#( so who wants to dress up like a tourist and get drunk with mere )

[triptuckers]

Drunken words - Kaz Brekker

Request: yes "Hi, I have just binge read almost all of your shadow and bone one shots and was wondering if you could do one where f!reader goes out drinking with Nina and when she comes back drunk she accidentally confesses her love for Kaz but doesn’t remember it when she wakes up and Kaz doesn’t mention it but he also loves her?" Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader Summary: You wake up with a pounding headache and some very vague memories of the night before. Luckily Nina is there to help you remember Warnings:  mentions of alcohol/drinking, language Word count: A/N: mmm see this? this request right here? I like it 😌 thanks for requesting it! TAG LIST (grishaverse): @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15 @dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha @story-scribbler @romanoffstarkovs @daliareads @meiitanoia @itsnotquimey @sanktaesperanza @whymyparentscheckmyphone @aleksanderwh0r3 @ilovemarvelanne1 @marlenaisnthappy @brekker-zenik @just-deka @graceknxwlson @the-very-tired-mess TAG LIST (kaz brekker): @mufnasa @Janesofia7 @stairscortana @parker-natasha @illicitghosts @brick-by-brick553 add yourself to my tag lists here

Every last Friday of the month, you go out for drinks with Nina. It's a tradition you started a while back. You'd gotten back from a particular rough job, and Nina suggested to go and have a drink. The others were tired, so you were the only one to accompany her. Ever since, the two of you go out every last Friday of the month.

Sometimes you both make it back in time, sometimes you don't show up til morning. And sometimes you're leaning heavily on each other, giggling and laughing.

The crows didn't mind now, though they were a bit concerned at the beginning. But after you showed them that even drunk, Jesper is only a slightly better shot than you are, they trusted you to come back home alright.

On one Friday night, you and Nina stumble into the kitchen of the Slat somewhere around 2 am. You're surprised to see it's not empty.

Kaz is sitting in one of the chairs, and he looks up when you and Nina try to silently enter the building. You fail when you stumble and squeal as you hold on to Nina's arm to prevent yourself from falling.

Nina seemed to be less drunk than you are. At least she can stand on her own feet.

Kaz' eyes follow you as Nina drags you to the kitchen to get you a glass of water, hoping it would sober you up a little.

You hop on the counter and take the glass from Nina without protest. When you look at Kaz, you see he's turned his gaze away from you.

'Aren't you going to ask if we had fun?' you say, pouting slightly.

Kaz looks at you. You're wearing a dress that's only reserved for nights out with Nina. You're also wearing heels and though you'd styled your hair nicely before you went out, it's now messy as it falls over your shoulders.

'You look like you had fun.' says Kaz. 'But I'll ask anyway. Did you have fun?'

'Yesss.' you say, dragging out the word. You don't look up when Nina puts a new glass of water in your hand.

'You should come sometimes.' you say to Kaz.

He merely raises an eyebrow, and doesn't answer you.

'I don't think Kaz is the type of person who goes out a lot.' says Nina.

'But it's fun!' you say somewhat offendedly. 'If anyone needs to let loose every once in a while, it's Kaz.'

'How so?' says Nina, chuckling.

'His jaw is always clenched.' you point out.

'No it's not.' says Kaz.

You nod, smiling happily. 'Yea it is! Don't think I wouldn't notice, I look at you a lot.' you say.

'Do you, now?' says Kaz, not paying much attention to you, as you're drunk and probably not aware of what you're saying.

'Most of the time. All of the time.' you say. 'Just a lot, really.'

'You're drunk, Y/N.' says Kaz. 'You should go to bed.'

'Night's not over yet!' you say and you jump off the counter, spilling some of the water on yourself. 'We could still go out! You should join us, Kaz.'

'I think you should go to bed, Y/N.' says Nina.

You glare at her over your shoulder. 'Buzz killer.' you say.

Nina puts up her hands in defence. 'I'm just saying tonight I'm not going out anymore, I'm going to bed. And you should too.' she says.

When she walks past you, she gives you a new glass of water. You're not aware of taking it, but you drink half of it anyway.

'Nina, you should stay.' you say when she walks to the door. 'Don't leave me alone with Kaz!'

'Why not?' says Kaz immediately, his curiosity getting the better of him.

You turn to him, then back to Nina. 'Nina! Don't leave me alone with Kaz, you know I say stupid shit when I'm drunk!' you say.

She looks over her shoulder. 'You say a lot of things when you're drunk, Y/N. At least drunk words are sober thoughts.' she says as she walks away.

'Nina come back! I might end up exposing myself!' you say.

This makes Nina stop and turn around. She looks at you and frowns.

'Expose yourself how?' she says.

'I might tell Kaz I love him.' you whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear.

You see Nina's eyes go wide. Before you can say anything, or turn around to look at Kaz, Nina's marched up to you, grabbed a hold of your arm and is pulling you up the stairs.

In the doorway, you look over your shoulder at Kaz.

There's an odd expression on his face you can't quite read, you've never seen it before. He doesn't look at you as you start to walk up the stairs with Nina's help.

You barely register anything after that moment, the exhaustion suddenly kicking in. You fall down on your bed without even taking your heels off.

The next morning, you wake with a pounding headache despite all the water Nina made you drink. You push yourself up in a sitting position and rub your head.

None of the crows had been so stupid to wake you. Everyone knew the last Friday of the month was spent drinking, and the morning after it would be unwise to wake you or Nina before noon.

After stripping off your tight dress and heels, you take a hot bath, scrubbing all of the sweat of last night off of your skin.

You get dressed in comfortable clothes and head downstairs to get a big cup of coffee.

But when you want to enter the kitchen, you are met by Nina standing in the doorway.

'Oh good, you're up.' she says.

'Morning.' you say. 'How's your headache?'

'Almost over.' she says. 'Don't go into the kitchen.'

'Why not?' you say, frowning.

'Because Kaz is there.' says Nina.

'What, is he in a bad mood or something?' you say.

'No. But he hasn't said anything all morning.' she says.

'So he's normal.' you say, pushing past Nina.

She attempts to stop you, but you walk away from her, straight to the fresh pot of coffee. You pour yourself a generous amount of it, and then sit at the same table Kaz is sitting at.

He looks at you, but doesn't say anything.

'You good?' you say after a while. 'I'm sure that's the longest you've ever looked at me. Have I got something on my face?'

Kaz shakes his head.

'Then why are you looking at me like that?' you say.

'Do you remember anything from last night?' asks Kaz.

You squint your eyes, trying to remember.

'Nina and I played card games with some Zemeni tourists. They lost. Then we lost. Then we lost again. I don't think I threw up, though. I remember walking back to the Slat and going to bed.' you say.

'That's all?' says Kaz.

'Yeah, I think that's it.' you say. 'Why?'

'Just curious.' says Kaz.

'You're never just curious, Kaz, you always have a reason. What's this all about?' you say.

'Fine.' he says. 'I have a bet with Jesper, how much you would remember. It appears he needs to pay me.'

He gets up and without another word, he leaves the room. Your eye catches Nina's gaze and you shrug, turning back to your coffee.

'Did I do something stupid last night?' you say. Most of the times when you got drunk, you did stupid stuff. You wonder if last night would have been any different.

'Well.' says Nina as she sits down in front of you. 'That depends.'

'On what?' you say as you finish your coffee.

'You should talk to Kaz about that.' says Nina. 'He doesn't have a bet with Jesper.'

'Then why would he leave like that?' you say.

'Again, you should talk to him about that.' says Nina.

'What aren't you telling me, Nina?' you say.

You see her debating wether or not she should tell you.

'Tell me or I'll tell everything how horrible you dance when you get drunk.' you threaten.

'You told kaz you love him.' she blurts out.

Your eyes widen. 'Oh no.' you say. 'No, no, no, I did not. Fuck.'

'Well, you didn't exactly tell him. You told me not to leave you alone because you might end up telling him.' says Nina

You bury your face in your hands. 'Oh, Saints, this is bad.' you say. 'This is really fucking bad.'

'How so?' says Nina.

'He's still technically our boss, Nina. And there's no way he has the same feelings for me.' you say.

'You won't know unless you ask him.' says Nina.

'What would I even say to him?' you say.

Nina shrugs. 'Well you could sit here thinking about it, or go up to his office and talk to him.' she says.

You shake your head and rub a hand over your face. 'Fuck.' you mutter. 'You're probably right.'

'I always am, darling.' says Nina.

You finish your cup of coffee and get up. Nina gestures for you to start walking. You head to the stairs and walk them as slowly as you can.

Would he be mad? What if things would forever be awkward between the two of you? Maybe if you were fast, you could still take it back. You were drunk, you could tell him you didn't mean it.

You stop in front of the door to Kaz' office. You determinedly raise a hand to knock on it, but your fist only hovers mid-air.

'It helps if you actually knock.'

You jump slightly at the sound of a voice. When you turn around, you see Kaz standing behind you.

'Or you could just go in if you have a key.' he says, walking up to the door and pulling out his key.

You're at loss for words, watching as Kaz opens the door and head inside. You're still standing in the doorway when Kaz looks up.

'You can come in, you know.' he says.

You enter his office and slowly close the door. He did not seem bothered by last night at all.

'We need to talk.' you say.

Kaz looks at you and merely raises an eyebrow at you. He gestures to the chair in front of his desk and you sit down.

'About last night.' you say. 'Nina told me what I said. I didn't say it to you, but, well I might as well have. I was drunk and it was stupid, and I'm here to apologise.'

He looks at you and then he starts to smile. Your eyes widen a bit, you'd never seen Kaz smile. Let alone smile at you.

'Are you okay?' you say hesitantly.

'Y/N, I wasn't in my office when you got here because I was at your door.' says Kaz, his words taking you by surprise.

'Why?' you wonder out loud.

'I was going to bring you a glass of water, Nina once told me it helps when you're hungover.' says Kaz.

Your lips part in surprise. 'You were?' you say.

'That saying Nina said last night, drunken words are sober thoughts? Well, I'm glad your drunken self decided to speak the truth last night.' says Kaz.

You stare at him, not sure you heard it correctly. Kaz pulls a stack of papers toward him and begins to read through them. He doesn't tell you that you need to go, so you decide to keep him company while he works.

Who knew a night out with Nina could lead to something like this?

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[littlemisslipbalm]

Little Border Town

Summary: It begins with a man and a woman, as it always seems to. One lives in France and the other lives in Italy, technically, but they’re also neighbors. Various issues arise between these two and they can’t ever seem to see eye to eye on anything. Will they ever move past their petty fighting or is the little town they live in doomed to only gossip about what Harry and Y/N are fighting about today?

AKA: Harry and Y/N are neighbors that fight all the time, the whole town wants to know when they’ll just fuck. 

Featuring italrry as well as mustachrry! and running italrry... I hope y’all like! this is just part one, so much more is in store so pls let me know what you think :) lots of love - first fic that’s not named from a quote said in the story I’m shook!! the growth, the range...she has it apparently! side note: i had to change the gif from italrry/mustachrry bc something is whack with the formatting and either the keep reading or the title keeps disappearing so i tried some stuff to resolve it *sobbing*

Word Count: 8.5k | Warnings: swearing, mentions of relatives death, bickering, otherwise tame for now?

Pt. 2

-

There’s a little town that straddles the border between Italy and France. It’s just a little ways from Nice on the French side and Ventimiglia on the Italian side. The population is rather small and the tourists who come are usually either returners or are very very lost. One street you’re in France and the next you’re in Italy. It can be confusing to newcomers, but the locals love it -- for the most part. These streets are easily delineating as French or Italian by the little country flags that hang above all the shops or in the windows.

It’s a coastal town with cobblestone everywhere and bright painted buildings. The water is a soft blue and the wind barely ever brings any waves greater than a foot high. There’s a shop for everything and it seems to be frozen in the past from the outside, thankfully if you step into the tiny bed and breakfast there is wifi. The sun almost always shines down on this sweet piece of paradise, the winter does however bring gusting winds and thunderstorms. Those storms rattle the little town and afterwards you’ll find the residents picking up the pieces that have fallen off the shops.

Now, this little border town, with its streets separated by French and Italian customs, well almost all of them, it seems imperative to mention. There, in the exact middle of the little town, is one street that is split down the middle, half in France and half in Italy. The locals from the French and the Italian sides love that street the most because it has this certain dynamic spark of change that brings them together, makes them unique. Except for two locals that seemingly hate this street. These two locals aren’t actually true locals either. They both moved there a couple years ago.

Harry, from the Italian side, owns the shoemaker and repair shop. He hailed from England and moved to the little town when his great uncle, Joe, had sent him a letter pleading for him to take over his shop so that he could retire. Harry, ever the traveler, hopped on the next flight out to Italy and then traversed by train and bus until he reached his Joe’s home. Like most of the shops, there was a living space above the shop area. Harry lived there with Joe until he passed away a few years back leaving Harry to tend the store alone. He didn’t mind too much, being left there alone. He had always loved Italy and to get to live in the countryside in a little cobblestone town and own a shop was a dream come true. After living there for two years, he had bought a sailboat that he would take out when the shop was closed. He also had bought himself a motorcycle that he would ride to the next greatest city if he was ever in dire need of more of a nightlife as a 26 year old. He loved it, his own slice of paradise… except for his thorn in his side.

Y/N, from the French side, owns the bookstore, which carries lots of vintage books and records. She had moved there after college. In school, she had studied French and taken a year abroad in Paris and had traveled down to Nice for a month. While in Nice she had made a few friends and one of them had come from the little border town. They had insisted they all go there for a weekend. When Y/N stepped foot onto the street she now lived on a few years before, she fell in love. Seeing the little Italian and French flags in the windows and potted plants with a view of the sea had been so endearing to her.

She was drawn to the bookshop and had chatted up the old French woman who ran it. The woman had reminded Y/N of someone but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it. It was strange for her because she often found these connections with older people, she felt like she had known this woman her whole life. Y/N went back into the store the next two days she was there to talk to the woman again, Marie, she had learned. Before she left the little town she left her number with Marie and kept in some contact with her. After about a year though, their communication fell off. Y/N was sad but understood that life can be busy for people and that she obviously wasn’t the most important woman in the little border town bookkeeper’s life. Or so she thought. In the middle of the summer after she graduated college, Y/N was backpacking through Iceland and got a call from who she assumed was Marie. She was ecstatic and answered the call immediately. Sadly, it wasn’t Marie, instead a friend who had been given her will to execute. In her will she had left Y/N the bookshop. Her reasoning was similar to why Y/N had liked Marie so much, she said that Y/N had reminded her of her sister who had died unexpectedly in her teenage years. Being so far from home at the time and completely consumed with love and loss, Y/N had agreed to take over the shop without any hesitation.

She got home and informed her parents of her choice and moved to the little border town as soon as she could. She lived in the little area above the shop that Marie had also gifted to her and she tended the shop downstairs. The living area hadn’t really been cleaned out and Y/N had found an old collection of vinyls in the corner of the bedroom. As much as she wanted to keep them to herself, she thought it would be a good addition to the shop and had made a section for records in memory of Marie. She loved France and the coast, she bought a little car and would drive to Nice every so often or to the more sandy beaches along the French coast. It was quiet and different from the life she had maybe expected, but taking over a bookshop because a kind stranger had gifted it to you as one of their dying wishes wasn’t something Y/N could ever turn down. Her soul was too sweet. At least it was for most people, not for her neighbor though.

Her neighbor was the shoemaker, Harry. Their shops lived against one another even though he was on the Italian side and she was on the French. They were located exactly at the split between France and Italy. With less than a foot between the buildings, they saw a lot of each other. On their first interaction, Y/N had seen too much of her neighbor, meaning she had seen all of him. Their shops were similar to track homes, meaning they were built completely the same only mirrored. This meant that the windows of their bedrooms matched up exactly, she wondered who had thought that was a good idea after her first night. When Y/N had first moved in it was August, she left her window open and without the shade down to let as much fresh cool air in as possible. With her jet lag, she had found herself wide awake at about three am. Pacing around her room in the pink silk tank dress she had decided to sleep in, her eyes froze on her window - or rather, who she saw through her window. The light from her room and the moon were strong enough to illuminate the tanned and tattooed skin of the naked man in the room next to her. He held a bowl in his large hands that he seemed to be spooning cereal into his mouth from.

His half-lidded eyes flickered to the light coming from the place next door. The bookshop had been closed all summer and no one had been living in the upper area for a little longer than that so he had gotten into the habit of leaving his window open. He was half drunk after stumbling his way home from the tiny bar down the street. He had decided a naked cereal run would be a good idea to tide over his cravings. But upon seeing the girl wearing lingerie a mere two feet away from him, separated by the screens on their open windows, he realized that wasn’t actually true. His eyes widened only slightly as he saw her, his drunkenness allowing him to keep his blushing to a minimum. His drunken confidence kept him from covering himself as he lifted a single brow and made a salute with his spoon hand before going back to his bed.

She stayed at the window for a moment after the naked man disappeared and then quickly ran back to her bed. She shut off her light and tried not to think about everything she had seen. She tried to not think about his toned arms that flexed as he moved around his food, or the tattoos that lined every part of his body (the tiger and ferns seared into her mind specifically), or his tousled chestnut hair, or his searing green eyes, or the full mustache that held a little milk from his cereal. She tried, she really did. But how was she supposed to face her neighbor ever again after that. Maybe he wasn’t her neighbor, she reasoned, maybe he was an acquaintance her neighbor had just spent the night with. That wouldn’t be better! Her hands grabbed her other pillow and shoved it over her face trying to force herself to go to bed.

The next day, she had been working out front of the bookshop, beginning to repaint the windowsills of the shop with some navy paint she had found in the back to give it an updated look. It was early and she hadn’t expected to see anyone at all. Her jet lag still ailed her and caused her to be up bright and early. This was her second run in with the shoemaker, this time though, both to her dismay and joy, he was fully clothed. He wasn’t watching where he was going and almost toppled the both of them over as he left his store front, locked the door behind him, and then set off down the street. His large body, covered in short black running shorts and a mesh grey tank top, bumped into her almost immediately. He was still fiddling with his music on his phone as he began his run. She jumped back and dropped the paintbrush from her hand. She yelped as his body collided with hers and he stopped in his tracks. His eyes scanned her and took in the light wash cuffed jeans and moss ribbed tank top she was wearing. They widened when he recognized her face, the expression of shock similar to that of last night when she had seen him in his bedroom. He smirked and took out one of his earbuds. She grabbed her paintbrush from the ground as he extended his hand to her.

“I’m Harry,” his hand is greeted with hers. He speaks to her in English and she decides it’s probably best to follow along with whatever someone else began with. She worried that she’d run into a lot of Italians who didn’t know French or English and she’d have some trouble. His eyes flicker to the bits of blue already littered on her hands and in her hair.

“Y/N.” She nods, avoiding eye contact with the man she had already seen too much of. At least he’s not your neighbor’s lover, he’s just your neighbor. She also notices how he doesn’t apologize for running into her.

“You were spying on me last night,” his hand returns to his side and his smile quirks up again as he watches her face flush. His nicely groomed mustache twitches, trying to contain his laughter.

“I was not!” She finally looks up at the taller man and takes in his tanned face that is even more attractive in the morning light and up so close. The hat he wears is funny, a blue trucker’s hat that read “If you ain’t a fisherman, you ain’t shit!”, and she would laugh if she couldn’t already tell he was going to be extremely annoying.

His smirk continues and he barks out a laugh. He removes his sunglasses to really look at her now. “It’s alright, I work hard for this,” he gestures to his body, “glad someone appreciates it. Just means I’ll need to be installing a shade now, I guess.”

“You don’t have a shade and you walk around your room naked?” She ignores his first bit of conversation. She can’t think about his body or how it had looked last night. She sets down her paintbrush and folds her arms across her chest, trying to figure the man in front of her out.

“No… but it’s not all my fault. You had your shade open too! Who’s willingly up at that time of night anyway? I was just fixing myself a snack after the pub.” He raises his brows triumphantly at her, feeling confident that he has gotten the upperhand in the conversation.

She narrows her eyes at him as she finally registers that his accent isn’t Italian or French. He’s British and she wonders what he’s done to get himself in this little border town. He also seems to own the shop beside her since he locked the door behind him. He was peculiar, but she couldn’t dwell on what she thought about him since he had just accused her of being a peeping tom.

“Someone is up at that hour because she just moved and has terrible jet lag and can’t sleep. The place has been completely closed up for months and I needed to get as much cool air in as possible before the hot day. That’s why I was up and that’s why my shade wasn’t down.” She stands up straighter and rolls her eyes at him, muttering something in French to herself about annoying men. She smiles to herself when Harry doesn’t seem to understand. He obviously can tell she said something, but he doesn’t know exactly what. He could understand a good bit of French and he could speak some, but if someone spoke quickly and quietly, like she had just done, he wouldn’t be able to make it out. He figured it was something rude, though, with the way she sounds and begins to turn from him.

“Are you here to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Well, welcome to the best place in the world. It was so nice, two countries couldn’t decide who got to keep it and decided to split it.”

His arm sweeps out around him, gesturing to the street around him. She smiles up at him before following his arms movement. His arm had more tattoos than she had realized from her eyeful last night. She noticed the intricacies of all the black ink and again she had a million questions that she had to keep to herself. He was arrogant, conceited, impatient and a little bit odd and she knew all of this after barely one conversation. At least they could agree on one thing, they loved this town.

He looked back at her after scanning the street and saw her smiling in wonderment at everything around her. This brought a fleeting genuine smile to his face, knowing she was happy to be there. He had known Marie and was sad to see her go less than a year after his great uncle. He had always thought that Marie and Joe were both secretly pining over each other. Constantly stopping into each other’s shops and waving from their windows at each other, but Joe had always shaken his head at Harry when he mentioned it.

His smile faded when her eyes came back to his fac face face. Her smile disappeared as well. “Right, so, see you around…?” He said, already forgetting her name. She scoffs when she realizes what happened and then repeats her name. He nods curtly before replacing his sunglasses and single airpod and starts running again. She calls after him, “Thanks for the apology!” and then mutters to herself, “le con” knowing she shouldn’t shout that down the street where other people speak French. He doesn’t hear any part of it, his music up high enough to drown out the sounds of the world.

-

Y/N settled into the bookshop fairly easily, but she never failed to mention how unhelpful Harry had been:

“Yes, well, it’s been going pretty good...except for this one man. Well, I’d hardly call him a man -  a boy. My neighbor, actually, he owns the shoe shop...no, nevermind that, he practically made it his mission to make my move the hardest thing in the world...Harry -- yes, that’s his name, Mama… well I don’t know, It’s just Harry. - it doesn’t matter! He’s been in my way at every turn… yes, both physically and metaphorically...I’m not kidding! And I’m not being dramatic… Well, It was nice talking to you. Love you, talk soon.”

That was her first telephone conversation with her mother since arriving in the little town. Maybe ten days after she arrived. Naturally, she had it in the downstairs area of her home, the bookstore. And naturally, Harry had wandered in, to discuss one of their shared planters, and overheard her entire side of the conversation and gathered the rest from his own imagination. When she had laid eyes on him after setting down her phone, she rolled her eyes at the smirking Chesire cat look on his face.

“You would be the kind of man to eavesdrop, hm?” She restacked a group of books that were already in order.

“Thought I was a boy?” his smirk remained on his face. He strided closer to the counter she stood behind.

“Like I said...What can I help you with?” Her voice drips with venom as she finally turns her eyes to look at Harry. His smirk still remains on his face now that she is making eye contact with him. He’s clad in a t-shirt that has some baseball team on it with burgundy corduroy flared jeans. She notices the strain of the shirt over his chest and biceps and avoids the scoff of how vain he must be to keep himself in that good of shape for tending a shoe store in the South of France, or rather Northern Italy…

“Right, Thought I’d pop in and tell you that one of our planters is shared. So you’ll have to talk to me before replanting anything. I noticed you coming in with tulips the other day.”

“The ones on the front of the street?” He nods as her head turns to glance out the front window. “Why the hell do we share a planter?”

“Because, my late great Uncle Joe and Marie fancied each other.” Her eyes went wide at his words, trying to think of Marie having a crush on someone. “They were never together, never admitted the fancying, but they always did the planters together. They each had one of their own and then bought the third together, said it made sense to make the shops look nice...I know it was just so they had more to tend to - together.”

She hums, taking in everything that he said and how his eyes shine slightly just at the mention of his uncle. His voice had perked at the story he had just spun for her and she smiles thinking about the idea of love and loving someone so much that you’re content with simply planting flowers together. It seemed really old-fashioned to her, but it also brought even more charm to the town she now called home. Romance was still alive here, or so she hoped.

“Okay, I’ll make sure to let you know when I’ve decided what flowers I want to put in there.” She turns around, assuming the end of the conversation and getting back to work. She doesn’t really find a reason to entertain Harry anymore than necessary. Like she told her mother, he was constantly in her way or being naked in his room, something she had chosen to leave out of her conversation with her mom.

“You’ve misunderstood me. Maybe my English is getting rusty, I rarely speak it since everyone else knows Italian.” She flips around at his rude comment, eyes alight with fire once again. “If you want to replant anything, which I don’t understand why you would, the flowers I put are wonderful, we’ll have to discuss it. It’s not you just telling me you’ll be doing it. We own it equally and I won’t let you bulldoze my hard work.”

“On a planter?!”

She sticks on a sickly sweet smile as she tries to refrain from laughing. “I guess the countryside really can make some people enjoy the simpler things in life…” With that she walks to the back of the shop, leaving the stunned Harry to see himself out of it. When the little bell rings, her stifled laughter can be heard among the books.

-

It doesn’t matter what it is, Harry and Y/N are able to make a fuss about anything and the whole street, if not the whole town, had quickly figured that out. No one had a problem with Y/N, they welcomed her with open arms. Marie had told the entire French side and a good amount of the Italian side how wonderful and tenacious she was. How Y/N reminded Marie of her sister and upon meeting her, many agreed. But the first time Harry and Y/N had a public row, at the bakery in the center of town, on the French side, everyone was quick to realize that there was bound to be trouble between the two. It was a stark contrast to the loving comments and endearing looks the previous owners had always engaged in when they were still alive. This fight was maybe a few days after the planter business and Y/N had tried in the following days to get him to change the planters to no avail so she was in an especially pissed off mood towards Harry.

“Could you be taking any longer?” Y/N rolled her eyes as she stood behind her tall neighbor, her foot impatiently tapping a beat against the stone floor.

Harry stood hunched in front of the display case, scanning for exactly what he wanted and desperately trying to remember what he had come here for. He was a bit more dressed up that day, his mother had been coming to visit him for the first time in a while and he wanted to look nice and have a special treat for her when she arrived. His trousers were a deep navy that matched the navy of the stripes on his sweater vest, the blue pinstripes of the button down underneath was a slightly lighter shade, but blue nonetheless. He had rolled up his sleeves past his elbows, showing off his various tattoos and sinewy arms. As his eyes scanned over the case again, he ran through his mental list and bit at his lip, knowing he was forgetting something. He barely even heard her drawl out her insult, the tapping of her foot eventually getting his attention due to its faltering.

She straightened upright from her hip jutted position when he didn’t even bite at her unkind words. Her foot stopping its melody. As she was about to give another go, Harry turned around and she gave him her full look of displeasure.

“Country life requires a bit of patience. I doubt you’ve ever had to wait your turn in your life, but you’ll have to get used to it here.”

Her eyes roll instinctively. She noticed that they seemed to do it just at the mention of his name or the sound of his voice. She had always thought herself a lover of the British accent, citing Downton Abbey and various famous musicians - Freddie Mercury, George Harrison, Elton John, etc. - as members of that little island who were formative to her identity, loving them for their talents as well as their accent. Yet with Harry’s deep meandering British voice, she found herself wishing to be anywhere but in its presence. She found that he took so long to ever get out an actual full thought and when he did it was barely coherent. He also never failed to let his sarcasm or smugness drip into his tone, causing her to audibly be aware of the smirk on his face even if she couldn’t see it. The image flashing across her mind no matter what.

“You’ll have to let me know when you’ll be here again…” His eyebrows quirk at her odd response and it’s her turn to smirk up at him. She’s already satisfied with her quip even though she’s only gotten half of it out. His mouth opens to question her, but she finishes her thought. “That is, so I can plan around you. If I have to alot a whole day to the boulangerie just waiting for you… I’ll never get settled.”  

Harry scoffs and a fleeting expression of actual offense flashes across his features before turning around to finish his order. The others in line and the worker are all equally wide eyed and she hears some hushed whispering behind her, but it’s in Italian so she can’t make it out. The worker eyes Y/N as she rings up the rest of Harry’s chosen items. The worker smiles softly at Harry, feeling for the man she had known long enough to know that he wasn’t as rude as he was being with Y/N. She was also taken aback at Y/N’s response, but hadn’t seen her be rude otherwise so she had to assume it simply had something to do with the man.

When Harry is all set, he turns to leave and pass Y/N again. His eyes narrow and his words once again are turned nasty. “I wouldn’t mind if you never got settled,” he said before muttering something in Italian under his breath and leaving the store. She assumed it to be nasty as she eyed the couple behind her giggling, before walking to talk with the worker.

She shook her head trying to rid herself of her cold exterior that she kept having to conjure up for Harry. Now smiling, she asks for her items in French, happy to be speaking the language that brought her so much joy rather than English which seemed to be reserved only for Harry now. She hadn’t gone to the Italian side very much yet and the people she had met over there so far had spoken French to her once she had introduced herself.

As the worker finished with Y/N’s order, she asked in a hushed tone, in French, “How do you know Mr. Styles?”

“Harry?” Y/N guessed, not actually knowing Harry’s last name until now. The girl behind the counter smiles quickly before nodding. “Mon voison” she sighs and contains the accompanying eye roll when she sees the girl blush at the idea of being neighbors with Harry. “He’s a brat,” she continues and the girl laughs lightly before saying, “I think he’s rather sweet… not bad to look at either.” She looks out the window of the shop wistfully, like Harry’s still there and Y/N whips her head around, afraid he knew that she was talking about him. Thankfully, he was gone and Y/N laughs to herself when she feels the anxiety that had gripped her for a moment dissipates. Shaking her head at the girl, she grabs her items and change from her before making a break for the door.

It was soon after that incident that Harry and Y/N’s squabbles became notorious throughout the little town. Drama wasn’t common there and any sort of excitement was the talk of the town. It made sense that this was snapped up by the gossipers from the French and Italian sides alike.

Anne, Harry’s mother, was stopped the next day, when she was out for coffee and Harry was still at the shop, and was asked why her son was so angry at the new bookshop owner. She thought it made sense for her to drop into the bookshop next to her son’s shop after hearing that. Walking into the shop, she was greeted with the smell of lavender and the sweet melody of a love song. She immediately smiled at the charm of the bookstore, feeling like there was a bit more life in it then there had been the last time she had come in. Harry had told her that Marie had passed, but not that someone new had taken over and she was eager to meet them, especially now that she had been told about the town gossip.

A messy haired, but bright eyed Y/N came trotting out of the bookshelves at the sound of the door opening. A smile beamed on her face when she saw the mature brunette woman standing just inside the doorway. “Bonjour! Bienvenue!” She greets as she smooths some of her unkempt hair. Y/N had been digging around the back shelves of the store searching for a specific book one of her other customers had asked about yesterday. And much to her dismay, she wasn’t being very successful. When the woman only says “Bonjour” and makes no inclination that she plans to speak more French, Y/N believes it’s safe to assume she’s a tourist and switches to English. “Can I help you?”

Anne laughs happily to hear English and walks over to the counter that Y/N had walked behind. “Yes, Hi! My son lives here and I’ve just come to visit him. He didn’t tell me someone had taken over Marie’s shop.” Y/N perks at the name of Marie and she smiles sincerely at the woman now. Not quite a tourist, yet not quite a local, she noted for herself.

“Yeah, I’m Y/N. I was a friend of Marie’s, so to say, and she left me the place.” Pausing, Y/N turns over the vinyl that had just finished side A, and then returns to her place at the counter. “I’m still really new, but it’s a small town. I don’t know of many other people who weren’t born here who live here, though, who’s your son?” She rests her elbows on the counter and leans on them while staring at the kind woman. She had noticed the British accent, but hadn’t connected the dots yet. It wasn’t uncommon for people to have a British accent when they spoke English so it didn’t necessarily mean she was from England. But maybe Y/N should have noticed the light eyes and brown hair, maybe that should have been an indicator as well. Or the way she had said ‘my son’ and nodded in the way of the shoe shop. But no matter what, it came as a shock when the woman with the coffee in hand said what she said next.

“My son is your neighbor! He runs the shoe repair shop. His great uncle, my ex-husband’s uncle, left it to him a couple years ago.”  Y/N’s eyes widen so much so that she has to blink a few times to assure herself they haven’t popped out of her head.

“Harry...is your son?” She speaks slowly and Anne smiles at the girl. She nods and Y/N nods back, taking the news in. He has a mother...she guessed she should have expected that. It had been unlikely that her theory of him being sent straight from hell to make her life just like it was accurate.

“Here you are mum! What are you doin’ in here?” Harry rushes through the door when he sees his mother inside from the window. Y/N rolls her eyes on cue, but still notices the soft adoring look on his face while he gazes at his mother. She supposes she can concede that he isn’t the spawn of satan now. His look hardens when he turns to Y/N, who has straightened up to her full height upon his arrival.

“I was just meeting the new bookshop owner, Y/N!” She looks between Harry and Y/N. “What’s this about you being angry with her?” She asks more to Harry, but Y/N hears easily. Harry’s eyes flash at Y/N and her eyes widen once again, but shrugs to Harry, having no idea where his mother had gotten that idea.

“What did you say-”

“I didn’t say anything! I’d just realized she was your mother right before you walked in!”

“It’s true. Someone said something about it to me at the coffee shop. Of course, I didn’t even know the book shop even had a new owner, so I decided to come by.”

“It’s nothing, mum,” Harry insists.

“Harry and I...we just don’t exactly see eye to eye. But, I’m sure we’ll warm up to each other eventually,” she easily lies through her teeth, knowing she really couldn’t see herself ever being friends with this prick. “Feel free to look around the shop, it’s not exactly to my liking yet, but then again, I am just getting settled. Otherwise, you two should enjoy your time together. I’m sure it’s not often you can make the time to journey all the way out here.” She smiles sweetly at Anne, choosing to ignore Harry completely.

“Thank you, Y/N. Harry can be an acquired taste for some, but just below that exterior of his, he’s a giant softy.” Harry groans at his words, Y/N’s smile only grew.

“Au revoir! Good Day!” She calls when they leave the shop rather swiftly. It seemed to her that Harry was desperate to get his mother out of the shop as soon as possible, while Anne was happy to browse and look at what had been changed in the shop.  

-

Their early unhappy encounters were now months ago. But encounters of a similar caliber happened at least once a week. It’s hard to avoid a neighbor who you seem to find anything they do to be an annoyance, even their existence. They saw each other around town and at their shops and in their bedrooms. Even though they didn’t particularly like each other, hated was actually the correct word, the drawing of the shades was a near impossible task with the heat that plagued the little town between August and Mid-October.

They had fought over who could leave their shade open and who couldn’t because Harry believed only one of them had to close it to maintain privacy but then he wouldn’t settle on an agreement on taking turns closing shades. Y/N argued that they could both leave them open if he would agree to stop walking around his room naked all the time, but he refused that as well, at first. He conceded after a week of having his shade drawn that he would wear boxers. Therefore, practically every night, Y/N and Harry would see each other before bed since they actually seemed to have the same sleep habits. Sometimes she would have to yell at him to close his window if he came home with a guest and he would yell at her to turn off her light if she was reading or watching television in bed too late.

Thankfully, it was approaching the end of October and the weather would begin to change. There wouldn’t be a reason to have the window or shade open and they at least wouldn’t have to see each other right before bed.

This morning, Y/N is up early, she found it amazing to wake up early here, something she had never done before this little border town. It was teaching her new things about herself and changing her, but she liked it. In deep forest green flared pants and a long sleeved rainbow striped shirt, Y/N is watering the planters in front of her shop as well as the little ones attached below the windows. It was always a little cool in the mornings, but she had checked her weather app and seen that it was actually going to be the first cold day of the season. The first cold day since she had arrived actually. As much as she liked the sun, she also loved fall and winter, so she was excited to experience them for the first time in the little border town.

She smiles to herself as she moves around gracefully. In her back pocket, her music plays softly, Paul Simon sings lovingly to her. She hums along and moves to deal with the planter at the edge of the sidewalk. But she’s foiled by a man she seems to think about far too much for how much she says she dislikes him. Harry jogs back a half step upon realizing he has run into her yet again. One would assume that one of them would either change their routine or know to step out of the way or really just be a little bit more aware of their surroundings with how many times this has happened since Y/N’s arrival. Of course, their stubborn personalities actually require them to be unrelenting in this area of their lives as well. Much like the shade debate, the who was in the way of who debate is still majorly undecided.

“Oi!” He looks down at his shirt and it has a substantial wet spot on it. She had spilled some of the watering can’s contents.

“Excuse you!” She says simultaneously, not realizing she’d gotten water on him.

“I’m not the one who just threw water on someone.”

“Neither am I. You ran into me, it’s not my fault you never look where you’re going.”

“You’re just always in my way. This has been my route for ages, I’m not going to change it just because you moved in next door.” His hands fly around in annoyance and anger.

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Well! I can’t stand you!

“Clearly!” “Cleary.” They’re both huffing out insults that don’t seem to really be going anywhere. Harry has straightened his posture for once and she actually finds his true height slightly intimidating. They both breath for a moment, finding no other words to fill the tranquil morning silence that they had just disturbed.

“Are we ever going to have a conversation where we’re not at each other’s throats?” She sighs, feeling upset that the nice Fall day was suddenly ruined for the rest of time just because of this.The bickering with Harry was tedious and she couldn’t keep going like this. Being in a completely new place and running a small business was hard enough as it is. Something snapped in her just then, hoping to squash a part of her life that is causing her stress and exhaustion.

Harry’s expression falters, his eyes losing that glint of angered passion for a moment, he wasn’t expecting that response. It wasn’t necessarily mean, it was more like she was resigned. Simply done with the conversation. He felt his anger and annoyance slip away rather quickly at her question. She sees his mustache twitch, which she realized happened when he was either amused or confused. She didn’t think what she said was funny so she presumed he wasn’t sure what to make of what she had just said. Her head tilts to the side and waits for his response. Her watering can falls to her side now, making herself a little more comfortable and leaving only a small amount of air between her and Harry.

“Tired out already? Thought you were more of a competitor than that.” He mirrors her by tilting his head as well.

“I didn’t realize we were in any sort of competition.” She stepped forward and straightened her posture a little, feeling challenged by the tone he had taken. She may have a kind and soft exterior for most, but she was nothing if not fierce in her core. She was an Aries afterall. She wondered what Harry might be, she wasn’t super into astrology, but she was sure that he wasn’t an Aries. Aries were fiery and passionate and were very unwilling to admit defeat, so he had just hit the exact right note to keep her from squashing their now long-standing quarrel.

“We’re not. I just thought I had met my match, guess I was wrong.”

He looks off in the distance to be nonchalant, like he wasn’t trying to bait her even if that’s exactly what he was going for. Sure, he found her annoying, for whatever reason. But he had realized when she had posed the question, that he hadn’t had this much excitement in a while. Nothing and no one really challenged him in the little border town, his work was easy enough, money wasn’t tight, friends were easily made, and partners for the night were easy to find. He didn’t dislike any of those facts, truly, he counted himself lucky and was overjoyed that he lived there. But the verbal sparring he engaged in with Y/N fulfilled a need he hadn’t realized was going unsatisfied. He would never admit it, but she was often a highlight of his day. Getting into a little quarrel with her brought a smile to his face when he recalled it later. The bird she had started to flip him before bed made him genuinely laugh. He liked it, so when she seemed to want it to end, he did what he knew would make her change her mind. Tease her.

“I see...bonne journée, cul.” She decided to bid him farewell, knowing he didn’t plan on apologizing any time soon. She turned her body from him and Harry understood enough French that she had ended the conversation with a “good day”. He also knew that she had called him an “ass” as well. His brows raised for a moment at the insult before giving a flicked salute in her direction and jogging off for his morning run.

For some reason, after a moment of knowing Harry had gone she glanced up in his direction and watched his retreating figure. And for some reason she found herself looking back down at the flowers and smiling to herself. Somewhere inside her she was glad Harry hadn’t given into her veiled request to stop fighting. It was a strange sensation because as tiring it was to bicker with him, she feared if they stopped then they would stop talking at all and her heart panged at the thought. She didn’t know why and she didn’t care to know why either.

-

The bell of the book shop chimes and Y/N pops up from behind the counter. She had been crouched out of sight trying to organize the books of notes on customers Marie had left that Y/N had only just found. She hadn’t realized the cabinet existed in the counter so when she accidentally slid it open she was a little taken aback. Still, she was quickly distracted by the new customer. Her cream collared shirt was unbuttoned to where her collarbone and decalotage were on display, some gold medallions hanging around her neck today. Her worn light wash blue jeans were barely visible behind the counter due to her height. In her hair was a classic red bandana, pulling back her hair out of her face save for the strands that worked themselves free on their own accord.

Her smile was wide, happy to see the first customer of the day as she pinched at her shirt to make sure it was in place. Her posture slumped immediately when she realized that her first customer wasn’t a likely customer at all, instead who else but Harry. A mischievous glint in his eyes as he strolled in and right up to the counter. He leaned his large body down to rest his head in his hands and look up at her. He crossed one ankle over his other, getting comfortable as he stared wickedly up at her.

She wet her lips and took a step back. It was her first look at him today, apparently missing him on his morning run. Maybe she should have thought something of that after their encounter yesterday, but she didn’t. Like most days, his trousers were high waisted, Gucci likely - how he afforded them, she had no clue - and his usual shirt had now been accompanied with a striped red, black, and yellow open cardigan. His hair looked wet like he had just taken a shower, most of it was pushed up but a few strands fell over his large forehead. His mustache looked freshly trimmed and the rest of his facial hair had yet to leave any shadow after his obvious shave.

“Harry.” She says definitively, regarding him with even contempt.

“Ice Queen.” He levels, eyes narrowing.

She scoffs immediately. “At least give me something original...or accurate maybe. I may not like you, but ice queen? Hardly.”

He genuinely chuckles at her quick response and nods, agreeing easily with her for once. “You’re right. It was weak, I’ll admit. Feel like you need a nickname though, thought something really rude might upset you.” He smirks cheekily. His agreement doesn’t make her feel like she’s won at all, unsurprisingly.

She rolls her eyes at his comment. “Care to let me know why you’re gracing me with your presence today, Mr. Styles?” Moving around the counter, she begins to walk to the back of the shop, assuming Harry would follow her if he needed to. He apparently did and walked after her after realizing she wasn’t coming back.

He gives a half-laugh, “Yeah, I came in for a new record. I saw you decided to restock them...thought I’d pop in. It’s easier to get them here than order online...Curtain-hater.” He adds the name as an afterthought.

She glances at him from the bookcase she’s standing at, her eyes shifting to meet his. A smile fades into her features as she can’t contain the giggle at his new attempt at a nickname. She then wrinkles her nose, “That isn’t good either, but proficient try, I guess.” She gives him points for actually relating the name to her in some way, but it still doesn’t incite any anger in her which she knows is what he is going for. She probably should question herself why she’s helping Harry to nickname her something rude, but alas, she doesn’t. He nods solemnly, knowing she’s right again. He needs to find a nickname for her and he doesn’t know why, but he’s glad she seems alright with him giving her one, so long as it is fitting.

Her body shifts from the bookcase over to the boxes she had gotten to hold the vinyls. She had a small collection since the place was small overall, but Marie’s old collection had sold successfully so she had restocked afterwards, this time choosing some of her personal favorites.

“I’m not sure of your taste...I know you bought Marie’s Ella Fitzgerald album last time.” She sifts through the records, trying to find something she thought he might want. Like she said, she didn’t know what he liked, but she prided herself on knowing music and as an owner helping a customer, she wanted to please Harry. She knew he liked Ella from his previous purchase and she knew he liked Marvin Gaye in the evenings when he had guests - how very cliche she would add. “I mostly got in 70’s/80’s rock...Elton, Queen -”

“Got any Paul Simon?” Harry cuts her off and she looks at him surprised. Her fingers stopped when she looked up at him, their tips placed on the peaks of the albums covers. “Thought I heard it here the other day?”  

Her face perks up at the mention, she loved Paul Simon. “That was on my phone, but I do actually. Well, it’s Simon & Garkunkel. I can order something from just Paul Simon whenever I have to order again if you want?” Their gazes are holding each other’s, her fingers still rubbing over the pointed edges of the two albums she had between her hands. Harry’s watching her and leaning against the table the boxes sit on.

He nods after a moment. “That’d be great.”

“You’ll have to tell me which records of his you already have so I can order something new for you.” She grabs the Simon & Garfunkel album and flips it to Harry so he can look it over.

He regards the Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme cover reading over the fine print with all the tracks listed on the bottom right. “Thanks,” he mutters out after another moment of silence. It was rarely this quiet between these two, so it was different. “I’ll take it, Shrimp.”

“Oh my god!” She gasps before bursting into a fit of laughter. He had actually made her laugh and his eyes widen at the sound, almost confused that she hadn’t scoffed. Her laughter was far louder now then the half-hearted chuckle she had given earlier, which really was probably just another scoff. This laugh was loud and unbridled, but melodic and fun. In the back of Harry’s mind, he noted that he liked it. The first bullet point on a list that was likely to grow.  “That works, just the perfect amount of rude. I love and hate it at the same time.” She finishes before walking back to the front. Harry saunters after her, pleased with himself.  

“I’d like to say I wasn’t looking for your approval, but I guess I sorta was,” he ponders out loud as she takes the record back from him to type in the correct spelling into her relatively new computerized system. She twists her mouth to the side of her face to refrain from smiling anymore and then hums. Her eyes flit back up to Harry’s triumphant smile and for once she doesn’t want to slap it off of him.

“People-pleaser…” She prods him easily. His smile falters only slightly, not out of unhappiness, but of borderline jealousy.

“How do you come up with that so easily? It just rolls off the tongue,” He asks seriously, confused by the woman before him. This time she laughs as she hands him back the record and a copy of his receipt.

“I’m well read, that usually helps, but maybe it’s just my intrinsic wit that gives me an edge,” she raises her brows slightly, before beginning to walk off now that their exchange is done. She’s surprised she doesn’t want to rip her hair out after that encounter, but she figures she should simply count her blessings. “Au revoir, trouser-boy!”

He rolls his eyes as he turns on his heel and exits the shop, amused rather than annoyed with the bookkeeper.

-

enjoy! lmk what you thought :) part 2

[sweet-taiyaki]

Manhattan on the rocks 🥃

Disclaimer: This is dedicated to a good friend of mine. She’s not on tumblr. But she is attracted to Dabi. I tried to make it as ‘nice’ as possible, but I assumed Dabi would be the one with the reins. RATED XXX, NSFW, 18+ ONLY

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader (she/her)

Featuring: League of Villains

Word Count: 2.4k

Synopsis: Before the LOV found their hideout, you used to work there. It was full of life, but then Dabi entered the bar and changed your life. 

Quirk: Telekinesis. The ability to lift anything up to 300 lbs (136 kg)

Warnings: Smut, orgasm denial, fingering, smacking, blow job, cock worshiping, teasing, choking

I was a bartender working my shift in Kamino Ward. It was a lively town full of lights and life. Tourists would often come by. The other bartender, Kenji, I worked with has a quirk to speak all languages to communicate with the guests out of town. A lot of people thought I was a lazy bartender, but I would use my telekinetic quirk to make drinks effectively, accurately, and full of spirit.

I was on my closing shift and I locked the door. With overconfidence, I took the short way home to my apartment through an alleyway. I’m pretty sure that if I encounter a villain that I can beat them. I’m not a hero, but I can defend myself. I think. When I walked down, I heard echoes of raindrops and then faint footsteps behind me, following me. I turn around and no one was to be found. I look up the walls. Nothing. When I turn back around, I was face to face with a man with hands all over his body. His palms went around my arms with four fingers.

“Well hello there,” he said, “You know you probably shouldn’t go this way. There is a lot of danger.”

“I appreciate the warning, but I live this way,” I continued.

“I don’t think you understand,” he went on, “Once all my fingers touch your skin, you will merely turn to dust. So let me tell you again. Don’t take another step this way, otherwise my friends and I have plans for you.”

The League of Villains surrounded me, all poking at me with their quirk. “Tell us when, Shigaraki. I think she would be a great friend,” a high school girl with blonde hair said holding a syringe.

There was no way that I was going to win this fight, but what are they hiding from me? Is something happening down this alleyway where I can’t even access my apartment this route? I didn’t want to get involved, but my curiosity was still sparked. “Okay, I’ll go,” I said.

“There’s a good girl. Now run along,” Shigaraki said. He let go of me and when I started to walk, the girl tried to stab me with her syringe. When I dodged, I used my quirk to hold one of his members from his neck against the brick wall. He was a lengthy man with a scarred-up face, staples on his ears, eyes, chin, and face with dark hair. He begins to laugh.

“And to think you were a hero. I don’t know, this one seems more like a villain to me,” he said with a smirk. The girl injects me with her syringe, and I drop the stapled man. I dodge before she plunged for my blood and ran the other way.

“A drop. That’s all I need,” Toga said looking at her syringe.

The next day, I had off. I was just exhausted from the closing shift. I slept in, watched some shows, and read. It started to rain. I just looked out the window with all the bright lights. It was soothing. I cuddled my cat as I napped on and off throughout the day.

...................................................................................

I arrive for my long double shift at the bar. No one would make eye contact with me. “Hey,” I said to Kenji. “Hey, it’s nice to know you can speak in complete sentences,” he scoffed. I immediately got confused.

“What are you talking about,” I asked. The owner called me into his office. Usually when someone gets called in the office, it’s bad, but I don’t remember doing anything that horrible. I sat down in the chair across from him.

“(Y/N), after last night, I was really disappointed in you, but since you work hard and you’re one of my good employees, I will give you a warning,” he said professionally.

“Last night? I was at home all day,” I said.

“I’m sure that’s all you remember,” he said concerned. He showed me camera footage from the bar. The camera footage showed that I was drunk all over the bar flirting with guests and being obnoxious.

“Sir, I was at home all day. That was not me. Someone must have had a quirk—”

“Enough,” he cut me off. “This is a warning. The next warning, I have to let you go.”

I bowed my head and exited his office. Kenji looked at me to know what happened. “Kenji, someone used their quirk to look like me. I can assure you; I was at home.” He shook his head, but I know he wanted to believe me. “(Y/N),” he began, “Just out of all the bars, you or they had to pick this one? I believe you, but I’m not saving your butt next time.” We laughed as we continued the shift.

Kenji said goodbye as the crowd dies down. I only had one guest and they closed their check. So I was at the bar by myself.

I finished cleaning the bar at close and put on my jacket. A guest barges in the back door and locks it behind him.  “Are you open,” he asks. He revealed his face to be the stapled man that I encountered in the alleyway. He didn’t seem like he recognized me, so I tried to stay as calm as possible.

I calmly take off my jacket and offer him a seat at the bar top. “You have cameras,” he pointed out.  I created a makeshift table and chair in storage. He sits down and orders a Manhattan. I make the drink for him with my quirk. He lights a cigarette with his blue flame. I knew my boss would kill me if I let someone smoke inside his place, but I knew he would understand if he saw that there was a villain here. Where are the heroes? 

I set the drink in front of him. He chugs it and continues to take drags out of his cigarette. “Long day,” I asked him. He smirks and chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. May I have another, please?” I make him another Manhattan.

“Your quirk. How do you do that,” he asks.

“I use my thoughts to control what I would like to lift. I can lift up to a high weight.”

“How about a cruise ship,” he asked.

“Maybe not.”

He laughs. “I go by Dabi. It’s nice to see there are some cordial people in this world.”

I nod as he finishes his second drink. I go back to the bar to clean up. Storage was hidden by a curtain for some citrus. I come back to him still there with an empty glass and his burnt-out cigarette. “Care for another,” I asked.

“No thank you, uh—”

“(Y/N),” I finished.

He nodded and paid for his drinks. I go back to the bartop and wait until he leaves. He just wanted to destress. Am I now responsible if he kills someone tonight? Am I going to witness him killing someone? I take a peek through the curtain and he is gone. I take a sigh of relief and went back into storage, but then I am pushed up against a wall by my neck. By Dabi. I panic and start to breathe heavy.

“I remember you. You were the one that choked me in the alleyway. Well now that I see you up close, you are stunning. I just wish the world can see how beautiful you are,” he said. His hands light up with blue flames. Is going to kill me?

“I—I’m not afraid to die,” the words escaped my mouth as I gasp for air. “You may be a villain, but there is so much more to people. They have stories that can be similar to yours. We’re not all perfect, but we strive to be.”

He tied my hands to an upper shelf. He laughed. “The people who think they are perfect deserve a special spot in hell. In a way, we are pretty similar. I’m not afraid to die. I just see others to die as an incentive. There’s a lot of wanna-be heroes. My job is to weed out the weak. I like a challenge.”

I use my quirk to raise the objects around me as weapons against him as I am restrained.

“I’ll admit, your quirk is cool, but I won’t use mine on you.” He puts out his blue flames and lifts my shirt and bra up. He starts lightly twisting my nipples. “This is what I really came here for.”

I tilt my head back as he moves his hands down my torso, to my waist, down to my clit. “What a pretty flower,” he said, smiling. He grabs my face and forces his face into mine. He’s scarred tissue was rough, but there was something sweet about his touch. He was forceful, yet gentle at the same time. I felt comfortable as he was touching me. Why? He’s a villain, against anything that was good. 

As I ease into his touch, I slowly drop the objects. He pulls away from my face. He smirks as he grabs my neck and I crack a smile back. “You’re a freak. Who would smile with someone choking them? A villain, maybe. Or a slut,” he said.

He slides down his jeans to reveal his throbbing cock. Spun me around with my hands still restrained and slid down my skirt. “You’re mine tonight,” he whispered into my ear as he injects two fingers into me. I tilt back my head with pleasure. Every breath I took paraded in ecstasy.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he said. I started to breathe heavier and moan into his hands. He grabbed my hair to intensify his domination. He pumps his fingers at a faster pace. “I’m—I’m gonna,” I said.

He pulls his fingers out of me, turns me around, and slides up my skirt. “No,” he said, “Bad girls don’t cum.” He takes my restrained hands off the shelf and throws me to the ground. “Suck it,” he said softly. I begin to tease the tip and bottom of his shaft. As I look up, he has a permanent smirk on his face. “You are bad,” he said. He smacked my face and forced my head, taking him all in. I choked as he held my head. “This is how you choke someone properly. You look so beautiful drooling all over me,” he said. Thrusting faster, he tilted his head up in pleasure as he held my face to the bottom. “Fuck,” he pulsed in my mouth, his taste hitting the back of my throat. He slowly pulls out of my mouth, helps me up, and undid the restraints on my hands.

“Hello, anyone there,” a booming voice came from the front door. The voice sounded loud and bold. Must be a hero. Dabi quickly gets dressed and takes my face close to his and whispers, “I’m not here”. He kissed me softly, helped clean up my makeup, and pushed me out to open the door.

“Good evening, miss. I heard there were villains in the area, is there anything that you have seen that could help me,” the hero said entering the bar. Would there be a fight in the bar if I said yes? Would the owner blame me for everything? I was so conflicted on what to tell the hero. I had thoughts of how good Dabi would feel inside me.

“No, sir,” I replied to the hero, “I was just about to close shop.”

“Very well, citizen. Keep your eyes peeled,” he said as he left. Some bar stools fell over when he left. I went over to the door and locked it.

“Heroes. It’s always about them--” Dabi said coming out of the storage room.

“Stay in there to avoid the cameras. I can’t believe I lied to a hero to save you,” I said regretfully.

“Like I said, I’m not afraid to die. But you were a good girl, looking after me. Come here,” he said deep and slow. I followed his request. He cupped my face, kissed me, and picked me up from my butt onto a table. I felt a pool inside me as his kisses deepened. He slides down my skirt and feels my damp clit. “You’ve been thinking about me,” he smirked flicking my flower. He takes off his pants, revealing himself, and teases his tip against my entrance. I tilt my head back with pleasure. I slowly adjusted to his size when he pumped in and out me. I dug my nails into his back and ran my fingers through his hair. He kept hitting the spot perfectly and I couldn’t control myself. “Cum for me,” Dabi said, between breaths. My thighs twitch around his waist as he kept going. I exploded with fireworks, hitting the spot as he watched me, and felt my walls clamp against him. He pulled out, but I could still feel him. He watched me twitch and approached my face. He smiled a little and pecked me on the lips.

“Is there anything else I can do for you,” he said softly.

“Just stay out of trouble,” I smirked. Dabi helped me clean up and straighten out before he left. He used his quirk to light some tables on fire. “What are you doing,” I yelled.

“I’m covering for you,” he said. He stopped in his tracks before he exited out the front door.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll join me. See you on the other side,” he said and disappeared without a trace.

The owner came in the next day panicking about his bar catching fire. “What happened, (Y/N)? Are you alright,” he cried. The police and firefighters surrounded the bar. “I saw on the cameras that a hero came in, asked (Y/N) if there was a villain, then the villain showed up and destroyed the bar,” the owner told police. The hero was also there. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” the hero said. The police brought me in for questioning. I lied about his description. I lied to police that I didn’t know anything.

After a few weeks, the owner sold the bar to someone who remained anonymous. I snuck into the bar. The tables were removed. It was just the bar stools and booths. A warp guy in a suit was at the bar, his name tag said Kurogiri. “Ah (Y/N), I heard your curiosity would be intrigued.” Dabi comes out from the shadows.

“Are you ready to join the League of Villains?”

[alarriefantasy]

Hi, all! So it seems that the wonderful AO3 user - objectlesson - aka on tumblr as - horsegirlharry - has sadly deleted their fics. I have only a few saved in my files, but there are some I would really love to possess, if anyone has them? I would really appreciate it if you would message me and let me know! :)

Also, I am posting the whole list of amazing stories they shared for our fandom, and I am marking (with an asterisk*) the ones that I have myself, in case anyone else would like them too! <3

Silver White Winters

by objectlesson

In which Louis catches a cloud and pins it down.

Words: 5106, Chapters: 2/2, Language: English

I Must Confess (I Still Believe)

by objectlesson

Louis shrugs, eyes on the road. “You look cute in the blazer, too,” she says nonchalantly, and what the fucking fuck, what is Harry supposed to think?

“You probably do, too, but I wouldn’t know because I don’t even think you own one? Do you ever actually wear the entire uniform?” she asks, deflecting.

“Not since freshman year!” Louis boasts proudly. “They stopped giving me demerits because it’s, like, a lost cause. I literally haven’t seen my blazer in three years, I just borrow Veronica’s when I walk into Mass.” Her grin is very cheeky and bright, and she’s squinting in the sun, aviators pushed up into the overgrown auburn shag of her hair. The horizon is hazy and pink-orange as dark sneaks up on them, the air smelling of sprinkler water and BBQ smoke from people leaching the last warmth of October before summer’s gone for good. Harry feels alive with possibility, eyes watering as she smiles at Louis, unable to stop. She wrinkles her nose like it’ll somehow hide the way it looks on her face to be in love.

Or, Harry is the new girl at an all girl Catholic Girl’s School, and Louis is the unattainable, dashing senior who changes her forever.

Words: 44304, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Powerless (and I Don’t Care It’s Obvious)

by objectlesson

“Oh no, Lou, don’t make me laugh,” he whimpers. His Ribena-purple mouth twists into a glorious, breakable shape, and Louis’s heart stops. He should not be getting turned on by Harry’s full-bladder discomfort, his little twitches, his hips-stuttering. And yet.

Words: 4090, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

The Pink Ghost of Princess Park

by objectlesson

The thought of the vibrator does not go away. It’s sitting there collecting dust all through January, and every time Harry and Louis have to leave town for a press event or a show or to record or what have you, they come back home, and it’s still there, the Pink Ghost of Princess Park, the fucking glittery haunting that Harry cannot stop thinking of Louis stuffing up his arse.

Words: 7556, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

*Life Saver

by objectlesson

Nerd Boy’s giant, dorky, adorable hand shoots into the air. Louis notices he has chipped red polish on a few of his nails and some tattered friendship-looking bracelets, like the sort you make in camp, and he might hear the distant chime of wedding bells. He thought he didn’t even believe in marriage because it’s, like, oppressive and heteronormative or whatever, but that was before Styles, Harry (Harry Styles!!! What an absurd, wonderful name! What a perfect thing to scrawl in the margins of all his notebooks surrounded in hearts!) appeared in the bio lab at his new school and ruined all his principles forever.

or, Louis is a sweetheart punk with a theater background and a heart of gold, Harry is an inexperienced nerd who plays by the rules. Classmates, lab partners, and eventually friends, what happens when Louis knows he’s in love, but doesn’t know how tell Harry?

Words: 14809, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Even Your Honey Dew

by objectlesson

It probably says something about Harry that he’s so obsessed with another omega’s arse.

Words: 9512, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

What a Heavenly Way To Die

by objectlesson

She’s thought about it a lot, and two big things seem to be holding her back, aside from the uncontrollable paralysis that overtakes her body every time she so much as tries to sneak a hand under the waistband of Harry’s knickers.

Or, Louis is afraid to do stuff to Harry, who has done a lot of stuff to her.

Words: 8052, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

A Firm Believer and a Warm Receiver

by objectlesson

a few months ago, Louis had his first heat. It was no big deal, aside from it being awkward and weird and all the other things it was supposed to be. He figured he would present as an omega, so he wasn’t exactly surprised or anything.

But then, last week, Harry had his first heat, too.

Or, the omega/omega sleepover fic no one asked for but y'all really, really need.

Words: 10895, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

You’ll Know What Makes The World Turn

by objectlesson

Sometimes, when things are messy and they have more than a few weeks apart, they need the reminder. It’s comforting to have stars to map your course by.

or, Harry’s blue bandana is a day collar.

Words: 4624, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Sing You Butterflies

by objectlesson

Louis stares for a moment before some primal sympathetic force in him activates. He has to help this boy. He can hardly walk, and he seems so young (yet ageless, beyond age, like a sea turtle or a parrot or a tree or something else odd and magical), and on top of all that, he has body glitter clinging to his skin, like that roll-on stuff his sisters used to use as preteens, only pink-gold and twice as thick. It’s, like, professional grade. He’s also wearing grass- and dirt-stained pink silk women’s underwear, so maybe he’s from London. Maybe he’s a drag queen who crawled all the way from a nightclub in Soho just to save Louis from his horribly mundane and woefully heterosexual neighbours out here in the middle of nowhere.

or, Harry’s a clumsy unicorn who accidentally stomps on a witch’s garden and is turned into a human as punishment, so he wanders into a nearby village covered in glitter, still figuring out how to walk on two feet, and meets the fairy-tale-fine Louis, who has to teach him how to live as a human and stop him from eating soap.

Words: 22701, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Holy

by objectlesson

She deserves not to be so goddamned put together all the time. Being in the world’s biggest and highest exposure girlband means she’s never seen without a flat stomach, a spray tan, contouring, eyelash extensions, the whole of her body inescapably toned and plucked and waxed so frequently she genuinely forgot what fucking color her own pubes are. Louis wants to eat burgers and smoke weed and be twenty three. She wants to wake up with Harry and spend the whole day in bed fingering each other because they finally don’t have to have goddamn acrylic nails for once. She wants to grow her pubes out. She wants to lounge around in a posh, red-velvet High Hefner robe.

Or, Louis is dressed like a fucking queen, Harry’s begging please.

Words: 6608, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Only One I Dream Of: A Drabble Collection

by objectlesson

A collection of all the m/m One Direction drabbles and timestamps I’ve written on tumblr, so my readers on here aren’t missing out!

Words: 5164, Chapters: 5/13, Language: English

Diamonds in the Moonlight

by objectlesson

The 70s au where Harry is a rich girl stuck in the suburbs who thinks she loves Shaun Cassidy, and Louis is the skater who breaks into her backyard and changes everything forever.

Words: 16136, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

In the Heat of the Night

by objectlesson

“You’re sleeping with me, obviously,” Harry says then, pausing to regard Louis with a funny expression, nose wrinkled and brows drawn tight. “Don’t tell me you thought that I’d let you freeze out here!? Absolutely not! C’mon, the bedroom’s cozy, I dragged a space heater out.”

Louis wants to protest about as badly as she wants to sleep next to Harry Styles, which is a lot. Too much.

Or, Louis is the only butch in London with a truck and Harry needs to move a couch.

Words: 7726, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Once Upon a Dream

by objectlesson

“M’not gonna half-ass our fake relationship,” Louis almost snaps, voice sharp with a defensive edge, like Harry wandered too close to a bruise with needy fingers. “Now kiss me again. We’re gonna make every shitty tourist here wish they had stayed in the Midwest. We’re gonna burn Disneyland down with our gay. ”

Harry shuts his eyes and opens his mouth, because he can’t fucking say no to Louis.

Or, a fake dating AU where everyone is lying and they happen to be at the Happiest Place on Earth.

Words: 16643, Chapters: ½, Language: English

From Now Until Forever

by objectlesson

The girls go to Britney Nite and Louis wears Juicy track pants and Harry is not ok.

Niall takes the pint glass back from Harry and takes a swig, regarding her over the rim knowingly. “You’re nervous,” she observes with a grin. “Because you’re gonna get drunk at a gay bar with Louis, and you haven’t told her yet that you wanna marry her.”

“Oh, my god, stop,” Harry scolds, hiding her face in her hands, everything suddenly hot and shivery. “It’s not that,” she adds, even though it most definitely is.

“Then…you’re excited to see Louis in a schoolgirl skirt and bra? Covered in that body glitter that smells like cotton candy?” Niall presses, waggling her eyebrows, making Harry blush at the mere thought of Louis’s golden skin shimmering and sticky under club lights.

Words: 9223, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Hello, Heaven (you are tunnel-lined with yellow lights

by objectlesson

“Oh, yeah?” Harry asks, playing dumb as he helps Louis out of his coat before hanging it up. “A new phone charger? Mine’s still broken, the electrical tape didn’t work.”

Louis makes a face at him, all arched brows and tongue pressed into cheek. “Oh a phone charger? Is that what you need?” he quips lightly, voice high and lilting in this sing-song way that’s so, so high and gentle that it’s scary. He’s putting on a show for Harry, and Harry’s thrilled with it, already shivery and hot-cheeked because Louis got him something naughty, and they’re talking about it without really talking about it, wrapping it up in layers of mundanity and domesticity, still so excited to play the role of two Adults living in their new Adult flat in London that they bought with their own money from the X Factor. Harry’s living an unimaginably glamourous life so suddenly, and Louis and his gifts are right in the middle of it, the heart of his every dream.

Or, Louis buys Harry things sometimes.

Words: 2988, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Dream About That Casual Touch

by objectlesson

And that was the first thing Louis noticed about her. Not her nipples, or not only her nipples, anyway, but the fact that she was so confident with her body and didn’t seem to care that her tits were sort of soft and floppy and uneven or that she had a little roll of pudge around her hips that poked over the top of her jeans when she wore crop tops. She wore what she wanted to wear whether or not it was in fashion or technically even flattering; her hair was always messy, she only wore makeup half the time, and she seemed to like heeled boots even if she was already fairly tall and they made her tower over the boys. Louis always thought it was so fucking sexy how unconcerned Harry seemed with what people thought of her, how comfortable she was in her own skin. That by itself seemed like a sort-of gay thing, so Louis kept a remote, careful eye on her, hoping to one day see something else that blipped her radar.

Or, Louis and Harry fuck up two dates before they finally get it right.

Words: 7678, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

*Smoke Dreams from Smoke Rings

by objectlesson

“When I get a craving?” Louis says, “You have to help me chase it away. Distract me”

Oh. Harry can think of about one hundred different ways to distract Louis Tomlinson. One hundred better uses for his mouth, for example. “Erm,” he squeaks, well aware of the fact that he’s grinning and dimpling and blushing all at once, his whole face a suddenly mortifying warzone of transparent emotion. “How?”

“By hitting my arm as hard as you can,” Louis announces, holding out the arm in question. It bridges the gap between them, stiff and expectant, and Harry stares, not entirely sure if Louis’s being serious, if this is some prank that he isn’t clever enough to understand, or if the promise of touching Louis under any circumstances is so titillating that he just can’t process it. Louis rolls up the sleeve of his hoodie then, revealing his pale inner arm in maddening increments, pushing Harry somewhere between drooling and vomiting, he isn’t sure which. He just knows that his mouth is flooded, and the barely-there ghost of Louis’s veins through his skin is the prettiest thing that he’s ever seen. “Go on, hit me,” Louis orders. “Don’t be shy,”

or, Louis enlists Harry to help him with his bad habit.

Words: 18116, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Black Stars and Endless Seas

by objectlesson

Or, A Star Trek Original Series AU where Lt. Styles is a young science officer on his first away mission, and Louis is the headstrong ensign assigned to his security detail, and maybe they would be able to function together professionally in a normal setting, but not when their shuttlecraft crash-lands and they end up marooned together on an improbably and unfairly beautiful planet.

Words: 32246, Chapters: 3/3, Language: English

Rose Garden Dreams

by objectlesson

Harry thinks it’s a fever-induced delirium, at first. After all, she’s been sick in bed for a full forty-eight hours following the Best and Most Important beach trip of her entire life because fate is a cruel and jealous bitch who doesn’t want Harry to go on a date with the girl of her dreams.

or, Harry is sick and Louis comes to visit her.

Words: 9464, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Palms Reflecting in Your Eyes

by objectlesson

Harry visits Louis at his campus and finds a crop on the wall.

Words: 6496, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Wrap You Up in Daisy Chains

by objectlesson

Ten minutes later, an awkward, long-legged, curly-haired, so pale she’s reflective, and so obviously gay-looking Harry Styles is sitting shotgun next to Louis in a bikini, denim cut-offs, and heart-framed sunnies.

Or, Harry and Louis and a too-small bathing suit.

Words: 10613, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

To Keep the Night From Ending

by objectlesson

It doesn’t always feel real to kiss in the dark, Harry guesses. He wants it to feel real. He wants it to be the realest thing, burnt indelibly into his skin.

Or, Harry and Louis take a night swim.

Words: 5036, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Good Enough to Eat

by objectlesson

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles, shuffling. “You won’t give me shit for it? It’s sorta weird.”

“No,” Louis breathes. “Promise.”

“Okay. I just…fuck, I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Harry whimpers, and he must be blushing because Louis can feel waves of heat coming off him, his embarrassment a hot, palpable thing. “So, like…I love rimming videos. Nothing makes me come harder,” he admits, covering his face with his hands so his voice comes out muffled and strangled.

It takes Louis a few seconds to process, to mentally rifle through his Pornhub search history and remember what rimming even is; Harry has him so stupid he can’t keep stuff straight. His ears ring, and then it hits him, and, oh, fuck. His stomach turns and tightens so quickly he’s gasping, an audible and shameful scrape of air in the dark. “You…really?” he chokes out.

Or, Harry is convinced he’s never gonna be able to try his favorite porn fantasy on a real boy, and Louis offers to remedy this.

Words: 6722, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Grenadine Sunshine

by objectlesson

Harry’s only sixteen, it shows right now, and Louis wants…he wants so many things. He wants to taste the faint, sugary ghost of lip gloss, he wants to cup Harry’s face between his palms and swipe the shimmery wet shadows from beneath his eyes. He wants to show him everything he knows, even though he doesn’t know anything about this, about kissing boys or flirting with them or doing their makeup or even showing them it’s okay to want to wear makeup in the first place. Still, Louis just wants, wants and wants and wants. It’s what Harry does to him.

Words: 18067, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Only Angel

by objectlesson

Louis pops his hip out, looking down at Harry from beneath the cut of his fringe sassily. “How do I look?”

Harry…Harry doesn’t have words, not really. He sits there on the floor with a half-hard cock, gazing up at this taller, scarier version of Louis with wide eyes. “Like I want you to spin-kick me in the face,” he admits after a moment, shakily inhaling. “You look…really good.”

Or, Louis finds a pair of heels that fit, and Harry wants to be ruined, as per usual.

Words: 6599, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Someone Who Knows How To Ride

by objectlesson

Harry gives Louis a lap dance. Or, at least, he tries to.

Words: 5114, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Copper Kiss

by objectlesson

Harry’s not allowed to fly back to the UK without marks to remember Louis by.

Words: 4604, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

You Drive Me Crazy ( I Just Can’t Sleep)

by objectlesson

The first time Louis ends up in Harry’s bed is a total accident.

Words: 18520, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Christmas Without You

by objectlesson

It’s Christmas Eve and Harry misses Louis so badly he might be going little crazy.

Words: 5639, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Vinyl and Lace

by objectlesson

Harry tries on a skirt in the X Factor dressing room as a joke. Louis doesn’t think it’s very funny.

Words: 7541, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Touch of My Hand

by objectlesson

Words: 3104, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: Tour Bus Sex, Bus Sex, PWP, Up All Night Tour, Uan era, Canon Compliant, baby boyfriends in love, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Established Relationship

Born to Make You Happy

by objectlesson

Harry makes a quiet vow to himself that he will be the very best girlfriend Louis has ever had, even if he never actually gets to be Louis’s girlfriend.

Words: 25662, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Taste of a Poison Paradise

by objectlesson

Louis notices Harry’s mouth right away.

Words: 9894, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

A Little Love (is better than none)

by objectlesson

It’s supposed to be no strings attached sex, but Harry’s in love with beauty and tragedy and Louis Tomlinson so there might actually a few strings they’re not talking about.

Or, alternately, the four times they fuck and don’t kiss, and one time they fuck and do (with a few more times thrown in because I’m a mess and know how to write short fics).

Words: 15074, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

*Take Me Under the Blue

by objectlesson

Louis hasn’t even seen his legs yet. He doesn’t know how they work or how long they’ll be. Maybe they won’t suit the rest of Harry at all, and he’ll have to grow into them or something. It doesn’t matter; Louis has loved Harry for a year with scales, so he can’t imagine wonky legs putting a damper on his attraction. 

He supposes he’ll just have to find out. In the meantime, he wonders how the fuck he got here, in his squelching wellies about to save the love of his life from the sea and take him to bed and bang him for the very first time.

It’s sort of a long story.

Words: 19011, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

[mollymauk-teafleak]

A Wedding in Paris

Trigger Warning: Light mentions of setting appropriate homophobia, alcohol use

“What’s a marriage anyway? Rings and a promise and a priest. And, the way I see it, two out of three requirements makes a good enough substitute for me. The law doesn’t want us so I say we don’t want it.”

Lucian and Stephen spend their first day in Paris, the first day of their new lives.

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Please leave a comment over on Ao3!

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Stephen had been nervous about Paris.

It was his first step outside of England, the first of a headlong sprint that was going to take him even further than he’d had the free time to read about in books. Paris was meant to be a gentle start, just a hop over the Channel, within three day’s reach of the country he’d grown up in all his life, but it had still frightened Stephen to imagine. A new city, a new soil, a new tongue. A new him, supposedly, a Stephen Day who wasn’t a justiciar and wasn’t alone but now had to find out where he fit into the world, starting with Paris.

It had taken him all of a day to decide he really, really liked it.

That day had consisted of waking up in a very expansive, comfortable bed, made all the more comfortable and slightly less expansive by the fact that he was sharing it with all six feet of his lover. Then he’d padded around the lavish hotel apartment he’d been too exhausted to take any notice of after yesterday’s boat ride, in  a mix of wonderment and apprehension, until Lucien had woken and summoned him back to bed with a crook of a finger and a smile. Not all that different from his fonder mornings in London.

But then there had been bright sunlight, walks along boulevards familiar enough to Stephen that he could relax into the excitement of the chatter around him in unknown, lyrical languages, the smells of herbs he couldn’t name coming from the street stalls, the bright fabrics and colourful buildings. Then there was a park, open space and the smell of fresh cut grass and summer flowers, a museum with paintings from far away and long ago that Stephen felt he could fall forwards into, a patisserie with cakes that looked like perfect sculptures and tasted like heaven. Even the ether felt different, like rich velvet, less fettered by smog. There were smiles, laughter that made his jaw ache, a heart lighter than he could remember.

And through it all, more than anything else, there was Lucien. At Stephen’s side and smiling as he stared like the dumbstruck tourist he was, walking a few paces behind with a proud, patient chuckle while Stephen surged ahead to see something new, lounging beside him and explaining the ways in which French fashions differed to British fashions with each example that passed by. He indulged his little witch completely and for once Stephen didn’t argue or allow himself to become embarrassed by it, the cakes tasted too good for him to recoil at Lucien happily buying him as much as he could eat. It brought that smile of satisfaction to his lover’s sharp features, the warmth in his eyes that their troubles in London had made rarer than either would like.

And there were the touches.

The first time it happened, Lucien casually placing a hand on Stephen’s arm as they walked, he’d frozen in place. For a moment, he’d forgotten where he was, certain they were still in England and even a simple, friendly touch like that would get them spat at in the street. Lucien had taken his hand away quickly with an apologetic, understanding expression, endlessly patient with Stephen’s anxieties, willing to go slowly. Stephen appreciated it, his heart hammering in his chest until the next delight chased it away.

But then, sitting in the park, Lucien had made to reach for Stephen’s hand, stopping only at the last moment when he caught himself. His quick amber eyes had noticed and, for a moment, the fear jolted through him, a sour, metallic taste on his tongue. But only for a moment, the sugar and fresh air rushing back in and, with it, a sense of giddy courage. They were in the shade, dappled by the leaves overhead, and no one was looking their way.

And if they were, what of it? Lucien had promised Stephen a life of freedom. He’d told him they’d go places where everything about Stephen- his magic, the fact that he liked men- wasn’t something to be hidden and ashamed of. And every other impossible thing Lucien had promised was apparently true, so why not this?

So he’d joined their hands together, threading his fingers through Lucien’s larger ones until they knit together naturally. Not a manipulation of the ether, not a spell, just the honest scrape of rough, callused skin against his lover’s, scar brushing against scar, fingers slotting perfectly into the gaps between hair dusted knuckles. It had been Lucien’s turn to jolt in surprise but, God, the look he’d given Stephen put every wonder they’d seen into the shade.

Possibly that look, possibly the wild and welcome sense of freedom, possibly the fact that Merrick knew of a wine bar that didn’t close until one in the morning and served the most delicious ruby red burgundy and a very reasonable price, possibly a combination of all of these factors decided how Stephen’s first day in Paris ended.

Which is to say, piss drunk and dancing with his lover in an empty Parisian street at half past two in the morning. And happier than he could ever remember being.

“Lucien!” he cackled, clinging to him for dear life as he spun him around in what a waltz might look like through a haze of wine, “Lucien, I’m going to be sick!”

His lover laughed, finally letting them stop, moving into a slightly less disorientating four step that neither of them could really keep up with, “I thought you practitioners could hold your alcohol better than us mere mortals?”

“Not when it’s this much alcohol,” Stephen snorted, tilting his head back to watch the stars lurch drunkenly across the velvet blue sky, “God, Lucien, this place…”

“I know,” Lucien purred, catching him in the pool of gas light coming from a streetlamp, letting Stephen slump bonelessly against his chest as they swayed in a lazy circle, “This is what it should be like, my love. This is how you’ve deserved to live your entire life.”

Stephen giggled, loose limbed and loose lipped with the weight of the sweet wine on his tongue,  “No one cares...I’m dancing with my lover in the street and no one cares…”

Luien’s cheeks were a little red too, his speech a little slack and grin overly wide, but he was a few glasses down on Stephen, “Well, we can still get arrested for disorderly behaviour and waking the neighbours.”

“I see,” Stephen hummed with exaggerated seriousness, face still pressed to Lucien’s chest so it came out a little muffled, “We should be inside then so we can be as disorderly as we wish.”

“I like the sound of that,” Lucien chuckled, half dancing and half dragging Stephen to the door of their hotel which they’d been wonkily aiming for when they’d started their impromptu waltz.

Getting through the lobby with whatever wine soaked dignity they could muster took a few moments when Stephen stumbled on the steps and Lucien couldn’t remember his own name briefly when the front desk asked but eventually they staggered up the stairs to the apartments they were calling home until they could book passage further into Europe.

Fortunately they didn’t have to fumble with the key in the door, the French helpfully built their door knobs in brass and he sent it swinging inwards with a thought, unfortunately just as Lucien swept him up to kiss him against it. The two of them burst into helpless laughter, sprawled on the mat, giggling like children.

“Get off me,” Stephen managed to get the words out, through the laughter and the fact that shy of two hundred pounds of muscular lordship was resting on him, “I can’t breathe, you great lump…”

“Some poorly timed romance on my part, I apologise,” Lucien laughed, finding his feet and pulling himself up, snagging Stephen on the way up.

“Oh,” Stephen’s eyes glittered in the pale moonlight, the only thing keeping the apartment from complete darkness, “Well...don’t let this keep you from trying again.”

Lucien seemed to take that as a personal challenge, not letting his lover find his feet, just sweeping him into his arms and carrying him straight to the canopy bed. With a few assists from Stephen, bending the ether to shove an ottoman and curl the corner of a rug out of their path, they made it with no broken necks or barked shins.

“Did I tell you the ether feels different here?” he found himself murmuring, once they’d toppled into the pool of silk and down, his mouth doing that thing where the wine rather than his brain made it move.

“Hmm?” Lucien had collapsed next to him, looking like a scarecrow that had been dropped from a height. A scarecrow dressed in Hawkes and Cheney’s finest, “Don’t recall. Tell me anyway. I like when you talk about magic, your eyes light up.”

Stephen reddened until he was probably a similar colour to the wine they’d been drinking but he held his hands up above himself, backing them against the rich muslin of the canopy. He twitched his long fingers as he spoke, like he was stroking something.

“I work with my hands so it feels different to me. It feels richer, like I’m moving my hands through honey rather than water, like it is back home. It...drags on me, like it’s alive and it’s touching me as much as I’m touching it. Like the difference between velvet and cotton, you know? You just want to dig your fingers in and see how far it goes. I bet if Esther was here, she’d say it smelled different too and I’ll ask Saint if it sounds different…” he trailed off, glancing to the man lying beside him, realising that Lucien was gazing at him with an expression warmer and more adoring than anyone he’d ever given a magical lecture to.

“Did my eyes light up?” he asked shyly, mouth cocking into a smile.

“All of you does,” Lucien purred, looking at him the way Stephen had looked at the paintings and artefacts in the museum, like he was something precious and masterful, like the whole world around them and dimmed and Stephen was all that mattered, “This is just...this is everything I wanted for you, my love.”

“To eat my own body weight in cake twice over?” Stephen hummed,

The jesting tone was a little flat and shaky but he needed some way to blunt this. Because if Lucien kept talking like this and looking at him like that then he felt me might cry. Because they were alone in a beautiful place and everything was changing, because he loved this man so much and he loved him back and light could be as overwhelming as dark. You could drown in honey as easily as blood.

But, as ever, Lucien was the one who was unafraid. They lay practically nose to nose but it still wasn’t close enough apparently, he reached over to hold his cheek. His palm was cool from the chill night air and Stephen leaned into it instinctively.

“To be somewhere you can just be your incredible self,” Lucien murmured, keeping their voices low even though they were alone, just because the words were Stephen’s and no one elses, “Magical and powerful and mine.”

Stephen turned and pressed his lips to the centre of that slightly roughened palm, “Thank you. I know I’m going to be saying that a lot from now on and it’s never going to feel like enough but still. Thank you so much.”

Lucien kissed the bridge of his nose, running his thumb over his cheekbone, protective and comforting, “And I will always reply that you don’t need to thank me. You came with me, that’s more than enough.”

Stephen melted under the touch, sighing softly, finding a way to relax even beyond what the drink and dancing had already accomplished, “And it only gets better from here?”

“The further we get from England, the less anyone will care,” Lucien promised, fingers moving up to tease the tighter curls at the edge of his hairline, “In China I’ll be able to take you to dinners, kiss you in the street, introduce you as my partner to my fellow traders, brag shamelessly about my talented, handsome shaman…”

Stephen groaned, though he was betrayed by his lopsided grin of incredibly endearing goofiness, “Wonderful...though I like being called your partner.”

“Well,” Lucien patted his cheek and let him go, apparently too drunk and tired to engage his neck muscles, “I’d rather call you my husband but not even Shanghai allows me that.”

This certain kind of moment happens often between two people with more wine in their bloodstream than sense in their head, that one of them will casually blurt something without realising the magnitude of their words, their runaway mouths jumbling up the filing system in their head and confusing the one labelled ‘deeply personal thoughts’ with ‘casual conversation’. People said in vino veritas, Lucien recalled, though the more succinct phrase that snapped his eyes open and froze him in place when he realised what he’d said was ‘complete fucking stupidity’.

Stephen was watching him with wide, golden eyes, no expression but naked surprise, “You’d marry me? If we could?”

Lucien wasn’t often caught on the back foot, even around Stephen. His little witch could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen him blush as he was now, the amount of times he’d seen his mouth twist into the shy, vulnerable smile of a much younger man who’d been through far less in his life.

“Well...of course. Honestly, if we lived in a different time, I’d have done it long before now. Pretty much as soon as I got the slightest inkling you’d actually have me,” the blush deepened as he spoke and, God, Stephen would have been lying if it wasn’t damn endearing to see his lover’s cold, angular features having to deal with embarrassment.

Lucien caught his expression, laughing exasperatedly and dragging Stephen closer, “Oh fuck off, is this really that much of a surprise?”

Stephen giggled, wrapping his arms around Lucien in turn, “That I could land one of the most eligible bachelors in England? Somewhat...oh heavens, would that make me Lady Crane?”

That set them both off again, gripped by helpless laughter, giddy on wine and fantasy.

“I think you’d be Lord as well?” Lucien snorted, the idea of his radical little witch having a title too funny for words, “Or Lord Consort which even you have to admit is an inherently fuckable title.”

“Well, you’ve got me there…” he snickered, rusty curls falling into his eyes, “Stephen Vaudrey….”

Thinking if he was in for a penny on emotional vulnerability, he may as well be in for a pound, Lucien shook his head, “Actually, if we’re indulging ourselves completely, I’d ask you to keep your name. And, if you’d be so kind, extend it to me?”

Stephen’s jaw dropped, “Pardon? Did I hear that right?”

Lucien shrugged lazily, managing to haul himself up into something more like a sitting position against the bolsters, “Come on now, darling, like I’m going to cling to the surname of my abusive father and brother when I could join a loving family of people with actual integrity and honour.”

Stephen scrambled after him, resting his head on Lucien’s chest, gazing up at him adoringly, “That’s...I don’t even know what to say, Lucien.”

Lucien pushed that wayward hair back, his heart thudding at putting that expression of bewilderment and love on Stephen’s face and wanting to admire every inch of it, “So you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with Lucien Day?”

“I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Stephen said emphatically, turning into his hand the way a cat being petted would, “And I will. No matter what the law says.”

Lucien seemed to consider that a moment, an amusement dawning in his grey eyes, the kind of idea that could only happen when one was a little bit drunk and madly in love clearly taking root. His mouth quirked upwards at the end.

“Fuck the law then,” he grinned, “Marry me. Right now.”

Stephen blinked, clearly missing a few pieces of the puzzle, “Excuse me?”

Lucien lurched to his feet so suddenly that Stephen was left to fall face down into the space he left behind with an ungainly yelp. He turned onto his back to see Lucien straightening his lapels, trying to shake out some of the rumpledness in his suit from their raucous evening. He deftly untied his cravat, somehow managing to force hands that had held several wine glasses over the last few hours to handle the knot expertly. Then he held out his hand to Stephen.

“Your leg please, sweet boy. This can be the something new, I only bought it today, and borrowed too as I’m lending it to you. I’d say your suit can be your something old, given the state of it, as I’ve pointed out many times. Don’t think you’re getting out of Paris without some new clothes by the way. And blue…”

“Our tattoos have blue in them,” Stephen grinned at him as he complied, shivering a little as Lucien pushed up the leg of his worn trousers, “You’ve lost your mind completely.”

“It's this or we become pirates and enter into matelotage, my love,” Lucien hummed, tying the lace around his thigh in a decent approximation of a garter, “And the journey across the Channel made it clear you get seasick far too easily for that.”

Stephen wrinkled his nose, he’d had a near constant sour taste in his mouth for the entire trip, “Granted…”

“What’s a marriage anyway?” Lucien hummed, kissing Stephen’s knee before letting him go, “Rings and a promise and a priest. And, the way I see it, two out of three requirements makes a good enough substitute for me. The law doesn’t want us so I say we don’t want it.”

“Spoken like a true smuggler,” Stephen gazed up at him, feeling like he could float.

Lucien flashed him the kind of grin that made shivers run up his spine, as he slid the magpie ring he’d had made to fit Stephen’s from his finger, “Now I know we already did this part but why not...take mine and I’ll have yours, if you don’t mind…”

His hand felt naked without the ring but Lucien’s larger one lying in his palm was a solid certainty, still warm from his lover’s skin. Stephen clutched it like a talisman, a delighted, bewildered laugh bursting from him as Lucien pulled him to his feet. The two of them stood facing each other like they were before an altar, framed in the enormous bay windows that lay the glittering entirety of Paris out before them. Neither man gave it a glance.

“Now, I’ll do my best to remember how it went at Leo’s though the wine might not be helping,” Lucien frowned as he thought, “Although, having said that, I was drunk for that wedding too.”

“Which one?” Stephen grinned teasingly, “The one years ago or the one last month?”

“Both,” Lucien hummed, taking Stephen’s hands in his own, enveloping them safely in his own, “Now…”

Stephen tilted his head upwards, taking a breath and focusing on Lucien’s face. Something inside him fought through the burgundy fog and the giddiness and the fear of those emotions that felt too big to hold, something whispered focus, this is important, you’ll want to remember every second.

Lucien slid Stephen’s ring back onto his finger, fitting it perfectly where it had sat since last December, “I, Lucien Vaudrey, take thee, Stephen Day, to be my completely unlawful but much devoted and adored husband to have and to hold from this day forward. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, when you’re vomiting over the edge of an ocean liner or in health, so on and so forth and whatever…” he clearly abandoned the traditional vows and his eyes softened with sincerity, “You are the person who woke up my heart when I’d rather forgotten i even owned one. You’ve saved me, you’ve made me a better man and you’ve put so much trust in me. All I can do is swear to you that I am yours, completely and utterly. For whatever it's worth to you, my love.”

For a few moments, Stephen couldn’t speak or move or do anything but stand in place with his eyes fixed on Lucien’s and wonder what the hell he’d done to deserve the place he stood in now. He only realised how long he’d been struck dumb when Lucien stifled a chuckle and pointedly cleared his throat, prompting Stephen to scramble for the ring and nearly drop it, managing to get it onto Lucien’s finger.

“Um, okay, ah…” he shook himself, “I, Stephen Day, take thee, Lucien Vaudrey or Crane or Fortunegate or Day or whoever the hell you want to be, I’ll take every single one of you as my unlawful husband and I’ll do it gladly. I’ll take you for better or worse, though God knows we’ve had plenty of the latter. For richer, hard to do in your case, or poorer, even harder to do in my case. In sickness and in health and whatever else the world wants to throw at us because I swear, you are the best thing in my life and nothing is taking you away from me now. Thank you for helping me see something worthwhile when I look in the mirror, thank you for being that little bit more stubborn than me, thank you for...everything. For the whole damned world. I don’t know what I can do to pay that back but I can promise you I’ll try.”

“You can start by kissing your husband?” Lucien’s voice was rough and thick and if Stephen didn’t know his lover better, he’d say there was wetness on his eyelashes.

Not that he had time to properly take note before he threw himself into Lucien’s arms, kissing him hard enough that he would have buckled if he was a shorter man. Instead they met and melted into each other, kissing hard enough to bruise, hard enough that there would be aching jaws to go along with aching heads the next morning.

And outside of the window, Paris still glittered, gaslamp stars in their cobblestone sea, the Seine the path to the rest of the world that lay beyond. All of Europe, all of Asia, wherever they wanted to go was waiting.

And it would have to wait. Because tonight all that mattered was each other.

[aimee-maroux]

Plato-nic Love (Part I)

I sadly didn’t finish the whole story in time but this is part one of Seren and Plato’s epic love story for the ages XD

Illustrations were done by the wonderful @sigeel​ 😍😍😍

So this submission is by the two of us!

Plato-nic Love

Seren poured a libation of wine and started working on the grapevine that had been growing in the family garden for a while. At first, her mother had tried to get rid of it but it had proven the essence of indestructable life and so they had accepted its presence much like Seren had come to accept the presence of its patron god. She was about to cut off a branch to use for making a crown later on when she heard a familiar voice. "How is my favourite bacchae?" She sighed. It had been about a year since she had agreed to become his faithful follower and needless to say she was still the only one. "Do you know what day it is?" Seren started frantically going through all the calendars she had studied, from the reconstructed Attic calendar to the Roman calendar before and after the Julian reform -what moon phase were they in again? "You always think we don't care about these things but I have a sursprise for you." Dionysos flashed her a bright smile. "What?" she said flatly. A surprise from a god couldn't possibly mean anything good.

"I SAID: I have a SURPRISE for you!" Confetti and flower petals started raining down on them and from above sounded a rustic melody played on pan pipes. Seren looked up to see Hermes sitting on a treebranch, grinning as he played the instrument his son invented. "Ha ha, very funny, Hermes." Dionysos took Seren by the shoulders. "He was supposed to play the Time Warp. Because it's exactly ONE YEAR TODAY that you became my bacchae and do I have a surprise for you!" "Yeah, you said so. But maybe it would be better if-" "Nonsense! As your patron god I am exceedingly generous. You see, I have noticed your infatuation with Plato." "You don't say." "Yes. Anyway, Hermes was so nice to pay grandfather Kronos a visit and relieve him of a little artef- well, details, it doesn't matter! What is important is that you will get to meet Plato!" "Really?!" There was a nagging voice in Seren's head that told her to be careful but Dionysos had just told her she'd get to meet Plato! "Really. All you have to do is take my hand. But I have another gift for you. Hermes, come down here!" The messenger god swung himself lazily from the tree and floated down until his winged sandals touched the ground. "My brother pointed out that you might have difficulties speaking ancient Greek fluently so he will grant you the ability to speak it like a native for as long as you give up your native English." Seren gaped. "That... is surprisingly thoughtful of you." "Hermes, do it! And no nonsense like giving her a lisp or a foreign accent!" "Of course not. Why would I do that?" Hermes grinned at Seren. "I'd not even be there to see it." "What? Now? Wait!" Seren cried out as divine magic rearranged the synapses in her speech centre. "I did not agree-" "She'll speak fluently once you arrive in Greece," Hermes said, "Once you return, the magic wears off." Dionysos gave his brother a suspicious look. Then he beamed. "Perfect!" Dionysos clapped enthusiastically. "Hold on tight!" He pulled her into his embrace and Seren instinctively hugged him. The world around them began to blur and the heavens seemed to turn back as they sped through time and space. There was a sudden jolt and the world was clear once again. Only, it looked strange. But not strange enough for Seren not to recognise her patron god had spoken the truth. This was ancient Athens! She felt a nasty queasiness but she was much too excited to care about that just now. She had known about polychromy but the sheer explosion of colours in the city made her heart sing. The reconstructions were mere shadows of the vibrant paint on the statues, buildings, and clothes. And the Akropolis! It looked majestic even now but the ruins were nothing compared to the magnificence of colour and architecture. Seren stood in awe, even though they were miles away down in a sidestreet. Potters had laid out their painted vases and other works as they created new ones. Seren couldn't decide what to see first, jumping this way and that until the unsavoury sound of regurgitation briefly diverted her attention. Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick wall of a house and puked his guts out. "How can you be so chipper?" Dionysos groaned, wiping his mouth. "You're mortal!" We travelled both time AND space. You should be barfing like a youth at his first symposion." But Seren just ignored him in her euphoria. "It's Athens!" she cried. "ANCIENT Athens!" "That fleet-foorted son of a-" "What? What is it?!" "Nothing, nothing. Everything is fine. I just..." Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick house. "Hermes could have said something about the inconvenience of travelling." Seren shrugged. Who cared, they were already there. "I want to see EVERYTHING!!! The sculptures! The pottery! The architecture! The clothes..." "Speaking of which..." Dionysos grinned. "We should get you something less 2020. If you want to meet Plato, we need a certain disguise. And you want to look your best for him, right?" Seren screwed up her face. "Plato isn't about looks. He's about the beauty of the soul." "Well, if you want to go dressed in that tasteless pink sweater and leggings combination. But let me tell you, nothing looks better on a woman than a finely woven chiton." "Yeah, you're not at all biased." "It's one of the few things even Apollo and I agree on, so it must be true." Seren would have been happy just roaming the streets of ancient Athens for a couple of days. Or for however long this time thingy would allow. The prospect of meeting Plato both exhilarated and terrified her.

Dionysos bought her an elegant chiton in the extremely crowded agora. Seren hardly suppressed a squeal when he paid with real ancient drachmae. Only they didn't look ancient at all. "Why is nobody staring?" she asked, as another group of people walked past them without paying them any mind. "Did you put glamour over my modern clothes?" Dionysos laughed. "No need, honeybee. This is Athens. At a time like this they get tourists from all over the world. One strange, foreign costume is not going to turn any heads." He pulled her away from the merchants and splendour of the agora into the entrance of a seemingly abandoned house. "Put it on," he said, handing her the chiton. "Don't peek!" she reminded him before she changed into her new garment. It felt cool and pleasant on her skin and the quality of the linen was indeed fantastic. Despite the loose fit the fabric was so delicate it hugged her figure in an almost revealing way, making her feel exposed. "Is this really acceptable dress?" she asked. "Only with this worn over it." Dionysos came up behind her, closing another layer of cloth over her shoulders with simple dress pins. "You look great, honeybee," he said sincerely. "Plato can consider himself lucky. You got the brains, you got the looks, and even that austere, joyless personality to match." "I get the impression you don't like Plato much." Dionysos slung the belt around her waist and fastened it. "What gave it away? My graffiti, my groaning everytime you bring him up, or the charming way I speak about him?" "The graffiti was a pretty obvious hint." "I hope you appreciate my gift all the more, honeybee." "I do." She smiled. "But I don't think I could appreciate it any more than I already do. This is a dream come true. The most exciting day of my life. More exciting even than Delphi." "Be careful not to tell Apollo," Dionysos warned but he looked pleased. "Sure. If I ever run into him I'll remember it." As they stepped outside, the streets were empty. "Where is everybody?" "Oh, it must be time to crown the victors." "Victors? Of what? It's too cold to be July, isn't it?" "Not the Panathenaic Games." Dionysos smiled broadly. "It's not an athletic contest. Today..." He made a dramatic pause. "Is the last day of the Great Dionysia!" "Oh." Seren was disappointed. "So we can't go and watch any of the plays?" "I'm afraid it is too late for that. But I can show you my theatre and the temple with my cult image if you want."

Seren politely admired the simple wooden log that was supposed to be a representation of Dionysos and genuinely marvelled at the masks that had been dedicated below it. She patiently listened to Dionysos as he recounted the story of the very first Dionysia in Athens and how he used to mingle among the crowd every year to watch what the people of Athens had put on the stage in his honour. Once they arrived at the theatre it was already empty but it was a stunning sight all the same. Seeing everything intact and in its full glory filled Seren with unknown joy. The decorations, both permanent and temporary, were as colourful and flamboyant as the god they honoured. When they made it back to the streets of Athens, there were already groups of shouty drunk people roaming about. "Victory parties," Dionysos explained when he saw Seren's face. "In fact, we are about to attend one too. But first..." A purple mist shrouded the god's body and when it dispelled, his simple chiton had given way to a slutty ankle-length skirt that hung low enough to expose part of his bum cheeks, his arms, wrists, and ankles adorned with golden jewellery. "I know you practiced with the aulos. You're gonna be a flute girl." Seren startled. "What? No! I'm not nearly good enough!" Dionysos shrugged, making his golden bracelets clink. "I don't think I need to tell you that other kinds of women are not allowed at symposia. Unless you want to play the role of a hetaira..." "F-Flute girl is fine."

They arrived at a house that obviously belonged to someone well-to-do. "A group of revellers is about to show up here any minute. We'll join them to enter the symposion. Trust me, they're too drunk to realise we don't belong." Seren nodded nervously. "Now would be the time to ditch that respectable dress." Reluctantly, Seren freed herself of the protective extra layer of clothing and received the aulos flutes Dionysos handed her. The revellers did indeed show up. Loud and obnoxious, it was impossible not to notice them. A man in his late 20s or early 30s led the group. Half-naked and well into his cups, crowned with a wreath of ivy and violets, he was all but carried by two sturdy lads who looked like they were half-naked professionally. "Come!" Dionysos tugged on her arm and they danced along, she awkwardly, he with a grace and confidence she envied. The leader of the group pounded against the door and yelled for "Agathon". Seren's heart skipped a beat. "Is that... Alkibiades?!" she whispered to Dionysos. "The very same." "We are at THAT Symposium?!!" "We most certainly are." Seren gaped at the man who would eventually be the ruin of Athens by defecting to Sparta and then to Persia. He rattled the door, shouting "Agathon!" and dropped his single piece of clothing in the process, quickly picked up by his lads. Seren shrieked when the man suddenly leaned heavily on her, his arms reeling for support. Dionysos was quick to jump to his other side, taking most of the load off his bacchae. "AGATHON!" Alkibiades yelled once more, in the manner drunks yelled on their way home from the pub after closing hours. He kept demanding to see Agathon with a heavy tongue until a servant boy finally opened up and led them to the andron. Alkibiades managed to stand on his own, stumbling towards the host of the party while announcing how completely and utterly wasted he was. "Let's bring the bacchic spirit to this lame party!" Dionysos cheered. Seren gazed around with stars in her eyes. The room was bright with torches and the klinai were populated by men both young and old but all shirtless and all with crowns of ivy on their heads. She looked more closely at the guests while Alkibiades spoke to Agathon, probably congratulating him for his victory. But none of the symposiasts looked like any of the artworks she had seen of Plato. They were most likely created after his death anyway. "Soooo..." She leaned on Dionysos' shoulder. "Where is Plato?" Dionysos gestured at the kline at the very end of the room, occupied by two young men. "The dark-haired one."

"THAT is Plato?! I thought he'd be at least in his 30s!" Dionysos grinned a smug grin. "He wrote the Symposion in his late 30s. But this, honeybee, is the year the titular symposion actually took place. The first year of the 91st Olympiad. Or, as you would say, 416 BCE." Seren gaped at the young man seated on a couch with a blond youth. He had long, curly hair crowned with a wreath of ivy like all the symposiasts, young and old. A strong, Greek nose gave his face a distinct personality. Who would have thought the man Seren knew only from his words and artwork showing him as an old man could be so... hot. The blonde guy leaned over, whispering something to him. Maybe they were flirting. It wasn't anything unusual back in the day, Seren knew that. But they seemed to be about the same age. Shouldn't- "Play, flute girl," Dionysos nudged her with his elbow, "I'll clear the kline for you."

Seren watched him shimmy over to the pair and tried to remember how to play the aulos. She had practiced so much but right now it felt as if she knew nothing at all. Her idol, Plato, might be listening! Her cheeks burned as she blew into the wooden instrument, the tune an embarrassing version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". Despite playing the role of a dancer, Dionysos sat down with the two no doubt aristocratic young men in his usual impudent manner. The blond youth's face turned sour. "What is the meaning of this?" "I came for the entertainment." "We are very well entertained by each other's company, thank you." Dionysos gave the blonde guy a cheeky grin. "Does your company agree?" He crawled on the kline until he basically sat on Plato's lap, prompting the young philosopher to blush. How cute! "Some people can be such a dull affair, talking about nothing but themselves all the time." The angry blond yanked Dionysos off Plato. "This was a philosophical symposion before you arrived!" "Yes. And to shame! You are celebrating a victory at the Dionysia. Where is the revelry?" "There are countless symposia all over Athens. Why did you have to come and ruin this one?" "You know exactly that I didn't ruin anything. But please, if you have any grievances take it up with my master. Alkibiades." "You know what? I will!" The blond aristocrat got up from the kline and grabbed Dionysos by the wrist, effectively pulling him off the kline. He dragged the god behind him as he made for the door, leaving Plato all alone on his bed of colourful cushions. Dionysos winked at her as they passed and it was at that moment that Seren noticed that his "friend" was the only one wearing laurel instead of ivy. Did they just... cock-block Apollon? But not all is lost, she reasoned, if Plato likes Apollon, he likes blondes, right? Right?

Shyly, Seren sat down next to the man whose teachings she still hadn't figured out. And maybe neither did he. He was so young and handsome. She was close enough to smell his heavy perfume and either oil or sweat or both made his chest gleam in the firelight. It really was quite hot in here. He didn't fit the stereotype of the philosopher at all, being so young and handsome and quite brawny. But no matter how hot he was, his physical appearance was dwarfed by the beauty of his brain and thoughts. His intelligence was that much hotter. That being said, Seren liked to think she would be less flustered if the man were old enough to be her father. But he was not. He must be about her own age. "We got rid of the other flute girl." "Wa-What?" "You must know there were already celebrations with heavy drinking last night. Surely you played at Alkibiades' place or some other house?" Seren nodded timidly. "So Pausanias suggested we refrain from drinking tonight and we ended up sending away the flute girl as well. A shame, because before you came in, it was all boring speeches of the old men assembled here. I enjoy the delightful harmony of music much, much more." "You don't like philosophy?" "Of course I do, but not at a drinking party celebrating the Dionysia. You're not from here, are you?" "Ahm, no?" "I don't think I've met a Spartan flute girl. Most of them come from Peiraieús." Seren laughed nervously. What the fuck, Hermes?! "I hope it's not a problem?" she mumbled. "No, no. I'm just surprised. Do you have a name, dear?" "I... I am Seren." "Seiren? What a fitting nickname! My name is-" "I know who you are!" Seren gushed, "I-I-I admire you greatly, Plato!" "Oh?" To Seren's great relief he smiled. "So you have seen me compete?" "Uh, yes, of course!" Seren would be thrilled to see him at any competition, really. "It's just a silly name my wrestling coach gave me. To intimidate my rivals, he says." "I like it!" "You like my broad shoulders, Seiren?" Seren blushed. "No, that's not what I, uh..." "It's all right. Lots of women admire them." "Ahahaha." Was he flirting with her? Or just bragging? "You may be an outstanding athlete," she said, "But I admire your words even more." "My poetry?" Now it was his time to blush. "Did you play it?" "Not yet." Seren decided to be bold, "People want to hear the same songs, Sappho, Pindar and the like. But... But maybe you can teach me how to play yours?" "No I... I burned them all." "Why would you do that?" "I wanted to focus better on my studies. Maybe I made the wrong call. Mousaios, the guy who just left? He said music is like medicine and can create harmony between opposites, that a musical education is helpful in the study of philosophy. Ah, I don't know. I don't want to bore you, flute girl." "You're not boring me, Plato. Please, tell me your thoughts!" And then, all of a sudden, a large drunken group walked into the room and joined the party, Dionysos among them. There was noise everywhere, and Plato leaned in very close and asked: "What do you say, Seiren. Shall we make our excuses and leave?"

to be continued...

[senorarelojes]

Fic: Happiest Girl (Part 6)

Alan makes a bet that Dave would not be able to pass off as a woman in ladies’ clothing. Dave decides to prove him wrong. (This is set sometime during the Black Celebration era.)

Pairing: Dave/Alan Rating: Explicit Notes: Many thanks to the lovely @pinksyndication for this beautiful fanart of Dave and Alan getting ready for their ridiculous bet!  And of course thanks also to the wonderful @what-could-have-been for their own fanart and lovely ideas!

Edit: I was so swamped I knew I forgot something. HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARTIN!

First part is here. Second part is here. Third part is here. Fourth part is here. Fifth part is here.

They stopped by a boutique opposite the hotel to get a black silk scarf for Dave, which helped to keep his Adam’s apple hidden. As Alan draped it around Dave’s neck, the salesperson was watching them and smiling indulgently in an ‘aww aren’t you an adorable couple’ way. She said something in German that they didn’t understand, but Alan just smiled and nodded as he paid for the scarf. Then they stepped out to hail a cab to the Reeperbahn.

Their driver didn’t seem to know a lick of English either, so Dave figured it was safe to discuss their modus operandi. “So how are we going to do this?” he asked Alan at a normal volume, dropping his voice to a whisper once he spotted the driver’s startled eyes widening at him in the rear view mirror. Fuck, he’d forgotten that he still sounded like a bloke.

Alan stretched out an arm across the backseat. “I figured we’d hit a few clubs, get some drinks and see what happens,” he suggested. 

“How do we determine who wins?” Dave thought this was the most important question. His legs kept sprawling wide out of habit, and he had to keep reminding himself to clamp them shut.

Alan looked thoughtful. “If people leave you alone and nobody suspects a thing, we consider it a win for you,” he said. “And if anyone stares at you suspiciously or asks you questions, it’s a win for me, I guess.”

“Wait, what sort of questions?” Dave narrowed his eyes at Alan. The hemline of his dress kept riding up with every speed bump they went over, and he had to keep tugging it down in frustration, much to Alan’s amusement.

Alan shrugged. “I guess, ‘Are you a bloke?’ is a sure indicator, at least. Or anything that generally sounds suspicious.”

“What if they ask me in German and I don’t understand?”

“I think suspicion is generally universal?” Alan pointed out. “If enough people stare, we’ll know the game is up. Maybe we’ll just play it by ear and see what happens tonight.”

“Fine.” Dave tapped Alan’s knee in warning. “And no running off if you see a prettier bird. You have to stick by my side.”

Alan just smiled at him, reaching out and tucking a stray curl behind Dave’s ear. “I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

***

The cab dropped them somewhere at the North Side along one of the side streets, which Dave remembered Fletch nicknaming ‘Gross Free Hell’ the last time they’d passed by because it was so near the red light district. Dave stepped out first as Alan paid the driver, glancing at the street sign for the actual name: Große Freiheit. The street was teeming with people: tourists, drunk revellers, roving groups of men on their merry way to the brothels. It was warm for mid-May, but there was still a little chill in the open night air. Dave was now glad for his scarf.

Now Alan stood beside him, taking in the lively atmosphere around them. “If at any point, you feel uncomfortable and want to stop, you have to tell me,” he said carefully.

Dave wanted to tell him not to be silly, but he quickly realised his optimism was really just false bravado. “Should we have a code word, then? Or a phrase?” he suggested.

Both of them exchanged a smirk. “Toast Hawaii, ” Dave and Alan said at the same time, cracking up with laughter.

“Brilliant.” Dave was still smiling, adjusting the hem of his dress.

“Great minds and all that.” Alan jerked his head towards the noisier main street. “C’mon then, let’s look for a place and get a drink.”

They entered the Reeperbahn and continued walking down the street, past the arrays of pubs, bars and restaurants. Dave had to be mindful of the way he walked, keenly observing the female half of an American tourist couple in front of them. The woman had a sway to her hips that Dave tried to mimic, her steps smaller and more careful as opposed to his usual loose stride. Alan wasn’t saying a word, but Dave could sense the silent amusement radiating off him in waves.

At one point a loud wolf-whistle pierced the air; Dave was surprised to find it came from a group of burly men at an open-air table, all of them grinning lasciviously at him. One of them shouted out something in German, which made all his friends roar with laughter. Whatever he’d said, Dave hoped that it wasn’t as dirty as it sounded.

“What an arsehole,” Alan said. Dave was on the verge of agreeing, but it would have been hypocritical; he’d yelled similar comments at girls back in Bas when he was a teenager. 

“Does it count as me winning the bet?” Dave said with a dry laugh, although it sounded a little hollow.

“You don’t get off that easy.” Alan turned back to look at the rowdy table of German blokes again, seemingly peeved. “Besides, couldn’t he see that we’re together?”

Dave shot him a flat look. “Okay, I’m not taking that bloke’s side, but--” He gestured at the distance between them. Alan was at least two feet away. “If I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, it ain’t obvious.”

Alan frowned at him. “Oh. Then...should we hold hands?”

Dave rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Al. What are we, nuns? We’re on the bloody Reeperbahn, some of these clubs have actual live sex shows on stage. Here--” He took Alan’s hand, yanking him closer and draping his arm around Dave’s waist. They were so close now that Dave could smell Alan’s cologne and the mints he’d chewed on in the cab. “There, that’s more like it.”

Walking together this close was a little awkward at first, but Dave could sense the moment Alan eased into it, falling into rhythm with Dave as his warm hand cupped Dave’s hip with a possessive hold. Dave slid his own arm around Alan’s waist, tucking part of his hand under Alan’s belt. Alan was dressed really nicely tonight; he had on his usual leather jacket over a black sleeveless top and neatly-pressed trousers. He even smelled nice and expensive, like a bloke out on the town to show his girl the time of her life.

They stopped outside a bar playing ‘Lust for Life’, and Alan must have seen the way Dave perked up. “Here then?” he suggested, steering them in when Dave nodded. 

The bar was dark and filled with cigarette smoke, the bartenders busy doling out huge pints by the trayload. There seemed to be an even mix of locals and tourists; Dave could hear snatches of conversations in German, Dutch, English and something vaguely Scandinavian. Bobbing along to the music, Dave waited patiently beside Alan, who ordered for them both. He was eventually handed a rum and coke, but it was extremely strong, at least.

Taking Alan’s hand, Dave led him further into the bar where they found an unoccupied standing table with dirty glasses. A busboy shortly came along to clear it, flashing a bashful smile at Dave who couldn’t help smiling back, feeling rather triumphant. He arched an eyebrow at Alan, as if to say, See? Alan only shook his head in amusement. He seemed determined to draw out Dave’s suffering. 

Dave accepted the cigarette Alan offered him, their faces drawing close as Alan leaned in with his lighter, his eyes flitting between Dave’s eyes and mouth. Once the cigarette was lit, Dave nodded in thanks, taking a deep drag as he brushed his new curls over his shoulder. Having long hair was a nice novelty that he’d considered at times; now he might actually try it out in the future, despite whatever Jo said about it making him look unkempt.

The music had changed to something by Roxy Music, and Alan finished his pint. “I’m going to use the facilities,” he said loudly, at which Dave nodded. He shook out a second cigarette from Alan’s pack, putting it between his lips before he remembered he didn’t have a lighter.

Then one appeared in front of him, the flame flickering into life. “Guten Abend,” a blond giant of a man said, gesturing towards Dave’s cigarette. Dave accepted the light with a small smile, casting his eyes downwards coyly like he’d seen some girls do. He didn’t think it was wise to speak much, lest his voice give him away.

“Woher kommen Sie?” the man asked. He had ridiculously sharp cheekbones and eyes that were obviously blue even in the dark lighting of the bar. Funnily enough, he was the tall and handsome sort of Adonis that Dave would have tried to get into a brawl with, back in school.

When the man saw Dave’s uncomprehending expression, he switched to flawless albeit accented English. “Are you American?” he asked, eyes dipping down to glance at Dave’s legs.

“No, from the UK,” Dave said in what he hoped was a higher, believable pitch. If the bloke seemed suspicious, he didn’t give any indication whatsoever. 

“I’m Jan,” the man said, holding out his hand.

Shit, Dave had to think of a name quickly. “I’m Martina,” he said, sending a silent apology to Mart, wherever he was. 

“Your name is beautiful.” Jan kissed Dave’s hand, making his skin crawl. “Like you.”

Dave quickly wrenched his hand back. “I have a boyfriend.”

Jan shrugged, flashing Dave a sleazy smile. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Then you need glasses,” Alan’s polite but no-nonsense voice came from behind them. A relieved Dave was never so glad to see him. “Can I help you?”

Jan merely gave Alan a disdainful onceover, as if sizing up his competition. “No, I don’t think so.”

Sensing that this bloke wasn’t going to piss off anytime soon, Dave shifted closer to Alan, pressing their bodies together as he wrapped his arms snugly around Alan’s waist. He rested his head on Alan’s shoulder, sighing in pleasure as Alan pulled Dave close to him to stand between his legs. “Would you mind, then?” Alan said, stroking Dave’s hair. 

After glaring at Alan for a good long moment, Jan told Dave: “If you get tired of him, I’m near the pool table at the back.” Winking at Dave, Jan tucked his lighter into his pocket before heading towards somewhere at the rear of the bar. Even when he returned to his table, he was still watching them, a vaguely unsatisfied expression on his face.

“That tosser still looking?” Alan asked, because his back was turned towards Jan.

“Think he is.” Dave was too comfortable to move from where he was, Alan’s body warm and firm against his own. “Let’s just wait a while, yeah?”

To Dave’s relief, Alan nodded, his hands still stroking through Dave’s curls.

[nightwingshero]

Hold Me Down

I got this idea when listening to Halsey!!! I’m super in love with it! Wren a trained thief and ex-assassin? Check. Lawyer John who has a major role in the mafia family? Check. Blackmail? Check. Rival family? Check. Enemies to lovers? Check...wait-- Arranged marriage that eventually turns into something else because of course it would? well, yeah I guess, but--Yay! I made a thing! 

I laugh, charming and light to the older gentleman, but I know it’s hollow and fake. I take a sip of champagne as my grip on his elbow tightens just a tad, testing as I watch from the corner of my eye. His face is red, flushed as he jokes with another attorney from a separate firm. I lightly tap my black manicured nail against the glass as I take in the setting. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought to work a charity gala, but this was too much of an opportunity to pass up, especially with the hypocrites that hosted and attended.

Greedy, horrible people that had more money than they deserved. The woman talking to the mayor was a financial advisor that embezzled thousands of dollars, the mayor himself taking some and both sharing an ivory powder hobby some nights, and my current date had a temptation with women a little too young for him. I was worried that I was too old to pull this off and would’ve had to find another mark. But as I scanned the crowd, my plan slightly changed.

He pulled his arm from my hand to wrap it around my waist, pulling me closer as he laughed again. The black laced mermaid gown hugged my curves perfectly, and he had no problem with shamelessly exploring them. But a smile remained on my burgundy lips, convinced that robbing these people blind would make it far more worth it than if I broke his fingers.

“I met this little one at the gallery opening a couple days ago,” he slurred with a laugh as he squeezed my ass. I shift, transferring the champagne flute to my other hand before my well-manicured hand is placed on his chest. “Poor thing had no fucking clue what she was looking at.”

Wrong. I’ve known this man for a month, I’ve broken his schedule, his habits down to the minor detail. I knew he would be there, and men like this didn’t want a strong, smart woman. If he did, his wife would be here, not me. But that was fine, because her being out of town meant he would feel comfortable enough to take me home, and at this pace that I was keeping him on, he wouldn’t make it past the living room. His safe was in his office, behind a painting he changed out frequently. I just had to make sure to keep the booze coming.

His young companion threw his head back with a laugh. “Now, don’t fault the poor girl, Charles. You’re a bit old for her, don’t you think? Besides,” the man threw me a smirk with a dark glint in his eye. “I could teach her a thing or two.”

“Is that so?” Charles taunts, his own sneer crawling along his wrinkled face. “Word has it, you can’t keep a damn thing. This last case makes what? Seven that you’ve lost to John Seed this year, alone? He pretty much takes what he wants from you, Trey. No, if I was gonna hand this little thing to a younger and greater man, I would just escort her to him myself.”

The blonde male’s face reddens, but not from the alcohol. I hadn’t been in Atlanta very long, six months since I had moved from LA, constantly on the run. But I heard the last name Seed a few times since being here, and I had made the decision to steer clear the best I could. They were a very profound mafia family in the city, specializing mostly in gun dealings and embezzlement, and some drug trafficking. You didn’t fuck with that family. Or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.

“Yes, well, maybe you should shove the whore to his feet as a gift. It’s his party, after all.” Trey snapped before moving on to someone else and I freeze, my gaze falling frantically through the crowd as unease sets in, and I realized I wasn’t as prepared as I believed. I wasn’t exactly aware of who had thrown the event, too focused on my mark than anything else. It was my first big job since coming here and I had gotten tunnel vision. Rookie mistake. I didn’t even know what they looked like, and here I was, aiming to steal from their own guests. I’ve never felt so unprepared and stupid in my life.

Charles squeezes me again, bringing my attention to his drunken smile. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I won’t let the big bad lawyer get yah.” He teases. “He might not always be a friend, but he’s respectful. He’ll wait until I’m done with you. Besides,” he kicked back the rest of his scotch, a drop running down from the corner of his mouth. “the little prince doesn’t attend these damn things anyway.”

“You’ll protect me?” I asked, batting my eyelashes at him, tilting my head to the side as I played the innocent card.

He chuckled. “Only for the night, darlin’. Just do what you’re here to do.” He slaps my ass once more, before he’s calling towards another friend. I quickly excuse myself for the restroom as an older woman eyes me with disapproval. Charles was anything but subtle, and it had taken every once of my patience to work this job.

My black strappy stilettos click hard against the glossy floor as I eye the crystal chandelier. This was probably the nicest thing I had or ever would attend. My eyes were a bit bigger than my stomach on this one, I knew. But it was ripe for the taking, hardly any competition whatsoever.  It was almost too good to be true and having found out that one of the biggest mob families was in charge of it made it so.

My dark hair fell in waves over my left shoulder, the side pinned back elegantly. An easy way to hide my face if I needed to, but gracefully showing enough skin to tempt any drunken man. Enough to distract. I slowed, my steps becoming a bit light with a sway as I placed my empty glass on a tray of a passing waiter. My eyes scan out again, stopping short as they catch bright blue ones.

They’re a mixture of light and dark, a curiosity there that, if I hadn’t been working a job, I would have indulged. His dark hair is slicked back, his beard well-trimmed. I swallow as I take in the tattoos that cover his hands. It’s odd to me, to see someone as covered in ink as he in a setting like this, but I suppose I was no different. I showed mine off without a thought, not a care in the world, because this wasn’t my world. I was a mere tourist, visiting and having a taste before I retreated back into the shadows like I never existed.

His eyes left me, responding to something his friend said, and I’m on the move again. I can’t afford eyes on me this evening, not for what I was about to do. I turn, fake a trip as I shoulder a man and we both reach to catch the other. I gasp in shock, making a show of horror on my face. The man is immediately concerned, and his handsome face is scanning mine. Such a shame.

“I’m so sorry!” I gushed, fear in my eyes. He smiles, and as he helps me back up, my hand slips into his pocket, pulling out a money clip as my other hand gripped his wrist near his watch. My fingers brush the clasp, and when he glances away, I slip the money past the slit of my dress and tucked it underneath my knife strap on my thigh. He turns back, both of my hands holding his as I smile wide and thank him for his help. He smiled back and went to turn away as I allowed my fingers to trail over his skin as I pulled his watch away from him.

It all happened within seconds, but it was like slow motion for me as it always was. My heart would pound as adrenaline burned in my veins. It was a thrill, the chance of getting caught and the chance of getting away with it. Dutch had always told me I was the best he’d ever seen, other than her. I was going to be her replacement, the next best thing. But I shoved the thoughts aside as I enter the hallway and make my way to the ladies’ room. It felt like a lifetime ago, and I needed it to stay that way.

I check to make sure I’m alone before I pull the cash out, giving it a quick count. There were a few hundred dollars, easy, from what I could see. A decent take, but probably the only one I would be able to do, even if I had my clutch. Which was definitely an option. I could convince Charles to leave early if I promised something sweet in return. Knock him out when we get there if it wasn’t drunk enough, and then crack his safe. Call it an early night. The start of a pounding in my head was awfully convincing.

I tuck the watch in my dress, wincing from the cold metal digging into my skin, and only partially grateful that my cleavage was able to hide it at all, discomfort aside. I needed to stop acting impulsively and get the hell out of there. I check my makeup, my smokey eye still in place and the lipstick not a bit smeared. I smile, doing what I can to hype myself up to go back out there. I could do this, I needed to do this. So, I walk confidently back into the dimly lit hallway, prepared to throw my plan into motion.

“I hope you’re alright, dear. That was a nasty spill you almost had out there.” A honey voice called, making me jump and turn. The man in the navy-blue suit is leaning against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets, his drink long gone.

“I’m fine.” I breath out with a smile, trying to not allow this to throw me. “Thank you.” I go to turn away, but he pushes himself off the wall and takes a few steps forward as he tilts his head, scratching his beard before he points to me.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” He’s thoughtful for just a moment before a smirk graces his lips. “No, I think I would remember someone as stunning as you.”

I’m taken aback by his change in demeanor, hesitating as my mind races. My gut twists as I blush and smile at him. “You’re too sweet. I’m Sofie.” I offer my hand to him to shake and he eyes it for only a second before he grasps it.

His skin is warm, and his hand almost engulfs mine. My breath hitched only slightly as he placed a chaste kiss against my knuckles, his eyes not leaving mine. “Pleasure to meet you.” He lowers my hand, letting go, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from tracing the ink on my skin. “Beautifully done. You do it yourself?”

“No, I had it done in Oklahoma City.” I give him some truth, some sort of solidarity that helps assure that I’m honest and gives me the base line, foundation almost, that I desperately need. “A few years ago, actually.”

He hummed before his blue eyes find mine and I’m captured by them, the same light and dark that had been there before. “You’re here with Charles, aren’t you? Good lawyer, great taste in women, though he doesn’t normally go for the smart ones, much like yourself.”

I laugh this time, my shoulders relaxed as he flirted, and my confidence soared. “Oh? Is that so? And what makes you assume that I’m a smart one?”

“Well, it takes a smart woman to be able to pull off what you did.” His smile twists into something darker and my stomach drops. “Not anyone can steal right from under a man’s nose, Miss Marie. Especially men like the ones here this evening.”

I swallow, but my mouth is dry, and my smile is gone. He clicks his tongue disapproving before his arm goes around my waist, pulling me close as he turns me, and his hand squeezes a bit above my hip. We’re walking towards a side exit and I panic, pushing my body back against his arm as I shove away from him. I go to run, but his hand is around my upper arm in seconds, dragging me out into the Georgia night.

It’s dark as he shoves me forward, and I stumble before catching myself against a damp black car in the alleyway. I turn to him, venom on my tongue as he struts forward, fidgeting with his cufflinks. The pavement is wet from the rain, the air sticky from humidity, and I am furious at this man for touching me. He looks like the devil as his expensive shoes tap against the ground, and he’s the first to speak.

“It takes a brave soul to steal from me, darling.”

“Funny, I don’t recall my hand in your pocket.” I shot back; all pretenses gone. I knew I was had. He chuckles with a shake of his head.

“Those are my guests, so yes, you were stealing from me. I don’t appreciate people taking my things.” He’s getting closer and closer, stalking me like I was his prey. I sneer at him. “And for you to do so, I’m assuming you don’t know who I am. So, I’m going to show you.”

That’s when it dawns on me, just who exactly I have in front of me. I pale, stepping back until my back hits the car behind me. “I was told that you don’t attend your own events.” I rush out breathlessly.

“Do you usually believe everything everyone tells you? And here I took you for a professional.” He scoffed before stopping in front of me. “I mean, at least get it from a source you can rely on. One that you’re either paying for or they’re too terrified to tell you wrong.”

John Seed is fast and I’m rusty, I know that the second his hand is around my throat, the other pulling my leg over his hip as he slams me against the car. I can smell his cologne, expensive and spicy. But there’s a hint of sandalwood underneath and I try to focus on something else. He’s sneering, and I can see the anger there in his eyes as he smirks. I hate that he can feel my pulse, that he knows how hard my heart is pounding.

“He met you at a gallery, which tells me you’ve planned this for a while. You know his routine enough to catch him on the day he’s buying a new piece to replace the last one. Batted your eyes enough to get an invite here, a way in, and gave him a false name. We’re both smarter than that, aren’t we? But then what? You go home with him, fuck him, and take the money, hmm?”

“I have higher standards than that. He’d conveniently pass out before he could get his hand down his pants.” I snap, glaring vehemently at him. “But how do you know all this?”

He tisked again as he leaned in. “Because darling, it’s my money.” His hand moves up my leg and I bite my lip as his fingers graze the knife I have strapped there. “And it’s my fucking city. I know when a new player enters the game, it’s my job to know. You think I don’t have eyes everywhere? Especially when I’m financially invested? I loaned him that money, darling. He’s indebted to me. Those men following him around isn’t his damn security, they’re my men keeping tabs and making sure he doesn’t run. They tell me everything that goes on, so when a beautiful thing like yourself latches to someone like him? I get curious. So, yes sweetheart, you were going to steal from me. And you could have been left alone if you hadn’t overstepped. But greed does that to you.” He slips under the knife strap before pulling out the money clip I hid there. I pursed my lips as he tucked it in his jacket pocket and his hand returns, pulling out my knife this time. He hums as he examines it, the custom navy blade catching what little light was provided from the city.

“So, where’s the watch?” he asked before pressing the tip right above my panty line. I try to move away from him, but there’s nowhere to go. “Here?” I clenched my teeth, refusing to answer. “No?” His eyes narrowed as he trailed the knife up my body slowly before stopping just under my chest, the point pressing harshly against the bottom of my breast. His eyes briefly glance down with a tick of his brow, and I swallow, desperate to keep the blush from appearing as his eyes returned. “How about here?” I sigh out, glancing away from his piercing gazing and he laughs. “Figures. Not very original, are we? Disappointing. Won’t you be a dear? My hands are rather full at the moment.”

I thought my teeth would crack at the force of my clenched jaw. I moved my arm quickly, and he pressed the knife a little harder against me, a quick squeeze of my throat for a warning. I froze before slowly moving my hand once more. His thumb pressed against my jawline, moving my head so I could meet his eyes. It is humiliating, but I would take it over death, assuming that he would even let me live after all this. I pull out the watch and let it dangle on my finger, taunting him in return.

He grabs it, quickly pocketing it, but the knife doesn’t move. He leans in, his breath fanning my face as he spoke, his hand finding my throat again. “Considering this evening, I’m in a charitable mood, so I will give you a warning. Listen closely, because I do not repeat myself and I don’t offer this kindness to many.” I swallow as he towers over me, his body pressing against mine and the only thing between us was my own knife digging into my skin. I bite my lip to keep myself from saying something that would test the kindness he was bestowing upon me. “You will never do this again, not under my house or with any of my guests. The Seed family is off limits to you, and if I catch you doing that again, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I mumbled. With one last squeeze, he let go of my throat and took a step away. He makes a show of tossing the knife to the side, the metal clattering against rock is harsh against the silence.

“I can tell you aren’t from around here, so please, consider this your welcoming gift from the Seed family. Enjoy Atlanta, darling.”

 I’m calm on the outside as I ascend the stairs, but a hurricane on the inside. I keep it in check as my heels click against the shitty staircase of the apartment building. I frown once I reach my level, making my way down the hall as I eye the young blonde sitting outside her apartment on the floor. Skylar Khors was a good kid, still in school and working full time to support her and her boyfriend. We talked here and there, being neighbors, but I tried my best not to get attached. It was hard though, because I heard them arguing most nights, making my heart twist in empathy. I didn’t have time to be neighborly tonight, though, as my hand shook to unlock my door.

“God dammit!” I shrieked, slamming the door behind me before removing and throwing my heels to the ground. My back hits the wall as my palms press against my eyes, the only defense to the tears that are gathering. I’m shaking, from anger and humiliation, and I want nothing more than to go back to claw his smug face off. My mind is racing, trying to rationalize the fact that I just lost out on a huge job that would have set me for the next year. To an egotistical shady lawyer that definitely had a hand in the fucking mob. The image of him throwing me out makes my blood boil even hotter. The way he had touched and man-handled me, using my own knife against me before throwing it—

“Wren?” Skylar called with a knock on my apartment door. “Everything alright?”

I smile wistfully with a scoff. “It’s all good, go back to bed. Just had a long night.” I pushed off the wall and unzipped my dress as I go. I don’t know if Skylar was still at my door or not, but I didn’t care. I needed time to reevaluate my next move. I needed something to pull through for me. LA was too hot, New York was a festering pit. I heard Atlanta was a good place to score, but nobody warned me of the fucking monopoly over it. I was just going to have to get creative.

[artificialqueens]

(I Can Still Recall) Our Last Summer - Chapter Two (Group Fic) - pureCAMP

A/N - Did I say sooner than soon? I meant it! Here comes 8.5k of shalaska for you all to enjoy!!

*important* the smut in this chapter was written by our very own citrus, over at @aqcitrus and @pianowired, so please give them some love for this incredible addition!!

Raja laughed incredulously as they continued on their way home, leaving the new handsome stranger behind. Justin had blown Sharon a kiss as they left, and in a sudden surge of confidence she blew one back, throwing her usual caution to the wind. Any of her mother’s friends or fellow church attendees may have seen the flirtatious action and would report her for it, no doubt landing her in an even huger heap of trouble, but in that moment Sharon didn’t care.

“Bitch, what was that? Who are you and what did you do with our little prude?” Raja tickled her ribs, Sharon jerking away from her and squealing.

“What? I’ve never been a prude, I’m repressed!” She laughed in response. “You act like this is the first time I’ve ever flirted with someone.”

Jinkx raised her eyebrows, clearly agreeing with Raja. “I mean, it’s not… but you usually flirt to get free drinks or other free shit.”

Sharon blushed, suddenly feeling like she was being interrogated. “What? I did, didn’t I? I just got him invited to our show, that’s good for us right?”

“Good for one of us.” Raja teased. “He seems cute, I don’t blame you for developing a little crush.”

“Oh, please.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “You can’t develop a crush after just one meeting. I just… yeah, he was cute. And we flirted, and now he’s coming to our show. So, that’s that.”

Jinkx giggled. “If you insist.”

It had been a little out of character, Sharon admitted to herself, because they were right; she usually only flirted to get free drinks, loathe to spend what little money she had at the bar when someone else could do it for her. It never went anywhere, of course, just in case her eagle-eyed mother found out about it and grounded her to the pits of hell. But Justin had been right there and warm and witty, and their flirty rapport had just flowed naturally.

And maybe she was a little more than excited at the prospect of him coming to their show. Maybe her chest did feel a little bit funny, wriggly and alive and pulsing with her heartbeat, flushed with heat.

Fuck. Maybe she had a tiny crush on Justin’s cliched sparkly eyes and curly hair that she maybe, maybe wanted to run her fingers through. Just once or twice.

Fuck.

After the girls had dropped her off home, Sharon practically flung herself onto the bed and buried her face deep into her pillow. There was something exhilarating about how attracted to him she felt. It was nothing insane - they’d barely spoken, a mere flirtatious exchange of names and not much else - but he was imprinted on her mind now. She had never been allowed to feel like this, so… hopeful, in a way. Hopeful to see him again, hopeful that he would feel the same way, hopeful that he was in his hotel room somewhere thinking about her eyes and her hair and her smile.

It felt good. Sharon was never one to play in to the idea of fate, and true love - it all tied in too deeply with the sacrament of marriage, something she never wanted to think about - but she swore up and down she had felt a change in the air as soon as they made eye contact. Something about him was special, something about their sudden meeting was special. The stars outside her bedroom window were twinkling like his eyes, in such a way that she knew, one way or another, her life was about to change. From that moment on, things would turn out to be different.

Even if she had to make them different herself, somehow.

When the morning finally came, after Sharon had given up on feigning sleep, she decided to just get up and begin her day. Springing herself up at the crack of dawn wasn’t her preferred way to spend a morning, but it was a surefire way to gain a little bit of freedom, and the sleep  sacrifice was worth it. It meant, at the very least, that she could dress the way she wanted to without having her mother’s complaints.

The air was crisp and fresh with the scent of sea-salt as Sharon made her way towards the docks. It sometimes felt too good to be true that her mother had no idea that the little island existed, let alone that it was where Sharon spent most of her days. She made sure to appreciate every inch of the view she was surrounded with, knowing many weren’t as lucky as she was.

Tiny white ships were dotted along the horizon; some carrying tourists, some carrying fishermen and some merely carrying sailors looking for a chance. The ocean was calm, gentle waves rippling and lapping against the powder-like sand and the worn planks of the dock. The early morning sunshine was pale and blithe.

Scanning around, Sharon looked for her usual ride to the island, but couldn’t see the little sailboat bobbing in the water where it usually was. That was strange. Most locals knew it was unofficially hers, and never took it out to sea. Some irritating tourist had taken it, most likely. With a huff, she began to wander along the dock for another, slightly miffed at the disappearance of her favourite.

At the end of the dock, there was a man squatted in front of a boat, cursing under his breath. Sharon watched in amusement as he continually tried and fail to undo the knot tying it to the dock, listening to his frustration grow. Part of her was tempted to just leave, and let him suffer, but she decided otherwise.

“Need some help?”

The man turned.

“This stupid bo- Sharon?”

He had remembered her name.

With his brow creased and his green eyes shining, Justin looked incredibly handsome. His dark hair was mussed from running his fingers through it. Sharon wanted to smooth it down again, an urge so tender that she nearly blushed at the thought of it.

“Justin. You look a little flustered.”

He ran his hand through his curls once again, smiling. “Yeah, it’s hard not to be when you’re looking at Aphrodite. Are all the girls round here completely gorgeous, or is it just you?”

Sharon laughed. “Are you always this flirty?”

Justin shrugged. “I don’t know. Are you always this beautiful?”

Laughing again, Sharon began to walk closer, sitting on the wood next to Justin and letting her legs dangle into the water below.

“You really think flattery will get you everywhere, don’t you?” She commented, raising one eyebrow. “Pretty bold. You must be feeling smug.”

He winked at her. “Well, in case you didn’t know, flattery has gotten me into not one, but two conversations with a beautiful girl in less than twenty four hours. Honestly, I’m just feeling lucky.”

Justin stopped, tugging at the knot once again before sighing. “And… maybe hoping I’m lucky enough that the beautiful girl will help me with this boat.”

Sharon considered him. “Hmm… I’ll flip a coin. Heads says I’ll help you, tails says I won’t. Let’s see how lucky you really are.”

With a deft flick, she produced a coin from her pocket and tossed it into the seawater below. It landed with a soft plink and began to sink to the bottom. Justin deflated.

“I think your luck may have run out…” Sharon said, pouring as much mock-sympathy into her voice as she could. “I’m sorry things had to turn out this way, but-”

Justin paused her in her tracks. “Nope. My luck never runs out. I’ll find a way.”

Before Sharon could even react, he had slipped off the edge of the dock, plunging himself into the water after the damn coin. The resultant splash managed to utterly soak her, and she shrieked as the cold water hit her skin. He had definitely done that on purpose, and she was definitely going to get him for it later.

A moment later, he resurfaced, with a grin on his face and the coin held between his now-wrinkled fingers. “I got heads! I swear on my life, this coin landed on heads!”

Sharon squeezed the remaining water out of her hair, giggling. “Fernando! Parakaló voithíste aftón ton anóito na ftásei sti várka!”

Fernando looked up from where he was untangling fish hooks from the lines. “Fysiká agápi mou.”

Within moments, he had severed the rope, and the little boat drifted out a little before being pushed back in by the waves. Sharon moved her legs out of the water and rested them onto the edge of the boat to make sure it stayed.

“You speak Greek.” Justin observed. He sounded surprised.

Sharon snorted. “I live in Greece. It’s a custom here to speak the language that you’re taught from birth, you know.”

Justin cracked up. “Alright, touché.”

“No, that’s French. Try again.”

“Shut up!” Justin burst into proper, loud laughter, setting off Sharon into doing the same. “Let me sail, dammit!”

“Hey!” Sharon protested, doubled over. “This is my boat!”

Justin frowned, though his shoulders were still shaking with suppressed giggles. “Oh? I was told this was public use.”

“It is.” Sharon shrugged. “But see that name? On the hull?”

On the side of the little sailboat, in glossy turquoise paint, was ‘Supermodel’, in Raja’s usual perfect cursive. She had been drunk when she did it, if Sharon recalled correctly, and yet it had still come out looking incredible.

“I get it…” Justin said, nodding. “Because you’re a supermodel, right?”

“Now who’s the one that needs to shut up.” Sharon grinned, trying to cover her flushed cheeks. “It’s my band, actually. The Supermodels. We’re playing at the island tonight, I’m pretty sure I remember inviting you to the show.”

Justin scratched the back of his neck, his complexion suddenly matching Sharon’s uncharacteristic blush. “Yeah, you did… I was actually going to find my way to this island, so I can look around and not get lost like a total idiot in front of the beautiful girl, but then…”

“You needed Fernando’s help.” Sharon finished, giggling.

“I needed you.” He corrected her. “Your help.”

Slowly, he lowered himself into the boat, and picked up the oars. “You coming?”

Sharon’s blush rose from her cheeks, covering her entire neck and even her ears. “You’re soaking wet from that dive, Justin.”

“Ah. Right.” He shrugged, and took off his shirt. “Now are you coming?”

Embarrassingly breathless, Sharon nodded. “Sure. I’m in. Seems like your ass is gonna need my help on the island, too. You’re gonna need a guide. Most of them don’t speak English.”

“Just get in, Supermodel.” Justin beckoned her. “It’s not like I can row this thing on my own, anyway. Surely you don’t expect that.”

Despite his joking words, Justin played the gentlemen and insisted on rowing it himself, claiming that it was the least he could do for allowing him to use her boat. Around them, the sea seemed to be glittering, the reflection of the sunlight creating idyllic patterns in the waves that shifted them nearer and nearer to their destination. With no other boats in sight, the atmosphere was utterly serene - as though Sharon and Justin were the only two people in the world.

Sharon was slightly shameless as she admired the real view; Justin had given up entirely on his shirt and was allowing the sun to dry him as he rowed. She could see all of the muscles in his arms rippling as he rowed, and his bare chest rising and falling as he breathed. He wasn’t hugely bulky or muscular, but lean and toned. His hair was still wet, and every so often little droplets would fall and roll down his face.

“Here,” Sharon said quietly, taking the oars as the edge of the island began to appear. “I’ll get us to the shore. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Justin nodded. “Yeah…” He breathed, not turning to look behind him. “Breathtaking.”

As they disembarked, Sharon found a weight lifting from her chest at the feeling of the sand sifting through her toes. She let out a bubble of laughter, uplifted by the freedom her paradisal sanctuary always filled her with. In a moment of pure euphoria, she began to run towards the little village, confident that Justin would be following her.

“You are crazy,” Justin told her, a few paces behind as she came to a stop in the marketplace. “Completely crazy.”

Sharon grinned, unable to keep the smile off her face at their arrival in her favourite place. “So it’s been said.”

He stopped and surveyed the area, taking it all in with an impressive enthusiasm. Sharon almost found herself holding her breath, desperately wanting him to like the place she most often called home. Judging by his expression, however, she had nothing to fear.

“Alright, so you’re my tour guide. What should we do now?” He asked, fluttering his eyelashes. Sharon laughed at his antics and rolled her eyes, thinking.

“There’s shopping, the ice cream stall, the taverna… we could walk…” Sharon listed, not sure which he would prefer. “It’s real easy to waste time around here. I’ve lost hours doing nothing, honestly.”

Justin smiled. “Well, I’d be happy to lose hours if it’s with you. Let’s go look for novelty shirts in here, I love doing that. If we find anything leopard print, it’s mine.”

So that was their first port of call, flicking through racks of clothing and laughing as they pulled out various prints of ludicrous colours and patterns. Justin seemed to have a way of making the littlest of things seem funny, and whether or not that tied in to the excited nervousness Sharon felt around him, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that he felt safe and he made her laugh like nobody else had before.

“Oh, oh, stop all the clocks. This is it, it’s perfect.” Justin announced, his head visible a couple of rows away in the tiny store.

Sharon turned, nearly doubling over when she saw the absolute monstrosity he was holding proudly towards her. The dress was just awful, wide and unflattering and patterned with an array of nauseating colours.

“This would look beautiful on you.” He said, deadly serious.

Gasping in mock offense, Sharon shook her head. “I’m more of a dungarees kinda girl, if we’re talking everyday wear. More practical than that thing.”

Justin’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, and Sharon kept noticing it. “Ah, perfect. See, that was my second choice.”

Sure enough, he was soon brandishing a pair of dungarees, admittedly in good quality, that looked to be about her size. Sharon laughed and dismissed him, but soon turned to complaining as he marched to the counter, insisting on buying it for her.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” She lightly whacked his arm as he offered the bag to her, leaning up against the wall outside. “You just spent your holiday money on me! You don’t even know me!”

Justin shrugged. “I know that your name is Sharon, you’re a dungarees kinda girl and you’re my tour guide for the day. You perform in a band called The Supermodels which are playing tonight. I feel like that’s a good start.”

Sharon took the bag, conceding. “You’re weird. All I know about you is that your name is Justin, you’re here on vacation and you’re a total idiot.”

“Hit the nail on the head, really.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Sharon tried to ignore the flame ignited by those words. “Fine, I will. We’re getting ice cream now, and I’m paying for it.”

They ended up splitting the cost in half at Justin’s insistence, each getting a cone with two scoops. Sharon harshly judged Justin’s choice to get chocolate and vanilla, whilst he dissed her choice of mint chocolate chip with an upturned nose. They shared each other’s cones anyway, though Sharon wasn’t exactly sure how that happened.

Their morning in the marketplace seemed to disappear all too quickly as afternoon approached, prompting everyone to start closing their stalls to get away from the heat. Justin suggested they take a walk to explore the island, so Sharon started to take him towards her favourite spot at the highest point, claiming that it had the best view to really enjoy everything. Somewhere along the way, Justin had nearly tripped on a wedged-in rock and Sharon had grabbed his hand to steady him.

“I never want to leave this place.” Sharon swore fervently, sitting beneath the shade of a tree and staring into the horizon. “Nothing out there can get to me here. I’m safe.”

Justin squeezed her hand, and it was only then that she realized they were even still holding hands. It felt strangely nice as his thumb rubbed soothing circles into her skin.

“What’s so bad out there that you feel the need to escape to here?” He asked. His voice was gentle.

Sharon sighed. “Everything. The way my mom treats me and the life she expects me to lead. The choices I have to make. The fact that my friends are going off to university at the end of this summer, and I was too stupid to even graduate high school. If I stay here, I don’t have to think about being left behind.”

Surprisingly, Justin nodded. “That makes sense. I have a similar situation, to be honest. My whole life is laid out in front of me. I have an amazing job waiting for me, a guaranteed position in the family business, a nice house in a good area…”

“But you don’t want it.”

“Not that. I just… I don’t know anything else. I can’t commit to living in that box when I don’t know what lies outside of it. There has to be more to life than that.”

Sharon bit her lip. “Try being the daughter of the most Catholic woman on the mainland. It’s quite a feat.”

“Touché.” Justin said again, grinning. “I guess we’re both just searching for a purpose, huh.”

“Yeah. God, what a bunch of sad saps we are,” Sharon joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Justin chuckled in agreement.

“How long do you have to find your purpose, anyway? When do you leave?” Sharon almost didn’t want to ask the question, but found her tongue betraying her anyway.

Justin kept his eyes fixed on the sea. “Either in just over a month, or… never. I haven’t decided yet.”

Sharon smiled softly. “I like never. I think we could make never work.”

She stood up, dusting the sand off her clothes and stretching slightly. “There’s one more place I want to show you before we head to the taverna. Follow me.”

Ignoring her unusually elevated heartbeat and flushed red cheeks, Sharon took Justin’s hand once again and began to lead him further up on the island, towards a group of abandoned wood and concrete buildings that stood broken and unused against the flawless backdrop.

Justin seemed complacent to follow as she led him inside, ducking under a partially-collapsed doorway into one of the more structurally-sound rooms. Surprisingly, there was a working fridge in the corner where the kitchen was, with some slightly dusty cutlery and crockery residing next to a sink that habitually dripped water every few seconds. Tucked into another corner was a mattress, covered in towels and a few mismatching blankets and pillows, with an almost threadbare sofa dumped in the middle.

“It’s not much. I tend to stay here when my mom is too much. But this place?” Sharon’s eyes were shining. “It’s gonna be something, someday. I think part of my purpose is to make sure that happens.”

Justin’s eyes crinkled in the corners as he regarded her. “What will you do with the place?”

It felt a little bit like bearing her soul to admit it. Sharon hadn’t even told Raja and Jinkx about it, but something about Justin made her feel safe. Like he would understand exactly what she meant.

“I… I want to make it into a hotel, somehow. This whole area, with its own taverna and restaurant and a courtyard. Hotels are like temporary homes, they’re a safe haven for anyone who needs them - and this place is my safe haven. I’m gonna make it beautiful.”

A look of understanding flashed across Justin’s face. “You could just use this space for storage. Build all the way down to the actual taverna, fill up some of the empty space on the island - the ground is secure enough for it.” He blushed. “I’m, uh, into architecture. It’s one of the reasons I came here to Greece.”

Sharon smiled involuntarily. “I like that. We’ll build it together.”

“Yeah. You and me.”

In her boldest move yet, Sharon took hold of Justin’s face and kissed him, very gently, on the lips. He seemed surprised at first, but soon leant in to deepen the kiss, running a hand through her hair. It felt as though the moment could’ve lasted forever, until Sharon regrettably pulled away.

“I can’t believe I just did that.”

Justin cupped her face, studying her intently. His gaze made her feel beautiful.

“I liked it.” He told her.

Sharon blushed. “I did too.”

“Alright, come on.” She offered her hand a third time, this time giving it a little squeeze and smiling shyly. “Let’s get to the taverna. If you like music, dancing, drinks and white lycra, you’re gonna love tonight.”

-

Soon enough, Justin became a staple in Sharon’s everyday life. He attended every performance that The Supermodels were doing, whooping and cheering to an almost embarrassing extent as Sharon danced and sang before him. Their time together grew more and more special, the transition from friends to something more seeming like an easy natural progression. He was security personified, a warm hug that she could always find safety in with a laugh that could drive her insane. He was beautiful, he was perfect, and he was all hers.

Every day for two weeks straight, they had been side by side. If Sharon could infer anything from the butterflies in her stomach, it was that she was falling hard for him. There was no safety net, no rope to keep her from tumbling down - it was just Sharon and Justin and that was enough for her.

He had touched Sharon’s heart in such a way that she felt she could only express it through song - a melody of his own to describe how she felt for him. Originally, she had felt embarrassed writing it, but the more she hummed under her breath, thinking of him, the more she was sure it could work. Approaching Raja and Jinkx about it had been easy, and before long, she was stood backstage, giddy about the upcoming performance.

“I hope he loves it.” Sharon said, breathless. She had been pacing their makeshift dressing room behind the taverna’s stage since she had arrived, peeking through the curtain every now and then to see if Justin was still there. He was waiting unfailingly, handsome and patient as can be.

Raja laughed. “If this is what it takes for us to properly meet him again, I’m in. Ready?”

Sharon nodded. Her heart felt as though it would explode as they stepped out, despite the cheering of the little gathered crowd. This was the rawest, realest song she had ever written. Justin would know immediately that she was wearing her heart on her sleeve, hoping he would stay.

They locked eyes as she brought the mic to her lips for her first line. “Kisses of fire…”

Maybe her honesty was a little too on the nose, but Sharon had no time to worry about it now. She could feel Justin’s eyes on her the entire time, and nothing else in the room mattered other than him. He was alone, watching her, taking in every word as though it were gospel from her lips. In bearing her soul, she told him how the thought of losing him was a nightmare, and how she’d never felt so strongly before in her life.

“I’m at the point of no returning,

Kisses of fire, sweet devotion,

Caught in a landslide of emotion…”

“Thank you so much everybody!” Raja and Jinkx yelled, Sharon too wrapped up in Justin’s gaze to notice the screams and shouts of everybody else. They tackled her with their usual post-show hugs and she simply let them, her chest heaving as she gazed into his eyes.

Sat at the table closest to the stage in the taverna, one hand wrapped around his pint glass, Justin was smiling up at her on the stage. Sharon was so exhilarated from the performance that her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest; she was more than happy to collapse into his arms and let him hold her for a while.

“The girls were begging, so…” Sharon dragged Justin towards them, ensuring he kept his arms around her as they moved. “Raja, Jinkx, this is Justin. Now you get a proper introduction.”

Justin extended a hand politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Again, I guess.”

“The pleasure is all mine, handsome. And what a lot of pleasure it is,” Raja shook it, her voice dripping with honey. Jinkx laughed.

“Back off, Raj. He’s mine.” Sharon giggled as Jinkx shook his hand.

Raja held up her hands in mock defeat. “Alright, alright, lovebirds, get out of here and take your heart eyes somewhere else. Sharon, baby, do everything I would do.”

Jinkx pulled a face. “Well - almost everything.”

Both Justin and Sharon laughed appreciatively as they began to walk away, wrapped up in one another. Sharon was curled into his side, out of breath and overwhelmed.

“You were amazing, love.” Justin said, and she could hear the grin in his soft tone without even looking at his face.

She couldn’t help but smile as she eased herself out of his embrace, taking his hand and beginning to pull him out of the taverna. Near the beach was a small row of cabins, one of which Sharon favoured and took good care of, so that she could stay there when the weather permitted - as the storms sometimes drove her away from the beach and inland to the shack at the top. She knew they would be undisturbed in her little beach cabin.

“Kiss me,” She breathed, pulling him inside and pushing the door shut with her foot. “Please.”

“If you insist.” Justin replied.

Sharon let out a soft noise as Justin pressed her against the wall, kissing her with a subdued hunger that made her want to melt. His hands were strong on her hips, keeping her pinned as she kissed back with an eagerness that she was almost a bit embarrassed of, one of her hands on his waist and the other tangling in his dark curls and pulling him closer to her. He was gentle, but his kisses tasted like fire, his tongue a hot flame licking into her mouth and making her weak in the knees.

She pulled back for a moment to tug at the hem of his shirt, and he lifted his arms to allow her to remove it before he resumed his passionate exploration of her mouth. Sharon’s hands moved to his chest, admiring his muscles and how soft his skin was, how warm and inviting. Justin maneuvered her carefully to the bed, laying her down against the pillows and pulling away to look down at her with a soft smile.

“What’s that look for?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he answered, “You’re just so beautiful.”

Sharon felt herself blushing, warmth spreading over her cheeks as she withered under his gaze. “Shut up,” she grumbled, trying to pull him down for another kiss, but he wouldn’t budge. Instead, he trailed his fingertips along her collarbone and ran his thumb across her bottom lip, his eyes shining before he leaned down. Sharon’s world was set alight again when Justin kissed her once more, an incredible warmth building between her thighs. She had no doubt or fear in her mind as she pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her dress; she was more than ready.

“You don’t have to-” Justin began as he saw her push the top half of her dress down to her waist, then he stopped speaking altogether. “Oh, fuck, you’re gorgeous… Can I?” His hands hovered in the air and she nodded with a soft smile, encouraging him to cup her breasts gently and rub his thumbs over her nipples, stiff now that they were exposed. Sharon inhaled shakily as his lips moved to kiss down her chest, still circling her nipples as he sucked lightly at the sensitive flesh of her breast. It was nothing like she’d ever felt before and she was so, so sensitive, every small touch from Justin sending a new wave of heat through her body.

“God, fuck, that feels really good,” she gasped, letting out a little squeak when his tongue lapped at her nipple and his lips closed around it, sucking gently. “Shit, Justin…” He looked up at her with a smile, running a hand through his hair.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice soft and husky and so sexy that Sharon could’ve died on the spot. She nodded demurely, her head clouded with desire and a thousand things she’d never felt before. “We don’t have to go further than this if you’re not ready,” he added quietly. Sharon shook her head.

“I’m ready,” she said, and she meant it. Every cell in her body was screaming for Justin, for her to touch him and kiss him and be close to him; she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone. “Just… remember that I’ve never done this before,” she requested, flushed.

Justin smiled warmly, kissing her cheek. “I’ll guide you through it, baby. I promise.”

Sharon nodded and watched with half-lidded eyes as he undid his belt and slid his trousers off, kicking them away before moving back to kiss her again. Her flowing dress usually made her feel light and free but in this moment it was constricting, a barrier between her and Justin. It had to go. She pushed it further down, over her hips and all the way down her legs until she could toss it to the floor and wrap her legs around Justin’s hips.

Her mother’s version of sex education had been to tell Sharon that making love was a sacred act between a married couple, performed only to produce a child. Raja and Jinkx had just told her to “go with the flow,” so she really couldn’t have been much more clueless. Still, it seemed as though her body was finding a natural rhythm in the way that she rocked her hips against Justin’s; it felt wonderful and unfamiliar and absolutely amazing. Still, it wasn’t enough– two layers of fabric still separated them, and it was clear that Justin was taking it much slower with her than he’d like to, in the interest of ensuring her comfort.

“What do you want, love?” he asked sweetly, his voice low in her ear. Sharon couldn’t help but whine.

“Touch me,” she insisted, “Need you.”

Justin nodded, hooking his long fingers in the waistband of her sensible cotton panties and slowly, slowly dragging them down her legs. When they were off, she squirmed a little, feeling exposed and a bit self-conscious. No one had ever seen her like this.

“Would it help if I took mine off too?” he offered with another dazzling smile. Sharon nodded, and soon he was just as naked as she was. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of him, and he flushed when her gaze remained firmly glued between his legs.

“Holy…” she whispered, still staring in awe at him. Justin’s cheeks reddened; while he wasn’t a vain man, he was aware that he was rather well-endowed. He was also more aroused than he’d ever been in his life at the thought of being with Sharon, this goddess who walked the earth and had the voice of an angel and kissed him like a woman starved.

“Can I touch you?” he whispered. Sharon bit her lip, her blue eyes filled with hazy lust as she nodded and spread her legs. Justin inhaled softly, completely and utterly spellbound by the beautiful woman before him. He leaned down to kiss her sweetly, trailing a hand along her inner thigh and moving closer and closer to where she wanted his hand to be. He stroked the soft blonde curls between her legs, and then he trailed his index finger down over her seam with the lightest of touches. Sharon let out a soft noise against his mouth, a little sigh of pleasure that grew into a dirty whimper as he lightly rubbed two fingers over her outer lips before running them between her folds.

“You’re so wet,” he said softly, a smile playing on his perfect lips as he continued to run his fingers between her sensitive inner labia. She flushed.

“Is that… is that a good thing?” she asked, a little nervous. Justin chuckled fondly.

“It’s a very good thing,” he promised, moving his thumb to circle a spot that made Sharon’s legs shake unexpectedly. She whimpered again, louder this time, as he touched her there again and pleasure surged through her veins. “Does that feel nice?”

“So fucking nice,” she breathed, arching her back as the tip of his finger circled her entrance.

“Can I go inside, baby?” he murmured, lips brushing the corner of her mouth. She felt a little thrum of anxiety at the newness of it all and the good old Catholic fear of no longer being a virgin, but she voiced her consent all the same. Religion was the last thing on her mind right now– nothing could be sinful when it felt this right. Justin kissed her deeply as he eased the tip of his index finger into her, meeting a bit of resistance. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, “I need more.”

Justin let out a soft laugh at that, kissing her lips. “Needy girl,” he teased, sliding deeper inside her and gently crooking his finger up against her soft inside against the spot he knew would make stars burst behind her eyelids. Sure enough, she let out a shaky whimper against his lips, and he continued to work her sweetly until she was ready for a second finger. Her walls grasped around his fingers greedily, never quite satisfied, and she was trembling and moaning by the time he filled her with three.

“Justin,” she begged, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes at how good she felt, so small and delicate and safe in his arms. “I want you,” she whispered, “I want all of you.”

“You have all of me,” he promised, carefully withdrawing his fingers to line up with her entrance. “Are you ready for me, baby? You can say no. We can stop.”

“More than ready,” she mumbled. “Need you.”

His lips found hers again as he slowly, carefully pressed into her warmth, kissing her so tenderly she thought she might melt. It was almost overwhelming, the slickness of his cock and the warmth of his mouth and the stretch she felt as he slowly, slowly, slowly filled her, inch by delicious inch. Nothing in the world had ever felt this good, she was sure of it, for the way his tongue danced over her lips and his hands stroked her skin felt like heaven on earth. He was so gentle and caring with her, treating her like she was something precious, and she felt nothing but bliss as he bottomed out.

“Fuck,” she gasped, “You’re so big.”

Instantly an expression of worry fell over his handsome features. “Are you okay?” he asked frantically. She laughed, breathless, taking his hands in hers and nodding.

“I’m fine. I feel… fuck, I feel amazing. I feel so good, baby, hgn.” Justin chuckled, shaking a curl out of his face and leaning down to brush his lips against hers.

“Are you okay if I start moving?” he murmured against her cheek, trying his hardest not to be overwhelmed by the feeling of her around him. Sharon let out a soft whimper as she felt his thumb ghost over her clit, and moaned out loud when her involuntary clench made her squeeze around him. Justin seemed equally affected by this, his head tipping back slightly and a whispery moan leaving his lips.

“Fuck, yes, please start moving,” she begged, pulling his body against hers and placing a trail of sloppy kisses down his neck. “Need you to fuck me.” Justin bit his lip at the words, nodding as he pulled back slightly before pushing back in. As he continued the pattern, starting to thrust into Sharon slowly, he kept his eyes on her face for any sign of discomfort from her. There were none, however, and he looked on fondly as pleasure painted itself over Sharon’s features.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured as he picked up the pace, and watched a rosy blush appear on her cheeks.

“You too,” she replied, her voice a strained whimper from trying not to make too much noise. Justin noticed, and moved a hand up to lightly squeeze one of her breasts.

“You can make as much noise as you want to, Sharon,” he told her, purposefully punctuating his sentence with a hard thrust that made her cry out.

“Fuck! Justin, baby, do that again,” she pleaded, and moaned loudly when he complied. “Holy shit, you feel so fucking good…”

Justin smiled. “Watch your language, missy,” he teased, and Sharon’s responding laugh was cut short by a long, high-pitched whine as Justin repeatedly hit the spot inside her that made her head spin. He was still rubbing her clit with his thumb, his movements starting to get messier as he neared the edge, and he attached his lips to Sharon’s neck in order to stifle his whimpers as ecstasy overtook his senses..

Sharon gasped as she felt him beginning to unravel, still working sloppy circles around her bud and thrusting his hips into her, and she felt her whole body tensing up. Nothing had ever felt so amazing, no one had ever made her feel this good before, she’d never experienced anything even close to this. She bucked her hips desperately and Justin chuckled against her neck, speeding up to push them both to the precipice. Sharon felt the coil snap and let out a long cry as she was completely engulfed by pleasure unlike anything she’d ever known, holding Justin close to her and hugging him tight. Justin swore under his breath as he too fell over the edge, praising her name as he filled her and she became the only person in the world, the only feeling in the world.

“God,” Sharon choked out as she came down from her high, “Fuck. Oh my god, Justin, fuck.” He laughed, carefully pulling out and flopping down beside her, running his fingers through her hair.

“So, not too bad?” he joked. She attempted to give him a venomous look, but her swollen lips and flushed cheeks stopped her from looking anything but adorable. “You’re fucking amazing, Sharon, I mean that.”

Sharon bit back a smile, moving so that she could fit into his arms and press against him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her, one hand resting on her abdomen, and for the first time in her life, Sharon had an overwhelming feeling that this was her home. Justin was her home.

-

Raja and Jinkx seemed to cotton on extremely quickly that Sharon’s blossoming relationship with Justin was no ordinary fling, as theirs often were. From the moment she had told them about their night together, her eyes shining like she’d entered an entirely new world, they could tell she had changed. She was brighter, happier, filled with a lust for life that she had never had before. Even with the rest of their nights together - as mindless and animalistic or as soft and tender as she described - were tinged with an atmosphere of love, a gentleness that suggested they truly cared about one another.

When they were together, Sharon felt whole. She could be her authentic self and he loved every part of her, devoted all of his time to her. Every night, he made the trip across from the mainland to the island to watch the girls perform, and every night, after their passionate lovemaking in her cabin, he escorted Sharon home too. He was ever the gentleman.

“One hell of a show, don’t you think?” Sharon’s voice was breathless. She almost collapsed into his arms, tipsy and giggling as he caught her. Justin grinned. “One hell of a costume. You look like a star.” She winked. “Justin, you flatter me. You think white’s my colour?” Justin threw back his head and laughed. “As if. White is for angels, and you’re certainly not one of those. I could see you in red, like the devil… but white is nice in this instance.” “White for purity,” Sharon mocked. “Like a white wedding! God, could you imagine? Me in some stupid huge gown with a veil to show my virginal goodness?” At that, both of them snorted. The night was dark, lit up by strings of lights across the open bar. It felt like the kind of night where anything was possible. Where love and life and light intermingled freely, barred by nothing. A warm summer breeze blew Sharon’s hair away from her face. “Here comes the bride, all dressed in whiteee…” Justin sang, twirling Sharon around before pulling her into his chest. “You’re no bride, are you?” She shook her head, kissing under his jaw. “Never. I think you’re crazy if you think marriage is cool. I think I’d get bored. The girls and I always say that marriage is an institution… for people who belong in an institution.” Justin shifted, so both his arms were wrapped around Sharon from behind. She relaxed into him. “I’m hurt, Needles. I suppose you’re too much of a rockstar, huh.” He jabbed her in the side, and she squealed, ticklish. “If you don’t give me a reason to get bored and leave, then I won’t.” She told him. Justin smiled. “If you keep singing in outfits like this, I’ll never leave. There’s no way I could get bored of this.”

“Good.” Sharon twisted, tilting her head so she could meet his lips in a sweet kiss. “I don’t ever want you to leave. I want you to stay here with me, forever.”

She sighed, her euphoric mood dropping slightly. “I don’t want to go home tonight. I don’t want tonight to end. I want to stay here and build a brand new life. I can’t go back there.”

Justin kissed her hand. “Patience, love. I’ll take you home, and then you can tell your mom that you’re staying with Raja for the weekend. Then I can have you all to myself.”

Sharon hummed. “I like that idea… If only we had longer. For you to make your choice.”

As quickly as she could, Sharon ducked into the bathroom in Maria’s tavern and changed, swapping her sequined lycra and outlandish makeup for her dungarees - the very ones he had bought for her. Justin smiled softly at her bare face, slightly pink from scrubbing, and wrapped his arms around her as they left.

They rowed leisurely, watching in fascination how the moonlight danced along the surface of the water. Every moment they spent together felt perfect. Nothing could go wrong, and Sharon knew it from the bottom of her heart. They were timeless.

Back on the mainland, Justin pulled Sharon close to him, walking with her held safely in his embrace. She leaned into him, her heart twisting painfully as they approached her house. Going inside meant another end to another perfect night. It meant having to say goodbye, having to wait the duration of a long night alone before she could see him again. It meant having to hide the blurry photographs they had taken together, for fear that her mother would walk in and find them as she lay there wishing he was beside her. Going inside meant letting go of her paradise, just for a while.

“I can’t.” She whispered, turning and burying her face in Justin’s shirt. He stroked her back, gently soothing her as he stared at the path leading to her front door.

“You can.” He promised. “You’re the strongest person I know. And tomorrow morning, as early as you can stand it, I’ll be there at the docks, waiting for you.”

Sharon sniffled.

“I know, I know.” He said softly. “I don’t want to let go either. I’ll spend all night in that stupid hotel bed, wishing it was your cabin by the sea with you there next to me. But if we just hang in there-”

She cut him off. “I love you.”

“Then we can- what?”

“I love you.” She repeated, lifting her slightly-teary face from out of Justin’s shirt so that her voice was no longer muffled by the fabric. “I love you.”

It was Justin’s turn to be overcome with tears. His eyes shone in the moonlight as he dabbed under his eyes, never tearing his gaze away from Sharon’s face.

“God… I love you too. I love you so much, Sharon. I love you… more than anything.”

With a wry smile, she pulled away, her hand lingering in his for just a moment too long before she turned her back. Before letting her leave, he kissed her forehead and whispered inaudible encouragement to her, not wanting the moment to pass.

“Goodnight, Justin.”

Then he was gone, heading back to his own hotel room as Sharon climbed the stairs, the judgement of all the crosses and Jesus figures heavier than ever. The rosary that hung on Sharon’s bedpost glared at her as she sat in front of her mirror, silently noting the bruises left by Justin’s heated kisses on her neck and chest.

Despite the darkness that came with being at home, Sharon’s heart felt light. She was in love, and ahead of her lay a weekend of just her and Justin, alone together. In the past six weeks, he had entered her life and turned everything upside-down. Her heart, her soul, her dreams - everything belonged to him. The carefree nature within her had finally been unlocked, properly accessed by somebody who truly cared about her. Everything was indescribably perfect.

-

Fernando had warned Sharon that a storm was on the way. She had no idea how he knew - the sky was as clear as it had ever been, the sea as tranquil and calm as she had ever seen it - but he insisted.

“Deep trouble.” He had said, in his broken English. “Protect self.”

Bizarrely, the man was never wrong, so Sharon decided to trust him. Rather than her little cabin on the beach, she trekked up to the shack at the top of the island, tugging on Justin’s hand in an attempt to get him to match her speed. In the end, he quelled her excitement by simply sweeping her off of her feet and carrying her bridal-style for the rest of the way. Despite the demands to be set free amid her squeals and giggles, Justin didn’t relent until they had reached the shack, kissing the tip of her nose as he placed her down.

“You are so ridiculous.” She told him.

“I love you too.” He blew a kiss in response, which Sharon pretended to catch as they walked inside, Justin wheeling his suitcase behind him.

“So,” He commented, leaving it open beside the mattress as he stretched himself out upon it. “This is our romantic hideaway for the weekend.”

Sharon flopped down next to him, shoving him for his dumb remarks. “Hey! Give me ten years and this place will be golden.”

Above them, half of the stairwell crumbled and landed in splintered piles of wood in the middle of the floor. Justin snickered.

“Alright! Maybe twenty years. Whatever.” Sharon laughed. “God, the sooner I make this place liveable… we don’t ever have to leave. You, and me… we could stay here forever.”

She shifted, curling her body against Justin’s and snuggling into his arms. Instinctively, he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face into her hair.

“This is nice,” He said, his voice muffled. “You and me, alone together.”

Sharon hummed contentedly in response.

“It’s a shame we’re gonna be here for so long, though…” He teased, rubbing up and down her back. “How on earth are we gonna fill all this time?”

In all honesty, they both knew that all the time in the world would never be enough for them. It seemed that an eternity would never be enough to satisfy them, their needs, their sexual desire and insatiable need to discover everything about the other. Sharon wanted to hold him, to feel him inside her, to feel him gripping onto her hips like a lifeline. She wanted to know his deepest secrets, to be there to wipe his tears away, to see the good, bad and ugly of Justin. She knew she would love all parts of him, if only they had the time to share it all.

“I have a few ideas,” She breathed, slotting her leg between his thighs. “A whole weekend of this.”

She slowly leaned down, kissing him softly. He smelt like home and his hands instantly moved, one cupping her ass and the other holding her face close to his.

“I,” He panted, “Love,” he kissed her neck, “You.”

They’d said it before, but every time he said those words it felt like the first time. Sharon shivered with pleasure, the sensation a blissful mixture of his words and his touch.

Many times they had been rough, bordering on vicious as the desperation to feel the other had consumed them, leaving dark bruises from searing kisses on sensitive skin. They’d left marks from the tightness of their grips, or laid out of breath after what could only be described as a fit of passion, but this time was different. This time was slower, softer, gentler. It would grow rougher with time but for now, it was sweet and tender. Sharon smiled into every kiss, freely coming undone with Justin’s touch.

“My love,” Justin breathed, kissing along her stomach as he made his way up to meet her lips. “My life… God. I am so in love with you.”

“No God,” Sharon arched her back in pleasure. “Just you. Just you and me, no one else.”

Justin pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Just me and you. Forever.”

[iamrheaspeaks]

Two For One Special

A/N: This is a One-Shot for my Birthday Twin @hearteyes-for-killmonger. I tried to get this out before our day ended but alas here it is regardless. Lightly proofread/ edited as always 💋I hope you had a bomb ass day love 🤞🏾

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: There will be smut 😈

There’s something to be said about what you experience when you spend a birthday in Vegas! The only time Rhea had been to Vegas was passing through it as a child on her way to visit family in Richmond, CA during the summer. Slipping out of grasp like sand through her fingers. But finally this East Coast girl trekked it across country solo dolo to celebrate her birthday. Nothing could kill the joy of this independent adventure. Not the airport check in, the delayed boarding, the very opinioned white woman who insisted that she couldn’t possibly afford her first class ticket and was in the wrong line. Nope as far as Rhea was concerned she’s a mere few hours away from the best long weekend of her life. Those medicated gummies helped too.

Pumpkin was excited to one up her last time in Vegas. She knew which spots she liked and which she didn’t really care for. And how to avoid the multitude of people insisting she’d have more fun if high, drunk or gambling. With no offense to anyone else of course, it just wasn’t her vice. That being said Pumpkin glad to be returning to the city of sin so that the darker side of her got to come out and play. The allure of being somewhere far from home and the fact that she’d chosen to take this trip alone were a plus. The only things and people that would be influencing her energy would be of her choosing.

When Rhea reached her seat there was a woman sitting in the window seat headphones already in typing away at her phone. Rhea stole quick glances at her while loading her carry on into the overhead bin after fishing out her own headphones and old iPod touch, choosing to power down her phone for the flight. The girl had golden brown skin that rivaled hers and deep chocolate brown eyes that gave off an undertone of honey when the sunlight caught them. Her hair was natural. In a side part with the fronts flat twisted back into a high bun with flowers adorning either side. Looking at the deep purple that stained her lips Rhea felt a jolt travel through her. At that she lightly shook her head breathing out a brush of air before sitting down.  

Pumpkin was so engrossed in her phone she hadn’t realized the frame that filled the seat to her right. With no work to worry about and no distractions she had thrown herself into her writing. The woman was smaller in size but undeniably cute. High cheekbones making her smile even more prominent. Gently swaying side to side in her seat in response to whatever she was listening to as she watched all the fuss on the plane die down the closer they got to departure. Her hair was covered in a woven hat and she wore big hoop earrings with a fresh face. Pumpkin liked the happy vibe that she gave off.

A little ways into the flight is when it happened. Pumpkin had removed her headphones to give her ears a rest. Rhea had just caught the attention of a flight attendant asking for something to drink. Anticipating being carded she had her Driver’s License out already. As Rhea and the attendants’ exchange came to a close, “Oh! Happy Birthday by the way!” In unison both Rhea and Pumpkin replied ‘Thank You’ before staring bug eyed at each other. The flight attendant chuckled lowly to herself at the girls’ reaction to what just happened, letting Rhea know she’d be back with her drink shortly. The rest of the flight the two of them slowly opened up more to each other. Sharing stories the more they realized they had in common. They agreed to tag team it to the baggage claim when they landed.

Desperately waiting to see her black suitcase Rhea watched the bout of luggage circling around intently addressing Pumpkin, “It was dope to meet a birthday twin on this trip. We should totally get up and do dinner or something.” 

“Yeah sure! What hotel are you at?”

“Uh…the Palazzo. I kinda saved up and went full tourist.”

“That can’t be a coincidence.”

Rhea popped her head up to look at Pumpkin who amazingly already had her bags, “No way! You’re there too?”

Pumpkin just shook her head in response as they started on their way to the cab terminal.

Hours later Rhea and Pumpkin decided to hit the buffet in the hotel for dinner before trying to catch a show. That pulse was back the moment Rhea seen Pumpkin in her black wrap dress and heeled ankle boots. She paired it with a thin green camouflage military jacket, the same one from earlier on the plane. Must have been an east Coast thing because Rhea also was wearing a dress with a military jacket although she opted for platform heels. Reveling in the opportunity to be taller than she really was if only for a few hours. They didn’t know it yet but their night about to get very interesting.

~~~

“Hey to E!” Jordyn exclaimed a little too eagerly meaning only one thing, challenge time.

“Wassup? What you see?”

“Two birthday girls. Straight ahead.”

“Tiara and sash in matching jackets? Whatcho thinkin’?” Erik asked already licking his lips scheming.

“Bet you can’t get both of them”

“What I get when you lose nigga?”

“Shit you already got everything. You’ll get a bomb ass story out of it though.”

Chuckling deeply Erik side eyed his friend before advancing towards his targets for the night, “Challenge accepted.”

Erik was kissing Pumpkin drawing a hungry moan out of her throat, his lips curving up into a smile before he backed out the kiss. Hearing a hungry sigh come from Rhea as her tiny fingers gripped his thigh Erik switched his gaze from Pumpkin to her. Erik leaned hovering his lips by her ear “I want you to wait”, he whispered before looking her sternly and turning to kiss Pumpkin again. The whimper that came from behind him confirmed his suspensions, Rhea liked to watch. And just like Erik, Pumpkin’s figure was a plus. Even if she didn’t act on it he could see it in her. The want. That combined with the sensation of his lips on Pumpkin’s was causing his pants to tent.

Once Pumpkin pulled out of the kiss to catch her breathe he gives Pumpkin that signature smirk before he turns to Rhea again. When their lips finally collided Rhea saw stars as her eyes fell shut, suddenly glad she actually put on underwear. Before long she couldn’t take how rise in temperature anymore and started to peel out her dress with Erik and Pumpkin following closing behind. Pumpkin stood there feeling slightly exposed before the switch happened. Beckoning Rhea to come to her as Erik went and sat down to enjoy the show. Seeing Rhea totally submitting to Pumpkin’s demand Erik couldn’t wait to bend her to his will.

Their shared moans as their hands explored each other was truly a sight to see. Jordyn may have thought this was a dare but it was turning out to be the best night of Erik’s life. He was sitting in the hotel chair of Pumpkin’s hotel room when Pumpkin caught a glimpse of him slow strocking his freed erection. Commanding Rhea to stop then making her way over to Erik. “I can take care of that for you,” Pumpkin hummed replacing Erik’s hand on his throbbing member with her own before sinking to her knees and taking him into her mouth. His hips thrust up in response to her warm mouth swallowing him down. 

At first Rhea just stood where Pumpkin left her watching the scene in front of her. Her thighs being the only thing keeping her essence from dropping to the carpet below and played with her nipples struggling to keep her eyes open but being overcome by the sound of Erik and Pumpkin’s synchronized moans as she sucked him off. Feeling her mouth go dry but not wanting to interrupt the ride they were on Rhea found herself dropping to her knees, crawling over and turning on her back underneath them coming face to face with Pumpkin’s women hood. Dying for a taste.

“Fuck!” Pumpkin groaned as Rhea’s mouth suctioned around her needy bundle of nerves.

“She hungry. Let her eat” Erik smirked as he watched the dominate side slip away and Pumpkin began to come undone by the smaller woman beneath her who had a death grip on her thick thighs. Drowning in the ecstasy of it all. Had it not been for his stamina these two definitely would’ve given Erik a run for his money. Them moaning in tandem under each others and his own touch alike. Creating his favorite song of flesh and desire. This was definitely a night to remember.

As they moved into their final position it was evident that both the women he was currently bedding were on their last leg. Rhea rode Erik’s face as Pumpkin bounced beautifully up and down on his dick. Both of them gripping at his sides for balance as they made out above him swallowing each other’s moans. The bands in their bellies were tightening, threatening to snap at a moments notice.

“I-I’m”

“Gonna”

“CUM!” they both screamed as they squirted. Erik lapped at Rhea’s folds while simultaneously pounding up into Pumpkin a few more times chasing his own release.

Looking at the birthday girls totally spent passed out in the bed Erik pulled out his phone and snapped a photo before sending it to Jordyn before making his leave.

Challenge: Two for One Special complete. Pay up nigga! I’m the King!

Tags: @cancerianprincess @savagesensitivity @another-imaginesblog @loosewindmill @bidibidibombaclaat @muse-of-mbaku @chaneajoyyy @itsangeludaku @eriknutinthispoosy @im5ftbutmythroat66 @theunsweetenedtruth @blackpinup22 @fonville-designs @wawakanda-btch @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718

[thatmexisaurusrex]

The Shotgun Angel: Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1: THE SHOTGUN ANGEL

 Wisteria was built around the Undying Forest. Buildings made so that when the trees grew, they had room. Buildings weren’t built by cutting down to create a flattened plain, no, they were built around whatever was there, indoor spaces and green spaces one and the same in the Old parts of town, high on the mountain top where the Heavens meet the earth. People came from all over the world to see a city created to compliment its natural biome, meant to accentuate and appreciate the awe-inspiring fauna and flora on top of the Endless Mountain.

And then there were the edges of Wisteria, New Town. Temporary bungalows made to withstand perhaps a season if they were lucky, tin thin and lacking the elegance of the city that loomed above it. Most tourists tended to ignore New Town. It wasn’t exactly a prime destination, after all. It wasn’t something many people spoke of unless bemoaning a poverty that felt too immense to wipe clean from their eyes or if you lived there and simply couldn’t ignore the nature of your habitat. However, deep in the heart of New Town, hidden near a crumbling chapel, it was said their lives a daemon spawn who will help anyone for the right price.

The first thing Pearl noticed about Noel Baird was her eyes. Pearl didn’t know eyes could be that color. As if someone concentrated the jewelry shine of a polished shell, moving between a seafoam and aqua depending on the light. She seemed to endure forever bedhead, despite trying to comb her short hair into some presentable shape. She wore a suit as if she knew she needed to look professional, yet the suit was too big on her, too unwieldy, making her seem like someone playing adult. Maybe she was. She looked younger than Pearl expected.

“You just going to stare at me all day or do you want something from me? If not, Stop wasting my time,” grumbled Noel, and Pearl didn’t expect how garbled the voice was, as if this thin, small young woman had irreparably burned her throat leaving whatever croak of a voice that was.

Perhaps that was the daemon in Noel.

Pearl straightened, trying to palm down creases in her own outfit as if her body were rejecting whatever Noel’s clothes were doing entirely.

“Yes. Quite. Well. My name is Pearl Morin and I had heard that Noel Baird would help anyone for a price – that you might be able to help me with my…complicated situation,” Pearl responded.

At first, there was a curdling of the face, a souring in the air when Noel heard “anything”, perhaps the tone Pearl had (it wasn’t as if Pearl hadn’t heard before that her tone wasn’t exactly “friendly” nor “amiable”). But there was a shift, as if Noel’s general rule was to always not judge a book by its cover, and the bristle softens as she stalks around Pearl.

“Your empty money, aren’t you?” asked Noel, her eyes devastating as they read Pearl in ways she felt uncomfortable in admitting, “Nice clothes, but worn, well-kept. You’re one disaster away from New Town. I see why you’re coming to me instead of, say, Holy Agency? Or, perhaps it’s the nature of the ‘problem’ you come to me with. Too embarrassing for the gossip hounds? Willing to risk them for New Town trances, but not the actual problem itself?”

Pearl squirmed under the judgement. She loathed it, some daemon spawn judging her, but she couldn’t say the girl was at all wrong. Which gave Pearl some solace for coming to her for aid in this grave matter.

“Do you have an office? Or will we talk amongst the miscreants in the alleyways and pray they don’t sell my secrets for fortunes?” Pearl said coldly.

Pearl was taller than this girl. She used her height as a point of pride, made sure her back, straight, made it pointedly clear that she would not be harassed by this pay-for-help creature. All Noel did was laugh, glancing over at the muddied children ogling them and shooing them off.

“They’ve never seen clothes so dazzling, but if you’re really so worried, we can meet inside,” explained Noel like Pearl was an idiot, vaguely gesturing for Pearl to follow her into the crumbling chapel behind her, which, strange.

Pearl couldn’t fathom how the structure was still standing, with how little upkeep it seemed to have in terms of the building itself and how archaic the building was. It even had stained glass of angels, surprisingly pristine and untouched unlike the rest of the building, something Pearl had never seen herself in person. It felt as if one particularly strong wind could bring this place down, which would be a shame due to the rare specimens of stained glass.

“I didn’t know such a place existed here,” mumbled Pearl, sensing a faint waft of smoke.

“That’s because no one quite cares for the chapels of yesteryear, left behind as you choose more interactive places of worship,” Noel explained, stepping into eyeline.

Pearl flinched when she noticed that it was Noel who brought about the smell of smoke. She was literally smoking in the church, yet seemed completely relaxed in between the pews.

“You’re, y-you’re,” Pearl stammered as Noel smiled at her, her teeth only slightly pointier looking than the average person – or perhaps that was a trick of the light, Pearl’s brain assuming there had to be something physically demonic about this cursed person.

“You think of daemons,” Noel replied without even needing to hear the answer, “You see, an ancestor of mine some five-hundred years ago offered up her soul as well as the souls of five-thousand of her offspring to the Daemon Azazel, Fallen Angel of Mercy, for gifts beyond her wildest dreams. She got the gifts. The rest of us were lost before we were ever given the choice. So, no. I’m not daemon spawn. I’m merely damned.”

She gestured to the smoke as if it was all settled, that reasoning was set. Maybe it was. But such a horrifying thought. To have your fate sealed before you were even alive, so far in the past that nothing could be done, there was no one to be angry at but probably those who birthed you thinking you could still have some semblance of a happy life.

“Is that why you do what you do?” Pearl asked.

Noel laughed again, more bitter.

“There’s nothing that can save me, you fancy mess. I do this because I want to,” Noel replied.

Noel glowered at the pity, so Pearl allowed herself to shut down such feelings. It wasn’t her fault a strange soul was given no chance. Noel leaned onto the pew, crossing her arms.

“Now, what seems to be your issue?” asked Noel.

There was no running from it, Pearl supposed. She let out a stifled sigh, sitting down in one of the pews.

“My brother, Aria, went missing some three weeks ago. He sometimes will do this. A few days, a week maybe, off partying around, drinking, gambling, but…not three weeks. I fear for him. Especially since he maintains a level of, well…rage against the fact that I seem to be the one keeping us afloat,” Pearl said, trying to find her words in her fidgeting hands, “Our father had drilled into his head that the man is supposed to keep a house afloat, and, well…I’ve always been better at the books. I even made sure he could go on his sprees with no dent in our finances, but he seems desperate to prove himself to be better than I and, from notes I found sprawled in his room, well…I fear for his soul.”

Noel bristled, moving away from the pew she leaned on.

“You’re telling me he’s going to make a deal with a daemon because he feels his fragile masculinity is threatened by you making sure he doesn’t burn through all of your funds?” growled Noel in a way Pearl never saw someone do for her, as if it was okay that she was the way she was and it was her brother in the wrong.

Pearl stuttered a nod. Noel roared, kicking a pew, the pew skewing sideways and awkwardly leaning onto the pew behind it. Noel froze, staring at what she had done.

“Oh, halos and harps,” grumbled Noel.

Pearl startled as a stumbling giant of a man hobbled out in undone priest clothes out from the door to some office Pearl didn’t notice hidden in the back corner. He didn’t look drunk like Pearl expected. More lacking sleep. He had stubble that didn’t quit, hair gelled to the heavens, and a piercing gaze to rival that of Noel. He pointed at Noel accusatorily.

“You break it, you buy it, kid,” the man rumbled, a voice both deep and authoritative with an edge of “kids have to listen to me if I sound like this, right?”.

Noel surprisingly panicked at his reaction, arms flailing.

“I didn’t mean to! This place is a crapshoot.”

“You say that when I let you into my home, I let your shotgun angel stay here?”

“I get it, I get it, I’ll pay for it, okay?”

They gabbed like a dad to a daughter, or maybe more like a disgruntled uncle to a turbulent niece. It juxtaposed the mysterious work-for-hire that made Pearl shiver, almost scared.

“Don’t be so hard on her. The blemish on her allows for a stronger vessel, you know she doesn’t know her strength sometimes,” grumbled a voice from in the office, stretching as he walked out.

This other man, dressed a lot like Noel, carried a hundred-meter stare in his October autumn eyes, voice deep and velvety and just a bit horrifying. Everything about him felt a little too put-together, especially with the two disasters he seemed to keep company with. As if he was born to wear a suit but hates it.

“She has a guest. Don’t embarrass her,” this too-put-together man said, pointing straight at Pearl, making Pearl squirm.

Then she realized why his gaze unsettled her. She turned, surprised to Noel, avoiding eye contact with the organized man.

“Oh of Cupid’s bows, why do you have an angel here? Why is he so easy to hide?” whispered Pearl as if that could make her unhearable, which she knew wouldn’t work but a girl could dream.

“Ortega doesn’t count anymore, don’t worry,” groaned Noel as if for the millionth time, “Stop focusing on those weirdoes – what will you give me in return?”

Pearl remembered why she was there.

“So, you’ll help me, then? With my, um…” Pearl stumbled, glancing at the two strangers in the room, “…situation?”

Noel’s eyes darkened, as if Pearl was truly making a deal with a devil, moving slowly towards Pearl, drawing shivers up Pearl’s spine, making her wonder if Noel’s tale was a lie.

“Depends on what you offer,” said Noel, “What do you think I am owed?”

She was prepared, though. For this pact. Clutching the amulet on her neck, Pearl, broke its chain, holding it out to Noel.

“I heard rumors of you looking for protection from heaven. This is a sliver of a maelstrom. From the Darker Days. I heard it hides a person from the eye of a beholder, so maybe this will help? I don’t know if it hides from heaven, but you can try it.”

She held it out for Noel, only to pull it away. Good. Pearl needed to feel some semblance of power in this agreement. Noel glared as Pearl placed the amulet in her dress’ pocket.

“You’ll get it once you find my brother. Before he does something he’ll regret,” said Pearl.

Noel sighed, nodding.

“That’s fair,” said Noel.

“Does that mean you need your shotgun angel? She’s still sleeping, last I checked,” echoed the still-messy maybe priest.

“Ugh, shut up, Iker. Nobody asked your opinion,” said Noel, stomping towards spiraling stairs behind them.

Pearl followed Noel, glancing over at the eyeing sort-of angel and possible priest.

“Hey, who are those two?” whispered Pearl, hesitant to get on the rickety spiraling staircase.

“Iker and Ortega? They own the chapel. Or run it. I don’t know how landowning works. They let Dru stay here, that’s all that matters,” said Noel, the stairs opening to a lofted room filled with soft pillows, fuzzy blankets, and a young woman sleeping, IV attached to her.

Noel crawled slowly to her, cautious. She touched the girl. Shook her a few times. No response. Pearl wasn’t sure what to make of this. What was happening. She wanted to ask, but she also didn’t want to be tangled in anything shady Noel might be doing. That was when she saw Noel clasping her hands to pray.

“Dru. It’s Noel. I hope you’re listening. I need you to come back, if you can. It’s your choice where you are. Don’t let them choose for you.”

And Noel just watched. Hopeful. Watching that breathing body before her. They snuck up from behind without Pearl even hearing them.

“You’re going to scare her, awakening that shotgun angel of yours,” growled Iker.

Noel glared at him.

“W-What’s a shotgun angel?” asked Pearl.

“Nephilim. A child of blood and bone and holy fury,” said Ortega, leaning a little too familiarly onto the strange almost-priest, “Their essence is tied inextricably to both the body birthed to the mortal coil and to the holiest plane, so their pith is shot from earth to heaven whenever those above call upon them.”

“But angels need hosts,” said Pearl.

“Not when they are half-mortal,” said Ortega, “A rarity, yes, but not unknown to be certain. And heaven, well…they like such soldiers in their garrisons.”

Noel kept her hands clasped, pulling Dru’s hand into her clutch.

“Come on, come on, come on. Didn’t you say you’d come when I call?” whispered Noel in a way that Pearl was sure she wasn’t supposed to hear.

And then it happened. A startle. A stop. A deep breath in, as if life dragged itself back into the body, dazzling topaz eyes lighting as her eyes opened wide, wider than they should. Noel’s hands flung up, cradling Dru’s face gently. Her hands smoked more – Pearl was sure it was probably her touching one most holy. Dru’s eyes fluttered, always on Noel.

“What are you doing?” said Dru, and it was if her voice was both raspy yet like a million relaxing wind chimes.

“Platonic face holding?” suggested Noel.

Dru smiled.

“You called, Noel?” asked Dru, her face still cradled.

“We got a job,” answered Noel, grinning.

[maddermyth]

RCIJ 2020

Prompt: Not looking for love.

A/N: Hi @joylee56, thank you for your prompt, it has been fun writing to you each week. I’m sorry for the delay, I grossly underestimated the extent of the story and overestimated my time management skills. I must admit this is my first time writing fanfiction and there was no beta (so right now I’m crossing my fingers to even get this posted correctly), but regardless of this I hope you like and enjoy it. Thanks for your patience and for the inspiration amidst these weird times.

Rating: T there’s some imagery some would consider violent but nothing really significant.

------

Unholy Requests

Night

There was a dead body on the floor. 

A man, his body in an obviously uncomfortable position, laid on a carpet that had seen better days. By all accounts tall and big, in a bodybuilding kind of way. Belle would bet that to most he must have looked attractive: blue eyes, dark hair, expensive if questionable taste in clothes. 

And she had killed him.

If asked how a woman of 5”5 (including heels, and they were quite high) had killed such a man, she wouldn’t know how to answer. To be honest, Belle couldn't remember how it had happened, she just knew it had been her. Guilt more than shock had frozen her at the sight the first time, but after a month of seeing variations of the same tableau everytime she closed her eyes, she was frustrated at the lack imagination of her dreams, or was it her brain’s stubbornness? Luckily it appears there’s no blood in the scene this time. She didn’t recognise the cabin where this always took place, and had never the opportunity to explore it since that first dream, but she was grateful this particular dream didn’t involved cleaning it as well. It had happen once.

“What now, dearie?”

Since the dreams started there were three people in them: herself, the dead body and for a reason she hadn’t figured out, the town’s landlord. Admittedly she had recently moved to Storybrooke and apart from the introductory batch of gossip that welcomed her, and taught her who was who in the small town, there were an alarming number of warnings against the infamous man. That he was a loan shark (not unfeasible since apparently many owed him money), soulless (had a no extension policy on rent, and was to anyone’s opinion a yerk for following it, the rumour about trying to evict the convent was always the main piece of evidence), possibly in the mob (inspired by his choice of clothes and frankly that sounded ridiculous, she quite admired his sense of fashion). However, the man himself seem to feed the rumour mill. From the way he dressed, to turning his pawnshop into his lair, dark and full of treasures people exchanged when desperately needing money. Owning more than half of the town, residential and commercial units,  he still make rounds on foot, and on complicated situations he even had a man for muscle Mr Dove. 

Belle thought it was some kind of apprehension born out of so many whispers that had made the man feature in the murder scene that repeatedly appeared in her dreams. But it didn’t fit, for all the town talked she couldn’t summon fear or nervousness the times she had cross words with the man. Admittedly, most of them were at the library with in either with family or doing some favour or other for them, it was hard to see the soulless aspect of his being then. As if her brain wanted to challenged her statement on dullness, as the dreams continued the same, the man himself started to transform. The only trace of imagination in her dreams had turned the man into a reptilian humanoid, even his clothes had changed, dressed now in leather and high boots. His eyes darker and larger than any human, scales in his skin sometimes reflection in greenish or golden hues depending on the light, and talons. It could be a shocking image and certainly she could imagine his renters running from him in that look, but the changes had happen so gradually that Belle could only wonder were the inspiration for it had come from.

With a weary sigh, because it was always the same: he would ask a mere formality and to encourage her to move, she wouldn’t wake up until the body was disposed, and the cabin would supply whatever they needed to get the job done, in some manner or other, it didn’t have to be neat and the golden skinned landlord always helped, but all the same, it wasn’t restful. She would wake up the following day tired, with aching arms and back… eyeing the pair of shovels laid behind the door she said, “We could try bury him in the garden this time.”

Morning

It was a mistake. He had been making many of those recently, but this one was a simple one to avoid and yet here he was. For weeks now Neal and Emma had had a rough time balancing work and a small child, so he had offered to take his grandson for a weekend and given them the keys to the cabin in the woods. The boy had a sweet tooth and it was Sunday, a trip to Granny’s had seemed like the perfect idea.

Since his son and now wife moved to town, the image of the impassive Mr.Gold, owner of most property in town, nemesis of the town mayor, loan shark and heartless landlord had taken a mortal wound, especially since four months after that his grandson Henry had been born. But years of people fearing him were working in his favour, even when he had his grandson by his side people still gave him a wide breadth. Today though, Miss Lucas had greeted him with a smirk on her face and a knowing look that had hunted him since he crossed the door. “Unusually early for a Sunday, Gold.” 

“If you don’t want customers this early you should reconsider opening hours.” He said with as much indifference as he could, strangely it took him some effort. “And miss my favourite customer? No.” There was that look again. “She is one of the few that rises with the sun regardless of the day, but of course you know that.” Oh. That's what this is about. Since Regina had the magnificent idea that the library was to reopen, he had opposed her. It took no more than the right thing said here and there before any council meeting. She knew of the intricate maze of mines that ran under the town, and knew that it was the safest place to keep his, and even some of hers, more unusual experiments. It’s secrecy and its contents one way or another benefited someone in town. That’s why they had agree to sealed the mines in the first place, with only one access point located in the town clock building, inside the library. However, a Belle French had arrived four months ago in the ship of Mrs. Finn. He didn’t pay attention to her, apparently she was a tourist, as rare the sight was in Storybrooke. But Regina had. And at some point Miss French decided to stay and become the librarian. He had try to put a stop on that but it was to late. He had made the mistake of making everyone aware of how much he loaded the idea. And then, he had meet the young woman, chatted with her whenever his found a solid excuse to into the library. The fight to close the building had since then remained restricted to paperwork. And that was unusual for him. And apparently, someone like the wolf-girl had decided to mock him for it. He must have let his face react because her smile only grew. “The usual? And extra blueberry pancakes for little Henry, after all he’s such an excellent wingman.” 

Either it was the implication that he was using his grandson somehow or that even though he enjoyed his time with Henry like nothing else, his reason to be there in the heart of town instead of his home spoiling his grandson was so easy to see, the comment rattled him more than he was ready to admit. And even though he was at the edge of leaving, he reminded himself everytime the over entitled waitress looked at him with the same smirk in her face, that he couldn’t let her win. It was still too early, they could avoid her (yes, it was now a team effort with Henry) and the wolf-girl would be set to right, or she still could come into the dinner and make the mortifying comment worthy.

Five minutes after their order arrived, and with his attention on trying to keep Henry from turning his breakfast into a Pollock piece, his cell phone rang. “Gold.”

“Hi pops!” a little too cheerful voice greeted. “Neal? Is everything alright?”

“Well... a couple of your friends had no idea of our ‘weekend far from the world’ plan and broke into the cabin.” Neal answered with a patient tone. “Something about needing a place to do an experiment?” In the background the distinct noises of Jefferson moving around the kitchenette could be heard. “Emma is trying to keep Jeff from settling in as he now thinks we need breakfast.” 

“Just send them to the store. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Meddling fools. After hearing a door close in the other side of the call, his son said “They wanted me to call you, you know?” A sight left him, after noticing the call had distracted him from paying attention to Henry’s anctics.“Their great talent is to pretend to be idiots, I bet they wanted to get through to me in the most effective way. Sorry son.”

“It’s ok, dad. Just keep them busy and happy until tomorrow? Probably give them their own lab, one of those storage units at the edge of the docks, huh? Where they can play and have fun.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Too close to the surface and to drunk sailors, that particular idea was discarded some time ago.  “I’ll keep them away. You just send them out and enjoy your day”.

After hanging up and turning his full attention back to the toddler, Gold was glad of his foresight of having a change of clothes for both himself and the boy in the back of the store. “You’re going to help me with those two, right?”

---

“Bluebell!” 

Hurrying down main street Belle stopped at the unusual nickname, there was only one person that called her that. Looking at her watch, still not too late Ruby was still on her shift, she headed to the two figures currently shadowing the front of the pawnshop.

“Jefferson, Dr. Whale.” Bear hug from one, and hand shake from the other. “Glad to see you again. How was the trip?”

“Successful if hours exploring are counted.” Answered the young man with a smirk and a wide movement of his hands. “Alas, not so much if the treasure had to be found.” 

“It was a waste of time.” While Jefferson had a flare for the dramatics, Whale drifted towards a general disposition of antiphaty. The later did a great job at not rolling his eyes constantly at whatever the first said. It was in itself an entertaining performance.

“That only means we’ll have to go away again and we took plenty of photos.” Said Jefferson with a boyish smile and already taking his phone out. “Want to see?” 

“I would love to, but I’ve got to get to the dinner.” She had taken to drop on early Sundays at Granny’s to have breakfast with Ruby. She’ll get worried soon.

“Has my favourite librarian replaced me already?”

“Madder, she is the only one in about a decade.” Belle still could not believe the library had been left abandoned for so long, not that it had been in as good as state considering once she started preparing it for opening.

Jeff did roll his eyes at that, “Still my favourite.” 

“Bet you already made friends in town.” the unusual small talk comment from Whale came with a look she couldn’t quite place.

“Since Ariel and you guys abandoned me as soon as we touched shore, I’ve had to look for alternatives.” Deep in her pocket her cell phone beeped. “Speaking of, if I don’t get to the dinner soon Ruby is going to think I’ve dropped dead or something. See you later. I’ll hold you on to it Jeff, to tell me all about this trip of yours.” “You have my word.” He swore with a hand over his heart and a seriousness to his expression, as she started to walk away. “Come for tea soon and I’ll tell you all about the places we visited.” He shouted after her.

Looking back with a smile at the comment, she fail to notice someone was exiting the dinner in time to stop, until a gentle hand held her at the upper arm. Startled, she turned her head back to come face to face with… well, literally the man in her dreams, and until the day before she hadn’t confide in anyone about that. His eyes though beautiful, were not the same, and was it weird that she missed in that moment those he sported at night?

“Oh, I'm so sorry Mr.gold.” Belle had to take a step back, noticing she had been staring. Avoiding the man’s eyes she noticed that he was carrying a very content and covered in food toddler. “Hello Henry, seems like you enjoyed breakfast today. Was Ruby in a good mood?”

“It seemed so.” The gruff tone of the answer had her looking back at the man’s face. No matter that the question was meant for the little boy, it seemed Ruby had been up to something. He seemed to realise then that it wasn’t a real question. “I- I mean like everyone else she looks tired but definitely entertained.” Was he blushing?

“It’s been nice to see you. I really have to leave you I’m already quite late but.. see you around.” She hadn’t meant for that to sound like a question. He nods, though. “Have a nice day Mr.Gold, Henry.”

“Good day, Miss French.”

 The tiny bell on the door, signaled her arrival. Quickly catching Ruby’s eye, she came to sit at one of the booths at the back. The dinner had quickly become a welcome sight in her short time in town. By now she could identified all those early visitors, a town routine that was more comforting than dull, perfect for people watching, until Ruby took her break.

At the bar, Leroy seem to still be drunk and happy telling a story animatedly to his brothers, who in turn seem more worried than anything else. A glass unceremoniously put on the table got her attention back to her friend. “Where have you been?” And she looked a little anxious, but it had been right, she look dead on her feet. “I was getting worried something had happened?”

“Good morning to you to Rubes. Got distracted.” Ignoring her friend’s look she explain. “After yesterday’s fiasco I went back to the library, do a little work, clean the back... and guess what?”

“Come on, just spill.” Ruby sat forward in the table, crossing her arms. A determined glint in her eye. “What happened? Did Pongo came to apologise to you in place of its owner?”

Her appointment with Dr. Hopper the day before had been a disaster. She had come to town, both as a break from her home but also because of the reputation of the man. He was known to be an expert at unlocking the human mind. She had been unfair with him, he had been doing his best and she too for months now but nothing had changed. She had decided to stay longer in town, and took on the job of temporarily put the library up and running. Yet,frustration had reached a high point the previous day. After a car accident with her mother, that left her motherless and with no memory of the entire week before, she had gone to more doctors and try even more therapies to remember that tragic day, that was recommended. And though the week had come, that day and the accident had yet to. Dr. Hopper was her last option, and he was failing.

“That’s not- It was my fault too. Archie was just doing his job, but it definitely wasn’t a good day for either of us.” If she was being honest, the man had also been at edge for whatever reason. It had motivated her to confrontation, a desire to fight still burning inside even now. “There was no need for apology delivering dogs. However, I was restless so I got to tamper with the old elevator in the library, and it works! I mean, I only got it to open last night so I went this morning and found a control panel.”

“Isn’t it like too old and dangerous? The library has been abandoned for years now, you remember all the work it took to make it presentable” Oh, she remembered and felt it for days afterwards.

“I know. But that’s why I went back today, inside there are just basic controls to go up and down, everything else is on the outside. And the panel seems functional but it needs a key to work.”

“A job for more than one.” she said nodding, a small frown forming. “And the mayor didn’t gave it to you along the ones for the library?”

“No, it wasn’t either with the ones for the apartment or the library clock. You should come with me when your shift is over, you are great at finding stuff.” Noting the way Ruby was sitting she added, “After you’ve taken a nap. You look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks. Yes, as much as I’d like to wake up Monday morning after trespassing into dangerous basements-”

“It isn’t that dangerous…”

“..I’d think you’ll have other plans for tonight. And in the meantime I get a proper rest.”

“What do you mean?

“There is an older gentleman waiting for you at the lounge, arrived late last night and lucky for him it was me and not granny’s turn on the B&B reception.” Slamming her hands to the table she started to get up. “Alright, take your iced tea and I’ll bring you your breakfast when it’s ready.” Since she was already waving her on, Belle got up from the booth and allowed herself to be guided to the hall between the dinner and the B&B. “Just move along, the man has been waiting long enough.”

The lounge was a small room with two sofas against the wall, facing towards an old looking TV on a small table. There was fruits and biscuits on the centre table. It was mostly empty but for a tall, large man sitting down in the corner of a sofa. He look small, hunched over his knees, but Belle would recognise him anywhere.

“Papa, what- how are you here?”

“Hello princess, not so happy to see your old man?” Looking up to her, she could see he had been having a hard time. He seemed paler, and older. His smile was honest but it didn’t reach far.

“Of course I’m happy, papa.” She said, coming into the lounge and hugging him, hard. After so long, and the nature of her parting, she hadn’t been aware of how much she missed him. Especially after the last couple of days, this was the best of visits. “Just surprised. I wasn’t expecting you here, least of all without notice. I almost imagined you coming back with Ariel in her sailing trip.”

“Oh, that would be dreadful.” Maurice French lost any trace of colour on his face at that.   “I’m not a man for the sea.” Guiding him to sit down, he took one of her hands in his. “I should have told you before but the flight messed with my notion of time and then it seemed better to just see you.”

“Are you ok? You look beyond jet-lagged, tell me you had a break before driving up here.”

With a sigh he let go of her hand, taking a sip of his coffee. “I did, petal.” Her father was acting weird, she knew he was stalling whatever he wanted to say. His hands kept turning the cup. “Things have changed.”

“I know…” Losing her mother had affected both, to a scale none of them were prepared to deal with. He retired from the company handing it to Gaston, and went to live in the countryside. That had felt as he had abandoned her, but she admitted she did the same, even before accepting Ariel’s invitation to come to Maine. She had spend weeks, chasing doctors, therapist, new methods, whatever clue to settle her amnesia. She could wait for it to happen naturally, even though many a person told her to have patience. Dr. Hopper was the last name in that list of options, and while her father had changed county, she had changed continent. And she knew there were no bad feelings, both agreed they were trying hard, in their own way to cope.

“Not just that. I was called into the office a couple weeks ago.” Softly he continued. “And I was just so ready to retire.”

“I thought you left Gaston in charge”.

“I did. But my girl, the fate is against us!” The booming voice of her father, startled her. A voice that was either happy in family occasions, or annoyed at work now had the taste of defeat. He looked so tired. “I missed you so much but by now I’m just happy you left. Not that I helped to make the decision a nice one.” It hadn't in any case an easy conversation.

“Don’t worry, papa. I understand why you said what you said. It wasn’t nice but I knew where they were coming from.” I wanted to tell you the same when you moved again, first.

“I hurt you. I forced you into marriage twice and one of those was just to keep you by my side. The thought of you going away, to America nonetheless so soon after your mother left us… As always, you made the right choice.”

“What happened?”

“Another bloody accident. Gaston crashed, apparently fell asleep while driving. Went into a coma but right before I came here he died. As soon as the crash happened I got called into the office again, there’s no one else prepared enough to handle the company at the moment, it was meant for him.” He looked up into her eyes at that. “You first, and since you refused it, him. It took me a while to get a break and come to tell you about it in person. I know you didn’t have the best relationship especially at the end but…”

“No, we didn’t. Still, that’s awful. And it doesn’t make sense, he was a freak with rules. He wouldn’t drive in that condition. Is someone with him?”

“His personal assistant, the man was half in love with him. And of course the company is going to cover the ceremony and burial. I’ll be in charge of that.”

“Good.” That’s all she could say, she knew she had to ask but she really didn’t want to listen to the answer. It had become easier to say no to her father, but not only had she missed him a lot, but she knew how much like a son he had loved Gaston. “Do you want me to go?”

“I’ve learned my lesson, princess. It’s your choice.”

---

“Our new librarian almost crashes into the dark lord of Storybrooke. Are you alright Gold?” At least he waited until he nearer the store to speak. Jefferson was his most talented hunter, he could find almost anything that he requested and bring objects he hadn’t considered. It was his talent what kept him in the job, but there were times Gold wondered if he was too patient with him.

“I’m perfectly fine.” Gold answered, moving his cane to the hand holding Henry. And unlocking the store’s door with the other. “But since you seem to be in a good mood I take it you found what I requested.”

“No such luck.” Answered Viktor. For the last past year it was the same answer. It was annoying but he couldn’t find it in himself to be truly bothered by now. Gold had resign himself to look for alternatives, yet they will require some time. If they could just locate this text, it all could be over by next month. “There was a trace, someone else that’s been looking for it but we hit a dead end soon enough.” 

“Almost literally.” Jefferson said, the little bell at the door marking the comment.

“So you failed and then claimed my attention by using my son, instead of just notifying me.” There was a small cot in the back room where he put Henry while going to find a change of clothes for the boy. “Don’t make me waste my time.”

“Actually, we want to try something different?” offered Viktor.

“We?” He knew what was coming, Dr. Whale and himself disagreed in method most of the time, moments like this led to a bet of sorts in which he currently hold the lead. Magic after all failed less than science.

“I want to try something different.” Oh, did he enjoyed the challenged in the eyes of the blond man.

“Do enlighten me.” 

“It’s possible we’ve been looking not in the wrong place but for the wrong thing.”

“Our deal is very specific.” He said with enough ice in his voice to remind the doctor that that wasn’t an option, his back to the man and back to the task of changing his grandson. In the background he could hear Jefferson looking for the scotch. He had the good manner of host, that one.

“Yes, I’ll help Jefferson locate this method Morpheus’ child used to become mortal. And in compensation I can run some tests on you.” Another mistake for the list, thought Gold. “And so far we have assumed is in a text, you said it had to be read aloud to be enacted.” He paused, giving him time to interfere. He has been learning Jefferson’s dramatics, that could be useful sometime. Turning his attention from Henry to the man Gold raised an eyebrow in questioning. “What if it is coded in another way?” the man continued. “Information hidden somewhere not in a physical object. After all, for everything we have learned we still have no clue of what Morpheus’ child was capable of.”

“You have an idea of where to look.” His grandson had grown since he bought the clothes, giving up on the jacket, he tried the sweater.

“More like a first place to tackle. The brain.” Done with Henry he turned his attention to the men, in time for Jefferson to handle him a glass, giving the doctor another. Gold nodded his thanks. “Your type is notoriously antagonistic of science, if the child wanted to hid the formula to turn divinity into humans it probably is where you don’t want to look or only reached by something you’d never use.”

“Dr. Whale are you telling me our next option is to go around opening skulls in search of some brains that do the trick.” Catching Jefferson’s eye he continued. “I never thought I’d lived to meet a zombie.”

“Brain activity while sleeping, not an outlandish idea let me assure you. However, since in the 24 hours I’ve been back, I’ve had people lining up in the street coming at me to help them deal with their insomnia...”

“Welcome to my existence.” 

“...I gather my best option, despite the atypical ancestry, are you.”

“As you have pointed out, I don’t particularly follow the same rules as you mortals. If there’s any information hidden in you, it most likely won’t be in me.”

“Do you dream?”

Usually, no. If he was honest with himself, he required less rest than most and when he decided to sleep it was a game of chance to dream something. However, the question gave him pause, because as of the last month he had been sleeping everyday and dreaming every time. It became an appointment, it felt now as its own small ritual. “Yes.”

“Then, what’s the harm in trying? It will be only one night. Although if you know of someone else that unlike the rest of the town can sleep for at least six hours undisturbed, we could try with them.” That’s not something he wanted the doctor to know.

“It’s hardly a request you can make out of thin air to anyone without having to explain something or other though, and those who would understand are affected by magic which by the same logic would affect the result.”

“Why do you think this would work?” Asked Jefferson, taking a seat on the main desk.

“The guy who was chasing after it, he got close and for unfortunate circumstances this type of monitoring took place. I just got lucky to take a peek at the results, unusual definitely not supporting of the diagnosis he was given.”

Give it to the man to be sneaky, any test was payment for his service, but he had promised it to Baelfire. Everything in order to fulfil his son’s only request. He had refused once upon a time, and resulted in decades of no contact. It was Emma and Henry existence that made his son sought him out. It was for them that Neal, as now he insisted to be called, had come back to ask for his help in ridding himself of his longevity, and subsequently the reason he was trying to give him another chance at being involved in his life as his father. And Gold could be honest, he didn’t want to do it, anymore than all those years ago. But Bae’s reasons made more sense now, and he had missed his son terribly. He promised, and if it meant giving into this man’s small victories he would play dumb. “When?”

“As soon as we get access to my lab.” There we go again. Their main lab, or at least the one where common projects was inaccessible at the moment. Since Regina had an unsuspected guard at the door. That left few options, either they involved the mayor and had access to the crypt, or they risked her knowing by going to the hospital, then there was Whale’s… “Your garage?” 

“Oh, that place is dreadful.” complained Jefferson. He had to agree.

“Not that one!” 

Whatever the doctor had going on in his home lab was a sore topic, everytime the man spoke about it there was emotion on his voice. Gold had made the point of finding out what it was, if only to know if any precautions were needed, or if he had to hide his link to Whale in case whatever he was doing attracted too much attention to all of them. The look Jefferson gave him, told him he wasn’t the only one wary of Whale’s displays of emotion. “The access through the mines hasn’t been possible, Dove estimates at least a month more of work.” Before he could be interrupted he added, “If we don't want to call attention of anything being done there.”

“We can’t wait that long.” 

At that Jefferson jumped from the desk, turning his head to look at each in turned he did his best attempt at controlling the mischief when he said, “So… are we sneaking into the library?”

“If I may” said a voice from the courting that divided the back room from the customer area. Archie Hooper, only psychiatrist in to, seem to startle at the intensity with which the three men were looking at him. Clearing his throat he offered, “Your best chance of that, would be tonight.” 

“Dr.Hopper.” greeted Whale.

“Jiminy!” said the other man with a little hop.

“Please, Jefferson. Don’t call me that.”

“What happens tonight?”

“Nothing special, I just heard in the dinner that a visitor has arrived and Miss French will be occupied as tourist guide. A better moment than most for you to get to the basement.” At one point Hopper was the man in charge of finding the objects he needed for his collection, a future deal, so satisfy Gold’s need of been the one to have them. He had been good even when his methods tended to be old school. After saving enough, he got into university and came to the town to set his own practice. Since then, cordial and ever offering his new abilities he rejected at every opportunity the possibility of coming back to this particular job. Like no one else in town he was aware of Jefferson’s real job, and Gold’s true nature. For whatever reason he never interfered. 

“Huh? I didn't know you still worked with us.” said the young man.

“You worked for Gold?” there was mild surprise in Whale’s voice. If Jefferson was thrifty and technologically and magically savvy, what Archie had going for him was the readiness with which people underestimated him. He felt himself smile at that.

“I did and I’m not.” and unusually cold tone in  the psychiatrist voice. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, Mr Gold. If you have the time.”

“I guess I owe it to you in exchange of the dinner gossip.” The man was obviously taken with Miss Lucas. Had he been there this morning? “You two, meet me here again at eight tonight.” 

Understanding the dismissal both men said their goodbyes, Jefferson’s accompanied by a wide arc of his arm and a bow, “Lock the door on your way out.”

Gold offered Hopper a seat and sat down on the cot, keeping a hand close to Henry. The boy seemed sleepy but it was better to be close. At least with the psychiatrist he could lower his stance a bit more than with his employees.“Be brief.”

“Do you realise he won’t work for you for much longer?” said the man with a nod to the door were the others had gone out. “His daughter will be born soon enough.”

“I know.” They had already talked about it, it wasn’t retirement, not completely but Jefferson had made it clear he wouldn’t accept any job that required he'd be away for long. One of the reasons he kept sending them, so they could find this spell either as a ‘text’ sooner rather than later. It had already taking a lot of effort and money to convince him to take the last two trips. “ Are you asking for the job? Is therapy not as profitable as you hoped?”

“No, just curious. Dr. Whale is not the type for the job.”

“Agreed. He is useful though. And a sore loser, and that’s always fun. Not of your concern, but Jones is willing enough. I know you have tried to talk to him about his many issues, but I warn you, don’t talk him out of the job.”

“On the contrary, opposite to Jefferson, he’ll be a better father for his daughter if he finally has a stable job. Which is the reason I’m here.”

“The Jones?” Well, that would be unusual.

“No, the issue of becoming a better father.” Ah, that. “Wait, hear me out.” The man seemed to collect himself, sitting straighter he continued, “Is this library heist and overall insomnia pandemic in town something to do with what we talked about Baelfire? Did you do something? Did you finally make a choice?”

“Do I have one?” There was no use in hiding the bite in the question. “I thought the whole point of what you said last time was that I didn’t have one but give him what he wants.”

“That’s not quite it. Is not about giving him what he wants, is about respecting his choices. And listening to him.”

“Even thought that means condemning him to mortality?” Rising his voice was a bad idea, specially with Henry this close. So he took a deep breath pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I thought he was mortal.”

“Shortening his lifespan then, if you want specifics.”

“You understand why he asked.”

“Yes, and that doesn’t make it easier.” He had just fed and changed the main reason. “As much as he doesn’t want to see the love of his life or his child die, he is asking me to do just that. I am immortal, I don’t have a choice.”

“He does.” said the doctor, not unkindly.

“Did you come here to repeat this conversation?”

“I wanted to know if all this mess is related to that conversation, and if the fact that it has lasted this long is because it is a hard task or you are purposely delaying it.” The man kept his posture rigid, drawing any bravery from it as he effectively berated him. It was … well, new. “If it is the second, I’m in the mind of arguing for the common well-being with you and ask you please to either stop it or finish it. And I know how suicidal it may seem to come and ask you this.”

At that, in any other company he would be right. “I’ll give it to you, therapy has given you the backbone that you so much lacked.” It was that comment that had the man hunching down over his legs “Why would you risk it?”

“I met someone more intimidating than you.”  

There was a story behind that statement but the day had already proven itself to be a busy one; on any other day, one of the many in his boring existence he would have give it chase. If only to know this ‘someone’. “And if I told you is neither?”

“Strange phenomenon that affects a whole town? If it is not your doing, you must know what is causing it and how to fix it.”

“It’s not me.” It was the truth, but he could bet his entire fortune that nobody would believe him. The sceptical look that Hopper gave him told him not even the psychiatrist could, but that at least he would try to play along.

“Do you know how to fix it?”

“No idea. It doesn’t seem the work of a curse but it escapes my understanding why would this happen. All of it, including your newest patient.”

“I was hoping it was your fault, specially because of her. If you were messing with her to free the library and give you access again to the famous lab, I could do something. I could help her talking to you.They are not normal dreams, are they?”

“No.”

“And you are actually in them?”

“Yes.”

“Does she know you are real in there?”

“What does she tell you?” Without the fight in him, Hopper had gone back to be a therapist and the look on his face made him feel younger than the centuries on his back could permit. “No, she doesn’t. She says it out loud repeatedly.” “It bothers you.” “She also spends a lot of time complaining about you.”

“You have to tell her, please.” The man was concerned about her. Gold knew from her and her ramblings about Hopper and his methods on her dreams, that she was getting increasingly frustrated. Yet, she still hadn’t shared what she wanted Hopper to help her with. And the psychiatrist wasn’t going to share that, too lawful and professional. He was willing, though, to come all the way to him, berate him, question him, demand of him and now plead to him. It must be draining him too, beyond the sleeplessness. “Make her believe. That way whatever is happening can be fixed. Either the source of the problem it’s she or you, if she has anything to do with it, she won’t be able to do anything about it, if she things it isn’t real.”

“I remind you that I was your employer not the other way around. You can’t come in here and make demands.”

“I can. This is unbearable! Not only I have a permanent headache, every single one of my patients complain of the same over and over again. And it hurts them in different ways. I’ve tried but nothing I do helps. Do you know how frustrating that is? Full moon is coming and… The only ones who sleep are you and Belle, if this dreams are real-”

“They are. It’s another realm, in fact.”

“Another realm then, if you can get there. Please just finish this.” He didn’t care about the town at large, or humans in general. He found himself more often than not, in a situation similar to this, blamed for whatever weird event happened in town. Only on some occasion it was actually his doing. However, Whale had said Neal and Emma looked tired, he had thought it was for the little tyke they had to deal with in a new town, with new jobs, but if this affected them too, it at least had to be checked. He needed to know what was happening if nothing else. And perhaps, the painful direct route of asking the god itself for what he had been looking could end this search he found himself for months now. His son could leave when he got what he came for, but it was Gold who acted like that. His son was better and he deserved a normal life. Hopper was right, he just needed to finish it.

“ Are you certain the library will be empty tonight?”

“You will be able to get to the basement without interruptions, the three of you. I can make sure someone distracts the French for long enough.”

“Go home Hopper, it’ll help.”

-

Night

This time around had been faster, the soil in the garden was soft and there was no need to remove the grass, the shovels were comfortable in weight and Belle had secretly changed her shoes to trekking boots that made it easier to help her companion. He was unusually quiet tonight, not to say he was always chatty. Only once had he talked until she started to get annoyed, mostly because he profusely disagree with anything she said, just for the fun of arguing. But even though he tended to be mercurial, he could also be funny in a darker acid way, that had her laughing freely at jokes she know would draw looks in the real world. So far the theory was that he reflected her deeper feelings, and today just seemed to prove it. With the news her father had brought and the pending decision to go back to Australia, if just temporary, had put a weight on her shoulders. Sadly, what she needed was a distraction from all that, and her imp was in no mood to help.

“That’s becoming easier” she said, trying to get his attention. “Practice makes perfect.”

“I don’t think it is meant for murder, or body disposal. Gardening though...” The rectangle on the garden was obvious, but it wasn’t meant to be perfect just functional. At least the dream required only practicality to end.

Flattening the raising soil, she realised it was the first time she ever did that. “This is unusual.”

“What is?” Everything in this dream. Today. The way you are behaving!

“Everytime the body is out of sight the dream ends.” 

“That’s when it ends for you?” His voice sounded deeper, more his real version than hers.

“Isn’t it the end for both of us? After all I’m dreaming you.”

“Right.” He said leaning heavily into his shovel, and he kept reminding her of the real man. It was a pose familiar to her, she was sure he only allowed himself to look that tired when he thought nobody was looking. Softly he added, “Wonder why me.”

It didn’t sound like a question, he didn’t ask for an answer to that. But she had the same question and hadn’t come to a satisfactory answer while pondering it awake, perhaps here she could answer it through him.“No idea.”

“Really? No theories of why it’s me here every night. Nothing to do with the tales of the beast of Storybrooke.”

“My job are tales among others, it would be impossible to believe wholeheartedly in all of them.”

“Ah, so why do you keep casting me as a murderer?”

“I do not.” If it was about casting, she had cast herself in the lead role. “You are here to help.” 

“Oh, so I’m a henchman.” He said with a light in his eyes. “Right… that’s new. Have you met Dove?” The smile in his face was teasing. “He is my henchman and looks like it to.” He turned to look to the freshly made burial, and with a self deprecating tone he continued, “Don’t know how an old, crippled man can be much muscle power”.

“Your limp is not always present here. And, you do realise that for this pit you did most of the work? “

“After a month of this merciless fitness program something had to give. My grandson certainly thanks you.”

“As if, it’d be great if Henry benefited from this, regardless how dubious that makes his grandfather. But, nothing here changes what happens out there?” She knew if was not common to be as conscious as she was within her dreams, and she had taken proper advantage of it. Being able to summon objects and change clothes, and wishing quite adamantly that no animal she was afraid of appeared while in the nightly task, she had thought she could bring her mother here, talk to her one last time. But it never happened. She knew this was its own bubble, never to influence reality not even by giving her hope.

“What if he could?”

“I don’t think writing these dreams for or telling them to a toddler is appropriate. Murder and all included.” she joked only to see the intent look in the eyes of her accomplice.  “Ok, let’s go along with it. Let’s say somehow you are Mr Gold, regardless of scaly shining skin, flickering limp, and reptilian eyes.” at that said eyes widen a bit, as if he hadn’t been aware of their appearance. “Oh yes, I’ve noticed. If whatever happens here affects day life. How did you get here?”

“I could always fall asleep in the sofa at my house but unless I want my ankle to kill me the following morning, I just go to bed.”

“Smartass.” He laughed at that. “It’s good to know you didn’t decided to infiltrate my dreams, I’d have to inquire after method and intention in that case.” The mere idea seemed like an invasion of privacy, but then, if this wasn’t her dream. Where were they? She hadn’t recognise the cabin they always appeared at, not the forest that surrounded it, or the lake half a mile out to the north. Looking around her she notice for the first time the beauty of it. Even in the dark of a crescent moon, the vibrant green colour of the leaves and bushes could be seen. “ When does your dream end?”

“At dawn, right at the point you expect the sun to appear in the horizon but not after. When the sky is changing colours some cold some warm all at war.”

“That’s… good.” Why did that sounded good? “It’s always night when I’m here. No light.” A chill ran up her back, noticing that the wind was picking up and they had stood long enough to lose the warm gained while digging. “Should we go back to the cabin? I don’t like to be so close it.” She said glancing towards the fresh grave. “I’ve never had to look at it for too long.”

He nodded, walking just a couple steps ahead enough to get the door first. “Do you believe in dreams?” he said, his hand still on the nob.

“What do you mean by believe?”

She could tell it took him a moment to decide what to say, but the moment he did it was clear, with a faint show of irritation he answered, “Anything other than explaining them as a chemical reaction produced by your brain.”

“Is Mr Gold not a pragmatic man?

“One more than the other.” He opened the door, moving to the side and with a tiny bow of his head. “Ladies first.”

“Before this month I used not to dream. Always wondered after what I read and heard about them, people tend to give them high significance. So, can't say I believe or not yet”

Belle stepped inside the cabin frowning at the darkness and heading to turn the lights on, even though she was certain neither of them turn them off when they headed out earlier. Since this was the first time she had the opportunity to explore she headed towards the farthest door opposite to the entrance. Her companion seemed unsure of what to do pacing slowly around the small living area. Letting him to his exploration she cross the door.

“Belle?" His voice sounded far away. "Miss French!" It was screamed and coming closer. Why was he so far away? There had been a scream, a loud one. Turning around taking in her surroundings Belle can only see forest, and it didn't make sense. nothing did. Feeling tears falling across her face, the image comes back to her. The room had been empty, no more than a couple of meters squared. In it laid another man, injured, dead and pretty familiar to her. And then she was here.

How? 

--

There had been a sense of trepidation since he found himself in that room with Miss French. A simple potion was needed to help him relax enough to sleep once they got in the lab with both Viktor, Jefferson and Henry. The lab and the dungeons well fitted to contain most kinds of experiments, from magic, to science and the mix of both. Due to the nature of it, there were compartments fitted to rest in between trials or in the occasional long process. And even though he could had left Henry with the Nolans, he felt wrong being to far away from the boy. He asked Jefferson to come and the man was as always over enthusiastic, perhaps seeing as a trial run of what it will be his life in a couple of months.

Despite knowing that for once there was a whole crowd keeping an eye on his well being (or at least the state of his body), or perhaps because of it, a restlessness had settled inside of him. Once the woman had claimed today’s dream was not going to plan, he knew to keep his guard up, however he hadn’t expected what happened after. He had noticed earlier the few changes in wardrobe that she sported while digging but this realm had different rules, and she was adamant that this was her dream, she could shape it to her will and he had been too distracted to call it for what it was. After she open that door, her scream send shivers down his back looking in her direction he only caught her silhouette disappearing. He recognised, after all he used it once upon a time before coming to the world ‘without magic’. Looking into the room he found the same man they’ve been dealing with for a month, admittedly in worst shape than most days but nothing that could motivate that reaction. Not now.

If she had the ability to jump between place in this realm, it was likely that she didn’t know to control it. After all, he had been here all this time by her side and she had never done such a thing. Morpheus would be able to easily locate them after her move, e needed to find her. Regardless if the confrontation with the king of dreams was something he’d likely avoid until he held the spell in his hands. Going to their tools, the last object she had been in contact for a considerable amount of time, he cast a spell to figure the general direction she headed. After all, she couldn't have gone too far.

It took him a while trekking in the forest surrounding the cabin to find a small earth path in between the trees, where the roots of the same were easier to see. It lead to a small clearing where she was. “Belle?” He called her name softly to not startled her. Walking to stand next to her he tentatively put a hand over her arm, he felt the strange impulse to comfort her but there wasn’t much he could do at the moment. He could use a little bit of magic now, after all they wouldn’t be alone for long now, so he magicked a jacket and gave it to her. She nodded her thanks. “What happened?”

“Didn’t you see?”

He did, it still didn’t explain her need to get away from it. A need so big she had done something she’d never done before. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” he knew the tone was wrong, and not entirely the one he wanted to use but apart from accepting his presence she kept going inside herself. It was better now that she kept aware of where they were. “At least twice the man has been in a similar state to that before.” He was being honest, at least.

Slowly she raised her eyes to him with confusion, “That’s completely different.”

“How so?”

“Is a different person!” 

There it is, she was seeing someone else. “Who was he?”

“Stop this please, you know him because I know him.” She said heading towards the place he came from.

“I don’t, in all honesty. All I saw was the same man we buried all these days. It seems this is not true for you.” Her attention was in exploring the edge of the clearing. “So, help me understand, who is the man back there?” he asked trying to get her attention, it would be difficult to find her again if she transported herself.

“Gaston.”

“Boyfriend?” he ventured, the man didn’t look like a brother or other close family plus she had moved recently. It could be him Hopper had been talking about.

“Ex-fiancé.”

“Right.” She looked back at him, and he noticed he spoke aloud. “That’s- That’d be a shock, to see him like that.” It wasn’t only that, whether she believe it or no, the man was real. Had been for as long as both of them kept on coming here. Why were the three of them in this? “I’m sorry.” he added as an afterthought. If their visit to this realm had no end in sight, and there was already a visitor dead, whatever had kill him was likely to come to them eventually, after a month of playing the game was coming to an end. They needed to move to a better place, it wouldn’t do to be hunted and be standing in a small clearing in an unknown forest. “Miss French, we have to move.”

“Is it wrong that I don't want to go back there?” she said.“I don’t want to see him like that.” she added softly, looking into the forest were he had come from. She had found the slight earth path leading into the trees.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to.”

“We can’t leave him like that. I don’t want to but we should.”

“I’m not digging another hole tonight, and he is dangerous.”

“He is dead.” she said flatly.

“Exactly, he is dead and he is here.” And he was still too close for his liking. “That simply does not happen. Many a thing with appetite for human flesh hides in the corners of this place, within minutes we could be surrounded, specially since death reeks in this realm.” Nothing died here, everything just changed shape.

“Realm? It is my dream, no monster will come out that I don’t wish for it.” She moved into the path carefully avoiding the roots jutting out.

“And if t is a nightmare.” Going back was possibly the worst thing they could do, but he needed her to see it. Stopping right inside the line of trees the sound of the wind lowered and other sounds made the forest seem full of live, like never before.

“We are doing right by him, again”. It was said more to encourage herself to move further into the path, but a loud growl froze her. 

“No, we won’t. Listen to that, they have smell him.” and they were many, for the first growl kept being answered by smaller ones of different tone, and if the sound could be trusted, from multiple directions. “Humans don’t walk in this land, is dangerous for them.” He grabbed her hand and started to go back to the clearing.

“Then what am I if not human?”

Circling the clearing much like she had done just moments before he looked for a new path. “You are special. Unusual.” Keeping his use of magic low, in case they could follow them like that, was really frustrating.

“If humans can’t be here how do people dream?”

Before he could find any way out, Belle walked ahead of him, pulling him on still holding his hand, leading him towards one of the biggest trees in sight. 

“They are… when they are here you could call them ghost-like.” she kept walking straight to the tree with a determination that stilled his tongue on the possible crashing, instead he focussed on explaining further on, “if attacked they can wake up and nothing has changed, they are neither harmed nor do they benefit from the dream.” At the last moment she sidestepped the tree, continuing sideways as if in a narrow passage. He does the same, turning just so to keep in touch with her, if this was a passage it was best to make sure they both went out of it together. “You’ve been digging with me, deny that you woke up tired. Not just tired from restless sleep, tired as in all you’ve been doing here your body is going through it too.”

The uneven ground that so far had characterised the forest was gone. Just after noticing the change, they emerged from the trees still walking sideways into a field walled in rocks. In the horizon started a series of hills. “Whatever these creatures are… when I wake up I’ll see what they’ve done?” 

“If you survive them and that’s hard even with my powers, then yes.”

Keeping with the direction they had being walking, they entered the field. “What are you?

“What am I?” he said, making his voice higher giving her a clue of that which wasn’t human about him. “That’s unexpectedly rude from you.”

“Are you human?”

“Partly.” 

“Is the other part why you shine?” she asked, it could have been in jest but her eyes held true curiosity, still...“Shine?”

“Your skin…” she said vaguely gesturing with her hand towards his general direction.

“That… is part of a rather old curse.” A story only his son knew, for everyone else he had blamed the imagination on mortals and their inability to report objectively, specially about non-human creatures. Who said fairies looked like in those animated pictures? The doing of a young girl back in the turn of the century had cemented that image in modern imagination. At least before they had been more creative! “True enough the colour has to do with that part, usually scales are darker, and sometimes duller in a cursed human.”

“Can your powers help Gaston?”

“There’s nothing to be done. Nothing you or I can change, the dead do not rise.” The latest attempt he had witness was by Viktor, the man was as obsessed with it as all those that attempted it before him. None had a good ending, and Gold had been there to see each spectacular failure. It was better for everyone if such a feat remain unachievable. “Did you love him?”

“No. I think my father did, the idea of him as his son, and somewhere along the line but before it was too late I realised that that wasn’t reason enough for marrying him.” there was sadness in her voice, she was mourning but what? It didn’t seem she was fond of the engagement, “What other things can you do?” she asked obviously changing the topic.

“I only have to follow three rules, everything else is free land. Depending of course, on the land I find myself in. In this place I can only influence my own being, like getting rid of the limp to dig better, instead of magicking a pit.”

She smiled at that, “That would have saved a lot of time.” It seemed she was ready to drop the conversation, her mind probably going back to the cabin. The growls had muted once they got out of the forest, but Gold couldn’t help the need to turn back and check nothing had found them. After a moment though, her face light up with interest “Ok, listen to this. If all of this is real, how come you limp in the real world?”

Apparently this was turning into an extended inquiry, if he had the heart to shut her out he would have done it. As it was, he clamped down the voice in his head warning him of anyone so curios, and managed a smile that only to the keen eye seemed strained, “I don't like to draw attention, especially of other magical beings. I only use enough magic for the glamour.” sending her way a pointed look he waved over himself,  “The skin, the eyes.” 

“Is that how you looked before the curse? Did you have magic?”

She was sharp, not that it surprised him. It was one of the aspects he could admire about her, and that he had noticed while she dealt with the townsfolk. It could become a problem if they ever found themselves at odds. Knowing himself, he thought that would eventually happen. “Close enough. Of course I have to keep in mind what is appropriate clothing now. As for the second one, if I did I wasn’t aware of it.” He hadn’t been aware of a great many things back then. The weight of war, man’s capacity for cruelty and for standing pain. He got to know all of that eventually before his own magic and ancestry, but even in the dark he had had a good life, he and his son, a flimsy roof and less than enough food considered.

“Were you already near Maine, back then?” 

The ludicrous though surprised a laugh out of him, which he quickly tried to keep quiet. “As far as one possibly can be.” He knew for a fact, it was likely that back then the area was nothing but forest. At edge by the questioning into his past, he took the opportunity to turn the tables, after all, it was evident by now that she was the cause for all this upheaval. Did she know it? “Storybrooke is a good town for new beginnings, and renewing identities. Don’t you agree?”

“It’s welcoming.” the way her hands clench by her side told him his intention had been too clear, but she had avoided an answer to his real question. Belle liked subtlety in her worlds of fiction and frankness in words, another difference between her and the town she had come to live in. 

“Why did you come to Storybrooke? Surely, you could have enjoyed and thrived in the city, a small town can become dull after a short time.”

“A relentless friend who lives in town? A break from the city and its problems? All of the above… It was always meant to be temporal.”

“What’s changed?”

“I’m not sure. There’s another reason I moved here and it’s been a failure, and yet today I was… confronted with the idea of going back home.” they had finally reached the hill at the edge of the field and the sounds that filled the forest had yet to appear here. Belle headed towards the top, to look what was beyond. He hoped they still had time before something bad happened. “It felt wrong, the whole idea of going away.”

“It’s not time yet, then.” the pain in his ankle was coming back, as a numbness that made stepping a weird experience. It didn't bode well, to lose his magic so soon. Was it soon? It seemed as if they  were being hunted before, now he thought, they might still be, but the hunter was waiting for them to tire.

“Look!” Belle said from the summit looking forward. It sounded like good news. “We should go inside. They might not find us there.” stepping beside her, he noticed she was pointing at a small cottage around fifty meters downhill, there was light coming from its windows. He nodded, and both descended. It was clear it was small but apart from two tiny windows visible from the side they were approaching, nothing more could be said about it, the night still in full bloom made it hard to see much detail. 

“Oh, It’s very pretty.” there was a feeling in the back of his head that kept distracting him. Something was familiar about this place and while he took his time going around it, he could here Belle inside talking to him. “It is larger than it looks from outside. There’s two cots, do you think it is possible to sleep within a dream?” for a moment while he stood under the door frame looking at her exploring inside the land left his feet. There was enough light coming from the hearth and a candle in the only table. It was exactly as it had been all those years ago, except for the company. But the warmth that grew inside of him at the sight of the place only grew as the woman carefully and enthusiastically got to the only surviving object of that past. “And there’s even a spinning wheel.” she was looking at him with a small but real smile and his feet seemed to follow it on their own accord, until he was inside the building. “We could wait here, while those things roam outside.” something in his expression or his silence had called her attention, she probably assumed he didn’t agree with her. “There’s plenty of space. Are you alright?”

“This place… How is it here?” So far everything that they had seen was either new or familiar to her. Never to him, suddenly he felt threatened and an uneasy feeling started to crawl up his back, the same that had bother him in the field. They were being hunted.

“Where are we?”

“My home.” He looked her in the eyes, not wanting to put anything in words but he knew he failed at making her understand his fear at the situation.

“I know people love to exaggerate, but I’ve been told you life in a castle-like mansion…” she had been trying to hard to put a positive spin to almost everything they had experienced during this night, but he could hear the strain in her tone.

“I do. A three-storey building can inspire that description. This was before all that.” He allowed himself to come further into the small cottage. “Before the scales. Be careful of gossip though, a small town can become the underworld itse-” loud footfalls could be heard from outside and a young man ran in, closing the door quickly behind him. “Neal?”

---

With his hands still on the closed door and trying to catch his breath, Neal look up to them with a hint of surprise in them, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“How are you here?” asked Gold, who was now in between both of them. Belle tried to listen for whatever it was that had Neal running like that, but there was only silence around them.

“A potion, like the one you used on her.” said the young man looking at her. “After a couple of days of neither of you waking up, I had to come and find out what happened.”

“Excuse me, what potion?” she asked. Did he said days?

“It was for him, but Emma collected it and apparently she shared it with you in one of Miss Lucas outings.” Gold answered walking nearer with a contrite look in his face. “It was a mistake, she’s still not very familiar with that side of my business.”

Apparently there were more than just curses and magical powers in this world of him. “So, you brought me here.”

“Technically yes, but it should have worked only once and never meant to completely bring you here.” A dreaming potion, then.

“It didn’t work out like that.” The first time in her life she dreamed and it was because of an accident with a potion, and she had gotten trapped in it for days on end.

“No.” He echoed softly. He never seemed to enjoy the dreams, admittedly he spend them doing hard work. Which at the beginning had been amusing if only for the contrast with the real man. But if he had been that man, it wouldn’t make sense for him to do any of that on purpose. It had been a mistake, that affected both and he was as sorry for herself as for himself.

“Were you intending on being there in Emma dreams?” The implication annoyed her, it didn’t seem right to accuse the man of that.

“No. Believe me son, I had no intention of visiting this place.” She had wanted to answer to Neal, he was crossing a line and this was his father. He could imagine the relationship was complicated but still. She was expecting something different, the sorrow and pleading tone of the reply shut her up. This man, that in both of his versions looked unreachable most of the time, looked tired, the sadness in his expression difficult to pass as something else.

“You have been lying to me then.” there was no surprise in Neal’s voice when he continued. “You were never going to help me”

“That’s not what I meant. The potion effects shouldn’t have involved me in any way.”

“You always do this, don’t you? You trick people into thinking you are working for them and then you are only working for you. All that business with Morpheus’ child and the spell you promised me, it is all a lie. You never intended to do it. Why are you really here?” Belle knew this wasn’t a conversation in which she should be present. The circumstances though, forced her to remain there and she couldn’t help pay attention to both men, the more loud and angry one became the other one became more pleading and defensive. 

“I never planned to come here, this is the last place where the spell would be. There’s no reason for me to be here.”

“And yet you are here with her, thanks to the potion you made. I bet the spell doesn’t do what you said, knowing you it will grant you power in this land, one of the few that is problematic for you.” The intensity in Neal’s eyes was off, a speck of cruelty. He looked young.

“You don’t believe that, please son. You know I’ve listen to you. I’ve been trying to do the right thing, even when it pains me.” If his skin was normal, she’d bet his knuckles would be white from the strength he was closing his fist, as if holding himself long enough to argue a defence. “And that includes giving you a normal lifetime with your family.”

“You want me to be there for you, regardless of the pain it would cause me to see my family die.” That’s when she noticed it, the anger and cruelty mixed at once. Neal was happy with his family, she saw them at the dinner, the way he looked at Emma and little Henry. That Neal had no reasons for this emotion, and he definitely looked older than this man. “You want me to become you and what? By then when I’m all darkness inside, you’ll give me your grand kingdom?”

“Son…” She was sure the man didn’t want to look weak in front of her, it was obvious he was that proud. But it was just as obvious the words had hurt him considerably, perhaps he had thought about it at some point. He closed his eyes, as if seeking focus. It was enough, she didn’t want to be there for more of that.

“Who are you?”

“What do you mean?” It could have been meant for either of them, and it was the young man’s reply that told her she had been right. He wasn’t Neal even though he looked like him.

“You are not Neal.” Gold’s head spun towards her at that, but thankfully he remained silent. 

“Why would you say that? Do you believe him?” he said gesturing widely with his arm towards Gold. “He’s not trustworthy, he will stab you in the back before you know it.” His eyes locked on her, and perhaps their cruel light was sharper at that. “After all, legends have been told for generations about him, deals with the devil and prices too high to pay.” Adapting a mocking and higher voice, much alike the first days of her dream version of Gold, he continued. “Let me introduce you to Rumplestiltskin.” A smirk appeared on his face. A face that was starting to look like another’s, similar but by now evidently not Neal’s. “If I were you I’d go far away from him.” Remembering the part he should have been playing he composed himself before adding, “My mistake was coming back.”

“I’ve made mistakes, it’s been a long life. I’d love to life it with you by my side, but not at the price of your soul.” He still couldn’t see it. It seemed a feature of this place, it had taken her according to him a whole month to see Gaston.

“Unbelievable!” The laugh of the young man was too loud for the small space.

“Neal wouldn’t say any of that. You look younger than him too. Who are you?”

“Oh, you are stubborn.” He seemed to consider something and asked, “If I’d ask you to leave, would you do it?” Belle just shook her head. “No? If you insist then the name is Morpheus.” Within a blink the young man, Morpheus, changed clothes, going for a long night dark coat. “And you are both trespassing. I’ll admit it, I’m impressed. For a human like you to summon a whole building from someone else’s memories is quite an achievement.” He was smiling towards her, sharp and friendless. “You even recognised me. But you’ve proved what I wanted to know. As amusing as you two have been. Imp, take it from me, you’ll regret keeping that deal with Baelfire.” With the simple sentence he dismissed the man he had been insulting, and his focus was on her. While he was having fun with Gold, Rumplestiltskin, or whatever his name was, he wasn’t planning on that for her. She raised her head and promised to herself not be intimidated by him. “And you, child. I’ve given you enough time.” The threat startled her companion into action, it took Morpheus a wave of his hand to freeze him in place. “Don’t even think it, spiky ears. Your magic is already too strained.” He looked back at her, “Answer me one thing, child. Was it all you ever hoped?”

“I don’t understand… What was-”

“You don’t understand… right. She said you were clever, brilliant even. I meant your inheritance, your claim for my kingdom.”

“I gave up my inheritance, my father gave it to Gaston.”

“Not that one. Listen! My kingdom’s share. The fool though he was looking for immortality, I admit you did a good job with him. You convinced him to do the dirty work and think it was his idea, it took me a considerable amount of persuasion to finally be convinced he was telling the truth in that regard.” Pointing at the still frozen man he added. “Once he proved useless you got him.”

Apparently Gaston had come face to face with this being’s anger, she couldn’t explain how such a simple man had drawn the attention of a god. But it was definitely the wrong kind of attention to attract. “Gaston was not a good man but whatever you did to him, he didn’t deserve it.”

“Of course you’d say that, that’s why I had you help me. He was awake, didn’t you know? Everytime you buried him or set him in the lake, he became a little more willing to talk.” She felt her face becoming red, of shame or anger she wasn’t sure. This being had her torture a man day after day. The pressure in her ears made it hard for her to listen to the rest. “He was here just like you two. But I think you humans called that a coma, there in your world. It was never a coma, never quite a pause but a long dragging ending.”

She was trying hard not to give into the impulse to lower her head with everything that was running in her head. In the chaos of her thoughts she noticed something and that kept her going. “He never felt asleep driving.”

“It shines through, that cleverness of yours. No. Not by himself anyway.”

“Why did you do it? Why are you doing this?” It was all too much, too much time and effort. Why had them doing that to the man? Why make him suffer so?

“Why? Because even though she left me, she was my child. My only child! And you killed her. The worst thing is that she gave her immortality away for you. You took her away from me twice. That first time, she said she loved you too much to see you die. She could never see that you were too much like them not to be driven by ambition. Did you get curious why she didn’t let you come here? What was she hiding? Did you then find out about this world and decided you wanted it? The ability to shape realities?”

“I’ve never killed anyone. Who are you talking about?”

“Colette was the name she chose. You don’t deserve to know her true name. She wanted you to have a choice, be human and mortal or be part of this realm as my grandchild, and third in line to the throne. But there’s a hunger in your kind, insidious and ravenous. Even though my daughter was a mortal, it was a long wait, wasn’t it? So you thought you could sneak here, and make yourself ruler?”

“How dare you?” Her voice was breaking and she could feel tears falling. Somehow her body had understood the situation before her mind; there was a slowness to the words he just said as she repeat them in her head trying to make sense of them. He was there looking at her, all the anger and cruelty she had seen, directed at her with great sadness mixed in between. He was breathing hard, just like her. It was the sharp emptiness in her chest that awoke her. “How can you suggest, even think, that I had anything to do with my mother’s death. I loved her and I’ve missed her every second since then. I’ve wondered why she couldn’t make it, I was in the car too, she could have survived too. Every moment I’ve asked why her!”

“Liar! You’ll die today. No more humans in my kingdom, they all can thank you for that. You are all wretched creatures. You’ll be the last meal of my pets for a long time.”

“Wait!” Rumplestiltskin said, trying to move in between but whatever glitch in Morpheus’s spell that allowed him to talk hadn’t been enough to allow him to move. “We can prove she’s innocent.”

“I won’t allow you to trick me.”

“That won’t be a problem. You are actually the only one that can acquire this proof, you can’t doubt its validity since it’s your job’s result. If you are convinced by it as I believe you’ll be, let us go back. I know you don’t trust humans, and I understand but as bland, idiotic or cruel they can be not all are the same. Belle is your grandchild and your daughter loved her, if just for that give her a chance to prove her innocence.”

“No tricks Rumplestiltskin, or I make this longer than either your sanity or darkness can stand.”

He turned as much as he could his head towards her a question in his eyes he didn’t make. “You were able to access my memory to bring this place.” With a cold tone he address the god. “I take it then you can do that too.”

“Undoubtedly.”

That’s it! “Can you access memories the owner can not? Like amnesia.” She asked.

“That’s different. This is a copy of Rumplestiltskin's first home and it is based on his memories not on the reality that inspired it. Most of it is similar enough, but the hearth there is from later on in his life, around the time Baelfire was born. You need the other person to remember to access their memories. If they can’t you can’t.”

“And if it wasn’t natural amnesia?” Rumplestiltskin asked, pointedly not looking at her direction. “Can you lock someone else’s memories?”

“It’s unusual but possible. I haven’t done such with her. What does this questioning have to do with anything?” Morpheus replied impatient.

“It was a car crash. It was natural.” She added.

Still not looking at her he explain “Your mother came to talk with him after she gave up her mortality. Never in your life you had access to this realm, not even in the capacity common to humans. It is possible she could do this too.”

“Why?” It made no sense.

“You are her child. If she did this, could you get to the memories of the crash?”

“I would see them but not unlock them.” The young man looked at her, all the feelings still visible in his look, but locked away brewing and not longer in the surface. “If what I see is convincing enough and you live, you still won’t remember until you learn how to undo her work, if she did it. What it’d be? Remember that if you did kill her I could see that too.”

“Are you sure about this?” Belle asked her companion.

“It is our best option. You can do this.”

It didn’t make sense, she wasn’t the one doing anything. And yet turning to face Morpheus, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Do it.”

The headache started at the back and advanced to the ears feeling akin to high pressure, every sound muted at the same time the pain increased and expanded inside her skull. She wanted to not react, she didn’t want this being to see her flinch. So she focussed in his eyes, which obviously looking in her direction were nevertheless lost, not entirely seeing her. The eerie feeling of such a look help her to stand the pain as it finally hit her forehead and lowered to the back of her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t keep awake for much longer, the corners of her sight going dark. And she couldn’t be sure if he had indeed given her a chance to proof her innocence or if this was him killing her. But she was sure she wouldn’t forget the moment he saw her again, and the sadness in those eyes didn’t belong in a face so young.

---

“Gold!” 

“Finally!”

The place he awoke in was entirely too familiar, dark and with a faint smell of chemicals, the lab in the dungeons was just the same as the moment we went to sleep. His company was apparently just the same, and he had to admit even just to himself that it was nice to see the pair of eccentrics again.

“Why does it feel like I’m made of stone? What did your machines do Viktor?”

“What did they do? What were you doing?” asked Jefferson with a mix of worry and indignation so balanced in his voice that made Gold certain he had been practicing for the future child of his.

“It’s been… almost 60 hours since you went to sleep.” answered the doctor going back to the machines now that he was awake.

“Henry?”

“He enjoyed the tea party I prepared.” said proudly the jumper. “But his father came the following morning to collect him.”

“Neal has been worried. Specially since you passed the two days mark.” the sound of typing accompanied the comment.

“If it weren’t because Mr French was starting to lose it at the dinner…” said Jefferson with a role of his eyes. “Emma and Neal had been taking turns checking on him, you and Henry.”

“Is she alright?” there was no use in giving details, if he had been asleep for so long so had she, and probably with her father staying in the dinner everyone in town would now who he meant.

“She probably woke up at the same time as you, I’ll call.” offered Viktor.

“Or you can go and wake the town’s own sleepy beauty.” he had to roll his eyes at that, which only made the young man laugh.

---

After almost three days spent sleeping, three days in which her father had drove the Lucasses into a frenzy and almost given himself a heart attack, it had taken weeks for them to find some sense of normalcy. The women had been lovely, taking care of and distracting her father but the three of them had taken to be too protective of her and that had started to drain her. Neal and Emma had been great with her father as well and they had taken to drive him around showing him all the nooks and crannies of town, a knowing look from Emma that told her to take that time for herself. 

And she needed it, all that had happened had shattered her vision of what was normal, she had spend more time that was probably good revisiting her childhood and her memories of her mother, to see if anything unusual was there. It took her awhile too, to understand the part of Gaston in all of it, if Morpheus had been right the man had known about her mother and had killed her. Thankfully it didn’t took much effort to convince her father to stay longer, of only for him to miss the burial. He didn’t need to know the man he loved as a son had killed his wife, but she wouldn’t let him go to the ceremony as petty as it made her. Maurice had taken the extension as an opportunity to convince her to come back, even if he claimed he had understood her decision in the past he argued he couldn’t do much from afar if something happened again. The question about leaving was small but had ingrained itself in her mind, she needed something to kill that small doubt. After all she had said to her father to not hope much in that regard.

And yet, amidst all of that she hadn’t seen her friend since the incident. The store had been closed for a week and then she hadn’t had the time to go in. Neal said he was fine when she asked but that was all she knew. The experience hadn’t been good for him either, even if it wasn’t Neal who confronted him, she had seen how much the accusations had hurt him, and how much he believed them.

That day her father was chatting animatedly with Mrs Lucas and with both completely distracted she took the chance to go to the pawnshop. 

The bell at the door announced her entrance. The man appeared a couple of minutes later from the backroom. “Hey, Good morning.”

He smiled as soon as he recognised her, “Good morning, Miss French.”

“Are we going back to that?” she raised an eyebrow for emphasis, in her mind the dream had erased the need for that kind of formality. “You can call me Belle if you like.”

“Alright Belle.” he said stepping in front of the counter hands over the head of his cane. “What brings you here today?” 

“You haven’t visited the dinner or library in a while, and considering that the dreams are over… I though we might have a chat pending.” she hadn’t been sure what she wanted to talk about but seeing him standing in front of her looking down at his hands, she knew.

“I though it better to give you some time, to process everything that happened. And there was your father…”

“I understand. I needed that time. But I wanted to make a deal with you, Rumplestiltskin, if interested of course.” Better to make sure they were in the same page to treat everything that happen as real, the use of his true name would do it.

“You wanted to talk business.” His smile became smaller, but he looked up to her again. It was easier for him to do so when he close off a little. Did he expect her to agree with Morpheus on his opinion of him?  “What deal do you have in mind?”

“I still don’t remember and you are still looking for my mother’s spell.”

“But, you see, a deal is possible when one party has something the other one wants, and we know I can’t give you your memories nor do you know where is the spell.”

“True. Yet, we are each other's best chance at finding what we look for, you can teach me how to control my powers, and I offer you my help in your search. She was my mother, I might have a better chance than your rock band members.” She hoped he understood what she was saying, with a smile she asked, “What do you say Rumple?

A brief war passed through his eyes, and how did he became so infamous when he was so easy to read? “They do look the part, don’t they?” The smile returned to his face, “I’d be glad to continue being your henchman.” 

There were too many reasons to stay.

[japaneseeggplant]

5/11/17

I’m up too late...

Couldn’t get my alarm to wake me up. I set it for 7am every morning but I ended up forcing myself to get up at 9:30am. I’m exhausted all the time... I think it’s all the walking/standing/constantly running up the stairs with everyone else. And, I sleep really well. Like I haven’t slept in years. Last night wasn’t too great because I was freezing, but eventually my body warmed up on its own, and I think that’s why I couldn’t get out of bed.

The windows are open and it’s sunny out today, which makes me a little uncomfortable. I don’t really like the sun. I think I had a phase around 19-20 where I praised it and vowed to adapt to it, but sun is a little depressing for me. I like the rain and the dark and the clouds. We have two more days of this, so I’ll just have to bear with.

I’m tempted to go back to sleep, because I’m literally so exhausted for no reason, but I’ve already made my coffee and it’s sitting in front of me. The sooner I drink it, the sooner all these tired feelings will go away, and the caffeine induced buzz will prompt me to be productive, like I know I should be. 

Today’s goal is to go to find some new libraries and try and study at them for awhile. Dinner will be made at home today. It’s getting a little lonely here... I think most often dinner and riding the trains. It was nice at first; being a lone foreigner so I could just keep to myself. But it’s hard not having a friend or someone to share dinner or the train rides with. 

My hair has grown quite some bit. I can make very, very small pigtails in the back of my head, and my bangs are down to my eyes. I really stick out with short hair here.

Friday the 3rd-the 4th I spent in Japan’s red light district Kabuchiko. I did a whole lot of research on it before I went, but it was surprisingly very tame. It’s now patrolled by police, and Yakuza, who work together, and monitored by street cameras. Some red light district, right? Of course, I didn’t want to drink or engage in any of the services offered (yikes) so I just walked around, and honestly it was kind of boring as I was alone. But, to be in the heart of the city, to truly see Yakuza and gangs and teenagers, that was really cool. That’s what Tokyo is all about now, and what it represents; rebellion, freedom, and self-expression. Japan is very traditional, regimented, and upholds high expectations, most commonly amongst the older crowd. It was refreshing to see tattoos, drunk people, and kids being kids. Although, it’s not where I’d like to be all the time. And when I say kids, I do mean kids. There were children as young as three walking down the streets with their parents, and ‘kids’ as old as thirteen/fourteen. Kabukicho is not as taboo and unfriendly as it used to be, and there are now restaurants, commercial shopping districts, and mere amusements that just appeal to everyone.

There is an actual, more seedy red light district called Roppongi, but this is said to be actually problematic; drugs, heavy Nigerian crime, and real problems that Kabukicho doesn’t really have. So, I think it best to stay away for now.

Kabukicho was really fun, even the touts trying to get you into their clubs were entertaining and I didn’t feel threatened by them. They can no longer be aggressive on the streets or they can get fined or arrested, as what they’re doing is prohibited. I had some that followed me for a bit until they gave up, and some that just went back to their job.

I did in fact see a few members of the Yakuza. This was really intimidating, but very, VERY cool to see in real life. It’s only here and a few other select places that you can witness this. They’re almost really hard to spot, but I kept a good eye out. There were about just four that I was able to spot. They were dressed in dark suits, had earpieces, were clean shaven, and had their tattoos covered that were below the neck. And believe me, it takes one who has some to know when someone else does, too- even if you can’t see them. They were more stoic-eyed, very severe in demeanor, and were standing in front of very nice clubs that did not have visible entryways. See, a lot of the Yakuza work hand in hand with the police as they own many of the businesses in Kabukicho, so it’s amazing to me that they’re out in plain sight. It’s not dangerous in Kabukicho now, but I did read that you can get into a real pickle by refusing to pay your bill, getting over the safe level of drunk and causing problems, or roughhousing with other people. That will get the Yakuza, and/or police involved.

I did have one particular member (or so I believe he was) nod at me in passing by, because he noticed I was alone but not quite an amerikajindesu. I didn’t really look much like a foreigner when I went out, but it was super surreal because in my head I was like “omgomgomg don’t look at the Yakuza dude I REPEAT DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH THAT YAKUZA DUDE” aaaaand of course, curiosity killed the cat. It was very brief, but I just looked at him as I was walking, with a blank face, and he gave me a respectful nod, and I returned it, and continued on my way. He was the real deal- his suit looked right out of an Armani magazine and he had a small beard and a shaven head and was quite tall. It really was an amazing experience to be in the backwaters of Tokyo. It wasn’t really a sleazy or shameful place, more just an ‘entertainment’ district that sells itself. I saw a lot of tourists, and this helps the business because if there’s one thing we all know, it’s that tourists drink A LOT! :-)

I think, more than anything, the experience was special for me because I got to stay in the city. Could I live in the city? Totally. I took the Keio line (an underground line of the JR train co) to a sushi restaurant in Shinjuku, and it was as urban as it gets. Very, very comparable to NYC. It was so cool to be in a high-rise hotel overlooking the sprawl. At night, the fog from the coasts mixes with the settled pollution and creates a very aesthetically pleasing, albeit rather worrisome, view that mixed with the flashing lights of the airport and other hotels and apartments. It is a very “at home” feeling- it’s crazy to me, but I just never get homesick here. Japan, specifically Tokyo, feels more like home to me than any other place ever has. Wherever I am, Greer, Telluride, Mexico... I always get wretchedly homesick. I love those places, but I always get some strange, unsettling fear that I’m not where I’d like to be. 

I don’t feel that way here. The voice of the city always lulls me into a warm space bubble, and breathes through me like ocean foam. It swells up into its breaking point, and then cascades down like the high point on a cliff, and then I feel very, very still. 

While the city was fun, and definitely doable, I was overjoyed to return back home. Even in a place so familiar, it’s nice to have a place that is stable. I could totally live just about anywhere in Tokyo, but I think I’d have to have a place that was set, had all my belongings, that I could always make my way back to.

I can’t wait to spend more time in the city. I’m really excited to go to the coast. I’m going to plan for a day this upcoming week to get up at 5am, yes... 5... walk to the train station, take the first train to Tokyo, and find a way to get to the coast, and just sit on the beach for awhile. They do have beaches in Tokyo, but I’m going to stay in a 5,000 yen inn ($50/night) and spend the night there so I can really take in the experience. Soon is Kyoto and Gujo Hachiman.

More to come :)

[afrojonathan]

Day 19: Marrakech, Morocco

Marrakech is a chaotic feast for the senses, and I (mostly) love it. I can’t stress enough how insane it is. But first, in the interest of being boring and chronological, let’s talk flights (I think this is what they say in the biz is “burying a lead”).

My 11-hour flight to Istanbul wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought. I didn’t sleep much the night before (by design), so it was pretty easy to just pop on a flick (my second-only movie, in the theaters or at home, since 2017 [the first being Rocketman a few months back]) and zone out. Other than the jarringly loud announcements from time to time, I was able to pass out with a good travel pillow (TRTL v2). The only real issue is my ankles were pretty swollen (this would affect me later).

In Istanbul, I had ~7 hours to kill in the massive airport, but opted to find a comfy chair and sleep for most of it. All the marketing for Turkey did its job, as I was very intrigued to come back for a visit. I thought about it for this trip, but it’s not recommended by the US government. Not sure if things will calm down (crazy dictator), but if so, it seems a worthwhile trip. Again, great marketing!

I wasn’t thrilled to support an airport Starbucks, thinking how I’d rather support a small business...then I realized we’re in a massive airport. None of these are small businesses. I then felt justified my boring globalism choice.

Upon landing in Morocco, I was pleased to see that while it was hot, it was nothing compared to Qatar earlier in the trip (95 vs 115). I got a transfer to my hostel (more of a luxe hotel), and quickly started to realize just how careful I’m going to need to be around the mopeds that seemingly whip out of every nook and cranny. As my brother Garrett said, “you’d think there’d be no way a moped could be here” and, yup, there it is! And it’s going outrageously fast!

I also checked with my driver how my Arabic pronunciation was for “hello/peace be with you” (a salaam alaikum) and “thank you” “shukran”. I got the thumbs up, perhaps out of politeness, but it gave me confidence. 

Once checked in, my first move was to try to find a pharmacy (my mistake was A) losing my hair product and B) not getting contact solution in Cape Town). I dressed appropriately(ish) with long pants and a linen shirt, and off I went into the medina (the crazy markets of the old town). It is pretty chaotic. People beckon you at all times, and you really need to be headstrong and ignore them. One guy kept following/leading me via moped for a few minutes even though I never once said a word to him. It’s rather annoying, but important not to get rattled. 

The pharmacy was closed, and of course, many other people tried ushering me into another store when they heard me ask. I eventually found a barber who sold me some product after haggling, but it turns out it’s not really what I needed. This would not be the first incorrect hair product I bought.

I went back to the hostel to regroup for a second, as it’s really quite an intense and amazing experience (I thought, not yet knowing the insanity that night would bring). I then found a cab station to take me to the “new city” to go to a pharmacy. I haggled the price here, because of course. 

The gentleman spoke very little English, and clearly did not know of an open pharmacy (it was Sunday afternoon, after all), so we drove around for quite a while. He was asking people on the street, and eventually we found one that only had 1 of the 3 things I needed (toothpaste, not contact solution or hair product. I was proud of my miming skills here, as that interaction with the pharmacist was English-free). I got a ride back to the “old city” market area, and stopped at a rooftop restaurant for some Couscous Royal. I feel I may have paid the tourist price (~$10), but it was a peaceful and breezy respite from the markets below. After eating, I was back to the hostel for just a moment before venturing out into the medina at night. This is where the real sensory overload takes hold.

I noted my swollen ankle was bothering me a fair bit, but there’s nowhere really to even sit and pause a moment, The second you take out your phone or stop walking, you’re being harassed. Completely ignoring folks and not making eye contact is super key. I first headed towards a UNESCO World Heritage Site called Djemaa el Fna Square, but on the way, winding through so many streets. Your eyes feast on the colors of blankets, lamps, t-shirts, random toys, etc while your nose enjoys the popcorn, spices, candies, hookah, etc. The medina was so much more crowded at night, which actually made me feel safer. I stood out less in the crowd, and wasn’t harassed quite as much. Plus, at least I was trying to fit in the culturally appropriate dress, versus the tourists wearing shorts, skirts, tank tops, etc. I even at one point saw a group that looked confused and out of place and I said “stupid tourists” as if I’m not one. Yes, perhaps I’m not blending in, but I’m not overtly sticking out. 

Adding to the insanity and throngs of people is the fact that folks are regularly mo-pedding through this all. You think “this place is wall to wall people, no way a moped will try get through this. Incorrect you would be! It could be scary for sure, but you realize the locals seemingly know what they’re doing, aren’t drunk (Muslim country after all) and probably won’t hit you if you don’t make any sudden moves. I did get a wee bit clipped (just an arm hair), and you note many of the bikes are missing a mirror (probably dinged off on a tourist’s elbow). Now, the biggest problem is it seems they rent these to tourists as well, so every so often you see an uneasy foreigner trying to navigate, which throws the whole delicately balanced chaos into unbalanced chaos. I saw 2 minor moped-to-moped collisions, but they seemed relatively unphased by it all. It’s all insane, and they really should not be renting mopeds to tourists. At all. But I imagine if you’re willing to pay, you can get anything. (Including a “drug dealer” who whispered to me that he could get me hashish).

With my valuables wedged in my tight pants pockets, I moved through the crowd with what I thought was a perfect speed. Not so fast that I couldn’t take it all in, but not so slow as to get harassed by the shopkeeps. I made it to the Djemaa el Fna Square, and I’m not sure anything could have prepared me for this.

There were so many brightly lit stands set up in a massive square (so, a very different feel than the narrow, windy streets I was just in, and it reminded me a bit of the madness of Oktoberfest). Merchants and people everywhere. There were street performers banging drums and dancing. There were snake charmers wailing on flutes and men carrying monkeys (I tried to pay them little mind as I believe this is a very bad practice for all animals involved, and if you look too long, you’re being harassed). Men are hocking balloons and light up aerial toys. There are women proselytizing in Arabic and crowds cheering and applauding. In Arabic, whatever they’re saying sounds so violet/guttural to my ignorant ears, but they’re probably just speaking about equality or something. I did my best to be a New Yorker, taking in everything around me without being obvious, even as my senses were being assaulted. Except for buying more (ineffective) hair product. 0/2, and this trend would continue.

At the far end of the square and across a street was a mosque (I think) with a massive tower that was doing the call to prayer. Never sure if it’s OK to take pictures during that time, I was surreptitious with my picture taking (as I was in the medina markets as well). But let’s talk about crossing streets.

I consider myself a savvy and aggressive street-crosser, but this was at a whole new level. People are weaving between fast-moving cars and mopeds, the green walk sign is merely a suggestion (the traffic keeps creeping through the throngs of people), and when the green walk sign goes away with no warning, do NOT be in the street. My sore ankle needed to propel me mere feet away (like, one meter, to use local measurements) from fully accelerating traffic.

I noted all the colorful dressings of the women in burkas, surprised with the fact that the standard black was not all that common. I ended up taking a few surreptitious pictures of these women in front of the tower as well, but tried not to be disruptive. I’m the right kind of tourist! (This is what I tell myself).

Back into the medina to do some more exploring and sneaky picture taking. One man said to me “sir, what kind of spice do you want”, and I wondered why he thought I would want a pile of turmeric, cumin, cinnamon, or anything else. My ankle was really bothering me now, but I was so enchanted by the medina at night. The shops on the outskirts started to close at 9, and this is where it starts to get creepy. If you stay in the well lit and heavily-populated areas, all good. However, it is very easy to take a turn (or just keep walking straight) and end up in a more locals part of the market where you are really standing out. This was not the best, and it felt like a race against time as I was trying to head out and back to my hostel. As you’re walking, things get less lit, and shops are shuddering loudly all around you. 

I felt I had overstayed my welcome, and now people kept telling me it was closed and tried ushering me in different directions. It was getting harder to ignore folks now as they were touching me and trying to corral me towards “the exits”. Perhaps they were well-intentioned, but I don’t think everyone there is “my friend”, as they say. I continued to not talk to people and stormed past them, definitely on high alert as I backtracked towards the populated area, being followed and harassed. This is one thing I learned quickly - in NY, I never try to backtrack, always looking “cool” and knowing where I’m going. Here, you’ll hit dead ends where you shouldn’t be. You need to suck it up and walk right back past the people who are trying to wrangle you.

I made it back to the crowds and action (I could tell because there were people in shorts and t-shirts [damn tourists!]), but realized this was a temporary reprieve. I would likely need to go back to the quieter areas en route to my hostel. The internetz weren’t working, so I couldn’t get directions (instead following along my map as it was tracking my movements, but couldn’t tell me specifically where to go). I tried to really look purposeful with my walking, as any time you pull out your phone “my friend” is bellowed towards you and people try to send you one way or another. I also was kind of limping now due to my ankle, which, too, was unideal. 

I finally navigated (some by memory, though the medina looks so different at night) and some by barely working map back to the hostel, and found myself involuntarily and audibly sigh with relief. I loved the experience, but the constant needing to be on your guard, and the end of the night where I felt a bit helplessly lost was a bit much. Plus, y’know, I had flown 17 hours and had a 7-hour layover prior to all of this. 

‘Zauhsted, I hit the hay at 10:30, looking forward to the insane adventures that Morocco held for me the next day.

[fire-bear]

Riot

Warnings: Violence. Also, I don’t know police procedure so let’s just pretend this is how they do things.

Even after going through university to get a degree in engineering, Gilbert knew he wanted to be a policeman. He’d always wanted to be one, figuring that it was the closest thing to being a knight in shining armour. Of course, his father, the Oxford physics professor, talked him into striving for a ‘better’ career. But, when Gilbert graduated and his father told him he could do what he wanted, he had jumped at the chance to become a policeman.

Now a Constable on the beat, Gilbert was delighted to deal with a variety of situations. From something as simple as giving tourists directions to arresting drunks on a Saturday night to standing outside a crime scene to make sure the public didn’t get inside. He loved every minute of it: getting to chat with people on the street; arresting people who had committed crimes; keeping everyone safe. Even arresting drunks made him feel good, knowing he was putting them somewhere safe for the night and they weren’t going to walk into traffic.

The only part he hated was when there was some sort of protest which devolved into a riot. He hated having to scare or bully people, especially when they were protesting an important issue. Being sent to pick up his riot gear always sent a feeling of dread through him. Would he be in the middle of a bad one, with deaths on both sides? Would he be sitting in a van all day?

Usually it was the latter but on that particular day, they were deployed immediately.

Gilbert wasn’t even sure who was protesting and for what. When they got to the square where the protest was taking place, there were people dressed in hoodies or in nondescript clothes. Others, however, were dressed in black and ripped jeans and chains and piercings. People were yelling and screaming. Some were waving large flags or banners. Others – mostly those in black – were throwing heavy things like bricks or glass bottles. Several fights had broken out with the officers already on the scene trying to pull them apart to no avail.

“It’s a protest of a protest!” his Inspector told him. Inspector Héderváry glared at the mess in front of them, tugging harshly at her hair as she pinned her plait to her head. “We’ve to separate the drunk punks who crashed the party from the actual protesters and keep them from killing each other.”

“What are they protesting about, again?” Gilbert asked, curiously.

Héderváry’s expression turned dark. “Something stupid,” she answered. She turned to the rest of them. “Right, you lot! Out you get – you know what to do!”

They all jumped from the van, the sound of many pairs of boots landing on the tarmac as they rushed across the road, their riot shields up and ready. Gilbert found himself at the back of the pack, Hérderváry behind him and Constable Vargas beside him. Vargas was scowling, as usual, keeping his grip on his baton tight.

“This’ll be fun,” Gilbert grumbled.

Vargas rolled his eyes. “This is such a stupid waste of time,” he replied. “I want to be back at the station on my well-earned break.”

“You never do anything,” Gilbert protested.

That was all they could say to each other before they entered the fray, shunting their way forward as they cut a path between the punks and the protesters. Up close, the punks looked both kinds of pissed. Gilbert could only wonder at what had made them so angry. He didn’t like the look of the protesters either: they looked like the kind of people he arrested for being drunk or high and shouting hate at ethnic minorities.

Eventually, they had a wall between the two warring parties. That didn’t stop the punks from shouting abuse at the protesters and vice versa. Gilbert couldn’t hear the words properly with all the noise. When the punks started shouting at the police and throwing things, Gilbert was glad he had the shield up. His back was covered by his colleagues and he wondered how long they’d have to stay there.

Suddenly, his shield jolted, hit by a kick from one of the punks. His eyes widened as he looked up and down their wall and saw that all of the punks had decided to attack the police. Other officers were attempting to wade through the chaos, arresting one person at a time to drag them off to the waiting vans. They would be of no help to Gilbert and the others as the punks began to kick and punch and shove them backwards.

Before Gilbert knew it, the line was breaking and officers were hard pressed to defend themselves from the punks. Beside him, an officer fell to the ground and a man lifted his foot to stomp on him. Instinctively, Gilbert flicked out his baton and swung it at the leg he stood on. The man fell and the officer managed to scramble to his feet – just in time as another man came barrelling into his shield.

Unfortunately, Gilbert didn’t have time to help him for another person started hitting at his shield with a baseball bat. Where the guy had managed to find one was a mystery but he was relentless, forcing Gilbert backwards as he flinched with each hit. Trying to keep his shield steady, he reached around to hit him on the leg with his baton. But the bat was heavier and thicker and the baton wad not really designed to be used against another weapon: it flew from his hand and landed several feet away where it was immediately scooped up by another punk.

Shocked, Gilbert momentarily forgot the attack and was caught off guard when the bat hit his shield once again. He stumbled backwards and his foot caught on something hard, toppling him. His back hit the ground with such force that his breath was knocked from him and his shield arm was flung out, leaving the shield lying uselessly on the ground. As he gasped and coughed, trying to force his body to move, the man with the bat stepped up to him, the weapon raised. Gilbert’s eyes widened, wondering if his protective gear would actually keep him from being killed.

He never found out. The man was suddenly spun around and, as he lowered his arms, he fell to the side, apparently unconscious. Behind him stood another man, hand clenched in a fist and dressed in tight, black jeans with holes at the knees and what appeared to be a black leather jacket. His blond hair was sandy in colour and badly ruffled. He had rather large, bushy eyebrows, one of which was pierced by what looked like a metal bar. A ring pierced his lip which his tongue nervously flicked out to spin. Their eyes met and Gilbert realised that his were green, dulled from alcohol by the looks of things. He gave Gilbert a nod and turned, rushing away into the crowd again.

Gilbert stared after him, stunned and unmoving. Time seemed to have stopped until someone tripped over his foot and he remembered where he was. Then he struggled to his feet and looked for the Inspector in order to regroup.

Later, once it was all over, Gilbert learnt that all the punks had been arrested – none had been allowed to leave the square. Quite a lot of protesters were arrested as well. They were all sent to different police stations to be processed, including Gilbert’s own.

When he walked into the station, eager to get his gear off and back to the streets for a more calming few hours of work, the sergeant on the desk stopped him. “Gil, Alfred’s called in sick,” said Matthew, apologetically. “Is there any chance you can help process all those people from the riot? Please?”

Having never been able to resist the puppy dog eyes, Gilbert reluctantly agreed and hurried off to get into his uniform. Once he had, he was soon going from cell to cell, bringing them to a desk and asking them some simple information. Some of the information he gleaned from them was not of consequence, of course, and were mainly insults. Gilbert had to refrain from writing 'Dickhead’ in the name slot several times.

Finally, there was only one more to do and he would be done for the day – other than his own report, at least. He strode down to the cell with another sergeant who unlocked the door for him. And, for the second time that day, Gilbert was stunned, staring at the man who had saved him from the bat. He seemed surprised as well. But he blinked those green eyes – now a little brighter and shining with intelligence – and was soon smirking.

“Good evening, Constable,” he said.

Frowning, Gilbert glanced at the sergeant who shrugged. Then he shook his head and gestured at the man. “Come on. I have to take down your details.”

“Can’t we do it in here?” he asked, his smirk growing and his eyes glinting.

A shiver ran down Gilbert’s spine which startled him. Narrowing his eyes, he explained, “I need to do it at a computer.”

“Ah, I see,” said the man. “A slave to technology like the rest of us.” He stood and paused, waiting for Gilbert to turn so he could follow.

The sergeant placed handcuffs on him as Gilbert held the next door open for them. Then he watched them on their way to the desk in case the prisoner had any ideas about making a break for freedom. Of course, whoever he was, the man merely sat down on the chair, shifting around until he was lounging in it, butt at the edge of the seat and an arm hooked over the back of it. He reminded Gilbert of himself when he was at high school or university.

“All right,” Gilbert said, opening a new file. “Name?”

“Arthur Bedivere Kirkland.”

Gilbert paused. “Bedivere?” he asked, merely to confirm. “As in… Knight of the Round Table?” When he realised how rude he had been, he hastened to add, “Just so I know the spelling.”

Grinning, Arthur nodded. “The. Very. Same,” he said slowly, his tongue flicking out over his lip ring. This time, Gilbert saw the glint of silver from within his mouth, as if he was chewing on a small star; evidently, Arthur had a tongue piercing.

“Right,” said Gilbert quickly, refusing to acknowledge the strange feelings he had upon his new discovery. He quickly typed it in. “Well, Mister Kirkland, date of birth?”

“Call me Arthur,” he insisted with a twitch of his lips in amusement. “It’s the twenty-third of April, Nineteen Ninety-Five.”

As he typed it in, Gilbert worked out his age. “Aren’t you a bit young for…?” He trailed off, eyeing the t-shirt he could see under the jacket. “Is that The Clash?”

“Yeah.” Arthur seemed amused, watching Gilbert. “You a fan?”

Blinking, Gilbert shook his head and turned to the form again. “Place of residence?” he asked. Arthur only shrugged a shoulder in response. “You don’t know? Or are you homeless?”

Arthur shook his head. “I live in student halls. Or, I did. It’s the end of the year and I’ll be going home but, as soon as I can find a cheap flat, I’m out of there. Maybe before I find a flat.”

“I’ll have to put your parents’ address,” said Gilbert, trying to tamp down his curiosity. Why would Arthur want to leave home so quickly? Was he on bad terms with his parents? Was he being abused? Were the parents homophobic?

He dug his nails into the palm of his hand in order to stop himself from thinking about Arthur’s sexuality.

Once he’d put in the address, though, he realised those were the next questions. “I, uh, need a gender and sexuality, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Male, bi,” said Arthur, simply. “Though, today, I think I’m swinging more towards men.”

Gilbert couldn’t stop himself from looking up at that smirk. He cleared his throat and hit the enter button to see if Arthur had any priors. When nothing came up, he filled in the details of the crime and situation before he looked at him again. Arthur seemed to be bored by that point, slouching further and looking around the room. Gilbert took a moment to really look at him, noting the slight downturn of his lips, the furrow in his brow, how his eyes glistened. This wasn’t a criminal, he realised. In fact, he doubted Arthur had even wanted to be in the square, had probably been pressured into attending. Gilbert hoped he’d get off lightly.

“I need to take your statement,” he said, softer than he’d intended.

Looking up, Arthur nodded solemnly. Then he began his tale. Just as Gilbert had suspected, it looked as though Arthur had met up with some friends he’d met on his gap year when he was travelling. They’d been having fun on a pub crawl when they’d come across the protesters. Arthur had wanted to get to the next pub since he’d needed to pee but the others had decided to stay put and tell the protesters what they thought of them. After he’d excused himself and hurried off to the closest toilet, Arthur had returned to find the place in a mess. He’d tried to convince the ringleaders to leave it alone and go home but nobody listened to him. Then the fighting started and he’d tried to keep out of it as much as possible, only stepping in when someone seemed to be going too far. He’d been arrested and that was that.

Having dutifully typed in the last few words, Gilbert hit the print button and waited for the old, rickety printer to cough its way into life. “Thank you, by the way,” he said as they waited. “I think you might have saved my life.”

“Not really,” Arthur mumbled. “All I did was punch my friend who is, apparently, a tosser.”

Stifling a laugh, Gilbert told himself to focus. What else did he need to do? As he surveyed Arthur, he wondered when the last time he’d eaten had been. Did he even have enough money for food? Especially if he was buying alcohol, too… “Do you need anything? Water? Sandwich from the vending machine?”

Arthur blinked at him, clearly surprised. It took him a second to regain his composure but then he said, “A drink would be good… The water’s free right?”

“And, for you, the sandwich is, too. Hang on.” Gilbert looked up and around the room which was apparently empty now. Everyone else had probably gone for their breaks. However, the door suddenly opened and Matthew walked in. “Mattie!” he cried in delight. “Any chance you can bring me a drink and a sandwich?”

Matthew looked between them and, with a kind smile at Arthur, nodded. Then he left them alone with a silence which seemed heavy. Arthur was the one to break it. “Thanks,” he muttered, chin tucked into his chest.

“Not a problem, Arthur. You look like you need it.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell again.

“What are you doing at uni?” Gilbert asked as he stood to pick up the form he’d forgotten about. He returned to the desk and looked for a pen.

“English Literature and Creative Writing,” Arthur answered, accepting the pen to sign the statement. “It’s fun, so far.”

“'Creative Writing’, huh? What do you write about?”

“This and that,” Arthur answered. “I tried writing a murder mystery this semester but I gave up and went back to fantasy.”

“Why’d you give up?” asked Gilbert, chin in his hand, watching Arthur practically unfurl. He straightened in his chair a bit, dropped his arm and faced Gilbert fully.

For the first time since he’d met Arthur, Gilbert saw him blush. It was a dainty thing, a little pinking of the skin along his cheekbones. Gilbert felt it belonged more on a young woman than on what looked like a hardened punk. Most of all, though, it was beautiful and Gilbert struggled not to feel embarrassed as well.

“I, erm,” said Arthur, hesitantly. “I wanted the main character to be a, well, a policeman. Not a detective, I mean,” he added, hastily. “Just… a constable… whose friend is murdered but no-one believes him because the time of the death is wrong and it looks like a suicide. But I wasn’t too sure on the correct police procedure…”

“I could help you out,” said Gilbert without thinking.

“What?” Arthur’s eyes widened and he perked up so much that he was no longer slouching. “What do you mean?”

“Er.” Gilbert didn’t really know himself. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had such a strong urge to help the student. Maybe he reminded Gilbert of himself at university. Maybe it was something more. But he had to think of something to save face… “I could meet you in Il Suo Pasto – it’s an Italian restaurant a few streets away. After you get out, of course. If you’d like.”

Slowly, a smirk formed on Arthur’s face. Gilbert could feel himself starting to blush, his face definitely on fire. “Mm,” said Arthur, eyes lowering so that he was looking up at Gilbert from under his eyelashes. “Sounds like you’re asking me on a date. Got a pen and paper?”

“Um,” said Gilbert, intelligently. He looked around for a spare sheet before remembering his notebook and pulling it from his shirt pocket. As he handed it over, he heard the door behind him open and he jumped in surprise, turning to see Matthew returning with a cup of water and a sandwich laid out on a plate. “Ah,” he said. “Thanks, Mattie.”

“No problem,” said Matthew, handing the items over to Gilbert. “I’m going on my break now, okay?”

“Right.”

Once he was gone, Gilbert turned back to Arthur to find him handing back the pad and pen. “It’s in the back,” he said by way of explanation.

“What is?” Gilbert asked, handing over the meagre meal.

Arthur only grinned. “You’ll find out,” he said, at the exact moment the far door opened and the sergeant in charge of the cells came looking for his misplaced prisoner. As he led Arthur away, reluctantly letting him keep his food, Gilbert gave in to his curiosity and flipped open his notebook. There, in neat handwriting and a note to 'call me’, was Arthur’s number.

They have a lovely ‘date’ where they flirt but don’t acknowledge it and Arthur essentially interrogates Gilbert on the intricacies of the justice system.

I was gonna add a bonus bit where it’s a few months later and, though they’re not dating and they don’t really start for a while afterwards, they have their first kiss and Gilbert likes it. ;) But then it was getting a bit long and I decided it was best just to end it here. It was also going to involve Arthur wearing glasses and changing his lip ring to a green coloured one which would draw the eye - or Gilbert’s eyes at least - from Arthur’s eyes to his lips.

Just in case: Arthur’s 20 and Gilbert’s, like, 24/25?

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Animorphs Wicked

@miraculoussparrow​ 

Part 2 of my mad ramblings about Animorphs, Wicked, and Cassie/Rachel. (Part 1 here.)

March of the Witch Hunters All things considered, Cassie’s not that surprised to open her door one day eighteen months after the war ends to find Marco standing on her front doorstep.  “You heard?” he asks hoarsely.  

He’s drunk, Cassie registers with an unpleasant jolt.  Or in shock.  Or… something.  He’s definitely swaying on his feet, a little cross-eyed.  “It’s not your fault,” she says.

He wipes the back of one hand across his face in a harsh motion, even though there are no tears on his face.  “You opening a conversation that way doesn’t exactly make a guy feel better, you know.”

The news—if it can even be called that—was all over the TV this morning.  ANIMORPH LOVE TRIANGLE? the Daily News screamed, recycling other sources’ work as usual.  Some enterprising young carrion-feeder at CNN was the one who pulled together over a dozen clips of Marco talking about Rachel, edited in such a way that they imply a very specific picture: one in which he’s in love with Rachel and ragingly jealous of Tobias.  The implication that Rachel was sleeping with them both screams from between the lines of harsh black print.

When Cassie faces the press conference that afternoon, her hands are still shaking with anger but her chin is high and her voice is level.  “How dare you?” she demands.  “How dare you pick the one person who’s not still around to defend herself and decide that she’s your latest piece of scandal?  Is that supposed to make you feel better about yourselves?”  Rachel might not be around to defend herself, but Cassie will defend her far beyond death.  She doesn’t care how long it takes, she will personally take every single reporter who repeated this news to court, and she will sue the pants off them all.  

No Good Deed Cassie was sitting on one of the low ridges of the canyon wall above the hork-bajir valley, doing her utter best not to cry, when she saw Jake and Rachel approaching her at top speed.  She took a breath to brace herself for whatever was coming.  Ax had already called her a traitor to her face today.  Marco had demanded to know what she was thinking, letting the yeerks take the morphing cube, and had responded to her answer with an ice-cold “That’s not good enough.”  Jake wasn’t talking to her at all.

As Cassie scrambled to her feet, she registered that Rachel was dragging Jake by the arm.  They both jerked to a stop a few feet away from Cassie, and Rachel released Jake to cross her arms over her chest.  “To paraphrase the stupidest cousin I have in one of his rare moments of insight,” she said, “I don’t care what your problems are.  We have zero time for your self-pity.  So you two deal with this.  Right now.”

Jake mumbled something, staring at the ground.

“That’s not necessary,” Cassie whispered.  “What I did—”

“Is not the shittiest thing any of us has ever done, or even anywhere close to the shittiest,” Rachel said.  “You made a bad call, yeah.  We’re paying for it.  But the thing to do now is to stop beating yourself up and start trying to fix it.  Jake’s sorry he’s been a total jerk to you, by the way, and he’ll never do it again.”

Jake jerked his head up to stare at Rachel, mouth halfway open.

“Look,” Rachel said.  “It sucks that we lost the morphing cube.  It sucks that the yeerks know who we are now.  It sucks that we lost your parents, that…”  For the first time her voice wavered, just a little.  “That my dad’s a controller by now too.”  She jabbed Jake in the chest.  “None of that is an excuse for pretending Cassie doesn’t exist.  So I’m not asking you two to, I don’t know, get back together or anything.  I’m asking you to suck it up and deal with what we’ve got in front of us like freaking adults.  Okay?”

They looked at Rachel, and then, more slowly, at each other.  At the same time, they nodded.

Popular Cassie grumbled pretty much the entire five hours that she and Rachel spent at the mall picking out dresses for Marco’s dad’s wedding, but to tell the truth it was more reflex than genuine annoyance by then.  Once upon a time she’d have pulled her own hair out rather than willingly walk out of dressing room after dressing room to twirl around in silly skirts and sillier tops while Rachel eyed her critically, and yet…

And yet their friendship had grown to something deeper, more complicated, hard and battered as steel, over the course of the war.  To the point where Rachel’s mere presence was a comfort to Cassie’s ever-racing mind, no matter what they happened to be doing at the time.

And yet Cassie knew why Rachel was spending so much time on this.  It was the same reason Jake had actually taught himself how to tie a half-Windsor, the same reason Tobias had been drilling Ax in how to make small talk like a real boy all week long.  They all desperately wanted to be the best versions of themselves for Marco, knowing the special hell the wedding day would be for him.  This—weird accessories and all—was Rachel being kind and considerate for a friend.

And yet every time Rachel smiled as Cassie pushed through the curtains, or murmured “beautiful, beautiful” as she twirled in yet another ridiculous dress, Cassie felt her heartbeat speed up.  Every time Rachel’s clever fingers adjusted a strap or reached up to tuck an ornament into Cassie’s hair, Cassie felt the tingle of pleasure over every inch of her skin.  

Defying Gravity Cassie shuts her eyes and rubs at them, doing nothing to assuage their grittiness.  The Capitol Building is crowded as always with aides and tourists, but even this flow of strangers is preferable company to the man whose meeting she just left.  Cassie’s here to sign a deal with Beelzebub to keep them out of the hands of Satan, and she knows it.  The American voting public wants the hork-bajir put on a spaceship and sent “back where they came from.” Her would-be sponsor, on the other hand, has money, and power, and he wants a halfway measure: the hork-bajir would live on reservations (internment camps, a small nasty part of Cassie suspects) but they would be allowed to stay on Earth and given as many trees as they could possibly farm.  He might dress his proposals up in pretty language, but Cassie knows what he thinks: that the hork-bajir are animals, and animals should be seen and not heard.

If you’re not at the table, you’re on the menu.  He’s used that phrase more than once, every time she objects to his business contracts, his under-the-table dealings, his blatant flaunting of American tax codes to make a profit for himself.   How will she ever tell Toby?  She’s not giving up, not really, but if they fight to stay free and lose… If they keep insisting on an ideal solution instead of a compromise… It could be so much worse.  This man could protect them, assuming he keeps his word.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” says a slow Texas drawl.

Cassie opens her eyes.  The man standing across from her is clearly a tourist, wearing a t-shirt with a familiar bald eagle across the chest, emblazoned with the words What Would Rachel Do?  Cassie feels a chill go down her spine.  She knows the answer to that question.

“Yes,” she says.  “Where did you get your t-shirt?”

He looks confused, but starts describing a shop a few blocks down from the Mall.  She’s desperately afraid, but she can feel herself smiling all the same—she’ll have to get one for herself.  It’ll be a good totem to have in the fight ahead, because she’s about to tell the most important corporate developer in the country to shove his internment proposal where the sun doesn’t shine.

Dancing Through Life They were sitting around in her barn as they had thousands of times before, but this meeting was anything but typical.  It was just her and Jake and Ax—the others were all out playing keep-away with David.  Maybe losing.  Maybe dying.  After all, they’d nearly lost Jake and Tobias both last night.

Let my heart harden, Cassie thought.  Let everything that is soft and delicate and easily damaged about me drain away, and let only anger and resolve replace it.  Give me the strength to do to David that which must be done, because god help me HE HURT RACHEL.  She wasn’t sure if she was praying, and if so to whom.  

All she knew was the sudden longing in herself to be Marco: ruthless, careless, carefree, callous.  To barrel her way through the coming days with an inappropriate joke on her lips and a world-loathing smile in her eyes.  She didn’t have it in her, but this cold-burning rage (he wanted to own Rachel, that disgusting little toad, she would make him pay, she would make sure he never got to see another day) suggested that she might be able to learn.

“I know how to handle this,” she said at last.  “All we’ll need is a Coke bottle and a couple blue Legos.”  

As Long as You’re Mine “What are we doing?” Rachel demanded, burying both her hands in her hair like she was trying to yank it out by the roots.  “Aliens landed in the middle of town last night, apparently more aliens are already here—Cassie, you just turned into a horse.  A HORSE!”

“Yeah.”  Cassie smiled, remembering what it had been like to sprint all-out across an infinite pasture, but then she sobered.  Rachel was right.  The andalite from last night had already died.  More people would die too, if the yeerks had their way.  This wasn’t a game, nowhere close.

“I just… I’m so angry at the yeerks.”  Rachel balled up both her hands.  “I want to kill them all for what they did.  But at the same time…  Cassie, are we nuts for even trying to fight back?”

“I think this is too big for us,” Cassie said slowly.  “I think we’re just kids, and…”  She took a deep breath.  “Everything’s going to change now, isn’t it?  Even if we choose not to act, we’re still making a choice.  We can’t go back, no matter what we do, now that we know.”

“If I choose to fight, you’ll be there with me, right?”  Rachel’s voice sounded uncertain for the first time.

“Whatever we decide, we do it together.  If you’re out, I’m out.  If you’re in... Then I guess I’m in.”

Rachel threw her arms around Cassie in a quick, impulsive hug.  “If we’re in this together, nothing really bad can happen to us.  You and me, girl.  There’s no one I’d rather have by my side.”  

Finale Ten years pass with a speed she could never have imagined.  Ten years since they lost contact with the Rachel somewhere in Kelbrid space, and it felt like losing her all over again.  Nine years since a well-meaning sculptor erected a statue of the five dead Animorphs in downtown L.A., including (Cassie couldn’t help but notice with morbid amusement) room on the plinth for a sixth figure.  Eight years since, at age twenty-one, she became the youngest governor California had ever elected.  Seven years since she married Ronnie; four since she divorced him.  Thirteen years since she lost Rachel.

She’s leaning on one of the supports of the Golden Gate bridge, 700 feet in the air where only people who can turn into birds in their search for privacy can ever go, watching the fireworks over the harbor with bittersweet fondness.  It’s a long way down to the harbor, and from this height hitting the water would be like hitting concrete.  Good thing she’d have enough time to morph, if she felt like it.  And then she looks over, and Rachel is standing there to her left like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Cassie doesn’t believe in miracles, of course she doesn’t.  She’s halfway into a morph faster than thought—but Rachel is talking.  Telling her about a thousand things (ragged rainbow bracelets, stolen homework and whispered promises, blood between their nails) only Rachel would know.  Even as Cassie watches Rachel morphs and then demorphs, just to prove who she is.

“How?” Cassie says at last, once she’s finally sure.  There are tears running down her cheeks.  She doesn’t really care.

Rachel shrugs, hair rippling in the wind.  “Toomin says I still have work to do.  Trust me, I don’t totally get it either.”

“Who’s Toomin?” Cassie asks.

“Oh man.”  Rachel laughs.  “Do you have five hours?”

Cassie realizes that she’s holding Rachel’s hand in her own.  That even though they’re standing too close to each other, so close that Rachel’s hair is blowing against her cheek, Rachel is leaning in even closer.  “Yeah,” Cassie breathes.  “I have all the time in the world.”