was sure he was gone, Hilda hesitantly leaned forward to peer out again.

“Oh! Hey, it’s that weird girl with the carrots!” Minty shoved his head and neck past Hilda to get a good look out the door, and in doing so he squished her against the wall even further. “Do you think she brought more?”

“If you step on my Loubotins, I will turn you into glue,” Hilda growled. Her sunglasses had been knocked askew on her face.

“Your what?” Minty swung his head around, tilting it to look down. “Nice shoes, by the way. Very shiny.”

“Exactly.”

She pushed him away, straightening her sunglasses and extracting herself from the stall. It took a great deal of skill to avoid any patches of pegasus dung on the ground. If Hilda had known she would’ve been hanging out in the stables today, she would’ve worn her work boots, which she had bought especially for these situations.

Having successfully extracted herself from the stall without making a complete mess of everything, Hilda looked up. And Marianne had vanished. Poof. Like smoke.

“Shit,” Hilda muttered.

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Minty said, not sounding sorry at all.

“No, not you!”

Shooing him away, Hilda marched off towards Marianne’s last known location. The air smelled faintly rotten, but that may have just been pegasus droppings. It was difficult to tell.

She couldn’t have gotten far. Even by magical means. Magica had its limits, after all. Hilda individually tapped the high heels of each shoe against the dusty ground, frowning at a few smudges of stubborn dirt that required a bit more magic. Then, clean and fetching as ever, she set out once more.

It made a bit more sense if Marianne was new to this whole demigod shtick. Some kids had a real rough time learning of what they were. Hilda wasn't one of those kids. Her older brother was a child of Aphrodite as well. Their father was something of a favourite of the goddess. Hilda had grown up knowing what she was, and how to use it.

For her, being a demigod was pretty damn great. And all those kids who struggled? Well, she was sympathetic, for sure. But she just couldn't relate.

Hilda found Marianne by the lake. She was sitting on a stretch of driftwood that looked like sun-bleached bone. Her elbows were tucked firmly into her sides, her hands clasped in her lap, watching a group of oreads and naiads playing. In her outdated formal attire, she looked like an antique doll that had been wound up with a spring-loaded mechanism.

Approaching on silent feet, Hilda waved a hand in front of Marianne's face and said in a sing-song tone, "Heyooo!"

Marianne started. She leaned away when Hilda plopped down on the log beside her. "Oh. It's you."

"You sound so enthusiastic to see me! I'm touched." Hilda placed a theatrical hand over her heart. She followed Marianne's gaze towards the group of nymphs. "They look like they're having a good time."

“Yes. They do.”

Marianne sounded a little wistful. On anyone else, the emotion would have been written clear as day across their face. Normally, Hilda could read people like an open book. But with Marianne, she had to really prise the book open. Like trying to read an old paperback when it was windy outside; the pages just kept trying to fold over one another until the book was shut.

Good thing Hilda had the right kind of magic at her disposal. She didn’t know what Marianne must’ve looked like to everyone else.

“You know,” Hilda drawled. She leaned back, and stretched her legs out before her. “I did promise to take you for a swim.”

Marianne’s gaze snapped down to her own feet. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt them.”

“Oh, pffft. It’s a big lake. There’s enough room for two more people. At least.”

At that, Marianne’s eyes wandered once more towards the waterline, where the lake lapped up against the pebbly shore. “I don’t really have any appropriate swimwear.”

A wave of relief swept through Hilda. She grinned. “Is that the problem? You should’ve said so sooner! We can totally get you some new clothes!”

“Where?”

Hilda leaned in closer and lowered her voice as if telling a secret. “I have my ways. Alright, so. Wardrobe.” Turning sideways so that she faced Marianne, Hilda held her hands pressed together beneath her chin. “I notice you wear a lot of dresses. Which is totally fine. In fact, you look great in them.”

Marianne seemed more confused by praise than anything else. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. Anyway, my point is, this week has just been, like, orientation stuff and chores, but next week is when classes start. Do you happen to have anything -- anything at all -- that’s more, you know -” Hilda tilted her hands so that her fingers were all pointing towards Marianne’s current outfit, “- athletic?”

Marianne mulled over the question for a moment. “I have a chiton.”

A chiton. Like, from honest to god Vogue 330BC.

“Oh, boy.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, Hilda said, “Okay. That’s fine. We can deal with that. We’ll just take you to the armoury. Two birds, one stone. And all that jazz.”

Marianne’s brows furrowed. “Why would the armoury have clothes?”

“It doesn’t. It’s just going to be our first stop. Right after you show me all the skeletons you have rattling around in your closet.”

At that, Marianne’s eyes widened. Her face, if it was at all possible, went even paler. “Wh - What? Why would you think I -? I don’t -!”

With a snort of laughter, Hilda rose to her feet. “It was a joke. Let’s head on over to Demeter Cabin. I want to see what sort of overhaul your wardrobe needs.”

It was a short trek to the cabins square. Marianne let Hilda do the knocking. She tried to hide behind Hilda despite the fact that it was her own damn cabin, while Hilda banged her fist against the ivy-clutched door.

"Looks like nobody's home," Hilda said, when they received no response. She turned to Marianne, then gestured towards the door. "Would you do the honours?"

"Oh. Sure."

Marianne reached past her, and grasped the door handle. The woodgrain darkened for an instant -- or maybe that was just the passage of a cloud between the sun and earth -- before the door creaked open. Hilda frowned down at the handle, but now it looked perfectly fine.

"Huh."

"What's wrong?" Marianne asked.

"Oh, nothing," Hilda said. She pushed the door open, and it swung inwards. "Though I don't know why I'm the one going first."

"Politeness?" Marianne said after a second of thought.

"Nice try. But I'll buy it, I guess."

The inside of Demeter cabin was awash with sunlight. The wooden walls were overgrown with plants, and vines trailed from the rafters. The bunk beds grew from the floors. Bundles of herbs were hung to dry from the windowsills. Warmth wrapped up the space like a cosy fireplace in winter. It was like stepping into a cottage in another world after days of long hikes across the mountains. Hilda had the sudden urge to curl up with a cup of floral tea, and maybe sleep for a week.

In other words, it could not have less resembled Marianne if it tried.

When Marianne followed, stepping into the cabin after Hilda, the door shut on her heels like a dog snapping at her calves. She started, her shoulders hunching, but she tried to mask the motion by clearing her throat.

"There was," Marianne said in the most unconvincing manner possible, "a - uh - breeze."

Hilda nodded slowly. "Right."

She had to internally remind herself that she was supposed to be hospitable. Accommodating. And also that she was supposed to be looking over a wardrobe, which was actually far more exciting a prospect.

Hilda turned back to the cabin. "So, which station is yours? Let me guess." Closing one eye, she pointed a finger and trailed it around the room as if trying to lock onto a target. She stopped when she was pointing at a bed all the way in the back corner, shrouded in the only pool of shadows in the whole place. "It's that one."

"How could you tell?"

"I have a gift for these things," Hilda said dryly.

She strode across the room until she reached Marianne's station. A chest of drawers leaned lopsidedly against the wall, and there was a bar for Marianne to hang some clothes out in the open.

Hilda pointed at the chest of drawers before touching it. "Can I -?"

Sitting down on the edge of the bed as though unsure if it even belonged to her, Marianne nodded.

Hilda opened drawers. She rummaged. She was very good at rummaging. At least, she normally was. In this instance however, there was very little to rummage through.

A few stockings. Some old-timey pantaloon things. Was that a petticoat? At least that explained how Marianne's skirts always managed to maintain such excellent shape all the time.

A few more sets of dresses were hung from the bar. Hilda pulled each back to get a better look at them. She had only seen Marianne wear two since her arrival. And always Marianne wore a gold pendant strung from a white ribbon around her neck. No other jewelry or accessories. Two of the other dresses were far more elaborate. Not in their cut -- they all made her look like an old Christian priest -- but in their fabric and embroidery. Heavy velvets with fine hands. Needlework in the richest gold that shimmered along every edge. Like she had expected to attend a ball, or an emperor's court.

"Is this everything?" Hilda asked. She still held onto the edge of one of the fine gowns, stretching the hem of its skirt, which rippled like black water in the afternoon light.

"Mostly." Marianne leaned over and pulled from beneath her pillow a set of pajamas which were an eggshell blue so pale they appeared almost white.

Or, hang on. Not pajamas. A nightgown. With an ankle-length hem, and a lace collar, and sleeves gathered into loose ruffles at the wrist.

Hilda let the dress drop. Its heavy velvet hems swung from its hanger. "Okay. I lied about the armoury being our second stop. We need to go next door stat."

"Alright?"

Marianne appeared puzzled, but she rose to her feet, and followed Hilda from Demeter cabin. It was a hop, skip, and a jump over to Aphrodite Cabin, which only had Sylvain lazing about in it, pretending to be sleeping. Hilda swatted at him with a pillow until he -- and the girl hiding under his bed -- left.

"There," Hilda tossed the pillow back onto Lorenz's bed, and walked over to her own bunk. "Now that we're alone, you can try on some of my stuff."

Marianne remained standing while Hilda pawed through her own dresser, which was literally overflowing with clothes. Shoes were piled up in a mountain beneath the bunk bed, and an additional series of bars had been strung up for the multiplication of raw stuff in Hilda's wardrobe.

Tossing various pieces of clothing across Lorenz's nearby bed without a care for his personal space -- he wasn't here; he wouldn't care unless he found out -- Hilda said, "You won't fit them perfectly, but it's better you have something for next week until I can get you some stuff in your own size. Try some of those on, and let's see how you go."

For a moment, there was silence behind her. Then, the gentle rustle of fabric. She could hear the slump of cloth to the ground, but did not look around until Marianne gently cleared her throat.

Hilda turned. She cocked her head to one side and scrunched up her nose. On her, the black track pants and branded t-shirt combo were trendy in a casual kind of way -- she could make anything look good just by virtue of proximity to herself. On Marianne however, the track pants stopped well above her bare ankles. Marianne stooped and tugged at the hem of the t-shirt in an attempt to cover her stomach more. If she straightened to her full height, the barest glimpse of skin at her waist would have been visible.

At least it would have, if not for the fact that Marianne had opted to wear an additional long-sleeved, high-collared turtleneck beneath the shirt. And she still wore that weird gold pendant over it as well. The entire effect made her appear gangly and out of place, like she had experienced a sudden growth-spurt. All knees and elbows.

“It’ll just have to do for now,” Hilda sighed. She waved towards the small pile of clothes that she had accumulated on Lorenz’s bed. “Keep them. Wear them. Return them. Or don’t. Whatever.”

“Are you sure?” Marianne asked. She was still fiddling with the end of the shirt, twisting one of her hands in the fabric.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get some more clothes in for you late next week. Luckily, you’re on the blue team.”

“Why is that lucky?”

“Because you look great in blue. Also because that means we’re on the same side. I mean -” Hilda plucked at her own blouse. “I look way better in red, but that would require me to cooperate with the Ares boys. So, you know. Needs must.”

“Could you please -?” Marianne made a twirling gesture with her fingers.

“What?” Hilda blinked. Then it hit her. “Oh! Sorry! Yeah.”

She turned back around, and could hear the whisper of fabric against skin. She removed her sunglasses, and toyed with them. She polished the pink lenses on the edge of her blouse. It would only take a flick of her wrist to extend them into an axe once more. Which reminded her.

“Hey, do you have a weapon?” Hilda asked, perching the sunglasses back upon her nose. She remained facing her own bunk bed and closet explosion across the ground.

“I have a sword,” said Marianne.

“Oh, good! You can use that during training exercises and classes, then.”

“No.”

Hilda paused. She had to resist the urge to sneak a peek over her shoulder; it was so much easier to read people when she could actually look at them. And Marianne was hard enough to read with magic, let alone without visual cues. “No, as in: no, you are unable to use a sword? Or no, as in: no, you are unable to use that sword?”

More shuffling and soft cloth noises. For a moment, the only reply was the creak of a floorboard as Marianne shifted her weight from foot to foot, until finally she admitted, “The second one. And you can turn around now.”

Hilda did so. Marianne was back in her own dress. Her hair was still a disaster of a messy bun.

“Okay. Cool. Cool cool cool. We’ll just get you a different sword, then. Or maybe a scythe,” Hilda joked. “Just to make your mother proud.”

"My mother?" Marianne repeated, her brows screwing up in confusion. Then her eyes widened. "Oh! Yes. I mean - um - of course. Demeter. My mother."

Alright, that was just plain suspicious. And obvious. For being such a mystery, this girl sure was a really really bad liar.

Hilda feigned nonchalance. "And your father?"

"Oh, well, he's -" Marianne pointed to the ground beneath their feet, and Hilda's eyes widened in understanding.

"Sorry," Hilda said with a grimace.

"It's alright."

"Who was that guy, then? The one that dropped you off in the limo?"

"Oh, him." Marianne wrung her hands together. "That was my adopted father. In a sense. It's complicated. He's a - well - a banker? Sort of. We don't really need the money, but he primarily handles loans during his day job. With - um - big stakes."

“Sure.”

So, Claude had been on the mark. She was a rich heiress. Ugh. He was going to be so insufferable when he found out. What a pain.

Wait. It also meant she was an orphan. Half-orphan. That counted, right? Did that mean they both won the betting pool?

Marianne shuffled her feet nervously. As if on cue, something clinked to the ground. Hilda looked down. A few coins scattered around, fat and gold and gleaming, as though they had spilled from Marianne's pocket. Marianne flushed, her cheeks going pink. Quickly she crouched down, and began scraping together the coins from the ground.

One of the coins rolled towards Hilda, coming to a halt by her feet. She bent down to pick it up, but hesitated before touching it, though she could not explain why. The coin seemed to resist her fingers, like it weighed far more than it should. Its face was worn smooth, as though from years of being rubbed by an anxious thumb in someone’s pocket. Upon it Hilda could just make out the emblem of a disfigured trident with only two prongs instead of three. When she turned the coin over, the other side bore the symbol of a cornucopia.

Or maybe it was a bearded face. Honestly, it was so time-worn she could barely tell.

Hilda straightened. "You - uh - you dropped this."

"Thank you," Marianne mumbled.

She held out her hand, so that Hilda could give it back without touching her. The coin fell into the centre of her palm with a heavy thud. She closed her fingers, and the coin vanished. Like some sort of mortal magic trick.

Alright. That was enough weirdness for one day. Hilda was going to make this conspiracy-theory bullshit go back to normal if it killed her.

Hilda squared her shoulders and marched over to Lorenz’s bed. “C’mon. Let’s go gear you up.”

She helped Marianne gather up all the clothes she was lending her, and carry them over to Demeter Cabin. And after that, she dragged Marianne over to the armoury to pick out some basic armour and a new sword. Marianne thanked her about twenty times on the way. Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration. But she still thanked Hilda way too much. It was enough to make Hilda feel uncomfortable.

Couldn't a girl just be nice for the sake of being nice? And for the sake of a good grade?

"It's fine. Don't mention it. No, really," Hilda said, adding a bit of nervous charmspeak into her words. "Don't."

The magic washed over Marianne, but she merely blinked. "Okay. Sorry."

Now, that was just plain weird. Titans like Seteth, and pegasi, and major gods, sure. They were immune to Hilda's charms. But -- and she didn't mean to toot her own horn -- but she really was Very Good at charmspeak. The best, even. Better than her brother anyway, and he could convince a billionaire to part with their last dollar.

Apparently however, Marianne was utterly immune.

Hilda dropped a heap of leather armour onto Marianne's bed. "Alright. Well. I'll see you later."

The last thing Hilda wanted to do on a hot afternoon was sit out in the sun and work. Toil, even. This was officially in the 'toiling' category. Overhead the sky was a blue so pale it hurt to look at with the naked eye. The sun wasn't even that high up yet, but already Hilda could feel a bead of sweat gathering between her shoulderblades. Her bra would need to be peeled off later today. Ugh.

She leaned back on her hands. She, along with a host of other students all in her age group, were gathered together in the amphitheatre. The stone offered no respite from the sun's merciless heat. Pale marble burned beneath her hands and through the sheer fabric of her very short shorts. Hilda did her best to make sure the naked skin of her thighs did not actually touch stone.

Professor Manuela was delivering some sort of instructions to the class. Hilda wasn't really listening. She lent half and ear to the usual drivel about health and safety or whatever, and cast the rest of her attention towards complaining bitterly under her breath.

"I mean -- really -- we can't, like, opt out of these things?" she grumbled. "If I throw Dimitri onto his back, that means I should be exempt from every practice until the end of time."

"You haven't thrown Dimitri onto his back, though," Claude pointed out.

"Hmph. Details. Details."

Dimitri himself, the head of Ares cabin, sat a few rows in front of them. Their conversation passed right over his head. Which was lucky, really. He had a calm exterior, but Hilda knew better. She'd seen that wrathful streak of his in the forest once.

To be fair, there had been a few big scary monsters involved, and he had single-handedly staved off half of them without any regard for his own personal safety. So, like, wrath it up, War Boy.

Manuela had stopped her pacing, and was now contemplating her students. She pointed at two of them to be the first sacrifice of the day to the arena, and Hilda almost had a heart attack when Manuela pointed in her direction.

"Mr. Riegan, if you please," Manuela said, then pointed at Dimitri. "And Mr Blaiddyd. Could you both please come down for our first demonstration?"

Hilda breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank fuck." She slapped Claude on the shoulder as he rose to his feet. "Try not to lose a limb!"

Claude flashed her a broad beaming smile, as well as a middle finger. She returned the smile and waved cheerfully as he sauntered down the steps towards the arena floor, drawing his bow from his shoulders as he went.

"Um -?" said a soft voice beside her.

Hilda half jumped out of her skin. She had forgotten Marianne had been sitting to her left this whole time. It took all of her vast reserves of skill to make a graceful recovery. She lowered her pink sunglasses down the bridge of her nose so she could meet Marianne's eye. "Sup?"

At least today Marianne somewhat blended into the rest of the group. She was wearing a set of clothes Hilda had given to her, while doing her best to cover as much skin as possible. She clutched her new bronze sword between both hands, the leather scabbard well oiled and tended, even if it was plain. She tilted the sword a little. “When you mentioned we would be using these in classes and things, what you meant to say was -?”

Hilda nodded towards where Claude and Dimitri were squaring off under Manuel’s instruction. “You know. Fighting monsters, and sparring, and stuff.”

Marianne’s grip on the scabbard tightened. “What if someone gets hurt?”

With a shrug, Hilda dismissed the idea. She pushed her sunglasses back into place. “There’s usually someone around with healing magic. The worst I’ve seen is a scratch or two. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

In the arena, Claude managed to hold his own for a surprisingly long time. Too bad an open arena really wasn't suited to his fighting style. Had there been places for him to hide and use the geography to his advantage, he would've won. No question.

As it was, he peppered Dimitri with blows and arrows from a distance until, with a roar, Dimitri closed the distance between them. Hilda gave a sympathetic wince as Dimitri's spear swept Claude's legs out from under him, and he fell onto the ground with an audible thump.

"Ooooh that's going to leave a bruise," she said, inhaling a sharp hiss of breath when the butt of Dimitri's spear swung down. "Not the face! Not the face!!"

Claude rolled out of the way, and the blunted spear end smacked against the dusty ground of the arena. Manuela called the sparring session to a halt, awarding tips and pointers as she saw fit. She had to go up to Dimitri and place a hand on his shoulder to stop him from stalking after Claude.

The wild look in Dimitri's eyes faded, and he lowered his spear. Then he lowered his head to Claude, sweeping his hand to his heart and murmuring something Hilda couldn't hear. An apology probably, based on the way Claude waved him off with a grin.

As the two of them shook hands, Manuela's eyes sought out two more contenders from the crowd. Hilda ducked down as far as she could in an effort to avoid her gaze. It worked.

"Miss Ordelia, and Miss -" Manuela cocked her head. "-von Edmund. If you would both be so kind."

In the front row, Lysithea rose to her feet without hesitation. She bore no weapon, nor did she reveal one as she stepped out into the arena, dusting off her skirt. Meanwhile, Marianne shot Hilda a panicked look.

"Go on!" Hilda urged. "Kick her ass!"

Marianne grimaced. Or perhaps that was her trying to smile. Still, she loomed to her feet, holding onto the sword as though she had already forgotten which end she was supposed to point at the enemy. When she started to pick her way down the stairs, Hilda scooted over to join a few of the Hermes and Hephaestus kids who sat nearby.

"This should be interesting," said Ignatz. His leaned forward in his seat, his thick spectacles refracting the light. "I hope Lysithea doesn't completely wipe her off the map."

At that, Hilda lifted her hands to her mouth and called out, "Don't go easy on her, Marianne!"

Marianne's shoulders hunched up a little more around her ears, but her stride lengthened; she walked with a bit more purpose. But only a bit.

"Yeah!! You can do it!" Raphael yelled beside Hilda, as eager for a brawl as any Ares kid despite the fact that his father was Hermes. Then he lowered his voice to a rumble, and asked, "So, who is that? I’ve seen her around, but -?"

"It's the new girl in Demeter Cabin. Though Claude has his doubts about that," Ignatz explained, not looking away from where Marianne and Lysithea were squaring off; Marianne was tugging her new sword free and placing the scabbard carefully on the ground.

Hilda turned to the both of them. “Do either of you know what she even does in her free time, anyway? Because I’ve pretty much only ever seen her at meals, or during chores.”

Ignatz shrugged. "Prays, mostly."

With a snort, Hilda said, "Who prays when you can just ring up mom, and talk to god?"

"Apparently she does."

"Well -” Hilda was at a loss. “What the hell."

"I saw her talking to animals the other day," Raphael added.

Hilda gave him a flat stare. "You're joking."

"Nah, I swear! She was talking to a bird!"

“Is that even something Demeter kids do? Talk to animals?”

He shrugged.

"What kind of bird?" asked Hilda.

"I dunno." Raphael scratched at his broad chin. "An owl? It was up on a branch, and it looked like it was listening when she talked."

“What is she? A child of Athena now? Auuugh!!” Hilda let her head drop into her hands. Her voice mumbled against her palms. “Tell Claude I give up.”

“Tell Claude what now?” said a familiar voice beside her; he had returned from his sparring match.

“You win,” she groaned, dislodging her sunglasses so that she could rub at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “You’re right. Marianne’s an unknown entity. Forever. Mystery solved. You’re welcome.”

Claude patted her on the back. The side of his face was already blooming with a fresh bruise. “I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this. Now, move over, won’t you?”

Hilda made a face, and shuffled over.

Down in the arena, Marianne lost before either she or Lysithea could break a sweat. But rather than appear disheartened, Marianne seemed relieved at the outcome. She sheathed her sword, while Lysithea frowned down at her own hands then at Marianne, as though puzzled by something. When Manuela instructed them to shake hands, Marianne instead inclined her head in a weird bow, like the one Seteth had offered her upon her arrival at camp. Lysithea, utterly flummoxed, returned the gesture, but continued to shoot Marianne funny looks as they walked back to their seats.

It certainly wasn't the most invigorating sword-fighting Hilda had ever seen. That was still reserved for Petra when she was filled with battle-lust during a mission to the outside world -- a sight Hilda would never forget; it haunted her dreams. In a good way.

But while it wasn't a flashy show of strength and skill, there could be no doubt that Marianne had some skill with the blade. Lingering beneath the surface. Like looking at something at the bottom of a fast-flowing stream, it was distorted yet in plain sight.

Hilda opted to not mention anything, when Marianne returned to sit beside her. Instead offering enthusiastic praise -- which was taken up by Raphael -- and a high-five -- which was also taken up by Raphael, since Marianne still refused to touch people.

“You went easy on her,” Hilda said, loudly enough for Lysithea to hear. Lysithea glowered, but made no reply.

But Marianne only said, “She is very magically talented.”

Which wasn’t denying what Hilda had said at all.

Nothing at all remarkable happened over the course of the next week or two. Classes. Chores. More classes. More chores. Boring. Unless you counted cool-headed, snide Hubert screaming like a little girl during pegasus-riding training.

Hilda would have to make sure to actually give Minty some carrots for that.

Midway through the third week of camp, Hilda and the others gathered in the amphitheatre for some magic sparring lessons under the beady eye of the resident pedantic satyr and overall magic enthusiast, Hanneman. Hilda seated herself midway up the steps, confident that she wouldn’t be called upon for any demonstrations.

Sure, she had magic. But Hanneman always liked his magic big and loud. The kind where you flung explosions, and branches, and ice, or whatever at each other in the arena. Hilda’s kind of magic involved batting her eyelashes so effectively that the enemy just dropped their guard, leaving an excellent opening for her to kick them into the stratosphere. And for some inexplicable reason that magic wasn’t good enough for public demonstrations.

Not that Hilda was complaining. Far from it. She put her sunglasses on, propped her feet atop the step in front of her, and settled in for an afternoon snooze.

Of course, Hanneman called upon some of the Athena kids first. Then moved along to a few Hephaestus kids. The usual nonsense. Fire. Sparks. War magic. Scorched craters in the arena ground. Yawn.

But as the latest student to perform a demonstration was sitting back down, Hanneman turned his attention towards someone new.

"Miss Edmund," Hanneman said with a gesture for Marianne to stand beside him. "I understand you have some talent in earth magic."

Well, that was news to Hilda. The last time Hilda had seen Marianne perform magic, it had resulted in everything in a ten meter radius turning to withered ash. One look at Marianne’s face only confirmed it, however. She was doing that thing where she hunched up like a hermit crab hiding in its shell.

“I’m not sure if -” Marianne started to say, but Hanneman shook his horned and bespectacled head.

“None of that now. This isn’t a sparring match, so there’s no danger to you or anyone else.”

"But -"

"You cannot be exempt from everything, my dear," Hanneman added, scolding lightly. He waved for her to join him again.

Marianne hesitated. She looked over at Hilda, who flashed a feeble thumbs-up. That seemed to be all the persuasion Marianne needed, as though she would only do what Hilda approved of in this situation. Or perhaps as if she were hoping Hilda would save her.

Hilda did not realise it might have been the latter until it was far too late.

Marianne slouched to Hanneman's side. He directed her to face the others, so that she wilted beneath the full attention of the amphitheatre.

Gesturing towards their feet, he said, "No need to fear. I have known many children of Demeter during my time here. Just focus on the earth, and it will answer."

Her hands were clenched into fists at her side. She did not move. Her gaze darted from side to side, before finally she squeezed her eyes shut, and held out her hand.

Absolutely nothing happened. For a long time. Hilda could hear someone in the row behind her yawn. The birds were chirping happily away in the distance, until suddenly they weren't.

Hilda sat up straighter. The back of her neck prickled. An odd silence settled over the amphitheatre. Like sound-cancelling headphones. Like being plunged beneath water. A pressure rising up like the tide until it seized everything in sight.

And beneath them, a faint rumble.

"That's it," said Hanneman, encouraging yet calm. "Don't force it. Just ease the plants out, and they should grow."

Hilda had been around the magic of Demeter kids before. Hell, just last week she had convinced Mercedes to save her bacon with those flowers. This was nothing at all like that.

Marianne's eyes remained squeezed shut, as though she were anticipating the blow of an open hand. Her outstretched fingers trembled, and suddenly the earth erupted beneath her feet. Fissures split the surface with a sound like thunder, cracks extending in every direction. Some of the other students leapt to their feet, and scrambled back as the ground yawned open. It swallowed up columns, great chunks of marble and debris falling into a mephitic chasm that continued to widen.

Hilda grabbed another student, who almost went careening into the chasm, hauling him back onto solid rock. In the arena Hanneman was yelling. Marianne's face was screwed up in a sustained flinch. When he grabbed her by the shoulder, she jerked. And in a flash of eerie light, Hanneman was flung backwards. His body crashed into the side of a pillar, and the ground went still.

Plumes of dust distorted the air. People coughed and waved, trying to see through the murk. From here, Hilda could just make out Marianne with her hands lifted to her mouth in horror.

"Sorry!" she said, over and over. "I'm sorry!"

Marianne rushed over to Hanneman, reaching out to touch him, but stopping herself from doing so. His only response was to groan something wordless. Something dark matted his grey hair, and one of his curled horns had snapped, oozing red.

The dust began to settle, and with it silence. Everyone stared. Marianne seemed to shrink before their very eyes. Before anyone could speak, she turned and fled. The moment she was gone, pandemonium broke loose. A few of the students raced over to Hanneman, Mercedes foremost among them, her hands already aglow with a healing spell.

Claude looked at Hilda. "Child of Demeter, huh?"

Hilda pursed her lips. "Now's really not the time, Claude."

"On the contrary," he gestured to the gaping wound in the ground, splitting the amphitheatre nearly in twain. "I think now is the perfect time to be asking these questions."

A pillar crumbled and crashed to the ground. Hilda winced. “Okay. Yeah. Fine. But I’m going to go find her before we start debating.”

“Good luck! Try not to get swallowed up by another freak earthquake.”

Already, Mercedes was helping Hanneman to his feet. Or -- hooves. Same thing. Another student, a red-headed Athena kid by the name of Annette, was repairing his spectacles, and handing them over for him to don. Before anyone could notice her absence, Hilda slipped away in the ensuing chaos.

Outside of the amphitheatre, Marianne was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, Hilda started off towards the woods.

When Hilda finally found her, Marianne was perched atop a branch halfway up a tree. She was talking quietly, but when Hilda approached, she fell silent. An extra set of eyes peered from the branches above her, wide and golden. An owl. Early evening shadows gathered around the woods, clustering around Marianne as though she were a magnet for twilight. She hugged her knees to her chest, and sat, completely still.

The owl took flight when Hilda drew too near. It vanished into the surrounding trees.

Hilda placed her hands on her hips, and craned her neck back to look up. “How the hell did you even get up there?”

There were no branches between the ground and the branch Marianne sat upon. And that branch was a good twelve feet in the air. Maybe more.

Marianne peered over her knees down at Hilda. “Why did you follow me?”

“Well, that seems like a weird question.” Hilda gestured at where Marianne sat. “Then again, you are halfway up a tree after having turned some of the amphitheatre into rubble, so. Y’know. If it walks like a duck and acts like a duck.”

Marianne stared. “Then,” she said slowly, “it climbs trees?”

Hilda couldn’t keep a snort of laughter at bay. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“That satyr -?” Marianne asked. “Is he -?”

“Who? Hanneman?” Hilda scoffed. “He’s fine. Satyr’s have notoriously thick skulls. It would take more than that to kill him.” She beckoned. “Now, can you come down? I’m going to get a crick in my neck.”

That only seemed to make Marianne curl in upon herself more. If anything, the branch looked further up now, though Hilda had no idea how that could have been possible.

"You shouldn't spend so much time around me. Bad things happen around people who spend too much time with me. And I -" Marianne swallowed. Then she mumbled against her knees, "I think you're nice."

"Well, that's awfully sweet of you. Really. But I think I'll be fine."

"Hilda -"

"Listen. I'm a half-blood. Apart from your demigod step-father, all the people you spent time with must've been mortal, right? I’m tougher than I look. Now, come down, and we can go back to your cabin. I won’t even drag you to the dining pavilion. In fact,” Hilda wheedled, her voice lilting into a sing-song tone. “I’ll go get you a platter and bring it over, so people don’t stare at you. If that’s what this whole fleeing into the woods thing is even all about.”

For a moment there was silence as the offer was considered. Nervously, Marianne tugged at the long sleeves of the shirt Hilda had given her. “Can you - Can you turn around? I don’t want to do it while you’re watching.”

Truth be told, Hilda had been anticipating needing to catch her on the jump down. But with a bemused shrug, Hilda turned around on the spot. Behind her, she could hear the faintest rustle of the wind through trees, or perhaps a draught flickering through torches along a dimly lit corridor. When she turned back around, Marianne was sitting on the ground in the exact same position she had been in while atop the branch. Knees curled up to her chest. Hands firmly chained about her ankles.

Hilda held out her hand as a silent offer to help Marianne to her feet. To her utter shock, Marianne actually took it. Her fingers were soft and very very cold.

Hilda tightened her grip, and hauled Marianne upright. “Geesh. You’re freezing.”

Immediately Marianne pulled her hand away, clenching it into a fist at her side. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Hilda tilted her head towards the direction of camp. “C’mon. Let’s go back.”

#marianne von edmund #hilda valentine goneril #hildamari #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #roman writes #a study in hospitality

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