Hello Sorrow [Chapter Eight] Piece by Piece [Karl Heisenberg]

Tag List: @courtenbae @unlikelyllamanerd @mylani3110​ @imtherain @wrr000 @frostbez

She was unconvinced; this thing in her hand couldn’t have been the reactor vent Heisenberg complained so much about. It was nothing more than what he said it was; a metal vent, albeit the one in her hand, was rusted and the wires on the end were frayed and stripped of their cable sleeves.

Narrowing her tired eyes, Irina shoved it into her coat pocket and thanked Leonardo for finding it for her.

“It’s no problem,” he grunted.

Locking up his workshop, he turned and gave her a curious look.

“What do you need all this scrap for? Are you making something?”

Irina hummed. “Not me in particular, but someone else I know. He gives me a list and I retrieve the parts he needs.”

She wasn’t lying, but she thought it was best to leave out who sent her on these errands.

Leonardo grinned knowingly, making Irina curious. She puckered a brow.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Rumors are you fancy a lad in another part of the village. Anton has seen you sneaking out and returning days later.”  

Fancy a lad? Irina groaned. She was too wrapped up in her arrangement to consider what the villagers thought about her.

“It’s not like that,” she calmly rebutted.

Taking a deep and uneven breath, she explained.

“I’ve been running errands to earn some money, and he’s right, I have been sneaking out, but because it’s an uncanny arrangement and my boss doesn’t want to draw unwanted attention.”

And because he’s a monster who will most likely kill me and everyone I tell if he finds out.

Leonardo hummed. “What’s he making? Seems pretty damn big if he’s wanting to keep it a secret.”

“I have no clue,” Irina answered in honesty.

She was curious too, but if it was anything like the creature who maimed her in the heart of the factory, which still made her fear the lower levels, then she didn’t want to know.

The aging man brought up his hands. “I understand; it’s none of my business.”

Irina wanted to clarify, but decided against it and nodded. She watched him as he walked past her, then followed him from the backyard and into the street.

“You know,” Leonardo mentioned. “Luiza has been asking about you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How come?”

“Worried, I reckon. You know how she is; ready to lend a hand to those around her,” he answered with a shrug.

Irina gently smiled. “She’s a sweet woman. I haven’t had the chance to go see her since I started the errands.”

She wrote a letter, but with everything going on, Irina pushed it to the back of her mind. She heard from Elena at breakfast that Luiza sent the horses to the village near the reservoir; the houses below the clinic were washed away and the old man who took care of the windmill needed the horses to aide the villagers who lost their homes. Irina was upset to lose them but thankful that the horses were in better hands.

Perhaps when she had the time, she’d thank her.

“I’m fine – not really. Tell her not to worry about me,” Irina uttered.

Leonardo grunted. “Make time to do it your damn self,”

“Yes sir,” she said in agreement.

He turned and narrowed his eyes. “And get some rest. You’re worrying Elena.”

Easier said than done, Irina thought.

Regardless, she agreed and waved as he trudged back towards his house. Irina reckoned it was time to return to the factory. She wanted to give Heisenberg the part and return his key to him before the sunset and it got dark. Spending another night in the factory was not something she wanted to do again.

Irina sighed, remembering the rude way he woke her this morning. The metal frame ended up on its side on the floor and her along with it, crushed beneath the mattress. As she sat in fear against the wall, he explained to her in detail what a reactor vent was and ordered her to retrieve it for him, as he had made some progress on his recent project and needed the vent. Before she ran off, he tossed her the key to his quarters and gave her instructions to leave the piece there, then return the key to him in the forge.

And here she was, reactor vent in tow.

Irina sighed and took the key from her pocket, clutching it in her hand.

Better take thi––

In mid-thought, she turned and tensed in fright, having nearly bumped into someone in her path. The key tumbled from her hand and hit the muddy ground with a wet plop.

Catching her breath, Irina knitted her brows in concern for the Hag; an unassuming old woman no one knew much about, not even her given name.

“Forgive me,” Irina pleaded. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

The Hag stared down at the ground, then bent down and to retrieve the key from the mud. The bones on her staff clanked in protest.

“What a strange yet familiar crest,” she stated. “Where did you find it? Is this key yours?”

Irina narrowed her eyes. “It was entrusted to me. I was about to return it.”

She reached her hand out and the Hag returned the key.

“You tend to open doors at your own risk,” she stated.

Her murky eyes looked her over.

“You are one particular, but to someone else, perhaps.”

Irina narrowed her eyes. What did she mean?

The Hag leaned forward, beaded hair clinking. “The powers that be have their eyes on you, child.”

With a cackle, she ambled around the confused woman and continued on her way. Irina glanced back at her with wide eyes. Was she trying to warn her?

She ignored the veiled meaning behind her words and rushed from the village, returning to the factory. Heisenberg was most likely still at work in the room she encountered the creature in; a room she wished to avoid, but because he ordered her to return his key, she had no choice but to.

Taking the lift down, Irina took the rusted reactor vent to his quarters, then road the lift to the materials floor. She retraced her steps, walking hesitantly through the eerie hallway until she came to the room with the automated door; a new LED lens took the place of the one she broke, and written on the sticky paper near the lens were the words: don’t fucking break me.

Irina laughed and pulled back the handle, passing through the door once it opened, and followed the long route back to the workplace with the furnace in it. The room was hot as hell.

No wonder he walks around without a shirt on.

And speaking of Heisenberg, he was nowhere to be seen.

Irina groaned in annoyance and considered leaving the key. He most likely would not mind, but because he might have something else for her to do, she waited, resting against one of the workbenches as she closely watched the door on the far left of the room. The lock she had picked had been replaced, but still, she was cautious, nervous that the creature with the roaring auger would burst through the door and lunge at her, clicking its stained teeth as it tore her apart.

She took an uneasy breath and dared herself to look away.

Baby steps.

Something was different here. Irina noticed some pictures on the film board and wandered over to them, keeping alert in case her fear came staggering from the room over; the broken concrete stood as a reminder of her escape from death.

She looked over the x-rays on the board, not able to identify what the pictures may be of. They appeared to be x-rays of the human skull but something was attached to the brain; she wasn’t sure what. On a note stuck to the board read: Soldat Enhancement: Klinge, attached chainsaws to the arms of a Soldat. Testing in progress, awaiting results.

Soldat? Klinge? What were those?

Irina was so confused.

To her left, she heard a noise. She darted her head to the side and saw Heisenberg on the stairs. Her heart pounded in shock.

He scoffed at her.

“Can’t you ever keep your damn nose out of my business?”

Irina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t order me down here, if you don’t want me to see.”

She tossed his key to him. “If you don’t want anything else, then I’m going home.”

The air thinned around her and the cuffs around her wrists bit into her skin as her arms were forced out in front of her. She groaned in pain, hearing him laugh.

“You’re feisty, sweetheart, and I like that about you, but don’t forget who the fuck you’re talking to.”

Irina bit back an insult and nodded. There was no point in provoking him; he would undoubtedly break her wrists if she made him mad enough.

His hold on the cuffs released and her arms dropped to her sides.

“But there is something I want you to see,” Heisenberg suddenly asked.

She rubbed her arm. “What is it?”

“Don’t fucking spoil the surprise,” he snapped. “Go upstairs to the barn area and I’ll come to get you once it’s ready.”

Irina was suspicious, but rolled her eyes and ambled from the room before he said anything else.

She hoped this wouldn’t take long.  

PMTOK HORROR AU: INTRO

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOO! Nearly four thousand words! (I’m trying to get back into writing, so if you guys want to see another part of the games translated into the Horror AU, send me an ask!)

The circle was completed.

The Craftsman took a deep breath, raising up and putting the vial of Blue Paint on his nightstand. The blue lines were glowing slightly on his floor, the circle just big enough for one person.

Good enough for him, it was an emergency anyway. The Sailor was already too late by a few days. He walked to it’s middle, bit his thumb, and let the blood drip upon the lines. They glowed brighter.  “Flipflopside.” He muttered, and his world was engulfed in blue.

When colors came back to him, he was at the gate of the town. He entered town, and sighed as he recognized the decorations all around. Had circumstances been better, this festival would’ve been Olly’s first exposure to the outside world.

But Olly having disappeared a week ago, along with some very important supplies, was the reason the Craftsman had scrambled to gather and create the necessary blue paint to teleport.

He stopped at the town square. Where... was everyone? He frowned at all the decorations strewn around. It was like an hurricane had gone through town. He groaned in exasperation, before continuing his way toward the Lady’s Castle. If the town was having problems, then she would be too busy to offer help with finding his son.

He... honestly doubted anyone would’ve been generous enough to help in the first place, which is why he had prepared arguments about why his worry over his son going missing wasn’t just a parent thing (which it wasn’t, but it was the main reason, and they didn’t need to know that), but rumors had it that the current human lord- or in this case, lady- was a generous and kind one.

Yeah, if she was anything like her uncle, then he wasn’t holding onto hope.

He finally arrived to it’s front door, knocking once. He was expecting to have to knock more, and then for someone to come open the door. Instead, the door grinded open, having obviously been left as such. He hummed in concern, looking around, before entering, on-guard.

And just as he entered, the door slammed behind him, making him jump. He hurriedly turned back toward it, trying to open it again in vain. Door locked. He groaned in exasperation. He was getting rusty.

He slowly walked through the corridor, his footsteps echoing around him as he looked around. The place was strangely... dark and silent. For some reason, he felt like he was the only one there. He reached the end of the corridor, opening another door (this one properly closed, but not locked) and arrived at what he could only assume was the lobby.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and out came the Lady. Long blonde hair, dark skin, and pink eyes... yep, no doubt, it was her, even if there was something... off about her that he wasn’t sure he could place. He had never formally met her, after all.

“How good... to see you...��� She said in a discordant voice, and that immediately squashed any doubts the Craftsman had about this being her normal self. There was, at least, hypnosis involved.

“Answer me this... shouldn’t this miserable kingdom be unfolded... and be refolded unto glory?...” He shook his head, a hand reaching into his apron to get his paper scoring tool, the sharper end gleaming like a shiv. Better safe then sorry.

“And what of those... humans?” The venom dripping from her voice surprised him, even if he wasn’t a fan of other humans himself. “Shouldn’t they be silenced forever?” Oh, he didn’t like were this was going. Whoever was pulling the strings on her, they were the kind of scum that would make even the former Count recoil in horror.

“... I see... Last question.” She started as he grind his teeth together. “Will you crease yourself and be reborn, like me-”

“Lady of humans,” He started as he took a step forward. She didn’t react at that, freezing and keeping lifeless pink eyes on him. “You’re not in your right mind right now. Please, let me try to undo whatever magic is making you act like this-”

“Wrong answer.” She started, and the Craftsman realized he had made a mistake. “Right answer. It matters not.” She said, tilting her head in a stilted manner that exposed her shoulder and the thick silver lines on it. No doubt, powerful binding magic was at work. “Your replies are all paper thin.”

The floor suddenly opened under him, a discordant goodbye accompanying the fall. And then his world was wrapped in pain and darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on a cold ground, and five faces -or at least what he assumed where faces, what’s with the loss of his glasses- were looking down on him. “Oh, he’s waking up, he’s waking up!” One of them said, making the four others back up as he sat up.

He blinked, blurry. “Have any of you seen my glasses?” He asked. “They’re round with black frames. Their lenses are thick, and they have a retainer with purple and yellow beads.” The retainer was especially important to him, a reminder of the only relationship he remembered fondly. “If any of you are well-versed in magic, they’re also imbued with some pretty powerful protection spells.”

“Is that why they didn’t break?” Someone asked, handing him an object that shone under the dingy dungeons light.

He nodded, taking them in hand on pushing them up his nose. “Yes, thank you.” He then blinked as he regained vision, and looked around. All of those people... “You’re all monsters?”

One of them flinched at that, while another took a defensive stance. “Is that a problem, old man?”

“No, of course not.” He answered, bringing his knees to his chest. “If anything, I sympathize more with monsters than humans. We’re terrible.”

One of the monsters, who looked pretty young, came nearer. “So you don’t hate us?”

The Craftsman chuckled, patting the little plant monster’s head. “When you get my age, you don’t have much energy left for hating everything in sight. So I keep it for people who are truly deserving.” Like the chucklefuck who broke into his home, kidnapped Olly, stole most of his magical supplies and half of his Origami ones.

Suddenly, the door opened. More monsters, but those ones moving just as stiffly as the Lady earlier, entered. “Come with us...” The one standing at the front, who wore a ancient demon mask, ordered. The Craftsman got up, groaning as some of his bones popped, as everyone exited the room. He was about to follow them, when the masked monster held a hand up. Restrained fury was radiating off of the monster. “Not you.”

And just like that, he was alone again. He sighed, sitting down on the ground. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? The wall over there seemed pretty brittle...

He got up the inspect it, gently dragging his palm across it. Hello? A little voice suddenly asked, making him jump back in surprise. Oh no, please don’t leave! It said again. Was it coming... from the wall? 

He caressed the wall again, frowning. “Are you... trapped inside?” He asked, feeling dimensional magic weaved into the wall.

Oh, yes I am! The voice of the young girl started again. I’m in a very strange place, like I’m trapped in-between dimensions!

“You will be delighted to hear to your situation is nowhere that severe, then.” He snarked. “You’re merely the victim of a dimensional spell. Nothing that can’t be broken.”

Really!? The voice exclaimed, it’s (her?) happiness evident. I think there’s some Paint nearby, could you use it to draw a magic circle? I can use my own magic for the rest. He hummed non-committedly as he got up, heading for the boxes pilled in a corner.

After a strong enough push, they toppled, their content spilling. Mostly empty vials of Paint, beside one that seemed to hold enough for one circle. But more importantly, a crack in the wall that was big enough for him to slip through if he tried was there. But just as he was about to leave, the little voice made itself known again. You... you’re not leaving, are you? She asked in a tearful tone.

He stayed frozen for a moment, before groaning in exasperation and turning back toward the wall. He quickly made his way there, emptying the vial over his fingers and drawing a circle around himself. It then started glowing a golden color, the image of a hand appearing within it. “Shapeshifting magic, uh?” He picked at the wound on his finger, opening it again and letting blood drip once more.

The Craftsman watched, bewildered, as his arms flattened and folded like accordions. He then gathered himself, and ripped the wall away, shaking his arm back to normal as whoever was trapped in the wall detached herself. “Whoo! I’m finally free from the wall!” She exclaimed cheerfully as the Craftsman’s eyes widened in disbelief. Blonde hair, golden hair, the hat with two points... and those eyes... “Hi, my name’s Olivia! You-”

“I know who you are, girl.” The Craftsman interrupted, bringing a hand up. “I’m the one who designed you.” That seemed to shock her, her hat flying of her head as her eyes sifted sizes.

“What!?”

“And I must admit, whoever folded you did an excellent job. Almost makes me jealous.” He wasn’t jealous, but fucking furious, but not at her, and that wasn’t important right now.

“But- you- I-”

“Look, for now, let’s focus on getting out of here before those guys come back, alright?” He proposed, grabbing Olivia’s small hand and squeezing them gently. She nodded, an adorably determined pout on her face as they went through the secret passage. “Stay behind me, don’t make a noise, and above all else, do not tell anyone your name, got it?”

Olivia nodded, following the Craftsman as they slipped through the crack. They quickly walked out of the cell, both of their eyes shifting around to make sure no one was coming. The corridor seemed closed off, magic keeping the dungeon isolated from the rest of the castle.

“Unhand me!” As they heard a voice come from the other room, they quickly hid amongst the boxes near said room. The Craftsman flushed himself against the wall near a small crack, chuckling to himself as Olivia imitated him, before peering inside

The sight of the notorious Count folded into what was basically a wet floor sign would’ve made the Craftsman laugh if it wasn’t for the implications behind the type of magic needed to restrain him. There was also the fact that he was being held up by multiple clothespin, and the shadows. Two of the deformed monsters were holding up another above their head, the creature obviously struggling. 

And then it stopped moving, almost flattened as it was folded, powerful magic shifting and contorting it’s body. And then it was brought to a truly humongous shadow, a beast that opened it’s mouth with a mechanical sound. The outline of two sharp fangs was visible as the poor soul was placed within it’s mouth. And then...

KA-CHICK

The Craftsman looked away just as the beast closed it’s mouth, a metallic sound similar to the one of a stapler stapling sounding out. Well, at least he knew where that binding magic came from now, and where one of his supplies went. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to enchant a stapler!?

Poor Olivia was shivering in fear next to him, and he offered her a hand to hold just as the door opened. A horde of monsters, the last one being the demon-mask wearing one, got out. “Alright.” He started. “That was the last of them. Now, there’s only that old bastard left...”

As they left the corridor to go “fetch” him, he quickly made his way inside the room, relieved to find the door unlocked with Olivia still holding his hand. He made his way to the folded up Count, who had a miserable expression on his face. “Sir?” He asked.

The Count opened his red eyes. “Oh, a human!” He exclaimed, a surprised lilt to his voice. “My apologies, with all the chaos happening around here, I forgot that my beloved’s castle was on human grounds.”

“Your beloved’s castle is the middle of Flipflopside.” The Craftsman remarked with a raised eyebrow as he neared, taking the clothespins off. “If she wanted to live amongst humans, this wouldn’t be the place.”

“Ah, touché...” The Count commented as he fell to the ground, quickly figuring out a way to move. He then turned toward Olivia with squinted, and she squeaked. “And this young lady would be...?”

“My daughter.” The Craftsman hissed, not missing the sudden animosity in the Count’s tone.

To his credit, the Count immediately backed off. “... My apologies. Now, I do believe there’s another exit here,” he started, turning toward the other end of the room “but it’s hidden by an illusion spell. I would dispel it myself, but...” He shuffled a bit.

“I’m on it!” Olivia cheerfully declared, floating up to the wall and gently caressing it. Immediately, the surface fell away into Paint particles (which the Count was quick to waddle to and absorb, no doubt he wanted to collect enough magic to try and break out of his binds) as the young girl turned toward the two men.

The Craftsman nodded in approval as Count congratulated her, waddling up to her. “Incredible job, miss! Now, we can get out!” Olivia beamed, bouncing up and down in the air to a rhythm only she could hear as they made their way to a spiral staircase. 

Just before they started climbing, the folded monster turned toward the Craftsman. The older man frowned. “What?” 

“You have a very talented daughter.” The Count answered him as he started making his way up the stairs as fast as his body let him. The Craftsman smiled to himself.

“I know.” He started making his way up the stairs, Olivia’s hand back in his, when he noticed that she seemed unfocused. He stopped. “Is there a problem, girl?” He asked, turning toward her.

The younger girl looked up at .him, smiling. “I’m your daughter?”

A few seconds, then a shrug. “If you want to be,” He wasn’t the one who had folded her, but he was the one who had made the initial plan and cut out a piece of his soul for her, and he couldn’t be much worse than Olly’s kidnapper.

They finally made it back outside, the Craftsman shielding his eyes from the sudden light. They walked along the long balcony for a bit, until another door opened. Out walked the monster from earlier, the one with the demon mask, and the Lady. He heard the Count gasp behind him. 

“Why are you still so... flat?” The brainwashed woman asked him. “Why won’t you join me in folded glory...” She weakly reached her hands out to them. “Come, we can reshape you...” The fear shining through her eyes was yelling at them to run, run as far as you can, and never turn back. 

The Craftsman was very tempted to follow that message, ready to grab Olivia and jump over the balcony fence, before the masked monster opened their mouth. “Patience, Lady. This will do just fine. So...” They turned toward the Craftsman. “Why did you come to this castle, Craftsman?”

His eyes narrowed, pulling the paper scorer out again. “Someone stole what’s mine. I came here to ask help to get it back.” And it seems I’ve found my thief.

The masked monster made a sneering sound. “Is that how you see your son? A mere possession?”

“Wha- don’t talk about what you don’t know!” The Craftsman snapped, hand tightening around the tool in his hand.

“... Last chance, Craftsman.” The monster started. “Volunteer yourself to my cause, and let me fold you into something greater. Simple offer. Yes, or no.” The only thing that stopped the old man from going ‘go fuck yourself’ was Olivia’s presence. He instead shook his head. “Of course, I didn’t expect any less. And I wouldn’t have it any other way...” The monster snapped his fingers.

Another mind-controlled monster came into view. The Craftsman recognized him as one of the monsters from earlier. The Count snarled behind him, a surge of powerful magic catching him off-guard. “What have you done to my people!?”

“Folding them to my will. Look at your precious Lady.” The monster started, gesturing to her. “She’s better this way, don’t you think.” The only answer was a hiss. “Now...” The mask-wearing monster turned back toward the Craftsman, one violet eye glowing. “Prepare to be Folded!”

The monster jumped the Craftsman, hissing and snarling. Caught off-guard, he went down like a sack of potato, falling on his back and barely keeping the monster off-of him. He dropped the scorer, weakly moving his legs as his arms came up to hold the monster’s claws away from him. Olivia gasped in horror. “Dad!”

 “Wait, miss.” The Count started as he watched the Craftsman successfully move one of his hand to the monster’s throat. “I do believe that your father as the situation in hand.”

The Craftsman continued to hold the monster away from him, his hand tightening around his throat, before grabbing the paper scorer and stabbing the monster through his eye. Dark purple blood stained his hand as a pained noise came out of the monster, the scorer getting wringed out. 

The monster was then knee-d into the stomach, the Craftsman successfully throwing the monster off of him and over the fence. He got back up, groaning and doing his best to ignore Olivia’s horrified look. “Is that all you got?” He asked the masked monster, who sighed.

“Of course, how stupid of me. You did go by Mercenary when you were younger.” The masked monster noted as he started floating ominously. “I suppose there’s no point in maintaining this charade any longer...”

The monster shook, his arms raising in the air, before suddenly flattening and unfolding. Colors faded away as the illusion spell was uncast, revealing violets and yellows as a little boy wearing a crown revealed himself. The Craftsman’s eyes widened in disbelief, the Count made a noise of confusion, and Olivia gasped. “BROTHER!”

No... no, no, no, NO! It couldn’t be... “Wh- what are you doing here?” The Craftsman asked, putting his scorer back in his apron as Olivia started shaking.

“Please, brother...” She sobbed. “How many times have I told you you needed to stop? Please! You can’t do this!”

The boy simply sighed. “Why couldn’t the Craftsman have simply left you in that wall where I put you... Sister, I am afraid that if you stand in the way of my ambition, we will not be able to share my glory as family.”

“Brother-”

“I am not your brother anymore.” He stated, flipping his hair. “I am KING OLLY!” He then floated up and out of reach, floating in the sky as he cast a disdainful look to Flipflopside. “By the time I’m done, all those miserable humans will be folded... and those flimsy monster subjects shall be reborn as Folded Soldiers, serving me!” He then turned his look upon the Craftsman and Olivia. “And I shall fold, crease and bend this world to my whim... the birth of an Origami Kingdom!”

Olly snapped his fingers, a bright violet light emanating from his hand. It took a moment for the Craftsman to realize that was a signal, but he quickly dragged Olivia to the floor when he realized. And just in time too, as something yellow and charged with magic razed right past where his head used to be a second ago.

He quickly got up, scanning his surroundings as Olivia held onto him for dear life, the Count screeching right behind him. Streams of binding magic surrounded them, all controlled by Olly, all coming from different directions. “Follow me, you two!” The Count yelled over the rush of magic, hopping on the fence and then on a lower part of the roof. The Craftsman quickly followed him, hand tight around Olivia’s.

“GRA-BLAGH!” The Craftsman turned toward the voice, confused as he saw what was possibly one of the ugliest man he’s ever seen come to them at high speed in a rocket-propelled hot-hair balloon. The Count quickly jumped in, followed by the Craftsman and Olivia. “A’m ‘ere, Count!”

“Thank you, Warrior.” The Count started, smiling for what was probably the first time today. The Craftsman decided to give them as much privacy as he could as he turned toward the Lady’s castle.

There was five streams of magic in total. The red one came from the North, the blue one East, the yellow one South, and the purple one West. As for the green one, it seemed to come from the clouds. They seemed to take material form as they tightened over the castle, similar to shiny ribbons.

To his horror, the Castle was then ripped right off of the ground, the stone floors breaking away with it as it was lifted in the hair and above them. He blankly registered something lilac and yellow falling off of the castle as the other man with them (the Warrior, he thinks?) and the Count shrieked.

He sat on the floor, Olivia joining him and hugging him close as the Warrior yelled something incomprehensible. They then felt the machine machine shake. “What’s going on?” He asked the Count, who had slid next to them.

“They magic streams ur giein’ use some problems.” The Warrior answered for him. “Sae hing oan tiiiiIIAAAAAH!” The machine had collided with the red ribbon, making the Craftsman, Olivia and the Count fly out, with only the last one getting caught by the Warrior. He then tried to reach for the other two, but they were already too far away.

And as they fell, the Craftsman could only look as the ribbons carried the castle away. He closed his eyes as he saw it being placed upon the top of the dormant Sulfur Crater, a single thought circling in his head.

What the fuck did I get myself into this time!?

⊱ I Trust You (2/2) ⊰

Pairing: John Wick x Reader (f)

Request: I was wondering of you could write about the next morning, with reader waking up after her sweetest first time, with sore on her legs and John taking care of her, and maybe another night of making love? - Anon

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: Smut and fluff

A/N: I hope you enjoy!!

Part 1

The soft glow of the early morning light streamed through a gap in the curtains as you roused from a deep, peaceful sleep. A cool breeze blew in through an open window, and almost instinctively, you curled your body into the solid muscle of John’s chest, his skin warm against your back. A heavy arm came to drape across your waist, drawing your body much closer to his as you lay there, breathing in the intoxicating scent that was him.

For a moment, you savored the peaceful silence, the slight raw ache between your legs reminding you of the tender lovemaking from the previous night. You smiled softly as your thoughts drifted back to how John took care of your needs and how he worshipped your body like a sacred temple, which only he was allowed to lay eyes upon. He showered you with a vast amount of love and affection, devoting himself wholly to you and your pleasure, making sure that your first time was as perfect as it could be.

Shifting in bed, you turned to rest on your other side, hearing a quiet sigh escape from John’s lips followed by his gentle snores, his hold tightening once you stilled. You watched as he continued to sleep, unaware that you were studying his features. The lines etched on his face were soft, and his dark lashes rested against his cheeks. Specks of grey in his hair and beard combined with the tiny wrinkles around his eyes gave away his true age, not that it mattered to you.

Your gaze then lowers, placing a warm hand on top of his broad chest where you felt the steady beating of his heart under your palm. You came close to losing John more than once. His double life as an assassin presented countless dangers that you couldn’t even begin to fathom. He had promised, however, that soon, you wouldn’t need to worry anymore. He planned on leaving that wretched world behind, a sign of his commitment to you.

Slowly, your hand traveled down the length of John’s torso. Your fingers delicately traced over the old scar running vertically on his abdomen. They came to a stop when they reached the thick comforter covering the lower half of his bare body. Catching your bottom lip between your teeth, you carefully lifted the blanket and pushed it off the bed, exposing your tangled limbs to the chilly air.

Instantly, your eyes settled on John’s morning wood, licking your dry lips as you recalled the feeling of his cock buried deep inside of you. A shiver ran down your spine at the memory of him thrusting in and out of your walls. The grunts and the moans he let out as he pushed you over the precipice of orgasm. You would never forget the way his face contorted with pleasure just seconds before he came. Another intimate sight that only you would know.

After a quick glance to check if he was still asleep, you then reached for the cock resting against his inner thigh. Your fingers could barely wrap themselves fully around his girth as you gave it a few languid strokes. John mumbled unintelligibly, his body remaining unconscious though it was reacting appropriately to your touch. 

Soon enough, beads of precum began to leak out of the tip of his member, and you used your thumb to spread it over the head. Your grip on him tightened, adding more pressure as you pumped his cock, watching as it grew harder with each pass.

Eventually, John stirred awake, and you didn’t notice until his lips pressed kisses to your temple, releasing a shaky breath afterwards.

“Good morning to you, too,” he whispered into your ear, shifting your head up to plant your lips on his. “How are you feeling?”

“Aside from the soreness, I feel great,” you simply answered as you continued stroking his cock.

John’s eyes suddenly became filled with concern. “Are you in any pain?”

“Not terribly,” you told him, not realizing that John had reached his hand down to stop your ministrations. “It’s a little ache, I can deal with it.”

“Do you want me to get some ice? I also have ibuprofen in the bathroom cabinet that you can take. Maybe those will help.”

“It’s alright, John,” you assured him with a smile. “I’ll be okay.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

“Babe, you could never hurt me. You have nothing to apologize for,” you replied, cupping his face before stroking the edge of his stubbled jaw. “You shouldn’t be sorry for having such a perfectly huge cock.”

You saw John’s cheeks flushed as his eyes darkened at your words. The chuckle escaping your lips was swiftly silenced when he kissed you with ferocity, his tongue invading your mouth as he shifted to hover above you. One of his large hands came to squeeze your breast, rolling a peaked nipple between his fingers as you arched your back upwards with a loud wanton moan.

John was rougher this time, but you didn’t mind it at all. You whimpered as he trailed hot and wet kisses from your neck down to your collarbone, nipping at the soft skin. Already you could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, and you were getting impatient. You wanted John inside you right away, but he seemed to have other plans in mind.

“Patience, baby,” John mumbled against your skin, pushing your legs wider apart before crawling down your body. “I need to get you nice and wet for my perfectly huge cock.”

He shot you a teasing look, causing you to erupt in a fit of giggles when he repeated your words from earlier. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get to it, Wick.”

Not one to disappoint, John’s mouth quickly delved into your soaking cunt, his tongue lapping at the juices there before circling your swollen clit. Your entire body fell limp as he took his precious time with your pussy, drinking in your sweet flavor before adding his fingers into the mix. Gently pushing two digits past your folds, you started squirming underneath John when he curled them deep inside you. He then sets a delicious pace that had you trembling with ecstasy.

“John,” you whined as he brought you over to the edge, only to slow down right before you could reach your orgasm. It was torture. Absolute torture. “Please, John. I’m almost there, baby.”

John glanced up for one second, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. “Just wait, sweetheart. It’s going to be worth it in the end, I promise.”

Trusting him, you nodded silently at him as he resumed his torment. Your eyes fluttered shut as John fucked you with his fingers, letting your moans out into the air freely, which encouraged him further. Every time he brushed up against your sensitive spot, your pussy clenched even tighter around his digits. You didn’t have to look to see how incredibly wet you were down there.

“J-John…” you sighed, forcing your eyes open as you neared your peak once again.

He pulled his head back to meet your gaze. “Go ahead, baby. Come for me.”

Almost immediately, you came with his fingers frantically stroking your inner walls, screaming John’s name as a gush of your essence spilled out from your heated sex. You didn’t move or speak until you heard foil tearing, seeing John rolling a condom down his pulsing cock before positioning himself above you.

“I’ll go slow and gentle,” he spoke soothingly. “That way, you’re not so sore after.”

“Wait,” you breathed out. “C-Can I be on top this time?”

“Are you sure?” He questioned you, but you were already sitting up and pulling John to lie on his back.

“I’m sure,” you responded as you straddled his lap, taking his hardened flesh into your hand. “Do you trust me, John?’

His dark brown eyes shone with both pure love and utter desire. “I do, darling.”

Without another word, you slowly sank down, your heat engulfing his cock as you felt the burning stretch of your pussy accommodating him. Your moans mixed together and filled the empty silence in the room. For a minute or two, you kissed John breathlessly as you got used to the sensation of him buried inside you again.

“Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart,” John said as he kept still for you. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you returned, pressing your palms against his chest before rocking your hips, hesitantly at first.

John stared at you intensely, transfixed as you grew more confident with your movements. His lips parted to let out a gasp when you involuntarily tightened around him, his nails digging at the tender skin of your thighs. His hips then rose to meet yours, drawing out throaty moans from you as you bounced on his cock.

“Just like that, baby,” he grunted out loud. “You’re taking my cock so well. Fuck, you’re amazing.”

Your pace eventually quickened as you felt the familiar heat deep in your abdomen, your climax threatening to burst at any moment. John noticed how close you were, and he brought his fingers to your clit, rubbing it vigorously as his own thrusts grew erratic.

“John, shit— I-I’m coming,” you moaned, your eyes squeezing shut as John sat up, wrapping his strong arms around your frame as you clung to him, your hips thrusting wildly against his. You came with a loud shout, the pleasure coursing through your body as he buried his face in your neck, reaching his own high as he emptied himself into the condom.

Soon after, John flopped back onto the bed, pulling you into his warm chest. You panted heavily against him as he stroked your sweaty hair, the room falling silent once again. Tilting your head to meet John’s eyes, you caught him staring at you with a sated grin. 

“You look thoroughly fucked,” you quipped, propping your chin up.

John’s laughter filled the air as he brushed his damp locks back. “I could say the same thing about you.”

With a finger, you lazily drew patterns in the dusting of hair on his pecs before John lifted your hand, bringing it up to his lips for a kiss.

“If I haven’t said it enough in the last 24 hours, I love you,” he said in a voice soft with affection. “I’m truly honored to be your first.”

“I love you, too,” you smiled, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. “John Wick, you have officially ruined me for other men.”

“Good,” John chuckled. “Because I don’t ever intend to let you go.”

Taglist: @keandrews​ 

Raihan x Reader: Locker Blow

I got inspired by a photo of Leon blowing Raihan while in a locker. It was hella good, and I had to write it. Reader’s gender isn’t mentioned in this one! Have fun, also if you’re not part of the discord, what are you doing? It’s hella fun. You should join the utter insanity that is us.

Discord - Request Info

Warning: This is NSFW so if you’re under the legal age or uncomfortable with content like this, please skip over this one!

You looked up at Raihan, mouth over his clothed erection as you stared at him. You had no idea why you were doing this in his locker room, mere minutes after he came in. You had been watching his match against some random challenger and decided to sneak off into his locker room. It wasn’t hard as nobody ever guarded it, and even if they did, they would’ve let you go in since they knew you and Raihan were an item.

You were just going to surprise him, but as soon as he came in, you immediately got flustered. He always looked so damn good after a match, and you had wrapped your arms around him, dragging him down so you could kiss him. Things quickly escalated from there, and Raihan eventually took you over to one of the lockers and opened it up. The door was enough to obscure you if anyone were to open the main entrance and look in.

Now, here you were, slowly unzipping his shorts with your teeth, both hands on his thighs, watching his face slowly grow red. That cocky smirk was still on his face as you fumbled with his pants. You didn’t take him completely out, just enough for his cock to spring free. There was already a bead of precum at the top of it; you chuckled while wrapping a hand around him. He was always ready to fuck after a battle, the adrenaline serving as an aphrodisiac of some kind.

You began licking up the shaft, smirking at his reaction as he huffed a bit. He was used to your teasing now at this point and knew eventually he’d be getting what he wants. You made eye contact as you licked him again, making sure to not break eye contact as you did so. You could feel him shiver under your gaze. His hands slowly glided into your hair, gently scratching against your scalp, and you hummed in appreciation.

You give a quick kiss to the side of it, giggling at the way Raihan was looking at you. The flat of your tongue laid flat on the tip of his cock as you took one, long lick. Finally, you wrapped your lips around the top of his dick and slowly sank down on it. You used your tongue to swirl around the length as you went. What wouldn’t fit into your mouth was being played with your hand. You hummed around his dick as you began a steady pace.

You could hear Raihan trying to hold back his sounds, but by now, his face was flushed red, and he was biting down on his bottom lip. You could see the sharp canine of his almost drawing blood, and the thought of him biting your thigh sent a jolt between your legs. Finally, you heard a long and drawn out moan coming from him and felt satisfied as you took your mouth off of him. You sued the wetness of his dick to help your hand move around it. You twisted your wrist while licking your lips.

You were just about to say something snarky when you heard the clicking of the door. The two of you froze as it opened up, and you watched Raihan poke his head out, trying to act as though your hand wasn’t around his cock and now moving again.

“Sorry, Raihan, are you almost ready for your post-match interview?” The person asked you weren’t sure who it was as your entire form was hidden. You mentally thanked Raihan for having at least one smart decision. Usually, it didn’t happen when he was ready to plow you right there.

“Uh ya, I shoul-“ You decided to be a but if a cocky asshole and took him back into your mouth again. You took as much of him in as you could, relaxing your throat to get him down. You managed to take all of him, and he almost jumped a bit. Suddenly, the grip on your head tightened, and you realized you were now stuck there. “I should be ready in a few.” His voice was strained, but that wasn’t really what was going through your head. Instead, you were panicking as you pondered if you should make noise that he was literally choking you on his dick.

“Okay, just wanted to check.” The moment the door closed, Raihan let go. You popped off his dick and gasped for air. You covered your mouth as you glared at him. Your throat was sure to be sore as all hell later, and he better take responsibility and gets you something yummy.

“S-sorry.” He said, giving you a sheepish grin as you slapped his thigh, still glaring.

“You trying to kill me?” You asked, and he just looked away from you, making sure that the person was really gone before turning back. A gentle hand went back into your hair and ran through it in a comforting motion. If he thought he could get away with that by being cute, he was right. You rolled your eyes as you went back on him, deciding to try that technique again.

Raihan’s breath hitched as his grip got tighter, but he wasn’t holding your head there now. You looked up at him, tears appearing a bit in your vision as you got off him and then went back down. You would regret it later, but right now, his moans were your fuel. To make the matter better, it echoed wonderfully in the lockerroom.

You could tell he was getting close by how his legs were visibly shaking. You brought your mouth off him and began jerking him off. You opened your mouth, close to the tip of his cock, and managed to meet his gaze. Honestly, all Raihan needed was to see you on your knees, mouth open with his dick there. He let out a final chorus of groans as he came.

Most landed on your tongue, but some found its way to your cheek and chin. You made sure to work his cock through the entire ordeal until it finally started to go soft in your hands. You let him, and he leaned both arms against the frame of the locker to support him as he caught his breath. You only laughed as you swiped a thumb across your cheek to get the cum off, and popped it into your mouth.

“God damn, I swear you’re trying to kill me.” He managed to grunt out, picking himself up a bit as he stood up and began stuffing himself back into his pants. The melodic chuckle made his shoulders sag in relief as he noticed how giddy you were.

“Pretty sure you tried to kill me earlier.” You pointed out. Raihan shot you a smirk while rubbing his neck.

“Sorry about that…” He murmured out as you finally stood up. He sighed as he walked away for a moment. He walked over to the sink and coated a towel in water before returning and helped clean up your face. You stuck your tongue out while his hand held your face, making him crack a smile.

“Don’t worry, …you can make it up to me later. You should probably head to your interview though before they think somethings up. I’ll sneak out the back.” You said with a wink. Raihan laughed before bending down and kissing your forehead.

“Alright, see you at home.” He said as he tossed the towel across the room and turned around to leave. He took a final glance back before shooting you a wink that had your heart soaring. You seriously had it bad for this idiot.

DILF (1)

Bakugou x Reader

warnings: age difference, rough sex, somnophilia, rough oral sex.

type: smut.

a/n: most we all enjoyed the milf series, how about if the tables were turned?

“Old man!” Kami yelled entering the large house making you look around in astonishment no matter how many times you’ve been here. Your eyes fall on your best friends undoubtedly attractive father. He huffs rolling his eyes at the two young bodies in his kitchen already.

“Why are you here?” He asks, sipping a cup of coffee from the hot glass paying the temperature no mind. His daughter snatches it off his hand with practiced vigor. His scowl deepens when she gulps the hot liquid and smiles placing it by the sink.

“We’re going to a graduation party.”

“You mean with your loser boyfriend Hiroaki?” Haruto her brother waltzes in, smirking as he snatches his father’s spicy ramen bowl. Katsuki dismisses the steal and focuses his gaze on his daughter.

“Hiroaki? Are you serious?” He voices out in a disappointing.

“Dad she’s been fucking him since high school!”

“Could you shut the fuck up?! It’s not your business!” Kami shouts back at your brother as they start to argue. Katsuki’s eyes wander to your shying away body raiding his kitchen too, failing to notice how you already snatched his spring rolls. His eyes scan over your tight fitting dress, he wasn’t that old, right? He shakes his head ready to dig back in to his soup until he realizes its gone.

“Huh?! Who took my food?!” He barks interrupting the bickering between the two. His eyes move back and forth between his children. His anger inflames as no one answers him, even your chewing of cake from the fridge seizing. “I’m giving everyone 3 seconds to disappear out of my line of sight. Three, two...” You and Kami give him a kiss on the cheek before scrambling out the door and Haruto running off to somewhere else. He sighs rubbing his temples. He’s going have to deal with them later.

xxxx

“Your daughter is trying to reach your cell. Your daughter is trying to reach your cell. Your dau-”

“What the fuck do you want?” He mumbles tiredly, just now ripped out from his peaceful slumber.

“Kami’s drunk and I need help with the door?” You suggest, the hint of annoyance dropping your voice a dangerous octave. A shiver runs down his spine. He shuts his eyes and clicks the hangup button. His mind disassociates from his body as it moves on its own, legs swinging over the edge of his now empty bed and trudging into the dark halls of his house until he made it to the front door. He begrudgingly opens the door and takes his daughter up in his arms in practiced routine of her being a fun drunk, you having to return every time. You let yourself in the house kicking off your shoes following suit after Katsuki.

While you have been her friend for the longest time (since your were both 5 to be exact), Katsuki couldn’t deny the feelings that bubbled up into him every time he watched you be such a tease for him. Although you never crossed the line it was only matter of time before he wouldn’t have to visualize what it’d be like to see your plump ass in your teasingly tight clothes or the warm wet feeling of your tongue around his cock. 

Before he knew it, he was back in his bed. How desperate was he to fantasize about his daughter’s best friend? He chuckled as he drifted off into sleep not bothering to cover himself or close his door, too tired for the day’s bullshit to be done with. 

You watched the large plasma TV in their TV room, not to be confused with their living room. You sigh, watching the time on your phone from time to time, planning the right moment to strike. You bite your lip, unsure if you should. This is your best friends father for Christ’s sake! But he’s so hot, and hot headed, and strong...

It seemed you shared the same symptom of moving without your brain being aware until you made it to Katsuki’s door. Your eyes trained on his well-built abs, sweatpants hanging off his tempting hips; almost like a preview of some sort. You look behind your back and move into his room using your quirk “Shadow”. It wouldn’t take a genius to guess what it does. You quietly close the door and slip your way to the male who slept unknown to the intruder in his humble abode.

You watched his chest rise and fall every time he took a breath and couldn’t help but want to see to watch him pant with lust instead. You got on top of his body as carefully as you could, but you already knew he was a heavy sleeper but this was just too risky. You softly tug his sweatpants and fuck he was huge- and no underwear either. 

Did he always sleep like this?

You licked your lips, eager to have a taste of many years of experience on your tongue. You grab his length, pumping slowing to get him ready. You lick a long stripe up his cock, watching his face any reaction. The only response you got were the feeling of his muscles twitch once in his thick thighs, so you continued. Now not holding back, you took his thick cock into your mouth hallowing your cheeks to allow such a girth. You gag quietly at the feeling of him hitting the back of your throat, not failing to dampen your panties. You let one hand rest next to his hip and the other hike up the skirt of your panties to rub your clit. The swirling of your tongue did the trick making him silently awake. 

He was stunned to find that you were lips were wrapped his cock, but he more stunned- exhilarated. He sits up lean on his elbow, unnoticed by as he grips your hair in a tight grip. Your eyes blow wide as he grins, thrusting up into your mouth with no remorse to your throat.

“You thought you’d get away, huh? Look at me.” 

Katsuki was fucking your mouth at the this point, forcing your busy hand to find refuge on his bed like your other hand. You looked up at him with tears beading in your eyes from the added pressure of his tip the back of your throat, repeatedly abusing the sensitive spot. You’re out of breath when his hold on your hair tightens and lifts your mouth away from his big length. He cusses under his breath at the mess you made of yourself, hair messy, eyes glossed and mouth drooling with saliva and his pre-cum.

He switches positions, your back hitting the mattress that use to be under him. He leers down at your just barely naked attire and licks his lips in anticipation. He rips your little dress and takes in the fact you’re only left in a thong, no bra included. He gropes your breast, rubbing and pulling on the soft tissue.

“Katsuki please..” You whine, spreading your legs wide for the man in front of you. His irises widening at the sound of you saying his actual name, rather than the one you used for formality. He has a wolf like grin on his face as he disregards all worries from before, lining up his length with your folds pushing in painfully slow. You gasp grasping Katsuki’s wrists tight as he holds onto your hips equally as hard, maybe even harder.

“Oi, skipping honorifics already hm? Such a slut.” Katsuki taunts, pace slow and teasing drawing a whimper from your throat. “Beg for it babygirl.” Your face flushes at his nickname, your warm walls clenching around his cock in delight.

“Oh please daddy... please fuck me hard please...” You plead, peering up at him innocently, rocking your hips into his to encourage him. He gives your a hard and fast thrust knocking the breath out of you. One of his hands moves to cover your mouth from spilling out any loud noises that could possibly wake up others in the house.

“Shit..” He cusses under his breath, a shiver running through body from the tight squeezing of your young cunt wrapped around him. His thrusts are strong and hard making it difficult to hold on your moans even with his hand muffling your voice. He leans down to litter your neck in kisses and bites, trying to stay quiet too. It hadn’t been a long time for you, neither Katsuki but you found yourself already cumming undone under his powerful frame. With a breathless moan you cum, panting into his loosening hand that moved to hold his weight next to the side of your face, leaning on his forearm. Katsuki stiffened lightly when he felt himself cumming not to shortly after you, pulling out to cum on your stomach. 

He lays beside you with a sigh. You wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle his neck, grinning quietly to yourself. His arm that you were laying on wraps around you in a threateningly squeeze making you giggle.

“What are you laughing at?” He says side eyeing you. You look up at him, your faces just mere inches away from one another. You lean up to whisper in his ear.

“I just fucked my best friends dad.” You bite his earlobe getting up abruptly out of his arms, looking back at him with a childish grin. He turns it while lazily trailing his hand up your back to tangle itself in your hair. You hum, grin turning lazy in content. “Wanna go again?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

good company [1] // billy/four x tattooartist!reader

a/n so this came as an invasive thought one random night. might be caused by my recent addiction to tattoo videos. also i wanted to read something like this but sadly, i had to write it. and i think it turned out pretty good! plus i wanted to draw this out since i got hit by a wave of nine million ideas and it’s pointless to smush everything together when I can write it all out. and thus, this mini series was born. hope y’all enjoy!!! (me writing this: god i wish that were me) 

summary: you are brand new to the tattooing world; young, scrappy, and eager to prove yourself, you took the first opportunity offered to you. your first client? a young man named billy, who’s character puzzles you to no end.

masterlist here!

warnings: uhhh tattoos (duh), cursing, ~tension~ and the like. clocks in at about 6.3k words

enjoy :)

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it was the seediest shop in town, and the only one to give you a chance. young, scrappy, and determined to make your passion for tattooing a reality, you took the first real offer you got. after a few months doing an apprenticeship with a veteran of your new tattoo parlor, they gave you a table and chair in the corner and told you to get to it. he was your very first client.

the day started off with tidying up the counter and turning on the open sign. your first few hours as an official tattoo artist were spent at the meager “reception” desk, furiously doodling any design that struck your fancy. occasionally you would give out forms and verify ages, but the shop was more into efficiency and artistry than sticking to professional protocol. they did hire you, after all.

several hours and one brief argument with a coworker later, you plopped down on the chair at your tattoo station for lunch. while nibbling at your cheese sandwich, you took a moment to examine the room further. five other tattoo artists were hunched over their own work, chugging along while their clients cringed and bit their lips in pain. framed photographs of tattoos and artwork lined the walls, broken up by miscellaneous wall hangings and the occasional pipe. chatter filled the room, just barely overpowering the music streaming from a clunky radio set up by the waiting area. 

then he walked in, all ropey muscles and bright eyes, no more than a year or two older than you. he wore a grey jacket with the hood pulled up, letting just a few stands of honey blond hair peek through. his eyes swept back and forth across the stations, each one occupied except for your small set up in the far corner. you glanced up from the tree you had been drawing, almost falling off your chair once you saw how strikingly attractive the boy was. 

you couldn’t help but watch as a heavily tattooed woman - stacy, one of the most experienced at the shop - walked up to the desk and greeted the boy. you unconsciously leaned towards the two, attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation. the pen wedged between your fingers fell to the floor, but you hardly noticed. 

“i’d… like a tattoo please.” he spoke confidently, almost brash in his tone, but the way his shoulders tensed with each loud laugh and how his eyes darted back and forth from stacy’s face to the floor betrayed his anxiety. his hands were shoved in his pockets, fingers visibly squirming behind the gray fabric. he was nervous, despite being a good few inches taller than stacy and twice as broad. 

“what’s the name, love?” she asked, tucking a strand of dark blue hair behind her ear. half of her head was buzzed, the rest of her hair peppered with gray strands. tattoos snaked down from behind her ear to the column of her throat, the rest disappearing beneath a “sex pistols” shirt. she wore her age proudly on her face, smile lines creasing the skin around her bright red lips. stacy was almost like the mother of the shop, and had been there longer than anybody.

“billy.” his voice was borderline too deep for such a young face, hood slipping down a little further to expose more of his wavy blond hair. you were well aware at that point that you were staring at him, mind whirling with a million possibilities as to where such a person could come from and why he wanted a tattoo. there were upwards of three different designs you mentally listed that you thought would enhance his good looks. maybe something on his arms? or neck? you stood by the belief that tattoos could make anyone more attractive, though your parents would beg to differ. 

“alright then, what are you wanting to get?” stacy pulled out a clipboard, writing down his information with a pen adorned by cracked beads and colorful string hanging from the cap. 

“some numbers and letters on my knuckles, on uh… my right hand? four of them.” you gripped your sketchbook tighter, barely resisting the urge to grab your pencil and start doodling fonts. however, it was a long shot that you were going to end up with him as a client, your first client, which marginally deflated your enthusiasm. you took a large bite from your sandwich instead of drawing, turning your attention back to him and stacy. 

“splendid, let’s see who’s open… oh um, please give me a moment.” stacy glanced around the room, searching for an empty chair. she grimaced inwardly as she realized there were none, save for the one right in front of you that was occupied by your propped up feet and a brown lunch bag. you couldn’t read further into her expression before she turned away from both him and you, walking over to the middle aged owner of the tattoo parlor. tom was a sour character, but could tattoo better than most of the more respectable artists in the city. you attempted to focus once more on the sandwich in your hand and not the boy while stacy tugged on tom’s baggy tank top. 

“tom, there’s this kid here for a tattoo and no one is free.” tom looked up for no more than three seconds, tattoo machine clutched between his surprisingly thin fingers. he must have been in his early fifties, and weighed more than you and stacy combined. he was in the process of inking a bold skull on the back of a young man, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. 

“what about our little birdie over there? she’s free, yeah?” tom huffed, clearly annoyed at being disturbed. birdie was the nickname you got after bringing mostly bird-related art to your interview, and it showed no signs of going away. stacy flicked him on the forehead, nearly making him slip and mess up a line. he glowered at her, but still turned to listen. 

“no shit, but knuckles for a first tattoo? do you really think she’s up to it?” stacy had taken you under her wing from the get go, even offering a patch of skin on her arm for you to do your first tattoo. her protection was a comfort, but also a little stifling. she knew you were a good artist, maybe even great, but there were certain tricks to tattooing hands you hadn’t quite learned. she didn’t want you to mess up on your first tattoo and leave the boy with a messy bundle of lines instead of letters. 

“why not? he doesn’t look that picky. now fuck off and leave me alone.” he spoke gruffly, the cigarette between tom’s lips moved precariously back and forth. he turned back to his client, but not before flipping stacy the bird, to which she replied with an obscene gesture of her own. 

“bastard…” she grumbled, tugging mindlessly at a strand of hair just barely covering her eye. taking a deep breath, she walked over to you, plastering a wide smile on her lips. stacy was genuinely excited for you to begin tattooing, but it was difficult for her to step back and let you do your own thing. 

“alright babe, your time to shine. ready to do some knuckle lettering?” your jaw would have fallen open if it hadn’t been for the cheese sandwich filling your mouth. your eyes grew wide and you quickly swallowed the food down, doing you very best to process what exactly stacy meant. 

“what? me? but-” you shook your head, appetite suddenly lost. did she mean it was your time to actually tattoo? a paying human being? they must be mental, you thought to yourself, moving to put the rest of your lunch away. as soon as your sandwich was placed in the brown paper bag, stacy seized you by the arm and began dragging you over to where he was waiting. 

“sorry for the delay, this is y/n. she’ll be your artist today,” you suppressed a laugh, looking at stacy with your eyebrows raised. she just smiled and let go of your arm, giving you a push towards him. you barely saved yourself from stumbling, quickly straightening your spine and lifting your chin to look him in the eyes. his bright, beautiful, green eyes. dammit. 

“oh- that’s me, i’m y/n. and it looks like i’m gonna be your tattooist,” you gave him a little wave, doing your very best to smile professionally instead of grimace. he nodded in response, bringing his hands out of his pockets. he seemed to consider shaking your hand, but instead moved to rub the back of his neck. you fiddled with your fingers, not knowing what to do next. he was your first client, after all. 

“i’m billy. um, how much will this cost?” he stuttered a little, shrinking back into his gray hoodie. until that moment, you had almost entirely forgotten that you were doing this for a job, to get paid. 

“uhhh,” you were blindsided by a very common question, and looked to stacy for help. she stared at billy for a moment, tapping her index finger on the counter. he squirmed a little under her sharp gaze. his eyes flicked to you, locking onto yours. he was looking for an out, but you just shrugged, apologetic look on your face. 

“mm, about forty pounds.” she finally said after a solid couple seconds. he let out a small breath, shoulders falling. his lips fell as well, tweaking down at the corners. he reached into the pocket of his joggers, bringing out a five pound note, two 2 pound coins, and five 20 pence coins. ten pounds in all. 

“bollocks… i only have ten on me.”  you felt bad for billy, really. you remembered how you spent weeks saving up before you could get your first real tattoo; a small raven right above your hip. hurt like hell, but from that moment on, you were addicted. the ones you got before that were terribly done, with homemade equipment, and usually done by you. 

“i don’t know what to tell you then-” stacy started to apologize, but an idea began forming in your brain. bigger tattoo pieces could take upwards of twelve hours, so they were often done in multiple sessions. a knuckle tattoo wouldn’t take nearly as long, nor was it necessary to spread out appointments. but before you could stop yourself, the words fell out. 

“i can just do one. today, i mean. you can come in whenever you have the rest of the money.” you could hear stacy’s sigh, and couldn’t help but cringe as well. billy’s eyebrows shot up, and he opened his mouth to talk, but he couldn’t seem to decide on words and shut it again. a moment passed in painfully awkward silence, you looking anywhere but at billy. stacy sighed again, laying a hand on your shoulder. 

“okay birdie, i have an appointment in seven minutes and you seem to have this under control, yeah?” you turned your head so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. being alone and in close quarters with billy after only a few minutes after meeting him freaked you out more than it should. you were theoretically a tattoo artist, and that was an unavoidable point of the job. it was basically painting on someone’s skin with a needle for multiple hours at a time. 

“i guess so…” she gave you a soft smile, rubbing your shoulder with the ink-free skin of her palm. you smiled back. you could tell she was a little worried, but so were you. 

“you’ll do great sweetheart, just don’t- maggie! so good to see you, love…” she was about to give you sage advice, but her next client came a few minutes early and in an instant, you were alone. well, except for billy of course. you psyched yourself up for a moment before turning to him with your best professional smile. 

“well then, let’s head over to my chair.” you told him, walking almost halfway there before you turned around to see he hadn’t moved a step. odd. billy was still looking around the room, eyeing the beams on the ceiling and highly decorated walls. his shoulders were tensed and he had taken his hands from his pockets, fingers twitching as his eyes scanned the shop. he looked ready to run at the slightest movement. the hell? you exhaled heavily through your nose, walking back over to him and waving a hand in front of his face.

“you in there?” you asked, taking a step back when his gaze snapped to you, “ah, it seems like you are. ready to get tattooed?” what a peculiar person, you thought to yourself. he shifted back onto his heels with impeccable balance, taking off his hood in one fluid motion. his honey blond hair was styled into a short undercut. you shook off the dazed look in your eyes, and in a surprisingly bold move, held out a hand for him to take. 

“hell yeah.” he finally said, a sharp smile creeping onto his lips. you smiled back, letting the first-day jitters roll off your shoulders. maybe spending time with him wouldn’t be as tense as you expected. he took your hand, and you started to lead him back to your little station in the corner. his palms were surprisingly calloused compared to your never-seen-a-day-of-manual-labor hands. 

“perfect,” you said after stopping at your station. you dropped his hand, gesturing for him to sit on the chair meant for clients. you snatched your sketchbook from the small square table, digging out a pen from a years old pencil pouch you had yet to part with. 

“now, you have any fonts in mind? actually, a better question would be what do you actually want on your knuckles?” you already started to doodle, sketching out a curly, cursive alphabet starting with “a”. lettering wasn’t your favorite thing to draw, but there was always flexibility when it came to art. and you loved art. 

“2-2-E-S on my right hand. just black letters would be fine.” you deflated slightly, tearing your eyes away from the whimsical “b” you were drawing. he sat with his elbows on his knees, fingers knitted together. until then, you didn’t realize how close you were. you lifted your eyes to meet his, faces no more than eight inches apart. the tension between you two drew taut, yanking the breath from your lungs. he was mesmerizing. you laughed to break the moment and leaned back in your chair, letting it roll away from his focused gaze. he shifted as well, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“no design at all? shame on you sir.” you teased, almost immediately cursing yourself for acting so casual out of nowhere. while you were scolding yourself for being unprofessional, billy watched the minute changes in your expression as you mindlessly tapped your pen against the spiral binding of your sketchbook. he noticed that you had your right pinky extended as you drew, perfectly straight as your pen swept across the page. your eyes flicked up for a moment to meet his, then immediately dropped again before you could end up blushing. 

“i’m not really the creative type anyway.” his voice felt so familiar and alien at the same time. like every single boy you had ever known - cocky, fast talking, scrambling for a laugh. yet there was something more behind his deep voice and quick movements. you shook your head, dragging yourself back into the real world. 

“somehow i don’t buy that,” you couldn’t see him smile, focused instead on making the last line of the “e” straight as possible. you held the drawing away from your face once completed, tilting it back and forth. your innate need for perfectionism only grew after you decided tattooing would be your career, and every piece of art you did since then had to be flawless in case you would have the chance to put it on someone’s body. after a moment, you nodded, turning the page around so he could see it. 

“four plain black numbers and letters, as requested. looks good?” you were quite proud of the nearly perfect lines and proportions. it cooled the nerves simmering under your skin as the tattoo machine lay waiting in a shallow drawer. 

“yeah, yeah. good.” he nodded, moving to roll up the sleeves of his jacket and put his right hand on his knee, right within your reach. you took a moment to tear off the page, making sure your letters were still nice and neat. 

“excellent, give me a moment to get this stencil-” you started to stand up, paper pinched between your index finger and thumb. you were about to go to the printer by the back wall, but billy piped up before you could take a step. 

“you don’t have to do that,” you froze, turning on your heel to watch him. he had leaned back onto the palms of his hands, still seated in your client’s chair. 

“what?” you asked, voice coming out almost as a squeak. you immediately cleared your voice and he smiled a little.

“i mean, you don’t have to use a stencil. just freehand it, i don’t mind.” he just shrugged it off like having someone draw with a goddamn needle on his skin was just another day at work. 

“you do realize i could very easily fuck up and leave you with permanent lines on your hand, right?” you were starting to wonder if he actually didn’t know tattoos were permanent, especially since getting them on a visible place like your hands would scare away most employers in a heartbeat. actually, what job did he have? the money he showed was a slim window into his life; ten pounds in various, loose forms. now that brought you back to university in a flash. 

“in fact, i do.” you raised your hands to the sky in a “why me?” gesture before dropping them back down to your sides, integrity of your sketch forgotten. he snickered at your - overly - dramatic reaction, to which you responded with a quick glare. why did i have to get such a memorable first client? 

“must be in a rush.” you shrugged, accepting that this was how the next thirty minutes of your life would play out. you were about to throw the page of your sketchbook in the trash, but changed your mind at the last minute and stuck it in one of the drawers of your small table. you then grabbed your pencil bag again, rooting around until you came up with two pens: one light green, the other black.

billy was silent as he watched you shuffle around the space, taking out your hand-me-down tattoo machine from the top drawer of your table. you gently placed it on the table top, laying out a small cap and filling it with a brand new bottle of jet black ink. you put the pens on the seat next to him, opening a second drawer that contained a disposable razor and replacement parts, sealed wipes, towels, and other things for sterilization. 

one of the most important things to remember is cleanliness, you heard the voice of stacy echo in your ear. you cast a look over your shoulder to where she was, watching for a moment as she carefully laid a stencil on her client’s leg. you watched her for a moment until she stood back up from where she was crouching and looked back at you, giving you an encouraging thumbs up. you returned the gesture with your best play on a confident smile. 

“you all alright?” billy asked, pulling you immediately back into the task before you. 

“mhm,” you responded, lips pressed close together. you pulled on a pair of latex gloves and plucked a razor and wipe from the drawer. 

“give me your hand,” you told him, taking a seat on your rolling chair. he held out his right hand and you gently took it in your left, shifting his fingers so the knuckle of his pinky finger was between your own. you scooted forward until you were almost between his knees, doing your best to wholly focus on the razor in your hand and definitely not how warm he was and how his hand felt in yours. nope, not going to think of that at all.

slowly, carefully, you cleaned his knuckle, making sure that there was no way possible for an infection to set in. you could hear billy humming to himself quietly and tuned in to listen. it was hard to make out the song, but something about it tugged at your memory. you shook it off and tossed the sanitizing supplies into a nearby rubbish bin. you turned back to billy, surprised to see him holding out the pens for you with a small smirk on his lips. slowly, you took them, tensing as your fingers brushed his. 

“just a 2 for today then,” you muttered, almost to yourself, not waiting for an answer and diving right in to recreate the perfect number “2” you had drawn just minutes earlier, on his knuckle. you were so silent that it was nearly possible to hear his heartbeat as the light green sharpie swept over his skin. it was a relatively awkward place to tattoo- right on the joint between his pinky finger and hand. since it was so close to his bone, it would be more painful than he might expect. even drawing it was tedious as you tried to make the lines connect smoothly over the joint. billy watching you draw very carefully didn’t help the anxiety that started to simmer under your skin.  

once you were satisfied with how it looked, you grabbed the black pen and repeated the drawing, tensing every muscle in your body to keep your hand from shaking. the nerves were already coming and you hadn’t even started up the tattoo machine. you leaned back into the light, holding up his hand to inspect your penmanship. billy stared at you as you held his finger up to the light, carefully scrutinizing your work without noticing his gaze. he watched the small crease between your eyebrows form as your thumb swiped at the ink. you glanced up momentarily and met his eyes, and in that moment you could have sworn he blushed. hell, you might have too.

you looked at him for a beat then dropped his hand like it was a hot rock. it was hard to ignore the tingle shooting down your spine as his lingering warmth faded from your hand. it’s just the nerves, dumbass, you said to yourself, now hush up and do your job. you cleared your throat, immediately turning around in your chair and sliding over to finish setting up your tattoo machine. you soon froze when there was nothing left for you to waste time doing. you had to get started. 

it’s fine, you’re fine, this is just a man, a boy even. a nice, attractive, fit… goddammit. you were mentally cursing yourself as you slowly turned to face him again. billy just smiled, holding out his right hand to you. you took a deep breath in and pulled on a new pair of latex gloves. 

“alright, ready freddie?” you said to him, taking his hand in yours, repeatedly chanting ‘don’t fuck up’ to yourself. 

“ready.” he responded, letting his hand relax into yours. you moved his fingers so his pinky finger was front and center, the perfect “2” you had drawn clear against his skin. with your right hand, you picked up the tattoo machine, dipping the tip of it in ink. 

“here we go.” the tattoo machine started with a buzz as you pressed on the pedal. you took a deep breath and touched the needles to his skin, right at the top of the “2”. billy’s fingers quickly tensed, holding tighter onto your hand. you tried not to smile while you slowly pulled the needle across his skin. he took a sharp breath in, holding it for a moment before slowly releasing it. his hand stayed clasped around yours as the tattoo machine hummed between your fingers. 

minutes passed with no conversation. the buzz of the tattoo machine helped you tune out the various sensations trying to distract you. hard rock from a nearby speaker, an occasional bout of laughter or pained shriek from across the room, steady humming from billy that you still vaguely recognized. eventually, about a third of the way through the tattoo, you started to get antsy from the lack of talking and had to break the silence. 

“hmm… what’s billy short for?” you asked, wiping off some excess ink from his finger. you looked up at him, slightly surprised to see him focused entirely on your face. he cleared his throat, using his free hand to comb through his short blond hair. 

“william.” you couldn’t help the small smile that flickered across your lips, dipping the needle into the ink once more. a name like william didn’t fit with his scrappy, self-assured attitude and appearance. neither did billy, for that matter. 

“was billy always your go-to nickname? ever gone by will? or liam?” you went back in with the needle, billy hissing through his teeth as it punctured his skin again and again. 

“my primary school teacher always insisted on william, which made me hate it. she was a major arsehole, mind you.” you chuckled, wiping off more excess ink. 

“now that i understand. i knew a william once, but he went by… will, i think. he also gained the unfortunate nickname of ‘willy’ somewhere around secondary school.” billy laughed loudly, drawing the attention of a few others in the room. and he moved. you drew the tattoo machine back just in time, narrowly avoiding a potential accident. you glared at him, but he couldn’t take the frown on your face seriously and continued his chuckling. 

“you done?” you asked when he finally calmed down. he nodded, still smiling like a school boy.

“sorry, i have the humor of a twelve year old.” you rolled your eyes, biting hard on your bottom lip to ward off a smile. but it didn’t work. it felt terribly natural to be around him and you were not having it. 

“i’ve noticed.” you muttered, glancing back up to billy. you raised an eyebrow at him in a silent question and he nodded, letting you return to your work. dipping the needle in ink, you once again put it to his skin, and once again, his hand tightened around your own. 

“so, how long have you been tattooing?” billy asked, after a minute or two of silence had passed. you lifted the needle for a moment, thinking about your answer. 

“like, professionally?” you had certainly tattooed under less than proper circumstances. on drunk people and often drunk yourself. your roommate in university had a horrendous bird silhouette between her shoulder blades, and your very first love had your name inked on their ankle. you had done it yourself two days after discovering they cheated on you. but you didn’t really want to divulge those… questionable stories to a client. 

“uh, i guess.” he said, voice suddenly tinged with concern. you spotted a chance to mess with him and immediately went for it.

“about,” you glanced up to the clock fixed to the wall, “twenty minutes.” you bit back another smile at the fearful look in his eyes. it didn’t stop you from snorting with laughter, though. 

“your warnings make sense now.” he was speaking slower than before, which only made the moment funnier. to you, at least. 

“i’m thrilled. you scared yet?” you teased, smirk growing by the second. he laughed nervously, rolling his eyes at you. your shoulders relaxed, and you didn’t even realize how tense you had been until that moment. the playful banter back and forth with billy swept your earlier nerves right away. 

“not even close, birdie.” you groaned, a nervous laugh slipping past your lips. it felt a little weird to have someone other than your fellow tattooists call you birdie, but you could listen to billy say it for hours with that smooth, deep voice of h- OH MY GOD, you screamed internally. stop. fantasizing. about. your. CLIENT. 

“ah, you’ve heard my nickname. what can i say? i like birds.” you laughed again, a little too high pitched to be normal. he raised his eyebrows in confusion, but went back to his tense state as you started to tattoo again. 

“i like it, much better than billy.” you bit back yet another smile. he was really starting to worm his way under your skin, and in such a short amount of time. but you had to agree with him. he looked more like a… well, you couldn’t think of any other names that fit him but billy was certainly not anywhere near a fitting name for such an interesting - to say the least - person. 

“now that i have to agree with.” you said, still chipping away at your work in progress tattoo. he chuckled, shifting in his seat. 

“you are coldhearted, woman.” he declared, and you couldn’t help but let out a short laugh. 

“oh, i aspire.”

too soon, yet also not soon enough, you finished. you wiped away the last of the ink and blood - don’t worry, it’s normal - from his finger, lifting it up to the light. the tattoo turned out rather nice. the “2” was plain black, thick, and relatively free of wobbles. it warped a little as billy flexed his fingers, but that was to be expected. he started to stand up once you let go, but you stopped him with a hand to his chest. you could feel his heartbeat under your palm, and slowly drew your hand back. a moment passed in perfect silence where the only thing you could hear was his breathing, and the only thing you could feel was the residual warmth radiating from him. 

“slow down there, i still need to bandage it.” you said after clearing your throat. he sat back down, thankfully making sure to not use his freshly tattooed hand. you took a step back. then another. and then almost ran into your table. flashing billy a quick, slightly embarrassed smile, you turned your back to him and focused on getting out the clingfilm, bandage, and ointment that was standard procedure for tattoo aftercare. 

“okay, so,” you started, turning back around with an armful of health care products. billy was still seated on your chair, right hand resting on his knee.

“what you should do is try not to use your hands for a couple days, plus, your knuckles might swell up and it’ll hurt like hell to use them. gotta keep the area nice and clean with this ointment,” you held it up for him to see, then put it down by his side, “a good thing to do is wear is some nitrile gloves to keep a barrier between your hand and the horrors of the outdoors,” you took a small container of gloves from your pile, placing it right next to the ointment.

“here’s a little pamphlet thing if you want it,” you took it from in between your arm and side, adding it to the small pile on billy’s left. he was nodding along with your instructions, but his eyes were wandering from your face to examine the rest of the tattoo shop once again. you ignored him ignoring you, and got to work bandaging his finger.

“okay billy boy, you’re all set.” you said once you made sure his bandage was airtight and clean. you rolled yourself over to the trash can, disposing of your latex gloves and other used-up items. when you came back to your station, billy was back on his feet, almost unconsciously flexing his fingers to see if his right pinky still worked. spoiler alert, it did, and he was just paranoid. probably.

he seemed a little unfocused until you spoke, then immediately turned his attention back to you. he stuck his non-tattooed hand out for you to shake. still a strange guy, you said to yourself. 

“thanks, uh…” you felt a grin growing, and this time, you didn’t try to stop it. plus, he seemed to have forgotten your name, which was objectionably hilarious. is that why he called me birdie? and how does he remember ‘birdie’ and not my name? 

“y/n,” you confirmed, shaking his hand. billy smiled at you, showing a hint of bright white teeth. 

“y/n. here,” you almost shivered hearing him say your name.  you almost didn’t notice he was holding out the money until he cocked his head to the side, giving you a confused look. it looked almost like he was pouting. you let out a nervous giggle, cringing internally the second it passed. billy didn’t seem to mind, laughing along with you. it soon devolved into a laughing fit as you finally accepted the awkwardness of the situation. many of the other people in the shop shot the two of you quizzical glances, but that didn’t stop you from nearly falling over with laughter. what were you laughing at? nothing, really. it just felt good to be so wildly happy for a brief moment. 

billy started to walk away waving goodbye. you raised your hand to do the same, but froze halfway. there was something you wanted to know before he left for an undetermined amount of time. 

“wait! i never got to ask you what it meant. the tattoo.” he was halfway to the door but turned at the last moment, in the process of pulling the hood back over his golden hair.  

“i’ll be back soon, i hope. i’ll tell you then.” you brightened at that, giving him a playful salute. billy returned the gesture, even adding a silly wink for good measure. 

“i’d like that. until next time, billy.” he gave you one last wave as he strolled out the door, and you watched as he walked past the windows and eventually disappeared from sight. for a moment, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from that spot. a high pitched laugh broke your focus, and you whirled around to see stacy giggling at you.

“what?” you asked, doing your best attempt at a glare. stacy just smiled, batting her eyelashes as innocently as possible. crossing your arms over your chest, you started to say something, but got interrupted. 

“nothing. say, tom, do you think this is how most people behave after doing a tattoo?" she called out in a sing-song voice. tom was in the middle of cleaning up after his client left, but for some reason decided this was the time to cash in one of his few conversation checks. 

"no." tom responded gruffly, and blissfully brief. stacy grinned again, turning on her heel to face you. you opened your mouth to retort, but your mind went blank and you ended up just standing there with nothing to say. what could you say? you were stressed because your first tattoo was a knuckle tattoo? that it was stuffy and looking out the window made it less so? that you had developed an immediate crush on your first client? fresh out of ideas, you blurted out the next thing that came to mind. 

"i smelled bad… uh… yeah. i-i smelled bad, and i was embarrassed. i was watching him through the window to see if he had any reaction from being away from my… smell." you wished for a second that time travel existed just so you could go back to that exact moment, after you figured out a good response, to stop yourself from looking like a fool. because oh what a fool you sounded like. stacy could tell. tom could tell. and you bet that billy would be able to tell as well. stacy shook her head, visibly trying to stop herself from laughing. even tom seemed to have a smile tugging at his lips. 

"you keep telling yourself that, love. now buck up, don’t know when the next customer is gonna come in. gotta be ready, you know, if you happen to be the only one free…” you immediately perked up, billy momentarily scrubbed from the forefront of your mind. the chance to do more tattoos, more of what you loved, had you interested in a split second. your eyes drifted to your discarded sketchbook on the other end of the room. 

“you serious?” you asked, nervous edge clinging to your word. more freedom came with more chances to fuck up, but now that you got over an initial nervous edge thanks to billy, you were rearing to go. stacy looked equally excited for you, and equally worried. but she came over and patted you on the shoulder. 

“deadly. now go, there is art to be inked.” you were bouncing on your toes, but took a moment to lean right into her, even giving her a quick side hug. 

“yes ma’am.” you mock saluted her, then almost skipped back to your chair. you sat back in your swivel chair, letting it roll you to your small side table. you started to pick up the discarded papers, but found your mind drifting back to him. to billy. 

the thought that he would be back eventually brought a small smile to your lips. it could be a few days, a week, a month, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t flake out. it was just a matter of time. plus, he was good company. 

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so,,, what’s the vibe with this lads? please lmk if y’all wanna see more!

What about something for my boi Dante? I really like how you write him too! Prompt: "You just wanted them because they light up.” Hmmm... 🤔😂

I’m all to happy to oblige! Hope you enjoy this spicy taste of Dante...

Word count: 2,211

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Window shopping with Dante was one of your favorite ways to spend date night. Red Grave had such a wide variety of shops, you never knew what you would find. Even if you didn’t end up buying anything, Dante’s commentary often left you holding your gut in pain as you tried to stop laughing.

Tonight was no exception.

“Eugh, that looks like something my grandma would wear!” your white-haired boyfriend commented, pointing at a knitted shawl in the window of a boutique. He wasn’t wrong; the white yarn would’ve been at home draped over a rocking chair. You chuckled and mimed using a walker, pretending to straighten a pair of glasses as you tried to get a closer look at the item.

“Oh, sonny, it’s lovely!”

Dante cracked up and gave you an exaggerated round of applause. You bowed theatrically and moved on to the next pane of glass, featuring several mannequins dressed in risqué lingerie. A slight blush tinted your cheeks as Dante wolf-whistled suggestively.

“Babe, we gotta go in! That black number would look incredible on you!”

The piece he was referring to displayed the pale plastic of the mannequin’s stomach like a piece of artwork. The dark lace clung to the chest and the first tendrils of heat pooled in your belly as you imagined Dante ripping it off you. You grabbed his hand and tugged him inside the dimly-lit shop.

“ID’s, please,” a voice requested by the door. You dug through your purse and smiled as you handed the clerk your driver’s license, Dante’s waiting in his hand.

“Perfect! Can I help you two find anything?” the young woman said with a smile, holding out the plastic card.

“That black one in the window, you got that in a medium?”

She turned away and vanished into the racks, leaving you and Dante to browse as she fetched the item in question. You wandered around aimlessly, pointing out the bridal section’s penis shaped lollipops to Dante with a chuckle. He held out a pair of boxers made of a shiny, stretchy material that looked far too small for a full grown man to wear, and you giggled in return.

“Here we are! Let me show you to the fitting room!” the clerk said, reappearing like a mirage in the desert holding a length of black fabric.

“Have fun, babe! Take a few pictures for me,” Dante quipped with a saucy wink as you walked away. You shook your head as the clerk laughed.

She led you to a hidden alcove, tugging aside a thick red curtain and leaving you to it. It took a few minutes, but you managed to get the beautiful piece of lace on. When you caught your reflection in the mirror, you gasped. The black lace hugged your curves sensually, hinting at the sensitive flesh beneath. The texture of the fabric sent goosebumps up and down your skin as you posed to take a picture for Dante, a teasing smirk twisting your lips.

You had to hand it to him, the man had excellent taste in lingerie.

You found Dante a few minutes later by a rack of silicone rings, reading the label of one with a child-like grin.  He turned his gleeful eyes to you excitedly, holding it out for your inspection. You raised an eyebrow and smirked playfully.

“You only want it because it lights up!”

“So? Look, it has seven speeds! It’ll be great,” he assured you. You rolled your eyes but nodded, curious despite yourself. You headed to the register and paid, taking the lingerie for good measure. The clerk gave you a knowing smile as you took the bag and left.

Outside, the air had turned chilly and you crossed your arms to insulate yourself. Dante hummed and stood behind you, his arms going over yours and squeezing gently. His stubble tickled your cheek as he leaned down to press a teasing kiss on your neck.

“How bout we head back for some fun?” he whispered. His tone was dangerously seductive and you could feel the his growing hardness pressing into the small of your back as his hands ran down to rest on your hips. You giggled and stepped out of his reach, heading back the way you came with a saucy smile.

He smirked and gave chase, growling like a lion on a hunt when you twirled away from his grasp. It gave you such a thrill to taunt him, pretending to be scared of his gentle hands and rough passion. He cornered you against a brick wall a block from home, pinning you to it and pressing his body to yours as his mouth descended to devour you. A low whine escaped your lips as his tongue darted out to sample you.

But you wanted to keep the game going, and playfully shoved him away to dart past, biting your lip as his hungry eyes followed you.

“You’re asking for it, babe,” he said, stepping closer.

“Then you’d better deliver,” you replied, and took off running. You knew he could catch you easily, but he let you reach the door to Devil May Cry before he made his move. You barely had time to squeak as he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, kicking the unlocked door open and using his free hand to smack your ass.

You squirmed until he had to set you down, but you only made it three feet before his firm grasp stopped you in your tracks. He gripped your hips achingly tight, sending a bolt of lightning up your spine as he dragged you to his desk.

“I always deliver!” he growled, reaching down to rub a single finger over your aching bundle of nerves. You arched your hips and moaned, begging him for more friction, but he only smirked and moved his hand away. You reacted instantly, ripping his red leather jacket off and throwing it to the ground. Gods, his shoulders were too much!

Dante bared his teeth and hastily tugged his shirt off, his lips crashing against yours before the fabric even hit the floor. You wrapped your arms around his gorgeous back and lifted yourself onto the desk, spreading your legs and tugging him closer to press against your core. Your chin was raw from his scratchy white stubble, your lips swollen as he plunged his tongue past them to explore your mouth, but all you wanted was more.

He pulled back, panting as he brushed strands of white out of his hooded eyes.

“Now… where’s that bag?” he asked. You pointed to where it lied, forgotten by the door where you’d dropped it. As he went to retrieve it, you peeled your sweater off. The fabric took your shirt with it, and you tossed the bundle aside just as Dante returned, already tearing at the complicated packaging of his new toy.

“I’ll keep myself busy…” you murmured, tugging your pants down and kicking them away, taking your panties with them. Dante’s jaw dropped as you leaned back onto his desk and your hands drifted lower, teasing at your slick folds. You let out an exaggerated moan, letting your eyes flutter closed as you threw your head back and rubbed circles over your clit. You extended a single digit and dipped it inside yourself, curling it to hit that perfect spot. You could hear his panting breaths as he watched your little show.

“Dante…” you whimpered, using your free hand to pinch your stiff peaks.

And then his hands were on your flushed skin, his teeth biting just right on your needy thighs. He pulled your hand away and dove in, his tongue lapping at the fluids leaking from within. Every lick and nibble sent surges of pleasure through you, his expert mouth rending you into a quivering pile of lust.

“Dante, please!”

He hummed, taking your swollen bud into his mouth and sucking gently. His hot tongue crossed over the sensitive nerves and you came with a cry, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling him against your folds. He kept going, drawing out the blissful moment for what felt like an age as he tasted your heady flavor. Your lips stretched into a wide grin as the last wave rushed through you, every nerve in your body still tingling as he stood tall over your sweat-slick body.

He held out his hands as if he was taking a picture, framing it carefully with one eye squinted shut.

“You look perfect like this, babe. So damn hot…” he said, lowering his hands as you chuckled, raising yourself to your elbows to meet his eyes. At some point he’d finished stripping and put on the cock ring, and seeing his length pointed right at you made you lick your lips. A small drop decorated his head, his readiness almost as obvious as your own.

His cock bobbed as he flexed, smirking at your glazed expression. One of his hands dropped to wrap around it and stroke, sending another small bead rolling out from the tip as he groaned. You couldn’t take it and dropped to your knees before him, staring deep into his eyes as you licked the delicious morsel and took him into you hot mouth.

“Fuck, babe…”

You hummed and hollowed your cheeks, bobbing a few times and reveling in the way he filled your mouth and tickled the back of your throat. You ran your palms up his legs, coming to rest on his hips and encouraging him to move, but he pulled away with a muttered curse.

Dante took your wrists and turned you, pushing you down over the dark wood of his desk. You grunted at the impact, but it morphed into a gasp as he sheathed himself in you with a single thrust. He held you down with one hand as he started pulling back. The rough surface beneath you felt ice cold to your heated skin and you gripped it firmly as he rolled his hips forward again, slowly stretching you to fit his girth.

“Ready for me to turn it on?” he asked.

“Please…”

He hummed and withdrew, and a beat later you heard the telltale buzz as he flicked the toy on. The vibrations reverberated down his length and into your core, and your eyes rolled back into your head as you saw stars and moaned. Dante pressed into you again, not stopping until his hips were flush with your ass. You could feel the buzzing in every nerve now, the toy positioned so it pressed right against your clit.

“Damn, your pussy looks amazing in blue!”

“Bet it makes your cock look good too, especially with me wrapped around it…” you responded with a taunting smile. He wove his fingers in your hair and made a fist, sending jolts of heat through your scalp to match those between your legs.

“Nothing ever made my cock look better, babe,” he replied, resuming his movement. You could picture his head scraping at your walls as he thrusted, his panting breath joining the low buzz and the wet sounds of your pleasure, but there was one sound missing.

“Harder, Dante! C’mon, I can take it!”

He chuckled and obeyed, the slap of flesh echoing in the air with every roll of his hips. You rocked your body to meet his, using the desk for leverage until it was rising and falling with a crash along with your bodies. You clenched your internal muscles, milking him and making him feel positively huge as he fought his way past the tight ring. The vibrations pulsed at your flesh as his head hit your cervix and sent you over the edge again, howling his name.

His hands clenched on your hips, brutally tugging them to meet his movements as fireworks flashed behind your closed eyes. With another few thrusts he exploded with the sexiest moan imaginable, pounding into you and sending his seed deep into your body. His hips stuttered against yours as he rode out his release, quiet gasps escaping his parted lips with each contact.

Spent for now, he leaned over to kiss your shoulder and switched off the cock ring, leaving your drenched folds tingling at the sudden absence. You sighed happily as he slipped out, content to feel the dripping fluids on your legs.

“Here, lemme get you something…”

A smile graced your still swollen lips as Dante’s footsteps retreated. You didn’t move, basking in the afterglow. Within moments, he returned with a soft cloth to wipe away the worst of the mess and you rose to wobble to where your panties lied on the floor. Dante’s sapphire eyes followed you, making sure you didn’t fall.

“So, for the record, that was fucking incredible for you too, right?” he asked quizzically. You couldn’t help but laugh before you answered.

“I’d say that was a twelve, on a scale of one to ten. And we didn’t even use the lingerie!”

Dante smirked as he pulled his pants on. “Well, the night’s still young…”

Red letters and Love confessions

so I spotted this prompt on @phanfic and decided to give it a go.. so here you go @nightphans ( if you see it) I hope you enjoy it!! 

Summary: Dan has been writing letters to Phil for many years, so what happened when Phil comes across one.  Rating: PG Tags: Friends to lovers. 

When they first met, Dan had expected it to go a little different. He had expected sparks to fly, love confessions, cuddles on the sofa and sweet kisses… but sadly the reality was that he and Phil were just friends, and that’s all they would ever be. Sure they flirted a lot online and posted slightly suggestive messages but it was all just a joke, two boys playing around and having fun.

Their friendship grew closer over time, Dan moved to Manchester for uni and then they moved in together, their YouTube careers got stronger and their fan base slightly crazier. It became a lot harder for Dan over the years, especially when the fans started speculating about their relationships and pushing their ideas on to them. The constant stream of ‘are you dating’ ‘please kiss’ ‘they are totally together’ at first pushed them apart, but once they got over that period they were stronger than ever. Though there was one problem, Dan loved Phil… but he was scared to tell him.

Ever since they first met, through all the laughter, tears, fighting and make ups Dan had been writing letters addressed to Phil. Letters Phil would never see. From a young age Dan was always writing things down, it was his escape from reality, his way of writing down his emotions so he didn’t accidently spill it to other people. So when his feelings for Phil started to manifest, the only way he could keep it away from Phil was to write them down.

Days, months, years worth of letters had started to pile up in a black box that he kept in his draw, sure they joked to fans about this box, but Dan knew Phil wouldn’t go in that box so he didn’t have to worry about him finding a letter as long as he kept it locked away. Sometimes when he was feeling down, he would go sit in his room and read some of the letters, they were colour coded for different emotions so he always knew which one to reach for.

It was nearing the time they would be leaving on their second world tour and Dan honestly had no idea how he was going to cope this time. Last time he almost confessed to Phil but bottled it last minute, and he feared this time he would do something stupid and slip up. They were supposed to be packing their suitcases but Dan decided to use this as an opportunity to flop down on his bed and look through some of the older letters. The first one he pulled out was in a green envelope, on the front it had ‘Mr Philip Lester’ and their old Manchester address on it. Green was Phil’s favourite colour so this type of letter was just Dan appreciating something Phil had done.

‘Dear Phil, Today was so surreal… you took me to meet a few of your old friends that you had met while doing the ‘YouTubes’ Little did you know but these people had been people I have looked up to for many years, so thank you so much for giving me the chance to meet them one on one without it having to be an awkward ‘fan’ experience… Though I’m sure it was defo an awkward Dan experience. When I tripped over the pavement and then you tripped yourself up so it looked like you had tripped and dragged me down so I didn’t have a giant cringe attack… that meant a lot to me. Also I can’t believe you you have such a good memory when we played those memory games... that some talent right there. God, I wish I could just tell you how much I admire you, and how smart and funny and creative you are… but sadly I can not so this letter will have to do. Thanks again for today, later Dan x’

After reading over the letter he laughed and put it away, he remembered that day pretty well and it was one of his favourite memories when looking back at that time period. He had met some of Phil’s friends who soon became both of their friends and Dan really had appreciated that.

“Dan?” Phil called out.

Dan could hear him getting closer so he scrambled all the letters together and threw them back in the draw before opening the door to Phil. “Yeah?” he leaned against the door frame and peered his head out of it. “Your phone keeps going off.” He pointed towards the living room where Dan had left his phone that morning after eating his food. Dan nodded and headed out of the room and down to the living room to grab his phone.

Phil was just about to leave when he caught glimpse of something red on Dans bed, he was going to shrug it off and walked back to his own room, but curiosity got the best of him and went to check. Once he made it to the bed, he noticed it was an envelope, snorting slightly he assumed It was another ‘cringy love confession’ from a fan that had sneaked in through their letter box but upon closer inspection he saw it had his name on it. Curiously he picked it up and inspected it noticing it had their old flat address on it, shrugging he put it in his pocket assuming Dan had packed it during the move and he had just found it now.

He headed back out of Dan’s room and made his way back to his own, so he could finish packing for the tour. He passed Dan on the way and informed him that he was going back to pack his suitcase and that they had to leave that night to travel to Brighton for the first show. Once he made it back to his room he pulled the letter out of his pocket and sat down on the bed. After looking over the letter a few times he turned it over and opened it up. ‘Dear Phil’ He rolled his eyes, so it was a fan letter, he was going to put it to the side, but curiosity got the best of him ( again) and he decided to read it regardless.

‘Dear Phil, It’s been one of those hard days again today, you looked so sad but wouldn’t tell me why.’ He stopped for moment, did this person know him? Was it after a live show or something? Or had it been one of those days he went for a run. Shrugging it off he decided to continue. ‘I knew from the moment I saw you that something was up, I tried to ask but you just ignored it and continued to talk about the anime show. I thought maybe I had done something wrong but so far I cant think of what it could possibly be. Later that day you started to cheer up, we did some baking and thought I would throw some flour on you and you laughed that made me so happy.’ Phil had to stop reading again. He put the note down on his lap and looked over at the door. He then looked back at it… this had to be Dan, but why would Dan be writing letter addressed to him. He bit his lip slightly and picked the letter back up, he felt like he shouldn’t be reading this, but again his curiosity got the best of him even though he was sure this was suppose to be private. “the way your tongue sticks out when you laugh is so endearing and cute… Fuck sake you are making this so hard for me!! Every day the NEED to tell you gets stronger and stronger but how would you react… would you laugh it off… would you accept it? Or would you hate me and never talk to me again… If only we didn’t have all these eyes on us then maybe I wouldn’t be so scared… Phil” He gulped and  put his hand over his mouth, what was Dan trying to say. “ I love you… “ He dropped the letter on the floor and completely covered his mouth. Sure at one point he though maybe Dan had liked him, but he had pushed that aside after all that fighting that happened and was sure Dan had just liked him as a friend after that. He crossed one leg over the other and placed both hands on his head as he looked down at his lap, was this really happening? He hadn’t realised how long he had been thinking about this, to him it felt like minutes, but his thoughts were interrupted when his bedroom door opened and a small ‘ Phil?’ echoed in his room, and his head. “Oh no….” Dan spotted the envelope on the floor and the paper near it, he knew what it was he could tell his horrible writing from a mile off… he backed up slightly and grippe the edge of the wall. “Please… say you didn’t read that..” he continued. Phil slowly looked up at him, he hated seeing the way Dan went all stiff when he was scared, he wanted to tell him it was okay… he didn’t mind, but no words would come out, he just continued to look at him. “ No no no no no no” Dan kept repeating it over and over again, he placed one hand over his face and kept a hold of the door with his other hand, he couldn’t believe this was happening, Phil wasn’t suppose to see this and yet here he was … reading one of his letters.. and a red letter at that.  “I am so sorry…” he started Phil got up off his bead and walked closer to Dan, he knew Dan would walk backwards so he just had to get to him before Dan had the chance to turn around and run to his room. “I’m so sorry Phil.. I’m so sorry… you weren’t suppose to read that…” he was panicking, he could feel his heart race, he could feel his mind slipping to a dark place. He could see Phil getting closer, he feared Phil was going to push him out of his room, out of his life… but he really didn’t expect what Phil was actually going to do. Phil reached out and grabbed Dan’s hand pulling it from his face and then neither of them knew who did it first… but soft lips pressed against slightly chapped lips and stiff hands slowly wrapped around each other. After a moment they pulled back and Phil looked into Dan’s eyes. “How long have you been hiding this.. “ he laughed lightly and placed his own hand on Dan’s face. “of course I wouldn’t reject you… you mean a lot to me” he pecked his lips one more time and then held him close

how to begin an ending

rating: NC-17 (for language)

plot: Mulder is trapped in a downward spiral of grief after Scully is shot in her apartment instead of Melissa.

tagging: @today-in-fic

Stacks upon stacks of files. Everywhere. Covering the floors, lining the walls, upon every surface in apartment number 42. Files interspersed between piles of dirty dishes. Some hadn't been touched in ages, with dust that created a film on them. Others had been left open, papers spilling out. The rooms were left dark, always. Never a light turned on. It was a hopeless place, and just like it was devoid of any light, it was also devoid of any real life.

The lock clicked and the door pushed open. He stumbled in the doorway and slammed the door behind him. He slumped against it, falling slowly to the floor as his back pressed against the door for some stability. He buried his face in his hands, his head pounding in excruciating pain. It always felt like this. Even without the hangovers. Sure, he went out every few days to get hammered, but the headaches were a preexisting condition. It was a wonder his still had his job, although he was damn near close to getting fired. Skinner wouldn't fire him, though. Mulder knew he just felt sorry for him. One sorry son of a bitch. That's what Scully's brother had said to him that day.

Characteristically, that day had been dark. He had found it hilariously fitting. Of course it was stormy. Of course it was raining. Of course the sky was overcast and angry. It was only suitable, and it only made sense. It was a grim day, overflowing with sorrow and despair. A lot of hatred for himself and a lot of hatred towards him from others. How could he be forgiven? He was to blame. It was his fault she was dead.

Mulder eased himself up from his position and walked over files to reach his couch. His coffee table was littered with the current leads he was following. All of them were dead ends, and he knew it. There was nothing that could be traced to anyone. They covered it up too well. They took what was most precious to him. They did it again. His eyes wearily glossed over the M.E. report. Single gunshot to the temporal fossa. Cause of death: fatal injury to the brain and blood loss. Absolutely nothing left at the scene. No finger prints. The bullet had proved to be untraceable. No sign of a break in. The perfect set up for a case to go cold. He squeezed his eye shut tightly.

It had been the first place he'd gone to after returning from New Mexico, Scully's apartment. He had to get back home eventually, but he'd wanted to see her first. Upon reaching her apartment complex, however, he was greeted from a few blocks away by flashing lights and dozens of personnel flocking outside the building. He had immediately pulled over on the side of the road. He ran the rest of the way, pushing past law enforcement officials and residents of the building, flashing his badge along the way.

He followed the corridors, ignoring the looks of pity or confusion that came from the local police . The door was wide open, and there she was. Skinner stood above her, his eyes filled with grief. Her auburn hair was splayed against the floor, stained a darker shade of red by the pool of blood that leaked from the wound. Her eyes. The sight of her eyes wide open, staring into nothingness was an image he could never get rid of, no matter how much he tried to drink it away.

Mulder sunk to his knees, his breath stolen from him. His fingers gently brushed her cheek. She was still warm. Her lips were slightly pulled apart, as if in shock.

"Mulder, you can't." Skinner said quietly.

He didn't listen. He tenderly closed her eyes.

"Agent Mulder."

Mulder felt tears slip from his eyes, his hands squeezing her shoulders and drawing her close to his body, holding her lifeless form in his arms. He shook violently as his sobs overtook him. Her blood-soaked hair was pressed against his face, her head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck.

"Scully." He whispered softly, rocking back on his knees. Her tiny frame remained motionless in response to his whispers. His hot tears trailed down his face, landing on the top of her head.

It might as well have been if he held the gun to her himself. He killed her. He did this. He did this to her. His life's mission destroyed her, an innocent. It wasn't even her quest and here she was because of him. He knew why she stayed, but God, he should've told her to leave long ago. He should have told her to stay the hell away from him. She would have fought him, told him that she wouldn't leave her side, but he should've done something. If he had done anything, she wouldn't be lying here dead.

Mulder slammed his fist down on his coffee table, his sorrow pulsing through him, coursing alongside his rage. His fingers gripped the underside of the table, and through a fit of fury, he overturned it and threw it hard to the floor. The wood splintered and groaned and he kicked at it in indignation.

He sunk onto the couch, clutching a pillow against his chest. His heart clenched excruciatingly, remembering all the hurt Scully had suffered for him. How she had bravely undergone it, never asking for pity, never looking for sympathy. Why did she do it? It baffled him to this very day, why she so stoically remained by his side, never backing down. Even after her abduction, even after her coma, she came back and aided him.

It wasn't fucking fair. Why her and not him?

Everyone was clad in black. A long procession of people trailed around the coffin, draped in the colors of the country Scully had served so faithfully. Mulder stood staring for what seemed like hours. It hadn't been an open-casket ceremony, and he thanked whatever god that was out there for that. He wouldn't have been able to handle it. Hell, he wasn't handling it now. One by one, each member of the congregation placed a rose upon the coffin. Finally, he had reached the front of the line. His hand shaking, he lowered the flower onto the small pile that had already been laid there. He had attached something to his rose. It was something he had been saving until her birthday. It was an Apollo 11 keychain, just something that he thought she would appreciate.

He watched as the coffin descended into the cold ground, turning away when members of her family began to pour dirt into the darkness she had been entombed in.

"Fox?" Melissa tapped him on the shoulder.

"I can't do it. I'm sorry." Mulder muttered, forcing his voice not to shatter.

Melissa was silent for a few seconds, as others around began to do their share in the work.

"You know Fox, I think she loved you." She said solemnly.

He glanced up at her, his eyes red, tears threatening to break free.

Mulder leaned against the arms of the couch, fighting to stay awake. For what, he sincerely didn't know.

_______________________________________________________________________

His eyes jerked open. Sunlight was peaking through his windows. His head felt heavy, and his brow was beaded in sweat. He looked around, inspecting his surroundings. There were no files on the ground, none on the table. In fact, the table was still in one complete piece.

He heard rustling in the kitchen. Alarmed, he stood to his feet. He swayed back and forth a little, shaky on his feet. He staggered toward the kitchen.

He saw a flash of red hair.

"Scully?" He mumbled, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

She turned to face him, her eyes filled with concern.

"Mulder, what are you doing up and walking around? Go lie back down, you still have a fever." She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and guided him back to the living room.

"Scully, you're... you're alive?" Mulder stopped in his tracks, his hands gripping her arms.

"Of course I'm alive." Scully laughed, but her smile faded as Mulder leaned in toward her, their faces nearly touching. "What are you doing?"

"I thought I lost you." He whispered. He pulled her into a tight embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"Lost me?" She questioned softly against his chest. She pushed back to look into his eyes. "Mulder, I think you're a little delirious."

"I think I am too, Scully. I can't believe how deliriously stupid I've been all these years." He held her face in his hands, his thumb tenderly stroking her cheek.

"What do you mean?" Her deep blue eyes searched his, looking for something to tell her what this all meant.

"I had a fever dream. You were dead, Scully, you died. You were shot... instead of your sister. I saw what my life turned out to be. How miserable, how lost I was without you. It was a nightmare. You were gone and the pain was stifling, like all the air in the world had been taken away. I couldn't breathe. Every day was a day filled with enduring agony. And out of all of the horror I've felt in my life, all of the pain I've experienced, I don't think a single thing can compare to that feeling of having you gone. It was unbearable. What I mean is that I don't know how I ever went through life without you. I don't think I can go through life without you."

Scully stared at him in stunned silence, her fingers interlacing with his.

"You know you don't have to. And you know that was just a dream, Mulder. I'm here." Scully kissed his forehead delicately, remaining there for a few moments.

"Scully."

She met his eyes; they shone at her with such intensity. He tilted his head forward. There was an instant that seemed to last for thousands of years. The second before their lips met, their noses touching, so close they could feel the breath from the other bouncing off their skin. His lips captured hers, tender but with zeal, like a desire fulfilled after years of longing. They moved with each other, feeding off of the other's passion, tongues wandering. Hands roaming.

They broke apart at last, eyes shining with joy.

"You're it, Scully. You're all I need." Mulder tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

She nestled her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around him. She deliberated for a moment

“I love you too, Mulder.”

Broken silence chapter 1

Morning light streams through an empty window frame, illuminating the cupboard sized haunted office interior. Inside, a heavy layer of autumn leaves and mulch covered what was once used as office furniture. A short, quiet Thwip and twang came from a rear corner of the room, under a desk. The pile of leaves rustled and fell to the floor as a figure stood from beneath the desk, throwing a leaf covered blanket from their back. The figure put her crossbow over her back and grabbed their assault rifle from the floor where they had been hidden. The figure was small, only around five feet tall, they were slim but their clothes gave them a bulky appearance. They lifted up the hood on their jacket to reveal a pastel white ponytail. The figure pulled down a mask covering their mouth and took in a deep breath, beads of sweat had begun to form around her pink lips, she wiped it away putting a gloved hand across her dusky jaw, smudging the jet-black makeup covering the top half of her face. She quickly checked over her assault rifle and patted down her lightly armoured flack vest and approached the non-existent window. She looked up and down the empty desolate street and directly across where her crossbow bolt hand landed, deep within the chest of a Musk ram; a deer like animal with a single barbed horn atop its head and razor sharp teeth. She put one foot outside of the window and continued to look up and down the street, her back resting on the fragile frame. Once she was fully onto the street, she ducked and sprinted to an abandoned car just to the left of the dying Ram. She took a knee at the car and looked down the road, an eerie, dead calm had taken the city recently and it unnerved everyone. The woman caught herself before she could think too much about it and peaked her head over the bonnet of the car, the coast was clear. She clasped the assault rifle onto her vest and pulled a knife out of the scabbard at the small of her back. She knelt down next to the Buck and stroked it’s neck gently ‘sshhh, don’t worry, not much suffering left, I promise.’ She spoke gently, her voice was naturally soft with a hint of an implacable regional accent. She thrust the knife deep into the Buck’s chest and it let out a blood curdling squeal.

The woman sat down, tears welling in her eyes, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes and exhaled everything ‘We need it to survive, we need it to survive.’ She muttered to herself, reassuringly. She motioned her left hand over her right forearm and a screen interface appeared on a vambrace she had over her jacket sleeve. She pressed a microphone option and selected a name ‘Jace’ and pressed a green phone icon. After a moment of ringing a voice picked up ‘Hello’ a gentle, formal voice said ‘It’s Jammer, cut the phone voice out, dumbass.’ The young woman said, wiping tears from her cheeks, her voice a controlled attempt to not show emotion. ‘Whatcha got, grey lady?’ Jace sensed Jammer’s upset and altered his tone to be reassuringly jokey.

‘I have an adult Musk Ram, ready for collection, half way down fisher street.’ Jammer was starting to regain control over her voice and emotions.

‘A ram on Fisher, what are they doing so far out of the park?’

‘Not sure, he looked spooked though.’

‘I have a unit nearby so I’ll direct them to check it out and I’ll send Sam to come get you and the buck. Sit tight, get yourself to cover, ok?’

‘Aye aye, captain.’ She sounded defeated as she began to stand and look up and down the street once again. Jammer noticed a sheet of metal and dragged it next to the buck. The Buck was heavy so she used the curb to drop the carcass onto the metal sheet and looked inside the car for any towing ropes or cables. She found a length of old rope and hooked it through some holes already in the sheet. She wrapped her hands around the rope and pulled the makeshift sleigh behind her into the safety of the office she had been in. she grabbed the sheet she had covered herself in earlier and threw it over the Buck’s body and slid under the desk again. Jammer raised her assault rifle and unclipped it from her vest and locked the stock into a steady position and aimed it at the window, ready for any trouble.

After half an hour of waiting a man in a blue armoured vest and a beanie hat arrived with an assault rifle trained high and began looking around the car outside, Jammer got up slowly and gave out a hushed shout ‘Hey, Sam, over here!’ he pivoted on his rear heal and begins a brisk walk toward Jammer, his rifle now lowered. ‘Where’s this buck you got?’ she motioned with her hand to a pile of leaves that had an antler protruding out of it. She wore a mix of sarcasm exhaustion on her face, all the more visible now her makeup had been almost entirely rubbed from her face.

As she threw the blanket from over the Buck Jammer asked ‘Hey, Did anyone hear back from the squad checking out the park? Why was this fucker out here?’

Sam replied ‘Oh, they didn’t tell you?’

‘Obviously not.’

‘It was a group of Capsule troopers, five, I think. They dropped in last night and that’s when they must have disturbed the animals we herded there’.

‘How did they get here through the blockade?’

‘You’ll have to ask them, they haven’t gotten into camp yet.’

‘Korra’s going to love this shit.’

‘Can’t understand why, they can only mean more troopers on their way, hopefully in some huge fucking warships!’ He said enthusiastically, his readiness beaming through.

Jammer cracked her knuckles and neck ‘Alright, bitch, lets pull.’

Jammer and Sam wrapped an arm into the rope of the makeshift sled the Buck was on and began pulling out into the street. They walked a mile, their free hands ever ready to raise their rifles and fire.  

Jammer and Sam rounded a corner into a narrow ally way and carried on to the back door of a kitchen. Two guards in heavy armour, one carried a police issue riot shotgun and the other carried an assault rifle and operated a heavy machine gun built into a steel fortification.  ‘need a hand with that?’ the first guard asked.

‘Nah, we should be ok carrying it.’ Jammer replied, an insincere but grateful smile placed on her face.

‘I meant do you need a hand eating it!’ the guard laughed out loud and placed his free hand on his round belly, his fellow guard’s eyes audibly rolling.

‘Just let them through the fuckin’ door, Derry’. The other guard was surly, not huge but big enough to intimidate.

Derry slung his shotgun over one shoulder and with two large, gloved hands pulled the steel door to one side and motioned Jammer and Sam through. Inside the building they walked through a sandbagged check point and it’s heavy machine gun and down the corridor to a good lift. Another guard, this time in a casual baseball cap, Jean and tee shirt, stood at the control panel of the lift with a submachine gun slung over one shoulder. ‘Down?’ he asked in a bored, country twang.

‘All the way, if you’re offering, stud.’ Jammer wryly winked at him.

‘He’s more my speed, no offence.’ The guard winked at Sam, his jaw overworking itself on a piece of Jerky.

Sam cleared his throat ‘Nobody is my type, sorry, cowboy’.

They dragged the buck onto the lift platform ‘all clear, going down.’ The guard seemed even more bored now. The journey down two floors into the building’s sub-basement seemed both instant and eternal to Jammer; she had been in the field hunting for twenty four hours, not her longest jaunt but still enough to make her crave a cot and a safe roof over her head. She sighed as the lift clunked to a stop and a guard opened the roller door. Sam and Jammer dragged the Buck out of the lift and around a set of four defensive barriers and another machine gun, into a wide open area. They dragged the buck to a catering area where two cooks took the animal from them. The area was once wide open but had been segmented into several different areas using temporary walls, some made form dry board and wood and other made from welded sheets of metal.

‘See you later, sweaty ho’ Sam grinned at Jammer as he gripped her hand and pulled her for a hug; they patted each other’s backs and walked in separate directions. Sam walked to a line of desks against the right hand wall of the room, to get his next assignment and Jammer headed to the armoury on opposite wall. when she got to the armoury she handed over her assault rifle, sidearm and ammo. She signed her name on the register to say she had returned her weapons and pulled a thin, black  plastic tablet from her small satchel. She turned it on with a finger swipe along the top edge and turned it portrait; she had gotten halfway through a film the night before she went on her assignment and was instantly engrossed again. She walked slowly along toward the back wall, her gaze focused on the tablet.

‘Whoa, watch it, Raspberry, nearly got me there!’ a middle aged, smug, militiaman said, his grin audible in his grotesque flirtation.

‘Fuck off, Dick face.’ She gave him a slight glance up from her tablet and walked around him.

‘That’s ‘Sir’ to you!’ He tried to play it off as joking banter between friends but everyone in the vicinity knew he just got shot down and shit on.

Jammer strolled, this time paying more attention to her surroundings, towards the sleeping area. She dropped her tablet on her bed and rested her crossbow on the floor and slid it under the bed. She took off her armoured vest, then her rain coat, hoodie and her plaid shirt which she threw over a rail at the end of the bed. She sat down on the edge of the bed and undid her boots and grimaced slightly at the smell coming from them. She reached under her bed and picked out a pair of small canvas slip on shoes and put them on her feet after her boots and socks were off. She tidied the boots under her bed and lay the socks out to air them. After a few moment of breathing Jammer got back up  walked to her draws and took out a pair of knee length shorts and a clean vest and headed for the shower block.

Jammer left the showers almost exactly ten minutes after she entered, quick even for her. On her way to he bed she took a diversion to the mess where she collected a ration of bread, Prairie Gallus breast, vegetables and gravy. She loved the food, she knew it didn’t taste great but it was healthier that what she used to eat and it was hot. She sat to a small wooden table and scoffed her way through the food, her hair dripping on the floor. She washed it down with a bottle of Cider she had looted the night before and headed back to her bed. Jammer lay on her bed with one hand curled under her head and drifted off as she watched her film.

𝑩𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎, 𝑩𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝗠𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗿𝘆. 

Running — That’s something I am great at. But I never ran from /you/. There was something about the way your arms wound around the small of my waist, pulling me in, and making me remember what it felt like to call a person home instead of four walls and countless marble pillars. Something in the way your breath would gently cascade in against the delicate flesh of my neck with every heated wind from the slow wind of my hips. A simple, slow tease. Oh, but I knew it was pure torture for you; that’s why I did it. Two small reasons why...why I never strayed, and why I held tight when your presence was nonexistent. I still remembered the shock that settled in the day you knelt down against the warm sand, and pulled out a ring. Pear shaped; my favorite. Simple, golden band. I never was one for over-complicated jewelry. Gross. If that shit has more diamonds than the most important one? Throw it out. But that was something he knew. Boy, did you really do a number on me with this whole setup. Lure me in, take me to our favorite beach, and low and behold? Sharks! The one and only favorite animal of yours truly. Great. Gotta love a man that knows exactly what to do. Fuck, me. So here we were, sharing the best memory I could ever hope for — a shark meet-and-greet. I was right at home in the ocean, swiping light fingers along the silken backs of them, completely mesmerized by the way they moved. And then? That was when he pulled me away; I didn’t mind, I knew the day was drawing to an end, and that was usually the time when sharks become ravenous with hunger. Wish I would’ve sank you to them, honestly. Shit, then I wouldn’t be standing here, feeling stupid. The thing I hate almost more than feeling vulnerable. Good job, pal. The initial pain that followed his disappearance was something that I’d honestly learned to tune out. Just busy, or perhaps just up to some shit I didn’t know or need to know about. Shit happens, Alice. You’ll be fine, just keep on building your empire. So that’s exactly what I did. I built a wedding line while he was off gallivanting. Seven of the eight pieces were nearly finished. All that lacked was the eighth and final dress. Something I had taken my sweet time in both designing, but also in bringing my idea to life. I never had issues on this until now. Where I couldn’t even find the headspace to slip away from the lingering memories of having him at home with me. I used to take my pieces home, give him a little show all his own, and allow him to tell me the small changes to make to the pieces. It was stupid, probably, but it always helped to steady my mind. I still can’t believe I allowed myself to lean on someone else so completely. Wasn’t that the first thing I learned in life from my lunatic mother? Crazy bitch; still locked away in the asylum. If there was one solid piece of advice I’d bother to lend to anyone? Never rely on anyone other than yourself. Your fingers, feet, will, and determination will take you a helluva lot further than anyone else ever will. If you find yourself wanting to lean into or on your partner? Fucking stand up — Stand tall. We don’t have time for that bullshit here. Waiting wasn’t the hard part. Continuing to have hope when you’re six months into being alone? That is the hard part. Going back, recreating each and every little memory you have of him while he won’t let you know he’s still breathing; that’s hard. It’s the whole thing of not knowing, for me. I never thought I would be the kind of girl to sit back and find myself a mess of confusion, anger, and doubt all because of this goddamn ring that sat so prominently against my left ring finger. But yet? I held on, refusing to let go or to give up. Not because of myself, but because I knew the feeling of coming back to an empty life, an empty home. Detriment was a kind way of putting that kind of hurt. Trust, love, compassion; these are all things we built together. Things to which were slowly slipping between my fingertips as the eighth month alone was creeping in. Settling into its place on the chalkboard calendar I’d hung to track both my progress on the wedding show, but also so I would force myself to be conscious in the time that lapsed. Eight fucking months of space between the two of us. I had never felt so empty. Both in mind and in soul. He’d slipped away so easily to my dismay. Not a word, not even a second thought. Maybe marriage wasn’t for me. Perhaps I was the kind of girl that would always find herself in these fucked up situations because this wasn’t something in the deck of cards I’d been playing with? We shall see. Teeter...totter. Back and forth she goes. Do I slip away like he did, or do I give it the full length of a year before I let this crash harder than a car at 80 stopping against a tree? Fuck it. Held on this long, suppose it won’t ruin me any worse to wait it out. Yeah? Yeah. Back to the dress. That’s right. It was mid July — only one dress remained. I slipped another pin from between my lips, into my fingers, and right by my thumb right through the soft — damn near silken, fabric. Weaving the pin into place, and securing it with a final thread of fabric against the shoulder. Draping it down to sit perfect against the shoulder of the mannequin at hand. They would slouch slightly, but never enough to reveal too much skin. Classy. Effortlessly classy. For a moment I pulled away from my project to look over it, eyes narrowing in suspicion and critique of my own work. Everything would be perfect, and without flaw by the time I was done. Nine months deep in this treacherous hell hole of a relationship, ey? Here I go again, making my rounds of excuses for why he’s gone, why he hasn’t said a single word, and why I don’t matter. Here I go venturing into the path of unknown on whether or not I’ll ever speak to the second most important person I’d met. Can’t believe I let him in to this extent. Still feel stupid. My will to push forward with my long-lived journey of waiting was dwindling. Quick. It was almost as if with every tap my nails made against the glass top of my desk, my patience were wearing further. Down the drain. Oh, fucking, well. I remembered typing out my release form, allowing me to escape the confines of this, but instead? I’d somehow turned it into a soppy form of how much I loved this man, and how I was still going to persevere so he would see the love I gave. I couldn’t tell you how badly I wanted to just be able to hear that deep, rusk voice of his. To know he was near. Little did I know, this need to feel him would be met only days later. I was dead to the world on the leather couch in my living room, bottle in hand, and drool dripping down the corner of my mouth. How lady like, Madame Lunatic would be oh sooo proud. Insert eyeroll here, please. Thank you. Anyways. I’d slept for a grand total of three hours when I finally heard the soft ringing of my phone. For the record, I had seven missed calls from Brooklyn at this point. What in the sam fuck is this? “Swain is here!” That was all I had to know, and I immediately sprung into action. Time to see /my/ man. When it was said that it was either Swain or nothing? People meant that. I cared about little to none unless it dealt with him. Dude had my whole heart tangled around his fingers. Even when he wasn’t around. But he was now. That is what mattered, for me. Fuck, yes. I knew there was a reason I kept holding on. This is exactly why I never gave up. He was coming back, he was always meaning to come back. Right? Of course! Wait...but then why had he left for so long in the first place? How could someone who claimed they loved you so fully just...disappear? What kind of things ran through his mind when it wandered to me, and subsequently; did he think of me? Did I actually matter? How could I? Truly, how could I have mattered to this man if he could suck the life from someone so easily? But then again, I couldn’t place that blame solely on him. I chose to wait. I put myself here, but love for me is a beast to remain unconquered. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t overcome if it came between me and someone I loved. He was the one person I loved more than anything. He wants to marry me. He wants to marry me. He’s here now and he wants to marry me. These are the words I had to forcibly think over and over as I pushed pins and needles in and out of the fabric of the dress. My very last dress. The only dress I would start and complete all on my own. The only dress that was completely created by Pistol. So here I was, completely knees deep in tulle and silk, and crystals alike. Beading sure was a fickle little bitch, and my compulsive need to have everything perfect wasn’t helping the situation at all. Guess that’s the price you pay when you know your craft, and you take pride in each and every facetted detail. A small smile managed to hem it’s way onto my lightly lined lips as I stitched in the last few sectors of the bodice. Lace was embellishing the tight corset, meant to strap in everything. There was a soft fabric draping the shoulders, and framing the bodice. That way it would look more vintage than new-age. Paying homage is the purpose, here. Must remain a take on a classic. That small reminder hit me as I was carefully weaving my needle in against the lace. Ocean inspired eyes watched over every stroke, making sure to take the time to correctly stitch everything. Lets see how many years this would take. Kidding. Only took the next two weeks. During those two weeks Swain and I went back and forth of colors for our wedding, the people we should include, and a date. A year. It had almost been a year since we’d gotten engaged and we were finally getting somewhere. Holy hell. I didn’t give a damn that he wanted to scrap the things I’d came up with, either. Not even the tiniest bit. Life was on overload as it was. Hell yeah, you can help! Do what you want, mister man. That was my way of thinking, at this point. I didn’t care if we didn’t invite a single soul to our wedding. I cared about the two of us and that was genuinely it. If you asked me? I was in favor of having this as small as it could be. I’d always been one to remain vulnerable with very few. Besides, he was all I truly needed. A marriage is between two people, not two people and everyone else. No thanks. Including other people in your relationship only succeeds to ruin that relationship. Outside opinions shouldn’t count or matter. This was about he and I. But the excitement that filled me to be able to say we had everything completely mapped out was unreal. I never thought we would get there. Not in the slightest, and especially not with nine months of space. Maybe this is that crazy level of love where nothing really forces you apart, or breaks you. Maybe. Just maybe. Slowly, though, oh so slowly he began to retreat back to the old habit. A few days at a time, at first, and then a week. See, I never was the girl that likes to nag someone because they’re absent for a week or two. Not when I’ve waited far longer. However, when you’ve got so many raw emotions invested into one human being? It’s genuinely a struggle to keep your head screwed on straight when that person starts fading once again. It’s like watching a relative relapse into the same shitty pattern. Over and over. This is where I had to sit back, on my own, and wonder how long until those little cracks in my heart would cause it to shatter? There has to be a limit to where I stay stable against the harsh reality that my favorite sense of comfort is about to wipe all that I’ve held onto, away, and into the nearest breeze. It’s almost as if I could feel the tension rising along my heartstrings. Each and every time I heard those fateful words, ‘I love you.’ There’s nothing more dangerous. October 31st, the big day. Holy hell, it’s finally here. I was going to be Kieran’s wife. His /wife/! The realization hadn’t even remotely set in at this point, but fuck it, I was hype. My nerves were non existent as I bustled to make sure I’d perfectly edited my vows for the man I loved endlessly. The erratic beating of my heart was unlike anything else, and even though I was surrounded by a group of people Swain and I had handpicked to witness our small ceremony? There was a huge weight of nervousness clouding my bronze shoulders. Lord, let's hope that my vows are enough. Nothing too short, nothing too long. Please, let me be enough. He said 2 o’clock. It is now well past 5p.m., but maybe he’s caught up and needs some time? Maybe a hundred different scenarios could’ve happened and that’s why he isn't here. Why I am standing here, wondering, waiting. My mind was running a million miles to the minute as I was being asked where he was, and if we were going to actually get married today. I hoped so. I remembered rolling the ring around the knuckle of my finger time and time again to ease my growing pangs of anxiety towards the situation at hand. He promised. He planned this. Why wouldn’t he show up, and how could /I/ not be enough to extract a goddamn hour of his time? One hour. That is all I wanted. Would I gladly accept and take more if the opportunity arises? Of course, but the chances of that were extremely slim. I knew that. I might’ve been in denial, but it wasn’t that goddamn strong. I could see two inches out from my feet, at the very least. As the hours passed, my anxiety level spiked, only to drop into the realization that it was now six hours later and not a word was said. No sorry, no dumbass excuse of what kept him from being here, from loving me. From making up all that time he’d already taken away. There really was nothing. Not a damn thing. You. I have loved you from the start. You drug me in with those stupid stoner jokes (that we both laugh at as if we’re kids), and kept me with your heart. When I think about you I see more than a body. I see your soul, your heart, and the mind that keeps it all afloat. I see you, Kieran. I’ve spent so many months learning any and everything from you that I can. And somehow it’s still hard to believe that we are here: waiting to be one. I know it’s probably weird for you to see this side of me; hell, it’s weird for me. But you allow me to be soft. To have emotion and to be vulnerable. You are my better half. You make all of the bullshit dissipate, and you are the light when everything seems to drown in black. I couldn’t be more thankful for someone than I am for you. But I’ve found myself thanking whatever higher power is there, for letting me find you. To have your love. And to be able to hide against you when shit gets hard. Marriage is something I /never/ thought /I/ would experience. But here I am. Here /you/ are. We’re fucking gettin’ married, and I couldn’t be more happy! I love you. More than a broken record loves to skip on the best part of a song. You have always and will always hold my heart and my hand. You are my most important. My constant. My rock. My ever-lasting love. The only one I would want to do forever with. You save me. In so many ways; from myself. You’ve always done that. Oh, but I doubt if you ever knew. You have bettered me in ways I don’t even know how to say, but baby? When I peer into those baby blue’s of yours I find myself watching out who life play out. The images I never thought I was worthy of. Being a wife. Being a mother. Owning about ninety-eight dogs. You’ve made me come alive in every sense of that word, and I love you even more for that. Loving. Admirable. Caring. Warm like the sun. Sweet. Honorable. Courageous. Funny. Talented. Wise. These are just a few words I have when it comes to you. These are aspects I watch flutter through your being each and every day. You inspire me to be a better woman in hopes that I will be the best for you. You called me the sun when you asked me to marry you, oh but you’ve never seen what you look like through my eyes, Kieran. You make me stand breathless all the time. And when I hear that deep voice of yours, signifying you’re home? Goddamn if my heart doesn’t want to run to you. Back to its home. Where I feel my safest. Because for me? You are my home. Fuck a house. It’s you. It has been you from the second week I knew you. So, Thank you, Kieran for always loving me. For staying even when I was the biggest pain in the ass. And for deciding you wanted to deal with my bullshit for the long haul. With that being said; please kiss me. Make me your wife, and let me take your last name, mister. Because I’m too in love with you for every passing minute it only gets stronger.‘ Those were the words that lay splattered across the back of this postcard I found nearly a year back. See, I wrote my vows far before I was ever even engaged to this man. He was my rock, my heart, my best friend. In every form possible, and I knew from the jump that it would always be him and I. Or, at least, that’s how it felt and seemed to be panning out. I felt like I was on top of the world when I felt the love he shared with me. He brought my heart to where it needed to be, and helped make me who I am. I knew that. But as I thought about the last year, I couldn’t help but to feel my pastel pink fingernails dig down into the weathered-most side of the postcard, tears welled, and soon strolled down the sides of my cheeks. I was slipping lower to the ground in hopes that I could avoid the incoming questions of our closest friends regarding our marriage. A marriage that wasn’t going to fail, because it couldn’t even start. I wasn’t worth the shot. The time. The effort...or the energy it took to simply show up. Processing the next few hours was something I didn’t fully understand, or know how to do. Maybe I’ll just push it away, or down? That’s usually how I would respond to a situation like this, but yet here I was. Still waiting. Everyone else gave up hours ago. Tears continued their way down my face, and I moved to get comfy in my favorite chair, in my home, that I shared as ours for over a year. Slap in the face. Insult to injury, as I thought more and more on this whole ordeal. What was I going to do? Was he ever coming back? Would he have the balls? OF COURSE HE WOULD! Here he was, in the early hours of the next morning. Did he apologize? Yes. Did it really mean anything? Not particularly. Did he give me an excuse? Also yes, but it wasn’t enough. Just that Halloween, the date he chose, was his favorite holiday (Mine too, but I don’t count, remember.) and he was busy enjoying it. You could’ve let me know, jackass. You could have taken three minutes to say you wouldn’t make the wedding. We either needed to reschedule or stop. Reschedule or leave. Those were the options I saw. The only ones that were worth a damn, and that would actually somehow save my heart a little bit. Would it fully save me? Fuck no, but in this case? I supposed every little bit really did count, didn’t it? Perhaps. We would see what came of this. To answer that one — A quick back and forth with how embarrassed I was, and how he didn’t care enough to save me from, what felt like, the ultimate embarrassment. I didn’t know what to do. I went back and forth with him. Fuck, me. Here we go again. How was it that all he needed to do was apologize, and I was going to nod my agreement to reschedule this? Yep. Yes, I was. Because why? Because I loved him more than I had anyone yet, and I had never been one to give up. Especially not when it came to anyone I loved. Perhaps that was my biggest downfall; the fact that I always loved to put those that I love before me. I could feel the rhythm of my heart picking up in pace, and the strong red discoloration coming into play along my chest and neck. God, I wanted to claw that skin away. Keep your hands away, Alice. Stop. It is going to be okay. I wanted to scream from the whole anxiety of it all. Not knowing what he would do next. Would he actually do what he said, or was this yet another empty promise for me to put weight into, and continue to feel my heart fall at the end of another dead-end result? September 1st.. That’s our new date for the wedding. Update all the guests. Everyone was ready. I was ready. Beyond so, even, and again? No Swain. Right back in stagnant water, huh. I needed to go, to get out. But I fought that overwhelming sensation turned urge to run from every part of this. I fought so fucking hard, and somehow I never got very far with it. Not in the slightest, and maybe that was one of the most devastating moments that compiled this shitty, shitty day? A sigh of defeat crossed my ruby red lips, and I nodded to myself in acknowledgement that he had fooled me this time, too. Here I was, with all the hope in the world, and a bouquet of daffodils. Soft, blue eyes swam in an ocean of pain as I sank into the nearest chair. Forget your life as you knew it, Alice. Forget the hope, forget the way he lies in his love for you. Someone who loved you a fraction of the amount he claims wouldn’t have done this. This guy is fine, just living his life, and at the expense of your raw heart. Pick yourself up, do better. But I can’t. I love him. Oh, the memory of it all was almost too real in this moment, and I could feel the want to let my tears form, but I would fight that, too. I was not allowed the right to be fragile or emotional, or vulnerable in any light. I am strong, right? Right...at least, that’s what I’ve always told myself. A day and a half later — That was the last time I saw him, and the last time my heart wept with weathered pain. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way he spoke to me that day. I was a stranger, not the woman he wanted to marry, and that much was clear. I’d never seen him so cold, and why? For what reason was I given this kind of treatment? Because I stayed, and never gave up or gave in…? Was it because I loved him so completely and unconditionally? Was my love something too heavy to hold, for him? Did I, unintentionally, become a burden in the enormous love I shared? Every one of these questions plagued me for so damn long. They still do. But closure is a friend I do not know, nor do I yearn to. I only wish I could erase one thing that was spoken to me that day, “You know that even when we get married, I’m still not going to be around much, right?” There it was, I guess. What I knew he was doing, but at least? At least if he didn’t say it out loud, I wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of it all. I could just keep playing along as if my heart wasn’t slowly falling to a billion little shards, sharp as nails, and cutting me wide every time I attempted to bring myself together. God knows, he wasn’t going to even attempt to give me that small ounce of comfort that I was begging for. My pain was unimaginable. Sometimes it still haunts me. What makes me so hard to love...to deal with? Even with that guilt coming into play that I was the reason behind his drive to be so far? I found myself wanting nothing more than to love this man, who broke me so easily. “Never forget that I love you,” Boy sure did know how to sell it. All the way. Full fucking send. That was the last thing I told him, was how much I loved him. And then he was gone. I was broken. Void to everyone and everything around me, in entirety. I just didn’t care anymore. My wedding line was ready for the show in a week, and I was alienating myself from everyone in my life. Block them out. That’s all I cared to do. It wasn’t until the morning of the show that I found myself allowing a smile to crack along the lines of my lips. I had every dress perfectly organized in each bride’s dressing room, and on the eight one? I hung a sign on the door asking for privacy. She’d want to get herself ready for this day. Over the past few months, I’d gotten to know her fairly well, and I decided to do her this due justice. None of the other brides were aware of who the eighth bride was, and that was exactly as planned. I nodded to each of these women as I shut them into their spaces with their dresses. None had laid eyes on the finished product until this moment, and for once? I found comfort in not knowing the immediate reaction. Instead? I moved back down the long hallway, and stepped behind the door of my own little space. Here I could allow my soul some comfort, and a moment of peace before the runway bliss and clamor. Breathing was something that had become hard here lately. It was like I was suffocating beneath the pressure of tons of water. I couldn’t seem to get ahead of it, but yet here I was. Doing what I had always done, what I was good at — Acting like I was perfectly okay when I was anything but. One foot stepped down, into the dress, followed by the other. I’d made sure to have the perfect one for the show. Time in advance, and all. One couldn’t simply create a full wedding line, and look mediocre herself. I smiled up at myself as I lifted the dress from the floor, to my shoulders, and allowed Elie to complete fastening the back. Any other show? This would’ve been Swain’s place. To let his fingertips glide against the seam of my back, and drop a soft, simple kiss to my shoulder. But that was gone. A distant memory. Diminished, now, and I couldn’t allow myself that memory. Not now. Not today. I’d let Oscar take over guiding the girls in who was to take their walk down the runway, and when. I’d decided to take this time to myself, to ready myself. I kicked Elie out a few moments later only so I could wipe away the makeup I’d let a tear roll through, and for reapplication. Once that was done, I brought a diamond encrusted pin to slip between caramel locks, and fastened it in place. Both feet slipped down into my favorite pair of Louboutin shoes, and I took a few deep breaths before I headed out of the room, and down the hall...again. This time my heart was damn near jumping out of my chest, and I looked to both of these wonderful men for a brief moment before I moved to the stage entrance. All of the brides were lined up on the opposite side of the stage, where no one could see me from my current position. They’d taken their walks. Now it was my turn. Within the next few moments, life was a blur. It always was when I debuted a new line. Slowly, I stepped up to the stage, conscious of the dress, and overly conscious of what was going on. I allowed my smile to pour its way onto my porcelain features as I looked out at the hundreds of flashing lights, and began my journey down the runway. The dress was a tribute to a classic, just as all the rest. But this one hadn’t been touched by any hands other than my own. I’d taken months on months to create and sew this dress together. Lace, tulle, silk. All simple fabrics, with intricate weavings. Beautiful fabrics, for what was meant to be the most beautiful day. This was the first time I’d ever been allowed to step foot into my masterpiece. It never shined on its day of purpose. He’d ripped that away from me, hell, he’d never even known I was the eighth bride in my show. No one had. But here I was, making my way down, step by step, flash by flash, and with ease of motion. I’d learned how to fake it better than most, and this was where I used that to my advantage. The shoulders of my dress slouched along my slender shoulders, just as they were meant to, and everything fell perfectly into place. I had created something so beautiful, so perfect for my wedding day. It never shined on its day of purpose. “Oh my god, it was her this whole time?!” I heard those words as I was stepping back towards the exit of the stage, and I felt as if my heart was ready to shatter from the trauma of it all, all over again. And I was angry. So fucking angry at how I hadn’t been given the opportunity to shine, or to love, or to hurt. I’d only been allowed to deal with things as they came at me, in the moment, and never to process them. I continued to fake a smile as I stood alongside my co-creators of this line and took our final bows, but as soon as I managed to step away? I was gone. I needed to get out. I had to go. The urge to rip my skin off was rapidly approaching, and before my chest could start splotching, I needed to go. I knew exactly where, and truth be told? I never thought I would want to retrace my steps back to that spot, but here I was; already en route. My knuckles were white against the steering wheel as I flew down the PCH, throwing all caution to the wind, and not giving a damn about any speed limit in sight. Who cared, anyways. At this rate, it only took me a little over an hour to make it to the ocean. Well. The specific beach that Swain took me to nearly a year ago. Once I pulled in, I cut the engine, and sat there. Watching the waves crash against the sea-soaked sand, and rocks. I felt numb. I didn’t move, but instead? I reached over into my glove-box, and stole a cigarette to place between my lips. Lighter in hand. It was then that I slipped from the confines of the car, and made my way down the rocky path to where he asked me to marry him. I stood in the exact same spot I had then, and simply moved to unbutton the dress as best as I could. Rocking to and fro, ever so slightly, against my feet, as I did this. I didn’t speak. I didn’t think. I just let the dress fall to the sand. Leaving me in nothing more than my white, corseted slip, and heels. The cigarette remained between my lips as I flicked the igniter on the lighter, and took a nice, long drag. Ah, the ease of nicotine. Something to steady my restless and relentless nerves. In that same moment? I lifted the train of my dress, riddled with lace, and flicked the lighter to life once more. It took little longer than a minute to watch all my hard-work, love, and determination go up into flames. Just the same as my love for him. Burn the bridge, burn the memory. With the next drag of the cigarette, I was gone again. Sunk back into the seat of my ‘69 Hemi, and flying down the highway once more. It was time to go home. I am good at running. I am good at burning bridges. I am good at loving. I am good at many things. But what I am not good at is handling trauma. So, I’ll give you a Pro Tip: Never design and sew your own goddamn wedding dress. That shit will burn you far worse than any flame ever could. Much love, The Eighth Bride.

NSFW VICTUURI WEEK: Day 2

Title: Velcro Author(s): justrae2010 Rating: Explicit Summary: 

Finally, the door swung open.

Victor dropped the dog lead.

His husband stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a small pair of black boxer briefs - Victor’s boxer briefs - and the unmistakable red and white Team Russia Olympic jacket. Victor’s Olympic jacket. Victor felt his jaw drop.

Holy fuck. 

Link to A03: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11464005

Victor had never imaged he would ever need to use the doorbell to his own apartment but there he was one Friday afternoon, Makkachin whining at his heels and sleet blustering around his face. The icy wind nipped at his red nose, coat tugged tight around him.

He could have sworn his key had been in his coat pocket. Maybe it had been when he’d left for Makkachin’s walk, but it certainly wasn’t there now.

Perhaps it had gotten caught in his wool gloves when he’d pulled his hand of his pocket and had dropped somewhere in the snow. Perhaps it had flown out his pocket when he’d been chasing after Makkachin in the park. Perhaps it had slipped through the lining of his coat where the stitching had worn. Perhaps it was still in the depths of his pocket where he’d left it, only now his ungloved fingers were too frostbitten to have been able to feel it even if it was there.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was stood outside his apartment with his teeth chattering - heel of his palm jabbing into the doorbell because his fingers were too numb - and mood souring more minute by minute.

“Come on, Yuuri…” he muttered under his breath. He felt like he’d been waiting for ages.

His husband was definitely home. They’d both come home from practise together, Victor drawing the short straw to take Makkachin on his blood chilling walk since Yuuri had taken his turn the day before.

Victor’s foot tapped impatiently. Air huffed through his lips, misting in a cloud in front of his face and brushing a fresh chill over his face as it was carried off by the stuff breeze. Makkachin’s tail wagged against the back of his leg, tapping away at his quickly waning patience. Where was his key? In his coat somewhere? In his gym bag? On the edge of the kitchen counter, from where he’d left it to fix Makkachin’s lead? He wasn’t sure. He was sure finding out would just put him in an even worse mood somehow.

Finally, the door swung open.

Victor dropped the dog lead.

His husband stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a small pair of black boxer briefs - Victor’s boxer briefs - and the unmistakable red and white Team Russia Olympic jacket. Victor’s Olympic jacket. Victor felt his jaw drop.

Holy fuck.

The toned muscles of Yuuri’s body were on perfect display, full thighs and the fine lines of muscle carving Yuuri’s abs framed by the jacket nicely. The underwear was tight on Yuuri’s hips, tiny roll of fat overspilling the taut waistline. It made Victor’s mouth water. Black hair hung in unruly damp lumps over Yuuri’s forehead, still dripping wet from the shower and a bead of water ran down over the ridge of his jaw, trailing the length of his throat, caught by tanned skin of his collarbone, and -

“Victor?”

Victor’s eyes shot up to his husband’s face. It was only then he noticed how far his neck had to jerk to meet Yuuri’s furrowed brown gaze; just how much had he been staring?

Victor’s jaw bobbed. How was talking suddenly so difficult? Words escaped him in all three languages he was fluent in, melting away from his tongue the second his gaze strayed back down to the delectable stretch marks painting Yuuri’s thighs. Damn. He dragged back to Yuuri’s face again.

The younger man had his forearm braced against the doorframe, weight leaned on one leg so his hip arched out ever so slightly to the side. It was an enticing sight. Only Yuuri wasn’t trying to be sexy. Clearly. His face was lightly scrunched with confusion, eyebrows crinkled and lips parted curiously. Round brown eyes stared out at him, glittering beautifully.

But seeing Yuuri half naked, wearing nothing but Victor’s clothes … Victor’s blood ran south, a part of his anatomy distinctly warmer than it had been a few minutes ago.

He felt his eyes swirl a shade darker.

Yuuri’s gaze followed Victor’s and a crimson flush splashed over his cheeks, arm crossing over his front and tugging the jacket further across his chest. If he thought his nakedness was the problem, he was wrong. Victor bit back a groan in the back of his throat, teeth crashing down on his lower lips as he watched Yuuri stretch the red ‘RU’ firmly over his chest, wearing Victor’s colours comfortably.

Well, almost comfortably.

“Sorry,” Yuuri mumbled, rolling his eyes shyly to the side. “I just got out the shower, and heard the doorbell ring, and your clothes were closest in the closet, and… I-I mean, I didn’t mean to. I just grabbed the nearest- umph!”

Victor cut him off with a kiss.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Yuuri’s waist and walk him backwards into the apartment, heel kicking the door shut behind him. Makkachin had long bolted into the warmth.

Yuuri stumbled to keep up with him, lips stuttering to meet Victor’s frantic kiss. He wasn’t waiting for Yuuri to catch up. Victor kissed him hard, tongue dominating Yuuri’s and teeth dragging teasingly on his husband’s lower lip, something possessive growling happy when Yuuri whimpered into his mouth. The younger skaters hip bounced into the kitchen counter, hand scrambling behind him to steady himself.

Victor’s keys rattled as they hit the floor.

“Victor, what-”

Victor delved his fingers past the zip running down the middle of his jacket, icy fingertips fanning out greedily over the warm expanse of Yuuri’s chest. The younger man flinched, hand shooting to Victor’s wrist.

The Russian stilled out of courtesy, grazing his mouth off Yuuri’s. His next breath was shaky.

“Victor, you’re freezing….”

A flittering smile glanced over Victor’s face, leaning back a fraction to shrug his heavy trench coat off his shoulders. It thudded hard against the wooden floor.

As soon as it did, Victor’s hands were back against Yuuri’s chest, sighing happily at the heat sapping into his frozen fingers from his husband’s hot - in more ways than one - body. Victor’s mouth dropped down to the base of Yuuri’s throat, biting softly. “Then warm me up.”

He sacrificed the warm haven of Yuuri’s body just long enough to reach down behind his husband’s thighs, lifting him up suddenly to prop him on the kitchen counter. Yuuri squeaked when he left the ground. The second he was set down though Victor stepped back in close, slotting himself snugly between his husband’s ample thighs and pressing his already prominent arousal against Yuuri’s half hard length, tightly clad in Victor’s black briefs.

Yuuri groaned into Victor’s mouth as a roll of his husband’s hips left him mewling. “Victor…”

“You have no idea how hot you look.” Victor said, leaning in to graze his teeth along Yuuri’s jaw. He felt his husband melt in his arms. “In my jacket…”

His hand trailed down the toned expanse of Yuuri’s torso down to the growing bulge trapped in Victor’s underwear, fingertip trailing along the already firm line of Yuuri’s budding erection. Fingers delved tight into his silver hair in response, Yuuri’s head tipping back.

Air left him in a gasp. “I had so many posters of you in it.” he rasped, hips rolling up into Victor’s palm. “Always - uhn - wanted to know what it felt like.”

Victor smiled into the bruise he was sucking into the side of Yuuri’s neck, feeling a bead of moisture stain the front of the material clothing Yuuri’s cock. Blood vessels burst under Victor’s lips, shivers of excitement running through Yuuri in response.

A gentle kiss pressed over the blooming bruise. “And?”

The Russian’s figners were still slightly numb, slipping a little as they fumbled with the zipper at the front of his jeans. Dragging down his underwear was easier, thumb hooked into the waistband.

“It’s so good.”

Yuuri obviously meant more than just the jacket.

His hips lifted helpfully as Victor dragged the tight underwear down his husband’s thighs, fingers scrambling to get rid of the flimsy material as fast as he could. As soon as Yuuri’s cock bobbed free, Victor closed the gap - lips attacked lips, and erection met erection, precum slicking every enticing drag of their cocks against the other in a way that made Yuuri swear under his breath in Japanese.

Victor wasn’t far behind in his own mother tongue, clinging to the lingering threads of sanity Yuuri was quickly shredding him of as the the younger skater moved to shrug the jacket off.

A sharp hand stopped him.

Fingers tangled in the collar, holding it firmly over Yuuri’s body. “Don’t.” Victor sighed brokenly over Yuuri’s lips, voice rasping. “Keep it on.”

It was the sexiest thing he had seen since the night Yuuri had first seduced him at that damned Sochi banquet all those years ago. Yuuri was definitely keeping the jacket. The thought of Yuuri falling apart wrapped in Victor’s emblem, in his flag, in his colours - Victor groaned hard into Yuuri’s mouth just thinking about it, hand wrapping around their joined erections. It set his blood on fire, watching Yuuri writhe with pleasure in his clothes. He hoped Yuuri never took it off again.

Teeth crashed down on Yuuri’s lower lip and broke the kiss, foreheads touching together as Victor’s hand picked up the pace between them. Victor felt Yuuri’s breath hitch.

“Victor, I’m-”

“Me too.”

“But the jacket-”

“I don’t care.”

He really didn’t. He would happily ruin a stupid jacket for the sake of this one erotic moment, for the chance to see Yuuri in his jacket and splattered with his cum…

Victor’s hips stuttered.

His lips pressed hard against Yuuri’s and swallowed the younger man’s whine as he shattered, spurting between them in thick white ropes. His body trembled, hips rolling into Victor’s fist to prolong the pleasure as he rode out his high with abandon.

Victor wasn’t far behind.

Fingers held tight enough onto Yuuri’s hips to leave bruises as the pleasure crashed through him and his release snagged on Yuuri’s stomach, mingling with Yuuri’s in a way that had his loins stirring all over again before he’d even settled back down to Earth again. It was intense. It was mind-shattering. It was hot… it was all Yuuri.

Victor grazed his mouth off Yuuri’s as the thrum of pleasure settled into his bones and his heartbeat started to level, gasping in Yuuri’s sigh.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Yuuri’s lips curled in a smile, forehead dropping to Victor’s shoulder.

“If I’d known I’d get this treatment, I would have worn your clothes a lot sooner.” He chuckled. “You really like it that much?”

“Never take it off.”

It spilled from Victor’s lips faster than he was proud of but he couldn’t take them back one they were out, feeling the heat of Yuuri’s blush more than he saw it. Something inside him stirred again in response.

He stepped away for half a beat to rearrange Yuuri’s legs, hooking one arm around his shoulders and another under the crook of Yuuri’s knees to lift him clean off the counter. Yuuri’s arms wrapped around his neck, holding on tight. His chin tilted up to snag the Russian’s lips in a gentle, lazy kiss, but it wasn’t enough to dull the lust re-sparking in the pit of Victor’s stomach. Not that he was complaining as his husband carried him to the bedroom, red and white Olympic jacket still draped over his shoulders.

Mennonite and Mexico

Checking my prejudice

It had been three days since I stuck out my thumb and tied my bike to the backseat of this Mexican man’s car. We are in hot pursuit of the greatest taco in the Yucatan as we hurtle ever closer to the Belizean border that will signify our parting of ways. Presently we are in the armpit of some great God. It smells pugnant, moist and like heavy immovable air - though this is not a necessarily a bad smell. The God showers regularly and eats well it would seem, which figures given its divine status and probable access to green smoothies, but smell aside it is the stifling heat that is the dominating sensation inside the vehicle. I turn to my new friend. “Mucho calor, putaaaaaa.” He wears a necklace of sweat beads as he declines to verbally answer, instead making a rapid right turn.

He tells me that he remembers seeing a beach marked here on the map, and sure enough, a parking space emerges in our line of vision, flanked by vendors of every description. Particularly pleasing to me was the peddling of mango in all its forms. Do you want it dried? Fresh and sliced? Diced? Whole? With chilli? Frozen? On a kebab? As a juice? Ohhhh sweet fruit, oh sweet, sweet package of sugar and joy, my mouth salivates and hands exchange pesos for you eagerly. There is a childish and excitable fevor gripping both my partner and I. We have mango juices dripping perversely from chin to chest, eyes alight with a sugar rush, and tyranny of the humidity forgotten. Car parked, we join the throng that is descending upon the gracious shores of the Carribean.

And here is when something happens that has been stuck in the machinery of my reflection, trying to churn out an understanding for the last two weeks. It begins with a young boy holding up a bag of apples to me. “Quiero?” He asks. In immediate essence he isn’t profoundly different from the dozens of other vendors littering the path to the beach. I decline his offer for the apples, and begin to walk ahead when something - I don’t exactly know what - forces me to stare at him a little longer. It’s his eyes that I notice first. Trauma. A hand squeezes my maternal heart and instinct, gently at first and then with a paralysing gusto. Having seen traumatised children before, and having been close to trauma and it’s side effects for many of my recent years, a strange sense for its manifestations has developed. I can’t look away. His little eyes are flickering from me to my partner to the ground, with that tragic vagueness indicative of a childhood robbed. His tiny frame flinches as I reach above his head for my hat, as if he were reacting to a pulled punch. I’m so consumed by the mother within me that I hadn’t noticed the more obvious oddities to his appearance.

His eyes are blue, skin freckled and pale and tiny frame sporting dusty look overalls. Cowboy hat and turned up shoes, he looks as though he been pulled from the set of a bad B grade movie, probably starring Reagan in his hey day. But he was speaking Spanish? My friend catches my eye in shared confusion. We watch as the little boy picks his way through the crowds, stopping to tempt others with his apples. None of the locals seem put off by his strange appearance and I conclude it must be me who is the strange one then. I watch the kid find his way back to a group of similarly dressed kin. A whole group of what looks like conservative Amish meets Mormon meets traditional farmers named McDonald. Six people in total, peddling apples and carrots and bracelets like the Mayan and a Mexican vendors around them, and all dressed in either overalls, cowboy hat and turned up shoes (male) or thick, oppressive, dirt length dresses with a bonnet and ribboned hat (female). All pale, blue eyed, freckled and tall amongst a population of dark eyed and sun tanned small peoples.

The mother in me recoils at the sight of who appears to be the patriarch. He has cruel lips and eyes almost totally enveloped by his eyebrows. I don’t understand the literal translations of his words, but his tone is terrifying. In what I can only describe as an act of self preservation, I grasp the hand of my friend and walk only a pace away from running all the way to the beach. I ask him if he knows why there would be gringos in farm clothes like that, but he’s from the Baja. He’s got no idea. I can’t help think how fucking weird they seem. These predjudiced thoughts begin to take over, fuelled by my instinct that something wasn’t right. Or is it vice versa? Did I fill their narrative with violence simply because they were different and i didn’t understand their presence?

On my ride south to the border, I see a group dressed so similarly that there’s no mistake they share some common set of beliefs. This time the group is on horseback, drawing carts of furniture. While they certainly look a little different to the other people here, I don’t have a sick and alarming feeling in my stomach when I look at them.

Again, crossing the border into Guatemala I see one more family dressed in these overalls and cowboy hats that cover their blue eyes. Who are they? Where did they come from? My sense of fear has entirely disappeared and is replaced by blatant curiosity. Some deep seeded biological part of me recognises them as people who look similar to me in base appearance, and wants to connect with them. Understand why those who look like me dress differently. What is their story?

And in some ironic symbolism of the modern age, I am walking through Flores - after deciding that I will live here for a month or two - and outside the alter of Burger King I see a tribe of Mayan vendors and a tribe of these same pale farmer-esque peoples. Finally I’m in a position to quench my curiousity. I approach them with my hands behind my back in what I hope is the most non threatening and approachable body language possible. In broken Spanish I ask where they are from and what their names are. Their accents are much thicker than other Guatemalans and I struggle to associate meaning with a lot of what they are saying. I pick up on Mennonite, El Ramate, family, God and a few other key words. Eventually I smile a little awkwardly and bid them farewell. In an act of human connection, one of the ladies emerges from behind who appears to be her husband and breaks off half of her Burger and extends it to me. I eat fast food for the first time in five years and ponder the absolute absurdity that is this situation. Traditionally dressed Mayans and who I now understand to be Mennonites eat a product of the American consumerist culture that is both intentionally and unintentionally swallowing their cultures alive. And they share this product with me, who is also somewhat a product of consumerist culture. Strange strange strange. Gringo meets Mayans in colourful skirts meets other white skinned farmers who nonetheless speak a dialect the gringo does not understand.

Still these moments mulled over in my mind. I went searching for Mennonites on the inter webs and found their long history in the Americas. They were a new sight to me and my friend from the Baja because they migrated down the Carribean coast, settling in enclaves that still loosely exist today. From my understanding - and perhaps you could enlighten me if you know anything about them - they came from Europe during the settling of the Americas like many persecuted réglions groups. They have a story similar to many minority groups with themes of isolationism, cultural celebration, technological rejections and persecution. I experienced a major twinge of guilt upon recognising my own prejudices and perceptions. My composite image of an average person right now was so far removed from their image that immediately upon seeing them in Mexico for the first time, i immediately passed judgement. I felt threatened and perceived them as hostile, when perhaps they were not. However, I didn’t perceive future groups of their people as hostile, only curiosities. I think perhaps there is an instinctual understanding of who constitutes a threat, and who appears traumatised. But I’m still unsure. I’m unsure if my construction of them as Other influenced the way I saw their dynamics. I am aware that I am human and that I have these biases and tendencies to misconstrue the Other. In the same breath, I felt the traumitised state of a child and minorities have their share of abuse and abusers as any group of people do.

I guess my point of this whole rant is my awakening to how pervasive our perceptions of Other are in shaping our understanding of people. All it took was one conversation to break down the barrier between them and I; suddenly they were not an oddity but a part of the environment and landscape as anyone else. I no longer had residual fear or suspicion when I saw a group of them, simply because I spoke to them and took an interest in their history of movement. However my initial contact was influenced by the look of trauma I am uncomfortably familiar with. People are never entirely good or bad; there is no way to paint one group with one brush stroke; there is only fluidity, life, suffering and joy all in one. I think also my expectation that farm clothes and horse and cart riding entails cult like behaviour and therefore abuse needed to be challenged. Cults certainly entail a predisposition to abuse, but farm clothes, a rejection of technology in the favour of God and a tight knit cultural community do no entail a cult. And here ends my untangling of such a small series of encounters.

You know me, I can’t let the little things go. I have to understand, have to connect the dots. So I felt like sharing that one instance of dot collecting and drift into deep thought, though I have countless, day in and day out. It’s a powerful thing to travel. To move and migrate. To live in various places across Earth. Oh yes I forgot to mention, I live in Flores Guatemala now. Work at a bar and have wonderful neighbours. I will be here about a month before I hitch hike again. In any case, having homes, friends, experiences and a sense of movement has eroded any lingering belief in the story of the nation. We are people on a planet. Diverse peoples and often strange environments, but still just people on a planet. More similar than we are different. Mmmmm I have hooked into my meditative practises more regularly recently, and the sense of clarity is much appreciated.